#like maybe not all of them but some at least... its not like it matters

[neodymiumcuilz]

DONATIONS ARE NEEDED URGENTLY - please, do all you can.

I must've sent asks to so, so many blogs asking them to help, to write, to make a simple post or donate.

It would be really, really appreciated if people with bigger blogs or pages could share and participate in this fundraiser.

We need the community to come together to help families and fundraisers as much as possible, as the recent escalations have been killing hundreds of Palestinians, including starving aid seekers.

The Gaza Humanitarian Foundation is meant to impose systematic starvation, and Israel has even been arming criminal gangs to loot aid.

Israeli soldiers have admitted that they are deliberately killing civillians.

Opioid pills have even been found in the flour that has been distributed.

Ahmed, due to slow donations, has been forced to risk his life at these "aid" centres to attempt to get food. Starvation is what is forcing desperate Palestinians to die just for some flour. Flour soaked in blood and humiliation.

It is extremely humiliating and degrading that people have had to become dependent on fundraisers as a source of income, so its the responsibility of us who live in privledge to support and promote these fundraisers, it's the least we can do after the whole world has let down the people of Gaza.

Ahmed and his family need $300 per day to survive. This is for treatment and travel costs for Samir, and food and basic necessities most people don't have to think twice about. The prices in Gaza are unbearable, so we need to keep funds going. We have managed to reach 40% of the goal. But another 60% is left to achieve.

Donate, if we all work together,the impact will be amazing. This post has 400+ interactions. Imagine if everyone gave even $5-10, that would be amazing. But if you have the means give a bigger amount, please please do. They need it more than you do.

Post. On social media, any platform. Your follower count dosent matter. You have no excuse, post about this fundraiser, please. Write some words on your blog, maybe pin the post.

Share, with your family in friends. Ask them to donate and share around, the impact would be massive if everyone did these simple things instead of just liking, maybe reblogging and moving on.

Nobody should have to beg for your basic empathy and humanity. I know the people here have the means to help Samir survive. Please, don't ignore these posts.

Please also share these QR codes that take you to the fundraiser, post anywhere.

tagging (for reach):

@xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @a-shade-of-blue @raangmanch @ot3 @tamamita @alluraaaa @theinconvenientlifestyle @sar-soor @rana-temporaria @rana-temporaria @randommmmie @random-autie-fangirl-old @ladycelebrianofimladris @laurellament @magz @magicpandacats @determinate-negation @alientitty @tumbalaria @crows-sorrows @mayoiayasep @estrellasrojas @esperantokomencanto @secretpersonapruneeggs @troythecatfish @ourient @one-time-i-dreamt @fictionkinfessions @fifthnormani @postanagramgenerator @twosandwich @summerslushies @turquoisewavesstitch @paranormal-librarian @pangur-and-grim @nectarinegirl @bookskittychad @omegaversereloaded @maester-cressen @maryajunkova @wormthe @wayneradiotv @leovaldeeeznuts @lmaonade @purpleweredragon @bahrmp3 @greek-freak101 @extremelycursedimages @sharingresourcesforpalestine @kiirodor

STOP SCROLLING, SAMIR AND HIS FAMILY ( @samirahmed125 ) need urgent help !!

As I said, Samir's family have been working unbelievably hard to try collect donations. They are broken and tired and seeing Samir in pain is unbearable.

Together, we can help save Samir's life with donations, please let us come together and have our hearts and humanity come together. It's abhorrent to me how many people (especially with bigger platforms and pages) don't post or talk about Gaza, people could find a fundraiser and help because YOU shared.

Please, take part in helping save Samir, donate here, 38% of the goal has been raised. VERIFIED BY @/gazavetters (#428) and by various other accounts.

Samir needs his spleen removed, he is also in a coma and risks having his foot amputated.

(Please share the QR codes scan to donate !!)

tagging for reach:

@palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @tortiefrancis @feluka-blog-blog @flower-tea-fairies @tsarizu-archive @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutalia @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamamita @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlsurvivalguide @baby-girlsx @nabulsi27 @thejasontoddarchives @anarchafemme @sweet-honey-bunnies @lesbiansforglados @dxppercxdxver @sheepory @elb4ckfl1po @millenniumidol @heart-forge @infectiouspiss @baweiii @butchfeygela @fox-guardian @oars @wolfythewitch @technofeudalism @pizzat-i @theomenroom @unearthprisonpanopticon @sealsdaily @ashwantsafreepalestine @ubernegro @bugmatics @kingoftheironcity @checkadii @wolf-tail @thi4f @mt-travaii @redbuddi @plasticduck @risoria @mollysunder @sister-lucifer @punkeropercyjackson @immediatebreakfast @khizuo @nevert-the-guy @ahaura @chanafehs @yourpersonaltimebomb @wolstinien @neechees @ankle-beez @webdings4 @silicacid @schroedingers-mooneater @lonniemachin @dykesbat @charlott2n @watermotif @yeetsintovoid @momorikoz @determinate-negation @girlinafairytale @yugiohz @rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @painfully-unoriginal

[musicallisto]

ᯓ★ THREE A.M. SHADOW ⁵⁵

… starring carlos sainz x f!reader ... 2.0k words ... in which you usually come find carlos at the airport when he gets home from races, but this time he comes to you instead. ... features fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort (comforting carlos after silverstone ☹️) ... author notes just a self-indulgent little something because im SOOO sleepy it's ridiculous and carlos looked so so sad after the british gp... free my man please god F1 MASTERLIST / ASK BOX

You had gone to tremendous lengths to make sure you did not fall asleep.

Past six p.m. coffee was off the table, since you did want to wake up a fully functioning human for work in the morning, so you’d had to get a little more inventive. Borrowing a drink from Carlos’ secret Red Bull stash, that he’d fill back up at the beginning of each European leg with cans stolen from motorhomes—“it’s not like they’re gonna run out of them anyway”. Putting some cardio dance workout on TV to get your blood pumping, and giving up halfway through out of fear the neighbors would break your door down and demand a halt to the ruckus. Drinking again, water this time, and hoping the urge to pee would keep you awake. Turning the TV brightness all the way up to play the first reality TV episode you could find, and when even their escalating drama had you dozing off dangerously, you flicked an old newspaper open to the sudoku page and devoted yourself to that, so your brain would not go one second understimulated.

Each message strung out like hours of the night spreading across the sky.

“The flight is delayed. At least one hour.”

“We still haven’t boarded, they’re saying 9:40 now”

“I thought this wasn’t supposed to happen with jets 🙄 I’m going with ryanair next time”

Carlos was usually much more verbose than this—especially after a race, when you’d practically hear him bounce on his feet from the way he’d recount every detail of the GP, every sensation on the wheel, until boarding cut him off and he invariably signed off with a promise to tell you all the rest on the other side of the flight and a can’t wait to see you. That was part of the ritualistic Sunday night, when he had nothing to stay overnight for; so was you driving to Nice and waiting for him at the gate. 

And no matter how jet-lagged or sleep-groggy Carlos was, or how well or horrendously his race had gone, he always beamed like a little kid when he saw you jogging down the tarmac. Someone who ran to him while he let his aching muscles rest, for once.

It was a ritual, and you and Carlos could never do without those. He was a man of repeatability. Of obstination and carefully unchanging variables, lest the simulations run all wrong. A little superstitious, you’d tease him, and he’d scowl, No, conscientious. Very different.

So when you got the text at 11:52 p.m. Monaco time, you knew right away the weekend had been bad enough that Carlos did not mind sacrificing conscientiousness anymore.

“Boarding now, I think we should land around 2am. Go to sleep love I’ll take a taxi”

Your phone flickered back to sleep, untouched, taking its notification with it. Two sudokus and an Italian word puzzle had already tested your patience, and you’d tossed the newspaper off your lap with a staggering yawn. On the coffee table, Carlos stared up at you from the Gazzetta dello Sport cover, immortalized mid-laugh beneath the red-hot Mexican sun.

Your boyfriend needed you more than ever. He’d sounded dejected over the phone and you’d watched enough of his recent Grands Prix to understand his apathy. It was absolutely imperative, tonight of all nights, you stay awake and drive the forty-minute drive along the coast to be the very first person who’d embrace Carlos Sainz on French soil.

But you were so exhausted… your bones so crushed… your vision so blurry already—wait, had that guy been in the villa all along, or was he a new contestant?

Maybe if you laid your head on the armrest time would tick by quicker. Maybe you’d finally figure out who the hell was cheating on who if you watched the show sideways. You’d even remembered to line up your shoes at the foot of the sofa, and the car keys locked tight in your fist, ready to bolt out into the Riviera night at a moment's notice...

The clinking of keys tumbling out of your lax fingers and onto the floor did not wake you.

Neither did the rustle of them in the door.

Soft footsteps, the distant swish of a door across the floorboards, even the very faint roll of small wheels; but it was the hand on your cheek, with its callouses you could place even in slumber, that woke you up.

“Love?”

Carlos’ warm accent dripped from his whisper, trickling down over your ears like honey. You blinked repeatedly; he was there, overhead, flickering in and out of focus in the pitch-black room; bone-weary, his tan almost a shade lighter, but rumbling from within with the purest relief. Like all his joints had unbent the second he’d felt your skin.

“Carlos,” you croaked, “you’re… oh crap, I really wanted to pick you up.”

“I told you to go to bed,” he mused gently. “And I’m always the one who drives on the way home, so it’s more like I’m picking myself up anyway.”

“Hey,” you pouted, “you love when I come meet you at the airport.”

“I do,” a small chuckle escaped his throat like second nature.

You were barely now sitting up on the sofa, while Carlos was tidying up the room with devoted diligence—picking up cushions and discarded car keys and the corpse of an energy drink. He must have switched the lights and TV off as soon as he’d entered, because the tropical villa and its melodramatic heartbreakers had succumbed to the night too. All the router read instead was 2:56 a.m.

You knew the man inside out. The way his shoulders bent and his eyelids fluttered as he crouched around the living room. There was not an ounce of his marrow that was not begging to be relieved from the plight of being awake.

“Leave it, Carlos,” you spoke, voice quiet like the ruffle of bedsheets. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Those words made him look up, the candle he was about to blow out still in one hand; his entire frame sagged, curling on itself like he’d just been freed from the torment of a malevolent spirit, billowing out of his parted lips.

“Yes, please.”

The sea shimmered like a gaping void beyond your wide-open window when you nestled into bed. Monaco’s night time chill finally descended upon the rocks, after an interminable day of sweltering heat, and you breathed a long, deep sigh as the cool marine breeze tickled your skin. Light filtered from beneath the bathroom door, where Carlos was showering. The steady, placid purr of the water was enough to lull you, and you closed your eyes within your haven of silence overlooking the marina. Minutes later, you sensed him more than you saw him—the scent of fresh cotton and aftershave filling your lungs as he sank into the mattress by your side.

He spoke no word as he snaked an arm around your waist, the other grazing your shoulder with feather-light touches. Bringing you closer to him, in the crook of his chest as though you’d been carved from the very same block of marble. Just an exhale, of the most battered sort, that Monaco caught in its glittering hands and threw out to the waves.

“How was your weekend?” you murmured after a minute or two of utter quiet, only half expecting an answer.

This, too, was a post-race tradition; when you were separated over the weekend you would take turns telling each other everything that happened, especially the most mundane things—the ones too quiet for razor-sharp cameras were your favorite to hear. He made it a point to ask you then, in the dead of night, because he believed you hold things to be more sacred when they are immanent; when night has lifted its blanket and slumber has played its tricks on things they lose some of their vitality, he swore. But Carlos had already disregarded the airport tradition tonight, and the weariness he carried seeped heavy in your hands as you held him. Maybe he’d need another derogation.

“Really bad,” he said eventually, after you’d thought him asleep already.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Outside the window, a flock of seagulls cried out for one another, nose diving down the cliffside. Carlos’ breathing slowed, but grew more profound, his thumb running deliberate circles on your collarbones.

“Honestly, I don’t even know what to say.” His words were slightly muffled, as though he were speaking them through tight lips, and a shiver of surprise ran up your spine when you thought he might be crying. “I should feel relieved that it’s got nothing to do with me, that it’s always something external coming up and fucking up my whole weekend and not outwardly my fault, that I can’t do any better, but…”

He swallowed with difficulty. His strong neck vibrated against the back of your skull.

“That’s exactly the thing. That I can’t do any better. What if… this is as good as it gets? As good as I get?”

“Carlos.”

Careful not to hit him, you turned around, tangling your limbs and breaths until the beginning of you faded into the ending of him. With one hand, you cradled his handsome face, on which fatigue dug new crevices every week. Scanned his eyes, glistening with something more fragile than tears.

“I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, not because I like doing charity work, but because I believe in you. I have no doubt in my mind that you are promised to so many successes with Williams. You’ve been down before and you always made it out on the other side stronger. Things aren’t working out right now because there’s so much at play and that means so many parameters that can go wrong, but you… you are so much faster than this. You are one of the fastest. Hey, look at me,” you gently guided his cheek back to you before he could roll his eyes and shake his head. “Don’t give me that look, I know you think that too.” He smiled, something timid but good enough for now. “You are an incredibly skilled, hard-working, and intelligent pilot. I’m not worried about you at all. And neither is James, by the way. So no room for doubts, okay? Look, I’m gonna laser zap all your doubts.”

You scooted your fingertips up, so they were resting on both his temples, and made a show of squinting in intense concentration. ‘Fzzzt!’ you hissed through your teeth, and released his skull. 

“Done. All your doubts have been evaporated.” 

He chuckled delicately, as if the shake of his throat were exhausting what little energy he’d conserved, but the sound rang familiar, impossible to forget and devastatingly easy to miss. Gentle streams of heat lapped at your belly when he pressed a kiss to your nose and pulled you flush against him.

“Thank you, my hero.”

“Anytime, Carletes.”

He allowed his lips to linger against your forehead, not quite a kiss but something unhurried, less intentional. You looked up at him through your lashes. After months upon months of mapping out the valleys of that face, you’d think you’d know every ridge of it. Yet every time he relinquished control like so—not passing it over to you, but surrendering himself entirely to nothing at all—you discovered new fractals and hues on his caramel skin. Each one a little bit more of him to fall in love with.

Carlos let out a long breath, his last before slumber, just as Monaco did. Summer air, breaking free from the surf below, drifted up to your bedroom and wrapped around your still forms. Soon, your eyes began to droop, then closed, and refused to open again.

Your heartbeat matched the Spaniard’s, and the night hushed entirely.

©musicallisto, 2025

⤷ liked this fic? then you might enjoy... if (sainz win == true) (cs55) !

[plutoasteroids]

What would your fs like to do to you if they were with you right now 18+ (MDNI)

This is a general reading, take what resonates and leave the rest. For more specific readings catered to you and your energy I offer paid readings. My readings aren't a substitute for seeking professional help and guidance.

PILE 1

Your future spouse is very big on giving and receiving kisses, their love language at least the main one is very much physical touch with words of affirmation thrown in there. They have this desire or fantasy of you sitting back in a chair, your neck exposed to them and they would be trailing down soft kisses down your throat, the more they kiss the more they become more desperate. They would grab and grope for anything you will let them grab. Pile 1 your pile isnt very sexual but its more so this deep. passionate and burning desire to want to be close to each other, as close as possible, within this connection being touchy with each other is very important. It maybe you or them but one of you do feel most loved through physical contact like hugs and kissing.

PILE 2

Pile 2, unlike the tamer pile 1 you guys have clothes flying off almost immediately, your future spouse has this desperation and impatience that it's like 'okay I waited and held back long enough now that you are letting me do this, I am not wasting time'. it's a very 'let me devour you' energy from your future spouse, they don't only love you deeply, they very much desire you in the most passionate and feral way. Sitting on their lap, them kissing and sucking your neck and chest whewwww. They are quite dominant and a tad bit rough but to an extent, they know and understand that there is a limit, and they never try to cross that limit. As much as I say they are feral for you which they are there is also this energy of communication, which is quite a big thing in your relationship, you talk about what you like and don't like before getting to anything. Not going to lie some of you may even have safe words but it's all fun and at the end of the day you both enjoy it which is all that matters.

PILE 3

You guys are the softer pile, the let me take my time exploring your body getting to know your like, dislikes, what turns you on what makes you tick type of coupleeeee. You guys but more so your future spouse in this case like it nice and slow, they love to just pause from what they are doing and look at you with so much love and adoration again there is still this ''all mine'' kind of energy from them but not in like the crazy obsessed way in a more declaration of love kind of way. To them you are a delicate rose (this may be corny) but as much as a rose loses its petals if handled roughly, they view you as if they are too rough, they will hurt you and that's something they don't ever want to do. They will be rough if you ask and desire it but the default setting is always gentle, loving, emotional and deep (wink wink).

[kkochigomi]

skz reacting to a member walking in on you guys

hyung line + HH | maknae line

warnings/tags; dubcon, gn!reader, sub!reader dom!member, exhibitionism, voyeurism, ass eating, roughhousing, riding, sweaty!Jeongin, sweat licking, bad descriptions of a basketball game, poorly edited

It started with you being a backup dancer for one comeback, then goofing around with the members while rehearsing, to you hanging out with them regularly. There are a lot of people in and out of there, all of the friends they've garnered over the years. You're also friends with other idols, so it never occurred to you. You know, you with them.

For the guys, it was an unspoken rule to not fuck their best friends. At least, not in a heat of the moment kind of way. Just in general, not doing impulsive shit will fare better for anyone in the long run.

However, sometimes shit happens. That shit happens to be your most recent backup dancing gig. Let's go through what happens when a certain member caves first.

⦊ Han Jisung ⦉

You don’t really see Jisung as an option for sex or romance. Why? Well. He’s a dork. All he does is laugh loudly and fall out of chairs and look around like it was someone else’s fault. Maybe people would notice his dorito build if he wasn’t always breaking out into song maliciously. And so loud. 

being walked in on

So it’s safe to say what happened was heat of the moment. It was a whirlwind. All you remember is that Jisung got quieter in your vicinity. Jisung can’t focus anymore when you’re in the room. All he thinks about is your ass in those shorts and that move where you spread your legs. If you read the previous part with hyung line, I feel like we’re acquainted enough by now. Jisung wants to bury his face in your ass. He wants to worship it. He wants a lap dance. He wants you to sit on his face. Thoughts like this are all that plagues his mind when he sees you. He doesn’t even need the video when masturbating like Chan, he can cum on the thought alone.

Not only have you noticed his change in demeanor, you’ve caught him staring at your ass. That’s when the thoughts of you with him started in your mind. You didn’t think it was possible but the thought isn’t that bad. His dorito build is suddenly very apparent. So you sit on his bed, taking in how he’s looking at you for eyed, and you let yourself cave. You kiss him, pleased by how hungrily he’s kissing back. He breaks the kiss to whisper a breathy “I need to taste you”.

And that’s how Jisung’s dreams come true. You’re surprised by how good he is, making you wonder how often he’s done it. Doesn’t matter right now, not with how good it feels. You moan into his comforter uncontrollably, the sensation feeling unbearably good.

All it takes is two syllables for the ecstasy to be replaced by fear and embarrassment.

“Someone—"

Jisung pops his mouth off your ass and falls to the ground as you collapse to the bed and fumble to cover your lower half. 

“— finally ate your ass,” Minho says smugly. As you sit there, annoyed as all get out, Jisung is staring blankly at Minho, surprised at how he’s still hard despite his shock and embarrassment at Minho’s presence.

walking in

Jisung likes to be dominated. Doesn’t matter who it is or what they identify as, he wants to be submissive. So hearing your pitiful moans being shoved out of you on his way to get some fruit was less arousing. Plus, he couldn’t even believe what he was hearing, let alone seeing. Nothing like seeing bare asses when you’re not meant to.

“Oh— Hooooly shit!” his hands instinctively fly to his head, his poor phone falling to its demise in the process. Minho looks at him with a fierce fire raging in his eyes after he and you frantically pull your bottoms up.

“Why are you just standing there?!”

Jisung didn't know why. It didn’t occur to him to ask why he was having sex in the kitchen. He was too mortified.

⦊ Felix Lee ⦉

Felix was— in a way— the endearing version of Jisung. Everything you found (playfully) annoying about Jisung, you found cute and funny about Felix. When things were quiet, there was this docile nature to Felix. It made you want to cuddle with him. Platonically, right?

being walked in on (this is long, I’m ovulating and just watched an edit with him lol)

So you asked him and his eyes lit up without him even knowing. Again, he’s just so cute. You guys would cuddle up on the couch mostly, wrapped tightly in a blanket you shared. Oh but do nOT be mistaken. It’s not soft and romantic like watching movies with Hyunjin. Not when Felix is biting your shoulder or putting you in a headlock or smacking your ass. Felix LOVED to wrestle and roughhouse. He had this jokingly short temper. One joke at his expense and he was shaking you by the shoulders.

But all this wrestling had to culminate in something. That something being the two of you on his bedroom floor, tired and heaving as he has your hands pinned above your head to keep you from retaliating. Hyunjin still technically caved first, but something shifted between you and Felix soon after. With you pinned under him and your shirt riding up, he couldn’t help himself. You two didn't kiss, but his hands slid from your wrists, down your chest, to your exposed waist. You grab his forearms, the intensity of the tension weighing on you. It was a pre-established something from the moment you started cuddling. That’s why his hands on you was so intense that night, you two developed a craving for each other’s touch. After that you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You would make it a point to sit next to him and he would do the same. He would absentmindedly trace shapes on your skin or throw his arm around your shoulder.

The roughhousing started getting steamy quick. You would have to move to his or your bedroom, lest Seungmin catch you two kissing each other’s necks and eventually lips. It was intoxicating, kissing him. He tasted so good and you couldn’t get enough of feeling him against you. Maybe subconsciously you were imagining him on that stage. His imagination surely went wild when he saw the video. He immediately got a hard on and had to excuse himself. It was over at that point. He was pushing your shirt over your head and going to town on your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You were fiendish from the pleasure, bucking into him and moaning pathetically. His pants were just barely pushed down enough to free his semi-hard cock. He used his haphazard methods to get your sweatpants down as well, refusing to unlatch from your chest.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, he thrusts into you. Between slobbery kisses, you pant against each other’s skin. It isn’t long before he’s flipping you over, running his hands down the slope of your back as he slams into you from behind. The bed frame is smacking aggressively against the wall now, almost drowning out the feverish moans from you two.

A knock at the door has you shooting up and placing your hand against Felix’s stomach to stop his thrusting. Seungmin walks in without waiting for a reply.

“I’m trying to read,” he states simply, not shocked at all by what he’s seeing. Felix is utterly unaffected by Seungmin’s presence. In fact, he’s still thrusting. And you can feel that he’s harder now. 

“Cool. Go to a cafe,” he responds half heartedly.

walking(?) in 

It was a fun night. You, Seungmin, and Felix were watching The Suicide Squad and laughing your asses off. Eating popcorn, throwing popcorn, popping more because (mostly you and Felix) threw it all. And then to top it off, Felix got to take a nice little nap. Things were normal when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he felt rigorous movement next to him. He opened his eyes to see a blob illuminated by the TV. Underneath a blanket was you seemingly riding Seungmin. You both were suppressing your moans pretty poorly.

More than anything, Felix was shocked by Seungmin’s arms resting on the back of the couch, watching you with his head craned back. Very lazy if you ask Felix.

“Smack her ass or something man.”

You flinch and nearly fall backward before Seungmin catches you. You both look over, lingering in an awkward silence.

“You’re being nosy and critical?” Seungmin says in disbelief, breaking the silence.

“I’m not nosy, you guys are fucking right next to me.”

⦊ Kim Seungmin ⦉

Seungmin has always had an air of authority to him. Despite being three years his junior, Seungmin’s authoritative side is more of a mainstay compared to Chan. Chan needs to be authoritative as a leader, but most of the time he’s just so sunny. Seungmin knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to say it. You're not ashamed to say it turned you on a little.

being walked(?) in on

You told him as much. It was under the guise of a joke, but Seungmin detected and accepted the underlying truth of it. But Seungmin was a tease, and he wasn’t in a hurry. Hence, the slow burn. Yes, Seungmin liked sex, but he wasn’t foaming at the mouth for it.

At least, not until the video. All he wanted was to order you around, and the fact that that turned you on had him adjusting the crotch of his pants. You were coming out of the bathroom when Seungmin pulled you into his room and shut the door. He shoved you against it and held you by your shoulders.

“Wanna be good?”

You nod emphatically, not even phased by the suddenness of it all. He feels his cock throb. He bites his lip as his grabs you by the chin.

“Open up,” He whispers and you drop your jaw open. He drop a ball of spit slowly into your mouth before closing it for you.

“Good. Then be patient.”

And then he just leaves. He even has the gall to ask Felix if he wants to watch a movie with you and him. Felix says yes and now you're on the couch sandwiched between the man who had you pinned to the ground last week and the one who just spit in your mouth. Naturally you try to subtly seduce Seungmin enough to make him give in and take you to his room, but he has the nerve to swat your hand away. Each advance is met with him moving away from you or removing your hands from him. 

So you were pissed. By the time Felix fell asleep, you had a grudge against Seungmin. Now he wants to lean over and squeeze your thigh. You give him the same treatment, swatting his hand away. He’s quick to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze. If his had on your thigh wasn't enough to send heat to your groin, this surely was.

“What about ‘be patient’ is hard to understand?”

None of it, and neither are the subsequent demands. Stand in front of him, take your pants and underwear off, take his off, straddle him, ride him to get yourself off. Oh he was punishing you big time. No pleas to squeeze your nipples, choke you, slap you, or anything was entertained. You just had to bounce on his cock toward your climax. Before you could get there, Felix’s voice startled you, completely void of grogginess.

“Smack her ass or something man.”

If you weren’t so alarmed you’d fervently agree.

Yeah, when Seungmin replies he’s a little annoyed, but he doesn’t read as angry at all. You're surprised to see how unaffected he is.

He is still undoubtedly hard, by the way.

walking in

You and Felix aren't as quiet as you think you're being. Or maybe it's because Seungmin is reading and needs to focus. He could just go to his room where there will be another degree of separation...

But he's already knocking on the door. Felix hadn't even stopped moaning by the time Seungmin opened the door. Of course Felix isn't stopping, even after Seungmin speaks. He expected as much. Seungmin wonders if one day he'll just cave and ask Seungmin to join. He's begging for it.

⦊ Yang Jeongin ⦉

Jeongin was one of the members you were closest too, but the furthest away from anything sexual or romantic. You were close to Felix and Hyunjin, but the thought wasn't impossible with them. Jeongin is your right-hand-man. He is who you go to for advice and gossip. He's who you told about Hyunjin and Felix and he (rightfully) treats the saga like his Monday night soaps.

being walked in on (OOPS THIS IS LONG TOO I NEED DICK)

Jeongin held a lot of shame about how the video made him feel. Where should he start? With how much is at stake? How this would make you feel? How he would feel if any of the guys found out? If Chan was the most dedicated to keeping the status quo, Jeongin was the second most dedicated. But he didn't think like you. He was attracted to you the minute you danced backup for them. He valued you as a friend, though. What ensued was something between heat of the moment and a slow burn

You noticed a difference, it was slight enough that you convinced yourself you were being delusional. Took me long enough to mention it, but you didn't think anything of them seeing your fancam. Sure it was sexy and you felt sexy doing it, but you underestimated just how sexy you were. You thought they'd just comment on the choreography or your performance. You did find it weird that not ONE of them commented on it (in the universe where Jeongin caves first). You were a little sad, because even your best friend had nothing to say. Your most popular fancam and Jeongin is silent. You even probe for information but he tenses up. The signs are starting to build up...

Jeongin is responsible for your recent obsession with basketball, the two of you play whenever you're both free. You're both weirdly quiet this time, though, something weighing heavy on both your minds. The way he tensed up after you brought up the fancam made you watch it yourself. You were suddenly embarrassed for asking all of your friends to check it out. It is as sexual as you can get without tipping into literally miming sex on stage. But does that mean Jeongin...

He might be quiet but he's playing hard. He's wearing a muscle shirt, something he does often, but you're more aware of it now. The definition he's gaining on his muscles. How big his biceps are getting. The sweat dripping from his armpit down the side of his waist. These are things (other than the sweat) you'd compliment him on. You can't bring yourself to say it though. Not with all this tension. You both play a fierce game, not sparing each other on account of the tension.

During one tumultuous battle for the ball, you try to turn your back toward him and he cages you in. He wraps his arms around you, his large hands splayed over yours. The proximity sends your adrenaline skyrocketing. You try to struggle away from him, turn back around to shove him away and shoot before he has the chance to react, but your foot gets caught. Your other fails to compensate and you fall just as you manage to turn to face him. His chest thuds against yours shortly after your back hits the floor.

You can smell his sweat mixing with his cologne and it's worsening your head rush. With his chest against yours and his eyes staring so intensely at you, you need him off but you so need to touch him. You manage both, gripping his biceps, lingering a bit, before giving him a light push to snap him out of his daze.

You both had done it now. There's no going back. You came to visit Chan, surprised to see Jeongin on the couch. Stupid ass Minho told you he went out with Felix and Jake. You guys lock eyes and freeze. It'd be rude to just ignore your best friend, right? So you sit with him, watching tv. Inching closer. You keep replaying that moment on the floor of the basketball court. How much you wanted to lick the droplets of sweat from his neck. It didn't take much to set Jeongin off. You thought you could be sneaky about your hunger, but not when he was hungry as well. The minute your fingers reached for his, his hand was on your knee, then your upper thigh, then... he was pulling away to get the remote. You watch in confusion as he cranks the volume up. He drops the remote onto the coffee table before approaching you.

As soon as he tugs you up from the couch you let your hunger take over. Both of you let your hands roam each other's bodies as you kiss like you're starving. He lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips, your groins grinding against each other. It's about here that Jeongin stops caring. His mind flips off and he wants your clothes off too. In the process, you both end up lying haphazardly on the couch as his painfully hard couch shoots into you. You grip the couch, strangled moans wrangled from your throat. You get what you want, craning your head forward to lick a long stripe up his neck. It's so perfect, you're somewhere else entirely. That is, until you see a figure out of the corner of your eye.

The sight is so terrifying you shoot up without thinking. You knock your forehead against Jeongin's but the pain doesn't phase either of you. Jeongin jumps up from the couch, desperately collecting a random article of clothes to cover his soft penis. Just like you, Jeongin is utterly mortified. Chan apologizes, but little does he know, him walking in made Jeongin prematurely grapple with the weight of his decisions.

walking in

Jeongin is used to hearing loud noises from Chan's room. He says it helps sometimes to produce with his speakers rather than his headphones. Chan's room is soundproofed pretty well so it doesn't bother Jeongin much. But this noise he's hearing is jarring. Is Chan aware something hard it smacking against the wall. Something might break at this rate.

In a mixture of frustration and concern, Jeongin rushes to Chan's room to alert him ASAP. ASAP meaning not knocking.

"Hyung, what the hell is that?" he says half to himself, half to the man being ridden by you in his computer chair. Oh. Oh yeah. You were here.

His heart stops as realization dawns on him, your naked body all he's zeroed in on.

"What the f- close the door!"

Chan's reddening face and furious eyes are what Jeongin focuses on next, but not for long. He scurries away, not even able to apologize in his state of shock.

[sapphicstrawcore]

can I maybe do a request where sevika who’s learning vulnerability has a panic attack in front of reader for the first time after good while into their relationship and reader helps her through it?

— Where it’s safe to break, quiet after the storm

cw: description of panic attack, pure heartbreaking fluff, sevika needs a hug and she gets it

masterlist ᰔ

Sevika’s the kind of woman who keeps it all in. Not because she thinks it’s healthy—she’s not that naïve—but because it’s the only way she knows how to survive. Zaun doesn’t exactly reward softness, and vulnerability? That’s a luxury. One she never had time for.

She’s used to pushing through. Gritting her teeth through the noise in her head, the pressure in her chest, the weight of whatever the day threw at her. Panic isn’t new. Meltdowns aren’t foreign. She just doesn’t let anyone see them. Especially not you.

And it’s not that she doesn’t trust you. It’s just… you’re different.

You’re the first person she’s ever been with who doesn’t carry violence like a second skin. You laugh easily. You smile like you mean it. Even here in Zaun, surrounded by all its rust and poison, you find joy in the smallest things—a good cup of tea, a quiet night in, some dumb joke she doesn’t get but loves hearing you tell anyway.

You make her feel human. And that scares the shit out of her.

She’s a fighter, a soldier, a killer.

So Sevika does what she always does. She clenches her jaw. She shuts it down. She pretends she’s fine because she has to be. Because letting go—even for a second—feels like opening a floodgate she can’t close.

But she can only carry so much.

She doesn’t know why it’s that night.

Nothing set her off. There was no fight, no threat. The city was quiet—at least by Zaun’s standards. You’d spent the day together. You smiled at her the same way you always do. God knows why you’re rarely grumpy. You’d even kissed her goodnight with that little hum you make when you’re sleepy and safe. Like nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

And yet, her chest has been tightening for hours.

It started in her hands. That familiar shake, too subtle to name. Then the back of her neck burned like someone was watching her. Then her heart started pounding, slow and hard like fists against a steel door. Her jaw ached. She’d been clenching it all evening.

But she said nothing.

She never says anything. Not about this. Not when it feels like admitting it would make it worse—would make it real. Sevika’s always been the one who fixes things. Who holds the line, fights the fight, stays standing no matter what. Panic has no place in her world. Not anymore.

And still—it won’t stop.

By the time the lights are off and the apartment is quiet, it’s unbearable. She can’t breathe right. Her thoughts are racing but going nowhere, looping in half-formed fragments she doesn’t understand. Her body feels wrong. Like she’s not in it anymore. Like she’s floating outside herself, watching it all fall apart.

So she gets up. Quietly. Doesn’t even bother putting on a shirt.

She slips into the bathroom and locks the door.

Because you’re here. You’re asleep in the other room. And the idea of you seeing her like this—shaking, choking on nothing, falling apart over nothing—makes her panic even more.

She sinks to the floor. Her back hits the wall. One hand grips her hair and the other digs into her thigh. She breathes through her teeth like she’s bleeding and can’t afford to scream. Like she can muscle her way through this if she just holds on tight enough.

But it’s not working. It hasn’t worked for hours.

And unfortunately for her, you’re a light sleeper—especially when it comes to her.

You’d felt it earlier. The way she’d gone still during dinner. The way her eyes didn’t settle. Like she was somewhere else entirely. You knew better than to ask. Sevika doesn’t talk about feelings. Not easily. Not even with you. Not yet.

So you gave her space. Let her think she’d hidden it. Let her believe she was fine.

But the soft thump wakes you.

It’s not loud. Just a dull sound—flesh hitting wood. The bathroom door. You blink into the dark, instinctively reaching for the space beside you. It’s cold. Empty.

Then you hear it.

Not words. Not cries. Just… movement. Uneven. Desperate. The kind of restless shifting that doesn’t belong to a woman like Sevika—solid, steady, grounded. It’s the sound of someone trying not to fall apart and failing.

You get up quietly, bare feet against the cold floor, padded steps toward the door. You don’t knock. You don’t want to scare or… overwhelm her more than she already is.

Instead, you lean your forehead gently against the doorframe, hands folded like you’re trying to hold her without touching her, and ask—soft and careful, like the question itself might shatter her.

“Sevika ?”

No response. But you don’t leave. Of course you don’t.

“I’m not gonna ask what’s wrong,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’m here. That’s all. You don’t have to open the door. I’ll be here either way.”

You mean it. She knows you do.

And inside, she hears you. Hears the quiet steadiness in your voice. No fear. No pity. No pressure. Just you. Like always.

She doesn’t answer.

The minutes drag.

You don’t move. Just stay there, sitting now, knees pulled up, your cheek resting against the cool wood of the bathroom door. You breathe slow and steady on purpose, hoping she can hear it. Hoping she remembers how to follow it.

Then—click.

The lock turns.

Slowly, the door opens just enough to reveal her—barely more than a shadow in the soft hallway light. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you. Her chest is rising too fast, too hard, like she’s been running for hours. Her human hand is shaking, her mech arm not looking like a menace but still shaking. Her jaw is clenched so tight it’s a wonder she hasn’t cracked a tooth.

And her eyes—her eyes aren’t really seeing you.

She’s not here.

She’s somewhere else. Lost in it. Buried beneath years of rage and grief and silence, and now that it’s out, it’s too much—way too much. Like her body has decided for her that she can’t carry it anymore.

She stumbles. Just slightly. Her knees threaten to give.

You don’t think. You just move.

You sink to your knees and reach for her, arms wrapping around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And the second you touch her—

She collapses.

Not violently. Not dramatically. Just folds. Like something inside her snapped and she doesn’t have the strength to pretend anymore.

Her weight falls into you, her forehead hitting your shoulder, her body shaking uncontrollably as she gasps for breath that won’t come. One of her hands claws at your shirt like she’s drowning. The other stays limp at her side. Her whole frame trembles in your arms, caught between holding on and letting go.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, again and again, voice thick with calm and love and patience. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

But she isn’t. Not yet.

She’s gasping, hyperventilating, her muscles seizing with panic she’s tried to bury for years. She’s crying without realizing it—silent tears running hot down her cheeks, soaking your shoulder. And you just hold her through it. Rock her. Match your breathing to hers until she can feel it. Anchor her.

Because she’s never learned how to be soft. But tonight, in your arms, for once—she doesn’t have to be strong.

She doesn’t calm down for a long moment.

Until eventually, her breathing slows.

Not by much. Not all the way. But enough.

The shakes settle into small tremors. The gasps fade into shallow breaths. Her weight is still slumped against you, heavy and damp with sweat, like she’s just come back from war. And maybe, in her own way, she has.

You stroke a hand up and down her back, gentle and slow, grounding her. Not trying to fix anything. Just being there. And slowly, painfully, her body starts to loosen. Like she’s remembering she’s not alone. Like your presence is something solid she can hold onto.

And she stays quiet.

Even after the panic fades, even after her hands stop shaking and her breathing finds a rhythm again—Sevika doesn’t say a word.

Not because she’s holding back tears. Those are long gone now, dried on her cheeks. Not because she’s angry. She’s too tired for that. It’s shame, plain and suffocating. The kind that makes her want to disappear, or at the very least, vanish into the walls until the weight of what just happened stops pressing down on her chest like a boot.

She can’t look at you.

She knows better. Knows you’d never judge her, never use this against her, never treat her like she’s weak. But logic doesn’t matter when your whole body feels like it betrayed you. When you spent your whole life being a soldier, and suddenly you’re the one who needed saving.

Her throat burns. She wants to say something. Anything.

But nothing comes.

You don’t push her.

You just hold her tighter, your hand now brushing through the sweat-damp hair at the back of her neck, your voice low, steady, and warm like it always is when you’re calming her down from a bad day—only softer now. Reverent.

“You don’t have to say anything, Sev,” you murmur. “I’m proud of you. Okay? You did good. So good.”

She flinches—not because she disagrees, but because she doesn’t know what to do with that kind of gentleness. It feels like too much and not enough all at once. She half wants to pull away and snap something bitter, but instead… she stays.

Leans just a little closer.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper. “It’s over. I’ve got you.”

And maybe it’s the way you say it—like she’s not broken, like this wasn’t weakness, like she’s still whole—that makes something in her chest unclench.

She doesn’t respond.

She can’t.

But her fingers curl around the fabric of your shirt. Not tight. Just enough to say don’t let go.

And you don’t.

You don’t say anything else.

You just breathe with her a while longer, your hand in her hair, your other arm still wrapped around her back, holding her like she’s something precious. Eventually, you pull back just enough to press a soft kiss to her temple.

“Come on,” you whisper, like you’re talking to something fragile. “Let’s get back to bed, okay ?”

Sevika doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t speak. Her body feels heavy—like she’s made of lead now, the crash after the storm. Her limbs don’t want to work, her throat still tight with everything she couldn’t say. But when you gently tug her hand, she follows.

She nods. Barely. Just enough to show you she heard.

You guide her to her feet, slow and careful. She’s unsteady, but she doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t pull away. She just lets you hold her upright. Her head dips, resting against your shoulder as you lead her back to the bedroom.

The sheets are still warm.

You help her in first. She doesn’t resist—just sinks into them like she’s been hollowed out. You curl in behind her, arm slipping around her waist, pulling her close with no expectation, no questions. Just warmth. Just you.

“We’re okay,” you murmur against the back of her neck. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

Sevika doesn’t answer.

But her hand finds yours under the blanket and squeezes. Just once.

It’s all she can manage.

And for tonight, it’s enough.

Taglist: @riotstemple29, @blessupblessup, @lonerslug, @ahintofchaos

Did I forget to add someone to the tag list ? Didn’t tag the girls who asked to be tagged in the Bad Slaher series cause I thought you wanted to be tagged only in these, but tell me if I’m wrong.

Anyway, bye loves

[evilminji]

I just had another Xanxia Thought Child!

Everyone~☆! Congratulate my baby on being born!

*clap clap clap* (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ🎉🎉🎉

Cause like? Here we are? Assuming our Reincarnated Children AREN'T living in Interesting Times™ before they die? And that's no fun~! We should be giving that kid anxiety! Some pre-packaged heart demons! Maybe a twitchy murder finger!

A deep, DEEP seated loathing for Demonic Cultivators and, specifically, their undead minions.

You picking up what I'm setting down? ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ yeah~, that's right!

Zombie Apocalypse.

OC got lucky, originally, was out in the middle of nowhere, camping. Yes... lucky. Oh so very, very "lucky". She had supplies. She had shelter. Everything she'd need for the coming days. Oh, and a front row seat... to watch as everything fell apart.

Got to sit, miles and miles away, and listen, over the phone. As her family sobbed and screamed. Terrified and confused. Chaos, wet gurgling and ripping. The crunching of broken things and mindless groaning in familiar voices. Yes... so very lucky.

She didn't have to watch it.

Just listen.

See the news stations fall, one by one, as cities were over run. Watch as news sites stop updating. As infrastructure starts to fail and her connection begins to get spotty. Then, inevitably, as figures start to shuffle along the horizon. Mindless and wandering.

Like everyone else who survives those first terrible days, there is a steep learning curve. One she barely survives. But... she does. And that matters. She makes friends. She watchs them die. Keeps her promise, made again and again, that they won't come back. That she won't let them hurt anyone.

Civilization falls, yes. But it comes back. It always has. She finds her way to a city state. Prays for the day that "the billions" will end. Cause, after all, they say that if they're careful? Eventually the infection WILL die out. They just gotta contain it. Keep looking for a cure.

Hope is a stubborn thing.

But zombie swarms don't care about hope. They hunger. And what is the city, if not a shell waiting to be cracked? Like tides, they come. Slamming against the walls. Again. Again. AGAIN.

One day... one of the fuckers finds some weak point they must have missed. A breach. They start pouring in. Oc is on wall duty. OUTER wall duty. There are rings, because things like this might happen and everyone planned for the worst.

She's part of the team that stays behind.

Trapped between the second wall and the outer wall, trying to drive them back. Seal the gap. Cover fire rains from above. Each step, a hair from nashing teeth and clawing hands. There are so many. So, so many.

Too many, in the end. At least for her.

She's separated from the group.

A death sentence.

So fast...she barely feels being torn apart.

It's strange. The sky was so blue that day. Beautiful, really. Felt out of place for hell on earth. It was the last thing she saw. Endless... so beautiful and endless. She... she had just enough time to realize what was about to happen. To think "ah...", feel this strange... calm, settle deep.

That it would finally all be over. To end like this.

How unfair.

Oh well... at least she get to-

Then she's fucking blinking and there's a GOD DAMN ZOMBIE.

Naturally, she hit it with a wok. She was unaware there WAS a wok near-by. And also? Why is she in a kitchen? Like... an OLD as fuck one? But also not old? Clearly used one. Feels vaugly like the ones people rigged up during the early days... but like... not. And also Chinese. Questions for later!

Wait. No. Why the FUCK is she a ZYGOTE?! *flexs tiny "baby" hands* *is actually like 8* Ah... so she's in hell. Well fuck you too, god. I guess.

There is a scared child scream.

Religious crisis later! Zombie smashing now! She finds one trying to claw into a cabinet. Smart kids! Trapped themselves, but still! Smart. Good to put a barrier between themselves and the zombie. She crushes its skull with the wok. Rescues her... sib..lings? Oooh that's a weird head rush.

Okay, not hell. God just thinks they're fuckin FUNNY. I see how it is.

Well I'm about to be hilarious. (New life motto:Get!)

OC proceeds to Experienced Zombie Fighter her way through several houses. Rescuing who she can. Calls a retreat. Gets everyone to a defensible location. Oh joy, back to the swewers. She did NOT miss this.

Turns out? Town is being attacked by a small Demonic Cultivator sect. They brought zombies.

She's about to bring pain. Who the FUCK weaponizes ZOMBIES. Wanna uses nukes for a fist fight next? You idiot!? You ABSOLUTE BAFOON?! Is setting aside that whole "cultivation sect" thing to freak out over later.

(What? Like her neighbors old web novels? Those Xanxia things that he loves to talk about? Misses like crazy cause no one can find any physical copies of stories like that, here in the west?)

(...could...could find.)

OC starts to fuckin Ambush Predator them. You learn to fight dirty, in the apocalypse. Cause there ARE bastards out there. And not everyone was willing to be a decent fuckin human being. You're "cultivation" or whatever isn't gonna do SHIT, if you're too concussion to use it!

Blow to the head! Slit the throat before they recover.

Move on to the next one.

Kill as many fuckin zombies as you can along the way.

It is AS she's doing this? Somebody just sorta? *Yoink* scruffs. This small, filthy, murderous child? Sassy and immediately tries to stab them? Good reflexs! Taking that knife though. It's clearly cursed. Who gave you that? Did you take that from one of the demonic cultivators? Honestly, next time just use a kitchen knife. You don't know where their knives have been!

Blinking, she stops struggling to actually look at the adult holding her in air jail.

Huh. Bright colors. Doesn't seem to be on Team Zombie. Better check. Oi! How do you feel about Zombies? "Utter abominations. A crime against the dead." Oh, hey~! A reasonable and well adjusted adult! Hi~☆! ( ^-^)/"

Is her complete 180 from vicious, seething, hell child to calm and agreeable young lady mildly off putting? Yes. But, meh. The Cultivator thinks it's kinda cute. He bets she bites. Adorable.

Him and HIS team are here to murder the Demonic Cultivators and purge the Zombies. Wanna come with him? You have a talent for killing things. And, you know, a spiritual root. Mostly the first one. A fine quality! Good for ALL sorts of terrible demonic nasties. I'm assuming your parents are dead?

....wow. You're really bad with kids.

So I've been told! Is that a yes?

Only if oc can either bring her siblings or, should they not have spiritual roots, you help her arrange something equally beneficial. And just like? Rest of his team? Find him calmly debating with this filthy, blood covered child? That he's just? Holding directing out in front of him at eye level by the back of her shirt?

She's just hanging there from his grip. He looks quitely thrilled.

Oh... oh no. Who let him around a child? He traumatizes children! Why IS THAT CHILD COVERED IN BLOOD!? Shixiong what have you DONE!? (Adopted! Presumably! This IS how one obtains children, right?) (NO!!!)

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright @spidori @lolottes

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @deerdaryl @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83 @zombayyyyy @death-in-a-tar0t-card @straw--b3rry @capricxnt @dixonsstinkysock

-------------------------------------------

TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, fluff, walkers (Zombies) the Governor, Angstttttt so much angst.

A/N: it's gonna hurt

Part 21

Between Brothers - Part 22

The night air was thick with humidity and the ever-present stench of decay that seemed to cling to everything these days. Merle sat perched on the guard tower, his prosthetic resting on a rifle while his good hand worked at whittling another piece of wood—not another deer this time, but something simpler, just to keep his fingers busy. The metal of his prosthetic caught the moonlight, a constant reminder of what this world had cost him.

Below in the yard, a few walkers pressed against the fence, their low moans creating a symphony of death that had become as familiar as breathing. Merle barely glanced at them anymore—they were just background noise, like crickets used to be before the world went to hell.

"Ugly sons of bitches, ain't they?" Merle called down to where Daryl was making his rounds, crossbow slung across his shoulder. "That one there looks like my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Henderson. Always knew that bitch was dead inside."

Daryl's boots crunched on the gravel as he approached the base of the tower. "Yeah, well, least she can't give ya detention now," he muttered, his voice carrying that familiar rasp that came from years of cigarettes and not enough talking.

"Hell, baby brother, way I see it, we're all in detention now. Life sentence in the shittiest school ever built." Merle's laugh was rough, like gravel in a blender. "But hey, at least the cafeteria food can't get any worse."

Daryl started climbing the ladder, his movements careful and practiced. When he reached the top, he settled himself against the opposite wall, far enough to give Merle space but close enough to talk without raising their voices. The brothers had learned to read each other's moods over the years, and tonight felt different somehow.

"Quiet tonight," Daryl observed, adjusting his crossbow across his knees.

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts. You know how this shit goes—quiet now means we're gonna be knee-deep in walker guts tomorrow." Merle's knife worked steadily at the wood, carving away thin slivers. "Speakin' of which, you remember that time we went huntin' up near Dawsonville and you got your ass stuck in that bog?"

"Wasn't stuck," Daryl grumbled, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Jus'... takin' a'break."

"Takin' a break, my ass. You were sinkin' like a stone, cryin' like a little girl. 'Merle, help me! Merle, I'm gonna die!' Christ, you were maybe twelve years old, all knees and elbows and pure panic."

"I was ten," Daryl corrected, his drawl thick with memory. "An' I wasn't cryin'. Was just... concerned 'bout the situation."

"Concerned about the situation," Merle repeated, his voice mockingly refined. "Well, ain't you just the philosopher. Point is, I hauled your scrawny ass outta there, didn't I? Got myself covered in that nasty-ass swamp water and probably caught three different diseases, but I got you out."

The memory hung between them for a moment, one of the few good ones from a childhood full of bad memories. Daryl picked at the wood planking with his thumbnail, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken.

"'Member what I told ya that day?" Merle continued, his voice losing some of its usual edge. "After we got ya cleaned up and back to solid ground?"

"Mmm," Daryl said quietly, looking through his hair.

"No matter what kind of shit storm we're in, no matter how deep the bog gets, we watch each other's backs. That ain't changed, baby brother. Not ever."

Daryl nodded, but something in Merle's tone made him look up sharply. There was an intensity there, a weight to the words that went beyond simple brotherly bonding.

"'Course it ain't," Daryl said carefully. "W'you talkin' 'bout?"

Merle was quiet for a moment, his knife pausing in its work. Down in the yard, one of the walkers let out a particularly pitiful moan, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted—one of the few sounds from the old world that remained unchanged.

"Just thinkin' about things, is all. About how things can change real quick in this world. One minute you're here, next minute you're walker chow." He resumed his carving, not looking at Daryl. "Makes a man think about what he's leavin' behind."

"Y'ain't goin' nowhere," Daryl said firmly.

"We got a good thing here, don't get me wrong. But it ain't gonna last forever. Nothin' good ever does, not for people like us." Merle's laugh was bitter now.

"Dixons. We're survivors, baby brother, but we ain't lucky. Never have been. We fight and we scrape and we make it through by the skin of our teeth, but eventually..." Merle shrugged. "Eventually everybody's number comes up."

Daryl was quiet for a long moment, processing the unusual melancholy in his brother's voice. Merle wasn't typically one for philosophical discussions, especially not about mortality.

Usually, he covered any serious thoughts with crude jokes or unnecessary violence.

"S'what's this really about?" Daryl asked. "You bit ?"

"Nah, I'm fine as frog's hair. Just... thinkin' about the future is all. About what happens if one of us don't make it." Merle's prosthetic clicked against the rifle as he adjusted his position. "You know that lil doe of ours?"

Daryl's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "W'about her?"

"She's good people, ain't she? Sweet little thing, always tryin' to help everybody, always got a kind word even for a piece of shit like me." Merle's voice had gone soft, almost reverent. "Reminds me of them deer we used to see up in the mountains. You know the ones—all graceful and careful, but strong as hell underneath."

Daryl nodded chewing on his lower lip. He'd made the same comparison himself, though he'd never said it out loud.

"Girlie's got too much faith in people, too much trust. That's gonna get her killed someday if she ain't careful." Merle's knife had stopped moving entirely now, his attention focused entirely on his baby brother. "She needs somebody who understands how ugly this world can get, somebody who can keep her safe without breakin' that light inside her."

"Merle—"

"I'm just sayin', if somethin' were to happen to me, you'd make sure she was okay, right? You'd watch out for her?"

There it was—the real question, wrapped up in hypotheticals and careful phrasing. Daryl felt something cold settle in his stomach, something he couldn't quite name.

"'Course," he said slowly. "Nothin's gonna happen to ya. W'both gonna watch out for her."

"Yeah, well, humor me. Say somethin' did happen. Say I got bit, or took a bullet, or just had a really bad day. You'd make sure she was okay? You'd make sure she knew that... that she mattered?"

Daryl studied his brother's profile in the moonlight. Merle's jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the horizon, but there was something vulnerable in his posture that Daryl recognized from childhood—the way Merle used to look when their father was on a particularly bad bender and they were trying to figure out how to avoid the worst of it.

"She'd matter to you," Daryl said, not quite a question.

"She matters to everybody. Hell, even Carol's taken a shine to her, and you know how picky that woman is about who she lets into her circle." Merle's laugh was forced. "Just... if somethin' happened, you'd make sure she didn't blame herself, right? Make sure she knew it wasn't her fault?"

"Why would she blame herself?"

"People do that, especially people like her. They think if they'd just been better, or faster, or smarter, they could've saved everybody. Could've made the difference." Merle's voice was rough now, heavy with something that might have been regret. "Don't want her carryin' that weight around. Girl's got enough to worry about."

Daryl was quiet for a long moment, listening to the night sounds—the distant moans of walkers, the creak of the fence, the whisper of wind through the trees. Finally, he spoke.

"Y'plannin' somethin' stupid?"

"When am I not plannin' on doin' somethin' stupid?" Merle's grin was sharp in the moonlight. "But nah, baby brother. Just want to know that if the worst happens, you got my back. That you'll take care of the people who matter."

"I got you" Daryl said simply. "Always"

"Good. That's... that's good." Merle resumed his carving, but his movements were less steady now. "You know, she asked me about my carvin' the other day. Said she liked the little deer I made."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Said it reminded her of somethin' from home, before all this shit started. Some story her grandmother used to tell her about forest spirits or some such nonsense." Merle's smile was genuine this time. "Got this look in her eyes when she talked about it, all soft and far away. Made me think maybe there's still some magic left in this world after all."

"Maybe."

"Maybe." Merle was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Anyway, you just remember what I said. About lookin' after her. About makin' sure she knows she matters."

Daryl made a noise low in his throat, one Merle knew was a agreement, not a dismissal.

"Good. Now, you want to hear about the time I convinced Bobby Jenkins that his woman was cheatin' on him with a scarecrow?"

And just like that, the moment passed. Merle launched into another outrageous story, his voice carrying across the night air with its usual crude enthusiasm.

But Daryl continued to watch his brother's face, noting the careful way Merle avoided his eyes, the slight tremor in his good hand as he worked at the wood.

The pre-dawn darkness wrapped around the prison like a shroud, thick and heavy with the promise of another scorching Georgia day. In the quiet of the prison, most everyone was still lost in whatever dreams they could manage in this hellish world.

But Merle Dixon couldn't sleep—hadn't been able to for days now, you were curled up beside him on the thin mattress, your face pressed against his chest, fitting against him like you'd been made for this exact spot.

The blanket—his blanket, the one he'd quietly made sure you had the warmest of—was pulled up to your chin, and your breathing was soft and even in that space between sleep and waking.

Look at her, Merle thought, his good hand resting carefully on your hip, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. Prettiest damn thing in this whole godforsaken world, and she's here with me. How the hell did I get so lucky?

Your hair was mussed from sleep, catching what little light filtered through the barred window, and there was a peaceful expression on your face that made something in Merle's chest tighten painfully.

He'd memorized every detail of your face over the months—the way your nose wrinkled when you laughed, how your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the little scar from some childhood accident you'd told him about.

"Mmm," you murmured, still mostly asleep, pressing against him slightly. "You're warm."

"Always am, sugar," Merle replied softly, his voice carrying none of its usual harsh edge. "Like a damn furnace, ain't I?"

You made a small sound of agreement, your hand finding his where it rested on your hip, fingers intertwining with his. The gesture was so natural, so trusting, that Merle felt his throat tighten.

After everything, after all the shit I've done, all the ways I've fucked up, she still trusts me enough to sleep next to me.

"Can't sleep again?" you asked, your voice thick with drowsiness but tinged with concern. You always worried when he couldn't sleep, always tried to help in your gentle way.

"Nah, just enjoyin' the view," Merle said, attempting his usual crude humor. "Got me a real nice piece of ass pressed up against me. What red-blooded American male would waste time sleepin'?"

You scoffed softly, the sound he'd grown to love more than any music. "You're incorrigible."

"That's a mighty big word for this time of mornin', sugar. You sure you ain't still dreamin'?"

"Positive. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with you." But there was affection in your voice, the kind of fond exasperation that came from months of putting up with his particular brand of charm.

Merle's chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "Lucky you. Most girlies would kill for the privilege of wakin' up next to all this." He gestured to himself with his prosthetic, the metal catching a glint of moonlight.

"Most girls have better sense than I do, apparently."

"Damn right they do. You got terrible taste in men, lil doe. Absolutely terrible."

The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and deliberate. He'd started calling you that months ago, back when you were still skittish around walkers, still jumped every time they came close. Now it felt like a prayer, something sacred between just the two of you.

My little doe, he thought, pressing his face into your hair and breathing in the scent of the cheap shampoo you'd found on the last supply run. My beautiful, perfect, too-good-for-this-world little doe.

"You know," you said quietly, your voice growing more serious, "I never properly thanked you."

"Thanked me? For what, sugar? My sparkling personality? My devastatingly good looks? My charming way with words?"

"For Atlanta. For the rooftop." Your voice was barely above a whisper now. "For not letting me jump."

The words hit Merle like a physical blow. Atlanta. The rooftop. The day he'd lost his hand but gained something infinitely more precious—the knowledge that you'd risk everything to save him. The day he'd realized that maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth fighting for in this world.

Hell, lil-doe you saved me, he thought, the memory playing out in his mind like a film reel. Could've run, could've saved herself, but she stayed. But she got me outta there when any sane person would've left me to rot.

"Hell, You're the one who saved my worthless ass." he said, his voice rougher than usual.

"We saved each other," you corrected, your fingers tightening around his. "That's what we do."

What we do. The words echoed in his mind, and Merle felt something break inside his chest. Because after today ... after today, you'd be safe, and Daryl would take care of you the way Merle never could.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm, and Merle felt the weight of everything he'd never said pressing down on him. All the words he'd swallowed, all the feelings he'd buried under crude jokes and casual cruelty.

He'd spent so long being afraid—afraid of rejection, afraid of tainting you, afraid of admitting that a Dixon man was capable of love.

But time was running out, and some things needed to be said, even if you'd never fully remember them.

"You know what I love about you?" he murmured, his voice so soft it was barely audible.

"My stunning intelligence? My wit?" you teased sleepily, but there was something in your tone that suggested you knew this was different, that something had shifted in the air between you.

"Your heart," he said simply. "Your big, beautiful, stupid heart that still believes in good things. Still believes in people, even when they don't deserve it."

His good hand moved from your hip to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw with reverent gentleness. You made a soft sound, leaning into his touch, and Merle felt his resolve crumble a little more.

Look at her, he thought desperately. Look how she trusts me. How she lets me touch her like this. How did I get so goddamn lucky?

"Merle, you being wer-" you whispered, and his name on your lips sounded like absolution.

"Shh," he murmured cutting you off, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "Just let me... let me look at you for a minute."

In the dim light, your face was perfect—soft and peaceful and so beautiful it hurt to look at. Merle traced every feature with his fingertips, memorizing the feel of your skin, the way you sighed when he touched you. His thumb ghosted over your lips.

She's half asleep, he told himself. She won't remember this tomorrow. Won't remember how pathetic I'm bein', how weak.

But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. This wasn't weakness—this was the strongest thing he'd ever done. This was love, pure and simple, and it was killing him.

"You know what else I love about you?" he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "The way you hum when you're workin'. The way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentratin'. The way you always save the best bits of food for everybody else. The way you look at me like I'm worth somethin'."

Your eyes flicked open, for less then a few seconds, meeting his in the darkness. They were soft and unfocused with sleep, but there was something there—a question, maybe, or a recognition that this moment was different from all the others.

"What's wrong?" you slurred, your voice thick as sleep pulled you under again.

"Nothin's wrong, lil doe. Everything's perfect. You're perfect." His hand cupped your face, thumb stroking across your cheek. "I just... I need you to know somethin'."

"Mmm." You hummed noncommittally.

For a moment, he couldn't speak. The words were there, burning in his throat, but they felt too big, too important. How do you tell someone that they saved your soul? How do you explain that you'd burn down the world to keep them safe?

Just say it you pussy, he told himself. Just once, say it like you mean it.

"I love you," he whispered, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of everything he'd never been able to say.

I love you so goddamn much it scares me. Love the way you laugh, love the way you cry over dead flowers, love the way you make me want to be better than I am. Love you more than I ever thought possible, he thought watching your chest rise and fall peacefully.

You nodded slightly, and for a moment, Merle thought you might be fully awake, might remember this. But then you sank back into that dreamy half-sleep, a small smile playing at your lips.

"Mmm, Yea Love you too, you big sook" you murmured, the words slurred with drowsiness.

She loves me, Merle thought, his heart breaking and soaring at the same time. Maybe not the same way, but it's enough, more then I deserve.

He leaned down then, pressing his lips to yours in the softest kiss he'd ever given. It was gentle and reverent, a goodbye disguised as a caress. You sighed into his mouth, and for a moment, Merle let himself believe that this moment could last forever.

When he pulled back, your eyes were still closed, that peaceful expression on your face. He watched you for a long moment, drinking in every detail, trying to burn this image into his memory.

This is it, he thought. This is as close to heaven as a Dixon'll ever get.

Slowly, carefully, he began to untangle himself from you. Your face scrunched up in protest as he moved away, and you made a small sound of complaint that nearly broke his resolve.

"Shh," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just gotta get up, lil-doe. You go back to sleep for me."

He eased himself off the mattress, his movements careful and quiet. From his pocket, he pulled out the small wooden carving he'd finished the night before—not a deer this time, but a small heart, smooth and perfect.

She'll understand, he told himself as he placed it on the small table beside the bed where you'd see it when you woke up.

Maybe not right away, but eventually.

Eventually she'll understand why.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at you, memorizing this last image of peace. Your hair spread across the pillow, one hand reaching out to where he'd been lying, searching for him even in sleep.

I'm sorry, he thought, the words he couldn't say aloud. I'm sorry I can't be the man you deserve. I'm sorry I can't stay. I'm sorry I'm too much of a coward to tell you the truth when you're awake.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't about cowardice. It was about love—the kind of love that put someone else's safety above your own happiness. The kind of love that made the hard choices, even when they destroyed you.

She'll be safe, he told himself as he turned away from the bed. Daryl will take care of her. He's a good man, better than me. He'll give her the life she deserves.

The thought should have comforted him, but instead, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He paused at the door, looking back one last time at the girl who'd saved him in every way that mattered.

"Goodbye, lil doe," he whispered, so quietly that even he barely heard it. "I love you. I love you so goddamn much."

Then he was gone, slipping through the prison corridors like a ghost, leaving behind the only good thing he'd ever found in this world. Behind him, you stirred slightly in your sleep, your hand closing around empty air where he'd been, and somewhere in your dreams, you whispered his name.

The wooden heart sat on the table, a silent testament to a love that would never be, and in the growing light of dawn, it cast a shadow that looked almost like two people embracing, holding each other tight against the darkness of the world.

[businesstiramisu]

No I really haven't; or at least it hasn't been sign posted. I could totally believe some of it passed me by and I scrolled past it as "annoying unimportant photo" because I've been doing that with pop-up ads for decades. But I haven't seen anyone go "Look at this incredibly photorealistic AI I made: [image]" and gone "yep, that looks like it came from a camera"

My experience with AI art has been mostly stuff like argumate's "tumblrina" series (okay I know that ones a year old now) and sustack header images. Sometimes I browse a tag or keyword on Pixiv or Deviantart that's been inundated by AI art. Those are all clearly not photorealistic.

But that doesn't matter to my main point -- this isn't new. The Cottingley Fairies really did make people (famously including Arthur Conan Doyle) believe in fairies. Photo editing and practical effects have been used to sell unrealistic people and food in advertising for a long time. Special effects have been good enough in movies to "fool" people since before I was born -- I actually considered linking this video on Back to the Future in my first reblog. Maybe you have a good enough eye to tell exactly where all the seems in the compositing are, but I sure can't without the youtube video highlighting them for me.

AI has made it easier to make "so good you can fool people" unreal photos, but I think it was already common enough that you shouldn't trust a photo on its own. And people knew this -- most of the arguments over the Patterson-Gimlin bigfoot film (1967) was about whether the film was impossible to fake with practical effects, because that's what most people assumed it was.

Also I'm not sure what your point is in your last sentence at all -- photographers care about composition and lighting A LOT. Shitty amateur photographers like me care less about those things; but so do toddlers finger-painting and I don't think that says anything about painting as an art.

there's something clarifying about the rise of computer-generated and especially ai-generated imagery. because it decouples the image, and the knowledge that the thing the image depicts exists, or existed. which is neat! previously, if you saw a picture of something, and you liked the picture, the source of that feeling was tangled together between those two facts, the existence of the picture and the existence of the thing the picture depicts. but now that theyre split, it becomes apparent that one's enjoyment of pictures of things derives in great part from the knowledge that the depicted thing existed, at one point. this was, i think, not obvious, at least not the scale of the effect

[hauntingblue]

Cailtyn being so absent from arc 2 is not good... we just get the repercussions of her actions but nothing of what's going on inside her head

[thewardenisonthecase]

btw tw for talking about abuse

I've seen a lot online about how the game never mentions Caterina's abuse of Lucanis while he was growing up (being beaten and starved, which is mentioned in the Wigmaker Job) and I think there's a small mention to it if you're a crow (when asked, he says it was torture training under the first talon and that he resented her for a long time)

And while I do think part of the reason why this isn't brought up is just due to how sanitized this game is when it comes to the crows, I think I do understand why in world wise it's not possible to just be like hey lucanis, fuck your grandma.

It's really hard, loving someone who hurts you. Because you know they're hurting you and yet, you still love them. It's even harder when they're family.

Because its not like Lucanis doesn't know that she hurt him. He says so himself - he hated her, he resented her, and althought I do think him 'justifying' it by saying that at least it prepared him for the life of a crow, at least he still admits that it happened.

But the thing is that despite all this shit, she's still his grandmother. And like, yes, blood shouldn't excuse justifing this behaviour, I feel like it's cultural. Idk how spain or italy works when it comes to family, but here in brazil, you'll hear so many stories of physical abuse happening in families, and its still a situation like Lucanis - i hate them, i resent them, i love them, they're my family.

It's a...complicated situation and I think Lucanis's situation is made worst by the fact that he only has two family members alive and that he cannot let go of.

She beat him, she starved him, he hated and resented her, and he was afraid of dissapointing her, even if in her eyes, i don't think he could. I mean, he comes back an abomination and she still tenderly says 'my poor boy' when you rescue her in the Villa.

All in all...it's tought and I think that it would not be Rook's place to suddenly make Lucanis want to kill his grandma bc he wouldn't. Sorting out those feelings is something he has to do himself, and i'l almost glad the game doesn't make rook do a therapy session with him to talk about it.

[thenexusofsouls]

Xenos' head tilted and he stared at Wanda for a moment. "Amazing? Me? No..." he said, surprised that she would describe him that way. "Very c-common... in... my own... w-world. Not... anything... amazing." Of course he didn't realize that, at the present time and likely for the foreseeable future, he was the only human-incorporeal merged being in existence in the world. Despite how human he looked, though, Xenos still always thought of himself as his true self, as that bodiless being from a shadow dimension.

Nevertheless, he nodded at the rest of her sentiment. "Yes... en-... enthralled," he confirmed, his little grin so shy as he struggled to keep eye contact with her. Not because it was difficult or uncomfortable to do so, but because he was so very bashful over how he felt about Wanda. He didn't know why he felt that way, but he supposed it might be another relic of his human body. A reaction its previous owner used to have to females, perhaps?

"Mys...terious..." he repeated, his smile remaining as she described him with both his hood on and off. Xenos didn't think of the face he wore as his own, really. It belonged to someone else, a human that had passed on long ago, but as Wanda said his face was handsome, he supposed that it was his face now. It certainly wasn't anyone else's. And just like his blackened and altered extremities, changed by the influence of his true self housed within that physical body, Xenos supposed the face, too, had been changed in small ways the more he wore it and he moved it. It had earned some lines here and there in the skin, formed by expressions he commonly made, and it had become slightly cool to the touch, just like the rest of his body had, save for the very core of him. Did that not make it his own? "Thank you," he said, still wishing he could see himself the way she did.

Then again, Wanda didn't see herself the way Xenos did either. His brow furrowed a bit in disagreement as she said that she wasn't special. "Sp-... special... to me," he insisted. Did others really fear her? How could they? She wasn't cruel or irrational, so what did it matter that she was powerful? Power shouldn't be feared simply for its existence, he thought, but hadn't be been on the receiving end of that exact same fear? Humans, it seemed, were always fearing him for both his power and appearance. "Understand..." he commiserated. "Also feared," he shared, "but not... by you."

He loved the way she was rubbing his back. That was certainly an area he want used to anyone touching, but he liked it. "Feels nice..." he said contentedly, and his eyes kept closing slowly and opening again in an only half-lidded fashion, and might a contented cat when being pet.

- - - - -

"Yeah..." Tony mused. "I dunno, maybe it's nothing, or maybe it's something and he didn't even realize he was doing anything wrong. Or maybe he did. I really don't know, but I think we should just... not approach this completely naively. Strange might be going a bit overboard, but we don't have to overcompensate for him by not following up at all, you know? Let's at least do our due diligence on our end." After a second, he added. "But not... get too much in Fury's way. That man is scary when he's annoyed."

"To be fair, sometimes I am," he said cheekily. "But I get it. I do. Pepper tells me that all the time. 'Tony, your mouth is acting independent of your brain again.' And she's right. You're both right." There was perhaps a twinge of self-chastisement in his tone as he looked away for a moment. He recovered quickly, though. He always did.

- - - - -

Tony felt the nudge from Steve, looking over to see his friend with that... seriously, Tony? look on his face. "What? Well did you expect to find them all up in each other's business? 'Cause I sure didn't. Alright, I'll..." he trailed off, putting up his hands in defeat as he dropped the subject entirely.

Xenos was... so confused. What was wrong with embracing? Didn't humans do this all the time? He didn't, but that was only because he was so unused to the sensation of being touched that it tended to frighten or overwhelm him. That wasn't their problem, though. He didn't understand the reason for the surprise and awkwardness. "Okay..." he said softly to reassure Wanda as he noticed her positioning herself differently, protectively. "It is... alright. Shh..." he whispered, still rubbing her arm.

His gaze moved to Wanda's when she spoke, with him looking down at her from under his hood. She liked to see his face, she'd said, so he didn't want to hide it from her view. "Yes. Would... like that," he agreed. Honestly, he was surprised the humans were giving him a room to stay in at all, but it was... nice of them? As long as there wasn't an ulterior motive. If he was being honest with himself, Xenos was a bit afraid that the room was actually a trap of some kind, as though the moment he crossed the threshold he'd find himself trapped within it. But if Wanda went with him, maybe she would be able to tell if there were any traps before he entered.

He slowly rose to his feet, bringing Wanda along with him with a gentle arm around her, even as his other still rested on her arm. But then he reached up underneath his hood and, after a pause to prepare for the sound again, he removed his ear buds and held them out to Tony. "Thank you," he said, assuming he wanted them back.

"Oh, uh... No, it's-... You keep 'em. It's fine. I've got others," Tony said, politely waving them away while trying not to gawk at the very strange looking hand Xenos had extended to him.

Xenos looked down at them in his hand for a moment and then back up at Tony, having not expected to be permitted to keep the little devices which dampened sound so well for him. He nodded, almost dipping into a little bow, one hand laying briefly over his heart in gratitude, and slipped the buds back into his ears.

His hood moved to face Steve now as he spoke. Oh? They wanted to know more about him? Xenos was a bit nervous about that, but if they said it was nothing bad, maybe they were telling the truth? He really wished he could better discern when humans were lying and when they were not. That ability would really help him a lot. Nodding in answer to the first question, Xenos then looked around a bit at their surroundings. It appeared to only be the four of them, whereas inside that big building, there might be a lot of people around. "Here... is fine," he said with a slight shrug. He was willing to answer some questions, just as long as they were polite and weren't asked for the purpose of using the answers against him.

"Okay, well..." Tony began, glancing at Steve before he continued, "...we were... kindof..." -be nice, don't be a smart ass, "...wondering about that dome you created in the city. You... made it to block out the sound? Correct?"

Xenos nodded. "Sound. People. Chaos," he explained in his own way. "Needed... to calm... m-myself."

"People too," Tony keyed in on. "Because we noticed... that there seemed to be no people at all inside the dome. It wasn't like you just plopped it down, and wherever it fell, it fell, and it trapped people inside it with you."

"No," Xenos said. "Moved them."

"Oh so you did," Tony said. "We were wondering if you meant to do that, or..."

"M-meant to," Xenos confirmed. "Did not... need... them... there. Would... have b-been... scared."

"You would have been scared of them?" Tony asked.

"Of me. Sc-... scared... of me," Xenos said.

"They would've been scared of you. So you moved them outside... to... help them? Keep them safe?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Xenos said, happy the human was understanding him because his command of speech was most definitely lacking.

"Outside, though. So they're... okay now. You didn't... like make them disappear or wink them out of existence or anything, you just moved them," Tony asked for clarification.

"Yes. Outside. Just... moved. Sh-should... b-be fine. Did not... want... to hurt. No need... to be... cr-... cruel," Xenos said. Did they think he would just unmake the humans? He couldn't even do that, he didn't think. He could kill humans, and physically move them, but unmake them? He'd never tried, and frankly he didn't want to. And why were they asking him this, anyway? Wait... "Hurt?" he asked with some amount of guilty urgency. "I... hurt someone?" Was that why they were asking? Did one of the humans he moved get hurt in some way? "Un-... unin-...tentional," he pleaded, hoping they would believe him.

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[lucalicatteart]

Cats and Nasturtium Flowers~ something which was going to be a custom sticker sheet (for me to decorate my scrapbook with) until I realized that most sticker printing websites have like Actual Guidelines you're supposed to follow in terms of file type of the image and other things lol.. A nice picture then, I guess at least

[okitanoniisan]

no one can reach my level of petty hating about the stupid english title

[dapperrokyuu]

Needing a Sua perspective from the ALNST auditions to Round 1. I never put much thought into what happens to the cast post-Anakt Garden graduation (do they immediately go to the auditions? Is there a period of time where they dont see each other until they recognize each other at the audition? Theres a considerable amount of time between the auditions and their Alien Stage season, did they see each other often between then or...? etc.), but regardless, imagine being her and having to choose between sabotaging your own audition so you dont have to go the the Sing, Win, or Die Show or putting your in your all in hopes of winning and spending just a bit more time with this girl you love because you know itll likely be the last time you see her. Imagine...

[delta-orionis]

Some responses to some of the comments I've gotten on this post:

The "city" part of Outer Rim appears to more closely resemble the architecture seen in Ancient Urban (though, with the notable lack of any graffiti).

Maybe I wasn't being super clear, when I said this I meant that there was no graffiti in Outer Rim, not Ancient Urban. There's definitely graffiti in Ancient Urban (you can actually see some in one of the screenshots I provided).

I'd be interested to see any graffiti that's visible in Outer Rim, I couldn't see any when I was doing a cursory look at the region map, but that doesn't mean that it isn't there. If there is graffiti in Outer Rim, it would help us piece together what kind of civilization lived there in the past.

Yeah, I will admit that the comparison between Outer Rim/Ancient Urban and Shaded Citadel's architecture is a bit of a stretch. I do think that Outer Rim and Ancient Urban are meant to resemble each other, though.

Whether or not Ancient Urban is pre- or post-iterator era is also pretty unclear... I'm inclined to believe that Ancient Urban is at least located on the ground, because the sky is overcast:

While the stars and sky can clearly be seen from the city atop Five Pebbles:

Ancient Urban and Shaded Citadel (Shadow Urban) are likely from a similar time period, because they're both ground-based.

Maybe Iterators did already exist during Ancient Urban's time period, but settlements were still largely ground-based because their effect on the climate was not yet pronounced enough to force settlements to move above the cloud layer.

(Though, the sheer number of air conditioners visible from the top of Ancient Urban do make me think that the Benefactors were dealing with some air quality issues, either due to pollution or increased humidity, possibly due to iterator construction causing the climate to shift.)

I'm getting off topic... I wanted to respond to @digital-scrapheap's comments as well:

i think outer rim represents either the end of the “timeline”, or the edge of the world, whichever; what’s important is that it’s where the material world ends and the firmament begins. and the stars are falling from the firmament (? probably), and they decided they could catch them in big bowls. neat! no idea why but i presume that’s what they’re doing. why are the stars falling? idfk. i personally enjoy the “end of time” idea where this is the end of the world and its crumbling apart, stars falling and dust blowing, before it all scrolls back to the beginning in a cycle (roll credits). i’m kinda imagining the scene in hitchhikers guide to the galaxy at the Restaurant At The End Of The Universe where the universe ends, but also begins, because it keeps going forever. this is the source of the dust that builds the world up, as moon mentions.

I like the Restaurant At The End Of The Universe idea (I'm also a Hitchhiker's Guide fan, lol).

so like, does that mean they’re built at the same time at the iterators, or before? i don’t think the question applies. time is really weird in rainworld and i don’t think the two places are even remotely comparable on a linear timescale. there’s some spiraly curvy nonsense going on.

I definitely don't think Outer Rim exists in material reality (i.e., where the Vanilla campaigns take place). There's definitely some time-space weirdness going on there.

The name "Outer Rim" could simply refer to the fact that the actual region depicts the outer rim of a Starcatcher, but also might refer to the fact that it's the "edge" of reality... the clouds are referred to the Firmament, the edge of the sky (like you said).

I think Outer Rim is a place where time and space loops in on itself... I elaborated on that a little bit in this post:

To me Outer Rim is like a cosmic drainage point… a place where cosmic matter (primarily stardust, possibly rot) collects, but also drains back into the material world. Like a sump.

I think the stardust that falls in Outer Rim and the dust that falls to the ground in Vanilla are related. The vanilla dust could be "drained" from Outer Rim (or the other way around?).

As for what stardust actually is, or why the Starcatchers appear to be trying to collect it, is still a mystery. The fact that there appears to be such robust infrastructure in place for collecting it indicates that it must be important and/or useful, though.

Maybe this is a blasphemous question to ask, but do we know what the Starcatchers even are?? They resemble iterators, but the architecture is distinct enough to make me doubt they were built by the same civilization. (Though the appearance of the same glyphs around both refutes this…)

They’re like inverted versions of iterators. Starcatchers appear to be built on cities, while Iterators have cities built on top of them. Starcatchers are also hollow and open, while Iterators are closed off and full of mechanical and biological components.

The Starcatchers don’t seem to contain any form of intelligence like Iterators do (with one notable exception but that’s an outlier). Though, with a sample size of two (I think??? If the east and west parts of Outer Rim are two different Starcatchers), that’s not much to go on.

I dunno. I want to try and work them into my headcanons but I need to know what they are first to do that…

[dullahandyke]

Who is Bláthnaid youve been Bláthnaid posting recently who is she?

Girl (gender-neutral) in my noggin <3