#of course he has blue wings and pronouns

[deep-space-lines]

I know Gabriel is canonically really popular with Heaven’s residents but there’s bound to be some heavenly loser with pronoun envy

[ponett]

there have definitely been a lot of nerd boys who missed that you aren't supposed to want to be like scott pilgrim, but i don't really see where the claim that there are specifically droves of incels who see scott as a role model came from

if anything, i see a lot of hatred for the series - and particularly the movie - from incels. their prevailing meme is "scott pilgrim vs. the world ruined an entire generation of women." they HAAAAAAAATE ramona. of course they do. she literally has blue hair and pronouns. many of them have convinced themselves that all the left wing women they hate who dye their hair and listen to indie music have literally modeled their entire lives after ramona. they believe that this apparent mass brainwashing of millennial and gen z women by ramona flowers is why they can't find a date

i would explain more but some loser literally wrote a whole fucking "incelcore" song about this

they also seem to hate scott, particularly as portrayed by michael cera in the movie. they think he's a lame, scrawny nerd who's constantly emasculated next to ramona's bigger, stronger, more conventionally handsome exes. they do not want to be like scott. they think he's a soyboy. they think he's gay. they think that in real life ramona would choose a "chad" like lucas or todd over scott, because that's their understanding of how relationships work

i would say more but some of the comments i've seen are truly heinous so i'll spare y'all

really i think folks have just forgotten that "incel" describes a type of guy with a very specific, very extreme, very hateful ideology. it is not interchangeable with your typical "tfw no gf" type nerd guy who just really liked all the video game references and writes in his tinder bio that he's looking for his ramona

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 7

(Last of my predrawn beast men, so I should probably see if I can get the next chapter picture drawn despite my slow af laptop fighting me for every bit of existence)

Warnings; Yandere, platonic yandere, romantic yandere yandere behavior, yandere tempers, yandere attitudes, custody battle, poaching, territorial behavior, hoard guarding, implied violence, cooking, casual threats, untrusting yet kind-hearted reader, fem pronouned reader, Vampire Bat, Raiju, Cervitaur, Dragon, Crow, Unicorn, Cecilia, Harpy, Nemean Lion, Shinigami, Water Nymph, Gnoll, Crow,

~~~~~~~~

The loud crack of thunder drew you from your deep sleep. You had been pressing your face and entire body into the warmth beneath you and you could already feel the faint imprints along your cheek from whatever you were laying on. Thunder continued to roll outside and you slowly tried to gather your bearings.

Currently, you were in the nest Malleus had constructed in Ramshackle, though you were not the only occupant when you fell asleep or when you woke up. Lilia and Sebek were awake, their gazes turned outside and it was still rather dark out. You slowly sat up, trying to see what was so interesting outside when a green bolt of lighting struck the ground near Ramschackle. The sudden lighting forced a squeak of fright to escape you which drew the attention of Lilia and Sebek.

"I was worried he would wake you. It's alright, (Y/n), go back to sleep."

"What's going on, Lilia?"

"An unfortunate poacher decided to try their luck and Malleus was the one who took note of their presence. Don't worry, you're safe."

"Is Malleus okay?"

Lilia giggled at this, reaching out a hand to pat your head in an affectionate way. He was acting as if he didn't just say Malleus was fighting someone who was trying to hunt you down for their own nefarious gains.

"Of course he is. Malleus is a Dragon and there are very few who can actually stand up against a Dragon."

You were going to respond to Lilia when you noticed something strange. Silver didn't seem to be present and he certainly wasn't with Lilia or Sebek. Worry began to bubble up in your chest as to where the Reindeer man could possibly be before you felt the warm bed beneath you breathe.

Looking down, you were both horrifed with yourself and the situation as you realized you had been laying across Silver's Reindeer half like a bed. Your legs straddled the Reindeer's hips and you had likely been nuzzled down into the shoulder blades of the deer half. His human half was sitting up and completely still even as one of his blue and pink aurora colored eyes stared at you over his shoulder.

He was very warm and soft.

"Oh? Oh! Goodness, Silver, I'm so sorry-!"

As soon as it hit you that you must have crawled on top of the Reindeer during the night, you were quickly trying to get off of his back. Lilia actually started to laugh as you quickly dismounted from the Reindeer's back, falling back into a pile of pillows and disrupting poor Grim. The cat-like creature responded in a startled way to being jostled, his pronged tail lashing wildly as his fur stood on end in fear. You would have laughed at the startled response if you didn't feel so badly about frightening him to that point.

"Myeh?! Hey! What's the big deal? I'm sleeping-"

Another crack of thunder sent the furball diving forward to hide against your stomach, shaking in abject horror from the uncomfortably close sound. Of course Grim would be terrified of lightning, who knows how easily that 'den' of his would flood in a storm or how close he has been to being struck by a bolt. You couldn't help but pull the soft gray critter closer, petting his torn ears and back to try and soothe him even as his little wings shook.

"... You can lay on my back if that will help you sleep."

The almost tired drawl came from Silver as he slightly turned to look at you better, his Reindeer half partially rolling to one side when he yawned. Despite how inviting the offer was, you were still upset with yourself and worried you had offended the silver haired man somehow. Though you had been dubious about sharing the large nest with your- mostly uninvited- guests, you had been the one to invade his personal space and even climbed on his back while you slept.

"No! No, it's okay. I'm so sorry, Silver. I didn't mean to-"

"Why are you so upset?"

"... What?"

"I'm not angry, if that's why you're worried. Father sleeps on my back quite often during the day. I'm not angry you chose me as your sleeping companion."

"But I didn't mean to-"

"I know. You likely were drawn to how warm I typically am. It is quite drafty in this building, and it doesn't seem like there is any central heating."

You made a mental note to ask the professors about potentially acquiring a heated blanket to avoid cuddling your bed companions while you slept. It seemed like Silver was being truthful with you as Lilia crawled over to your side from where he had been gazing out the window. He was quick to flop down across the secondary shoulders of the large Reindeer and ruffled the silver fur with his Bat wings as he made himself comfortable.

"Silver's nice and soft, and his coat always keeps him warm even in winter. He really does make a good bed whenever I need a quick nap. Besides, he makes such cute little snoring sounds-"

"Father!"

"Keeheehee, just saying~ (Y/n), you should have seen him when he was just a little wobbly calf. I have some pictures back at Diasomnia I can show you. His legs were so long and he always tripped over them-"

"Father, please."

Lilia's joking helped calm your stress from the situation and also seemed to be helping Grim calm down. The blue-eyed cat-bat finally lifted his head from where he had been hiding his face against your stomach, reaching out a paw to touch the Reindeer's side. He clearly must have liked how warm and soft Silver was as he crawled out of your arms, curling up next to Lilia on Silver's back and snuggling down into the shaggy fur. You almost missed it, but as you looked up at Silver you could see a clear bright pink blush painting his fair cheeks before he looked away.

"It's over. My liege is on his way back."

Sebek said calmly, still looking outside with an almost unreadable expression. The lightning hadn't struck more than once and the thunder quickly quieted down after the first boom that woke you. It was almost like the storm was not actually a storm and you wondered just what it was that caused the lightning or why it was green.

He entered the room silently, only his bright green eyes were visible in the dark of the hallway as if he were wreathed in shadows themselves before he entered the room. Moonlight streamed across his form and he was once again the odd Dragon that had stumbled across you that first day.

"Did I wake you, child of man?"

"The thunder did."

"My apologies."

"Why are you apologizing for thunder? You didn't make it happen... Right?"

Malleus smiled as he returned to the nest, settling by your side and smiling at you patiently. It must not have been raining as he didn't seem to have a drop of water on him. He tilted his head and regarded you affectionately as if he were watching a beloved pet paw at him for attention.

"How little you know... Don't worry, there won't be anymore thunder tonight. I have the feeling that my message was recieved loud and clear."

"Did..." you found it oddly difficult to talk, "did you kill someone?"

Malleus didn't answer you, he just slowly blinked and reached out a clawed hand, patting your head gently. You found yourself wanting a bit more distance from the Dragon, wondering if you made a mistake to ask a question you truly did not want the answer to. As per usual, Lilia was quick to interrupt the tension with a loud yawn and stretch as if to imply you all should return to sleep.

"Here, (Y/n), I'll groom you to sleep again!"

"You really don't have to, Lilia."

"But I want to."

"One of these days I need to talk to everyone about personal space..."

~•§•~

The early morning dawn seemed to be a sleepy one as things slowly emerged from their warm beds and into the brisk morning. The low roll of thunder heard late in the night was certainly not lost on anyone as to the source of the sound. Even the few who rose for an early meeting seemed to be acutely aware of the Dragon's absence.

"Good morning, all. I have called this meeting at the behest of Riddle concerning the most recent events of orientation."

The Headmage stood at the head of the table, his feathers slightly ruffled from sleep as it was still quite early in the day. He usually rose with the sun and clearly had more energy than some of the Housewardens sitting at the table. Leona was barely awake as he lay with his head on the table, only the flicking tail showed the Nemean Lion was even conscious.

"As I am sure you all know by now, we have a Human living in the dorm on the main campus. Unlike most dorms, you do not need to enter a mirror to get to it and so it is easier for outsiders to access. However, there is no other place the Human can stay without putting her at risk of too curious students. Riddle, you told me you had a solution in mind for this?"

Riddle nodded, clearing his throat and straightening his bow.

"(Y/n) is Human and we all understand the gravity of the situation at hand. Humans died out from Twisted Wonderland centuries ago and now one has appeared in our school. It is our duty as Housewardens to assist in the safeguarding of this Human as her survival could mean the beginning of advancements made far beyond our lifetimes and even in our lives now. I'm sure we all understand the importance of keeping her safe. This being said, I am of the mind that it's time to switch out who is safeguarding (Y/n). This should be a shared duty of all the Housewardens, not just a privilege exclusive to Diasomnia."

Crowley nodded, leaning against his hand as he gave the proposition more thought. It seemed several of the other Housewardens were in agreement- at least, those who were physically present- at the idea of a shared responsibility.

"I, for one, think this is a wonderful idea, Riddle. Octavinelle is ready to open our doors to this poor unfortunate soul and keep her safe."

"You aren't usually one to offer help without a price, Azul. What are you looking to get out of this?"

"Nothing, of course! Just looking to help the less fortunate."

"I highly doubt that, Azul."

It was then Vil spoke up, the Harpy regarding the other Housewardens as if assessing them while he spoke. He could raise issue with letting the soft Human stay with any one of these uncouth ruffians.

"I agree that we all need to take turns guarding the Human, but how many of us can honestly be trusted with her? It is clear now that all of Twisted Wonderland will soon know she is here if they don't already. Frankly I wouldn't trust any one of you with her safety. Riddle, what makes you think you should be the one to protect her?"

"W-What?"

"It was one of your dorm's students who decided to post a picture of her. I think your dorm has done enough damage for now. I should think you would agree to revoke your own rights to guard her until you can prove you are able to keep your students in line."

"What is that supposed to mean, Vil?"

"Oh? Do I have to spell it out for you? Usually you're smarter than this, Riddle."

Vil stood, his crest raised and an almost cruel smile curling his lips as he approached the distraught Unicorn. As far as Riddle was concerned, only he knew the rules to taking proper care of a Human so only he could provide adequate accommodations for her. But the way Vil spoke made a dark kind of doubt seep into Riddle's mind, wondering if the Harpy could be right and that alone was an upsetting reality Riddle didn't really want to face at the moment.

"You can't even begin to protect that Human from students in your own dorm, how can you hope protect her from actual threats?"

Riddle wanted to retort or have the grinning Harpy's head but he couldn't find the words to respond to the proud bird. Vil only grinned wider at the silence he was met with before turning to the other Housewardens with that same energy.

"None of you can. Leona shouldn't even be considered given he's a Nemean Lion. Azul will try to make a deal with her. Kalim will lose her within minutes. Idia can't even talk to us let alone talk to and protect her. Really, the only two who could be of any use are Malleus and I. Malleus is genetically wired to be a good guardian and I certainly have enough skill to actually keep her alive."

Crowley considered Vil's words, tilting his head side to side as he thought about what the Harpy said. He was of the mind to just let the Human choose her own guard, but maybe he would have to reconsider that given how upset the Housewardens were getting over her and it had only been two days. There was truth to the unusual charm of the extinct species and the hold they clearly had over others even in such a short time.

"I think you all are ignoring the bigger truth and being selfish as hell."

The growl came from the golden lion that now lifted his head from the table he had been resting it on. His green eyes glinted in the morning light and the faint sunrays seemed to shine off of his golden coat. Even his wild tresses held a faint glimmer that made the prince look every bit as regal as his lineage suggested.

"She isn't from here. She has a home she likely wants to go back to. We can't talk like we're keeping her when we should find a way to send that Mousey home."

"I would agree with you, Leona," Azul started, his eyes glinting with humor at the knowledge he was about to reveal, "but there are a few problems with that notion. Jade and I spoke with her yesterday and she claims she came from somewhere filled with Humans. There is nowhere like that left in Twisted Wonderland. I would wager she is from another reality entirely, one where only Humans thrive. One that we can't get to despite many trying in the past to prove we are not alone. I don't know how she got here, but she is stuck here now. Besides, do you really want to be the one to tell Malleus we are taking his Human away? I get you don't pay attention in classes, but I certainly do and I have heard the many tales of Dragons going as far as to kidnap Humans they are fond of."

Leona growled a low warning to the Cecilia to watch his words lest he be the recieving party of the Lion's ire. Though he was a lazy Lion and didn't seem to be bothered with much, he was still a force to be reckoned with when he actually decided to fight.

"Why the hell should I care why that damn lizzard wants the Human?"

"Well, Dragons and other Fae did take the extinction of Humans the hardest and mourn the longest, I would wager the older ones are still in mourning. Next to them, the Merfolk were the next most heartbroken by the ending of such a fascinating species. I wouldn't expect you to understand- being a Nemean Lion and all- but-"

"Keep talking, Cephalo-punk and I'll give you something to mourn over."

Azul closed his mouth quickly, knowing he wouldn't actually stand a chance if pitted against the weapon-immune golden Lion. For all his abilities, so many seemed to pale in comparison to the sheer strength Leona contained in his form alone. Out of the water, a Lion would always win in a direct fight against an octopus, the same was true for Nemean Lions and Cecilia.

"I can protect her better than most of you but none of you want to admit that. You all want to pretend I'll gobble that little Mousey up and refuse to even let me stand my own ground. What? Too afraid she'll like me more than you lot?"

This got Vil's feathers to ruffle as the Harpy seemed ready to fight the grinning Lion that so clearly challenged those at the table. Luckily for everyone else, the floating tablet finally decided to interrupt the conversation.

"Fine, we all gotta do it. I vote everyone's dorm gets put in a raffle and the next Housewarden to guard her is chosen that way."

"This is unlike you, Idia. You don't even show up in person to most classes."

"Humans were the best inventors we had before they died out. The last human lived on the Isle of Woe and made enough inventions to keep the Shroud family rich for centuries. Why wouldn't I want the best story telling species and most inventive species to give me new ideas? Probably why you want her too, Azul."

"Well, I certainly understand a profitable business venture when one is presented to me..."

"Exactly my point."

Crowley nodded, clapping his hands together and drawing the attention of those at the table. He heard exactly what he wanted to hear and he was willing to give every Housewarden a fair chance, even Leona.

"I believe a raffle is a fantastic idea, Mr. Shroud! And because I am just so kind to all, every Housewarden will be given a fair shot."

"Headmage, I beg you to reconsider-"

"Let's start this raffle!"

Riddle tried to start but the Crow had made up his mind and there was no changing it. As he used magic to summon his usual way of raffling students, he glanced around the room for a moment. Odd, he only counted six but there should be seven?

"... Did no one remember to invite Mr. Draconia to today's meeting?"

~•§•~

You stood in the kitchen of Ramschackle dorms, tiredly cooking up enough breakfast to feed your uninvited guests, Cater, yourself, and Grim. Despite your annoyance at being the only one to cook- let alone being the only one who really knew how- you dutifully continued your task. According to Silver, Lilia actually cooked often but was so abysmally bad at it they all thought cooking was a useless skill. It wasn't until you cooked for them that they even realized cooking food could actually make it taste better and not worse.

"If you all insist on making me cook for you, I'm going to insist you all provide the ingredients. The kitchen may be well stocked now, but if I have to keep feeding extra mouths every day the pantry is going to eventually run out."

You idly listened to the sizzle as you half-jokingly scolded the group that milled about your kitchen and sniffed in your direction occasionally. They were eager to get some breakfast from you and had all woken up before you did in anticipation for the warm meal you would no doubt create. Apparently you had once again moved to cuddle Silver's warm body in your sleep and the Reindeer refused to let Grim or even Lilia wake you before the sun was mostly up. The five others in the shared nest were all in agreement to let you wake on your own time, but your actual invited guest was quick to herald in the morning and woke you. It seemed like Malleus and Sebek were ready to attack the redhead but quickly calmed when you pulled yourself out of the nest to start cooking.

Cater had been an affectionate nuisance and asked you nonstop questions about what you were doing and how Humans cooked things. It became very clear to you- based on his questions and curiosity- that junkfood really didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland. Despite how you wanted to cry upon hearing this and mourn the loss of your comfort foods, you realized that you may be able to make your own junkfoods. You would certainly need help acquiring things, but there had to be some kind of inventive monster on this campus that could help you.

"I agree! These guys can bring the food and you can cook it! Why let them get all this free stuff if they don't help with getting or making it?"

"I can help cook-"

You were quick to smack the reaching hand with your wooden spoon, startling Lilia as his wings fluffed out in surprise.

"You," you started with a near threatening tone, "will keep your hands off of the things in my kitchen. Silver already told me how your cooking is and I will not allow you to scorch my meals."

"I think I'm a pretty good cook-"

"The answer is 'no'. You don't get to cook in my kitchen. I agree with Grim that it would be a welcome change to have you all bring me the foods you want and maybe even more spices than the few I have here, but you aren't cooking. If you really want to help me right now, you can start washing dishes."

Silver sent a silent thanks your way for sparing him and the others from another evening spent eating Lilia's cooking. The Bat Fae had learned to love cooking from the few Humans he had the pleasure of meeting, but he was so abysmally bad at it that his 'meals' could barely be considered food. Malleus and Sebek were also relieved to see you quickly shut down any idea of letting Lilia cook and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can do dishes! Riddle and Trey make me do them all the time. Don't know why Trey never lets me help him bake things though."

Cater was quick to roll up his sleeves, starting on the pile of dishes that had already begun to accumulate in the large sink. Maybe it wouldn't be all that bad if you could get your freeloaders to help clean or gather ingredients instead of doing it all yourself. Despite calling them freeloaders, you were appreciative of at least Malleus and Lilia being fairly adept guards for your safety. It did make you wonder what Malleus had done last night, but you also felt in your heart of hearts that you didn't really want to know if the lovely Dragon had killed someone on your behalf.

"Hey," there was loud scratching at that side door again and you already knew who it was, "the door's locked again. Please, have mercy, I'm just a starving Gnoll."

"... I really shouldn't have fed him. He's gonna come back every day and night for more."

You had the foresight to add extra to what you were making, anticipating the unusual pull your cooking seemed to have on the local monster population. Part of you wanted to keep feeding Ruggie as the gaunt appearance of the ever hungry Gnoll pulled at your heartstrings. His clear hunger and almost non-existent stomach told you just how little the Hyena man actually ate and it genuinely saddened you to know he was likely actually starving.

"Lilia, can you get the door?"

"On it~"

Ruggie was quick to scamper up to your side and sniff loudly at the food you were cooking. His tail wagged at almost impossible speeds as his stomach howled to be satiated, his Hyena head bobbing up and down when he began to cackle in excitement. Despite the warnings you had received about Gnolls, Ruggie didn't act like a slavering beast that sought Human flesh, instead he seemed much like someone who grew up never knowing when he could eat again or if he would be safe in the night. He reminded you so much of that first good look you got at Grim, covered in all the scars that riddled his little body and marred his cute appearance with tales of agony sustained. Both of them made you want to protect them however you could.

As you moved over to another pan which you had been using to cook up some scrambled eggs, you couldn't help but chuckle when Ruggie continued to vocalize his excitement. The cackling and whooping from the Hyena was almost a comforting song in the background of your morning. It was only when he reached a grizzled paw towards the pans that you barked out a similar whoop at him. Your sound startled the Gnoll as his gaze snapped to you in surprise, his nose working overtime as if to find the fellow Gnoll that whooped in response to his sounds.

"Woah! You didn't say you knew how to speak Gnoll!"

"I don't."

"What was that then?"

"Where I'm from, Humans are typically quite good at vocal mimicry because it is how most of our infants learn to speak. You were whooping, so I whooped back."

Ruggie cocked his head to the side curiously, you could almost see the gears in his head turning and grinding as he took in your words. His short tail had been still as he lost himself in thought before it resumed the rapid wagging pace as his brain caught back up to the rest of him.

"Cool! What other sounds can you make?"

The rest of your time cooking was spent making various noises- from growls, to cackles, even to various barking- to entertain the Gnoll and distract him from the food. Once it was ready, you had Sebek get enough plates for the eight of you and set to divvying up the meals. Naturally, Ruggie and Grim were the first to happily dig in to their breakfasts.

Things were peaceful and somewhat quiet, but as it usually was in this strange new world, things were not going to stay quiet for long.

"(Y/n)," a familiar voice called from the direction of the door to your dorms, recognizing the voice of the Headmage Crow, "I have news and a gift for you, my little chick! Where are you?"

"We're in the kitchen!"

The Headmage was surprised to see the odd group you had gathered in your kitchen, looking over the various students in surprise.

"Mr. Diamond? What are you doing here?"

"I told Cater he could stay here for the night since he was kicked out of his dorm. Sure, what he did was stupid and I am still mad about it, but no one should have to spend a night in those woods. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something terrible happened to him, especially in the name of protecting me."

"It's beautiful," the Crow sniffed as if he were about to cry, "such a heartwarming display of genuine kindness! I would expect nothing less from the beautiful heart of a Human! I've missed you wonderfully naïve and forgiving little creatures so much! Nothing quite like a Human's forgiveness to soothe the turbulent soul!"

You were stunned when the Crow actually burst into tears, covering his face with his hands and openly weeping from your- in your mind- simple act of kindness. It seemed the others weren't prepared for this behavior either as they all stared at the fully grown Crow Fae man weeping and bawling like an infant. He was quick to compose himself despite the sudden onslaught of tears as he pulled you into a hug you were too surprised to return, wondering what his problem was that he was so ready to emotionally break down in front of you.

"My beautiful little chick is the kindest soul to ever live and grace these halls with such a warm heart!"

"Um..."

"Here," he interrupted your confusion and pulled back to shove a hastily wrapped package into your hands, "A gift from your professors! It's a cellular device to let you communicate with us when you need. Sam assures me Idia has already programed our numbers into it and it is ready to be used whenever you wish."

"Thanks? Why-"

"Also! The other Housewardens and I have come to an agreement concerning your continued need for guards due to Mr. Diamond's actions. All Housewardens and their accompanying Vice-Housewardens will contribute to protecting this dorm and will switch out every week based on a raffle. This week is Diasomnia's turn, next week is Ignihyde's turn. You haven't met Idia or Ortho yet, but they'll be by to introduce themselves soon. Well, Ortho probably will be, Idia is excited to meet you but he isn't one to socialize much..."

A deep snarl came from where Malleus stood, casually setting his plate down to face the Crow directly and continue the deep percussive noise of his displeasure. It was more than obvious to everyone that the Dragon was not content with the idea of giving you up even for others to guard.

"You dare divvy up my hoard like I should have no say in what happens to her? My Human is not a pet to trade with anyone and everyone who takes interest."

"I'm not saying that, Malleus, what I am saying is her protection should be taken seriously by all students at Night Raven College and the best way to show others she is worth defending is to allow them time to form their own bonds with her by protecting her. Besides, Diasomnia needs their Housewarden and Vice-Housewarden. It isn't fair to those students to be left without yourself and Mr. Vanrouge permanently."

Malleus just growled in response, knowing Crowley was right but still furious he was not part of the decision making process.

"And Kingscholar? What of his dorm?"

"Mr. Kingscholar is a Housewarden and has made a convincing argument for allowing himself to be one of (Y/n)'s guards. As Savanaclaw has no Vice-Housewarden, it will soley fall on his shoulders when his name is drawn."

Ruggie then spoke up, trying to give yourself and Malleus a wide berth to not upset the Dragon further. Though the Gnoll was quick to fold to more powerful mages, he was excited to hear Leona would be given a chance and equal respect as a Housewarden.

"If Leona actually asked to help, no way he will let anyone tell him no. He doesn't like doing extra work, so the fact he volunteered for extra work shows he actually means to do it!"

"Exactly my thinking! Why deny such a strong student a chance to prove himself? Who knows, perhaps his time with (Y/n) will prove Nemean Lions do not deserve the negative view society has of them."

You were irritated that none of these men bothered to ask you how you feel about the situation, but if the nighttime interruptions were anything to go off of, you were still in danger. Though the prospect of being bounced around between several monster men didn't excite you, there was obviously need for their protective behavior.

"Now, I hope you all enjoy your classes today. I hear there may even be an unbirthday party happening in Heartslabuyl that you may wish to attend. Have a pleasant morning, my little chick."

[leviathans-watching]

can I request a gn mc asking the brothers (and maybe dateables too if you want) to play with their wings/tail? I’ve always had the urge to just mess with Mammons wings and Levi’s tail especially

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it tho! Thank you :) 💙

touching the brothers' tails/horns/etc.

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated t | m.list | pt 2

a/n: wow i almost want to explore lucifer's a lot further </3 anyway i hope you enjoy and ty for requesting! my inbox is open to chat, leave feedback, or req so come stop by!!

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

➳ lucifer stiffens as he feels your hands gently running through the feathers of his wings. you slow, but when he reminds silent, pick up the action again, every movement intentional and soft. it feels so good. lucifer cannot remember the last time someone other than himself had touched his wings. after he became a devil, they were something he was ashamed of for a long time and his brothers quickly learned they were no longer to touch them, and by the time he’d be okay with it, it was too late. but your touch feels like heaven, and lucifer’s afraid to look at your face out of fear of revulsion, he can’t find himself to pull away either.

➳ mammon yelps when he feels a touch on his wings, turning quickly. you yank your hand back, apologetic. “you’re good to touch them,” he says, “i was just surprised.” taking his invitation, you stroke the bones, following them from the bottom up, moving to the skin on his back. he shivers as you trace your way across his veins, feeling oddly exposed. but it also feels kind of nice, like you’re scratching an itch he hadn’t realized he had.

➳ levi flushes when his tail lashes, bumping against your leg. “sorry, it has a mind of its own,” he says, and you laugh. without asking, you run a hand down the scales, scratching your fingernails carefully over the smooth surface. “that feels good,” levi whispers, and you smile, continuing to run your hand up and down and up and down. honestly, the touch is more soothing that he’d have thought, and before he knows it, he’s half asleep, leaning against your side.

➳ satan wakes up with his head in your lap. he must have fallen asleep reading. as he gets his thoughts in order, he realizes he’s in his demon form, and you’re gently scratching his head, running your hands across his horns in a slow, repetitive motion. nobody’s ever touched his horns like that before. with his brothers, they were merely a place to grab onto when they scuffled, and he himself had never paid much attention to them, simply accepting them as part of his appearance, but your touch is making him reevaluate everything. content to stay where and as he is, he lets his eyes slip shut once more but doesn't sleep, simply reveling in your touch.

➳ asmo giggles as he feels you stroke his wing. “that tickles!” you chuckle, smearing lotion across the course skin, making sure to get every wrinkle and fold. asmo’d never been able to reach all of his wings himself, and only was able to convince one of his brothers to help once in a blue moon, so hanging out around to help him groom and moisturize was truly amazing. especially since you were so gentle and careful, your attention to detail showing in every movement. your hands felt nothing like his brothers’, and for that, asmo was immensely grateful.

➳ beel shivers as your fingers follow the striped birthmarks that go down his neck and collarbone. your fingers are slightly cold, especially considering he runs warm, and the touch feels almost ghostly with how light your touch is. it’s amazing, really, as you make every part of him feel special, including the parts he'd never cared about before, like his markings. your hands dips lower for a brief moment, to his chest, and he inhales slightly, but it doesn’t linger, moving back up before he knows it. his heart pounds behind his ribs and he’s sure that if your fingers were to explore the area over it, you’d be able to tell.

➳ belphie flinches as you touch his tail. “i know it looks soft but there are thorns in there,” he says, striving for casualness. “so don’t complain if you get pricked.” your hands slow down slightly, but you don’t pull away, combing out the hair at the end of it. it’s frightfully tangled but you’re patient and belphie knows that when you finish it will be fully untangled and neat. your administrations feel kind of nice, actually, but he wouldn’t dare admit it. (something in him tells him you know that already anyway, so what’s the point?)

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[busycloudy]

if u write only for twst can yew do Floyd leech and and and uhhh errmmmm uhhhh guy reader mc idc whose scenemo and floyd discovers they have shared tastes and mc/reader gives him make over 😣

IF UR POTENTIALLY OPEN TO OTHER FANDOMZ.. STARTZ TREMBLING AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH.. TARTAGLIA...

okay thanks ily pooks

thx for requesting!!! I will be actually joining new fandoms real soon and hopefully writing for them, so this will probs be my last time writing for twst atm :3 n e wayz, I hope you enjoy this!

A fluff fic

The reader is MC and goes by he/him pronouns.

This can be read in both a platonic and romantic way!

Floyd may be ooc due to the fact I haven't played twst in MONTHS + This will include hcs

You were making some kandi bracelets again since you didn't really have much else to do and also wanted to add more to your collection (you already had like 37 but shhh) until you heard your door creak, causing you to look up to a tall, smiley, blue haired figure, which was Floyd of course!

"Heya shrimpy, watcha making there~" He asked with curiosity in his eyes.

"Nothin much, just making bracelets" You responded as you tied the string together to finish this piece off.

"Ohhhh...I think I tried that before but got bored cuz the beads kept falling off" Floyd sighed, "But I like to make shirts!" Floyd excitedly claimed. "Really?? Me too!" You smiled. "We should bleach some shirts together sometime!" You requested. Floyd put a finger on his chin, pondering. "Mehhh...maybe...OR we could right now" He instead offered, to which you had to accept, hell maybe you could even give him a full makeover!

You got the black shirts, cardboard, and bleach out and began working. The two of you finished after about 15-20 minutes and adored the results. Floyd went with a skeleton type pattern and ended up cutting the sleeves off his shirt, and you'd gone with a spine with wings, but in all honesty you just went with whatever came to your head as you'd done so.

You two complemented each other's shirts and such and then you offered the idea you came up with earlier. "Floyd, what if I gave you some clothes to style with that shirt? I have some stuff that I got in a size too big so I haven't worn it yet, and I could get you some shoes" You suggested. "Shrimpy, giving me a makeover?hmmmm...sureee, but only if I can give you one too!" He said, and you nodded your head.

---

You handed Floyd your eyeliner, eyeshadow, brushes, etc and let him create away, and you discovered he was actually good at doing makeup and such.

Your makeup:

(you may imagine wtv you'd prefer tho!)

Floyd's outfit:( I couldn't find a good png and was DEF not drawing this cuz I can't 💔) FLIP I FORGOT THE KANDI. But anyways his stuff would say stuff like eel rave and sea slugs etc

Floyd entered his dorm happy with the new outfit he now has. "Ah, hello Floyd. Where has this outfit come from?" Jade came out of nowhere, asking. "I bleached this shirt, but Shrimpy gave me this other stuff! Isn't he soooo cool!" Floyd giggled. "I do rather like it...maybe I ought to see what he could do for me too..." Jade pondered

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, chapter 12

chapter twelve: consumption

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 12, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-11, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: typical violence, gore, blood, cannibalism, self-deprecating thoughts

Your dreams have only grown more convoluted and inexplicable since Frederick Chilton’s death. First dominated by somber blues interspersed with the unmistakable crimson stained across your skin, your nightmares now carry familiar yellow-grey tints. You are often haunted by the sound of wings swiftly beating in the air; harsh, warm breaths hitting your neck and sending shivers down your spine; and the dull burn of midday sunlight. 

Reportedly, William Blake—the artist who created The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun—was under-appreciated throughout his life. Only the onset of the Romantic Age brought suitable attention to his works, both written and visual. There is nothing about Blake that strikes you as particularly relevant to the killer’s violent tendencies. It seems that his obsessive attention only lies with the painting itself: with broad shoulders supporting swooping wings and pale hands clasped in fervent emotion. Further research informs you that, despite Blake’s known skepticism and scrutiny of religion, The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun was situated in a series of paintings intended to depict scenes from the Bible. You can’t necessarily see the killer as a devout or pious person, but he certainly seems to treat the painting with a sense of reverence. 

Your conversation with Hannibal weighs on your mind, as your discussions with him often do. You can’t help but think that his phrasing was entirely intentional—and that the term ‘consumption’ is indicative of more than a mere transformation. Jack seems to think the same. When the two of you track down the painting’s physical location at the Brooklyn Museum in New York, you finally start to feel as if you have a lead. 

It’s roughly a six hour drive to the museum. You spend the time focused on the road, while occasionally switching radio stations when the music starts to bore you. At some point, Jack calls you to ensure your travel is going well—and the two of you review your next course of action. Finally, after what feels like far too long, you’re situated in a cramped parking lot behind the museum. You’re immediately grateful that Jack called ahead and spoke to lead officials at the museum, thereby ensuring your visit would be unhindered by administrative red tape. You pay a glance at the clock: it’s 8:27 p.m. The museum closed to the public nearly two and a half hours ago. You stall in the car for a few moments before heading up the steps, pretending to feel calm despite the steady thrumming of your adrenaline. 

Jack and you don’t expect much direct evidence to come from this visit, aside from visitor data that the BAU can comb over and scrutinize. As time has passed, you’ve narrowed in on several key traits of the killer’s… which will certainly eliminate some people. Then again, the museum likely only tracks voluntary disclosures of information. The visitor database likely only has gender, age, marital status, and any past visits or contributions. Still, it could be a start. 

Admittedly, there’s another component to this site visit. Jack and you have struggled to pin down the killer’s relationship to the painting. An in-person visit will allow you to get a better look at the painting. As you finally make it up the steps and towards the accessible door where you’re directed to enter, Hannibal’s voice rings in your ears. Consumption. Becoming. His true self will be eradicated upon completion of the process. Is there any chance the killer has visited this museum to get a look at the painting? Did he ever stand frozen in front of it, a silent and strangely foreboding figure quietly warding off other visitors from its magnificence? Did he ever walk down these halls with a visceral purpose? 

Your concentration is broken by the telltale jangle of keys. Filing those thoughts away for later, you approach the front desk and show them your FBI badge—explaining that you have a brief meeting with one of the curators of the museum. They nod and turn their back on you for a moment, mumbling something into their walkie talkie before sighing. 

“I’ll go fetch her,” the receptionist promises, resignedly glancing down the hall towards the escalators. “Shouldn’t be too long.” 

You thank them and wait with bated breath. Three minutes… four minutes…. Five minutes… The time drags on with a painful clumsiness. After ten minutes, you begin to pace restlessly. You’re skeptical of why they’re taking so long—it’s after hours, which means there shouldn’t be any other distractions in the building. Are the archives far away? A million different explanations run through your mind, each more unreasonable than the last.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, the receptionist returns with the curator in tow. She introduces herself and you’re quick to shake her hand, unable to hide your relief. Your thoughts were quickly spiraling into fantastical territory, as you dreaded several different dangers that could’ve prevented her from arriving. But the curator is calm and collected, pushing her glasses up her nose and staring at you with gleaming brown eyes. Her hair falls in elegant dark brown locs that frame her face beautifully; she wears a pale lavender blazer with a pencil skirt and loafers. You immediately feel self-conscious of your rather plain attire. The FBI has always been stringent on uniform requirements, especially when it comes to working in the field. The most you can get away with is a mildly patterned dress shirt and slacks. The curator’s warm brown skin is entirely void of scars or marks—unlike yours, you think self-consciously. The scar on your left eye seems to draw a lot of attention, as people often ask you how you got it. You feel a brief and unfamiliar stab of envy before you refocus your thoughts. 

If the curator senses your insecurity she is kind enough to ignore it—instead offering a handshake. “I’m Evelyn, one of the Collections Curators here.” You shake her hand and introduce yourself in return. Evelyn is quick to lead you down the hall towards the escalators with a practiced ease. Feeling a strange urge to make conversation, you ask her how long she’s been working at the museum. Through your unexpectedly long walk across the second floor and through several winding halls, you learn a bit more about her: she’s been working at the museum for almost eight years now; she studied anthropology in school and went back for her graduate degree in museum studies, with concentrations in art history and writing; and she is particularly interested in art stemming from the Romantic period.

You always feel a strange mix of contentedness and self-doubt when speaking to other people around your age. The FBI has dominated your life for so long that it’s hard for you to imagine a time when you weren’t pursuing criminals and investigating crime scenes. And while that may sound exciting to many, the life of an agent like yourself is heavily romanticized. Not to mention, such work can easily bleed into all aspects of your life. The past few years have been especially difficult for you when it comes to maintaining your work-life boundaries—they’re practically nonexistent now. Conversations like these ones—innocuous, harmless—remind you of the life you could’ve had. It’s bittersweet. 

You finally manage to focus on the task at hand, as Evelyn stops in the middle of a room lined with counters, drawers, and shelves as far as the eye can see. She explains that you’re currently standing in one of the museum’s many storerooms, where they keep items that are not on exhibition. It seems Jack briefed the curator a little, because she already knows which painting you’re looking for. There’s a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes, but it’s quickly suppressed with an admirable professionalism. Her gaze flits to your badge, hanging from your right pocket, before she’s asking you what you’ll need for investigation. Evelyn proves to be extremely helpful, as she gives you the contact information of the Audience Services Manager who can give you access to the visitor database. In terms of the painting itself, she gives you a quick overview of the process: she’ll go into the back room and retrieve the work; when she returns, you’re allowed to look at it but not touch it. 

"The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun is extremely sensitive to light, so it’s kept hidden away in that storage room.” She explains. You follow her gaze to find a steel door and a black badge scanner next to it. Evelyn leaves you with the promise that she’ll return shortly. You’re left to your thoughts, which are quickly returning to the unpleasant spiral they were before. You restlessly pace up and down the aisle of the storage room, your hands shoved in your pockets and your mind running a mile a minute. 

After a while, you glance down at your watch. It’s been ten minutes. You’re growing worried. After a few more minutes spent in deliberation, you decide to look around the room for a neglected employee badge to get you into that room. Suddenly, time seems to be speeding away from you; you’re only growing more panicked as you throw open drawers that definitely shouldn’t be touched. After several minutes, you finally find a badge and nearly sigh in relief. 

Scanning the badge opens the door with a devastatingly loud buzzing noise. You enter the room to find the space dimly lit, complete with glass casings and rows of shelves that nearly extend out of sight. The shelves are mobile, you realize upon closer inspection. Cranking the hand crank at the end of the room will push them aside. Frowning, you take a few more cautious steps into the room—until you see a pair of black loafers, just barely visible between the sprawling shelves. Heart racing, you listen for another presence before silently making your way over. When you finally reach the partition, you find Evelyn sprawled across the ground. There’s no visible sign of blood, but you still quickly crouch down to feel for a pulse. Her heart rate is a bit slow, but otherwise present. You take a slow breath and remain frozen before her for several more moments, ensuring the assailant isn’t in the room. Then you grab your phone from your pocket and quickly input the five digit number that acts as a distress signal, alerting Jack and the nearby authorities. After listening for disturbances again, you manage to pull Evelyn off to the side and shelter her behind one of the desks. With any luck, the assailant will be too distracted with you to notice her. 

You have a gut feeling the assailant is the same killer you’re searching for. But your suspicions aren’t confirmed until you hear a violent tearing sound, as if something is being ripped in half. You glance across the room and hear another shredding sound; immediately, you quietly move to hide between two of the shelves. Evelyn hadn’t told you where the painting’s exact location was, but you don’t think you need it. You’re certain the killer—the Dragon, as he fashions himself—is here in this very room. Moreover, it seems as if he’s currently ripping the painting into small pieces. 

Now, though, there’s a haunting silence. You lean closer to the shelf in front of you, only to hear nothing. You’re not sure how long you remain there before you hear the slightest inhale and a sound that sounds weirdly similar to chewing. Lightning searing through you, you start to connect everything together. Consumption. Hannibal was referring to it in the literal sense, after all. The killer is consuming the painting to make himself one with it. 

Right about now is when you would surge forward and point your gun at the killer, successfully apprehending him. But you only have a knife. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a mere conversation with the curator. Jack and you never thought the killer would actually show up—and at the same time as your visit, no less. Besides, you figured you may not make a great first impression with the museum curator by carrying a visible weapon around in the building. You regret that notion now, of course. But it’s too late for regret. 

In your musing, it seems the killer has finished chewing and swallowing the painting. You suppress a shudder at the thought of eating the canvas: the dry, starchy material sticking to the roof of your mouth; the wet lump traveling down your throat. It sounds revolting.

Of course, you don’t have time to contemplate the thought, as you realize the killer’s footsteps are sounding far nearer than before. There’s a brief pause and you inch your way towards the mouth of the shelves.

There’s an ominous creak and your heart drops to your stomach as you realize the shelf in front of you is slowly inching its way towards you. The killer is rearranging the shelves—likely returning them to what they were before he took the painting. But now you’re stuck in an aisle as the shelves move to close you in. Thankfully, they move rather loudly; still, you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your quick breaths and quietly inch out of the rapidly shrinking space. By some miracle, you manage to make it out before you’re completely crushed. 

Unfortunately, this places you right within the killer’s line of sight. He’s wearing some sort of covering that obscures the lower half of his face, but you can still see the moment his eyes find yours. He lurches forward in a surprising bout of speed, knocking you to the ground before you can grab your knife. 

You’re immediately forced to reckon with one realization: you’re not fighting a man. You’re fighting a beast. He does not brandish a weapon threateningly or engage in swift hand-to-hand combat. Instead he bites and thrashes; writhes and yanks at anything within reach. His fingernails are long and sharp, and they break the skin of your arms as you try to shove him off of you. You’ve had extensive combat training to prepare you for virtually any kind of situation. But when it comes to a fight like this—purely physical and fueled with adrenaline—you feel woefully unprepared and outmatched. 

Your knife is concealed in your belt, but the guy’s hands latch around your throat and squeeze with a truly frightening strength. Your vision immediately stutters as spots flash across the room. A roaring sound floods through your ears; you try to wrench his grip off, but he’s shifting his weight forward—and it feels as if he’s shoving you through the floor. The world is pulsing around you as you try in vain to reach for your knife. You fumble it out of your pocket as your vision threatens to fall to black; you manage to stab him in the side and his grip fumbles long enough for you to escape. 

You immediately push yourself to your knees and brace yourself against the ground, heaving and rasping as you finally get the air you were fighting for. Nausea burns in your throat and saliva falls from your lips as you regain control. You hear a sickening squelch and a harsh clang; you look up to find the killer stepping on your blood-slicked knife and kicking it across the floor, sending it skittering away from you. 

It’s as if he isn’t even wounded. He’s descending on you with the same ferocity as before, panting like a predator salivating for its prey. At this point, you’re attempting to get away from him—only for him to harshly grab your collar and slam you into the ground. Your head rattles and throbs; blood falls from your nose and down past your lips. The killer harshly flips you around until you’re on your back, dizzily looking up at him. Then he dips his head down dangerously close to your neck and bites. You scream and try to shove him off of you, only for him to rise moments later with a bloodied chunk of flesh between his teeth. Your stomach rolls in disgust and there’s a violent buzzing sound echoing in your ears. Through sheer panic and bone-deep fear, you grapple with the man long enough to get him off of you. Something flashes in his eyes mere moments before you harshly knee him in the gut. It gets him off of you, leaving you just barely enough time to scramble for the discarded knife. You make a mad grab for it, expecting to be harshly dragged back by the ankle. Instead, you face no resistance. But, once you reach the knife, he’s already out of the room. 

Swearing, you stumble after him—but the guy is fast. You run down the hall as quickly as you can, only to look around and find no sign of him anywhere. You look along the floor for a trail of blood or a wayward footprint, but there’s nothing. It’s as if he was never here in the first place. You grip your knife tightly, attempting to breathe normally despite the overwhelming tightness in your throat, pulsing in your chest, and throbbing in your temple. 

Your adrenaline is swiftly falling, even with the knowledge that the killer could still be lurking around any corner. You press a shaking hand to the edge of your neck; it comes back dripping with blood. Something like a whimper escapes your lips as you promptly topple over, just barely catching yourself from a nasty collision with the ground. Try as you might, you can’t seem to get yourself back up—and you’re giving into the shadows creeping across your vision without much of a fight. 

You wake up in a hospital. 

Your first instinct is to groan—and you attempt to do just that, but the muscles in your throat constrict and you choke on a breath instead. Immediately, there’s a hand on your shoulder and a patient voice admonishing you for the effort. The nurse gives you a brief summary of your condition, explaining that you’ve been unconscious for a few days. You’ve suffered a moderate strain to your vocal cords after the killer’s attempted strangulation, which explains your current inability to speak. You’re told that this will pass in time, as long as you take it easy. You also have a mild concussion, but that’s pretty standard fare for you. 

There’s a dull ache running through your limbs as you summon the energy to push yourself out of the bed and head for the bathroom. You just barely catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, but it’s enough to send a renewed wave of fear and disgust running through you. Your neck is mottled with bruises, an unsightly mix of vivid purple and blue. You nearly look like a walking corpse. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you reach for the spot where the killer bit you, only to find a bandage hiding the damage. You stare at your reflection defeatedly for a while, before eventually convincing yourself to return to bed. It’s clear your stamina has been affected, because even standing still for a few minutes is enough to make you fatigued. You blink and lean back into the pillow behind you. Despite the dull thrumming pain that seems to run across your entire body, you fall asleep within moments.

For a few more days, your life is only defined by sleep. You sleep, wake up, go to the bathroom, and go back to sleep. It’s a vicious cycle—one that very nearly convinces you of your uselessness—but you manage to remain bedridden for the duration of your stay. The damage to your neck and throat is something you haven’t experienced before, and you don’t want to jeopardize the healing process. 

Unfortunately, this means you’re at the hospital for more than a week. As you slowly heal, you find yourself assaulted with an immense desire for company. Beverly visited you nearly every other time you were incapacitated; but you’re nearly six hours from Quantico now. And besides, you haven’t exactly been a great friend to her lately. You’ve been too absorbed in your own affairs to offer her support or spend much time with her. No, this hospital visit is different: you don’t see Beverly or Jack. (Or Hannibal, a traitorous voice reminds you, summoning memories of a soup garnished with your own kidney and a kind smile that seemed strangely genuine.)

You do, however, have an unexpected visitor. Evelyn enters your room one morning, a sympathetic smile rising on her face when she sees you. “Hey,” the curator says. There are slight dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise she looks healthy. You feel a smile rising on your lips in response, happy to see she’s looking well. “How are you feeling?” 

You tap your throat and she grimaces, evidently getting the message. Then you reach over to the nightstand and show her the notepad and pen the nurses gave you. She nods and takes a seat at your bedside, patiently waiting for your response. Your penmanship is slightly shaky, but you manage to get it down with relative ease: You shouldn’t be here. I almost got you killed.  

She frowns. “Don’t say that,” she admonishes you gently. “You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you fought him off. Who knows what he would’ve done otherwise.” She shakes her head in disbelief. 

You meet her eyes and feel your throat begin to burn. There’s such an intense longing building in your chest and you can’t quite pinpoint what that desire is meant for. Friendship? Companionship? A normal life? A stable career, without the emotional turmoil and survivor’s guilt? A face unmarred by killer’s knives? 

You swallow past all those feelings and manage an unsteady smile. Evelyn doesn’t deserve any of this—you will not dump all of these thoughts on her. She doesn’t deserve your emotional baggage. What she deserves is a return to her normal life—and a departure from you. It would be best for Evelyn if you never saw her again. 

But she is incredibly compassionate, and promptly refuses to award you any blame. She sits by your side for almost an hour, having a virtually one-sided conversation while you write out your responses. Evelyn’s kindness only reminds you of just why you first entered the academy. You wanted to protect people like her. Not that they couldn’t protect themselves; rather, you wanted to ensure they never had the need to do so.  

And look where that got you, Frederick Chilton whispers to you mockingly. You should have stayed away.  

You ruin everything you touch and everyone you meet, Abel Gideon laughs. You should have stayed away.  

Away, Garret Jacob Hobbs says, his voice slowly blending with Clark Ingram’s in a terrifying tone, away away away away away- 

Evelyn’s voice breaks you from your thoughts; she’s getting up from her seat, and you can’t decide whether you should be relieved or dejected. She does write you a quick note, with her phone number and a wholesome ‘Get well soon!’ message with a smiley face drawn next to it. She also gives you a hug before she leaves; your eyes burn as you reciprocate it, desperate for comfort even though you don’t deserve it. You save her number in your phone, despite knowing you’ll never contact her. It doesn't matter how much you may want to speak with her. You will never pluck up the courage to separate yourself from the unquestionable knowledge that you brought a killer to her doorstep. She survived your life once—you will not make her do that again. 

It’s not the first time you’ll distance yourself from someone because of your work, and you know it likely won’t be the last. It hurts all the same. You rub at your eyes tiredly, a sudden exhaustion pressing you into the stiff mattress and forcing your eyelids shut. You quickly find yourself a victim of those confusing, unsettling dreams of yellows and greys once more.

next chapter

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[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Autumn with Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of rain, thunder, and lightning

~ * ~ -Welcome to autumn!! That lovely season between summer and winter that keeps everything on track and in balance -Liyue is more of a temperate region, so often you can’t tell that summer has ended until autumn is already half over -But oh boy, when the weather changes, it CHANGES -One day it’s sunny and mild, the next day it’s pouring rain, you and Foul Legacy staring out the window in disbelief -He then nudges your shoulder, glancing from you to the rain and back again with a pleading expression. With a sigh you allow him to pull you back into bed, snuggling up to you with a happy chirp -Taking the first rainy autumn day off from work becomes a tradition for the two of you -And when it’s not pouring, walks outside the city are an absolute must! Liyue is a sight to behold in autumn, with the leaves turning vibrant colors and slowly falling from their branches- you and Legacy happily crunch many, many leaves underfoot, relishing the crispy crackling sound they make -It’s also harvest season, so there’s plenty of apples and other fruit growing from the trees for you to snack on -SPEAKING OF APPLES, you and Foul Legacy could harvest some to make cider, he is very enthusiastic when helping you!! Occasionally an apple will fall and bonk him on the head, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing at the chagrined trill he lets out -Warm drinks aplenty, especially during cooler days. You make tea, hot cocoa, the aforementioned cider- but not coffee. Never coffee. Have you ever seen an Abyss monster on caffeine? Do not give Foul Legacy coffee -You’ll curl up with these warm drinks together, cuddled under a blanket as you watch storms and wind from the safety of your home. Sometimes there’s thunder and lightning, and Legacy quickly hides under the covers and presses himself up to you with a slight shiver, but he slowly begins to purrs when you run your fingers through his hair, tense muscles loosening -The colder season also means thicker clothes, which means comfy sweaters!! You take great joy in wrapping yourself in cozy coats and scarves -Unfortunately shops don’t make sweaters in Legacy’s size, which he is very sad about :( So you decide to make one for him! It’s a deep blue color, made with yarn that has little silver threads in it so it glints when the fabric moves -He absolutely adores it, chittering in delight and running his claws delicately over the soft cloth before very carefully putting it on. Now he’s warm and comfy and so much better to lean your head against :) He treats that sweater like it’s made of gold -The nights also get chilly, so there’s a 95% chance you’ll end up with a moth in your arms and vice versa. Abyss creatures get cold (and lonely) too! -If you’re out for a walk and a particularly biting wind comes by, he’ll bury his face in your neck or put his claws against your warm stomach- he never admits how much he likes the startled shriek you let out -Occasionally it will start drizzling during your walk and you have to run home, getting to witness Legacy shaking out his wings and hissing in displeasure, pouting until you smile and give him a tight hug of reassurance -Autumn is the season of cooking and baking, and Foul Legacy LOVES peeking over your shoulder to see what delicious treat you’re working on. He’ll even dare to sneak a taste here and there, letting out low, rumbling laughs when you catch him in the act -You also make jam together!! There’s plenty of fresh berries growing, so you’ll pick some and preserve it in jars for the winter (Foul Legacy likes strawberry rhubarb) and the whole house smells DELICIOUS -He’ll keep any pretty leaves he sees and give them to you as a gift :) And if you press and save them, he’ll be so incredibly happy

-Of course, not everything is sunshine and rainbows- a lot of rainstorms and thunder, honestly. Some days you have to sneak out of bed before Foul Legacy’s even awake, leaving only a gentle kiss on his forehead as you head to work while it’s still dark and raining -Those days are hard, having to file reports and attend meetings with your shoes soaking wet and sleep still in your eyes, because everyone at your job always wants something -But it’s alright, you can handle it, because you know that there’s someone waiting for you at home, someone curled up on the couch and looking at the window to try and catch sight of your figure walking back -And the moment you open that door, you’re scooped into his embrace, your Foul Legacy’s arms snaking around you and giving you a tender hug. You hug him back as your heart warms, the first smile of the day creeping onto your face when he carries you to his blanket nest for snuggles, so you can feel warm and toasty and happy again on this dreary autumn day

[levenxa]

Dream (Moritz)

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: He/She/They

Sexuality: Panromantic Demisexual

Height: 6’4

Age: 124

Likes: He really cares about Nightmare, Pranking everyone around him, He likes it when people pet his wings, Negativity, Karens are free entertainment for him, Cross is somewhat respectable

Dislikes: Crowds, He doesn’t like to beat the shit out of people, Positivity, He doesn't care much about his employees (tries to not care), His dove named Critic is a hellspawn of a pet. Kids are little shits, please go away, Being called childish.

Phobias: Glossophobia (Fear of Public Speaking)

Weapons/Powers: Spear

Backstory: Born pretty much an orphan, was taken in by Nim alongside Nightmare, then taken by several priests—then cared for by no one else, other than a friend (NM). Pre-incident Dream was a lot more bubbly and chaotic, He would always pull pranks on them but they would always pin it on Nightmare instead of him. And that really pissed him off. Eventually, NM met Cross in the village, and they became friends. There was always this hidden feeling of envy Dream had for Cross, but refused to admit it. One day, Dream had decided to take matters into his own hands, and took apples from the tree—taking the power for himself. Dream of course wouldn’t forget NM, and offered him his power as well. NM accepts the offer and they work together on the castle. (nm takes most of the credit) Dream gets hired by NM, and Dream finds Ink while patrolling and hires her for more support. His new mission was to completely destroy positivity, as he believes the inhabitants within the world didn't deserve to have something so great. He has many internal struggles with caring for others because his views are opposing that. They have multiple guards in their newly-found corporation (including finch), that simply mean nothing but pawns to both Gods. Blue, Cross, & Error are fun obstacles to their main mission of bringing on ‘The End of The World’.

Relationships: Loves and supports NM to bits, very respectable. His relationship with Ink is complicated, he doesn’t like her upbeat nature while they go around inflicting misery on others. Ink often debates with him on whether or not the plan is a good idea, but it always ends with a petty argument. He doesn’t care about Blue & Error. When it comes to Cross though, even with previous envy…he does admire him. Cross is what dream would consider to be ‘Nightmare’s type’ and of course he feeds off of that. He is helpful, when it comes to appeasing NM’s needs. Still a nuisance though.

(thanks to @whatdoievensay for designing them & helping me out with this project! >:D)

[monkie-kid-oc-showdown]

Fei (@night-owl23)

Pronouns: he/him

Fei is a huli jing that grew up being taught by his mom and many others in his village and while he struggles with his magic growing up he did pretty well with hand to hand and weapon training. He was when he was older he was betrayed by his boyfriend that he was captured and taken to a fighting ring where his powers were under lock and key (think like a gladiator fighting to the death.) Years, decades went by and while he was trapped he had survived, many failed attempts under his belt. But he finally managed to escape along with three children he took under his wing and swore to protect. He had a long journey until he reached home and and even longer one when he realized his old home was destroyed. He powers grew with his desperation to protect those who relied on him pushing past his struggles in the past. It was after he reunited with his family that he decided to follow his sister to live into the large city. It was there he met Sandy and somewhat relaxed.

After s5 he gets plant powers powers before was illusions ranging from solid to like a typical illusion, invisibility, and some very short form of teleportation

Blossom (@blossomnightshade)

A long time ago, Siming, the goddess of balance, allowed one drop of moonlight to fall from the celestial sky, and the scarlet moonflower sprouted from this one drop of the red moon. The red and blue petals shimmer in the blood-red moonlight, both as a temptation and a warning to those who aspired to positions of authority that were well beyond their grasp.

Stories of the unusual flower's relationship to the celestial body above and its immense power for those who were willing to eat its petals began to circulate among the creatures. However, they were unaware of the high price they would have to pay for their desired road to invincibility, — as often as you’ll find in tales of this kind, this gift came with a cursed attached…A fate so hideous and jarring only to make sure that the peace and balance remained intact for the universe and their loved ones…

Given its incredible powers and rich history, the sacred blossom has been regarded as the most potent item in numerous realms. Many also knew that the Moon Drop might either lead to the universe's devastation and disaster or it may bring justice and prosperity to the rights of all people, thus whoever decided to become its new consumer would need to exercise caution. As a result, the moon drop was securely concealed and kept out of the hands of evil and darkness.

However, the flower was harvested in the following years, which led to the emergence of numerous demons and other bad entities that were hunting for the flower's next rebirth or, possibly, for the person who had eaten the moon drop's powers.

This story begins with none other than an innocent little child who went by the name, (Kāihuā) Blossom…

In her childhood, she and her father were being chased after many bad entities as the years passed on. Their runaway was much of a hassle and trouble, but it had never broke the love of the two Huli-Jings for each other.

Until one faithful night, Xiangliu had managed to to corner them to an edge of a cliff, just beneath the East Sea. Seeing no other choice, Blossom’s Father quickly threw his daughter into the Eastern sea to spare her as he fought Xiangliu to his last breathe.

Thankfully, Ao Lie and Ao Guang saved the drowning girl and bought her to the grand palace of the East Sea for shelter. I spent over a week with Ao lie in the Great Grand Palace. Of course, Blossom was grateful to have met so many wonderful and compassionate people in the palace after that save attempt. She had a lot of fun with my new friend, and she admired him for being such a kind brother figure. However, even great things must come to an end. As arranged by Ao lie's uncle, Ao Guang, she was transported to the celestial bars of the Celestial Realm above. As the incarnation of the Moon drop, she gotten a lot of attention for their concerns up there.

Due to the worry and fear that she may become a threat as the Moondrop’s incarnation if she were to fully reach her full potential in the future in result of her traumatic and horrible past. The celestial court and the Jade Emperor came to an agreement - Blossom's prior memories include her upbringing, encounters with innumerable evil beings, bitter runaways, and, finally, her family. Blossom's memories were wiped clean, allowing her to create new ones in the Celestial Realm. She is completely unaware of her past issues and tragedy, as well as her loved ones.

Afterwards, Miss Chang'e and Princess Iron Fan, the Celestial Realm's other residents, and the heavenly minister raised the young Huli-Jing as their protector and guide. She does go to Ao Lie, her best buddy, frequently as well. She also has a very close bond to Redson, making them like siblings together. While she’s also been Nezha’s closes friend, since they were young, to the point that she’s also grew feelings for him.

Blossom used to frequently inquire about her past and her acknowledgement of her biological parents, but she quickly stopped talking about it after receiving the same justifications—that she was just like every other Huli-Jing in the realm and that her parents had just passed away before she had met them.

Blossom learned and grew up to be a calm and selfless skilled individual ,thanks to PIF’s determine and precise training. She's also shown to be a pure-hearted and honest individual with the guidance of her motherly loving guardian Chang’e. She may turned out clumsy and oblivious most of the time but she’s always there to lend a hand to everyone. She has undoubtedly mastered a small number of extremely strong skills such as: healing powers, crystal manipulation, shapeshifting between a few forms etc. Though, she is still oblivious to the bigger potential of her incredibly power…for now.

When she met the Monkie Gang, she turns out to be the most comforting sister/daughter-like figure to team. She prefers talking things over with her enemies and as tries to find a way to befriend and understand them better. So don’t let her soft-spoken and small figure fool you because if she witnesses any her loved ones being threatened, she won’t hesitate to reach to the breaking point where she appears to become intimidating and possibly become a living nightmare to you.

[cloudedgalaxies]

can you tell us about your yuu?

I absolutely can! I was meaning to post something about her sometime because I've mentioned a couple of things about her in all of my fics so far. I have a big project I've been meaning to share as well and needed to compile everything too, so this is perfect! Thanks so much for asking about her <3

For the sake of not accidentally infodumping too much, I'll try to just go over general stuff for now, but if there's anything you want me to elaborate on, let me know!

Name: Yuu Anatole

Birthday: July 7 (Cancer)

Height: 167 cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Homeland: ???

Club: Gastronomy Club

Best Subject: Enigmics

Hobbies: Photography

Pet Peeves: Doing Crowley’s work

Favorite Food: Bubble tea

Least Favorite Food: Canned tuna

Talent: Helping others/“Beast taming”

Yuu is female and uses she/they pronouns, although the majority of NRC is unaware of this and believe that she's another guy. Crowley, in his bountiful kindness, has given her a rather baggy uniform to wear he was just lazy and didn't want to get one in her actual size, as well as a potion she's to drink every night to help disguise Yuu even further. Throughout the course of the canon story, the main boys end up learning about her secret, and they are all aware by the end of Book 6.

Back in her world, she lives with her mother and her older twin brother. Yuu isn't all that clear about why she was brought to NRC instead of him, on top of the already confusing facts that she's not from Twisted Wonderland and doesn't have magic.

Unfortunately, I am not an artist, so I can't give a visual reference of her, sorry TwT. I can give a general description though! Because she's from Ramshackle, Yuu's school uniform doesn't have a vest, and carries the ghost camera around with her everywhere. Yuu has dark brown hair a little shorter than Leona's in a hairdo sorta like this, and her eyes are the same blue color as the ghosts' are from Ramshackle. She also wears glasses! I like to imagine they look pretty similar to the ones Azul has during GloMas.

As Yuu and her friends continue to face off against dangerous and deadly overblots, Yuu inevitably gets wounded. These scars, unlike others she has gotten from scuffles with and without magic, do not seem to fade (spoilers for overblots below):

Prologue/Dwarf Phantom: a diagonal cut on the front of her left leg, extending from her mid-thigh to mid-calf

Book 1/Riddle: a thorn imprint scar on her right wrist, which spirals up around her arm until the elbow

Book 2/Leona: four claw marks on the right side of her head that spans to her ear. There are little notches and cuts on her ear in the scar’s path

Book 3/Azul: three evenly spaced circles centered on her collarbone

Book 4/Jamil: a snake bite on her forehead, slightly above her left eyebrow

Book 5/Vil: a poison burn resembling a poisoned apple on the right corner of her mouth

Book 6/Idia: a burn vaguely in the shape of a daffodil between her shoulder blades, where the cords from Phantom Ortho connected to Idia during his overblot

Book 7/Malleus: lightning scars that go down the nape of her neck and over her shoulder blades that almost look like thorns, where wings would have been should she have had them

Grim (during that night after the VDC): a gash from three claws on her stomach, just about on her belly button

[jasper-the-menace]

Hybrids In Chima

Hybrids in Chima have a lot of problems to contend with: being outcasts by social conventions, complicated medical histories and conditions, and potentially even exile for the smallest of “crimes” if tried by the Lion elder council. Despite that, some have carved their niches into Chiman history in various ways.

Grainne the Griffin

Time Period: early Chima

Parentage: Eagle mother, Lion father

Pronouns: she/her (intersexed according to legend)

Sexuality: unknown

Appearance: (according to legend) brown feathers and fur, yellow bird eyes, taloned feet, feathered wings

History: Grainne was abandoned by both the Eagle and Lion Tribes upon discovery of her birth. She was practically raised by Chima itself, growing up in the wilds between the Tribes. When she became an adult, she discovered an Eagle man whose name has been lost to time, and the two became friends. He betrayed her, leaving her for dead, and her last words were a promise that he would pay for his betrayal. He died shortly after.

Legacy: Grainne has been remembered in a constellation named for her, made of seven stars that are too dim to see any time other than during the winter solstice. In the afterlife realm (the Bear Dream Realm), she has become friends with King Lupercalia and his partners as well as Queen Liberta, and she spends a lot of her afterlife starting fights for fun.

Reegull the Raven-Eagle

Time Period: modern Chima

Parentage: Eagle father, Raven mother

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?

Appearance: black and white feathers, yellow bird eyes, prosthetic left leg, hook for right hand, mismatched feathered wings, varying other prosthetics

History: Reegull is very good at causing a lot of trouble for everyone. Like some hybrids, he lashes out at the society that cast him out (even his own parents didn’t want him, which sadly isn’t uncommon among hybrids). He has studied alchemy and botany, among other sciences, and works for whoever he believes he can dupe into furthering his own goals.

Legacy: Reegull is known as both the creator of Chigull (also known as fake Chi) and as a biologist studying the Chi that can be found in plants around Chima (which he was trying to use for his own ends, of course).

Sparrmax the Scorpion

Time Period: modern Chima

Parentage: Scorpion parent, Spider parent (unclear who was what)

Pronouns: he/him (doesn’t understand gender)

Sexuality: questioning (considers himself too young to worry about that)

Appearance: dark blue carapace, gold detailing, light brown eyes, white fangs, tail with stinger, visibly a Scorpion

History: Sparrmax is a Scorpion who also happens to be half-Spider. The Scorpion Tribe doesn’t follow Chima’s example of how to treat hybrids, instead treating Sparrmax as a full Scorpion since he chose them over the Spiders. Unlike other Scorpions, he doesn’t have any venom. He’s got a good eye for things that other Tribes would want, which puts him pretty high in the chain of command when it comes to cross-Tribal diplomacy. General Scolder is considering naming Sparrmax as his Lieutenant, putting him in line to become the General himself when Scolder becomes the Scorpion King.

Legacy: Sparrmax is a beloved member of the Scorpion Tribe and is one of the first hybrids to be fully accepted and integrated into the Tribe, unintentionally paving the way for hybrids of other Tribes to be recognized as Scorpions.

[pkmn-lillie]

TOTK AU idea!! spoilers for the ending of the game!!!

so you know how Zelda got un-dragon-ed by Sonia and Rauru at the end. what if it didn't work right? like, it only *mostly* reverses the draconification, so zelda has horns and a tail and spikes and scales, all that fun shit. But where did all that extra energy go?

It went to the other three dragons, who are now hanging around in hylian-adjacent forms in Hyrule (or the Depths ;)) and having fun/making trouble. I'm going to posit that they didn't start out as mortals like Zelda, so they have more memories of being dragons, unlike Zelda who was 'sleeping'. Also I'm bringing Ganondorf back, but getting exploded has knocked a lot of memories out of his head.

While the defeat of the Demon King has slowed the Blood Moon phenomena and greatly reduced the number of monsters on the surface, it has correlated with a surge in monsters and stalfos in the Depths, making it incredibly difficult to traverse, even by the Yiga. the Gloom has also disappeared from the surface, and only pockets of it remain within the Depths.

Because both Zelda and Link are trying to recuperate and manage the kingdom (and her new body,) they don't find out about this development until a few months after the defeat of the Demon King.

I've been alternating between he/they/she pronouns for all the dragons btw, i don't think they'd particularly care. (all three of the dragons are also wearing their respective armor set for convenience)

More on the dragons below the cut

FAROSH:

They are the tallest of the trio, (3.5m) and also bear the most resemblance to a Gerudo voe.

I have no way to describe his hair other than that it's Gotenks hair. Their hair conveniently sticks up like their horn.

Prefers one-handed weapons and shields.

He wakes up on the shores of Rassla Lake, heads to Tuft Mountain to get the lay of the land, and runs into Bolson.

Farosh: my name is Farosh.

Bolson: like the dragon?

Farosh: ??? of course???

I don't think anyone would immediately clock her as being The Thunder Dragon, just some weird Gerudo who chases off all the pirates.

They don't go to Gerudo Town because she gets mistaken for a voe by a stable attendant, and he misunderstands it as 'dragons aren't allowed'

NAYDRA:

They have the smallest stature, and besides the dragon features he also has a variety of malice scars (a la botw) and feathers (for flavor).

She also has the longest hair, like a waterfall, and white/light blue in color.

Prefers bows and wands/staves.

He initially patrols Mount Lanayru and slowly starts interacting with Kakariko, Hateno, and the Zora as a 'lone wolf monster exterminator'.

I think she would be the first one that Link & Zelda would learn about, and the least cooperative (they don't want to leave their territory.)

I think that their horns would look a bit different than the frostbite headdress, having three large separate spikes with smaller shards in between.

DINRAAL:

Poor Dinraal got their legs while they were in the Depths, and being unable to fly means that he's just kinda stuck down there-- not like she's complaining!

Dinraal is the most muscular of the dragons, and his skin has a rocky texture where it's not covered by scales. Their skin tone is also notably grayer than a normal Hylian.

His hair is very curly, in red/orange/yellow hues, and she keeps it tied back with a metal band.

Prefers two-handed weapons and hammers.

They are the one who finds the returned Ganondorf, who is stumbling through the Depths trying to avoid dying (he is bad at it, because he's lost most of his memories: Dinraal saves him.) She takes him under their metaphorical wing, and tries to teach him how to be the wielder of the triforce of power *without* becoming corrupted by Demise.

thank you for coming to my ted talk. if you want to write/draw anything from this, just tag me because i wanna see 🥺

[soothsaver]

could  that  really  be  SAERA  TARGARYEN,  the  princess  of  WESTEROS  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  twenty  five  year  old’s  ability  to  be  zestful  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  self-willed.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  TARGARYEN  and  they  support  the  ruling  of  house  targaryen  throughout  westeros.

i.  dossier

full name: saera targaryen title: princess of westeros alias(es): the hellion age: five and twenty birthdate: tba gender & pronouns: cis woman & she / her   orientation: bisexual, biromantic religion: the faith of the seven languages spoken: high valyrian, the common tongue allegiance: house targaryen

ii.  physicality

notable features: between her silver volumnious curls and large purple eyes, she strikes as an odd beauty; she is hardly ever without some sort of smile, be it mischiveous or of true enjoyment. height: 5’4, 162 cm   build: wispy. eyes: periwinkle, very wide doe eyes. hair: silver, curly and voluminous, often worn loose; when it is tied up, it is with intricately thin braids, forming valyrian braids and decorated with ribbons and jewels. wardrobe: she favors light colors of different shades such as yellows, reds and pinks, purples, the ocasional blue.

iii.  ties

father: aenys i targaryen mother: alyssa velaryon siblings: rhaegar (†), rhaenyra, daenaera (all older), vaegon (twin). marital status: tba children: n/a relatives: house velaryon (maternal cousins)

iv.  personality

abilities: dragonrider — goldwing hatched from an egg placed on her crib at birth. at twenty - four years old, goldwing is enormous; he is white with rose gold scales and golden wings, thus the name. he has a volatile but playful temperament and is flown on daily to get rid of his high-energy; some say he is the perfect match to his rider. moral alignment: tba zodiac: sag/scorpio cusp positives: quick-witted, charming, openhanded, ebullient negatives: challenging, spoiled, reckless, spiteful pass times: tba wields: besides the thousand pounds dragon, she has an inconvenient kingsguard often at her heels. inspirations: conchita blossom (the buccaneers), aerea and saera targaryen (asoiaf), kathryn howard (the tudors), mary tudor (the spanish princess), julia the elder (domina).

v. background

a small and fragile babe at birth, many assumed that she would not survive a fortnight. it was only after an egg was placed within her crib that she began to grow stronger — the egg would hatch only on her first nameday, but, by then, she was fit as a fiddle and already a demanding young thing that would cling to her egg and to her family at every possible step. she was not a quiet babe either, quickly learning her words and dispensing commands in high valyrian to both servants and her family, even her father, who would always share a laugh at his precocious daughter.

saera was only nine when aenys died. she was too young to understand why the twins were being whisked away, why she would not see them for years forward, why uncle maegor was in their home and why they were not allowed in king's landing, why they must live with visenya now and why they were not allowed to be near their dragons. in her best fashion, she made life horrible for those involved — countless headaches for her long-suffering mother at first and it is said that visenya could not bear to be near her unless she was to be striken down by the old conqueror — something that she definitely took advantage of, acting her worst whenever she could just so the woman would stay away from them (it did not stop her from learning from the old conqueror, though. none of her witchcraft nor of her ability with dark sister, but how to hone her tongue).

when it came to the time that it was their turn to run away, she was elated. dragonstone had become akin to a prison and she dreamed of being reunited with the rest of the family — of course, that was before she learned of rhaegar's death. instead of a moment of rejoicing while they hid amongst the free cities, a period of mourning insued, and not even saera could smile away the fear from being the next to be hunted, the next to lose their dragon, the next burned to the ground like nothing.

maegor's death changed everything. once more, they were whisked away into a ship, but this time, they emerged to king's landing with the sort of joy saera would seek to achieve at each moment afterwards. no longer did she want to speak of the bad that had passed and, at reuniting with rhaenyra, she made it her job to keep her sister from mulling it over too. as princess, sister to the king, she thrived on the red keep, making her duty to know every nook and cranny of the new palace, while not forgetting to reaquantancing herself with her dragon.

[occasionaloneshots]

D.A.R.E. - Ash Y2K

“D.A.R.E. to say no to drugs, Ashtray.” “Dare to live a little, Cheersquad."

Ash Y2K x Cheerleader!Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers (They/them/theirs for Ash)

Tropes: Secret friendship, friends to lovers

Word Count: 6.8K

Summary: You can find the most unlikely bonds in the strangest places. Who would have thought that the cheer squad's captain would fall for one of the school's rejects?

Warnings: drug use/underage drug use (Canon), homophobia (think Fear street 1666 religious homophobia), mentions of religion, peer pressure (but like, it's playful), shotgunning, silence of the lambs and fried green tomatoes mentions, swearing (like a lot of it), reader is taller than Ash, lesbian reader but I think you could technically read her as just some type of sapphic, insults and pet names both being used as pet names, I called Farkus "Cousin It" idk

     At some point, though she’s not fully sure when, A Scarlet Letter turned into crimson post-its that fluttered from her locker like butterfly wings. Not that she was complaining about it. How could she? If she was honest, it might just be the greatest, bittersweet thing she’d ever known.

   Right now though, (Y/n) swears that the newest of those slips of paper is burning a hole through her chest from its place slipped in her bra. And if Laura would just stop talking then maybe she could go find out what it says. It’s not like she can just whip it out right here in the hall. The bright red stands out far too aggressively against Crawford’s blue and tan color scheme and there’s no way she could avoid Laura questioning her. Or worse, following her to whatever location the note is planning to lead her to. How could she explain that? Even then, how can she ever be expected to care about how Laura’s lame older boyfriend is hanging around “the biggest losers” the hacker has ever met when there’s some secret proposition waiting on her? Just in her bra, the corner of it poking into her skin as an incessant little reminder that someone else was somewhere waiting for her, just out of her reach. 

     “And it’s like, I don’t care that he smokes, like that’s whatever to me. But you’re an engineering major, why would you want to spend all of your time just sitting in a building without electricity getting high when,” Laura cuts herself off, turning to her left to see the far off and almost uncomfortable expression on her friend’s face, “You okay, (Y/n)?” It seems to knock the girl out of her thoughts, earning Laura a small nod. “Yeah I just, need to uh,” she looks up, taking a steadying breath as she turns to the bathroom door, “I need to run to the bathroom, I will meet you in the Cafeteria?” “Yeah, see you in a few.” It’s all the permission she needs to slide into the bathroom they’re passing and away from any onlooking eyes. 

    (Y/n) goes to slip into the first stall but stops when she notices the scent of weed and smoke lingering around the room. Instead she reaches into her bra, sliding the note from its hiding spot so quickly that the corner leaves a burning sensation on the skin it glides across. “Meet me in the bathroom by the Cafe - A” stands out across the little page in a sloppy sprawl and she can’t help the soft chuckle that falls from her lips. Of course, who else would be smoking in the bathroom? 

   “You are incredibly bold, do you know that?” The door of the handicap stall swings open and Ash leans against the edge of the metal wall, a joint barely hanging out the corner of a nearly dopey smile that stretches across their mouth, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” “Not whatever, you are so going to get caught this time,” despite that she’s bouncing on her toes and over to the stall. Ash leans further into the wall’s edge, letting the girl slide in behind them before closing the door. “Maybe if you didn’t take so long I wouldn’t have gotten bored enough to smoke, Princess.” “You would have been smoking anyway, Loser. This isn’t even your lunch period.” They roll their eyes, locking the stall door and leaning on it, “I wouldn’t have been able to see you until after school if I wasn’t skipping. Lord knows that you’re too much of a pussy to skip class. What took you so long anyway?” She rolls her eyes in return, tugging her jacket closer to avoid the chill of the window Ash had opened. “Laura wouldn’t stop talking about her lame boyfriend and how all he does is hang out with stoner weirdos.” Ash hums, letting another drag of their joint pass through their lips, “Oh and heaven forbid you let prom committee know that you also hang out with a stoner weirdo.” 

   “Oh so Farkus knows we’re friends?” Her eyebrow juts up as if daring Ash to argue with her.  “Fuck no,” they drag out the expletive with raised brows. They’d both agreed a while ago that this should just be their thing. Heaven forbid Ash loses their cool factor with Farkus or (Y/n)’s cheer squad and prep friends learn that she spends her time with a “reject”. No need for anyone else to get involved, absolutely no fuss required. It's easier that way, isn't it? “See, and you’re giving me attitude. Anyway, you’re not a weirdo, I mean he hangs out with like,” (Y/n) waves her hands around as she talks, “Like that weird dude at the video store.” The sentence is ended with a point towards her friend, her hand crashing down in her palm as if driving in the thought. 

     Ash’s nose scrunches up for a moment before a sudden spark of realization spreads across their face, “Speaking of the weirdo at the video store, you and I have plans tonight.” Now it’s (Y/n)’s turn to scrunch her face, shaking her head as she speaks, “With the weirdo from the video store? Hard pass.” “No,” it comes out on a laugh, “Not with the weirdo from the video store. My parents are out of town so you are sleeping over tonight. I rented us a double feature.” The sentence is innocent enough, and with anyone else it would get a blank response of “okay”, but this is Ash picking out movies. That always seems to end with them watching something bloody and violent. It elicits a whine from the girl, “Do not make me watch any weird shit, Ash. I still haven’t recovered from that horror movie that you told me would be a Christmas movie.” “Technically, Black Christmas is a Christmas movie,” they playfully point at the girl as they speak, poking a finger between her collarbones as they punctuate the words. “Okay, I am so not going.” Her voice pitches up as she speaks, playfully taking a step back as she throws her hands up.

    The hand that isn’t holding their joint reaches out from her chest to (Y/n)’s hand, pulling it to them, “Please? It’s the first night of winter break, I wanna do something. One is a horror movie, yes, but the other one is one I picked out just for you. It’s that book on your shelf, the one you said you cried over because it made you feel seen.” Her brows furrow for a minute, “What?” “Fried Green Tomatoes, that is the one, right? If not I got the wrong thing but it still looks like-” “You remembered that? We weren’t even friends yet when I told you about that.” If (Y/n) didn’t know better, she’d almost say they looked bashful. “It was the first time you ever seemed genuine with me. I don’t know, I guess I just memorized it, it doesn’t matter. So are you coming over or what, Cheer Squad?” Their whole demeanor changes, arm coming back across their chest as they take another hit. Blocking the girl out as if trying to cover an exposed wire.  “Awe, struck a nerve, huh? I’ll be there by seven.” She pops her hip against Ash’s as she unlocks the stall door. “Bring snacks.” “I’ll have carrots just for you. Add something other than green to your diet,” she teases, poking her tongue out as she turns back to Ash over her shoulder,” Who knows, they might even dye your hair back. Don’t get caught in here.” “I never do. I’ll see you tonight, (Y/n).” “See you later, Ash.” 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

       In no way was this their first movie night. Actually, Ash and (Y/n) had been meeting up for movie nights since the week they finished their project on A Scarlet Letter back at the very beginning of October. This one felt different though, (Y/n) tried to tell herself that it was the fact that the movies Ash picked were finally something other than horror, but she knew better. 

    It was in the silent tears streaming down both of their faces. They way that she timidly grabbed Ash’s small hand and Ash just held back tighter during Silence of the Lambs. Or maybe the way that they had wrapped an arm around her while she cried to Fried Green Tomatoes, silently as if physical affection was something they’d always done. Maybe it was the way they both looked down at the VHS in their laps as they played rock, paper, scissors to see who got to put their movie on first, and made the promise that they wouldn’t ask any questions until the movies were both over. 

    Or perhaps, in the heat of it all, it was the way they were both laying on their backs on Ash’s bed, their enclosed hands resting on (Y/n)’s stomach in complete silence. Both of them slumping down in the bed as the VCR rewinds the tape. It all felt too heavy. Too vulnerable. Like they were naked in front of each other and waiting for the other to laugh at their bodies. Raw, exposed, wires with the copper out, just waiting to strike. 

    “So,” she forces herself to sit up, staring at the black screen on Ash’s box TV as their hands fall to her lap. “You can,” she lets out a shaky breath, “You can ask questions now. If you wanted to.” Ash simply squeezes her hand tighter, “Actually, I think you should go first. I uh, I need to collect my brain. Smoke maybe, I don’t know.” They force themselves up from the mattress, looking around the room for something. “Yeah, I just, need a minute.” (Y/n) tries to ignore how empty her hand feels as they pull away, getting up and heading to their dresser. Her lip is between her teeth as she watches them rummage through a drawer, pulling out their grinder and a cone. It’s almost beautiful, the slow and focused movements as they roll, every so often interrupting their focus to wipe a stray tear from their cheek. And if it wasn’t for the sniffles coming from the two, the room would nearly be silent again. Something about it felt incredibly heavy, as if the tension in the room could just swallow them whole. 

   (Y/n) gets up, walking to the window and sliding it open as Ash makes their way over, wrapping rubber bands around a toilet roll and dryer sheets. “You’re gonna freeze,” Ash mumbles, climbing on their desk to get closer to the window. “And you aren’t?” They shrug, pulling their legs up to their chest, “I’m used to it. Go get back under the blanket.” A soft laugh falls from her lips as she climbs back under the blankets, “You know, I like this side of you. You should let it show more.” “What, me being mind fucked and crying? Yeah, I’ll pass.” An arm comes to wrap around their knees, chin resting on top of them. Her laugh grows, (Y/n) shaking their head as they talk, “No, the softer, protective Ash. Are you like that with everyone or just me?” “Just you, Princess,” they take a drag, turning their head and blowing through the toilet paper rolls towards the window, "Just you."  

   “Well, I’m glad to know I’m special to you.” The conversion dies again, they hadn’t had silence this uncomfortable since their second time meeting up outside of class. It felt, wrong. As if this movie night that started out so sweet had simply cut the friends open and left their innards exposed to the elements. “What does the tube do?” Ash lets out a sound that seems to emulate their laugh, “It helps cover the smell of the smoke. Filters the scent out. It doesn’t work too well on joints because they’re steady lit but the Old Man hasn’t caught me yet.” All (Y/n) can do is hum, letting her eyes fall from her friend to the comforter, picking at a loose thread. Her friend, that’s what Ash is. All that Ash is. And friends talk about things like this without fear of judgement all the time, don’t they? So what was making this difficult? 

    “Would it be weird for me to call that movie oddly beautiful?” She’s still not looking at Ash, but she can tell Ash is still wrapped up in their head. But it’s a start, that has to be something. “What do you mean?” Their voice feels a world away. “I don’t really know. I mean, there’s something about the killer, it’s weird. I guess he kinda reminds me of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, ya know? And I’ve always thought that movie was beautiful in its strange little ways. Then the other characters feel almost, I don’t know. There’s something about Jodie Foster’s character that makes me feel the same way my movie did?” She shakes her head, pulling her legs up to her chest, “I don’t know, maybe I sound crazy.” With her head resting on her arms, (Y/n) spares a look in Ash’s direction. She expects them to look disgusted, to want her to leave. They should, she’s positive they should. And yet? 

   “You felt it too?” “Yeah,” she nods, letting out a slow breath, “I felt it too.” “Is it,” Ash fiddles with one of the rubber bands on the tube, “Is it weird if I say that Idgie and Ruth made me think of us?” And it’s like her heart stopped in her chest.

   There it was, Ash didn’t get it. Not the way that (Y/n) did, they didn’t feel it how she did. How could they? Maybe everyone back home was right. And If Ash knew? It’s not like they would tell anybody. They couldn’t, then their friends would have to know about their friendship. But would Ash want her here if they knew? Would this be the end of everything? Would it all have to go back to when Ash genuinely had no interest in knowing her and she pretended she didn’t hope to catch a glimpse of them in the hallway? She couldn’t handle that. It was too big a loss. God she could never handle that.

   “Hey, Earth to (Y/n),” Ash has settled on the bed beside her now. Joint forgotten and window closed as they sit with a hand resting agonizingly soft on her thigh. “Are you okay? Did I strike a nerve or something?” “How?” “What?” She lets herself turn to them. Their features are so worried and gentle, tear tracks still staining their cheeks, and everything about this moment feels suffocating. She can smell their jasmine body spray faintly under the scent of weed, she’s suddenly painfully aware of how much the room smells like them. Of how close they are, how dangerous the position she put herself in was. How could she let herself do this again? “How do they remind you of us?” 

    “They’re just so dedicated to each other, you know? Like you can feel that they care, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’d help kill an abusive boyfriend for me or vice versa, I guess. Really it would probably be the other way, you couldn't hurt a fly. I mean, the barbecue plot line would have been my doing because you’d never plan something like that; but like, the way you always tell Farkus to shut up if he says something funny that you think is crass when we’re at parties. It just reminded me of us.” “Ash,” her voice is shaky, and she fights her own instincts to keep looking at them, “You know they’re lovers, right?”  “They never called them lovers.” “It didn’t but, the book heavily implies that,” her words fall off as her eyes drop from them. This had to be the end of her favorite part of this god awful town, how could it not be?

    “Is that why-” “Yeah,” her voice cracks as she pulls her legs away from Ash’s touch, bringing them back to her chest as she looks away, “It is.” She expects them to scream, to tell her to get out. For them to do anything, and yet. “Have you ever,” they pause and she can feel their eyes scanning her, “You know?” “Yeah,” her voice is barely above a whisper, and (Y/n) isn’t completely sure that Ash can even hear her, “It’s why we moved here.” “What do you mean?” 

   She lets herself fall back on Ash’s bed, an arm slung over her eyes so she doesn’t have to see them. If she was smarter or maybe stronger, she would have gotten up, put real distance between them. But she can’t, she just can't.

   “I was dating the pastor’s daughter back home. I don’t really remember how it started, one day we were just friends and then suddenly, I don’t know. It was fine though, secret but I think she really loved me. I thought she did at least.” Ash lets their hand settle back on her knee, rubbing soft circles on it with their thumb in a way that’s almost nauseatingly sweet. “Then her dad caught us making out in her room. And he told my parents that they could keep me and my perverted ways away from his little girl, or he would tell the congregation that I assaulted his daughter. So, they packed us up and moved us here. I guess it’s for the better though. She didn’t argue with him once, didn’t even try to stand up for me. It's just, it’s for the better that I’m here. No one knows here, except you, I guess.” 

   The mattress shifts beside her, Ash’s hand now softly grasping hers. “I’m sorry.” Their voice is just as shaky as hers, it’s nearly enough for her to spare them a glance. “It’s not like you caused it. And I can, I can leave if you want. I’d totally understand, but can you possibly, keep it to yourself?” Their grip on her hand gets tighter, thumb rubbing circles on the back of it the same way they’d done to her knee. “Why the hell would I ask you to leave?” “Ash, I’m-” “You’re a person. One of the few people I actually feel like may get me, I’d never kick you out,” their voice is sharp and it’s nearly impossible to read. (Y/n) feels absolutely sick, hand limp in Ash’s. “And anyway,” they reach over, pulling her arm from over her eyes and tilting her jaw to look at them, “No one would believe me if I told them. You’re safe with me, that’s a promise, Cheer squad.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” She lets a weak smile come to her face, “Thanks Ashtray.” 

    “Don't mention it. Anyway, what are you doing on Christmas Eve?” She laughs, this loud sound that causes Ash to jump. It’s an infectious sound, something that reaches into their core and pulls a laugh out too. “What is so funny to you?” “That was such a random topic change!” “It wasn’t! We’re hanging out because it’s winter break, I want to do a gift exchange, like a real one.” “Christmas Eve won’t work. My parents are dragging me to candle light service and then we do the whole one gift tradition. There’s no way I can skip out on them.” “Then sneak out after?” 

   “Sneak out? You want me dead, don’t you?” This time Ash is the one laughing, “You are so dramatic, Princess. Won’t sneak out, won’t skip class. Don’t be a pussy!” “You might be the worst influence ever, Ash. Anyway, what would we even do if we did meet up? Everything is going to be closed that late on Christmas Eve.” They bite their lip, looking the girl over with that little dopey grin begging to break through, “The cabin is for sure going to be empty, we can go sit on the swings, smoke a joint, swap gifts. Come on please,” they’re nearly whining, bringing her hand up to their chest as they pout. “Fine, but if I'm grounded while the world ends, I am so blaming you.” 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:20

      The swings at the little cabin were Ash’s spot. She’d known that for a while, but she’d never been by, or been invited before. It felt personal, like showing someone one of your scars, and explaining the story. Maybe their friendship needed that; the two of them opened that gate last week, didn’t they? No going back now. Ash is sitting on one of the swings, a package that seems to be wrapped in red paper is sitting in their lap as they look back and forth from the gift to the path in front of them. (Y/n) tucks Ash’s present under her arm, biting her lip to hold back a giggle as she tip toes up to them. They’re looking back down at the present when she gets to them, picking at a ribbon on it. Completely oblivious to her existence a mere foot behind them. 

   (Y/n)’s hands slap down on either of their shoulders, eliciting a scream. A hand comes to cover their racing heart as they turn over their shoulder to look at their attacker. “What the fuck? You are such a dick!” (Y/n) hums, plucking Ash’s snapback off of their head and putting it on as she rounds the side of the swing set, “You like those, don’t you? I’ll take it as a complement.” Though she can’t see it, she knows Ash’s eyeroll is so intense it may as well be verbal. “Whatever, Princess.” The girl settles in the other swing, a cheeky smile across her lips, “Seriously, how did you not hear my car pull up?” “I don’t know! I thought it was someone passing me or something. I didn’t think you’d actually show.” Her smile falls from something cheeky to be gentler, more adoring, “You waited though.” “Of course I waited. I’m offended that you thought I wouldn’t.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.” They shake their head, fingers still fidgeting with the bow on their present, “No, only like, a few minutes. Nothing serious.” 

    “Good. So, do you wanna do presents out here? We could go in my car and then come back, you kinda need light to understand what I got you. I mean, if you even know how to read.” Ash laughs, standing up from the swing, “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh, Cheer squad?” “I might, Ashtray. What about it?” They’re wandering off in the direction that (Y/n) came from and she’s jumping from the swing to catch up to them. “You don’t even know where I parked!” “I’ll find it,” they turn around, sticking their tongue out at her as they walk. “You are ridiculous.” “You like it!” 

   She comes up beside Ash, wrapping an arm around their waist and dragging them in the correct direction of her car. Her hand slips into their pocket, wrapping around their bic with a smirk that they hope goes unnoticed.  It’s playful, the two bumping hips and talking about the past couple days. She tries not to notice the way that Ash is watching her face, friends looked at friends that intently all the time, didn’t they? “I meant to tell you, the weird guy at the movie rental place told me about this movie that’s at that big movie festival right now. He said it’s supposed to come out over the summer. Super limited release but there’s a theater like two hours away from us getting it, we should totally go see it. Sounds like something you might like.” “Descriptive, Ash,” she hums, unlocking the passenger side of her car to let them in. “It’s about this cheerleader, she’s like sent away because her parents think she’s gay and she falls for another girl there or something. Sounds like you’d like it.” She rolls her eyes, shutting the door behind them as they settle into the passenger seat. “You’re not funny.” 

    (Y/n) pockets the stolen lighter before she slides into the driver's seat, starting the car and flicking on the light. “I’m not trying to be funny, I’m serious, we should go.” “I’ll think about it. Now,” she tosses the present from her hands and into Ash’s lap, “Open it, I wanna see if you like it.” Ash is smiling, handing (Y/n) her present as they look down at the one she threw to them. “The grinch, huh? I thought you said I needed less green in my life?” “Yeah, well, shut up and open it.” Ash chuckles, rolling their eyes as they begin to tear at the bright green paper. “I’m sure I’ll like it, unless you got me pom poms or some shit, cheer squad.” “No, no. It was all about you.” She's beaming as she watches their hands work across the box.

    Carefully, Ash pulls the top off of the white t-shirt box, to be met with black fabric. They reach in, unfolding it and holding up the tank top to see it in the light. “That is that new band you like, isn’t it? I told the girl at Hot Topic it was some metal band with ‘knot’ in the name but I wasn’t completely sure.” “Yeah, it’s- You went into Hot Topic?” “Yeah, I mean, where else was I meant to find metal band t-shirts?” Ash lets their eyes flicker to her, eyeing their cap that’s still sitting on her head and her bashful expression. “You went into Hot Topic purely to find me a Slipknot shirt?” “Yeah,” her face is falling as she pulls her legs up in her seat, “Do you not like it? I can return it, I knew I should have went with Limp.” She reaches out for the tanktop and they smack her hand down, “No, back off, I love it. I just, I don’t know, I never imagined that you would be caught dead in Hot Topic.” They fold the tank top back, going to put it back in the box just to be met with a CD case. 

    It’s a clear case, or at least it was. She’s obviously decorated it herself, and Ash lets the shirt in their hands fall haphazardly in the box as they reach for it. There’s a picture of the two of them in the front, it’s one that they took in the bathroom at one of the other cheerleader’s Halloween party. They’re both in Ghostface costumes, Ash is flipping off the camera in the mirror and (Y/n) has her mask on the top of her head and her tongue out. Her hot pink camera stands out between them, something breaking up the sea of black fabric. Ash turns it over in their hands a few times, looking over to (Y/n) and back down at the case as if it’ll disappear. 

   “Well, are you going to open it? Or just stare at the picture of us?” “You made me a mix?” They open it, smiling at the bright green sharpie that reads “Killer’s Mix” across the chrome. There’s a slip of notebook paper shoved in the front, listing the songs and the bands in order in (Y/n)’s perfect handwriting. “Killer’s mix.” “Yeah, you told me right after we took this that you would be the one doing the killing while I made the calls.”  They laugh, “I would be. You can’t even skip class, let alone kill someone. If either of us were the killer it would be me. You are the Stu to my Billy.” She laughs, reaching up to take off Ash’s hat and sliding it back on their head, “That makes sense, me being the taller one. You know, since you’re tiny and all.” They flip her off without looking at her, eyes too busy reading off the songs she’d added to it.

     “These are all Numetal.” “That’s what you listen to. They’re all songs that you got really excited to hear when they came on MTV or the radio.” Ash looks over to her, eyes sparkling, “You paid attention to that?” Her brows furrow, adjusting to sit on her knees as she looks at them, “Of course I did. Music matters to you, why wouldn’t I?” Ash closes the case carefully, placing it back in the box. They slide it onto the dash before turning to (Y/n) and flinging their arms around her shoulders. “Thank you, (Y/n), seriously. This was- Thank you.” Her hands slowly find their way around Ash’s torso, leaning her head against theirs. “It’s not a big deal, seriously.” “It is to me,” Ash smiles, pulling away and leaning back against the door. They nod their head down at the box waiting in (Y/n)'s lap, “Now open yours.” 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:30

    The two made it back to swings eventually, Ash rolling a joint as they listen to (Y/n) ramble about how annoying the popular kids’ snowboarding trip had been. “Yeah, must suck having everyone like you, huh Princess?” “That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just. I don’t know, it’s so hard to fake it that you like guys when they’re just so, guys.” “Poor, popular, sad, gay, (Y/n) has to pretend she likes her friends. What a sad life she lives.” She’s giggling, turning her swing to look at them, “You suck.” “Yeah, but you’re stuck with me anyway,” they poke their tongue out at her before slipping the unlit joint between their lips. She watches them pat themselves down for their lighter and can’t help but smile. “Where the fuck?” The girl slips a hand in her own pocket, pulling out the lighter and flicking it to life, “Looking for something?” 

   Ash takes the joint from between their lips, reaching for the lighter only for (Y/n) to swing away from them. “Give me my light.” “You don’t need it.” It’s barely visible as they raise their eyebrows in the low light, “(Y/n).” “D.A.R.E. to say no to drugs, Ashtray,” she’s smirking, standing on her toes with her back pressed to the metal bar of the swing set. “Dare to live a little, Cheer squad. Now hand it over, you little thief.” “Two conditions.” “It’s my lighter!” “Two conditions!” Ash runs a hand over their face with a sigh, “What are your conditions?” She giggles, doing a little shimmy with her shoulders, “Chris is having a New Years Eve party, promise me you’ll be there?” “Which Chris?” “Chris,” she snaps her fingers, repeating the name as if it’ll come to her, “I don’t know, Chris from the soccer team.” “You two are supposed to be friends and you don’t know his last name?” She whines, stomping her foot playfully, “I don’t like him! And he has a really annoying nose shape. I don’t spend time with the guy, okay?” “His nose is annoying? You know what, whatever, deal. I’ll be there, now give me lighter.” “I said two!” 

    Ash lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine staring at her, “What else do you want? My soul?” “Let me light it?” With a huff they reach their hand out, offering the joint up to her. “Fine, whatever, just let me smoke.” 

    “No I mean like,” she pauses, shaking her head, “Nevermind, it’s silly.” “What, you wanna light it between my lips or something?” (Y/n) hopes that in the low light Ash can’t tell how flushed her face is. “Can I? I’ve seen it in movies, it looks cool.” “What it is, is hot. But I mean, yeah, go ahead,” Ash shrugs, letting their joint settle back between their lips as (Y/n) steps closer to them. “Hot huh?” “Yeah, they’re normally flirting. Now, chop chop.” She leans closer, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she flicks the lighter to life. Eyes full of wonder as she watches the flames eat away at the end of the paper, leaving a bright orange hue in its wake. It’s almost beautiful, or maybe they just are. If she's honest with herself it probably is just Ash. She lets go out, handing the lighter over to Ash who pockets it again as they blow out smoke. “Now that you’ve lit one, you want a hit? It would be fun,” they drag out the word, raising their brows as they offer.

     “No way, that’s all you.” “Come on,” they coo, dragging it through the air and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake, “It’ll be fun, just one hit.” She shakes her head, scrunching up her nose, “No way. I don’t want, whatever that is at the end touching my lips.” It earns her a nasally laugh as Ash takes another drag, “What? The cone?” “I guess so, yeah.” Her eyes stay trained on their hand, nose still scrunched. “If you could take a hit without touching it, would you?” The hinges on the old swing set creak as she kicks at the ground, “You know, you’re the peer pressure that D.A.R.E. warns us about.” “It’s just a question, I’m not gonna make you. I'd never force you to do anything.” She shrugs, “I mean, I guess I would. Just to see what the appeal is to you.” There’s a playful air to Ash’s voice that’s damn near comforting when they speak again, “Yeah? How much do you trust me?” She looks them over, lip returning to its place between her teeth. “Princess,” they tuck a hand under her chin, drawing her ever so slightly closer, “How much do you trust me?” “Probably more than anyone else in this town.” They nod, licking over their lips, “I can let you try it without your lips touching the cone.” (Y/n)’s brows furrow, looking down at the orange glow coming from their hand, “How?” 

    Ash smirks, winking at her in a way that makes her stomach feel as if it’s turning flips, “Just trust me, yeah?” “Yeah,” she nods, eyes trained on Ash’s lips as they raise the joint again, “Yeah okay.” “Just, breathe in when I get closer to you, alright?” Ash takes a drag from the joint, hand still holding (Y/n)’s jaw steady as they lean in. She can feel her heart in her throat as their swing comes closer, lips hovering over hers. They’re just barely touching her lips but it's enough to have her dizzy, their thumb dragging her chin down slightly to make her open her lips just enough. Ash blows smoke into her mouth and (Y/n) breathes it in. It burns, her eyes water as she holds a cough in, eyes trained nearly adoringly on Ash as they pull away. Their eyes are hooded, focused on her lips and she’s trying her best to keep it together. Part of her swears she feels lightheaded but she’s smart enough to know it has nothing to do with the smoke. How was that so casual for them? And why won’t they look away from her lips? The moment feels as if its suffocating her.

   “It’s,” she coughs slightly and doesn’t miss the amused reaction that crosses their features. “It’s getting late, I should probably get you home.” “Oh,” if she didn’t know better, she’d almost think that they looked disappointed. Ash forces a cough, putting their smoke out on the metal bars beside them, “Yeah, I mean. We should go, it’s Christmas already, technically. I’m sure you’ll be up by five or something, since you live in a movie and all.” She definitely did, there was no way she could end up in situations like this if she didn’t. And (Y/n) was sure that the writers saw her as their punching bag.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:40

     What did he have that she didn’t? She knew the answer to that, of course she did but how on Earth could a guy like that keep their attention the way he did? They deserved better than that, she could be better than that. But friends didn’t think about each other like that, and that’s all they were. That's all they would be, she had to remind herself of that.

   Ash and their crew are taking up the kitchen, smoking and recording each other. They’re perched on the counter, leaning back against the cabinets as they chug a beer. Of course they are, why would they be anywhere else when (Y/n) is looking for a drink? So much for avoiding them until whatever this is goes away. Farkus has Ash’s camcorder trained on them, zooming in on their face as they drink. “Yeah, open up that throat, you little slut.” They flip him off, barely reacting to him as if this is normal for them. It’s disgusting. 

  “You talk to all your girls like that, Fuckwad?” She hums, sidling up beside Ash to grab a solo cup. “No wonder Ashtray is the only person who’s ever been dumb enough to fuck you.” She points over Ash’s lap for the whiskey, “Pass that over?” As they grab it, she pours coke in her solo, taking the bottle with her nondominant hand. “Oh yeah? You so sure about that, cheer squad?” She turns, cup in one hand and the bottle in the other, a raised eyebrow directed at him. “Positive, Cousin It. I sure as shit wouldn’t let you talk to me like that. Not that you could sleep with me if you tried.” She walks around Ash’s legs to put the bottle back, looking them over with a little smirk. That tank top did look good on them, she'd been right about that. “Nice shirt,” a hand reaches up to snatch their hat, slipping it on her head as she walks away. 

   “Hey, what the fuck?” She can hear Ash’s shoes hit the tiles behind her as she takes off, dashing through bodies as she heads up the stairs. “Give my shit back!” It elicits a giggle from her, running the rest of the way up the stairs and down the hall with a smirk playing on her lips. She slips into one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind her as she dashes into the closet to hide. Attempting to control her breath to keep from revealing her hiding spot. The door creaks open and she can hear Ash huff as they walk into the room. “Seriously? You don’t talk to me for a week and then you steal my shit and run off to hide? What the fuck, (Y/n)?” They’re shuffling around the room, she can hear their knees hit the ground and can only assume that they’re checking under the bed. “Marco.” “Polo!” There’s a giggle hanging onto her words as she pushes herself against the back wall of the closet. 

    The door swings open, Ash looking somewhere between annoyed and amused standing in the threshold. “Give me my hat.” (Y/n) reaches up, taking it off and holding it above Ash’s head, “Take it back.” Their arms cross over their chest, leaning against the threshold of the door. “Seriously, what the hell is up with you? You’ve been ignoring me and now you’re playing around like we’re fine? You hung up the second you realized I was the one on the phone three times this week. You’ve been ignoring my pages. What the hell is up with you?” “What’s up with me?” “Yeah, what’s wrong with you? If what I did on the swings bothered you that much, you could have told me. Stop acting like a damn child and talk to me.” 

    It makes her chest hurt, hand dropping to her side, the bill of the snapback slamming into her thigh. “Ash it didn’t-” “No, (Y/n) it’s fine. Really I should have known better. Just,” they reach out, grabbing their hat from her hand, “Stop fucking ignoring me. Or admit I ruined our friendship, or something. You’re being a real dick.” Somewhere downstairs people start counting down, and she can feel her heart in her throat as she reaches out for their wrist, dragging them towards her. “Three! Two!” This is her chance, and yeah maybe it will ruin everything but, she has too. How else will she ever make that part of her brain shut up? They say rejection therapy is good for you, don't they?

She grabs their jaw, tilting their head up towards her as she leans down. “One! Happy New Year!” She crashes her lips into theirs before she can think about it any further. Ash’s hands come up to rest on her chest timidly, kissing her back a lot softer than she expected them too. But their lips are as smooth as she remembers them being, and they taste like beer. It’s everything she’s wanted and pulling away nearly feels criminal. "Happy New year, Ash." It’s dark in the room when she opens her eyes and somewhere she can faintly hear someone call out “Y2K is real” making her giggle.  “You know, I’ve always thought kissing you would be something else, but I never thought you’d be able to knock the power out.” Their eyes flutter open, looking up at her in shock, “You are so damn corny. Wait, you’ve ,” they laugh nervously, looking up at her, “You’ve thought about kissing me?” “Since like October, Ash.” Their lip comes between their teeth for a second, letting their eyes flicker across her face as the lights come back on. The pink tint on their cheeks is impossibly cute. “That’s why you,” they slowly nod, confirming something for themself, “Oh.” “Sorry if I just, ruined everything.” Ash laughs, standing on their toes as they reach for her face, “Not at all, Princess.” They’re just about to close the gap between them when they hear the screaming. Both parties jumping away from each other as they let their focus land on the door behind Ash. “What the fuck?”

[esmp-au-tango]

Within my two days of existence I have rebranded I'm now esmp-au-tango instead of tangotekifcated since I am mainly interacting with empires smp characters so yeah 👍

Information on this au'd tango

-his origin kingdom is grimmlands but he left due to the corruption and the want to explore

-he carries around an acoustic guitar but has no picks since he continues to lose them. He also has scars on his hands from said acoustic guitar

-half of his face is scarred up by an accident hence he has a blind eye

-Tango when cold would start getting tired and just randomly pass out if he gets cold enough

-Tango is ftm trans

-Goes by he/they/flame pronouns

-Calls people nicknames based on their features

-Tango camps around finding it fun but it can be tiring and he has had times he just flops on top of the tent and sleeps

-Tango is pan and poly

-Tango is a lil netherborn phoenix but his wings arent fully developed so he has made a mechanical wings to attach to his lil wings

-he is the definition of a cat

-he loves drinking warm/hot drinks especially Hot Choco

-he of course his tail, feathers and hair go blue when in the cold for too long and since blue with fire means it's going to be hotter it's to keep him from passing out. Also on the topic of features changing colors when he touches water he goes all dove grey but being a little goofy derp he doesn't tell people that and let's them figure out themselves but it's difficult since people are like "he netherborn! Netherborns are seriously allergic to water! He no get water"