#rp: dance with danger

[shimmerbeasts]

Nyssala gasped as the cambion yanked her from her spot, effortlessly pulling her close. Moments ago, Mizora had been amused, but now? Now she snapped, and things were getting dangerous. Killed for mouthing off to a devil? She thought. Oh, man... What a dumb way to die. She clenched her eyes shut, already halfway through mentally drafting her apology. She'd beg for mercy, swear up and down it was just a joke, a stupid joke. She'd never ever ever do it again — pinky promise. But then… Mizora's cold hand slid down her back, sending shivers racing up Nyssala's spine. Her eyes fluttered open, and she realized where she was — practically smack between Mizora's breasts. Wait, wait, wait… what the hell was happening? Nyssala's brain short-circuited for a moment. Her heart hammered in her chest, her mind doing backflips. She suddenly felt her eyes go impossibly wide as she tilted her chin up to meet Mizora's gaze. On one hand, she was absolutely terrified. On the other hand? Oddly aroused. Her body had a mind of its own, apparently. Oh, man… What an amazing way to die. Despite herself, she let out a shaky, nervous laugh. “Well, I’ve never really had the best luck with moms," she quipped, her voice a bit more breathy than she wanted. "But I’m not gonna lie, the way you're handling things right now…” She paused, her eyes glinting with mischief as she spread a bold smirk. “I’m kinda leaning towards the ‘much more’ option.”

It would have been a thing of ease to take offence with the nickname, Nyssala had given her. Most devils likely would have been offended and disgusted. A succubus might have salivated at being called an interplanar mummy, but unless the devil in question did not covet you as a toy for his private pleasures, they would have seen nothing but disrespect in those words.

Luckily for Nyssala, Mizora was not someone easily offended. At least not by something, which betrayed such obvious arousal and hunger. Even now with the poor drow pressed against her body and peeking up from between her perky, small breasts, the Cambion could feel her shiver, from fear, arousal and confusion. The same cold hand, which had trailed down Nyssala's spine, now found its way to her hip. Sharp claws tentatively scraped across her hip bone, letting the girl feel the oh, so gratifying sting of pain.

"That's quite alright", Mizora purred, while caressing the drow's cheek with her other hand, "You are in capable hands now." Her wings closed in around her and her latest target, making it so that wherever the drow looked, all she could see, was cool, soothing, corpse-blue flesh and membranes. The mischievous glint, followed by that bold smirk, caused Mizora to quirk an eyebrow, half expecting what the words would be, which soon after left the drow's mouth.

That same hand, which had previously caressed Nyssala's cheeks in a comforting gesture, now traced over her lips with tantalising fingers. The other hand still rested on her hip, however, now the claws clasped upon the protruding bone with a possessiveness to keep her latest catch in line. Mizora's eyes shimmered and shone like a cat's reflecting the light in the dark and her word was like poisoned honey, flowing freely into Nyssala's ears.

"Though I must wonder", Mizora whispered, "Just how far do you want us to push this 'much more'. I could give you pleasures far beyond the mortal realm, something, which makes you forget the constraints of flesh, blood and bone. I could make you feel as powerful as a pack of hellhounds, as fast as a Nightmare and as unchained as a tidal wave. That is if you can prove to me that you can take it. After all, experiencing something like the Nine Hells of Baator is not for everyone. And certainly not for someone, who has not offered me anything in return."

@unhingedbutpretty cont. from here.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Poet on the Broadcast

This is another one based on a song; it's a more sappier side of Alastor. It was also written for a close friend, @willowaudreykeyes. They gave me this bittersweet idea in an RP that we are working on. I hope you all enjoy it! Song: Rule#46 - Poet By Fish Inside a Bird Cage

TW: AFAB Reader, death, self sabotage, hallucinations, poor living experiences, violence, Hurt-> Comfort

Time was a cruel mistress indeed, an unrelenting thief that snatched away the very things we hold most dear. With every tick of the clock, she mercilessly stripped us of youth, laughter, and loved ones, leaving only echoes in her wake.

You were no exception. You bore witness to Alastor's fall—the haunting shadow of his demise forever etched in your memory. The freezing winds whipped through the snowy woods as you ran, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Hounds barked, their growls reverberating through the trees, a sinister chorus to the chaos all around you. Gunshots rang out like thunder, each a heavy reminder of the danger that lurked just behind you. Every breath felt like a precious treasure, stolen not just from you, but from the man you loved, who had been a light in your dreary life.

Time granted you fleeting moments of respite, allowing you to catch your breath as you evaded the hounds as your partner wished in his dying breaths. Yet, it also forced you to confront the harsh reality of survival, time and again brushing against death for the sins of your beloved. For the enemies he created and formed in the years he stood by your side.

You lived a modest life, flitting between the opulence of high society and the grit of the streets. Each day was a delicate dance, a balancing act between the world of privilege and the shadows of hardship. But with every birthday that passed, a bittersweet yearning filled your heart—a longing to reunite with Alastor. 

Then, just as that desire reached its peak, you closed your eyes letting time take you to the great unknown with the man you lost years ago. Except time no she is a cruel mistress indeed. You were awoken in a different body, younger, in a time that felt both foreign and familiar.

How cruel is time, to gift you this love only to rip it from your grasp again and again? How many lifetimes must you endure, each one marked by the haunting memory of him, always just out of reach?

In this second life, you became a PhD student, a mind lost in the pursuit of knowledge, but also a vigilante in the shadows of the city, fighting for those who had no voice. Yet, the memory of your beloved Alastor lingered, a ghostly echo of a man who was both psychotic and completely yours. 

As the years drifted by in this new existence, the lines between memory and imagination began to blur. Why had you been granted this second chance? Was it a blessing or a cruel curse? Was the vision of Alastor beside you, whispered in the dark, merely a figment of a child’s imagination, a way to escape the unrelenting horrors of your reality? 

As your birthday came and went once more, a darker fate awaited you. You found yourself thrust into a hellish red landscape, a cruel irony considering you had committed no sins. Roaming the streets of this infernal realm, you quickly adapted, your years spent fighting alongside Alastor sharpening your instincts, allowing you to rise swiftly within the ranks of hell.

Then, four years into your torment, you heard a broadcast that sent shivers down your spine. The Vee's were in an uproar, and you felt an inexplicable pull to the source of their distress. You tuned in, and the voice that emerged from the static struck a chord deep within you. It was a voice you had longed for, a melodic tune you remembered all too well—a voice that transported you back two lifetimes ago, when you would sit by the window at dusk, eagerly awaiting his return.

Could it be? That past life, once dismissed as mere fantasy, began to feel so so close to real. The stories he spun during that late-night special were ones only you knew the other half of, secrets woven into the fabric of your shared existence that you feared were long forgotten to time.

With your heart racing, you began to search for him, following the trail of his voice to a hotel for Hazbins seeking redemption. There, amid a myriad of misfits longing for a second chance, was a figure that made your heart leap—a deer demon who looked so painfully familiar yet foreign, a man shaped by the passage of time.

What is time, if not a relentless force that dulls the senses yet sharpens the soul? It is a cruel teacher, reminding us that every moment counts, that love, once lost, can sometimes be found again.

Driven by hope, you joined the redemption program, longing to get close to the man who resembled the Alastor of your memories. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and as a year slipped by, you found the courage to ask him the question that hung in the air like an unspoken promise.

“Are you Alastor, from New Orleans, 1920s, engaged to Y/N?” The question trembled on your lips, heavy with anticipation. You braced yourself for the lash out, for the fierce anger that had always danced in his eyes.

 It was the very fire that had once ignited your passion and fear alike. But instead of a storm, you were met with a soft, bewildered stare. The smile that tugged at his lips was both awe-inspiring and heart-wrenching.

“How do you know about Y/N? Answer wisely, or your screams will be broadcast next for all of hell to hear.” His voice was low, edged with disbelief, and for a moment, the deer demon seemed almost vulnerable—a rarity in any world you knew him in.

“I am Y/N…” Your voice quivered, a fragile thread of conviction woven with longing. You hoped he could see the truth in your eyes, but as his expression morphed from shock to confusion and then to a flicker of spite, you understood that time was still playing its cruel game.

“No, no, you aren’t! Otherwise, you would have found me ages ago!” He stalked over to you grabbing yout collar. He growled in frustration and his grip tightened around your throat, lifting you to eye level, his horns casting ominous shadows. “How dare you pretend to be her? Who told you about that part of my past? Who do you know?”

Steadying your breath, you summoned every cherished memory, every detail only you could recall. The words poured from your honey-coated lips like a sweet symphony, and as he slowly let you down, a fond smile broke across both your faces.

“Lastly, you thought it blasphemous that I would put ice, honey, and lemon in my tea when you made it for me, telling me I might as well not be drinking it anyway.” As you spoke, the memory unfolded like a picture book bare before you, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight lasting embrace.

Was this it? Had time finally allowed you to win? Had you endured enough in this limbo of two unfair lives? This embrace realigned everything that had felt lost for so long, a warmth spreading through your very being.

“I waited for you! I waited for years—ninety long years, my dear!” His voice trembled with emotion as he produced a collection of scripts, each one a fragment of his past, a thread leading back to you. Stories from the early days to the most recent broadcasts, all crafted to help you find him.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Ali… I truly apologize. I would wait a million years to stand beside you. But I am not who I once was. I am broken, scared, and changed by the lives I’ve lived. Would you really want that beside you?” Insecurities threatened to seep into your resolve, but the deeper you delved into the truth of your rough pasts, the more you realized how time had shaped you both.

He looked at you, confusion etched on his face, and then he laughed—a sound free of static, pure and unfiltered. Gently, he pulled you closer, his sigh a whisper of shared pain and understanding.

“You are stronger than you know. When you’re ready to let that strength show, let me guide you. You have every right to be scared; I have walked those same shadowed paths myself. When you’re ready to let go, I will be right here. I will always wait for you.”

At his words, tears welled in your eyes, a torrent of emotions spilling forth. No matter the hardships time had imposed or the years spent apart, you recognized that this love spanned lifetimes—enduring, unwavering. If he was willing to wait for you, then you would fight for him, heart and soul, against the cruelty of time.

Thank you for the support, my Moons~

[moonlightisdancing]

Dancing With the Devil/ s.f.k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 2243

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI 18+, drinking, touching, teasing, masturbation (f), priest rp, defo some sort of religious trauma, rough oral (m receiving), begging, slapping, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), overstimulation, praise, daddy kink

A/N: this fic was a collab with @belovedsamuel she gave me the sauce and i wrote it out <3

~~~~~~~~~~~🩵~~~~~~~~~~~

As you walk into the bar, you’re met with your boyfriend's brothers already several drinks in. You were supposed to be there an hour ago, but Sam looked criminally good in his priest costume. As his little devil, you just had to take care of some business before leaving.

“Hey! Look who finally showed up!” Josh pops up out of his seat to give you a hug. “Ahhh! It buuuuurns!”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” You gesture to his pope costume.

“Touché.”

You walk over to Danny and Jake at the bar. Danny’s dressed in an all too short pharaoh costume with now smudged eyeliner. Jake is dressed as Westley from The Princess Bride, his partner seated next to him dressed as Buttercup.

“Ordered you guys drinks.” Jake points over to two glasses on the counter.

You thank him and take a seat, Sam sits between the two of you. His cologne catches in the air as he settles in, filling your nose with the familiar scent you’ve grown to love so much. Josh finds his way back over and starts telling one of his stories, everyone paying half attention. They’ve all evidently had a few drinks before you and Sam arrived, but you feel yourself not too far behind. The liquor surely was working its way into your system as you continued sipping down mixed drink after mixed drink. Past a slight buzz, you only find yourself paying attention to Sam. Watching how his fingers wrap around the glass as he nurses his drink, lips perfectly parting to take in the liquid. The familiar fuzzy feeling finds its home inside of you, getting lost in his mannerisms. Josh goes on with more stories, Jake joining in now that his liquor had hit him enough to crack his introverted shell. The noise in the background is exactly that, Sam being the only thing to fully consume your thoughts. You reach your hand over to Sam and place it on his knee. He turns enough to acknowledge you without drawing attention from the others.

“Hey, sweetheart. Doin’ okay?” He asks, placing his hand on yours and caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Yes, I’m okay.” You nod.

“Okay. I love you.” He whispers, leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

His attention is quickly brought back to his brothers who are growing quite rammy. You slowly slide your hand up from his knee to his thigh, fingertips tracing circles closer and closer to his length. Sam clears his throat as your hand gets dangerously close to making contact, causing him to turn and shoot you a threatening glare. You can feel the slick building up between your thighs.

“I’ll be back, gotta use the bathroom.” You announce to the group, sliding your hand down his thigh as you get up.

You watch Sam’s eyes trail up and down your frame as you walk away. You walk towards a flight of stairs descending to a hidden bathroom in the basement. It’s typically for employees, but your group frequents the bar so much they’d let you use it whenever. You stumble into the dark bathroom, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You lock the door behind you, making your way toward the toilet. You rest your phone on the toilet paper holder and pull up the tight red dress as you situate yourself on the toilet in attempts to clean up. Sam has you a mess and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Giving into your temptations you decide to have some time to yourself.

“They won’t notice anyways…” You mumble to yourself.

You rest your back against the cold porcelain lid, spreading your legs a bit wider for easier access. You run two fingers through your folds, tipping your head back in ecstasy as you work light circles over your sensitive bud. Your mind flashes through images of Sam from earlier today, eliciting soft moans of his name that echoed against the stone walls. God how you wished he was here right now, making you feel how he did before coming out for drinks. As if the universe heard your silent prayers, you hear a knock on the door. The knock quickly turns into rustling of the handle, making your heart race.

“Y/N, open this door.” Sam’s voice angrily whispers from the other side.

“H-hold on.” You stand up and fix your panties before flushing the toilet and quickly running your hands under the water.

You wobble to the door and unlock it, creeping it open enough to see Sam’s face on the other side.

“What? I just had to use the bathroom.” You defend yourself before he opens his mouth.

“It’s been 15 minutes, and I have ears.” He chides.

“You were listening?!”

“Yeah, because I kept knocking and you weren’t answering.”

Fuck, how out of it was I?

“Sorry, I was-”

He steps into the bathroom and shuts the door, locking it behind himself.

“Moaning my name in here all by yourself? After pulling that shit out there?” Sam’s hands quickly find their way to your hips, coercing you against the wall.

He presses searing kisses to the exposed skin on your chest, working up your neck until his mouth lingers near your ear.

“Sounds to me like a little someone needs to repent.”

“Do something, Father Sam.”

“Daddy, to you.” Dominance drips from him as the words leave his lips.

He nudges his knee between your legs, pressing it against your core. You try to lower your weight on his knee, but his hands on your hips prevent you from going anywhere.

“Daddy, please?” You beg.

“Only thing you should be begging for is forgiveness.” He moves his leg as fast as he placed it there. “Knees. Now.” He demands, backing away and pointing to the ground before him.

Without hesitation, you find yourself dropping to your knees.

“Always looked so good on your knees for me.” He teases as he firmly grips under your chin with his hand. “Show me how much you want to be forgiven, sinful little thing.”

You reach your hands up, pressing them against his hardened length before teasingly unzipping his pants. You place a kiss against him through his boxers, earning a breathy moan from the contact. The fingers of his free hand find themselves tangled in the hair at the back of your head, gripping up a handful as he pulls your face up to look at him.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” His eyes slowly move around your soft features, taking in every detail as he looks down on you.

You reach back up for his cock, releasing him from the restraints of his boxers. Sam, hands still holding your head, guides your mouth to his dick, your hands holding balance on his hips. He presses his tip to your lips, staining the tip in cherry red lipstick.

“Would look better smeared all over that pretty face of yours.” He moves his hand from under your chin to grab his cock, using his tip to smudge your lipstick across your face.

“That’s better. Now go ahead, repent.” Sam places his hand back under your chin.

“I tried pleasing myself without you, and then lied about it. I was wrong.” You look up at him submissively. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Forgive me, daddy?”

“Good girl. How could I not forgive such a sweet thing like you?” He asks, placing his cock back to your lips.

An unspoken consent is exchanged as you open your mouth, displaying your tongue for Sam’s use. He works his lipstick covered cock into your mouth, hands tightening their grip on your head. His strokes start off slow until he’s fucking himself into your mouth at a steady pace.

“Is this okay?” He breaks character for a second, only continuing after you hum and nod yes.

Sam pushes himself down your throat until tears begin to threaten your lash line, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft. He continues until a mascara stained tear rolls down your cheek, pulling himself out of your mouth.

“Really want forgiveness, don’t you, little thing?” He gently slaps your face and returns his hand to your neck, pulling you up to your feet.

With his grip still around your throat, he pushes you against the wall, pressing his weight against your body. The cold wall causes you to groan from the harsh feeling on your warm skin. You lift a leg up and wrap it around his waist, watching his cheeks grow pink.

“I need you.” You whisper, leaning in to place a kiss to his lips.

“Need me for what?” He urges.

Oh, he’s really getting into this.

“Need you to fuck me until I behave. Until I’m a good little thing just for you, daddy.”

Sam pins the leg around his waist to the wall, allowing your red dress to roll up your thighs. His other hand snakes down to grip his length, brushing the head of his cock through your slick. He drags the tip of his dick up to tease your swollen clit, rubbing painfully slow circles until your knees are about to give out.

“Please? Please just fuck me?” You beg, trying to move your hips to place him at your entrance.

“Slow down, satan. Wanna fuck you so good you forget how to sin.” Sam peppers kisses along your jaw, working his way down your neck.

Once his lips find their home against your collarbone, he gently bites into your soft skin as he pushes himself into you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He whines, allowing his head to fall weightlessly into your shoulder.

You maneuver your hands so one is resting on his exposed cheek, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Sam slowly starts working himself in and out of your aching core. He brings his free hand between the two of you, settling the pad of his thumb on your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“Think you can take more?” He asks in your ear.

“Mhm. More.”

He halts his movements, rubbing a finger against the space he’s already occupying. Sam slowly pushes his finger inside of you, watching your eyes for any discomfort before moving his hips back and forth a few times.

“One more?” You beg with your fucked out voice barely able to speak.

“Okay. Tell me if it hurts.”

He dips another finger into your core, eliciting a guttural moan and furrowed brown from you.

“Too much?” He asks.

“No, feels so good.”

Sam’s thumb begins working circles over your clit again, curling his fingers up into you as much as the tight space allows. Your head falls against Sam’s as you grow dizzy from over stimulation.

“I love you.” You tiredly moan.

“I love you more, little thing.” His breathing is hitched as you begin to tighten around him. “Can you be a good girl and cum for daddy?”

Almost in command, you fall apart beneath him, explicit noises escaping your lips, his name rolling off of your tongue in a mantra.

“Good girl, such a perfect girl. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His hips stutter, movement faltering as he fills you with his warm release.

Combined moans echo off the bathroom walls surrounding you guys. Sam removes himself from you, cupping his hand to your core to stop his seed from spilling onto the floor. He reaches over for some paper towel to help clean up the mess he contributed to. He removes his cum covered hand from your center and replaces it with paper towel. You grab his unholy hand and bring it to your lips, cleaning his release off of it with your tongue. You lick his hand until there’s nothing of him left covering it.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You giggle as you wobble to the toilet, legs practically jello below your weight.

As you relieve yourself, Sam takes the time to wet some paper towel to help fix your smudged makeup. He comes over and begins to wipe off your lipstick before dabbing the paper towel along your cheek to fix the running mascara.

“Fuck, I cannot go back out there like this. That was… unholy.”

“S’okay. Let me talk.” He reassures discarding the paper towel into the trash can beside the toilet.

Once you’re as fixed up as you can get, Sam grabs you into his hold. The two of you make way upstairs, the entire party suggestively looking at you. Your hair was still messed up from Sam’s hands being gripped in the roots.

“Y/N got sick. I went to check on her and she wasn’t doing too hot.” He pouts, your orgasm weakened body helps with the sickly look.

“I’m sorry guys, I shouldn’t have drank on an empty stomach…” You play along, you’d rather have them think you’re a lightweight over the truth.

“Awh, okay. Well it was nice seeing you Y/N, I hope you feel better!” Danny offers condolences paired with an awkward side hug, he was trying not to hurt your sickened body.

“Bye guys, we’ll see ya.” Sam says, reaching for his wallet.

He discards a hundred on the table before taking you under his arm again.

“Let’s get you home, baby. I think you’ve repent enough today.”

[casukaga]

Please talk about what you love the most about your lil blorbos (Cable and Maverick and anyone else!) and what has been a fun challenge while playing them! And any other details that you're like "this is so neat but so niche so no one will know unless this VERY SPECIFIC SCENARIO COMES UP"

HEHEHEH WELL SINCE YOU ASKED….. :3c

cable—

i fuckin love this guy.

the basic rundown of cable: he’s charming, charismatic, loves spontaneity, and loves living life dangerously!! he’s all about doing what makes you happy and is a big advocate for self-love. they’ve got a high self-esteem and know their self-worth (he knows he’s hot shit and loves himself a lot!! ❤️) they also used to work at a brothel and are super open about their sexuality. this guy? horny. they love performing and pole dancing and wearing high heels. he’s also very affectionate and loves any and all kinds of physical contact. he’s also aromantic and pansexual!! he is platonic partners with my gf’s character, ophelia 💕

you ask me what i love about cable and it’s just. all of him LMAO.

i love cable sm because there’s a lot of myself in him (i made their character at a time when i was doing a lot of self-reflection). also he’s so open and honest and self-confident, i’m like— WOW, i aspire to be like you someday…

if i were to give a challenge i have while playing them… i love rp (it is my favorite part of dnd), but i fear i’m not the best at improv. i tend to get nervous during sessions for this campaign specifically. i think it’s that i’m so self-conscious about playing cable accurate to how i imagine him in my head that i’m just a bundle of nerves. i’m nervous at first, but eventually i get into a groove the longer the session goes on. though, these past few sessions especially, i’ve been pretty happy with how i’ve been playing him!! it delights me when my friends tell me they love cable as well 🥺

i also play leiana, my high elf druid!!

i realized i haven’t talked about her / showed her publicly on social media at all, so here she is. i don’t have as many things to say about her as i do cable, but i love her all the same!!

she was the first character i tried to give an accent to (irish), and while my irish accent is definitely not that good— it is what it is. this is just how she sounds like, and it’s good enough for me.

leiana is a cartographer and she loooooves bugs. loves bugs. which is very much not like me because i am, unfortunately, a little bug hater. but leiana has such a fascination with nature and bugs especially. she studies bugs and likes to pin them (she only pins dead ones she finds, she would never kill a bug herself) and she has a collection of pinned bugs!

she also has a pet tarantula named fenri, who can change colors! (he’s primarily pink and matches leiana’s hair.)

leiana is no stranger to grief and she fears dying. currently she is trying to distance herself from the party for Reasons 🥲

while i have a few more dnd characters, they are for upcoming campaigns that i have yet to play in!! cable and leiana are the two i am actively playing at the moment :3

maverick is also in my brain constantly these days, but unfortunately i cannot talk abt xem for reasons….one day i will gush abt them to my heart’s content…

thank u for letting me chatter abt my ocs, i give u a little kiss on the forehead

[cera-writes]

X-Men Rp with @shadykazama (closed)

The Danger Room's simulated cityscape blurred around Kurt as he dodged energy blasts and countered holographic opponents. The adrenaline rush was familiar, the thrill of the fight momentarily eclipsing everything else. But in the brief pauses between attacks, his mind drifted. It sought a quieter space, a gentler energy. It sought Autumn.

He pictured her in the lab, the soft glow of the equipment illuminating her focused expression. He saw her delicate hands manipulating intricate tools, her beautiful eyes reflecting the dance of energy she commanded. He remembered the warmth that radiated from her, the subtle crackle of energy that filled the air whenever he was near. It was a stark contrast to the cold steel and simulated danger of the Danger Room, a comforting reminder of the life and passion that existed beyond these walls.

He recalled their conversations, the way her voice, even modulated by her helmet, held a quiet intensity that mirrored the energy she wielded. He remembered how her explanations of her research were filled with a passion that was both contagious and inspiring. He thought of the way her energy seemed to pulse and shift with her words, a symphony of emotions and thoughts that he could almost feel resonating within him.

He smiled, remembering the accidental brushes of their hands, the silent exchange of energy that spoke volumes, a connection deeper than words. He cherished those moments when her barriers seemed to fade, revealing the vulnerable, passionate woman beneath the stoic scientist. He saw her laughter, rare and precious, and the warmth in her eyes when she spoke of her work.

The training session ended, and Kurt's thoughts lingered on Autumn. He longed for the quiet sanctuary of her lab, the shared understanding that bloomed in their silent conversations. He craved the feeling of connection, the warmth of her energy intertwining with his own. It was a solace he found nowhere else, a balm for the weariness of battle and the weight of the world.

As he left the Danger Room, the mansion's familiar sounds seemed muted, his mind still echoing with the memory of her presence. He made his way towards the labs, a sense of anticipation building within him. He hoped to find her there, to share a quiet moment, to bask in the gentle flame of her energy once more. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he might even catch another glimpse of that rare smile, the one that lit up her face and filled his heart with a warmth that had nothing to do with her powers.

-

The worn green felt of the pool table was a familiar battlefield, the click of billiard balls a comforting rhythm. Ellie leaned over her cue, the dimly lit pub a warm cocoon around her and the guys. A few drinks had loosened her tongue and warmed her cheeks, turning the usual banter into a lively symphony of laughter and playful jabs.

"Watch and learn, boys," she declared, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. The cue ball kissed its target with a satisfying crack, sending it careening into the side pocket. A chorus of groans and cheers erupted from the small crowd they'd gathered.

She careened over at Gambit, basking in the glory of her shot.

Ellie just laughed, the sound echoing through the smoky air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. Logan, leaning against the bar with a beer in hand, raised an eyebrow in amusement. Even Scott, usually so stoic, cracked a smile. It was nights like these, surrounded by good company and the friendly competition, that made Ellie feel truly alive. The shadows that usually danced at the edges of her vision seemed to recede, content to let her bask in the simple joy of the moment.

She lined up her next shot, the weight of the cue familiar in her hand. The world narrowed down to the green felt, the gleaming balls, and the anticipation of the next move. The subtle scent of whiskey and the warmth of the room wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Tonight, she was just Ellie, not Eclipse the shadow manipulator. Just a girl, a few drinks in, enjoying a game of pool with her friends. The weight of the world, the constant vigilance against prejudice and fear, seemed to melt away in the face of their easy camaraderie. For now, there was just the game, the laughter, and the quiet contentment of belonging.

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // the tortured poets department : the anthology rp meme part two. part one here.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

the black dog.

i just don't understand how you don't miss me.

old habits die screaming.

i move through the world with the heartbroken.

my longings stay unspoken.

i may never open up the way i did for you.

do you hate me?

i pledged and i still mean it.

now i wanna sell my clothes and set fire to all my clothes.

i wanna hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons.

i wanna hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, even if i die screaming.

imgonnagetyouback.

i can tell when somebody still wants me.

i'm gonna get you back.

i'm gonna curse you.

you were never not mine.

i can take the upper hand.

i might just love you till the end.

we're becoming something new.

even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you.

we broke all the pieces but still wanna play the game.

told my friends i hate you.

i love you just the same.

pick your poison, babe, i'm poison either way.

the albatross.

wild winds are death to the candle.

a rose by any other name is a scandal.

they tried to warn him about her.

cross your thoughtless heart.

only liquor anoints you.

she is here to destroy you.

one bad seed kills the garden.

i'd visit in your dreams.

they tried to warn you about me.

devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger.

she's the death you chose.

you're in terrible danger.

the devil that you know looks more like an angel.

i'm the life you chose.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus.

you just watched it happen.

i loved you the way that you were.

tear my world apart.

you said some things that i can't unabsorb.

you turned me into an idea of sorts.

you needed me.

you needed me, but you needed drugs more.

i couldn't watch it happen.

i crashed into you like so many wrecks do.

too impaired by my youth to know what to do.

can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses?

it just didn't happen.

will i always wonder?

how did it end?

we hereby conduct this post-mortem.

our maladies were such we could not cure them.

a touch that was my birthright became foreign.

how did it end?

we were blind to unforeseen circumstances.

we learned the right steps to different dances.

the death rattle breathing silenced as the soul was leaving.

my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree.

i can't pretend like i understand.

so high school.

tell me about the first time you saw me.

look at you.

no one's ever had me, not like you.

you knew what you wanted.

i hate it here.

tell me something awful.

tell me all your secrets.

all you'll ever be is my eternal consolation prize.

now i seem to be scared to go outside.

i don't believe in good luck.

i hate it here.

i will go to secret gardens in my mind.

nostalgia is a mind's trick.

only the gentle survived.

i dreamed about it in the dark.

i felt like i might die.

i'm lonely.

i'm bitter, but i swear i'm fine.

this place made me feel worthless.

in my fantasies, i rise above it.

thanK you aIMee.

it was always the same searing pain.

all that time you were throwing punches, i was building something.

i can't forgive the way you made me feel.

but i can't forget the way you made me heal.

it wasn't a fair fight.

i built a legacy that you can't undo.

i built a legacy.

but when i count the scars, there's a moment of truth.

there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you.

in your mind, you never beat my spirit black and blue.

i don't think you've changed much.

i look in people's windows.

i had died the tiniest death.

i'm afflicted by the not knowing.

what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

the prophecy.

i got cursed like eve got bitten.

a greater woman wouldn't beg.

please, i've been on my knees, change the prophecy.

change the prophecy.

who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?

i still dream of him.

even statues crumble if they're made to wait.

i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.

someone tell me it'll be okay.

cassandra.

burn the bitch.

do you believe me now?

i was in my tower, weaving nightmares.

what doesn't kill you makes you aware.

what happens if it becomes who you are?

they knew the whole time.

when the truth comes out, it's quiet.

peter.

forgive me.

is it something i did?

i thought it was just goodbye for now.

you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

promises oceans-deep, but never to keep.

are you still a mind reader?

are you still a natural scene-stealer?

i've heard great things, *name*.

life was always easier on you than it was on me.

underneath the same moon, in different galaxies.

i won't confess that i waited.

i let the lamp burn.

as the men masqueraded, i hoped you'd return.

love's never lost when perspective is earned.

the shelf life of those fantasies has expired.

lost to the 'lost boys' chapter of your life.

forgive me, *name*, please know that i tried.

please know that i tried.

please know that i tried to hold on to the days when you were mine.

the bolter.

we must stop meeting like this.

as she was leaving, it felt like breathing.

she liked the way it tastes.

she just knows she must bolt.

there's escape in escaping.

robin.

you are bloodthirsty.

you have no room in your dreams for regrets.

you'll learn to bounce back.

the manuscript.

now and then she rereads the manuscript.

now and then she rereads the manuscript of the entire torrid affair.

i'm not a donor but i'd give you my heart if you needed it.

but soon, it was over.

everything had been above board.

the years passed like scenes of a show.

write what you know.

looking backwards might be the only way to move forward.

the tears fell in synchronicity with the score.

at last, she knew what the agony had been for.

the only thing that's left is the manuscript.

the only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores.

but the story isn't mine anymore.

[imahumashipper]

Hi, my love!

I thought I’d just tell you guys about me:

My name is June but you can also call me junnie.

she/her pronouns.

I have progressive hearing loss.

My ao3 account name is I’m_a_icon.

I’m 19 and in college, child physiology major.

I’m was a dancer (not sexual) and was dance teacher, I also was theatre teacher.

My blog is mostly focused on descendants and other fandoms but I also post personal stuff and stories on here to.

I DO SUPPORT ALL KINDS SO THAT BEING SAID NO HOMOPHOBIA,RASICM, OF ANY SORTS IF YOU DISAGREE GET OFF MY PAGE (I am straight)

Yes you can ask personal questions about moi

But enough about me now let’s get into my bloggg:

I have rp account: @youknow-my-name.

But Like I said before I this is mostly a descendants blog but I do post about others such as….

•High school musical the musical the series

•China Anne McClain (yes she has a fandom)

•once upon a time

•911: lone star

•the little mermaid

•Henry danger

• Percy Jackson and the Olympians

And many many more I won’t get into.

SHIPS:

•Huma (Harry x Uma)

•rina (Ricky x Gina)

•Eriel (Ariel x Eric)

•Jace or grudd (grace x Judd Ryder)

•Chenry (charlotte x Henry)

•percabeth (Percy x Annabeth)

(these might be controversial)

Rp characters:

Bridget Hearts: @princess-of-hearts (@the-real-agatha-harkness)

Ella Tremaine: @charmingisdebatable (@nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol)

Chloe Charming: @chloecharmingg (@scraptumblers)

Fay Godmother: @faybibbidi ( @little-teacupss)

Zellie Fitzherbert: @z3ll13 (@saturnisaroace)

Uliana Triskelion: @watchthemfleeee (@brokenmilkcrates)

James Bartholomew Hook: @sh-ttyseas (@jupiterisaroace)

Harry Hook: @firstmate-firstdate (@mystic-mae)

CJ Hook: @cjh00k (@aiodenhunt)

Morgie Le Fay: @morgieserpentine (@skellseerwriting)

Maleficent Faery: @thousandthorns (@frenchgirltalya)

Hades: @rex-exzpiravit (@sleepyking)

Bye- love June 💖

[moldy-memes]

Epic the Musical RP Starters || Part 1

Ruthlessness

"In all my years of living, it isn't very often that I get pissed off."

"Damn, you crossed the line."

"I've been so gracious."

"I've gotta make you bleed."

"I need to see you drown."

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves."

"You are the worst kind of good."

"You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great."

"A [descriptor] that reeks of self-righteousness - that's what I hate."

"You fight to save lives but won't kill and don't get the job done."

"You are far too nice."

"Mercy has a price."

"Unlike you, I have no mercy left to give."

"And now it's finally time to say goodbye. Today you die - unless, of course, you apologize."

"The line between naivety and hopefulness is almost invisible."

"...What have you done..?"

"When does a ripple become a tidal wave?"

"When does a man become a monster?"

"I am your darkest moment."

"Any last words?"

Dangerous

"Hello, old friend!"

"Why are you here?

"Consider this your one last chance."

"If you dance with fate, then I know you'll enhance your state."

"If your plan's so great, then why'd you wait to say it?"

"It's a little bit dangerous, my friend."

"You cannot get away with playing safe for this."

"You gotta treat it like it is the main event."

"Be dangerous."

"When lost, look toward the sky."

"Follow the north star, no matter how far you think you're going you keep on rowing."

"No matter what, keep moving."

"Put it all on the line."

Scylla

"We're only demons from Hell."

"Drown in your sorrows and fears."

"Choke on your blood and your tears."

"We must do what it takes to survive."

Antinous

"Haven't you noticed who's missing?"

"I heard today he comes back to town."

"Let us leave now, today we can strike."

"Hold him down 'til the boy stops shaking."

"Hold him down while I slit his throat."

"Cut him down into tiny pieces."

"Throw him down in the deep below."

"Only the ocean and I will know."

[story-blossom]

I made a dewdle on Magma based on a Fearsome Four rp on Club Penguin with Duckblr Movie Night Discord server.

Click for screenshots and info about the rp.

I roleplayed as Dewey since I'm not super familiar with the Fearsome Four, I haven't seen DWD yet except for the first episode and Dewey is the most closely linked to DWD stuff out of the triplets.

Chose some sunglasses based on Dewey's desire to be cool and a blue scarf based on his desire to be a pilot/like his mom.

Meanwhile, I was busy being confused about how to do basic stuff in Club Penguins like take a hat off. @tealottie joined briefly then focused on drawing on magma.

Here's why Dewey was chillin' with the villians. Reminds me of What's Up Danger. "I had a slumber party with all my foes." Dewey tried and failed to write his name on the wall with snowballs.

Dewey kept trying to climb on the table but the game wouldn't let him. We also dealt with some weird and annoying censoring.

Dewey was able to become DJ Daft Duck at the penguin nightclub. The dance floor was full until we got there. Guess we scared everyone else away XD. Then we went downstairs and spoiler alert, Quackerjack was Mortimer Mouse all along! After a snowball battle, Mortimer went to have lasagna with Pete.

[littlemissheavenonearth]

Welcome to my blog!

Hello and welcome to my blog! The names Ryder, Rocksy Ryder. You must be here because you love anything related to Def Leppard and rock n’ roll, right? Well, if ya ain’t here for that and you’re just here to hate, leave. My besties and I are here enjoying ourselves, go find something else to do 🙂

Anyway, this is my main blog where I post all things related to Def Leppard and rock n’ roll, as I said before. I’ve got 5 side blogs:

@martymyangel - Dedicated to the one and only Michael J. Fox

@imizzystradlin - rp account for Izzy Stradlin

@joeelliottofficial - rp account for Joe Elliott

@therealj1mmyp4g3 - rp account for Jimmy Page

@vox-cinemas - rp and fanpage for Vox and Hazbin Hotel

I got a few rules:

Please be kind, you got no reason to be rude

Respect what others love

Treat others the way you wanna be treated or more specifically, how they want to be treated

Most importantly: Have fun my loves!!

Here are a few things I love to do:

Draw

Play bass

Play guitar (I’m saving up for a Gibson Les Paul Custom with 3 pickups)

Listening to music

And writing! (Read some of my fics below)

This is the song where my url comes from:

If you have any of these app’s please follow me:

instagram: @/_rocknrollprincess_

Wattpad: @/Queen_RockNRoll

Pinterest: @/rocksyryder

My favorite bands are:

Guns N' Roses

Motley Crue

Def Leppard

Queen

Nirvana

Poison

Cinderella

Led Zeppelin

Etc.

Here is my master list!

*Requests are currently closed :)

I write for:

Guns N' Roses

Def Leppard

Motley Crue

Queen

Joe Elliott:

Series:

The Dancer and the Rockstar; masterlist

One-shots:

Under The Light Of A Thousand Stars {In collaboration with @defleppardfan1}

Let It Go (Smut)

You're Mine (Request by @moon-fashioned1970)

Unbreakable (Request by @defleppardfan1)

Love Don't Lie {In Collaboration with @elliotts-personal-property}

We Belong (Request by @elliotts-personal-property) coming soon :)

Steve Clark:

I Need You Here (Request by @stevesorgasmicriffs)

A Match Made In Heaven (Request by @jimmysdragonsuit13)

A Dance With Danger

Because The Night Belongs to Lovers

Vivian Campbell:

Beach Day (Request by @leppardcampbelllove)

Incorrect Quotes:

Part 1,Part 2,Part 3

[violant-apologia]

my recent magic card escapades have taught me the value of a signifantly informationally denser character intro than i currently have. so, here we go!

Briar Hathaway, the Violant-Scrawling Apologist

(art by ScribbleSpecters and letters-of-fire respectively!)

he is:

a correspondent, focusing on weaving the correspondence into dance and poetry

persuasive and dangerous, and skilled with mithridacy, chess-playing and the red science

steadfast, melancholy and daring

closest to bohemians (in who he is respected by) society (in who he's associated with) and the great game (in what he actually spends most of his time doing)

white on the chessboard

a vake-killer and drowning in money

an ex-criminal, ex-seeker, and ex-devil-associator (though he still likes the grand devils)

constantly torn between duty and desire

in a strange semi-relationship with mr stones (and ingratiated with the rest of the masters (not veils))

the future mr bricks in the seventh city (with the passion destiny) (he doesn't become a curator though)

owner of a pigeon, nora, who scouts on the THV Something Beautiful.

featured in a few fics of mine on ao3! go read them if you feel so inclined!

employer of a rubbery plongeur (hehe one of my pieces won a competition)

feel free to send a calling card or any social actions and i'll try to match your freak (RP with RP, you know what i mean)

bonus art:

ref sheet by waterlogged-detective

by the-insouciant-scientist, for my fic toothsome!

[angeart]

Aaaaange, why doesn't Scar feel safe at that moment? More Tease pretty please? -🎀

oh i can do more than tease for this one :3c

[1,2k ramble + 8,5k rp snippets]

you know how we talked about the post-return situation, with the hermits raising potential allegations against scar? worried that he might be hurting grian, that their relationship is not safe?

that is pre-wedding. that is before scar proposes, but he already has plans to. he's always dreamed of a big, fancy wedding. it'd be picturesque and grand and wonderful! there'd be lots of flowers and music, laughter and dancing. and they'd be surrounded by friends who would be happy for them.

all of this is actively crumbling in scar's hands as hermits shy away from him as if he was dangerous and unpredictable. they're wary, unsure. they no longer see their cheerful, clumsy, harmless friend. they see an unfamilair vex.

they are not happy for them. and, right now, they do not approve of their relationship either.

scar thinks this is not how home should feel like. this is not what he wants. and he doesn't know how to convince them that he's not that scarecrow they have constructed from their lack of understanding. he doesn't know how to get through this.

but it's more than that, right? all their concerns, however well meaning, also make grian spiral. there's so much stress put on the two of them suddenly, their relationship straining.

none of this was ever meant to happen like this.

it's at a point when grian starts finding his stability, after that big breakdown, that scar decides he's done hiding and running, too. if he has to convince everyone to like him again, then he will. he'll fight for this. he'll do his best so that they can overcome this.

him and grian decide to host a little sleepover. for selected hermits! that way, they'll be opening themselves up to others. they want to try and show the others who they are now. to invite them back in. to let them get to know them all over again.

they arrange for it to happen within a week or so, as they still have to make a dedicated room for it. it's a lot of people to hang out and sleep!

they dedice to repurpose their old bunker. yes, the one they constructed shortly post-rescue. the one that was their hideout, their safe place.

it's underground, its walls drenched with anxiety and uncertainty. grian itches from it all, now used to spend time in their nest-tower, high up above the ground. underground feels stifling, all of a sudden. it feels wrong.

the first thing scar does is break the ceiling, to make a big skylight. it's left open for now, sand smelting into glass.

they struggle with the concept of hosting an event for many people. they can't seem to remember what they need. desperately, they try to figure out ways to make the place seem cozy and non-threatening, both for show and for their own sanity.

they talk about a little flower patch in the middle, right underneath the skylight. something bright and nice smelling and alive. they talk about mood lighting, about fairy lights and a fireplace. and—

they talk about sleeping arrangements.

grian says he doesn't want to make a big nest. he... doesn't want the others in their nest.

they're not flock.

they no longer feel like family.

so instead, they try to figure out how many beds they need. except, grian still wants a nest! for him and scar. and, maybe that's good! that'll be another stepping stone, showing the others the new them. who they are. what they now need. things like that!

while scar is tasked with making the small garden, grian goes off and gathers things for beds. he starts making them, quickly becomes overwhelmed, and instead starts putting together a big net that will hold their nest-bed suspended in the air.

he might be ignoring some symptoms of sickness that he simply brushes off as stress. a bit of tension. a couple of anxious, sleepless nights. it's fine.

(it isn't fine.)

it's when they take a break that grian finds himself too lightheaded and needs to lie down.

it's only about half an hour or so later, in the middle of them talking about some of scar's previous relationship experiences, that grian starts to feel really dizzy.

he has a fever.

and he succumbs to it fast after this.

scar wants to take him to the nest upstairs, but grian says he is too nauseous to be moved, so scar does the next best thing: cocoons grian's shivering, curled up form in blankets.

and he messages the hermits.

the hermits, who think he might be doing bad things to grian.

he tells them they need to postpone the sleepover.

he tells them grian is sick.

he asks for soup, but says not to come inside.

it... doesn't sound good. it rings some alarm bells in the heads of those hermits that are Very Concerned and Very Confused and maybe a notch paranoid. but scar stops replying. he's busy dealing with a sick grian.

and hoo boy.

grian's fever climbs sharply and mercilessly, making him delirious and disoriented. he can't tell where or when they are. he keeps talking about things that have already happened. he asks if the world is ending again. he thinks him and scar will be tossed to different servers this time. he asks for [REDACTED]. he asks for flock. he asks for kane and nico, where are they????

scar's heart is splintering and tearing to shreds as he tries to keep a grip, navigating heartache and mirror panic, trying to calm grian down.

it's at this time there comes a knock at their door.

scar can't deal with the others. not right now. not now, not now, not now.

they don't ask for permission to come in. they don't take silence as a no.

grian chirps in distress, from beffudled memories alone, and— they're worried. they can't leave it be.

they find the hole that was meant to, eventually, be a skylight.

they drop down.

mumbo, worried out of his mind. tango, here to help. impulse, last-minute joining them just to keep things reined in.

scar knows grian is out of it. he knows grian didn't want anyone else in their nest.

these are intruders.

and all grian registers are voices. all he thinks of are hunters. he sobs, terrified.

but to the others? scar's shifting into a vex form, flickering and dangerous, clutching grian who's making distressed noises, shielding him from sight.

they need to check up on grian, but they're not allowed any closer.

of course this escalates messily. and scar's afraid and hurting, but he needs to protect grian, and they aren't seeing him anyway. they don't see that he's scared. they don't see that he's cornered and helpless. they don't understand grian's current headspace, or his experiences that dictate his feverish panic.

and there's no space to explain.

... you know what. have the rp bits. as a treat <3 (this starts at the impromptu end of conversation about scar's past relationships, just for context.)

i decided not to redact some bits, for your enrichment. and to feed into the chaos. you're welcome :3c

------ RP STARTS HERE ------

SCAR

Scar takes another moment just to run his fingers over Grian’s forehead, then back into his hair, carefully folding his bangs back. In a lot of ways, early days with Grian were like that. Sharing their passions, enjoying each other’s company, nothing but fleeting touches between them that Scar would be left thinking about for days. 

He thinks he may have always been a hopeless romantic.

But is it really hopeless if the man of his dreams is here before him now? Curled up in his lap and cooing so soft?

Scar hums, pleased, even if he obviously wishes the sickness weren’t part of it.

“Eventually she was invited to some exclusive server, real far off. She didn’t know when she’d be able to see me next, so… we decided to go ahead and split.” Scar says it all so casually, because it truly was a mutual decision. One of the few relationships that ended with no misunderstandings or disappointments.

Well, it was still a little sad, but they knew it was for the best.

She didn’t want to leave Scar waiting, and he wanted her to feel open to exploring her relationships to the fullest with her new server mates. 

“I knew dating was always sort of secondary to her. Not as important as her art. She could do without it easily, especially if she was going somewhere with a bunch of other artists.” Scar looks down, carrying that soft smile and directing it toward Grian. “And she wanted me to be able to move on, so I could eventually meet, as she called it, the One.” He grins, remembering that being her exact phrasing. “…and that’s you.” Scar flushes a bit at his own cheesiness. “I know it.”

--

GRIAN

grian sighs softly at the touch through his hair, relaxing even through his shivers. his teeth chatter a little, a small frown forming between his eyebrows, but it softens a little as scar continues talking.

he tries to slot the information somewhere in his head. that this was an amicable breakup, brought on by insurmountable distance, diverging life paths. that this is something scar can still remember fondly. that this person had every trust that scar will find someone right for him, and that scar is convinced that someone is grian.

but somehow, his thoughts snag and loop, a faulty wire somewhere. distance and far away servers. distance and—

all of a sudden, he's thinking about the apocalypse that took everything from them. everything but each other, eventually. 

he thinks of distance, and a faraway server.

and scar not being with him in that scary place, or grian not being there with scar.

he takes a sharp breath, head shifting and eyes opening. his gaze is feverish and intense as it finds scar. "i would've look'd for you ev'rywhere," he says, hushed but urgent, completely nonsensical.

--

SCAR

Scar tilts his head, confused. He can tell what Grian is saying is drenched in adoration, but it feels misplaced, like it doesn’t belong here in this particular conversation.

Scar isn’t so sure he’s going to get an explanation with Grian in this state.

“I’m right here,” Scar decides to say instead, voice soft like flower petals placed over his skin, hoping to ease whatever tension is lingering in Grian’s thoughts.

His thumb brushes just in front of Grian’s earwing, not quite touching, but grazing over those tiny feathers that permeate his skin. 

“Right here.”

--

GRIAN

grian's gaze softens, some intensity fizzing out, even if the feverishness stays. "right here," he parrots in a weary but fond whisper, audibly relief laced. his eyes close again and he tilts his head further, chasing the touch of scar's gentle fingers.

-- 

SCAR

Scar’s glad to see Grian close his eyes, knowing he likely needs the rest. To think he was building beds and nets when he was slowly succumbing to a fever just makes Scar sad.

“For good, too,” Scar adds on, humming. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He sees his communicator buzz— it had been a few times during his story— and wonders if that means soup is here already. With a name like soup group, maybe they had it ready-to-cook. 

Slowly, he shifts one hand over to take it, just to make sure he was clear about not entering the house. He’s careful to maintain soft patterns with his other, not wishing to disturb his mate.

--

GRIAN

for good. that sounds wonderful. it feels like a nest built around him.

grian coos, velvety and quiet, nuzzling weakly against scar. he feels him shift, but the attention to such details is slippery to grian's mind, especially as scar's touch remains on him, tracing gentle patterns.

--

SCAR

Scar stills for a second upon reading his messages, only drawn back into focus by the soft coo that escapes his mate’s lips. He’s quick to continue his soothing, setting the communicator down atop a half-squished pillow with a plop. 

<PearlescentMoon whispers to you> Soup delivery!

<GeminiTay whispers to you> Anybody home?

<Skizzleman> anybody seen G?

<impulseSV> Skizz

<impulseSV> Don’t

<Mumbo> Did something happen??

<GeminiTay> He’s just sick!

<Tango> …sick huh?

<impulseSV> Here we go again… 

--

GRIAN

with no idea about the turmoil spreading across the server-wide chat, grian stays curled up, leaning on scar. the silence stretches, making the space feel heavier somehow, time oddly slippery.

grian doesn't like it.

he lets out another coo, this one less stable. there's a questioning edge, something insecure and sorrowful and afraid.

--

SCAR

Scar blinks rapidly, eyelashes fluttering a bit as he tries to recalibrate. He can't bother with that nonsense right now, Grian needs him. That's his only priority.

"You okay, G?" Scar asks, carefully curating his voice with his practiced honeyed tones. "Soup's at the doorstep. Should be fine to leave it there, though."

--

GRIAN

soup's here?

grian forgot all about the soup. why's it at the doorstep?

he can't think.

he lets out another coo, pitched similarly to the last.

--

SCAR

"...Are you hungry?" Scar tries to guess. "I told them to leave it there for now. I'm sure it'll stay hot."

-- 

GRIAN

grian's getting increasingly more confused. who brought the soup?

they're... underground, right?

there's this horrible moment when grian can't tell where they are. or when.

"... why d'n't they c'me in?" he murmurs, thinking feverishly about flock. about nico and kane, and their worried faces.

--

SCAR

"You...you said you didn't want anyone in the nest?" Scar replies, nervous now. 

Did he misinterpret that? Did he just cause turmoil in the chat for no reason?

--

GRIAN

grian looks at scar again, his gaze unfocused even as he searches scar's expression for answers that evade him. he's so confused. flock is allowed in the nest?

he chirps, unable to put the mess of his feverish, disoriented thoughts into words.

--

SCAR

"Shoot," Scar says, doubting his actions now. "I—I can message them again? I think the messages from Pearl and Gem were only a few minutes ago—"

--

GRIAN

grian stiffens, his eyes widening with more confusion.

peal and gem?

it takes him an odd, hollow moment to place those names, and then he's unthinkingly moving, rolling over, chirping in a higher pitch. the cocoon of blankets tangles around him, keeping him right where he is, unable to flare out and flap his wings.

--

SCAR

Scar is about a moment away from grabbing the communicator when Grian begins thrashing, and he quickly shifts to cradling him with his arms, trying to keep him in place. "Hey, heyyy, whoa... easy there, birdie, what's wrong?" Scar tries to imitate a small chirp, trying to say that it's okay if Grian can only make noises. He'll try to interpret to his best ability.

--

ANGE ( :D )

--

GRIAN

grian breathes heavily from that small amount of exertion, completely placated by scar's tight hold and the familiar rumble of his voice. dark spots blotch out his vision, and he lets himself go limp, cradled by scar's arms. safe. safe, safe, safe.

his head is so jumbled, and everything feels like a horrible dream. they're underground. there's meant to be flock here. there's meant to be—

with eyes flooding with confused tears, he whimpers. "scar?" his voice is hoarse, breaking midway through. "where's avi?"

--

LINK

--

SCAR

Scar's huddled over Grian, as if he wanted to shield him from the world. (He does.) He keeps his grip firm and shushes him softly, trying to reign him in as much as he can so he can get some sort of coherent answer, when—

Oh.

Oh no.

"Where's—" Scar chokes out, completely caught off guard by the question. He pulls away, catching sight of those tears, and suddenly his eyes are stinging as well. "I—Grian, we're..." He can't answer that. He can't, he can't. "Grian we're home."

--

GRIAN 

grian's gaze jumps between scar's eyes. incoherency threads through his veins, spilling across his nervous system. the word home makes no sense to him.

he chirps, a quiet, mournful, quivery sound. confused and afraid.

--

LINK

--

SCAR

Scar chews at his lip, trying very hard not to lose himself to the sudden flood of panic that surged through him at those words, not to mention the sheer misery of it all as well.

"We're not there, Grian," he continues to try. "We're home. We're—"

He hears knocking at their door upstairs. 

Scar's ears twitch, honestly unsure if Grian will hear it as well with how Scar is huddled over him and with the less acute hearing. 

Muffled voices pool in from beyond the stairs.

...not gonna answer. ... just wants to be sure ... if it makes him feel better...

"...on Hermitcraft," Scar finishes, the word almost bitter on his tongue. 

--

GRIAN

"i— but—" grian's oblivious to knocking or potential intruders. he sniffles, a tear falling free. he's shaking, the fever ravaging, the world gently spinning off axis around him. 

he thinks scar looks a bit panicked, and it just pushes him deeper into his disoriented confusion. because— aren't they hiding? from danger? aren't they in a hideout? in a bunker, or a cave? aren't they in a nest that's incredibly makeshift, put together in a rush?

... isn't there meant to be flock here?

he chirps again, louder, still that higher pitch. fear sears through the sound, his breath turning rapid as his heart beats wildly against his ribs, even as fever presses the heavy weight of exhaustion right over his chest. 

he's scared, because he can't remember. he can't remember what happened—

"where are they?" he insists, his voice verging a sob. "where is flock?"

--

SCAR

Scar thinks the voices stopped for a second after Grian chirps, and the reality of the giant hole in the ceiling sets in on Scar all at once. All they’d have to do is walk about the back and there’d be nothing keeping anyone from seeing the two of them. 

Scar’s wings flare out around Grian as an instinctive shield. 

Grian is asking about flock, and…

Well, the reality of that is that there is none here, Scar concludes dismally. 

Grian didn’t want the hermits in their nest when they were constructing the party room. Grian asked for Avi. Grian’s probably thinking about Kane and Nico, too.

The hermits haven’t gotten there. They don’t know avian-brained Grian.

“[REDACTED],” Scar answers, trying to give Grian a shred of reality to grasp onto. [REDACTED]

--

GRIAN

[REDACTED]? 

grian's mind spins, the same way the room spins around him. he feels as if the whole ground tilted with them on it. there's sea underneath the raft of the floor. 

he feels sick.

he wants to close his eyes, but he finds himself staring at scar, helpless. floatingly, he remembers words about distance and faraway servers, and he thinks of hermitcraft imploding, whole chunks being lifted up into the air.

his stomach twists and lurches. the spinny feeling makes him think even more vividly of those floating chunks. maybe they're on one now?

he ducks, as if the ground really moved from underneath them. he tries to paw at scar, but his hands are still trapped, and it just makes him thrash again against the blankets, whimpering.

he wants his flock. he doesn't understand where they are.

"call them back," he whimpers. "call— avi. can— avi can come too?" he pauses, his breath stuttering as he looks up at scar with so much pleading. 

he wants a bird flock. he wants to tuck him in the middle of the makeshift nest and make sure he's safe.

--

SCAR

Scar stares at Grian, heart actively tearing itself apart at his words and tears threatening to fall. 

He hears footsteps.

He can’t do this. If they find them he’s not going to be able to untangle all of this in time, he—

“They’ll be back,” he lies, chest aching. “Shhh, shhh, listen, they’ll be back, okay?”

The words taste like acid on his tongue, burning his throat like rotten bile. 

“You’re sick, Gri, let me take care of you,” Scar pleas, shutting out his surroundings so he can focus. Focus. Grian’s the only thing that matters. “Why don’t we go upstairs? If— if you puke on me, fine, I just— you should have a bath. And more blankets. And Mr. Beak.”

And medicine on his way up. And soup. 

And away from the approaching hermits. Away from danger.

--

GRIAN

"they'll... be back?" grian repeats, in the smallest voice, each syllable threatening to snap and let it all crumble. he sniffles, another tear tumbling down his cheek as the confusion continues to tear a path through him like wildfire.

scar says their flock will be back. 

he says grian is sick, and oh, maybe the world isn't ending, then? 

grian feels weird. everything's fuzzy and nonsensical, memories fading and time slipping and everything melting together.

there's a sob, and it takes grian a moment to realise it came from it. "it— it feels like—" his body shakes and trembles, barely a separate thing from the shivers. he's curling up again, making himself small. with a ragged breath and tears glistening in his eyes, he looks at scar, completely missing his point about upstairs and a bath and mr beak. what leaves his lips instead is a question that's white-hot, shaking him to his core. "scar...? is the world ending again?"

--

SCAR / MUMBO

“What—“ Scar is reeling from all of this. It doesn’t feel unlike being trapped in a cramped terracotta bunker listening to Grian murmur thoughts of death and despair. “No, Grian, the world isn’t ending.”

Scar thinks he knew how to handle this better once upon a time.

This world has ironically shaken his confidence. 

“We’re perfectly safe.” Scar continues. “We’re in our home— our house that we built.”

“Grian?” comes a voice from above, causing Scar to bristle.

His eyes flick upward and catch sight of a nervous pair of eyes peeking over the dirt hole.

Scar does not want to talk to Mumbo right now.

--

GRIAN

grian's eyes close and he blindly curls towards scar, deeper into his hold, lost and despondent. nothing makes sense, not even scar's reassurances. 

out of all the words scar says, grian wants to hold onto one the most: safe.

and yet incoherent threats continue sinking teeth into grian's flesh. sending panic signals about how he's weak if he's sick, and they're a target, and they can't run from danger. about how their flock is missing. about how they might be hurtled into different, faraway servers this time, and— and grian doesn't know how to survive without scar, and—

he sobs loudly, his breaths becoming erratic. he hears his name, but it's not scar's voice, and he flinches hard, whimpering, until some instinct catches up and tells him to run. to grab scar and abandon the nest.

he tries to flap his wings, but finds them bound.

he doesn't process that sensation right, pitching straight into memories of traps and nets, chirping high pitched and distressed. the blankets don't hold too hard, but he just can't figure them out, unaware of what they even are.

--

SCAR / OTHERS

“Grian!” Mumbo exclaims, calling the attention of his other unwelcome companions. 

Scar snarls, luckily muted and hidden from view by his bright wings. This is not what he needs right now. This is not what Grian needs. He needs peace and quiet and warmth and soft things—

Scar hurries to try to still Grian, shushing him as calmly as he can manage. “Hey, hey, Grian, it’s me, it’s okay, shhhh, please calm down.”

Grian said he felt nauseous. This has to be about the worst thing possible for him.

“Scar, what’s—“ Mumbo is babbling, sounding nearly as panicked as Grian. Scar doesn’t care about that though. 

He thinks maybe Mumbo has fallen onto his knees up there. He thinks he might be considering popping down into their space.

Scar is not having that.

Strangers are not allowed in the nest, get out, get out.

“Grian, look at me,” Scar tries, urgent and insistent. “We’re safe, we’re okay, I— I’m gonna take you upstairs.”

“Whoa there, skippy, I don’t think you should be taking him anywhere!” comes Tango of all people.

Scar eyes glow a faint blue, feeling cornered, while all of his body language shifts into that of defensive and protective, wrapped around Grian fully with his wings blocking the intruders from view. 

He desperately attempts to lift.

--

GRIAN

grian sobs, quieter, against scar's soft, frantic shushes. he wants to believe that everything's okay, but scar doesn't sound okay, and there are all these other voices, rising up and loud, coming closer.

scar pleads for grian to look at him, and dizzily, he does, his eyesight blurred by hot tears. he's breathing too fast, which is just inviting more lightheadedness; he shakes in scar's grip, whimpering as scar repeats the promises that they're okay.

desperately, grian tries to hold onto that.

he chirps, still distressed but now also pleading, a sound meant only for scar's ears but all too loud and grating to not be heard by anyone else in the vicinity. 

his wings still feel so horribly bound. 

he chokes on a sob. "scar, help." 

he needs to be freed and— and they need to run, right? they need to go? scar says they'll go upstairs. grian tries to get his hands free, wanting to hold onto him, but he's bundled up too tight in scar's arms to really manage with his feeble strength.

his stomach churns, acidic, turning and twisting with the uptick of stress and panic. he sobs again, terrified that they're about to be caught.

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Focus, Scar thinks frantically. Focus, focus. 

He can’t let the anger from the intrusion overcome him. He can’t get defensive here, even if he’s certain one unwelcome step into their makeshift nest will set him off. 

Grian is squirming in his arms, chirping as he relives some phantom experience, and Scar knows this can’t look good. He has to stay calm, he has to keep him under control.

But then Grian begs for his help and it’s like the mirage shatters around him, except this time it’s reality fragmenting before his very eyes, twisting and mutating into something horrible and so much more dire. 

Grian’s sobbing, but for a second Scar sees him despondent, face torn open and wings drenched in blood. He hears voices and it’s like white noise, a vague threat, unwelcome. 

Scar looks around frantically.

He doesn’t know which way Nadia is—

“Scar, buddy, hey, why dontcha just put Grian down and we can aaaaaall relax—“

Scar’s wings flare out to their full span, one dipping over Grian as a shield. No one can see him. No one can ogle those feathers. No one, no one.

“Sc–Scar, what’s going on?”

Scar sees movement. Someone jumps down and instantly he’s crouched low, holding Grian tighter as his eyes glow blue.

“Scar…”

He’s supposed to be calm, he’s supposed to be gentle, he’s failing, he’s failing, but he can’t let them near—

Scar’s entire body flickers blue and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Stay back,” he strains through sharpened teeth, voice low like a snarl. “You—“ 

(You aren’t welcome here.)

(You’re making things worse.)

(You’re lucky I don’t slay you right here and now.)

Scar’s voice breaks, desperate and frightened by his own shattering psyche. “You’re scaring him.” 

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

the sense of danger continues building up around grian, fueling his fear, overexerting his already sickness-weakened body. his heart continues ramming a fast, painful rhythm, and the ache across his chest just serves to make grian more scared.

scar's hold on him is firm, and grian doesn't know whether to feel comfort (he's protected, it's okay, scar's got him), or more panic (there's a threat, scar can't fight if he's gripping grian, why aren't they running?) choking on sobs that he's unable to stop, grian presses his forehead into scar's shoulder; the heat of his fever can surely be felt through scar's shirt, scalding hot. there's a familiar, faint tingling, something grian's learned to attune himself to and recognise—the electrifying current of scar's magic, a warning, a preparation. a wing slings in front of grian like a glowing shield.

mumbo's standing in the bunker, jolting still at scar's accusation and the display of his vex magic. "i'm scaring him?" he stammers, incredulous and not understanding. "mate, i think he's asking to be let go," he hazards, navigating the distressing pitch of chirps and sobs with anxious misguidedness. 

tango's now crouching at the edge of the hole, also intending to descend. "yeah, just let us see him. you've got nothing to hide, right? why make this worse?"

a third pair of footsteps makes it to the unfinished skylight, peering down at the situation with a tense "uhoh," trying to read what exactly is happening here. he isn't sure yet, but some alarm in his head goes off.

with straining breaths through his sobs, grian's dizziness only gets worse. even as he's securely held, he can't escape the violent sensation of the world spinning fast. his stomach tightens, burning with acid, stress overloading all of grian's already muddied senses. there are voices around him, louder, closer, but they don't process right; they're just an incoherent noise, a call of hunters saying we found them, making everything collapse in on him and scar. it feels like they're surrounded and, fearfully, grian presses himself further against scar, burrowing in as much as he can with all his limbs still tangled into the blanket net. 

he should've been more careful.

he shouldn't have triggered the trap.

his eyes are tightly shut, overflowing with tears. behind his closed eyelids, he can see, vividly, avi's terrified look as he's caught in another trap.

a vile kind of panic spreads through him, sharper and more damaging than the previous one, drawing a terrified chirp out of him. the sound breaks on a sob like waves violently crashing into a jagged cliffside, and he desperately tries to take a breath through it all. to speak. 

it's awful; he's so horribly lightheaded and nothing makes sense. but he has to— he has to say this, has to make sure scar hears, has to beg for this one thing above all else. he chokes out, wobbly and halting and small enough to be coherent only for scar, and only if he can spare enough attention to listen. "ple— please don't— don't le— leave him behind—" 

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tenses, briefly glancing down at Grian as he wonders whether or not he truly has been misinterpreting it all, if Grian wants to be let go like Mumbo claims. But no, Scar can feel that feverish haze pressed into his shoulder, desperate and clingy, and his expression sharpens, eyes narrowing in Mumbo’s direction. 

No, Mumbo knows nothing. 

Still, Scar shrinks under Tango’s accusations, reminding him that he ought to have nothing to hide. He doesn’t, just— he can’t let them see. He can’t let anyone see the tears and the panic and the bright violet hues. 

Scar knows he’s being irrational but his wings simply won’t budge, one flung out in some innate danger response and the other curled around like a very necessary shield. They twitch but don’t move.

All Scar can manage is to turn them slightly transparent. A barely willing compromise.

Even his vision is flickering blue.

…Grian’s words make him see white.

He’s vividly tossed back in time, hobbled over and bloodied, barely hanging on, watching as [REDACTED]

Grian’s begging him not to let history repeat itself, he knows, he—

Scar takes a stumbling step backward, blankets curling around his feet and threatening to drag him down. 

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not go going anywhere, pal,” Tango insists as he leaps down to join Mumbo, carefully touching his shoulder in solidarity. He’s jittery here, not liking he prospect of staring down an angry vex in the slightest, a totem gripped in his other hand. “We’re just here to help.”

Tears break past Scar’s eyes and he hiccups, struggling to stay above water, barely grappling with reality as it continues to shatter before him. 

He can’t do this alone. He’s scared, he’s slipping, he’s making it all worse. 

He… he should have nothing to hide.

“He’s sick,” Scar pleads again, voice hoarse and not at all his own. Blue wisps escape with every word. “He–e has a fever, he’s not— he’s not thinking straight.”

God, are they going to believe that?

Do they believe anything he says? That a crazed vex says?

Scar looks at Grian again, desperation hanging off his tongue. “Grian, you— I—“ He doesn’t even want to suggest it, but they probably need to hear from him. “We…we’re safe, okay? I promise, I… d-do you want me to put you down?”

--

US

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

scar's suggestion is the only thing grian hears with any semblance of coherency, and it makes his lungs spasm and his heart ache. he shakes his head in panic, forehead still pressed against scar, the sharp motion rapidly destabilising the world around him until it spins in a nauseating blur. "no no no don't leave, please, don't don't don't," he chokes out, crying.

the sharpness of that reaction freezes mumbo, sends everything in him careening into doubt.

it's this moment impulse takes his cue to join in. he jumps down, touching tango's arm just as tango is taking a breath to speak, feet moving to step forwards. impulse stops him, gently, even as tension drips from his voice. "tango, wait."

grian's sobs fill the air; the transparency of scar's wings doesn't offer much more clarity. all impulse can tell is that the avian is shaking.

but his eyes draw higher, meeting scar's. his gaze softens at the sight of tears, and he lifts his hands up placatingly, the gesture feeling like lowering of a weapon. "scar." his voice is quiet, just loud enough to be heard. he tries to keep it calm, even as his nerves are fraying with the situation. "you aren't going to run off with him anywhere, right? it's okay. we won't hurt you guys."

mumbo's eyes widen at that, gaze whipping from impulse to scar—for the first time noting the tears in the vex's eyes. "oh, gosh, no, we aren't here to hurt anyone!" he echoes, distraught. 

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tightens his grip, pulling Grian up higher and whispering soft nothings, assuring him that he’ll stay, that he hears him, he wouldn’t leave him, not ever. 

Scar tenses up when yet another person enters their space, but visibly relaxes when he recognizes Impulse’s voice, something steady and yielding to the way that he speaks. It’s the only voice that doesn’t distort into that of a hunter’s call in Scar’s rattled mind.

Slowly, Scar pulls his leg back in, shaking as he gives up on the half-step he was taking away. “I… I know that,” he fibs, because part of him doesn’t believe them. “But Grian doesn’t. N–not right now.”

Tango appears unconvinced, making a short grumbling sound that Impulse cuts off with a light shove. 

Impulse recognizes this scene. Maybe it’s just the flicker of Scar’s wings, but Grian appears to have that same glossed over look in his eye that he had the day they found them— unrecognizing, inconsolable. 

It isn’t good.

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian's sobs quiet down a little at the soft assurances, but the world keeps swirling and swimming. 

mumbo lets out a choked noise, not willing to reconcile with the idea that grian might not recognise them as safe—despite all the hints of their early days on the server post-rescue. he thinks of grian, bruised and bitten and flinching, and he can't let this go. he can't. "please," he begs. "i just want to see him."

impulse looks at mumbo, then back at scar. he's holding out his arm, in case the others would have the stupid thought of moving forwards.

he needs to bargain here, and it's hard.

he tries to hold onto the way scar let pearl at least somewhat close, that day when they pulled scar and grian from that awful world, grian's wing tangled in a horrible trap that tore at it. pearl wasn't allowed to touch, but she was allowed to help, and maybe they could arrive at something similar here, too.

"scar...?" impulse says, gentle and calm again. (it's only the smallest of wobbles that betrays him.) "do you think you could sit down? you don't have to let go of him, just, let us see? we don't have to come close." and then, after a breath, he tentatively pushes with another suggestion: "i think if you're calm about it, it might help him calm down too. you don't have to get away from him."

"yes he does!" tango protests.

impulse whips to face him. "tango!" he snaps back. 

grian flinches in scar's arms at the raised tones, letting out another loud, terrified chirp, curling into scar for protection. he's back to sobbing louder, all of scar's comfort undone in one swift go.

--

SCAR

Scar’s wings sag the slightest bit, drawn in by the soft promises Impulse is laying out, but still hesitant to follow. 

Sitting down would mean giving up an easy escape route. They could be lying. He could be cornered. This could all be a ploy to get him to lower his guard.

Tango’s outburst does not help settle that fear.

Scar grits his teeth together, a few stray tears falling as he struggles to form words. “Stop yelling,” he demands, light blue magic slipping past sharpened teeth. 

He’s back to soothing Grian, not yet yielding and not at all regarding Mumbo’s request. 

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, okay? I’m—“ He looks over the three pairs of eyes— fearful, disdainful, concerned— and focuses in on Impulse. “They’re… friends.” (Not flock.) “I’m just gonna… kneel down here, okay?” (A small compromise.)

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian continues crying, albeit a little bit quieter again. just a notch. it's hard to tell if scar's soothing is working, or if he's just tiring himself out.

tango, to his credit, seems a bit alarmed by the reaction he's gotten. but he is still relentlessly wary, suspicious of this whole situation.

impulse can tell, and it keeps him tense. he wishes he could just tell tango and mumbo to leave, but he knows they wouldn't budge. not now. not when things are like this.

he holds back a sigh, looking grian's way. "yeah, we're friends," he echoes, soft, trying to sound harmless and encouraging.

he isn't even sure grian's listening to him. he isn't sure he can recognise his voice. it feels awful.

he doesn't think tango and mumbo realise the extent of what's happening. that if grian's mind is scrambled with the sickness, he might not be mentally present here. on hermitcraft. he might be stuck somewhere else entirely, and the thought of it pains impulse. 

the least they can do is play along.

the least he can do is try to deescalate this whole thing.

"c'mon," he tugs at tango and mumbo, voice low. "let's sit down."

"wh— i don't want—" tango starts in protest, but impulse holds his gaze, steady. 

"shh," he reminds him, shutting tango up.

"oh gosh," mumbo lets out, wobbly, and slowly lowers himself down to the floor.

impulse does the same, dragging tango down with him.

"see?" impulse looks back at scar, trying to offer a small smile. "we're not gonna go closer if you guys aren't ready. we're at the same level here. it's okay." he's willing to be patient here, but he worries that tango and mumbo might not be. 

--

SCAR

Scar stares for a long moment, fidgeting between trust and opportunity, wondering if he could run. If he could take them down if they’re going to make themselves vulnerable like this.

His ears twitch with alarm at the mere thought, catching himself before he can spiral further into delusion.

Carefully, he lowers himself to the ground, knelt down on both knees so he could easily spring back into action. 

“We aren’t ready,” Scar confirms, warily eyeing the lot of them. 

His eyes are still bright blue, though slightly less fiery. His chest flickers occasionally, a warm white light. His wing lowers by only an inch. 

He allows himself one moment of weakness, eyes flicking back down toward the shivering avian in his arms. “… I promise a warm bath after this, okay?” he whispers, though his voice carries, still too ragged from pressed together fangs. “W–we’re gonna be fine.”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse nods. he knows they aren't ready, but he hopes hearing that helps the others settle too. "we'll wait. take it slow. make sure he's okay," he coaxes, tone soft. hoping, desperately, that tango and mumbo won't mess this up. that they understand and will follow his lead. "we're not getting any closer. you have space." he pauses, and then he adds, a bit of heartache slipping into his voice: "you're safe, i promise."

grian recognises that they went down, slow and controlled. scar's hold is still tight and secure, and he's talking to him softly, and grian scrambles to understand what's happening. they're... not in danger anymore? scar says they're going to be fine. 

with a tired coo, grian nuzzles into his shoulder. he trusts him, even as he still sniffles, tears dripping down. 

his body feels awful, and his wings twitch, only to find themselves still tangled. it's that sensation that prompts another miserable sob from him, albeit less panic-driven. "take it off," he pleads, begging scar to untangle the trap that restricts him. "take it— scar, hurts," he whines.

the blanket doesn't actually hurt. his body aches from the fever and extertion, but his head tells him that pressure against his wings ought to be painful, and so that's what it is. the fear mistranslates into pain—or maybe just inevitability of the pain if this goes on, he isn't actually sure—the memories more vivid than reality itself.

--

SCAR

Scar nods slowly, wings lowering just a little bit more. He can see the tension actively begin to roll off of Mumbo, but for some reason that doesn’t comfort Scar in the slightest. 

He tries to offer gratitude toward Impulse in some way, but then his attention is dragged back to Grian, ears flicking as he grows rigid and attentive once more.

“Take…?” Scar questions, looking Grian over in confusion before it finally clicks. “The— oh.”

He shifts a little, resting Grian’s weight firmly on his legs, and slowly peels away a few layers of blankets, trying to simply loosen them up and allow for his wings to slip free. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Scar assures him, voice already growing much softer, no more wisps escaping when he speaks. “There you go… ‘m sorry.”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

it's the word hurts on grian's tongue that has mumbo jolting, and impulse has to react fast, grabbing him and keeping him still. "stay calm," he hisses under his breath, quiet enough to be intended only for their trio.

"do you really expect us just to sit here," tango hisses back, "when grian just said he's being hurt?"

impulse exhales, long and tense. "that's not what he said. and he asked scar to fix it. he said," he stresses, somehow still managing to keep his voice hushed and low, "he wants scar to stay near him. so sit. still. and wait."

grian, in the meanwhile, squirms as the blanket layers gets peeled off, feeling the pressure relent. he breathes out, a bit more steadily, forehead still firmly against scar. some of his crying tapers off once he can twitch his wings and feel no resistance—and the loosened blankets let his hands free, too. he uses this immediately to grab onto scar's shirt, depletedly holding on. 

"thanks." he sniffles. and then he asks, feeling small and vulnerable, his heart still frightened: "are we safe...?"

--

SCAR

“Yes,” Scar replies, even if he doesn’t feel safe in the slightest. He feels under attack, though perhaps at least not physically. “…we’re having a sitting party.”

It’s a bit of a nonsensical thing to say, but Scar is trying desperately to reel himself in here. His eyes are only barely green, a blue sheen still hiding them away. He feels tense and uneasy, watching Tango in particular now with narrowed vision.

It flicks to Mumbo, accusatory in his stare. “I said we didn’t want visitors,” Scar states, guarded. “So why are you here?”

--

GRIAN

it is a bit nonsensical, the words sitting party taking a while to slot in grian's mind. but if they're having a party, that means there is someone else, right? the memories of the confusing, threatening voices feels fuzzy to grian. the danger has passed, the hunters are gone. they wouldn't be sitting down, wings released, having a party of all things otherwise—and scar confirmed they're safe.

which means...

maybe scar called them over, like grian asked?

he relaxes a little bit more, even as he still continues to wade his confusion. "flock...?" he asks in a tiny coo. 

he's leaning his head on scar's shoulder, staring blankly off in the direction of scar's other shoulder, not focused on anything in particular. his vision still swims. 

--

SCAR

“… Friends,” Scar corrects, because they’re not. “… They’re just—“ Scar swallows down some bitterness, trying to stay calm. “—worried about you.”

And then he looks back to Mumbo, eyes glowing a bit brighter again as he waits for his answer.

(They’re worried about Grian. Not him. Unless being worried of him counts.)

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

"mhn?" grian makes a confused sound at the word friends. it doesn't want to slot anywhere in his head. who?

mumbo, in the meanwhile, shrinks under scar's sharp attention. "we were worried," he offers, nothing more than a repeat of what scar's just said himself. 

tango steps in, pointing out: "you said he was sick. we wanted to check in on him."

--

SCAR

Scar’s ears droop at Grian’s clear inability to recognize the concept. But frankly, he doesn’t blame him.

With a sigh, Scar scans the three of them again, looking them over for any sign of trouble, but he notes a distinct lack of anything, which makes him frown.

“So, what? Did you bring medicine?” he asks rhetorically, because he knows the answer. “Soup? Blankets? Bath salts?”

His eyes narrow with each question.

--

OTHERS

there's a very clear faltering across the whole group. they exchange glances, slightly nervous. 

"i— we—" mumbo stammers, face flushing. he's suddenly feeling very uneasy. chastised. he stares at the bundle scar's holding, what he at first was so sure was a distressed avian probably really just a feverish one, and it makes him deflate. he didn't think past the anxiety enough to consider that scar might be telling the truth. (he's still not sure. he still needs to see grian, properly. he still wants to check.) (but the scales of probability are tipping in a way that makes him feel off balance and out of place.)

impulse sighs. he didn't have time to stop them long enough to ask them to be sensible and bring something for grian if he truly is sick. he is here as a chaperone and—oh boy is he glad he came. he can't imagine how this would've panned out otherwise.

"you weren't replying on the comms," tango soldiers through, still frowning, still a touch confrontational. he doesn't like the way scar's looking at him. doesn't like all his sharp edges. doesn't like the feeling that scar's still hiding something. "we didn't know what you need." he pulls slightly back, straightening up. "do you need anything?" he challenges. there already was a soup delivery by the front door, and it certainly doesn't seem like they're low on blankets.

--

SCAR

“I was a little preoccupied,” Scar replies dryly, frustrated that he’s still being questioned. “I’d think it’s customary to bring at least some sort of gift,” Scar continues to pry, not letting it go. Not letting it slide that they clearly came here out of fear instead of assistance. “But sure, sure, we certainly wouldn’t say no to some minty bath salts or some tea leaves.”

Scar briefly wonders if that’s all it would take to make this unwelcome trio leave. He doubts it.

“Or, you know, some peace and quiet so he can get some rest,” Scar concludes, tight jawed and eyebrows furrowed. At least his eyes are back to green.

--

OTHERS

mumbo recognises that they're being thrown out, but it just makes him dig his heels in. "we can bring some tea, but— but scar—"

it's tango who breaks this line drawn in the sand again, encroaching on a minefield territory. "we still haven't seen grian." because this sliver they can see right now doesn't count. it doesn't say anything about whether or not grian's hurt, underneath it all. even if grian begs for scar to be close. honestly, tango doesn't consider grian the best judge of that right now. unhealthy attachments exist!

--

SCAR

Scar exhales through his nose, slow and barely steady. 

Reluctantly, he lowers his wing, allowing an unobstructed gaze, though he makes no effort to close the distance between them. He doesn’t want that line broken.

“…happy?”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian registers scar's wing falling away, and it makes him feel oddly exposed. grian isn't sure to whom; scar said their flock isn't here, but that they're safe. still, he ducks, hiding his face in scar's chest. that way, he can pretend he's still shielded. that way, he can pretend the world can't hurt him. (the way he can feel scar's breaths is just a nice, soothing bonus. scar's right here, alive, right next to him. perfectly in reach, as grian's fingers tug at him.) (he closes his eyes, willing the surroundings to stop tipping around them. his feathers fluff up lightly.) 

mumbo makes another strangled noise, and he moves as if to stand up, compelled to go closer. to check. to— 

to be there. 

grian's his friend, and there wasn't a time when mumbo wasn't allowed to be near. to take care of him when he feels unwell.

with blankets and grian's wings still firmly in the way, and grian's whole body turned away from them, mumbo still can't see anything. so no, he isn't happy.

"... grian?" he tries, calling out to him, coaxing him to look his way as he gets up to his wobbly feet.

--

SCAR

Scar bristles again, wings twitching as he instinctively growls, low and mercifully non-threatening, but it certainly doesn’t sound that way to an untrained ear. 

These are untrained ears. 

Scar registers the flinch in varying degrees from all three of them, and his ears twitch, then droop again in shame.

He can’t do this. He can’t let someone else close. It doesn’t matter how fidgety and awkward Mumbo is, Scar doesn’t trust him to come close.

Mumbo who says foolish things; Mumbo who looks at him like a stranger; Mumbo who cares so much that Scar can’t help but feel strangled by it as it weaves around him, passing him by and threatening to smother Grian in his disturbed state. 

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian makes an inquisitive mewl, a soft and small sound, unworried at scar's growl. he knows it's not threatening, so he just gently prods, inquiring as to what's wrong. what's bothering scar?

pointedly, he doesn't react to mumbo's call at all. as if he didn't even register it.

tango's rising to his feet now, too, but impulse puts a hand on his shoulder.

it doesn't deter tango, and they both stand up. still far away, but in a way the three of them are now towering over kneeling scar, looking down with varying emotions. 

"we'll get you some tea," impulse says, quiet, measured. he's looking directly at scar. he's trying to tell him that he sees him. that he doesn't blame him, no matter how stifling and explosive this situation is turning out to be.

"impulse!" tango squeaks, indignant, protesting. "he's hiding something!"

impulse's gaze cuts sharply to tango. "keep your voice down!" he hisses, frowning, then sighs. he understands they're anxious, but lines do need to be drawn.

for grian's sake as well as for scar's. 

impulse looks back at scar, tries to soften all the jaggedness from his pooling tension. "do you think you can get him to sleep? rest a little?" he suggests. "we will come back with the tea. if grian's asleep— we can look at him then? so he won't be scared of us?" he bites at his lip, and then adds: "just look. and we can help if you'll need anything else from us, yeah?" it's a gentle proposal, an attempt to find a tightrope that won't send them all careening towards some awful abyss.

--

SCAR

Scar feels so horribly small knelt down like this in front of people that are seemingly hellbent on misinterpreting his every move. His wings fall to the ground at the insinuation of him hiding something once again.

He’s not. He’s hiding Grian maybe, but he was scared— he asked for help and this is how Scar would help…

Scar trembles under the spotlight of their gazes, even if Impulse’s is softer. He feels like he can’t move— like he isn’t allowed.

“I… I want him to rest,” Scar agrees weakly, nodding once in exhausted misery. “You… yeah. You can check on him then.”

He still hates it. Hates the idea of someone in their nest. Hates that he’s still being more or less monitored, hates that he can’t be trusted with what he knows best.

Scar looks down to Grian, eyes big, barely holding back the fear that seeps into that forest green. “Can I take you upstairs? …nest?”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse softens further at scar's agreement, hearing the fatigue and defeat in his voice. it makes his heart ache, even more when he thinks about everyone else overlooking that. "alright... thank you, scar," he says gently.

then his eyes flick to find the exit, realising they're going to have to walk past. 

"can we... leave? or do you want us to wait until you go first?" impulse checks nervously, gaze jumping between scar and the avian he's cradling. he has a feeling scar doesn't want them here any longer than necessary, but impulse isn't sure if getting closer only for the sake of walking out is what he needs.

"or we can dirt pillar up," mumbo suggests with a nervous little laugh, attempting nonchalance and jokes, even as everything in him still rails against this. he's drawn forward, towards grian, like a moth to a flame. he wants to check him over, touch his skin, care for him. he doesn't realise he's completely disregarding scar in this scenario. doesn't realise he sees him as nothing but a mad guard dog, standing in his way for no reason. 

"you're giving up?" tango huffs, tail swishing. 

"i— what?" mumbo laughs again, more nervously this time. "we'll be back."

"what, so he can cover up his tracks?" tango pushes, frowning. all too aware that a potion or two are enough to hide most injuries. and an asleep grian can't answer any check-up questions.

it's impulse who growls now. "tango. scar isn't our enemy. he's our friend. maybe you should start treating him as such."

"i— wh— but—" tango stammers, completely taken off guard, ears pulling low.

grian, in the meanwhile, reacts to scar's careful, gentle question. his unfocused gaze lifts up, seeking to anchor in familiar green, feeling fragmented and vulnerable and still sick. "nest," he echoes, impossibly sad and hopeful, yearning. he sniffles, not paying their surroundings any attention; the memories still swirl through him, and nothing quite feels real.

nothing but scar.

he tips forward, wraps his arms around scar's shoulders in a weak hug, clinging to him in a position that makes it easy to carry him. 

"... can the bucket come with us?" he half-jokes hoarsely.

--

SCAR

Turns out it doesn’t feel good being spoken about like he isn’t right there, and Scar finds himself slumping forward in defeat, misery seeping deep into his bones.

His chest flickers once more, eyes clouded with a blue fog that only fades when Grian wraps his arms around. Grian, who does trust him and is deserving of his love and attention.

Wretchedly, Scar swallows down his anxieties, does his best to ignore the unwelcome surroundings. He doesn’t even provide them an answer, instead leaning down to kiss Grian’s (still dreadfully warm) forehead.

“Anything you need, G,” he croaks, rising on incredibly wobbly feet and hooking the handle of the bucket with his pinky. 

Wordlessly, he turns his back to his intruders and begins walking upstairs, unable to bear their presence any longer. His wings flick and tremble, uncomfortable being exposed to what he still inevitably seems as enemies. 

(It’s only fair considering how he’s actively antagonized.)

“So sorry about all this moving around…” Scar continues murmuring, feeling entirely off balance, but managing to stay steady only because Grian is in his arms. “We’ll get nice and comfy, alright? And our guests can bring the soup in.”

That’s the only acknowledgment they get.

--

GRIAN

grian lets out a soft noise at the kiss, a mix of comforted and still absolutely miserable. he isn't sure if he feels hot or cold, and his body aches. the nausea is ever-present, making any move a wretched matter, especially when coupled with his still spinning head.

he tries to hold onto scar a bit firmer, but his strength isn't there. he groans, whimpering. "slow," he pleads, not knowing how else to mitigate this.

he really doesn't want to puke if he can help it. although maybe having it over would feel better than this.

--

SCAR

“Slow,” Scar parrots, purposely stilling himself for a moment before continuing at a steadier pace. He didn’t realize he was rushing, honestly, but it makes sense.

He wants those eyes off of his back.

He thinks he hears the sound of pillaring blocks, and that’s likely for the best. 

“Nice and slow,” he confirms again, trying to keep Grian level once they’re past the steps. 

--

aaaand i’ll wrap it up with that. :3

[ratsoh-writes]

Welcome to the Echo Festival!!

A lively fall harvest festival where people come to celebrate the last of the fresh produce, warm weather, and the echo flowers blooming!

The same farm monster as last year was once again paid to leave three of his fields empty in preparation for the festival. He’s made quite a pretty penny over this and has offered his land as well for the golden festival coming up in the spring.

Activities are:

Shopping! The majority of this years stands will be food. Preserves, fresh fruit and veg, drinks, pies, breads, you name it! The echo festival is the farm monsters domain!

There’s a large baking/cooking contest this year with several categories to compete in for different styles of food!!

The animal show: there will be a series of contests. Mostly for farm animals like cows, chickens, turkeys. But also a few pet breed contests, a large and small dog contest, cats, and snails. There’s also a pet talent show, no purebred papers needed for that one.

There is a small art gallery featuring woodwork and stone carvings this year!

An on going music festival by all the drink stands will be hosting a few local bands for the whole evening before and after the flour fight

No sparring sadly, but there is a weightlifting contest!

Sadly due to the early winter frost, the water fight and the swimming and diving competitions by the lake were cancelled.

And last but not least, the final event is the flour fight! Traditionally it has been a wine battle where the farm monsters used to fight with the cheap extra wine from the harvest, and in more recent years, was changed to a water fight to be more child friendly. However this year, the winter frost came early, and getting wet in such cold weather was deemed too dangerous. So the “battle” was changed from water to flour. Thin cloth Hackey-sacks filled with flour will be provided. Choked under the age 7 are recommended to sit this one out.

After the royals speech, every one who wants to join in will come to the field by the festival and duke it out with flour filled sacks. After this event, parents with kids go home while adults can stay for drinking and dancing till midnight if they want.

: echo flower colors meanings are:

Blue: friendship/platonic

Pale blue: looking for friendship

Pale green: child/youth

White: soulbonded or in a relationship

Purple: romantic interest

Pale purple: looking for love

Alrighty, the rules for this event are mostly the same:

Address the character you are talking to, and if you’re an anon, include your name in the ask so I know who I’m talking to.

Some of the characters are *ssholes. This does not reflect how I feel about you, I just wrote a d*ck character lol

There will also be extra side characters that might appear if you talk to the right person ;)

THIS EVENT IS FROM MONDAY TO SATURDAY! after Sunday I’ll delete any leftover asks and give some people a little summary of how it all went down. I do have classes still this week, but no work, so I’ll do my best to answer as many rps as I can each day

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

House Lannister: Hear Me Roar

A SONG OF GOLDEN FIRE AND BLACK BLOOD is a No Dance!Fire and Blood / House of the Dragon AU RP, but that doesn’t mean we’re short on the scheming, intrigue, and drama that makes ASoIaF RP so thrilling. Just because the Dragons won’t be Dancing doesn’t mean there aren’t dangerous tensions simmering just beneath the surface, wild ambitions ready to sacrifice peace in pursuit of their grand visions for Westeros, and the Kingdom may yet still find itself at War.

The site is currently in our FIRST EVENT-DROP; check out our Our Plot, Most Wanted, and come join our Discord to share your vision and help build our AU!

Lord Jason Lannister is especially Wanted on our site!

home - plot - wanted - apply - discord - message - q&a

[jaeyongdx]

hello ❣️

hiiiii everyone! so excited to be w everyone on this opening night/day/whatsever time it may be for u...i am actually prewriting this intro because i'm bored on a thursday night and too excited about opening 🫣 but anyway!! i'm carly (she/her, 25+) and this is jaeyong aka my worst boy and problematic fave. you may have seen him (and/or me) around before, and if so, hello again 🥳 otherwise it's great to meet u and i'm so excited to plot and write with everyone! i'll do the normal intro shindig and ramble about him and offer some plot ideas under the cut, so please like this if you'd like to plot! i think i'm going to try to reach out to everyone individually so this may be completely unnecessary but still adjlkfksldf here's jaeyong's about page, and here's his playlist just for fun! 💕 (as a sidenote, i also rp @dxmiyoung! she's a sideblog so i can't follow back from her but she will have her own intro shortly)

ABOUT THE MOST ANNOYING MAN YOU'VE EVER MET JAEYONG

jaeyong is the older twin of @daeyongdx

he was born into a batshit crazy family (mutagen supremacists)

they were so desperate for their children to be powerful and wrestle power away from humans that they Trained Them from essentially birth

training methods were very abusive and also all consuming

they went to school and they trained and that was it

training did also involve classes for dancing and archery and gymnastics and fencing tho, which was about as fun as it got

any fun shit jaeyong did as a child he did by lying to his parents and/or sneaking out the latter of which rarely worked

manipulation and lying well and persuasion and making yourself look good in every situation was part of the training too btw. thanks mom

their mom has the ability to insert thoughts into people's minds and is very good at it, she can make them think they're their own

so she did it with her kids too to make sure they never Really questioned training

jaeyong was remarkably social and well-adjusted in school and public all things considered

class clown type that was good at everything when he actually tried aka the most infuriating person of all time no he never grew out of that part

he ended up getting into pinnacle at 18 and daeyong did not it was a bit of a mess

but daeyong was recruited for another program that was a great and important opportunity!

aka daeyong got sent to the labs to be part of a study on twins nepa was doing

once jaeyong gets into pinnacle his parents give him infinitely more freedom

jaeyong makes it through pinnacle thinking this whole time his brother is just busy with other training and that they'd see each other once they graduated

so once he becomes a d tier hero officially he's like hey when do i get to see my brother again

he asks the right people the right questions and gets some helpful nudges along the way for him to eventually find out The Truth

he utilizes those persuasion abilities to talk nepa into letting daeyong out and experimenting on him instead. thanks mom again

daeyong doesn't know why he was released

jaeyong goes to the lab three days a week after his normal d tier hero duties and he can't say a word about it to anyone or else nepa will lock them both in there for good

he's training to be an a tier hero and he hates it actually. he's like i went through the training i did for WHAT. to smile pretty at a press conference and maybe make a couple speeches. i want to change the world!!!

but he also realizes being an a tier hero will put him in the best position to accomplish his/his parents' goals so he's like ok Fine.

he has scary powers (unhealing, blood manipulation, power detection, twin telepathy) but he's hot and it would be good optics for someone "dangerous" to be A Hero to the public so that's why nepa did it

he doesn't have much free time but he's great at time management so u will still see him out doing stuff. he plays guitar in a band. still goes to dance lessons. loves 2 party. annoying. etc

PLOT IDEAS

jaeyong is a bit of a slut so! do with that as u will.

classmates, in regular school when they were younger or pinnacle

his dad is a taekwondo instructor and his mom is a teacher at the cram school so. former students of theirs could be interesting

jaeyong's grandparents are also NOT insane and do like. private lessons to help people learn to control their abilities (they ran a school for mutagens pre-district x) so students of theirs is also an option

Rivals/Enemies. this is not that hard. just be better than jaeyong at something he's supposed to be good at and it's over LMAO

people that think he's so annoying (correct) that he continues to pester anyway for some reason or another

someone that has a crush on him because he IS unfortunately charming. to some people. bitch doesn't really know how to care about anyone other than himself and daeyong so it'll probably be one-sided though

fans of his band? he loves that band tbh. he thinks in another life he was a rockstar

his unhealing ability works on scars and bones and illnesses, including mental illnesses - but those are complicated. i'd love to do something w this but i don't know what yet lajsdjlfksjdl

people with connections to the labs! jaeyong knows the truth of what happened to you and it takes everything in him to not tell you but his and his brothers' lives depend on it

people he is using for Something. he thinks pretending to be friends with you will benefit him in some way. almost definitely related to power and influence of some sort

his power detection ability is very fun to work with. if u have any powers that might distort reality and/or trick people, he'll know they're a mutagen ability, so i'd love to do stuff w that too!

fans of "gawi," his superhero identity. he's obviously not a celebrity yet bc he's just d tier but he is sometimes in the background of a-tier business because of his training and he would love to feel famous. lmfao. but he is very friendly and all over the place so it's possible for people to find him really cool

OK I THINK THIS IS ENOUGH i actually like brainstorming way more so 🫶 LET'S GO!!!!!

[nightsinbluevelvet]

RPS, respectfully

I've gotten some negative comments on a previous post I made on a whim, about the filming Matt's and Jonathan's slow-dancing scene. Thought I would try to clarify my views a little bit here.

I was in fandoms mostly in the 00s, and the world was obviously a completely different place then. In the pre me too fandoms, a lot of people were into real person slash. It was a normal part of it. I'm very aware that the same thing is widely considered problematic now in the 20s, and I was fully expecting some negative feedback. In the old fandoms, you could speak freely in a way you could only dream of now.

What I think some people don't understand is that indulging in fun fantasy scenarios concerning your favourite people does NOT mean that you don't have respect for them. On the contrary, I hold Matt and Jonathan in the very highest esteem and have extreme respect for them both. I would never impose my silly fantasies on them either. Then again, they are both adults and both have a dirty sense of humour, and they'll take any chance to say much "worse" things than anything I've said. I don't think they're the kind of people to be easily offended.

As for the consent of the camera crew etc. - sure, it's good that such things are considered nowadays. We all want actors and other people to feel safe. Which is exactly what M and J have repeatedly said they felt from the very first time they met. (And who wouldn't kill to be a cameraman on Fellow Travelers?)

If you let your puritanical views get in the way of imagination and freedom of thought and mind, THAT in my opinion is dangerous.