#this has been haunting me in my drafts

[melonyfelonyfellonme]

Me: yeah I make smart financial decisions, I put money away every month, of course

Also me: willingly pays the extortionate shipping for the dread wolf dice set, and decides I can't live without a cute gelatinous cube d20 holder

I mean, can u blame me, this is what I see every d&d session lmao

[ruescott]

like I know the original post is unserious and love languages are Not Real but I made the mistake of thinking about ogata hunting and now it's all over for me

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[crystallizsch]

ahahahah have i ever mentioned that i love him

[hypers-omniac]

Dragon!Reader came to me in a dream I’m not even kidding. Maybe it’s my subconscious telling me I need to post smth LOL.

It's been stuck in drafts for a couple days, but im posting in a self-celebration of one of my favorite creators ever following me !!

Anyways here’s wonderwall.

CW: maybe a little suggestive at the end, a tad of angst. BUT NOT MUCH I PROMISE (maybe later)

Can’t stop thinking about dragon!reader- mean and covered in scales, something the forest itself seems to fear as the leaves quiver in the trees. Huffing smoke through your nostrils like the grumpy thing you are, hunted for a reward by many who’ve failed. The waxy glare of the sunlight bouncing off the trees and onto your scales as you sunbathe- gathering the warmth you need and taking a moment to yourself.

You’re legend. A bedtime story parents tell their kin about in bedtime stories to stray them away from the forest. Your crudely drawn face posted to the walls of nearby taverns, waiting for the next fool who might take up the challenge and never return. Your claws bear blood, both metaphorical and literal, in a way that haunts you at night during private hours.

It’s your first instinct to be defensive, to be mean and harsh to all that enter your forest it’s all you’ve ever been taught, all you’ve ever known is violence and hatred for what you are. It’s not any different when a rather.. boisterous knight steps into your domain, the crackling of dead and dried leaves alerting you to his presence. You’re all bared teeth and slit eyes- smoke puffing out of your nose at the Invader, readying yourself emotionally to have to spill his blood.

But.. he never attacks. A rookie knight, certainly, with how amazed he seems. You must be the first thing he was sent out to hunt. His blue eyes follow your defensive movements and curled tail, even when you snap your teeth at him. He wears a stupid mohawk that only comes from men his age. Your growls do not deter him, but you can’t bring yourself to attack first when his weapon is not even drawn, the steel not a threat to your scales, just yet.

So you huff once more, the smoke making him cough and splutter, his eyes burning and tearing up. And then you walk away indignantly. Careful to never turn your back as you go about your daily task. Much to your chagrin, he follows you around, asking you questions you refuse to answer- “It’s rather rude to ask a lady her age, knight.”- he’s like a puppy, tail wagging as he follows you around.

Johnny, you learn his name soon enough. Because he comes back the next day, repeating the process. It’s annoying, having a fly buzzing around your ears constantly. But it’s hard to be mad at the little thing when he’s just curious- “No, Knight. I do not lay eggs.”- even if his curiosity wanders occasionally. He called you bonnie, and you can’t bring yourself to reject the title. It’s endearing.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to let your guard down around the man. With every huffing laugh he manages to squeeze from you, your eyes are always drawn back to his sheathed sword attached to his belt. A constant aching reminder of what you can never have, and exactly why. Your tail curls around yourself protectively at the thoughts, the same way it always does around him. It’s so exhausting having to worry about your safety all the time, but what can you do?

Johnny? Oh, he’s just happy to be around a Bonnie lass like you. Trying to be as charming as possible. He just wants you to use them, reader. Pin him down and take what you need until the two of you can get along. Maybe you’ll stop being so grumpy towards him if you take his frustration out on him? A man can dream.

Bloody hell, he’s not even a real knight. But they won’t let anyone into the forest unless they’re authorized. Johnny is just lucky one of his friends is a knight, letting him borrow the armor after a short ramble from the Scot about your picture- the damn drunkard having seen it at his favorite tavern. “Bonnie lass, Kyle. Gotta lemme see her, yeah? Jus’ gotta try- jus’ for a bit, jus’ so they’ll let me in?” Mans WHIPPED.

(He never even brings his sword. It’s an empty sheath and a fake handle, just so he can keep going into the forest in search for you without blowing his cover. What a guy)

[starbuck]

and I am leaving you and I am sorry

[skitskatdacat63]

"The Boy With The Thorn in His Side"(x) - The Smiths × 2023 Strollonso moments + pundits' reactions

[crossedwiress]

the city tends to move on all the same...

[mancer-in-the-abbey]

hi mancer!! so i was just perusing my own alpha ghoul tag and came across your soulmate au ficlet (that i ADORE) and was wondering if you had any more soulmate headcanons or thoughts for the other papas or ghouls. only if it itches your brain, of course!

♡- @ghuleh-recs

HOOOOOOOMYGOD I am so sorry this has taken me so long to get to 😭 I was completely out of the fandom there for a hot minute but I’m back now that I have the time to write again. Thanks so much!! I’m so glad you liked it, that means the world to me, genuinely!

Part of the reason this took so long is because ohhhhhh boy, let me tell you, the story of Copia’s soul marks is a train wreck since I am a DIEHARD for Copia x Polyghouls. Here’s a link to the original concept for those interested, this got a bit long so I’m putting most of it under a read more :)

Now anyway:

Copia, unlike Terzo, was not born with any soul marks. In fact, he lived the majority of his life completely blank, no sign of any soulmate to begin with.

This, while certainly uncommon, isn’t the most unheard of. Sometimes people just… don’t have a soul mate. This is an especially prevalent phenomenon amongst The Clergy, who celebrate a lack of soulmate as a sign of being favored by The One Below, a true freedom away from fate as written.

And this is all well and good, but for Copia it was just one more difference between him and his brothers, all of whom have soul marks. I mean, even Secondo had a soul mark! Secondo! And HE doesn’t?? Feels a little personal. Imperator tries to comfort him on the subject in her own way, but phrasing it as having “no distractions from your duty as part of the church” really just makes him feel more alone than anything.

Be that as it may, Copia spends the majority of his adult life under the impression that he has no soulmate. It hurts some days more than others, but it is something he learns to accept over the years.

Until one day, after a completely mundane shift at the treasury, Copia strips off his Cardinal uniform to find his entire right forearm almost completely black, with trails of galaxies and stardust spiraling up from his wrist before petering out at the elbow.

So Copia quietly freaks the fuck out because “unholy shit what the fuck is this I’m never going to be able to wear short sleeves again” but eventually he puts two and two together to realize this must be a soul mark, which must mean his soulmate was either JUST born (ew) or was just summoned from Hell (much more plausible and much less ew.)

And Copia is utterly ecstatic! He has a soulmate! Praise Satan! Dude spends the rest of the week giggling to himself about it, so much so his brothers think he’s got an honest-to-Asmodeus crush on someone and all of them are desperate to know who their favorite little rat has got their eye on.

At their behest, Copia promises to show them what exactly he’s been so excited about at their next game night. On the night of, he strips off his uniform and rolls up his sleeve-

Only to find more patterns bleeding up his elbow where there once was blank skin.

Taking off his button-up shirt reveals that the spiral of stars and nebulas had grown into drops and rivulets of water, creeping up his right arm like rain on a window and spilling into a pool on his deltoid.

Copia, nearly has a fucking heart attack while the rest of his brothers stare in awe at the art, holding his arm this way and that so the patterns are visible in the dim light of the game room. As they start to brainstorm who the tattoos might match to, however, Copia cuts in, not wanting to rush into finding his soulmates.

For one, if they really were freshly-summoned ghouls like he thought, they’d likely not be familiar with the concept and starting out the gate with such a proclamation would scare them off. For another, while Imperator might have a soft spot for Copia and is much less the monster some make her out to be, she would still likely have opinions about her little Cardi suddenly being cosmically tied to a bunch of lowly ghouls.

So, it was decided that Copia would be patient about things, opting to hide his soul marks under his uniform till the day came where they lit up into color on their own. He didn’t care how long it took; just knowing there were two special people out there cosmically meant for him gave him more private joy than he’d ever had before.

It was another year before anything new happened, and when it did Copia was so busy that he didn’t even notice until someone pointed out a weird shape poking over his clavicle.

It was an awkward affair, angling himself just right in front of the mirror as to get a view of the full mark, but sure enough, a new pattern wound it’s way up his right shoulder, across his upper back and collarbone, and down the left. This time, the mark took the form of angular tree branches decorated with leaves and flowers.

This tattoo, unlike the others, did not remain a mystery for long, as Copia was very enthusiastically introduced just a day later to Primo’s new assistant: the single tallest earth ghoul he’s ever seen, with muddy brown hair, a sharp but sturdy build, and antlers that branched in a way not unlike the wood etched in his skin.

It may not have been love at first sight, but something deep inside Copia told him that this was the one, that this ghoul was one of the ones he would share his heart with. He wanted to start off strong, say something smooth and flirty that might entice the ghoul in front of him to seek him out in the future.

Instead, of course, Copia stared and stutterd like a broken steam engine. He left the encounter thoroughly embarrassed and Mountain left thoroughly confused as to what about him had this higher clergy member so frazzled.

It wasn’t the greatest of introductions. But it would get better, right? They were soulmates, it would HAVE to get better eventually.

Still, it left Copia even more reluctant to take any action. After all, his track record with social interactions was almost famously lackluster, and with that introduction being as bad as it was, it didn’t exactly give him much confidence.

And so the months started to slip by. Weeks of work and bureaucracy flew past as he and his brothers grew older, as Secondo was forced to abdicate the position of Papa, as Terzo rose to take his place, as Copia’s career stagnated with no clear aim forward. Weeks on top of months stacked into two whole years of watching the world turn, sneaking the occasional wistful glance at that tall, proud figure toiling in the garden and the green house.

There was a minor shift in the monotony after the incident with Alpha and the remaining band ghouls of the previous era. With most banished back to the Pit and the lucky few remaining forced into retirement, the Ghost project was in need of new faces if it wanted to survive. For the first time since Ghost’s revival in the mid 2000’s, auditions were open to all branches across the globe, with specific summonings reserved in the case that no satisfactory replacement could be found. Copia, though not related to the project personally and already burdened with a SUPREMELY busy schedule, offered his ear and opinion to Terzo throughout the process.

It was through this that he first came to know the ghouls named Aether and Dewdrop: not in person, no, but in the form of headshot photos and audition recordings.

Later, once both were hired onto the team formally and moved to the Italian branch, Copia got to meet the two in person, however the interaction was brief. Taking up a position as head of the Treasury in a desperate attempt to shake the monotony of a dead-end job left him with little time to spend around the Ministry’s crowning achievement. The most he could hope for was that he didn't embarrass himself too badly in front of these new ghouls, although why he cared so badly about the opinions of two strangers, he couldn't tell.

And so, another year passed. Copia found enough time to peek in on one or two of the band’s practices, but never long enough to speak after, never mind get any of the band ghoul’s names.

And then, very suddenly, Copia was forced to give the Ghost Project his undivided attention.

The days after his brothers deaths were a complete blur of anxiety, grief, shock, and the overwhelming need to keep going before anything else could go wrong. When it was time to summon replacements for the ghouls lost in the aftermath, he was barely able to pull himself together enough to perform the rituals correctly, and even then it wasn’t perfect.

One five-way hybrid ghoul, two ghoulettes, and a water ghoul later, Copia was drained mentally and physically. 3 summonings in rapid succession would take the wind out of anyone, but such unorthodox summonings to boot had him light-headed. Honestly, he was just thankful the last one was normal. If there would be a spectacle every time he summoned, he might actually vomit.

He barely even remembered taking off his uniform when he went to sleep that night.

The next day, Copia very blearily woke up and found he forgot to remove his glove from his left hand. He goes to take it off. And then is startled into jarring clarity when he finds his whole left arm looks like it was dipped in pitch black ink up to his elbow.

A mirror reveals the full damage: the complete black blurs and smears into a gradient of grey, going from dark to light the further up the arm it gets, interspersed with rays of light through water. Turning around reveals his back to be a collage of clouds, going from wispy and light trails at the top to large, fluffy ones hanging near the bottom.

Copia stared at the images on his skin for a long while, moving them this way and that. Then, with very shaky hands, he picked up his phone and made a call to Imperator, letting her know he'd come down with something and needed a sick day. He’s still recovering from such a stressful summoning, you understand. He'd be right as rain tomorrow. He just needed a day to process everything going on.

————————————————————

Meanwhile, with the band ghouls:

Swiss: Hey so like this new flesh suit came with a free rat skull tattoo? It's got some shit written around it about never walking alone too? Any idea what to do with that?

Cumulus: Yeah, me and Cirrus have one of those too! Except the words are different for both of ours. Hers is all about bewitching. Mine's... something, something, sun, moon, stars in the sky? Is that normal?

Aether, Dew, and Mountain, all making eye contact with each other knowing damn well what those "tattoos" are and that they all have similar marks too but not wanting to freak out these Fresh Out The Pit new ghouls: Yeah haha that's totally normal, don't worry about it too much :)

[melonyfelonyfellonme]

idk I'm just kinda imagining Rook going to Lucanis' pantry for the first time, seeing those cheese wheels and being like, "you know eating cheese before you go to sleep can give you nightmares?"

And he responds saying, "yeah well I don't have to worry about that with you here"

And maybe neither of them actually intend it as a flirt either but they definitely took it as such so they're both just kinda awkwardly blushing a bit hahahaha

[lyramundana]

Hello! Your request of Bang Chan being jealous/controlling is set to be written in August.

But since we are both a lover of soft smut, can I pls request inexperienced reader with Chan? Just something comforting and sweet.

Thank you :)

I'm incredibly, tremendously sorry for the long waiting. I'm the queen of procrastinating and I had zero ideas of how to proceed with this one, but mostly it was procrastinating. I'm not confident on writing soft smut scenes, but I'll try my best here:

Again, sorry for the waiting, and I hope this turned out decently. It's been on my drafts for a long while, but I never found the headspace to finish it:

When you were first starting to get to know Christopher, it was obvious he was experienced in that field, which made you slightly insecure about your own lack of it and it worried you that he might had find you less desirable.

Surprisingly, not only he was very understanding and sweet about it, but he seemed to want you even more.

He gladly took over everything. If you weren't sure, he guided you through it with his gentle voice and safe hands. Needless to say, your first time with him was mindblowing and better than you could've ever imagined. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you felt yourself growing addicted to it.

You never thought you could grow so needy and horny for a man, and it made you feel a bit embarrassed sometimes, but he made clear how much he loved it.

You come home after an awful day. Everything seemed to go the opposite way of what you wanted, and added to the sexual frustration you are already carrying, you are beyond stressed. Your boyfriend is there, waiting for you to arrive, and as soon as he notices your mood, he hops you in his arms to comfort you.

-Hey, babygirl. What happened? Do I need to beat up someone? -he caressed your hair, kissing your forehead as he spoke in his gentle, loving voice. You felt yourself melt in his arms and the stress slowly leaving you.

-Just a bad day, that's all. I'm so sick of everything. -you murmur with your face buried in his shirt, and you happened to feel his strong pecks right under it.

Your skin feels hotter and it has nothing to do with the weather.

He rubbed your back, soothingly.

-You know what, baby? How about we take a long, warm bath and you try to relax? And maybe you can tell me about your day -he said as he left a kiss on the top of your head.

You stilted in his arms, lookin up with big doe eyes. A bath sounded great indeed...until you realized he intended to take it with you.

You would die.

And that's how minutes later, you found yourself buried in the warm water that reached your shoulders, with Chris' chest against your back and his arms surrounding your torso. Sometimes, his fingers draw circles on your sides and it drove you mad. How long has it been since your last intimate time together, after all? Weeks? A month?

-Try to relax, baby. I can see the steam coming out of your ears -he spoke against your temple. - You've been tense since I hugged you. Is it something I did?

-No, love. It's not about you. - well, partially yes, but it wasn't the main problem. - Its just..it feels like i'm doomed. No matter how hard I try or how much I improve myself, things go the opposite of how I want them to. I know i'm trying my best, but it doesn't feel enough. -you choked halfway through the words and you sniffed back your tears.

Your boyfriend was in silence for a bit. He pulled you closer to him as he noticed the strain in your voice.

-Oh, baby, it's okay. I understand what it's like, i've been there too. -he laid his head on top of yours, sighing. - It's fucking frustrating, I know, but we have to accept that, sometimes, it doesn't matter how hard we work, some stuff are out of our control and there are things we can't prevent. You're human, love, so you have limits. Don't be so harsh on yourself. -he kissed your neck- for what it's worth, you're more than enough in my eyes. You're perfect.

Your heart was melting as he said that, wanting to cry again but this time out of love. You can't know what you did to deserve for this man to devote himself to you, but you hope it lasts forever.

-I missed being with you like this - you muttered, looking up to him to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled and then kissed your lips, sucking your lower lip teasingly. You whined. - Don't do this to me, Christopher, or else..

-Or else what? Tell me, babygirl - he said with an annoyingly sexy grin. His hands descended slowly down to your hips, fingers brushing your inner thighs at times.

You gasped, grabbing his hands to stop them.

-Chris, please..

-What was the last time you had an orgasm, sweet thing? -your grip did nothing to him, as he continued tracing lines inside your thighs, now with his lips brushing your neck.

-I..dont't recall. Last month, I think? I don't know! -you cried as he started to drift closer to your core.

-Oh? You haven't been taking care of yourself, you mean? You know I don't like that, babe -he sounded serious now, pinching your skin to make your squeal.

-I know, it's just...-shit, you couldn't believe you were gonna say it. - I can't...only you can make me feel good. I don't know how do it without you!

His motions stopped suddenly and you whined at the loss. Before you could protest, he turned your whole body until you were facing him, sitting directly in his lap. You felt how hard he was and the words died in your throat.

-Fuck, baby, you can't say that shit to me like it's nothing. - he lunged at your neck and bite the skin harshly, making you moan as he left a mark. -You're so good for me. My good girl, who can't even pleasure herself without my help. You need me, don't you?

You struggled to find your voice with the sudden change of events.

-Y-yes -you gasped when his head brushed your clit. - I don't know-fuck-what to do without you.

His expression softened for a moment, right before acquiring a calculating gaze in his eyes.

-I hate it when you neglect yourself, pretty, but I understand you couldn't help it. I fuck you so good your little hand just can't compare, right? - he closed his eyes as he kept grinding your hips against his. -And you've been busy lately, haven't you? Poor baby must been so stressed. -he took your nipple in his mouth, licking and twirling it in his tongue, making you whimper and grip his shoulders. -You deserve a reward

You gulped. Last time he said you ended up cumming five times in a row, shaking in his sheets and under his mercy.

He raised your hips, lowering you slowly down his raging cock. You sighed at the sensation, throwing your head back. You felt so deliciously full. God, you've missed him so much, missed this. He let out a hiss once he was fully inside you, burying his face in your shoulders and nibbling the skin. When he attempted to roll your hips unto his, you whined and stopped him.

-Shit, Chris, give me a second. You're so big. - you wrapped his neck with your arms and laid your forehead against his, letting him feel your heavy breath.

-My size hasn't changed, baby, but maybe your pussy has forgotten about me. -he chuckled, caressing your cheek. - Guess we'll have to fix that.

You clenched around his lenght with those words and he groaned.

-Please, do. -you begged him, hiding your face in his neck out, flustered. -Fuck the stress away, Daddy. Fuck me until I can't think anymore.

He tensed under you. Holy shit, he was a breath away of wrecking you until you were crying out loud, but had to remind himself this was about you, about making you feel better. He closed his eyes forcefully, taking a deep breath to not fall for his instincts.

-Say less, my love. Let Daddy take care of everything, mm? -his vouce sounded deeper now, tender.

He gripped your hips and began to guide you up and down his lenght. It was a slow, steady pace, but it got you moaning in his chest at the so craved friction. His teeth traced your neck softly, leaving purple marks as he pulled your hair to make more room for his mouth. His hands lowered down to your ass cheeks, squeezing them as he thrusted into you.

You began to bounce unconsciously against him, doing your best to keep up with him. You moaned as his hips shifted and found another angle to hit you deeper, making you tremble in his hold. God, he made you feel so good, your eyes growing glassy.

His movements haltered once he heard you sniff.

-Babygirl? What is it? Want to stop? - you panicked and kept grinding against him.

-No! Don't stop, please - tears flowed your vision. You hugged him tightly, sniffing in his neck. - It's just..you don't know know much I missed this. I haven't stopped aching for you since the last time, but I didn't know how to tell without sounding desesperate and I.. - he silenced with your his lips, swallowing your next words. He bit your lower lip gently and pulled a bit before letting you go.

-My pretty, perfect baby, what did I do to deserve you? -he covered your face in kisses as he fastened his thrusts, making you whimper in surprise and pleasure. - You couldn't ever sound desesperate to me. I'll drop anything to give you what you need, so please, don't refrain yourself like that. -he toyed with your nipples again, making you moan loudly. - I'm here for you, princess. It's my job and biggest joy to give you what you want. -he groaned as you clenched around him again. - Now, let's fuck the stres out of you.

You went on like this for a while, with a quick but gentle pace. Your sounds of pleasure filling the room, for whoever happened to hear them. You needed this more than him, this relief and comfort only he could give you. His words encouraged you to just take what you needed.

The knot started to form in your stomach and you still reacted like the first time, eyes wide open and body tense as you took in the incredible sensation. Like he could feel it, his fingers drifted to your clit and began to rub it expertly, helping you chase your high. He felt his own climax come at him violently as he watched the addicting sight of you cumming with a high-pitched scream for him, because of him.

His other hand pulled your face closer by the neck and smashed your lips together, swallowing your beautiful moans as he kept thrusting his hips up roughly. You clenched again and he had to throw his back at the feeling, a deep moan escaping his lips.

-Fuck fuck FUCK! - he pressed his forehead in the conjucture of your neck. You whimpered as you felt his warm seed filling you, and he grabbed your hips with an iron vice grip, moving you to milk out the last drop of his climax - Take it, babygirl, fucking take it.

You rolled your eyes and let yourself fall entirely unto his hold. With a deep breath, he adjusted his position and laid his head back on the bathub wall. He massaged your back and left you occasional kisses on your face, his softening dick tupped inside you, preventing his cum from leaking out.

You basked in the silence for a few minutes, your breathing eventually going back to normal. Your head felt all mushy and your body completely relaxed. Everything was good, the world set itself right back again.

You stood there until the water grew cold, you growing sleepy with his cuddles and him watching you with a soft smile, pure and raw love sparkling in your eyes.

[fountainpenguin]

"O, my queen, to shield thee from danger's deadly call... I will sin, I will kill- I will sacrifice my all..." (x)

---

Final chapter of Criminal Experience today!

Chapter 9 - “Silenced”

❤️ Read on AO3

💙 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Impulse, Skizz, and Mumbo stand their ground - In that order, for better or worse - and our story draws to a close.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Flickers later…

They shimmer into "people form" again with a great rush in the toes. Teleportation wraps the body, strangles the neck, and snaps them to the floor. Oof. Skizz lands on his feet, but slumps against the wall. Mumbo slams belly-first to dirt. The chill of the air and stink of composters leaves no doubt as to where Skizz dropped them. Mumbo braces on his forearms and takes a ragged breath, which turns into coughs and gags.

"Oh, goodness… I might be sick."

Impulse isn't doing much better. He heaves, snuffling mostly, and shakes his head about. His tattered wings flap behind him like something fighting for a scrap of life. Did something get torn out of him in that jump from there to here?

"Impulse-"

"Eugh," Skizz mutters, and makes a disgusting slurping noise. He glitters white and gold from the spectral arrow BigB pinged him with, and his skin's coated in dark blotches that look like dark, fresh burns. His knees bend. He squelches to the ground. A yell lashes overhead. Stomping feet kick up sand in a great scuff-scuff of illager boots. Mumbo presses flat to the dirt. They're under the arena, apparently in the loo… or at least some changing room with composters lined against the wall, separated by banners. BigB is up there right now, and Impulse coughs thickly in his elbow crook. The screwed-up eyes don't hide the sparks leaking from the corners.

"We gotta… run. Not hide… Illusioners can see through blocks."

"Forget that bit- Skizz is glowing. He'll chase us anywhere unless we teleport." Me too. White glitter still dances up and down his arms.

"Yes." Impulse cringes forward, clutching his arm. Did he bang it in the fall? Did Carrie land that on him? His shirt is torn, overall straps hanging loose. Mumbo glimpses just a flash of blue down his back where the mace must have pierced before Impulse drags his attention to the panting enderman. He lurches forward. Mumbo sits too (with a wince), but whatever he's feeling… Well. Impulse has it worse. Mumbo had the shield. It blocked a few arrows, but Impulse took some heavy hits. The shield lies abandoned in the dirt, plugged with arrows. So is Skizz.

"Don't pull," Mumbo warns, staying Impulse's hand as the phantom hybrid reaches for the nearest shaft. Impulse's claw-tipped fingers shake against the air.

"Skizz, we gotta go… We gotta go. You've gotta come to or he's going to find us. He's coming this way, I'm sure."

"Indeed." Mumbo casts his eyes to the blocks above. He can hear sand scuffling. "Impulse, he's digging in. He's breaking blocks. Hang on- Is he allowed to do that?" The bathroom ceiling can't be more than one layer deep. Only those blocks of sand stall the illusioner's descent, and he sounds as though he's on his knees and throwing whole handfuls behind him. That isn't proper mining. He's not grabbing blocks. He'll make himself a little sinkhole, filling it with spilled sand as he goes.

Impulse shifts closer. He grips Skizz's turtleneck collar and rolls it downwards. Skizz's every breath comes out in huffs. Mumbo catches one glimpse of thick blue soul goop at his neck and quickly looks away. Impulse, though, stays steady as. "All right, Skizz," he's saying. "We've gotta go. I can't carry you… Our pixels will blend together. Can you teleport? Can you walk? … Mumbo, start working on a way out."

"Through the door?" It looks open; it's the direction BigB isn't coming from (for the moment). Impulse makes a rolling gesture with his hand.

"Not that way- Just take the blocks from the wall."

"But- the roleplay immersion-"

"MUMBO!"

"Yes, sorry. I'll do it." He does have the pick. Mumbo spins it in his hand and starts hacking at the blocks, throwing strength in every swing. He gets two blocks deep before he cringes up, a spiral of pain flicking up his back. "Oh, wow…"

Swinging my scythe and jumping off roof's really catches up… And BigB's still digging overhead, furiously tearing through clumps of wet sand. The storm rages on above. Ah, yes. That's where Skizz's burns came from.

Skizz smiles feebly, shaky fingers clutching his jumper to his chest. "Hey, Impy… Got you out of there, didn't I?"

"Shh, shh… We're gonna be okay. Just try not to let those wounds seal over too much… We need to get you clean."

"The soul spawners give regen," Mumbo whispers, and Impulse bows his head. Skizz's fingers find the man's cheek, tracing sand and bits of soul goop from the bristles on his chin.

"You got a sword, Impulse?"

Impulse grasps his hand, pinning the palm against his face. "I don't trust that man. He's got a quiver full of arrows, lookalike copies, and Mumbo's scythe. We don't fight anymore. We just run, Skizz… Come on. How's your legs?" And louder, "Mumbo, how's that escape route?"

"… Impulse, it's raining. Skizz won't make it."

"Then we take the wall blocks and build a new ceiling all the way back."

"Uh, with BigB right behind us, dude? And the locals will hate us if we take from their art project and don't give back."

The phantom hybrid shudders, dropping his face to his hands. Mumbo watches his bony tail drag across the dirt floor. He lowers the pick. From this angle, Impulse's injuries look like butterflies on display. Blue soul energy soaks the back of his neck, shirt, and overalls. Some of those blows look to be from Carrie and her mace, though certain gashes mark him as a man who took the local flock captain in a fight. He oozes up and down his body, and more than one arrow's still stuck in his flesh. Even with the regeneration aura pulsing through the hub, that's got to hurt. And those won't seal with the arrows in them.

… Skizz has arrows jabbed up and down his body. They pepper every chink BigB and his clones could land. And every breath's a fight. It drags at him like he's got the hiccups. He flickers between solid color and bright, bold red.

"Impulse?" The word is soft when it leaves Mumbo's lips. For a moment, the loo lapses into silence, because honestly, Mumbo thought Skizz said it. But Impulse turns his head. He's got loose pixels smeared around his eyes, unstable energy leaking down his skin. He's waiting for a question. So Mumbo licks his lips and gives him one. "You're… you're the escort. What do we do? … I'm no good without my scythe. Seriously, that's- I'm just pants without it, honestly. It had Illager's Bane and Ambush on it. Um. Don't worry about the allays, though. I left them with a friend. She'll… she'll come through."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top - Work is now complete!]

[floofballsammy]

So this started out as a joke, but then I did an actual drawing a while ago. Here is Purugly's alternate version Puretty.

I had a huge post with Lore I made, but not only is it not even close to finished, it also delayed me posting the actual picture for months. I just want to get it out there. Maybe some day I'll release the lore post, but idk.

[asktotallyhuman]

The bartender's words still hang in her mind, she hadn't realized it'd gotten so late. Markus had left hours ago and she was the last person awake in the bar.

Giving a small chuckle at the confused, lost enderman wandering the playground, she doesn't notice the shouting private until she's practically right on top of her.

Sarah's legs wobble as she stands, and the private rushes to help her to her feet. Brushing the young testificate private off, she asks barely able to keep her voice level. "How bad?" "I...I-I don't, know. Ma'am but- But I know they were taken back home! Captain sent for the medics, then sent me when you weren't there."

With only a bit of a stumble to Sarah's gait, the two speed off towards her home atop the hill.

[lynaferns]

I once read a comment somewhere shaming people who only draw or write fics where the characters desires the MC, y/n, or selfinsert. Any type of desire, just desire for the author's original character.

And like, idk about everyone else, but in my case I do the 'character desires my selfinsert MC' thing because I feel like no one is going to want me so much irl as in the fictional scenario I made.

And since it's fictional I can make 100% sure that the desire that comes from the other character has platonic intentions and I don't have to eat my head with what exactly they want/expect from me, and I know they are staying because they actually like me, and when they say they want to get to know me they actually mean it, and they don't ignore me when they don't understand my interests or think I have bad taste or think I do boring things.

I have been doing this since I can remember, whenever a fictional character became my favorite.

I never drew or wrote about it because I didn't want to be "cringe" I didn't want to be perceived as weird, and this led me to look down at people who freely shipped themselves with characters. (Just imagine an 11 year old feeling superior for not drawing what they really want to draw because that would be cringe) (I mean, I still drew shirtless sans so idk how successful I was lmao)

I didn't feel like I had liberty to draw what I wanted until a couple of years ago and it sucks because it makes me feel that I missed a part of my childhood. My comfort in any place was imagining myself hanging out with my favorite characters but I avoided drawing about it like it was sinful or something.

Even if today I'm finally indulging in what makes me happy, there is that little torn still stuck with me in the back of my head telling me that I'm embarrassing.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

i can probably guess how tsumiki might feel abt gojo but how does megs feel abt him? indifference at first because he can only mirror his sis? but then a lot of blame/resentment because gojo’s the reason the zenin tortured him, like they were trying to get to gojo thru him? But then also gratitude for safe harbor and an okay-ish upbringing? But then he was also adopted at like 3 so gojo is the only dad he knows?

I think Megumi has tried very very hard to not think of what gojo is to him.

A lot of his ideas around his family and his relationships within it were really tangled up with what happened with the Zenin as a kid.

The thing is, they really were getting close to being a family when the zenin got part custody. Megumi grew up without anyone in his life other than his sister to really trust. He had no reliable parent presence. but the teen parenting crew really was trying to be stable for him and tsumiki, and while he didn't exactly think of them as family, he's aware he could have gotten there. And then the Zenin happened.

Megumi doesn't blame Gojo for what happened with the Zenin, per se. It's more than he doesn't like to inspect what happened back then because then he might blame himself.

He doesn't blame Gojo for the Zenin trying to get at Gojo through him, either when he was a kid or now. He doesn't view that as Gojo's fault--if anything, it's more of a sign of how much Gojo has helped them over the years? He thinks the Zenin resent Gojo, but it's because Gojo intervened and kept Megumi with his sister for all those years. The Zenin wouldn't hate him so much if Gojo hadn't stuck his neck out for megumi all those years ago. Megumi's painfully aware that he wouldn't have been able to stop the zenin on his own if gojo hadn't intervened. In Megumi's mind, the Zenin are only so dedicated to fucking with Gojo because he stopped them from hurting Megumi all those years ago, so he'd be getting hurt by the Zenin either way.

If anything, their most recent stunt emphasizes how little this is Gojo's fault. It took almost a decade for Gojo to have a big enough crisis on his hands that the Zenin were able to get away with this without Gojo immediately smiting them. Gojo's a big enough umbrella that he's shielded megumi and allowed him to grow up in relative peace for a long, long time.

He doesn't like thinking about what Gojo could have been to him and what he is instead because he doesn't want what the Zenin did to him to be his fault.

It never would have been, to be clear, but people are irrational, especially around things like this. And Megumi just doesn’t want to think about what happened back then, let alone how he could have stopped it.

It’s like this:

For the past decade, Gojo’s been this absolute, uncompromising, and painfully simple stop on the Zenin. The second he realized how bad it was with the Zenin, it stopped. Megumi never saw a single one of them again, until Naoya showed up at his school. As far as he knows, they never even tried to come near him again, because even if they did, Gojo was such an effective insulation that Megumi never even found out about it. Gojo really could have stopped it with barely any effort at all. And he did, as soon as he realized what was actually happening. And Megumi’s secure enough in what he has with Gojo to know that Gojo would never knowingly allow him to be hurt.

Which means Megumi’s constantly had the question of why it didn’t stop sooner living in the back of his mind.

If Gojo always could stop it, and always would have stopped it, and if he didn’t stop it, then it’s because megumi just. Didn’t do a good enough job of asking for help.

I don’t think asking for help came easily to Megumi, even as a little kid. He had never had anyone to rely on other than Tsumiki, who he didn’t like asking for help because it’d burden her even more, and he associated most grown ups with neglect and harm. I think asking Gojo for help when the Zenin took custody was a huge act of vulnerability on his part, and not getting it sort of crushed him.

It really killed a lot of the family that was growing between them all, how bad the Zenin got. It took a long time to heal from it. And a big part of it was the fact that megumi sort of shut everyone out after he asked for help and didn’t get it. He took it as confirmation that they weren’t safe adults who actually cared about him. And he wasn’t going to let anyone see him beg for help when he knew they weren’t going to give it to him.

But then Gojo just… swooped in and fixed everything. Just like that. And he genuinely seemed to not realize the Zenin were hurting him.

Megumi knows gojo, a decade later. He knows Gojo would have stopped it the first time they hit him if he knew. He must not have known. But megumi told him.

Ergo, Megumi just didn’t tell him right. QED.

Megumi doesn’t want to think about that time of his life at all, let alone the fact that it was just… brutally unnecessary. One of the worst, most helpless parts of his life, and it wouldn’t have happened if he had a fucking conversation. But he had it. So he must not have done it right.

Then it’s his fault. And he does not want it to be his fault.

If he thinks about what Gojo is to him, it all gets filtered through what happened with the Zenin and how their relationship changed. He doesn’t want to think of a deeper relationship with Gojo as something he lost, because then maybe that’s his fault too.

Gojo’s good to them. He saved them from the Zenin. Megumi trusts him to have his best interests at heart.

He just doesn’t want to think of what he is past that.