#this is dumb humor and i know and accept that and it's still entertaining

[arosebyan0thername]

Wanted to start watching Superstore (partly in hopes of retail humor but largely because I'm low on options for disability representation that isn't depressing) but I'm finding it very hard to want to continue past season 1 episode 1 because of, and I'm sorry to be this guy, the absolutely nauseating amount of focus given to heterosexual romance

[theamarischapter]

He's Not My Boyfriend!

CHAPTER 02; denial

previous: chapter 1

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

w/c: 1.5k

genre: strangers to frenemies to lovers, high school au, slow burn…ish (?), fake dating (for a day)

warnings: none!

summary: you both refuse to give in to your dumb friends’ teasing. beomgyu doesn’t even know where this shipping stuff came from! he never told anyone about his crush on you, not even his best friend. and without that, he’s moved on. he doesn’t like you anymore. his heart belongs somewhere else, and it's not like you want him, eiether. how annoying...

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

Beomgyu’s been quite irritable lately. It’s weird, honestly. Kai has never seen his best friend so…distant. I mean, since the day you all ate lunch together, Beomgyu seems kind of distracted. The teasing has settled but he refuses to even mention your name at all. He’s in one of your classes, but he seems to avoid your gaze and keep interactions short. It makes sense, you think; things are going to be inevitably awkward considering the fact that every word, every glance, every moment is being scrutinized and made sense of by your friends.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Beomgyu hates this. He’s mostly confused, but also a bit annoyed. Why has all of this started so suddenly? It just brings back bad memories. It brings back the part of himself he’s been trying to bury since freshman year—the insecure, quiet loser in the corner of the classroom whose eyes, which hid behind overgrown bangs, focused on you.

He, honestly, thought he could be in love with you. He wasn’t though, no way. He couldn’t even muster the courage to speak to you, so he couldn’t have known you well enough to love you. Still, being in your presence made his heart race and his ears burn. His chest would tighten and swell and his stomach would flutter and he wouldn’t be able to focus, instead occupied “fixing” his hair for the umpteenth time; you deserved his utmost effort. Since he was young, he thought you were pretty, but never paid much mind to you. It was the first day of 8th grade when he walked into math class and you waved with a small, kind smile that he really saw you. And, well, he was a goner after that.

He began to notice the gentle flutter of your pretty eyelashes whenever you’d look down at your paper. A small crease would form between your brows when you were confused and you’d push your lips into a cute, concentrated pout as your eyes scrutinized the paper. Then, the answer would come to you suddenly and you’d nod to yourself in understanding. When you were bored, he’d see you across the classroom folding a sticky note into a butterfly, smiling softly to yourself. He’d find himself smiling, too, before feeling embarrassed and looking away. It was always like that. He’d hear you laughing with your friends and feel urged to laugh too. Your laugh was contagious and bubbly. It was gentle and sincere, giving others confidence in their humor. He’d longed to be by your side. To have your attention and validation. Maybe he was a loser, maybe he was insecure, but if he could just get you, he’d be okay. Everything would be fine and perfect.

He contemplated many times if he should ask Kai for help, but never did. In fact, he never told Kai—never told anyone—which makes the current predicament all the more confusing. Did someone know? Was he obvious? Was it a coincidence? Either way, he got over his feelings by now. He forced himself to do so once he was disillusioned by your charm. He realized that despite being your cousin’s best friend and despite going out of his way for your attention, you never truly acknowledged him. He felt like an alien. Like he was a little ant reaching for the moon; It was stupid to ever entertain the thought of you, so he moved on and accepted that he was nothing. And since high school started, he’s been better than ever. He’s changed himself into someone he can be proud of. He’s confident, more outgoing, and more passionate about his hobbies. More important, however, is that he’s completely over you.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

He sits beside Kai in their shared history class, the sound of mumbled chatter filling the room. The teacher had given the class time to work on their assignment, allowing them to work together quietly (which was emphasized) if need be. The bright, fluorescent lights shine brightly overhead, illuminating Beomgyu’s soft, concentrated features. He hums in thought, slouching in his seat slightly, arms resting atop the wooden desk.

“I think you should give y/n a chance,” Kai whispers suddenly, lips pulled into a smug smile. He leans into Beomgyu’s space, his imploring gaze analyzing the subtle shift in Beomgu’s expression. He senses the upcoming rebuttal from Beomgyu and quickly explains. “I mean, you have nothing to lose!”

Beomgyu sighs, a little exhausted, tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. His brows furrow and he focuses narrowed on the empty worksheet in front of him. His lips purse as he slowly shakes his head. In a quiet, sincere tone, he replies. “I don’t like her though.”

“But you could! If you gave her a chance,” Kai refutes quickly, earning a small huff from Beomgyu, who rolls his eyes and slouches in his seat a little. Kai isn’t wrong, per se, but it’s not something he’d like to entertain. Or, more accurately…

“I can’t.” He replies, looking down thoughtfully. He holds a pen, spinning it carefully between his fingers as he hums in thought. There’s a hint of hesitation, his ears turning a faint shade of pink before he looks back up at Kai. “I don’t want Yeji getting the wrong idea.”

Yeji? As in…cheerleader, class president Yeji? Things seem to click for Kai—Beomgyu’s been so bothered, so defensive, because he likes someone else. He has the urge to feel a little offended at the fact that his best friend hadn’t mentioned his feelings sooner, but it’s no matter now.

“You like her?” Kai asks, head tilting inquisitively. His eyes hold a curious wonder that encourages Beomgyu to explain. There’s a beat of silence, interrupted with the quiet rustle of fabric as Beomgyu shrugs. Kai interprets it as a resounding yes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I’m trying to keep things chill. But none of you are helping.” Beomgyu sighs, a tinge of annoyance in his tone—not necessarily directed toward Kai, just at the situation.

He was determined, since the start of the semester, to finally make a move on the girl who’s caught his eye since freshman year. Well, let’s be honest, she catches everyone’s eye, but Beomgyu’s feelings had developed through small gestures and interactions. She’s friendly and easy to get along with, but also competitive and high-achieving. Not to mention her looks, which are unreal. Long, dark hair frames her round face. Her skin is soft and glowy, always looking perfect no matter the circumstance. She has a cute smile and pretty, elegant features. She’s, at least in the curated perspective of a rather whipped Beomgyu, perfect. He could care less about any supposed flaws, because in his opinion, they only add to her desirable image.

He thinks his chances are pretty okay…ish. They’ve only gotten worse with all the shipping. Truly, he’s quite annoyed with the whole ordeal and has pinned the blame on you. He doesn’t want Yeji thinking he’s off limits or something. Even if he were to tell her that it means nothing, he’s afraid it might turn her away from him. So, that’s why he’s been so defensive everytime someone utters that dumb ship name. Just last week, he got so annoyed with Soobin that he temporarily blocked him…

He’s serious about winning Yeji over. Apparently, they’re “talking” (he seems to use the word pretty loosely…), and things are going well.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

After much reflection, you’ve landed on the conclusion you knew since the beginning. You absolutely do not want Beomgyu. It’s nothing personal against him! He’s just, decidedly, the complete opposite of your type—from what you remember, at least. You don’t know him too well, but you remember him being more introverted, and the same amount of nerdy as Kai. He plays guitar, but doesn’t do any sports or participate in any clubs. The only thing you can give him is that he’s pretty funny; he always seems to have perfect timing, even if the jokes he makes tend to be odd or immature. And, around his friends at least, he’s not as quiet, but still…

You prefer guys like Choi Yeonjun. Athletic, popular, confident. Not to say that Beomgyu isn’t confident! You’re sure he is, but there’s something about the way Yeonjun carries himself that draws your attention and forces you to admire him until he’s out of sight. He walks with a natural comfort, as though nothing in the world could knock him over. He’s not humble, no, he parades his achievements around with confidence. He’s hot and he knows it. He’s the star player of the basketball team and he’s not afraid to admit it. Yet, despite that, it never feels like he’s putting anyone else down. He’s kind and quick to pick others up, he treats everyone equally. And something about all that is insanely attractive to you. Beomgyu’s cool, but he’s too soft, too quiet, too much of a loser.

It’s clear now: you don’t like him and he doesn’t like you. That’s that, and your friends can all stay in delusion land if they think you two would ever get along as more than friends...

Well, like...he could be worse, right? Maybe if you’re desperate, you’ll give him a chance.

a/n: not much interaction this chapter, mostly background stuff and setting up for future chapters. trust!! next chapter things will start kicking off !! a bit of forced proximity i suppose...but not too forced. hope you enjoyed this one, though. comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! thanks for your support :)

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

next chapter

[melodich4n]

About Me, The Artist "Melodich4n"

My name is Sally, this isn't my real name, but the name I've gone by for years as I used the name. It was since I was 13 and was introduced to Sally-Face. Which is one of my top favorite games ever. As someone with a severe medical history of depression and anxiety. It's a game I found a lot of comfort in and related to the main character, Sal Fisher, who is also nicknamed Sally Face. Also, no: me mentioning this isn't made to get me attention or empathy but just an explanation and connection to my name origin + I go by Melodi/Melodich4n on Social Media though.

I like to use the Internet for entertainment and for my access to create things. I enjoy art and wish to be a storyteller but a lot of my creations do evolve around usually either my own work or that of my special interests which would be what this account pretty much does only to my true word.

To know anything about me, there's also the fact I do in fact have a religious sense of life. I simply think the best way to live life as a good person is to try to understand everyone and be as simply kind and love an honest and joyful life. Even if it's simple and not as grandiose as others like to imagine it. Life is forfilled through simple acceptance of myself. It also gives me comfort to simply go out of my way to help others feel listened and help others feel they have a purpose.

Though second to my own identity specifically in the ways I work as an artist, I want to make this clear. I despise first of all trend hopping.

I will never trend hop. I do not like to trend hop. I think trend hopping is silly and I mean it in a "Create for attention by hopping on the new hip thing and not because I actually like it." I will only create things I want and like to make (to the exception of a job, and commissions. I enjoy doing things for work and for the purpose of adding to a purpose.) what's the purpose of art when it's all just for gain and no love. If I do a meme trend it's usually with my OC(s), or my favorite characters and I put the love and joy into those works.

Along, I see art as one of the hardest topics to teach and explain. Art should NEVER be graded on a school criteria in my opinion because it is to control the concept that art is making it only counterintuitive; but it CAN be and SHOULD be criticized. To never get criticism is to never improve on any potential but to outright tell you, you failed as an artist for not fulfilling a set standard that implies there is only one way to draw something is not what I like. If you're working to draw realism, then you should try and take the criticism and advice to get good at that level in the field of art that realism has it as. If you draw cartoons, and someone suggested you advice on how to draw better silhouettes in a design criteria to have your art grow appealing for you and others in a genuine sense of appreciation of you, the artist. Then that's a good thing to take but these two examples aren't made for you to follow but optional that I thought would do unless it breaks my creative choice. Art is the true form of will and mindful expression in the end.

Third belief though, that this can get me flagged or people to disagree but I simply do not believe all art doesn't need a purpose or true in depth theme and that not all art is political, deep in religion, or made to have a second identity worth of purpose. If you create for fun it is still love. Love is art, art is love. We are human. To cope, to express and simply one day, die and leave behind the art remains telling of what we were. Art is the world we make it as.

I cry a lot, I cry over dumb things. I cry over my mess ups behind doors and when people hurt. Outside my dark humor and "absurd ego" persona online or morbid interests that makes people assume and second guest I am not genuine on these words. I have a lot of love for people over the years from my childhood. I have the want to welcome myself to the world. I'm here to be me and want to appreciate all those who come to support me.

I thought lastly. I'm a very complex person. I confuse many people. Even I've confused my psychology teacher for being that rare singular person who stuck out and was in her eyes the very being of opposing nature that many doctors can't figure as it breaks the normality of the human mind to choose self preservation and connection over lost, trauma and sacrifice. I said once to her when she was talking about that 1-5 train question in class for a conversation, it was me saying "I can't live with the thought of being behind murder. Even if either choice was with validity. Something feels wrong and I can handle it. It would drive me to suicide. So why not kill myself to save 6 more in total." I would especially do it if it was my friend or family there against five others. Those strangers even I didn't know and don't care for them as I would a friend. They deserve to have death come naturally by life, so in that mist of that choice I choose to be the freest in self sacrifice of my empathy than to be chained in guilt.

I am not wanting to be seen though as someone who is pure and all mighty with true "heroism" just for being empathic, very forgiving and self sacrificial. I will prefer to be seen still the same as everyone else. I'm unique, yes, but being the abnormal stand out in society for the very way I behave or have my mind word shouldn't be seen as a good thing necessarily from me to make me a person you want to copy after.

In fact although I don't like to hurt people, or imagine myself hurting people. I enjoy many topics that explore the world of social normalities, morality, religion or how the world works within the fictional world and with that of fictional violence. I find it strangely funny, but also a topic that I invest in the idea of cruelty. It's the power of control, I control the fictional world. Along to know through real world terrors. If I feel the pain of the real world. I would understand it through the means of fictional ways to share my mind and emotions for the topics. So I do actually like the idea of conversations worth thought provoking ideas of how or why things work and don't. I do not let myself feel ashamed for thinking of things I want to question and understand something through the logic of my understanding despite the fact that I am religious or wish to be a good honest person. This all stems also from years worth of abuse I've been through as a child. It's nothing that I'm ashamed to admit and in my life I see it all as a way to explain and break it down for me to understand it as I please when I proceed through my mind into words and art. It's enough though to confirm I'm not a mindless and simple joking person as I come off as.

I hope this post makes you more aware of how I think and believe in things as an artist and individual. I enjoy my fans here and all my support and wish to continue a lifetime of creation. I hope you have a nice day everyone.

-Melodi/Sally

[castlebyersafterdark]

Was the last sentence Finn said in the recent interview for the new movie when he’s talking about st sus to anyone else, the way he paused in between the sentence to emphasize “to come out” like that dumb humor coming out joke…I sound crazy but coming from the type of autistic that’s hyper-observant and also closeted and knows how language plays into that masking and panic, just listen but ALSO it makes sense if you watch it (I hope). He said something like that right before and maybe he realized at first, then he seemed to hesitate and then intentionally say it. Behavior could just be for byler but if we’re assuming him and Noah are together then he’d be talking about himself, and this is such a contrast to season 4.

During that zoom interview with most of the cast I was surprised about this moment with Finn, millie between him and Noah; to me I think he made or realized he accidentally made would could be interpreted as that gay joke or flagging, which was ‘and that doesn’t come out’. I took it as allusive for byler, especially since he was talking about mike holding in his past and trauma and acting fine, normal…but then Noah instantly reacted and turned away I think (when he was still for a while) and Finn sort of stumbles, and i think sideglances to Noah’s side of the frame where I think a monitor is showing themselves. I noticed Finn and Noah looking at that point a lot (especially Finn, I thought maybe to see himself, but many things led me to believe he was peaking at Noah) their nervous reaction could be about byler and keeping it secret, but my instinct said it was because Noah was closeted, and for finn…it was either he knew about Noah or he’s also closeted and they were both gay panicking.

But again, could just be byler, or nothing but I doubt it’s nothing in that specific moment, but I do notice the upgrade of confidence this time, ownership with intention not mistake (if it was a mistake before)…but he does finish with an ‘I guess’ so maybe almost there. why do I have this feeling he’s going to have some more of these sort of allusive, sarcastic moments this year since everyone and their mother is protecting his heterosexuality. I need that energy with Noah in an interview and Noah can’t do anything but try not to laugh. Two relationships they got to hide this year, oh boy.

Ty for existing btw I love that you’re accepting of how we yap on here

Hello!! Love when you guys send me the long analysis asks, always so detailed and insightful. Please never stop yapping, yap at me all day long I adore hosting it.

Insightful thoughts here, it's going to be very interesting and fun reading between the lines for this upcoming new press tour to find hidden meanings and hints. I don't know that I personally would have viewed anything suspicious from the most recent Finn interview but that doesn't mean you can't take that away from it 😁

And no idea which other interview the rest of your observations are from but I enjoyed reading, passing this along if anyone's familiar. Need to hunt this one down for my interview adventure!

All in all... it's going to be wildly entertaining watching these two boys struggle with these press scenarios, if there are in fact two major relationships simultaneously they have to hide. What an excellent point. We're gonna be very entertained, all I can say. Can't wait!!

[scarefox]

There were times where people tagged negativity and trash watch with signaling tags or anti tags. There once was fandom etiquette for that. But that flew out if the window the past years regardless if it's about tv dramas or idols and actors themselves...

I rarely trash watch but when I do it's because I still get some fun out of it. Last time was Check Out. idk I still try to get some entertainment even if I find every character dumb af, I still want to see where it goes even if it's shattering against the next wall. If I don't even have interest in that then I simply don't waste my time on it 🤷‍♂️

Do I like to read others negativity or trash watch posts? No. Unless they actually understand what is going on, where the issues are and have constructive criticism.

But often it is just mindlessly riding a hate wave and if I see that in my fav tags I block them. Especially in Playboyy ✋️ the hate and disrespect some people dropped in the tag without even trying to grasp the unique concept. Even now after it's finished and we might get season2 people are still clowning in with "who did ask for that 🤪". Maybe the many people who actually watched it till the end and liked it??

Not everything is for everyone and people need to relearn to accept this. Especially when others do like stuff you don't get. Leave it be, let them have it if it doesn't hurt anyone. Maybe come even out of your bubble and reality check if and why there are people who like it. That's good for learning a thing or two in understanding others POV.

I always say you can dislike what you want but if you don't want people to respond to it in annoyance then don't shout it into their faces / don't tag it in the main tags where it spoils everyones good vibe!!

Easiest way is to just put an "anti-" in front of its tag or "negativity" or whatever. So people can filter if they don't want to see it.

Regarding Mame, am not a big fan of her stuff too because it often starts well and then has some bits or endings that frustrate me. The humor is not mine either. But I know that so I either stay away or give it a try when it looks interesting enough 🤷‍♂️ I mean there is always the chance for change. Like I mostly dislike Cheewins humor too but yet he made 2 of my most favorite dramas. So every new project is a new start I go in as neutral as possible, if it doesn't grab me after 1-2 episodes I leave. Maybe make a post why it is not for me or why imo it's bad, maybe I don't. But I try to remember to tag it appropriately or make the start of the post very obvious where it's heading.... also I refrain from insulting real people if they didn'tdo anything wrong (audience, writer, actors)!!!

I even saw people putting their negative views under the cut, that is an option too.

Trash-watches and what do you do with your negative opinions?

As Love Sea has started airing I've seen a couple of people posting about it from a very negative point of view. It seems like they already dislike MAME so I'm confused as to why they're even watching it and engaging with the content. It's made me think a lot about negative opinions in fandom spaces and I have a lot of questions.

Firstly, people are of course allowed to feel however they want about shows they're watching and post about them however they want. The truth of people in general is that we have very different experiences in life and that colours the way we perceive media. So when MAME writes about trauma and consent I'm not surprised that some people struggle with finding parts they like in her shows.

It has, however, put me in a dilemma, because I like MeMindY and I'm pretty sure I'm going to like Love Sea as well.

As such I'm not very interested in reading posts about the show that are almost entirely negative, especially when the person who's writing the post is clearly watching a completely different show than me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for critiquing a show and thinking about the content critically and examining why a show is making you feel bad or angry. The point where I struggle with negative posts is when the poster is seeing bad intentions in places where I very much don't or have hangups with things that to me seem harmless in the specific situation. This is not me saying I'm right and they're wrong. We're really just approaching shows from very different perspectives and coming to very different conclusions.

I've been trying to figure out what to do about those posts and blogs and I'd love to hear any and all thoughts you have on this matter or comments on what you usually do when this happens.

Do you just live with seeing the negative posts on your dash and scroll past them without reading? Do you unfollow people? Do you block people?

This has also made me think a lot about posting negative comments and content in fandom spaces. Like why do you watch these shows when you know you aren't going to like the show from the beginning? And then why do you post about it extensively when you have almost entirely negative things to say about it? Do you guys enjoy making/reading hate-/trash-watches? And if you do, why do you enjoy it? I am honestly curious and won't judge.

Where's the line between useful critique and hateful comments? Are there situations where negative comments in fandom should just be kept to yourself? Should you stay out of the official tags if you only have negative things to say about a show? What do you guys do when you dislike a show?

I'm just so very curious about how people feel about this kind of content. Content like hate-/trash-watches or other ways of engaging with media in a negative way.

[ask-lock-shock-and-barrel]

What was your inspiration when creating your version of LSB in reboot mode? *I LOVE your take on them, please keep it up! You're an amazing artist :)*

((Ahh gosh thank you! I'm so glad that my takes on the trio have been so well recieved. I know 'modernizing' nostalgia can sometimes come with a mixed response, but so far nobody has send flaming lawn darts to my house for giving Lock a smartphone, so I call that a success.

My inspiration came from a LOT of sources. When it came to a 'reboot' mode, I took a look at what things I liked from modern reboots of older cartoons. For example, Ducktales 2017 and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. One thing about both of those properties was their use of a group cast where the 'main' characters were created in the past as a unit. And as a unit, they are fun and engaging, but you can only go so long before it's just four turtles going "haha pizza, cowabunga" or three ducks with different colored hats, and you kinda want to see them become characters who can work just as good as individual people as they do in a group. And both those reboots did that in an amazing way! And the humor tends to feel a little 'smarter', or doesn't treat the audience like they're dumb, and doesn't have to rely super heavily on pop culture references (but in all fairness, I think those can be funny when it comes to puns, like Tick Tock or Eye Phone), or feel super dated.

For Lock Shock and Barrel, I kind of wanted to flesh them out into characters who act like kids, and not constantly obsessed with resurrecting Oogie Boogie or being clones of each other. They're still chaotic and enjoy causing trouble and being a pain in the ass for Jack, but it's because they like to have fun in the context of their world, where death and maiming are way more socially accepted than in our world. They're not amoral brainless robots set out to destroy that world either, they have their own moral codes, flawed and still developing, but they've got 'em. And kids can be bratty! But even bratty kids have interests, quirks, likes, dislikes, etc, and they can grow out of that brattiness over time. I know some may think that my characterization of the three puts them in a bit too much of a 'good' light, but I don't really see them as set 'heroes' or 'villains' on this blog, moreso little rotten kids who are going through their everyday lives, and having their own sets of challenges to face.

Now onto their personalities individually, Lock was heavily inspired by Dewey Duck from the reboot of Ducktales, down to me headcanoning his voice actor for Lock's voice. They both are hyperactive, Gen-Z adjacent, into 'theatrics' and trends, and being the entertainer. But Lock's not as set on being 'heroic' as Dewey is, and he's not as morally adjusted either. He loves to be the center of attention, and it comes off as irritating arrogance a lot, and he's something of a hypocrite. He has poor self-esteem which he masks by inflating his ego whenever possible, and he's a big crybaby. He likes to be leader because he wants the attention and clout, but deep down, he just wants the security of knowing he won't be alone, and that his friends will be there for him whenever he needs them.

Shock had a lot of different inspirations. I drew a lot of ideas from characters like Lisa Simpson, known for her intelligence and social anxiety, Lena from Ducktales, who is often dry and sarcastic but warmhearted and caring, and Horse from Centaurworld, who's hardened and brash from the war-torn world she's from and has to learn to open herself up to others. There's a few others I drew inspiration from, but those were probably the big three. Shock may not have come from a 'war-torn world' per se but she's seen and experienced enough things in life to give her a deeper maturity and wisdom than the other two. She discovered her thirst for mischief and chaos when she met Lock and Barrel, and thrives on getting to use her intellect and cleverness to cause trouble, and make her forget about her worries. She's still struggling to open up to other people, and allow herself to be vulnerable, as she wants to be the strong one for her found family, and fears she won't be able to do that if she lets her guard down.

Barrel has a lot of inspirations too. I think a big one happened to be myself, as I tend to be a very smiley and cheerful person who loves their friends! I also took a look at characters like Steven Universe and King from the Owl House, who are sweet and childlike characters who develop a deeper maturity over time, and have something of troubled beginnings, but those beginnings do not stop them from being happy with life and their friends and family. Barrel, as I've characterized, had quite a rough beginning, losing their family and home very early in life, and being alone for a period of time before meeting Lock, their true big brother, and best friend. They've found more than enough things in life to make them happy, and so long as they have their family, they are happy with whatever happens. They just wish that Lock and Shock would truly see them for how smart they really are, and not see them as just the baby of the three. And over time, it has caused them to be a bit more blunt and sassy, but not in a mean way. But at the same time, Barrel is reluctant to stray too far from the other two, and as a result, they get roped into a lot of nasty pranks and schemes the other two pull that they almost would never do on their own. They're the most empathetic and moral of the three, and most adults think that when they're by themselves, they're a genuine sweetheart.

Sorry this is a lot of rambling, and honestly I could write a whole essay about the trio and how I characterized them, but that would take me DAYS. So enjoy this salad of words.))

[anime-alyssa]

genshin boys valentine’s headcanons!

figured i’d be at least a little festive. these are kind of long so sorry sdkfsdfsd gonna put a read more. implied spice but not graphic - and i’m pretty sure i for once in my life kept it gender neutral so go me

these were kind of hard to do since i dont do hc’s really, i make fics and yall can for sure tell where i started to struggle skfsdfsd

they are also on ao3 so do not be alarmed 

Diluc:

He’d be acting like he didn’t give a shit about valentine’s day but this mf is a softie

Thinking he didn’t care, you’d offer to just stay in for the day or something

Honestly as long as it was just the two of you, you don’t really care

“What? No, we’re going out to dinner. I already planned it.” 

You were really surprised, since he hadn’t voiced an opinion on the holiday before

To him this year was different - you were married, so he assumes it should be a bigger deal

You dressed up in your favorite outfit and met him at Angel’s Share later that day and  you swear you saw his jaw drop to the floor 

He regained his composure before he could tease you about it, taking you to dinner as promised

He held your hand from across the table and listened to you ramble about whatever

You’d try to ask him things, but he’d shake you off, not wanting to talk about himself

Nothing was out of the ordinary, just a normal dinner

Until the walk home, when he pulled out a present for you

“I had this made for you.” 

A necklace made out of a Crystal core, melted into the Pyro symbol like his vision

You started to get weepy as he put it on, pressing a kiss to your temple and wrapping his arms around your middle to embrace you

You turned back around to kiss him on the lips

After that he couldn’t get you home fast enough

You thanked the archons that everyone else at the WInery was home for the night

Namely because he fucked you right against the door once you got him 

And on the reception desk

….. And the table

Kaeya:

Listen, this man dotes on you 

We all know Kaeya is the romantic type to the max so this is his day

He wakes you up by kissing up your body and making you orgasm

After that, he has to go in and work for a little bit 

You don’t really mind, he gave you a bag of Mora and told you to buy something nice because he’s taking you to Liyue for a few days

He plans on celebrating for days, apparently

“We have a lot to celebrate, don’t we? It’s been quite a year.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that

When you get to Liyue, immediately your taken out to dinner and told to order anything you wanted 

You almost feel bad when you glance at the bill, saying it's not fair he did everything when it was supposed to be for both of you.

Later on that night, you and Kaeya walked around Liyue harbor together

“You didn’t have to do all this for me - really.”

He looked at you like you were crazy and smirked 

“But I did.”

Imagine the look on your face when he got down on one knee

After you stopped crying, you somehow managed a yes

Once you get back to where you were staying, he was on you

Except now it’s time for you to show him how you feel

He doesn’t complain when you do

The reminder of your days in Liyue are spent in a similar fashion: eating and fucking

Childe:

He has it planned down to the second

When you woke up he was gone, making you upset

But when you walked out of the bedroom and saw the dozens of roses, all was forgiven

He left you a note, saying he’d be back shortly but to get ready to go out.

Once he was home, he found you and immediately embraced you

He was always one to shower you in compliments to begin with but today he was extra complimenting on everything about you

He planned the entire day around your favorite things to do, from going to the tea shop and to the bookstore

You tried to fit in something he liked to do, but he fought you

“I’m happy seeing you happy, you know that!” 

God damn it, he made your heart melt 

You got home that night and he cooked for you

And it was actually really, really good

He got you a few presents too, of course

Custom made jewelry, of course 

You fell asleep on him that night, with his arms wrapped around you and your head on his chest

You had been cuddling for what felt like hours, exchanging loving kisses between conversation

You didn’t miss how he said he couldn’t wait till next year

Xiao:

Thinks that it’s incredibly dumb 

“It’s a waste of time” he says

You get visibly sad, thinking now that you’re not gonna do anything for the whole day

You were gonna make him his favorite and everything, as a surprise

Now you’re just sad 

Oh fuck oh fuck why are you upset red alert Xiao - 

He asks Zhongli for advice, which isn’t any fucking good cause he tells him to show you how much he loves you 

How the fuck does he do that?

He doesn’t know

He settles for trying to comfort you in his own way, cuddling with you and apologizing for being an ass

You accept, and offer to make Almond Tofu for the two of you, but he says he’ll make it instead

It isn’t very good, but the thought is what matters

He tried and that was enough for you

After dinner he gets very touchy

That damn Harbinger was with Zhongli, he mentioned this is also something women like

He wasn’t too keen to believe him, but the way you moaned just now made his dick twitch

The rest of the night he shows you just how much he really loves you

Albedo:

You didn’t think he knew that Valentine’s Day existed, honestly 

Imagine your surprise when he woke you up with flowers, and saying he took the day off

…. But that you needed to go out for work first

You didn’t argue, he hardly ever took time off, so you’d go with him to get his supplies

Even if that meant you’d fucking freeze in Dragonspire

Once you got to his workstation in the mountain, he suggested a way to warm you up

Your heart skipped a beat, until he pulled out a warming potion

“What’s wrong? Drink it and you can be warm again.”

You drank it, and then explained what you had thought he meant

He laughed in your face, of course

“Don’t worry, that will come… after dinner.” 

Now you were fidgeting with anticipation the rest of the damn night 

(that was also something that didn’t happen to often, damn workaholic)

He started to notice at Angel’s Share, but you blamed it on the Dandelion Wine

He saw right through you, but of course made it up later that night

Right before you were about to go to sleep, you felt him slip something on your finger

It was a ring - obviously handmade. It glowed a pretty yellow color, much like his vision

“Happy Valentine’s, my love.” 

Zhongli:

He doesn’t quite understand what the big deal is 

“Why is there a day dedicated to love? I say it everyday, right?”

He thinks it's just a consumer-made holiday

Which it is, obviously

But god damn it you just want your boyfriend to treat you to fucking dinner

Even if it’s just Grilled Tiger Fish, that would suffice considering the former Archon never remembers his damn Mora 

You thought you had died when he walked you into the finest restaurant in Liyue

You refused to order until you had proof he had Mora on him

He agreed with a laugh and showed you that he had plenty 

He had arranged the table himself, apparently, moving both chairs next to each other

This was so he could hold you throughout the evening, make sure you were okay 

And whisper raunchy things into your ear while you tried to watch the entertainment like everyone else 

For someone who didn’t understand the hype he was feeding into it quite a bit 

He may be ancient, but he still had game 

By the time you were done, your thighs were red from you rubbing them together

You tried to make it into the bedroom, but he was quicker than you were 

He called the rest of the night getting his Mora’s worth 

Scaramouche:

“You’re kidding me? You care about that?”

You should have known that would be the reaction, honestly

After begging hard enough, he agrees to dinner

You claim he gave in, he claims he was going to do it anyway

(he gave in)

He spent almost the whole time irritated that everyone was lovey-dovey

“Scara, that’s how it is today. We look like the odd ones out.”

He couldn’t have any of that, so he moved his chair next to yours and ate with one arm around your shoulder the rest of the time 

You dragged him around to do things that you saw other couples doing

You know, like holding hands and going for walks, eating some street food

Couple things

He was quiet for most of the night, humoring you

You saw a nice necklace that you wanted while you were walking, but was offput by the price

They wanted how much Mora for that?!

You were eating a snack when Scaramouche walked away, saying he’d be back 

A few minutes later, he clasped the necklace around your neck

“I don’t want to hear it. Isn’t that the whole point of the holiday? Buying shit for your partner?” 

You tried to tell him it wasn’t just that, but he shut you up with some kisses

When you got home, he shut you up with more than just kisses

“This is what I was looking forward to today.”

[wanderinginksplot]

One-Shot: Sev + Motto

Sev x gn!reader fic, features the rest of Delta Squad as supporting characters.

Word Count: 1400 or so

Warnings: reader receives minor injuries (burns) on a mission

---

"Play di’kutla games, win di’kutla prizes."

If you had heard Sev say it once, you had heard him say it a thousand times.

Working with Delta Squad was normally fine. Honestly, it was outright entertaining on a regular basis. As an expert in untraceable comms, you were often partnered with commando squads. Infiltrating enemy planets was a norm in your job, and you made sure the squads could communicate with each other and nearby GAR ships regardless of which side controlled the planetside communications systems.

Delta was one of your favorite groups. Fixer was direct and to-the-point, efficient beyond all else. Scorch was side-splittingly funny, even in the middle of an intense battle. Sev was funny as well, though his humor was darker and full of wickedly clever observations. Boss was a natural leader, and he never felt the need to throw his authority around to make a point. More importantly, Delta Squad accepted you as one of their own, and your work with them was seamless in a way it wasn’t among other commando squads.

Of course, that also meant that you were subject to the same treatment as any other member of Delta Squad.

“Watch your fingers!” Fixer warned. “Heat gloves are standard issue for a reason.”

“Does it look like I have time to put on gloves?” you demanded. “Focus on covering me, and I’ll get this done.”

Two minutes, forty-seven seconds later, you had finished setting up the tower and taken a major step toward establishing communications on the Separatist-controlled planet. You would never admit it to Fixer, but you had thoroughly burnt several of your fingers on the superheated durasteel of the communication diverter’s inner core.

Crawling back through the brush to avoid enemy detection was awful. It may not have been so bad, but the burns were scattered across both of your hands and they were already beginning to blister.

You made it back in good time, despite the injuries you were trying to hide. Boss and Scorch had been the other team, going to plant detonators in the appropriate spots. Despite the comparative complexity of your task, you and Fixer were the first ones back. Sev was there to greet you, scowling at the pair of you.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me, are we not the first team to finish?” you asked, satisfaction clear in your voice.

“Yeah, but if you had been faster, we would have an update on Boss and Scorch by now,” Sev countered. “You know how Scorch gets around too many thermal dets. He may have blown himself up by now and we missed it.”

“Considering how many detonators he had, I’m sure we would have seen the explosion from here,” Fixer told him.

You laughed at the solid point - half because Fixer was funny when he wanted to be and half to release the anxiety and adrenaline of a successfully completed stealth mission.

Fixer leveled an unimpressed look at you. “Besides, some of us could spend this time treating the injuries we’re trying to hide.”

“You got hurt?” Sev asked, frowning at you. From any other squad, it might have sounded like concern, but you immediately spotted it for what it was: a vague irritated belief that you would slow them down.

"Barely," you snorted. "Minor burns, nothing to worry about."

"Until the blisters pop and leave you open to infection," Fixed countered, already taking over the observation post Sev had been manning. "Oh-Seven, take care of it, please? I'm not up to playing medic right now."

"Oh, so I have to?" Sev griped.

You stood up, throwing a look of disgust at the pair. "I think I'll patch myself up, thanks."

You had barely cracked open Delta Squad's first aid kit when heavy footsteps warned that someone had followed you. You ignored Sev's red-streaked armor as he stepped up behind you, focusing instead on spreading bacta gel across the tender burns on your hands.

"Here, just- Would you let me do that?" Sev asked impatiently, taking the gel from your hands.

"I could do it myself," you told him, a little pointlessly, since he had already taken over.

"I know you could, but it'll be faster if you let me."

Sev had removed his helmet, and he had the stubborn set to his jaw that warned that he wasn't going to let this go. Rather than waste both of your time, you rolled your eyes and stuck out your hands. He knelt in front of you, the kit open beside him, and started to apply the bacta gel.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, callused fingers oddly gentle against your skin, until you couldn't take it anymore. "Go ahead, say it."

"Say what?" Sev asked, looking up at you with a frown on his scarred face.

"What you always say," you explained with a frown of your own. "Come on, it's basically your motto."

"I don't have a motto," Sev told you slowly. "I'm not some idiot with a motto. I'm not Scorch."

"Okay, but you can't think of a single phrase you repeat often?" You pressed. "Especially when someone gets hurt doing something you think is stupid?"

"Not really," Sev denied, clearly puzzling it over.

You watched him, aghast at the idea that you had been making up his insulting phrase. As he turned his attention back to your burns, you caught a glimmer in his eye and you nudged him with your foot.

"That's not funny, Sev!" you tried your best to sound furious, but the way you were laughing detracted from the effect. Sev chuckled along with you. "I thought I was going insane!"

"I wouldn't say it to you," Sev said, finishing the last bandage.

You stared at him. "Yeah, of course not. It isn't like you've said it to me multiple times in past missions."

"Well, those, you actually had done something stupid and you got what you deserved," he told you mercilessly. "But this time, you got hurt trying to complete a mission."

"Yeah, but I wasn't wearing the proper gear," you countered.

Sev didn't look impressed, picking up one of your carefully bandaged hands as he spoke. "I know burns, and heat gloves wouldn't have saved you here. Maybe the burns would have been less intense, but we would also be picking melted synthweave out of your hands."

You squeezed Sev's hand since it was still wrapped around your own. "Thanks for making me feel better, Sev, and for taking care of my hands."

"Well, I have to make sure my favorite comm specialist is willing to work with us again," Sev told you, helping you to your feet.

You had never taken a step away, and from your position standing close to Sev, you stared up with a dumb grin spreading across your face. "I'm your favorite comm specialist?"

"You're my favorite anything specialist," he told you and you beamed at him. To your complete shock, he returned your smile, his handsome face glowing with the quiet happiness of the moment.

You began to speak, though you had no idea what you planned to say. Unfortunately - or fortunately - you were interrupted by the arrival of Sergeant Boss and Scorch. Delta Squad's leader was supporting Scorch, who limped along making exaggerated noises of pain.

"Scorch, what happened? Are you okay?" you asked, horrified that he had been hurt.

"I didn't bring enough fuse," Scorch answered, immediately dropping his pained attitude - though his limp didn't change a bit. "Had to run from the site and I twisted my ankle."

"Well, play di'kutla games, win di'kutla prizes," Sev told him sourly as you shot him a disbelieving grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Scorch muttered. "This team doesn't appreciate my talents."

"Talents," Fixed scoffed.

"Of course!" Scorch replied, sounding offended. "It takes talent to get hurt this often and not die."

"The Kaminoans may have bred us for tenacity, but I don't think that's what they had in mind," Boss told him. "There's something to be said for learning from your mistakes."

"Isn't anyone on my side?" Scorch complained, eyeing you pointedly.

You sighed, but threw him some sympathy anyway. "I'm on your side, Scorch. I'm glad you're okay."

Fixer cut short Scorch's gloating. "That's only because you weren't the only one who was injured doing something stupid today."

Scorch gave you a commiserating nod. "Did Sev give you the speech, too?"

You glanced up at Sev. The scarred commando was watching you as he tried to bite back a smile. You shot him a subtle wink and said, "Yeah, something like that."

---

A/N - dedicated to myself, because I say "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes" way too often for someone who is usually the one playing the stupid game. Feel free to visit my masterlist for other one-shots and series, or make a request!

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Canine (Revenant x Reader)

Part 2 of 2 of the chapter “Styptic & Canine”. [AO3 Link to full chapter]

Theme: Revenant introduces the reader to his makeshift family as he turns up the spice level, but an unfortunate run in with a creep ruins most of the day.

Warnings: Graphic content, physical male dominance, threats of violence, blood, descriptions of violence, sexual references, sexual harassment, sharp objects, pain, bipolar, depression, mentions of mania, general romantic fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: This post was too big. 18K words. This is part 2 of a larger chapter that is “Styptic & Canine”. I’m posting it in halves so Tumblr doesn’t die. Also, yes, this chapter is where I start raising the heat. My intent was to boil the frog, but Tumblr made me split right where I first turn on the gas stove.

Navigation: First Chapter | Previous Part (Styptic & Canine) | Next Chapter

You regain consciousness to a mild shake, his hands around each of your cheeks and his frame vaulted over your body in a sitting position.

"Oh dear, little skinsuit, what was that about?" His voice drips with some kind of sadistic humor.

"What was what about?" The morning light was shining through the skylight. He obviously let you sleep in a bit, for which you were grateful. You couldn't remember any dreams though, it was all blank.

"Don't play stupid, you must know." He's way too into this. "I want to know if it was me."

"I really don't remember. Why, what did I do?"

He lurches back in some kind of cruel delight, pulling his hands away to cup around his own face, accentuating his joy.

"Then maybe you'll know the answer to this: who is 'daddy'?"

Your face gets hot instantly, now you know why he's so interested. He has prime material to hold over your head for days. You have one potential way out and he isn't likely to buy it.

"I never met my father, so I'm not sure..." You try.

"Oh, I guessed as much. But this wasn't that kind of daddy." He places each of his hands on the sides of your waist, making you blush harder. "Your hips were absolutely reeling. I could hear how much you were loving it. You still smell like lust. So, I must know... who is the lucky one to have the title of 'daddy'?" Your face is burning. Your attempt to get out of this has definitely and utterly failed.

"I don't know! I've never even--" You cut yourself off, realizing that saying more is only playing into his game.

"Oh please, you must tell me." He leans over to whisper in your ear, curling over you in a seductive manner. "I'll keep it a secret, I promise. I just want to know who makes you writhe like that. Clearly I could learn something." This asshole. Your face actually hurts it's so hot. You can't get out of this, and you don't even have an answer for him. You've never even called anyone that before.

"Please, can I get up?" You beg, hoping it can just be over.

"Oh no, dear," You feel yourself screaming internally as he nuzzles his mask against the side of your face, "I can't let you do that. No, no... Not until you humor me." He presses his body into you, and you audibly whimper. "Call me daddy."

You're dead. You have to be dead. This can't be real. You can't humor him, but you have to humor him. Why is he like this? If you say it really fast, maybe it'll be okay. Maybe he'll accept it.

"Can I get up...?" You choke. "...daddy..." You didn't say it fast, but you said it with zero confidence, which hopefully dampens his power trip.

He throws himself off of you, laughing something fierce. His guffaw is loud, cruel, and pure delight. He's completely overtaken by it, laying back beside you, almost twitching in hilarity. He can't control himself as he lifts his hand as if to wipe away a tear.

He shuts down again, turning limp.

You jump out of bed, giving yourself distance from his metal sarcophagus, knowing whatever comes next might not be pleasant. You make your way to the computer desk, sitting on the office chair, waiting to see what he does this time.

His chassis begins to whirr and cracks into movement, his arms grabbing at air beside him as he tests every limb in violent bends and swings. The static begins in his voice, before suddenly slipping into something audible.

"You-you moved away." His empty optics seem to stare at you from a distance as he sits up. "I wanted to hold-hold you again..." His tone was soft, but his vocals were still skipping. "Shame, daddy will get you next-next time."

His eyes come back to life, and he's aware again.

"Well, just say how you really feel then, huh?" You jab back, waiting to see how he reacts. He chuckles a little, a mere echo of the laugh that forced him to restart.

"Well, I'll make it up to you. How do you feel about making a trip to meet my little family?"

"Family? I thought--"

"Oh, not like that, of course. Just the closest thing I have." He smiles smugly at you, seeing an opportunity. "You don't need to worry, no one competes with you."

Damn blush, you're going to turn red permanently if he doesn't stop.

He vaults out of bed, making his way over to you.

"I let you sleep in, thankfully what you're wearing is ideal for the job already." He offers his hand. When you take it, he hoists you to your feet. "It should help with any sad feelings too, how are those going by the way?"

"With how things have been going, I haven't had the chance to be depressed..." You're almost embarrassed that his plan to keep throwing you off your depression is working so well.

"Good, keep showering me with all your attention then." He squeezes your hand a bit before letting go. At this rate he could make you manic again if he keeps pushing it. You're just not sure if you should let him. "I've arranged a ride for us, since I don't think you can run this far."

"Oh, alright, sure. Do I need to do anything? I feel kinda like I should take a shower..." It's very strange that you're going someplace wearing dirty clothes with no shower.

"Trust me, you'd be better off doing that after."

• • • •

Revenant can't drive, apparently. To the point in which he's actually enough of a liability that he's not allowed to drive anywhere outside of the Apex Games. He wasn't very happy with the idea of having a chauffeur, but the legal team was able to convince him to accept being driven in exchange for a vehicle that separated him from the driver. That vehicle was a limo. A giant, stretch limo. A very luxurious limo. Versus you, who is a mess: dressed in a stained shirt you slept in and you haven't washed your hair. This is embarrassing.

"This dumb thing is almost ten yards long, and you have to be right up against me, don't you?" Revenant is sitting far in the back corner, and you've wedged yourself right between him and the corner, trying your best to hide yourself from any phantom that might see you.

"I'm in a limo and I look like I belong in a garbage truck." You duck away from the windows, shoving your face up against the black leather of his waist, careful to avoid the support pistons.

"Literally no one can see you except me." He scoffs, crossing his arms. "The windows are blacked out, the driver's privacy window is closed, and nobody is here but us." His eyes glare down at you, but he seems to be moderately entertained by your distress.

"I look homeless." You pause. "Again."

Revenant laughs at that, uncurling his arms to mess up your hair in some kind of adoring but condescending gesture.

"You're fine, trust me. Nobody is going to see you." He pauses from messing with your hair. "I have a stop coming up, just stay in here and I'll be back with some supplies."

"Be fast, I need to hide behind someone and you're the only one here." You're being intentionally dramatic, but if it makes him laugh it's worth it. He sighs equally as dramatically, clearly playing along.

The vehicle hovers to a stop, and Revenant wisps out the door, closing it behind him before you even get a sense for where you are. The windows really are blacked out, you can't see anything through them.

Now alone, you shrink into the back corner of the seats going around the vehicle. There's a television and what appears to be a loaded bar, multicolored LED lights lining the whole thing, and starlights in the ceiling. The seats are all made with beautiful leather and have a triangular pattern stitched in the surface. The floor has carpeted mats that feel a bit more plush than the average car. You consider rummaging through the bar, but you're not sure if anyone is going to charge you an arm and a leg for alcohol you can get cheaper anywhere else. You sigh and lean back, shrinking further in the seat.

The door on the opposite corner as you clicks open, and Revenant crawls in, dragging a massive green bag behind him, barely managing to get it in the car.

"Is that a body bag?!" You curl up in the fetal position on your seat, recoiling away from the door.

"Yes." He gruffly huffs as he drags the apparent bagged corpse into the limo, weighing the whole vehicle down. He gets it in the middle of the floor, then drops it with a thud and throws himself down beside you. With his weight, you feel like you nearly missed being crushed. His arm rests on your opposite shoulder and you shudder, giving him a concerned stare. "Oh shush, I paid for it."

"You what?" You whimper, completely at a loss of what you're experiencing.

"It'll be fine, I can't rightly show up without any offering." He shrugs his shoulders, pulling you closer. He seems to be very pleased with himself, smugly teasing you.

"Offering?! Is this a cult?!" You whisper aloud, not necessarily expecting an answer. He laughs again, enjoying your mental wheels spinning. The limo gets moving again, handling the extra weight very easily.

"Oh, no, that's for next time." He's obviously teasing now. "I'll make sure you're in a lovely white dress to soak in the blood of our sacrifices for that occasion." He shoves you up against his chassis, growling to rattle his torso against you. "Then, when we're all done, I'll make official my new nickname."

"Oh, fuck you." You let slip under your breath, causing him to guffaw openly again. He catches his synthetic breath, rubbing his mask in the same motion a human would.

"You've gotten so comfortable with me so quickly, what happened?" His question must be rhetorical, because he doesn't leave much of a pause for an answer. He jumps right back into teasing. "I'll have to tame you by any means necessary if you're going to keep being so temptingly coy." His hands cup around your waist and you crack a sigh, turning away from him, trying to focus on anything other than how red in the face you must be.

"Do you regularly flirt in front of fresh corpses?"

"Awww..." He grabs your chin and pulls your face back to meet his, bringing his visage down close enough to feel his breath. "Are you kink-shaming me? Or are you just being a prude little tease?" He pauses before snickering to himself, losing his flirtatious composure. "You're so red, you practically match me." His loss of composure is cute enough to get to you. You giggle a little.

The car comes to a gentle stop, and Revenant immediately gets to pulling the corpse out. The body bag is way larger than makes sense, it almost looks as if it could fit someone Revenant's size. Yet the body inside still seems way too big. You're not sure what it is, but you're a bit too afraid to ask at the same time. Revenant eventually gets the bag to the edge of the vehicle before throwing it over one of his shoulders, forcing his shoulder spikes to flip downward out of the way. He nearly topples over at the shifting weight, meaning whatever is in the bag is excessively heavy.

As you crawl out of the car after him, you smell the fresh air of being nowhere near civilization. You see lots of flat lands broken up by woods with a giant abandoned warehouse in front of you. The warehouse has holes rusted throughout its sides and the door is ajar, the hinges rusted so it no longer swings. The air is fresh, and you look around, unable to find signs of other humans close by. Revenant waves away the limo. It turns around, kicking up dust off the unpaved path before zooming off into the horizon. He waits until the limo is far enough before pulling you close.

"You have to listen to everything I say, understand?" He's dead serious. You nod, suddenly concerned over his change in tone. "Don't try to protect me, I'll be okay. Scream if and only if you feel pain." You search for any joking tone in his voice, but there is none. "But above all else, listen to me. Don't play stupid, just obey." He looks to you, demanding acknowledgement. You nod, determined and concerned at this new development.

He walks over to the door, making his way inside carefully as you follow. He throws the body bag on the concrete floor of the entryway, causing a morbid slapping sound as it hits the ground. Revenant kneels down and begins ripping the bag open. You take a moment to look around.

This whole warehouse is dark beyond belief. There seems to be different rooms, but the rusted-through holes in the wall allow you to get negligible peeks into nearby rooms. The roof has not decayed at all yet, but it means no light is entering the building, making the deeper rooms be cast in an oppressive darkness. From the outside this warehouse looked massive, this room must be only one of dozens. The silence is scary, there isn't a single sound of life apart from you and Revenant, but you know better. Silence means something doesn't want to be found, and is inevitably a sign of life. Silence only happens when a hunter has scared everything else into silence. You might have learned that from Bloodhound, but you can't be sure. Either way, it's anxiety-inducing.

Revenant stands tall, pulling the scraps of the bag away from a giant bisection of a carcass. It appears to be beef, in the same state butchers will sell to grocers or restaurants. It doesn't smell bad, but it definitely smells like raw meat. Revenant grabs you around the shoulder, pulling you into a very controlling embrace. He whistles, or something like it.

"C'mere puppies!" As soon as he says it, you hear the sound of many nails skittering around the concrete flooring, making their way to the room you're in. Revenant squeezes you close as the pack comes into sight.

"Revenant! Those are not dogs!" You can't help but whisper in shock as the pack stops in your line of sight, trying to get a read on whether you're a threat or not.

Prowlers are utterly terrifying predators. They can be described as something between a wild dog and a tiger with the hide of a dinosaur. Their quadrupedal forms stand tall enough to meet you eye-to-eye at the largest, but the females and younger prowlers come up to your waist or knees instead. This subspecies has a beautiful, peacock-like furl behind their ears that stand on end when they see you, making them look as kaleidoscopic as they are scary. Their fangs could make a saber tooth tiger swoon, and their colors remind you of the legendary Birds of Paradise. Their long tails flick back and forth in concern, trying to understand who you are or if they should fight you. The largest male growls so deeply that Revenant sounds like a kitten in comparison, and it approaches both of you ahead of the rest of the pack.

"Rev..." You start to step behind him. This creature could very easily kill you in a single bite to the neck, and he was already tall enough to reach it.

"Shush, listen to me." He whispers to you, using his grip around your back to shuffle you back in place and to his side, pulling you against him in an uncomfortable grip. "Hey Six, this is mine." He addresses the massive male prowler approaching you, almost presenting you to him.

You hold your breath as Six sniffs your face, neck, and chest, trying to figure out what you are and why you're here. The other prowlers begin to enter the room, not even paying attention to the food in preference of figuring out the newcomer. Six's tail begins to rise up, flicking the tip back and forth as he finds you acceptable as a guest. You receive a lick right on the face as a final assurance, and the other prowlers swarm you to meet you.

You grab onto Revenant like your life depends on it. All of these prowlers could kill you, probably even the young ones too. It doesn't matter if they're all flicking their tails happily, or panting with smiles and tongues out, or excitedly greeting you. They can kill you and you're painfully aware of it.

"Calm down, seriously. You were fine meeting me for the first time, but a bunch of little puppies scare you?" Revenant releases his hold on you, but you don't return the favor.

"These are not puppies!" You try to whisper at him, but he might not be able to hear you over the crowd you've attracted. He pushes down on your shoulders, causing you to lose your grip on him and fall into a sitting position. Now all the prowlers can meet you eye-to-eye or tower over you. You're inundated with licks, and no amount of guarding your face with your arms will save you.

"You'll be fine. They're my pack, and they'll respect what's mine." You can barely hear him over the assault of affection.

As the excitement begins to settle, some of the larger prowlers peter off to check out the meat, leaving the younger ones to look after you. A tiny pair of kits you didn't see before bound up to your lap and hop in, cuddling against your stomach. For such scary adults, the babies are unbearably cute. You're not sure if you can touch them or not, so you simply let them roll around in your lap, slapping at each other like the siblings they are. Six comes back to you, his maw covered in blood from the beef.

"I figured he'd notice." You hear Revenant mutter as Six inspects your arm and calf, licking at the puncture wounds a little. "I guess my hypocrisy was going to catch up eventually." Six carefully sniffs the skin before shooting a glare and deep growl at Revenant. "Don't move a muscle, no matter what." He instructs you.

Six lunges at Revenant's leg, catching the metal below the knee joint in his bite. Revenant buckles and hits the ground. You jump a little and whine to yourself, but you stay as reserved as you can otherwise. The kits notice and begin pawing at you, trying to understand your reaction. Six drags Revenant a few feet from you as Revenant makes stifled sounds reminiscent of excruciating pain. You want to step in, but you obey orders. You hear the moaning of the metal in his leg beginning to bend for a few moments, before Six releases him. Revenant sits up, grappling his leg before Six chomps the opposite arm near the shoulder, causing Revenant to try to reel away in shock and pain. Again, Six growls as the metal bends beneath his bite, Revenant taking the pain as best as he can. Six releases, gives a growling bark to Revenant, and returns to you to lick your wounds more.

"Oh, now aren't you just poetic." Revenant finally makes out between what sounds like heavy breaths. "You got me in the same places." He's cradling his calf and arm, in the exact same places and sides as you were hurt. "I knew I was going to pay for that, but you didn't have to be that literary about it."

Six turns to him and makes whining sounds that mimic human speech. You've heard of Siberian Huskies making these noises, but never prowlers. Either way, it sounds sassy, and Revenant seems to relax knowing he's back in good graces.

"Yes, I know I taught you the same lesson a long time ago, but still..." He talks to them like anyone would talk to their dog. "You didn't have to be that extra about it." Six flicks his head at him before returning to your wounds, the kits now back to play-fighting each other.

"So, yeah, these are my puppies." He finally addresses you again. Most of the other prowlers are now taking turns at the carcass, seemingly following a hierarchy. You want to correct him, but you don't. He's clearly going to keep insisting that they're puppies. "This is Six, he's the sixth alpha of a pack I've helped raise over the past few decades. Zero was the first prowler that accepted me, and One was his puppy--the first alpha."

Six retires from your wounds, taking the two kits from you to go eat with their mother.

"There's no way you can be depressed around these guys. If there's any creature more aware of the emotional state of other beings, I dare them to come forward. My pack is perfect." He genuinely sounds overjoyed that you're getting to meet them all, he seems very proud. "I even raised them to respect females... Even if that did bite me back today." He huffs a bit.

"So, wait, you've been raising prowlers out here for decades?" You finally make a sound, Six and a few others look over at you for a moment, surprised by your more relaxed voice.

"Yeah, although they're fairly independent. I'm more like an elder to them, rather than directly in their hierarchy. I bring them food, not that they need me to, and they come along with me when I need company or extra help." He scoots himself close to you, letting his damaged leg drag. You get a closer look and see that the metal is both punctured and buckled on both his arm and leg. "They've been a passion project of mine ever since I first met Zero. They make me feel a bit of humanity." That last sentence is spoken with a level of reverence. You let the silence fall for a moment.

"You know, this is probably a scientific breakthrough in some field that nobody has ever managed before. You have a wild pack of prowlers that accept you and the people you bring in." He seems surprised by your lavish praise. "This could change our understanding of prowlers forever."

"Well, it helps that I'm nigh unkillable," he knocks on his metal chest, making a banging sound, "and honestly you're allowed in because as far as they're concerned, you're my mate." He wraps his arm around you possessively as the kits crawl back into your lap, now well-fed and cuddly. "That's why they don't mind you around the little ones." He sees you eyeing them as they roll around, trying to get comfortable. He picks one up, holding it in his hands like it's a precious jewel. It yips at him for attention, so he scratches behind it's tiny furls with his spare hand. "I think this one will be Seven, unless the next litter has an even bigger boy."

His adoration for these predators is absolutely identical to how so many people feel about their pets. The choice to love prowlers is a bit unconventional, but he is very much a man stuck in a metal body--humanity intact--in these moments. You are growing increasingly fond of him, seeing something beautiful beyond the cruel simulacrum assassin you once knew. He catches you staring.

"Go ahead, pick her up." He gestures to the other kit in your lap, actually looking a little jealous of her brother. At first, you tremor at the thought of picking her up wrong, but a sudden wave of confidence comes from nowhere. You scoop her up in your arms, bringing her up to your chest and cradling her. She immediately begins to squirm with delight and lick at your hand as you rub her head and chin.

"Was that all instinct?" He pauses, and you tilt your head at him, confused by the question. "You were shaking, then suddenly you weren't. Is that what maternal instinct looks like?" You're a bit shocked he saw that much.

"I'm not sure. I'm not usually around babies of any kind." You confess, but now you suspect the same thing he does. The baby female prowler reaches for your face, barely managing to touch your chin before you lower your face to meet her. She reacts with tiny licks on your nose while you tickle her belly. Revenant is the one staring now.

Revenant places the baby male in your arms next to the female, allowing them to both vie for your coveted attention. Some of the females come over and snuggle up next to you, laying on and around you, while the males and Six lie next to Revenant. Revenant leans back, eventually resting his head on the flank of one of the larger males, while another rests its head on his shoulder.

"You should lie down, let the puppies run around." He instructs you, briefly pointing to the kits in your arms. "Your body isn't heavy enough to bother anyone, just lay on whoever seems the most comfortable."

You look around, seeing a lot of intimidating warm bodies around you, so you cheat and carefully lay under Revenant's arm. You hear him audibly sigh, bothered that you're still worried but unable to chide you. The kits use you to crawl up on Revenant and slide down his metal torso to the other side, Six audibly purring when they land in his vicinity. Maybe a prowler would make a better pillow than a newly busted up metal arm and the concrete floor. You shiver a bit at the sheer power of these creatures, running your fingers over the metal holes in Revenant's arm, causing him to wince away from your touch.

"Does it hurt?" You whisper, hoping not to draw any prowler's attention.

"Yeah, it hurts a lot. My body can feel pain just like you skinsuits." He inhales in distress as you pull your fingers away from the damage. "It honestly feels like the flesh and muscle is torn off, like the bone is crushed and splintered, and like I'm bleeding out on the ground. But I know it's not real. It's never real."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know this would happen." You pull yourself into more of a ball, shuddering at the thought of that level of pain.

"It's not your fault, I instilled this level of protectiveness into them." Revenant pulls his arm away as one of the female prowlers crawls over you and lays on top of you, purring as if to comfort you. "Anyone who hurts one of the girls gets it back sevenfold." You roll onto your back, the prowler readjusting to lay on your belly, purring and licking your neck. "So you can stop being sad about it. They can sense it in you. If you don't want the attention, you can't let yourself be distressed." He sits up, looking down at you smugly while a second prowler writhes across the ground to get close enough to lick your cheek. Are these creatures really this intuitive?

Six notices Revenant sitting up to watch you and meanders over to see the small commotion. Six shoves himself between you and Revenant, apparently sensing some kind of disagreement. Six positions his paws on your neck, allowing you to feel the enormous size of his claws. One flex and you're dead. These things must be three inches of blade, all with a hypodermic tip. Six turns his head to Revenant and makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a growl before shoving his snout against your ear to purr. He bares his fangs while doing so, allowing you to feel how long and menacing they are. You wince away from him, pushing your face into the other prowler's licks, but Six just shoves his snout further to reconnect with you.

"He seems to think I should be more comforting, you're way too nervous for his liking. Good luck being depressed now." He sounds like he's enjoying this, shrugging to himself before he places his hand on your free arm. "Just calm down, they're not going to hurt you."

"I could die from a single flick of the wrist." You carefully say, feeling your vocal chords vibrate against Six's massive nails.

"That doesn't stop you from getting close to me." His hand glides up and down your arm. You don't have a response for him, so you stay quiet. "Like I said, just scream at any discomfort and someone is getting a swift dose of justice." He lies back on the same prowler as before, changing his position to avoid disrupting Six.

"I can't scream if my throat is slit."

"Give it time, you'll understand."

• • • •

Three prowlers is apparently the amount it takes to bring back a stick. It can be more if the stick is longer, but this giant branch is the maximum size you can throw. They hop together, all their jaws in a line across the branch, their fangs clutched around the wood. They carefully drop it at your feet, waiting expectantly for you to try throwing it again. You do your best to throw it, but between your injured arm and the weight of it, you struggle to get it as far as you'd like. The area behind the warehouse is a small yard with enough room for fetch, surrounded by thick forests over a few small hills.

"You throw like a child." You hear Revenant mock you, and you turn around to shoot him a glare. Six is resting in his lap and he has the mother prowler at his side, accepting the belly rubs he offers while the kits sleep. "I can throw farther than you from here, without even standing." You roll your eyes, knowing he's probably right.

Two new prowlers got in on the stick this throw, bounding back to you for another throw. You have eight prowlers all fighting to be one of the three on the stick, but they all seem to be having fun. Four of the young adults are off in the woods playing tug of war by themselves, making a total of sixteen prowlers you've now met. This pack is unusually huge from what little you know. You wonder if Revenant's meddling has something to do with it.

You pick up the branch and drag it over to Revenant, curious to see if he'll back up his claim.

"Alright, go for it." You hand him the end of the branch, and he chucks it far enough to lob over the entire yard and land somewhere in the woods. He snickers as the pack disappears in the darkness after it. You watch, hearing the branch collide with the trees, making rustling and snapping sounds as it catches in them. "So, what if you just got it stuck in a tree?"

"Oh, I thought you wanted me to show off for you." Revenant coos sarcastically. "Give them a few minutes, they can climb." You sigh and shrug, waiting for any sign of them coming back. "Do you want to go home?"

"No, not yet."

"Oh, oh!? You aren't scared of my puppies anymore?" He says between chuckles.

"Shut it." You growl at him, finally getting to use his catch-phrase against him.

"Are you sure? It's getting late." It was beginning to be late in the afternoon, coming up on when you'd normally be wanting dinner. In truth you hadn't eaten in over a day, but depression made it so you never wanted to eat anyway. You'd been playing with his prowlers for hours now, fully accepted by them. You now felt pretty confident in your safety around them, but their stature was still a bit menacing.

"At least let me see if they can bring back that stick." You hear some rustling in the woods, before the eight prowlers burst out of the brush with the original branch and a second, equally massive one. Now only two are left out of being able to hold a part of a stick. They drop both at your feet.

You try to throw the first but it only makes it a short ways, all the prowlers fighting for it. You hand the second to Revenant, and he throws it back into the woods completely out of sight. They all abandon the first stick in preference for the farthest one.

"Maybe you should be doing this." You hunch over, a bit defeated and tired.

"You're doing fine. Anyways, we should wrap up soon. You probably need that shower and I have something I need to do before tomorrow." Revenant starts to get up, prompting Six to get off of him while huffing and shaking himself awake. "Also, you need food."

You sigh, wanting to argue but knowing you can't.

"I'm calling back your ride. We need to get all these guys hidden in the warehouse as to not cause any alarm." He pulls some kind of cellular device out of his pocket on his belt and presses a few buttons. He then proceeds to shuffle you back towards the warehouse, prompting Six, the mother, and the two kits to follow. As you get to the side entrance, Revenant turns around and emits another whistling sound, inundated with his usual modulated twinge. He steps inside with you and the other twelve prowlers come flooding in behind him.

He pets each of them as they make their way in, saving Six and the kits for last. He really does love these creatures. You sheepishly and carefully pet Six as you go to leave, but only because he demands it by butting his head into your hand to make it clear.

Finally, you step outside with Revenant, going towards the dirt road that got you here.

"You look like absolute hell." Revenant jabs. You pull your hair back and try to control it a bit better, but it refuses to cooperate. It's probably stuck from all the prowler saliva all over you, hair absolutely included. Not to even mention your shirt and pants look like you got tackled and ground into the dirt by an entire rugby team. Your shirt was already stained, now it's dusty, dirty, stained, and has green grass streaks. Your shoes are probably just as bad, but they're cheap sneakers so you don't really care much.

"I know, I really need a shower. Maybe two." You give up on your hair. It's just going to be a mess.

"Take as long as you need. I'll be back soon after you. I hope you don't mind riding back alone." You've made it to the dirt road, and you can see the excessively luxurious limo in the distance, kicking up dirt.

"You're not coming?"

"No, I have one last thing to do before the match tomorrow. It'll be worth it, and I think you'll like it too." Revenant seems like he won't budge on the matter.

The limo pulls up and he opens the door for you, and you crawl in alone, making sure you stay as far in the corner as possible. You don't really like the thought of being in here alone, but you have no choice in the matter. He shuts the door and you lose sight of him through the blacked-out windows. The limo starts to move, making a sharp turn and hitting high speeds over the terrain, probably kicking up tons of dust in the meantime. You have nothing to stare at, so you just curl up to yourself and wait to make it back.

"You seem a bit meek for this kind of work, kid." You hear a masculine voice with a skeezy city accent coming from the front of the limo. The privacy window is cracked, just enough so you can hear him, but thankfully not enough so you can see each other. Why was that rolled down at all? It wasn't on the way here. You turn away, refusing to answer, hoping he will leave you be.

"Heh, exactly." You hear him chuckle. You wish you had the guts to just waltz over and roll up the window on him, but you're neither that confident nor strong enough if it ends in a spat. You just let him continue. "Heck, I didn't think robots were even into that stuff, but he seems to be the 'specially fucked-up type." Your stomach sinks like an anchor as you hear what sounds like the draw of a cigarette. "Fucker practically gets off every time he guts someone on live TV. Makes perfect sense he'd get off 'tuh victimizin' some tiny doll like you."

You get the picture, and you feel sick to your stomach for it. You can't respond, every word you want to say gets caught in your throat and you're forced to swallow it. This guy might be unhinged; a lot of people are these days. If you try to argue, he might try something. If you try to play it off... who are you kidding? You could never play this one off. It sounds so bad. Is he going to try to hurt you? Or is this all some mind game?

"Does it hurt? You sure as hell look like you've been through a meat grinder." You feel your face turn red. You turn further away from the cracked window. "Oh, I bet it does. No way 'woulda giant metal psycho like that hold back on a little thing like you."

He won't stop. He's clearly only getting started, but you hope that this is the worst of it.

"Question is: are you a hostage or does he really pay you that well? You know, sweetheart, if you're in need of money, just record whatever the hell he does to 'ya and sell it on the internet." He starts laughing as you internally beg for him to shut up. "All sorts of fucked up dudes would pay for the privilege. You could make absolute bank! Even better if you let him cut you open a bit for the cameras while you scream." He's really laughing now, clearly getting off to how much he has you cornered.

"Everyone loves a good screamin' bitch. Anyone who says they don't is a liar. But you know that, don't 'ya toots?" His use of centuries-old misogynistic slang somehow makes everything worse. You feel yourself shake a bit as you hold yourself tighter. Your stomach hurts badly from the distress now, and you feel yourself spiral internally. Where is this going? Can you outrun this guy if you need to? What if he catches you? Can you squirm out of this guy's grasp? "God, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall while that's going on. I bet your tears only make him harder."

You want to scream, but your prey instincts refuse to let you move or make a sound in hopes that he simply forgets you're there. You can't help yourself but hold your breath in intervals, hoping to be even more silent, but in turn making you more light-headed and fearful.

"I bet there's lots of filthy bastards that would pay extra to have his sloppy seconds." You're absolutely nauseated at the thought of that, but you haven't eaten, so maybe it's just a stomach ulcer forming from the extreme stress. "I bet he's modded to absolutely ruin you, isn't he? Tear your insides up and fill you until you're overflowin', right? You look like he never gives you a day off." You pray, begging God to kill you--this is worse than death.

"So, if he's draggin' 'ya all the way out into the woods to fuck 'ya, it must be pretty messed up stuff, huh?" You lay your face in your hands. "Aww, don't cry babe, I'm not going to tell anyone. I wouldn't want a hole in my chest, anyhow." You want to disappear. You hope he crashes the car and you die in a fire. You hate everything about this. "If you're ever in need of an extra kick of cash though, I wouldn't mind a taste of 'ya. Or buyin' one of those tapes."

You break internally. It feels like the essence of every muscle snaps in your body, and the tears flow without even intending to. You suddenly have the courage to move, but only to move a few inches to cower deeper in the corner of the seats.

It's not worth it. None of this is worth it. You no longer hear anything he says, even though you can still hear his voice. It sounds like you're underwater, so you can't make out the words anymore. Maybe that's a good thing. Unfortunately, you can still make out your own thoughts, and they're all cruel. It's all cruel. Everything about this situation is cruel.

You focus on the tears hitting your hands. They're cold, and they quickly flow out of your palms and down your arms before dripping off your elbows. They leave a trail of salts down your arm so thin you can barely notice it. You don't even feel compelled to make a sound as you cry; it's not that type of sorrow. It's pure humiliation, and your lungs work calmly as your eyes drown instead.

You wish you could just be swallowed by the swell of your own pain. Death is something you think about often as a potential solution to every problem, but right now it feels like a drug you're in active withdrawal from. Like you need it, right here, right now. You want to imagine the limo crashing into an embankment wall, submerging into an ocean, or being hit by a train. You don't care if the creep dies or not, all you know is you want out. The world feels cold enough to sap every degree of heat from you, and you feel as if you're freezing both literally and figuratively.

You fester in the feelings. The only saving grace in this situation is that you're too unimportant to matter to anyone as anything other than an easy squeeze. Nobody will miss you if you die. No one will look for you if you disappear. No family will mourn you. You secretly hope this pervert doesn't know that too, otherwise you might not make it out of this unscathed. You hope he believes Revenant will run him through if he tries to abduct you. You'd rather not die like that, something faster and more violent would be preferred.

Would Revenant kill you? In any circumstance at all? He could make it quick and violent, but he might not want to at this point. He seems to like you more by the day, but now that scares you. Is he human enough to feel strongly about you? Or does he tend to fall back on his programming? Maybe he would like gutting you--then at least someone could enjoy your death. You think about it, but you cannot imagine it without there being some kind of regret thrown in on your or his end. You can only imagine goading him into it by aggressively attacking his emotional stability, which is something you'd regret. Otherwise, you cannot imagine him killing you for no reason and being regret-free afterwards. You don't want him to feel regret. You just want to be free without hurting anyone, but maybe that's unrealistic.

The vehicle comes to a gentle stop. Your brain kicks into survival mode and you immediately rush for the door, not giving the driver any chance to get out of his seat, let alone open the door for you. He is still talking but you don't care; he's only laughing at you anyway. You get the door open and thankfully you're not at some back alley motel, but the main Apex Games facility. It's the back entrance, but you'll take it. It might be a blessing anyway, since it's so close to Revenant's new room that you'll likely avoid all human contact. You get up to the door and fumble in your pocket for your ID card, finally getting it out. You hear the driver say some more heinous things, but you refuse to turn around to see his face. The card is accepted and you rush in.

• • • •

The water is as hot as you can tolerate. It burns your skin and is downright uncomfortable to wash yourself in. Even as you curl up on the shower floor, crying and tolerating the hottest water you can handle, nothing can truly wash off the overwhelming feeling of being violated. Nothing can wash off the depression, the feelings of insignificance, the intrusive suicidal ideations, or the fear of meaning nothing in the grand scheme of things while simultaneously meaning just enough to force you into living.

The floor of the shower is warm, but it's still uncomfortable to lay on. The water spray hitting your skin is the only comfort you feel, but it isn't enough to quell you. The soap slowly rinses off your body, and the lathered up shampoo slowly flows out of your hair and down the drain. You'll eventually rinse completely like this, but it will be a while longer. How long has it already been? You took a long time sitting on the shower floor to even find the energy to get the soap lathered on you, and even that process was slow. Now you've been back on the floor and letting the soap slowly come off as you sob. Revenant might be back by now, but you're not sure what his errand was exactly. Maybe it will take all night. Does it matter? Do you matter? The thoughts won't stop.

You just cry. You cry until it feels like your soul starts to leave your body. Maybe it does. Between the heat, the steam, and the exhaustion, you pass out.

• • • •

"Skinsuit!" You feel yourself being gently jostled, still on the shower floor. The water is off, but the steam is so thick you question how long it's been. Your skin is beginning to get wrinkled from all the water absorption, so it's been a while. You're facing away from him, and you don't have the energy to turn to him. You don't even have the energy to speak. You just play the corpse, hoping that faking it will cause you to make it.

Revenant withdraws, and you hear rapid shuffling behind you. It sounds like he grabs the towel you had hung for yourself, running in and out of the bathroom to grab other things. You care about how he feels--he sounds distressed--but not for yourself. Why does he care at all, though? How does he feel about all this, anyway?

"Come here, little skinsuit. Everything is fine." You feel his arms scoop under you, and your natural instinct is to resist the hard synthetics against your bare skin. You wince a little, but mostly keep your corpse-like state: eyes closed and body limp. He carries you out of the bathroom where the air is freezing, but also not inundated with enough water vapor to nearly asphyxiate you. Weirdly enough, his chest isn't cold, but actually has something like fur? You don't open your eyes, you're probably just imagining it.

He places you down on a towel on the bed, immediately throwing another equally large towel over you. You're still cold, but it's way more tolerable with something over you. You hear Revenant mumbling in some kind of panic to himself, but you still can't find the energy to console him. You hear some typing on his computer, then the chair gets shoved out from under him as he stands in a huff. You hear your duffle bag unzip and likely some of your clothes be tossed on the bed near your head.

"You better not be mad at me for this..." He sounds unsure of that himself before you feel his hands start to dry you off through the towel. It would be nice if it didn't feel so wrong. Even if it is through a towel, you're naked otherwise. The thought of what the driver said hits you, and you immediately begin to feel anxiety and shake against your will. He reacts by scooping you up and hugging you, still wrapped in a towel, trying to stop the shaking.

"Dammit, what's going on?" You hear him whisper, he doesn't seem to realize you're awake and aware.

More fur. Why is there fur? Also, why does it feel like there's something resting on your head? It's way too large to be his chin. His chest feels smaller too, and it feels like some type of plastic rather than metal. The more you feel the more questions you have, and the more you panic at the realization that you do not know this simulacrum. You reach your limit and perk up in his arms, opening your eyes, and silently gasping as you reel back from whoever the heck this is.

"Wait! Skinsuit! It's me!" He manages to hold your arms before you can fully pull away, and you meet eyesight with a chassis you do not recognize. He has a huge, artificial bovine skull with curling ram horns situated on top. Instead of his scarf, his new face is framed in a mane of deep bark-colored fur, matted into locks like a proper wild animal. The optics tucked inside his skull seem so much larger than his normal ones, and they're a brilliant blueish-white, unlike his normal yellow ones. His snout is long enough to have been what was sitting on your head. His body looks to be made much thinner, especially in the chest, and is clearly made with more plastics than metals. It looks significantly lighter. His arms are red with odd, jagged juts on them, but seem to have similar hand mechanics otherwise. His loincloth is replaced with another long patch of fur, as well as fur on his thigh plates. His legs look a lot more decorative, and his feet are scarier: detailed down to each individual talon. His feet actually look much more like the hands on his other chassis.

"Skinsuit?" You snap out of your trance at his voice. You must have been staring him up and down for a while. "Uh, here." He pulls the towels back over you, which had fallen off when you pulled away. He reaches out to touch you, but stops short in case you aren't all there yet. "It's me, I'm just in a special body for tomorrow. I didn't mean to scare you." He's speaking slowly and methodically; his fingers make contact with your hand, but don't go further. "You must have fainted in the shower. You haven't been eating enough, but don't worry, everything's okay now."

Your head starts to throb and you instinctively go to hold it, the stress of the situation is too much. Even though he's trying to be reassuring, he looks like some kind of robotic, big-horned, undead goat demon and honestly you just wanted to see a familiar face to go with the familiar voice. You're not scared now that you know it's him, but something still doesn't feel right about it. Since you don't know this new chassis, you find it hard to trust his comfort. It's weird. Any other time you'd be overjoyed to see him in something that looks so cool, but now you're looking for some semblance of normalcy.

"How do you feel?" His right hand moves again to rest on your knee, intentionally avoiding pushing any boundaries. You can't answer, you still can't speak. It gets caught in your throat despite your best intentions, and instead your words turn into a new burst of tears and sobs. Without thinking, you take his hand off your knee and pull it to your face, sobbing into it. He seems relieved at your acceptance, and tries his best to catch and wipe away the tears as they flow. He shuffles as if to hug you, but he stops, likely unsure of how you feel when you're essentially in nothing but two loosely wrapped towels.

"I'm sorry, I thought seeing my pack would help, but I should have realized you haven't been eating enough. It's not something I've had to pay attention to in centuries." Your heart hurts as he seems to take the blame himself. "I also didn't mean to scare you again... I promise I'm not planning on hurting you." You want to speak so badly, but you just cry harder instead. None of this is his fault. Literally none of it. The only reason you're so jumpy is because everything that pervert said has sent you into a spiral. You imagined Revenant hurting you for his own entertainment and pleasure, and this imaginary smoking gun has left you very gun-shy.

"I ordered food for you to be delivered to the room. I expect you to eat something, even if it's not much. I don't want you dying on me." You push his hand into your face, trying to dry the tears. "I ordered a lot. I'm not sure what you like." You nod to affirm you hear him and plan to try, even though you're too nauseous to be hungry at the moment.

He uses his free hand to grab the clothing he pulled from your bag and puts it in front of you. He probably wasn't thinking too hard when he picked things out, but an oversized tee and men's basketball shorts are as comfy as it gets, so he did fine in your book. He left out undergarments, but honestly you couldn't care less at this point. Whatever covers you is fine. You pull his hand away from your face and place it on the bed gently. You grab the shirt, and he immediately turns away to let you put it on. You're able to throw it on along with the shorts in a few seconds, and quickly retrieve his hand when done. He turns back, maintaining the boundaries he interpreted.

"Any better?" He wipes away a few trailing tears now that you've slowed down a lot. You nod, still not sure how your voice is doing.

There's a knock on the door and Revenant pulls away gently to go get it. You hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"I've got enough Chinese for like, five people. Who is even in this room? Are y'all having a sleepover in the abandoned room? To be fair I'd do the sa--"

Revenant opens the door and Sherry has a long pause to look up at the recipient. She doesn't even notice you, but you see her put the bags on the floor slowly and take a step back, hands up defensively.

"Okay, so it's a demon summoning, my bad..." Her sass is ever present. "And here I made the mistake of thinking I was running into some normal kind of fun."

"Sherry!" Your voice cracks back into action and the perfect moment. She shoots a look past Revenant to see you.

"You're summoning demons now?! Did you dump the tinman and summon an incubus as a bounce back or something?!" She looks up at Revenant, still not sure who it is. "Also, do demons really like Chinese food this much?"

"Sherry, shut up! I need a hug!" The tears are coming back, and Sherry valiantly slips under Revenant's arm to run to you. Revenant seems to be in complete shock at her brazenness, but also unwilling to stop her since you invited her in. He picks up the bag of food instead and brings it in, setting it on the television stand. Sherry leaps into a hug and you accept it graciously. Sherry is the closest thing you have to a sister and you could use someone like her right now. Revenant sits in the computer chair, watching you embrace closely, but not speaking or interfering.

"Where's the Revenant guy? What happened? Did he dump you? Did you run away? Who is this guy?" She immediately starts getting to brass tacks mid-hug. Although with her the hug won't end until you stop crying anyway.

"That is Rev, Sherry. It's just a different body." You manage to get out. She shoots Revenant a discerning look before slowly recognizing the similarities.

"Oh, hey, you're right. My bad, mister murder robot... haha..." She trails off nervously, Revenant only responding with a grunt and a huff. Suddenly, she snaps back into a fiery disposition. "Wait! Did you do something to her, you doofy-lookin' Beelzebub knockoff?! You may be able to gut me, but I'll defend her honor to my grave!" Now you're hugging Sherry to hold her back from trying to start something.

"It was a complete accident. I wasn't keeping track of how much she's been eating and I didn't catch her starving herself; plus I didn't expect this body to scare her as much as it did." Revenant doesn't lose an aggressive posture, but his words are fairly soft and empathetic.

"It's not that! I promise, it's not any of that!" You hug Sherry hard enough that she winces, but sensing your desperation she holds you tighter and pulls your head into her chest with no regard for what that may look like. You're glad you don't have those kinds of feelings for Sherry, otherwise this might be a bit strange. You see Revenant cock his head to the side and his eyes sharpen at the sight.

"It was the ride back, alone. That stupid driver was--" you choke, you hate saying these words out loud, "--a perverted bastard. An absolute dog." It comes out and devolves into a half-sob, thankfully still understandable. You start to cry again, reliving the things he said, not sure how you'd ever be able to say them yourself, even just to explain what happened.

"What happened? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?!" Sherry barely contains her concerns, if at all, squeezing you as you cry.

Revenant stands very slowly and methodically out of the chair, and begins to make some kind of animalistic growl you've never heard him make in your life. He paces back and forth, slowly stifling his growl as he goes. Sherry seems a bit concerned by him, but she continues to try to comfort you, awaiting an answer.

It takes almost a full minute to catch your breath again and be able to speak again, but you do.

"He didn't touch me. He just said things that--" Back to sobbing. You thought too far ahead and started to repeat his words again to yourself.

Despite your crying, Sherry sighs in relief, significantly less tense than before. She starts to rock you in her hug and you go along with it. Revenant's intensity only seems to worsen. He paces faster for a few moments as you cry, before he calms himself down enough to approach the situation.

He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and Sherry, currently latched on to each other. He doesn't attempt to pull you apart, he simply waits patiently. He's completely calm and collected now, with no signs of previous rage apparent, but you're sure it's still there.

"What kind of things did he say?" Sherry asks kindly, no sense of urgency in her voice. She plays with your hair a bit, which might as well be one of the greatest feelings in the world. It might be just distracting enough for you to get it out.

"He said he wanted to buy tapes..." You inhale heavily trying to hold back the inevitable runny nose. "...of Revenant cutting into me and... using me." Sherry gasps through her nose in disgust, but squeezes you tighter in response.

"I'm sorry, that's terri--"

"He said I should sell myself afterwards, that people would like me better if I still had... stuff... inside me." You cut her off but you're not done. Sherry is starting to get tense, but more notably, so is a particular simulacrum only a few feet away. "He said he wanted to watch it all! And try me for himself, too." That's all you needed to say, you're back to sobbing and Sherry starts to cry with you, unable to help her empathy. You're latched on to each other trying to comfort one another, but instead both of you are just a sobbing mess.

Revenant sits, lifeless for a moment, before standing up and limping towards the door.

"Revenant!" You call out to him through tears, and he stops and turns towards you, revealing his eyes are voids. He's in reboot. "Don't kill anyone." You try to sound confident, but you're not sure how it comes out. He turns away again, and limps out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't acknowledge what you said, but you hope he heard you.

Sherry perks up, wiping away her own tears and pulling away for a moment.

"Do you think he'll listen?" Sherry seems stressed.

"I hope so."

• • • •

"So, he's actually an average person, stuck in a body that drives him to be a bloodthirsty assassin via software?" Sherry asks, taking another bite of the sweet and sour chicken.

"As far as I can tell, yeah... Wait, did you not know what a simulacrum was before now?"

"I meant to look it up but I never did. I figured it was like a brand-name or something." She giggles at herself, but you sense there's a chance she may be joking. "So, you actually do really like this spindly metal guy, after all? And he's so much older! You have mature tastes." She goes straight to teasing, now that you're feeling a bit better.

"I didn't say anything about that, ma'am." You stare at the General Tso's chicken in front of you, not sure if you can eat a third piece. You still feel wrong somehow.

"You don't have to. I think he likes you too. I mean, he isn't wearing your innards as a scarf. For him, that's something." She prods.

"He's not as bad as you think, you know." You don't know how to convince her without potentially telling her something Revenant wouldn't want you to.

"Sure, he just kills people on live TV for the paycheck." She shrugs. "Oh! And maybe killing some pervert who sexually harassed you right now."

"I didn't tell him to do that!" You snap, you legitimately don't want to have even a drop of that blood on your hands. Sure, this guy was an absolute creep, but he didn't lay hands on you. That's your limit, and he didn't cross it. He isn't as bad as Forge. That guy did cross the line. He crossed a lot of lines.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset." Sherry sounds genuine. You sigh.

"It's okay, I really hope he's just running off some steam. I hope he knows most of my distress was just depression winning." You poke the chicken.

"That's not true, I would have been so scared too. I mean, you were in real danger. It's a miracle you held it together at all, I'm not sure I could have. I still can't believe--"

The door swings open and Revenant walks in, stopping all conversation in its tracks. He's hunched forward, looking somewhat disappointed.

"I hope you're happy. He'll live." He looks you dead in the eyes, waiting for your reaction.

You smile openly, glad he heeded your request.

"Everyone in his contacts now has a copy of the encrypted files on his computer, all decrypted for their viewing pleasure." He breaks eye contact with you. "At least one of them is sure to call the feds when they see their inbox tomorrow."

"Oh geeze, he was that kind of creep?" Sherry exclaims out loud, still eating chicken.

"Oh yeah, he's been collecting a lot of really rare porn. Honestly, I wish you'd have just let me kill him so I didn't have to expose myself to that." You feel a little guilty that he had to dig through it, it explains why he looks so dejected.

"I'm sorry..." You can't help yourself, you feel bad when he seems upset about anything.

"How much have you eaten?" He seems to have noticed how full your box of chicken still is.

"Two pieces of chicken, and maybe one piece of broccoli." Sherry rats you out with a cruel grin on her face.

"Snitch!" You shoot back at her. She closes her box with a mischievous smirk, hops up, and starts to leave.

"Nice to meet 'ya, you synthetic Wendigo! Have fun and be safe, you two!" She slips past Revenant quickly and is out of the door, skipping down the hallway as the door slowly shuts behind her. Revenant watches her leave with some mix of confusion and concern. You turn to reassure him.

"She's fine. She won't say anything. She--"

"Clearly is some kind of competition for me. I mean, she held you like you two were bonded for life." He's immediately free to tease you with her gone. Thank goodness Revenant seems too shy to gang up on you with her; that would be untenable. He throws himself down next to you where Sherry once was. "I want that same kind of bond." He barely touches your chin with his claws, being sure to growl the last bit out loud.

You emit a whining noise, paralyzed by the thought. You're a bit more sensitive to it all at the moment, considering the events of the day. Revenant notices your struggle and pulls back, reverting to his demanding style.

"Eat your food. I didn't intend for your girlfriend to run off with a free meal and you not eat anything." It still feels weird coming from his new body, but you're getting used to it.

"She's just a good friend, that's all. And I was just too busy talking to eat, I still don't feel great though." You poke at the food, it's lukewarm by now but that isn't your main objection to it. You just don't feel like eating.

"Oh, so we aren't close enough yet for that kind of affection? I'll fix that soon enough." His voice hums. You sigh.

"Oh please," You pet his snout and he seems to enjoy it, getting him off your case for a bit, "Not right now, harass me later. If you want me to eat anything, you can't be doing this." He really seems to enjoy the snout rubs.

"Alright, fine, you eat, I'll talk." You pull your hand away and focus more on the food. "I have quite a number of these special chassis to myself, all kinds of designs and colors and other nonsense. These are my special occasion outfits, per sé." You nod, it makes sense. "This one, as well as many others, are modded to the brim with all sorts of fun additions." He touches his snout, noting where you pet it. "I can feel every single aspect of this suit, even those that don't conform to the human shape. Even better, it's neural processors are exponentially faster, meaning everything feels much more vivid and vibrant." He pulls his fingers to the nasal cavity. "I have an entire set of cores that do nothing but olfactory processing, so I get to be the better Bloodhound while I wear it." His fingers fall to his jaw. "This luxurious suit even gets a jaw with clamping power, canine teeth to snag whatever I want, and a synthetic tongue to taste the blood I spill." He starts to snarl his words as he pulls open his jaw to show you his mouth. He points to his horns next. "These things? Silicone carbide sections with rubber impulse reducers between." You stare at him with a look of minor confusion, so he clarifies. "I can headbutt a skull into fragments without even leaving a dent in my own." You wince at the thought. "Not to even mention the use of polyethylenes instead of metals in the body with support weights in the limbs makes it so I can move faster than ever but still hit just as hard. Not to even mention all the modifications below the neck. You'll see how much I destroy in tomorrow's match. I will win, I promise you that."

"Wanna bet?" You're happy with how confident he is, but you can't help but want to start something.

"And what do I have that you could possibly want?" Revenant asks the opposite of what you expect him to. Isn't the question usually posed the opposite way? You close up your leftovers and start going over to the kitchenette to put it in the fridge.

"Well, I wouldn't mind money or just hanging out with the prowlers again. I could put money on it too, just not enough to make it worth your while. Did you have something in mind?" The fridge is nearly empty, spare for that water bottle and liquor. You throw the box down on a shelf, close the door, and plop down on the couch in a lying position.

"So, if I don't win, I have to take you to see my puppies again, or give you money. Neither of those are objectionable to me, but when I win I get to take something instead?"

"Yeah, that's how I'm framing it. The extra motivation can't hurt. I just don't know what you'd want. I have some savings, but--"

"Forget the money, I don't exactly have much need for it and I have tons anyway. What I want..." He pauses for a moment as his voice turns sinister. "...is to hear you call me 'daddy' again while I take a piece of you." He seethes with a sadistically erotic tone.

You stare into space, your face must be red again.

"C'mon skinsuit, it's not every day I'm in one of my few suits with the proper equipment for it." He's loving the look on your face, undoubtedly. He's acting like this is a cruel joke, but... How far would he take this joke, though? Better yet, how far will you force him to take it? You still feel ill at ease about the idea, but you're suddenly angry enough to buck off the shame.

"Alright, fuck you but sure." Probably the ballsiest thing you've ever said in your life.

Revenant is caught off guard for a moment, his eyes dimming until they're nearly off, freezing in a somewhat shocked motion. After a few moments, you hear him slowly return as he laughs out loud. He has trouble containing himself, and goes to rub his mask again.

"You're insane, but I love that." He finally contains his laughter. "Your friend, what's her name?"

"Sherry." Weird change in subject but okay.

"Who's her favorite?"

"Wattson."

"Oh, perfect. I'll send a special request for her to keep you company during the match. I want you both to watch. I got my assigned team not long ago." He stands up from the edge of the bed and meanders over to the couch you're on, looming over you.

"Oh, are you with Wattson?"

"And Wraith. It's perfect for what I have planned." He never did explain what his plan was that day he dragged you all over the arena. "Loba's little triumph will pale in comparison to my massacre."

"Try not to make it too--"

"It will be bloody, gory, and brutal. Sorry little skinsuit, but you used up your pardon." He chides you from above before reaching down to help you up. "Now come, I need to warm something."

You stand up, a bit confused by his request, until he pulls you into a hug and you feel how strangely warm his body is. You're a bit taken aback at first, but you slowly ease into him and the warmth he offers.

"Luxurious, isn't it?" You feel his chest rattle into a purring sound as he cradles your head against his warm chest. "I like it too." He gently pulls you away from the couch before leading you to the bed.

You don't protest, you just crawl into bed and shuffle to the middle, making plenty of room for him to follow. You see the lights flick off, then feel his warmth press up against your back, cradling you completely. His snout rests on your shoulder, breathing into your ear. It's comforting, something you really needed after today.

"Thanks, Rev." You barely manage to whisper. He huffs in your ear as affirmation before you fall asleep.

[lordmushroomkat]

I think all of the joy drained out of my body. I'm not sure what happened.

I just... I feel so very alone.

I guess I just ran out of steam? I had so many ideas but now I have nobody to talk to about it and... it's just me rambling into a Google doc again and with no one to tell my thoughts to it just feels so isolating.

And it's like, does this thing I've been working on even need to exist? Will anyone appreciate it? Will anyone benefit from it? Does anyone care about this? Is my effort worth it?

Shouldn't I just leave this fandom behind and find something else? I've finally run out of joy and now it's like I'm in the limbo between fandoms again but this time I'm refusing to let go of the previous one.

I just... I can stave off the boredom of No More Content if I have people to talk to but... now I'm alone again.

And I can't talk to my sister because she has no interest in it and I've already bothered her too much with this. And I can't talk to my dad because he's passionate about the franchise but sees it completely differently. And I really can't talk to my mom because she doesn't do fandom. And I can't talk to my partner because I'm not sure where he stands with it and I kinda don't want to embarrass myself by telling him about my dumb little AU when he does, like, actual frequent writing.

And I just. It's so isolating to be in a fandom that I can't talk to my family about when I have nobody else to talk to about it. I dunno, fandom is incredibly personal to me because it's been my lifeblood through every difficult thing I've ever faced. It's the thing that keeps me going and keeps my brain entertained. And for me a fandom only really comes to life when I can talk to people directly about it. Having fandom friends is how I keep from driving my sister insane with my 24/7 fandom brain.

But it can be hard to make new friends, fandom or otherwise, because I'm kinda afraid of people? Because I know what happens when I exist amongst other people long enough to get comfortable; inevitable rejection. I always push slightly too far and that's it. Just a slip-up when I'm having a rotten day and I lose everything. I always lose everything.

Maybe the problem is that I'm never quite domesticated enough, once I get comfy the feral unhinged energy comes out, and unless that's already the base energy of the group, things fall apart fast. It's why the only groups I'm still on good terms with are incredibly feral people with deeply weird senses of humor. Everyone else seems to misinterpret me. I'm not mean by nature, but I am sarcastic and very intense. But even in scenarios where the vibe is feral, sometimes I'll just have opinions that are a little too off-brand. There are things we don't talk about as a society and sometimes I want to talk about them and other people decide that's not okay.

And I've learned to do that less. I've learned to keep my challenging thoughts to myself and accept a "shut up" with grace and try not to take criticism to heart but man is it hard. And at this point I'm not even sure it's worth it. Because even at this point in my evolution, where I have more grace than I've ever had and take criticism at face value and stick it out in awkward situations, somehow still it's not enough. Somehow I'm still not enough. How much more will I have to twist myself in knots to be good enough? How much more of myself will I erode just for the pleasure of having a friend group? How many more rejections is it worth just to stave off the creeping loneliness? Is any of this even worth it?

My life has been one long, complicated domestication from the deeply confused little autistic kid I was, and I wonder sometimes how much of me is even real anymore. How much of me is a construction my desperate mind forged in a mad scramble to appeal to anyone at all? Am I real? Are my thoughts my own? Are my tastes my own? Is anything of me truly mine? I mean I know we are all a collection of experiences and influences but... there's nurture and then there's... becoming what you think people want to see just so they might tolerate you. Autistic masking is so complicated because after a while you're not even sure who you are anymore.

Maybe that's why I go feral when I get comfortable, because I get tired of playing a part, because it's the only way I know how to find out what I am behind all of the facades. Or maybe even the feral is just a comedy defense mechanism and even that is something I adopted to fit in. Maybe if you strip off all of the masks there's just nothing behind them. Maybe if you remove the parts of me I made myself to fit in there's just nothing left. Maybe none of me is real. Well, perhaps a few things.

I know a few things that are real, things that I did not create, things that I just am.

Like, here are some real things; I love my family, I am non-binary, my complicated orientation is my own, I feel lonely, I am autistic, I have depression, I like to draw, I like to write, animation is my favorite type of media, found family is one of my favorite tropes, character is my favorite aspect of narrative, I hate summer, my favorite season(s) is Autumn and Spring, I like many many kinds of music, art is an essential aspect of my identity as a person.

None of these things exist for anyone but me. And there are more. Most of my likes and dislikes are entirely my own, even if someone else introduced me to it.

Perhaps these are the things to focus on. The things that I like, the things that are mine. Maybe it shouldn't matter if anyone else sees what I make and likes it, maybe it's enough to make something because I think it's fun. It would be cathartic to finish something for once.

I can make something for me and then let the world have it. The world can have as many pieces of me as it wants, but those pieces still belong to me. Everything I am is still my own.

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Bloody Hell (Phil x Reader)

(this is a dumb little thing I came up with based off a stupid headcannon that popped into my head ages ago. Joe said he used to get seasick, so what if Phil used to have a similar problem...? Also based off of what Phil said about Sav being accident prone with a knife)

(illustration by @paper-sxn)

Words: 812

Prompt: You're Phil's girlfriend, pre-Hysteria, in the Dublin house. Headcannon? Phil faints at the sight of blood.

aaaand action!

-----

Phil woke up with the feeling of something cold and wet caressing his forehead. His body that he knew was motionless was teetering at the same time. The feeling of his heavy head and limbs almost mirrored a hangover- but Phil also knew he hadn't been drinking.

In fact, he didn't know what he'd been doing. He didn't even remember why he was asleep.

What had happened?

When he lifted his head in alarm and opened his eyes, he was immediately pushed back down by a hand at his chest.

"No, don't you dare sit up so fast," your voice was directly to his left. Phil let his eyes close again and allowed you to force him back into a resting position. Your touch had instantly relaxed him (as it had a tendency to do). It also made him realize how heavenly it felt to lay back down- even after only a second of being partially upright. That was enough for Phil to sense that you were right about him sitting up too fast.

"I don't know what happened..." Phil tiredly uttered, "What am I doing here..."

Your voice (and Sav's voice, apparently) chuckled loudly next to where he lay.

The cold, wet washcloth over his forehead was flipped by you, "Oh, honey."

The icy blue eyes opened again, accusingly staring at you, "What? What's so funny? I didn't do something god-awfully stupid, did I?"

He propped himself up on one elbow slightly, "And where the hell did you come from?"

Sav was sitting near you with an entertained look. He told Phil as frankly as possible, "Calm down, mate. It wasn't your fault."

"What wasn't?"

Phil ripped the cloth of his forehead, but you pressed him back down into laying and replaced it over him again.

"I cut my hand while making supper," you held up the slightly bandaged limb, "And I asked you to get me a paper towel, but you took one look at the blood and-"

You made a motion that represented the action of falling, "Boom. Down you went."

The man laying down groaned upon recalling, "Oh fucking hell- again?"

"But not before hollering at me to take over," Sav corrected your narrative, "I wasn't even in the bloody door ten seconds."

Phil rubbed his hands over his face, "We've been dating for how long- and I still faint even when it's you?"

You patted his shoulder in reassurance; there was almost a protocol for this type of scenario.

"You can't help it, honey- it's just your nature!"

"Nature that I fucking hate!"

"Oh, quit your whining. You don't faint every time, and you'll get over it someday."

Your bold declaration was met with a huff. Much like a child, Phil crossed his arms and looked away.

"Well if you're lookin' after the baby," Sav chuckled when he stood up, "I'll go finish makin' dinner, since your hand is out of commission."

A sarcastic pout formed on your lips when Sav ruffled your hair, "Thank you. Try not to cut yourself! I'm surprised you're not the one in bandages for once..."

"I'll try to keep it less bloody than before," he quipped, leaving the room.

Phil muttered under his breath and rubbed his temples, "I swear, if you say 'bloody' one more fucking time..."

You only giggled at him. It was too funny to see him grumpy, and that grumpy humor was exactly what made you smile quite often.

"You know," your voice turned into a tone of teasing, "I initially thought of trying to wake you via Sleeping Beauty style."

"You're telling me I need to faint again in order to get that sort of treatment?" his romantic curiosity made his eyebrows go upwards.

"If that were the case, then all I'd have to do is remove my bandage, now wouldn't I?"

It was clear that Phil went pale all over again at the thought of it.

"Ugh... please don't..."

After a giggle, you softly assured him when you leaned down to his lips, "Don't worry, sweetie- I won't. You'll get that sort of treatment anytime."

"Lucky to have my own Princess Charming, aren't I?" he accepted your kiss with much satisfaction.

"And don't you forget it," you poked his nose before smoothing out his washcloth again, "Now rest, and don't dream of anything bloody."

Just then, a loud hiss and a curse came from the kitchen. You and Phil looked out for the source of it, only for Sav to announce from the next room Sav, "Don't let Phil back in here unless you want him to go into a bloody coma again..."

"You cut yourself again, Sav?!" you scolded him.

"Well it's not like I try to!"

Phil's head flopped back as his eyes glazed over, "I'm getting rid of all the cutlery, I swear. None of you know how to fucking use it."

[comradeacerbus]

Miraak Headcannons (for fanfic)

Okay, so, I’ve been planning a Skyrim fic for some time now. I started one, but it fell through due to a lack of proper planning. Now that I know what I’m doing, I’m gonna try again! I’m just posting some notes on everyone’s favorite jackass here because I needed something to post. Obviously, since this is my fic, I’ll be referencing my granola-crunching pacifist Dragonborn, Haldis Ragnardottir.

Bethesda didn’t give us much to work with but that just makes it more interesting. I’m just getting a feel for his personality now so I can keep him consistent.

* Miraak was already getting up there in age by the time his revolt against Alduin fell through, so he’s a bit old and grey now. Maybe in his sixties physically, though he looks more past his use by date because of how Oblivion has affected his outward appearance.

* Stupidly tall because, yknow, Atmorans.

* He’s a dirty old man. He doesn’t come off that way initially, but internally, Miraak is a pervert. While he won’t get physical with women, he won’t hesitate to say something pervy.

* Just because he’s a bit pervy doesn’t mean he’s promiscuous. He certainly has game, I imagine, but he feels he’s too old to go throwing his weight around. It’s mostly for his own entertainment

* He loves to make people uncomfortable, especially our little baby Dwagonbown. Constantly picking on her, saying weird pervy shit, just constantly flustering her for his own amusement.

* A really good talker, can worm his way out of any bad situation with his words. He’s also a natural politician. He can make any insane remark and easily justify it to anyone who’s willing to listen to him.

* He’s no liar though. Not unlike Odahviing, he might not tell the whole truth, but he won’t tell much in the way of lies. He’ll just manipulate the truth. It’s no wonder he was so able to lead a cult, really.

* Literate in multiple languages. Obviously the Imperial language spoke in Tamriel and Dovahzul, but he is also fluent in Daedric and has dabbled in Falmer and Dwemer dialects as well, though he dislikes the cultures themselves as an Atmoran. He probably started looking into them out of sheer boredom in Apocrypha.

* He’s definitely looked into more than just languages in his time in Oblivion. He’s looked into various magics, histories of ancient civilizations, Aedra, Daedra, trades, and everything in between. In other words, Miraak knows his shit about a lot of things.

* In spite of how much he knows about a wide range of subjects, a jack of all trades is a master of none. He’s not talented in all the fields he’s studied, but he’s honed his main skills to a fine point. Namely the art of shouting, various styles of swordplay, and the main schools of magic.

* He frowns very strongly upon thieving and sneaking about. Subtly is one thing, but being sneaky and deceitful is a whole nother ball game to him. He dislikes the idea of assassinations, especially the use of poison. He much prefers the ancient Atmoran-Nordic tradition of openly challenging an authority figure for his seat.

* Under all the arrogance, Miraak actually does have some wisdom to him, and he does learn from his and others’ mistakes. He likes to pretend that he didn’t change after narrowly escaping Apocrypha, simply because he doesn’t want to admit that what he did was wrong, but he certainly has changed some of his views.

* Simply speaking of Oblivion’s Princes makes him uncomfortable because he wants nothing to do with them now, though he’d never admit that he’s afraid. He might be garbage in a lot of ways, but he’s definitely still human.

* Apocrypha has most certainly disfigured him, as well as the night Vahlok and his legion of Dragons burned his temple to the ground. He has some burns scars on his chest and some smaller ones on his face. They no doubt would have been worse, were it not for the metal of his mask. Apocrypha has made his skin pasty and his hair white and nasty looking no matter how much he cleans himself or walks around in the daylight. His sclera are also darkened permanently. He doesn’t wear his mask anymore, and instead prefers his hood when he returns to Tamriel, but he won’t usually show his face to anyone, aside from the Dragonborn, because he’s ashamed of what his choices have done to his body.

* He’s of an ectomorph body type. He’s super tall and towers over Haldis, but he’s not especially muscular. He’s got the broad shoulders of an early Nord, but he’s actually quite skinny. I imagine he tries his best to bulk up with his robes. The other cult leaders most certainly poked fun at him for him.

* After he and Haldis bury the hatchet and accept that they’re stuck together, I imagine he starts to see her as a niece/granddaughter/little sister figure. She doesn’t know much about shouting combatively, and he knows that her overall lack of fighting experience is likely to get her killed, so he begins teaching her from the ground up. It’s initially a thing out of necessity, but he later grows to enjoy it. Not like he’d admit it.

* He may have changed a little since his imprisonment, but he’ll still keep his pride forever. It’s what got him stuck with Herma-Mora, and it’s what got him through so much time in Oblivion.

* The main thing he was worried about for the time of his imprisonment was that he’d turn into a Seeker, but his will as a Dragonborn is likely what kept him from turning, so he’ll cling to his arrogance and his stubbornness till death does him part from Mundus.

* Yeah, he’s old fashioned and very stubborn, but he’s not unreasonable. He’ll listen to one’s argument, but with how well-spoken he is, he usually “wins” the debate, ultimately.

* Even if he is reasonable in the realm of debate, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants, even if it means using or hurting people to do so. This is a result of his inner Dovah. Haldis finds this rather insufferable and it’s one of the main reasons as to why they fight.

* When he gets drunk, he’ll sort of “forget” it’s not the Merithic Era anymore and will start speaking to people in Dovahzul and then get pissy when only Haldis can understand him. He doesn’t normally like to drink in his ripe old age, though, so it’s not something that happens often.

* A similar thing will also happen when he gets angry. He never loses his temper, but when he gets frustrated, he’ll start belting out Dovahzul rapidly.

* He may also speak Dovahzul to Haldis when trying to be subtle. For example, Haldis has to deal a lot in Skyrim’s politics as a diplomat, so if Miraak needs to tell her something or remind her to say something, he’ll tell her in Dovahzul so she doesn’t look dumb.

* The Dovahzul he speaks is a different dialect, though, given their difference in age, so things have been lost in translation from time time, resulting in small, humorous mishaps. He also finds Haldis’s accent when speaking Dovahzul to be very irritating, and mocks her for it quite a bit, usually saying that she sounds like she has a speech impediment.

* As her accent gets better, in his almighty opinion, they’ll have entire conversations together in Dovahzul when they’re alone, like out on the road or something.

I might reblog and take on some more here later. This is just some basic junk that’s not really organized. Also I did not proofread but shhhh

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞

full masterlist - fic masterlist

Rowan glanced at his pocket watch and attempted to swallow his irritation.

How was it only nine-o-clock still? He had already suffered through enough social niceties to last a lifetime.

Now, he listened with but half a mind to his cousin drone on about the night's guests. His head was filled with all the tasks he needed to see to, including searching for a new governess for his sons. His boys kept chasing away every woman he employed and he was hesitant to hire a tutor, because he believed they needed a woman's influence too, now that his own wife was too ill. The physician had done all he could but there was not much hope she would wake, loathe as he was to admit it. Perhaps he should have accepted his mother-in-law's offer and send the boys to their her after all?

"--and Arobynn's here too—"

That caught his attention. "He is?"

"Mhmm. Look, over there, no, no, to the left—besides the pretty redhead, yes, just so."

A man stood by the entrance with a red-haired woman on his arm, tall and muscular, with a fine-boned face. His auburn hair were pulled back into a bun, offsetting his pale skin and the fine cut of his suit was a stark reminder of his prominent position in society, despite the whole stigma around tradesmen.

"I knew he was fond of flaunting convention but escorting his mistress to a ball?"

"You haven't heard?" James approached them with a drink in his hand. "She is not his mistress but an adoptive daughter of sorts and his apparent heir."

Fenrys choked on his drink.

"He named a girl heir to his trade empire—and not even his own blood—stupid!"

"Spoken like a man," said the gentleman and shook his head. "He raised her himself, is introducing her to all his associates and she doesn't look dumb either."

James nodded towards the redhead he had seen earlier, dressed in the finest black silk with a neckline low enough, it bordered on scandalous. Her copperish-red hair were pinned into an elegant coiffure with pretty, gold hair combs and a simple, pearl necklace completed the striking picture she made. Her sharp, defined features were barely beautiful until she laughed—a musical sound in itself—and he wondered whether he had seen anyone prettier.

"If hers was the last face I ever saw, I'd die a happy man." Fenrys sighed and walked off.

James rolled his eyes. "He's about to seek an introduction to her, isn't he?"

Rowan's lips twitched up.

He had always liked James. The man was completely without artifice and his enthusiasm for everything was so infectious, no one could remain angry with him. He had spent a few summers with the Galathynius children, until their youngest daughter was abducted and the visits stopped.

"I say you must frown a little less, sir, unless you wish to give offense."

Rowan looked up, startled at being addressed by the object of his thoughts. She looks even lovelier up close, thought he.

"I detest these events."

"So do half the people in this room and yet, appearances must be maintained."

"Deceit is not in my nature."

The lady frowned. "It is not deceitful to pretend you are interested in an event in order to spare your host's feelings."

"Your motive may be charitable but it is no excuse for dishonesty."

The lady looked amused but did not pursue the topic further. "I hope you will forgive me for speaking without a proper introduction, sir. I am not a fan of convention."

Rowan smiled.

An unmarried woman, not even of age, and already a heiress to a trade empire—by all accounts, she did not seem like one.

"I will, if you allow me to remedy the situation now." He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am Mr. Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, in Doranelle."

Her cheek dimpled. "Miss Celaena Sardothein—my father—"

"Mr. Hamel, yes, I know." He almost cringed at how rude he sounded. "He and I, we are—"

"—business associates, yes, I know," she teased with an impish grin, replying in a poor imitation of his own deep voice.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, filled with laughter and mirth—turquoise orbs, ringed with brilliant gold.

All of his resolve flew out of the window. "Miss Sardothein, will you allow me the pleasure of leading you into the first set? The dancing is about to commence."

"The pleasure will be all mine."

In hopes of starting a conversation, he said, "You are a fine dancer."

"I would have believed you to be a liar if we hadn't already established that deceit of any sort is your abhorrence."

He smiled. "And if I were being insincere?"

"I would take it as a compliment to myself, for it will mean that you are acting on my advice from earlier about lying for the sake of appearances."

They fell silent again.

"We must talk some, you know," said Rowan. "For someone who claims to be concerned with appearances, do you not think it would look odd for us to spend a half hour together but in silence."

She startled at the sudden statement. "Introduce a topic then and I will do my poor best to maintain the conversation."

Rowan complied and was pleasantly surprised to find her lively and good-humored and well-informed on most subject from current fashion disasters to books to political bills and movements. Her arguements were passionate and far from taking offense at his dry humor, she matched it with witty quips of her own; and to top it alll off, she was as skilled a dancer as a conversationalist.

Rowan was almost annoyed when the song came to an end. He could not recall the last time he had been half as well entertained.

"You will be the death of me, you foolish, foolish chit!" screeched the old matron.

Fenrys had allowed himself to be dragged into a bookstore, which happened to be one of his least favourite places, by his cousin, James—the second son to his uncle, Lord Rhoe, the Earl of Narrowcreek—and was now eager for any sort of amusement. He turned towards the high-pitched shriek with interest.

A young lady stood near the shelves, tall and proud, even in the face of her mother's ill-bred manners.

Her blonde hair fell down in waves, half pinned by dragonfly-shaped hair combs. The fabric of her dress was fine enough for her to belong to the first circles and yet, he could not recall seeing her—or her mother—anywhere.

"Ungrateful child! Wait until I tell your father what you did; he will be most displeased."

She bit her lip to contain her mirth, though her cheeks flushed with embarassment. Her eyes flitted to the door and back, as if she was looking for some escape.

"Poor girl," the bookshop owner murmured.

The following words had the unfortunate attention of drawing the mother's attention towards the owner.

Lord Fenrys almost laughed at the alarmed look on the owner's face when she began lamenting to him instead and then looked over at the lady who was staring at the door with a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether or not to attempt an escape.

She must have decided in it's favour because she gathered her skirts and made a mad dash towards the door.

Fenrys realised he was standing in her way and hastened to move but it was too late—

"Darn!" cried she.

The commotion drew her mother's attention and upon spotting her wayward daughter lying on the floor with a grimace, she rushed over with a whole new litany of complaints.

Fenrys could have sworn the lady cursed under her breath.

"Stubborn, stubborn child! I told you not to run off without me but oh, how you love vexing me," shouted her mother in her high-pitched voice. "And what are you doing, bothering this fine gentleman over here? You had better not to talk to anyone if you are determined to refuse them all. You broke that poor man's heart—"

Fenrys quirked an eyebrow in interest, looking thoroughly entertained.

Her cheeks flushed further.

He frowned.

Up close, her face looked awfully familiar. He searched his brain for an answer.

A memory flashed in front of his mind. A highly unconventional black dress, a tinkling laugh and a ballroom.

Realisation dawned.

"Miss Sardothein! Fancy seeing you here," said he. "I almost didn't recognise you because of the hair."

"The hair? Oh, yes, I am very fond of dyes, but you have caught me in my natural state."

"I find you lovelier than ever. If you will forgive me for prying, I could not help but observe you haven't bought a thing yet, even though I know you to be a great reader! Is the reading material not to your taste, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena answered wryly, "As a matter of fact, the books here suit my tastes very well—It is only that I am not allowed to buy books for a month—as punishment."

"No books! And what awful crime did you commit to merit that?"

"I rejected a marriage offer."

"A capital offense!"

Celaena smiled, "Indeed."

"I hope you are appropriately ashamed of yourself!"

"Horrified at my own audacity, really."

The lady looked up at him and grinned; Fenrys' own face turned pale and his mouth fell open in surprise. Ashryver eyes! She had ashryver eyes—like James, Aedion, and their mothers Helen and Evalin and—gods. The little poem his cousins had made up in childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

"The fairest eyes, from legends old,

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold."

But how...?

He looked at the woman again: her eyes bright and mirthful and thick eyelashes resting on her cheek, the face tugged at his memory; and she smiled so impishly, he had seen that smile before—

"Aelin," he blurted out.

He was startled when her smile dropped and recognition flickered in her eyes.

Fenrys shot an alarmed look towards the shelf behind which James had disappeared. Aelin was here! But how could this be? His heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

"Aelin?" She inclined her head in question.

He smiled uncertainly.

Was she really his little cousin? Aelin had been five year old when he last saw her.

But if he was wrong about this, could this come to bite him in the ass? She was certainly as old as his cousin would have been, had she been alive and she had the same unruly blonde curls and those ashryver eyes, teeming with life.

It couldn't be...

Arobynn's adoptive daughter.

"Yes, Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her."

"If she is your favourite, then I am inclined to take that as a compliment." Celaena—Aelin?—smiled again, though her eyebrows remained drawn still. "The name does sound familiar. Perhaps I would have heard of her in the newspaper? The society column is a great source of amusement to my father. He reads it aloud to us from time to time."

Father? He wondered if she was talking of Arobynn or Mrs. Rhunn's husband.

Fenrys smiled sadly. "That is not possible for you see, my cousin died when she was five."

At least I thought she died.

"I am sorry for your loss." Then, with an arch look on her face, she asked, "If she was like me as you say, she must have been delightful."

He chuckled. "An absolute troublemaker."

"Definitely like me then," said she, sparing a look towards her mother. "I should leave now, before my mother lists you off as yet another suitor!"

And before he could think to stop her, she curtsied and scurried off.

Fenrys stared at the door, somewhat dumbfounded. Aelin is alive. He marvelled at the thought and then wondered how on earth he would inform her family—James would be ecstatic and his father would have to be informed, and Edward would have to be called to London, gods. Edward!

Aelin had been missed by all but no one grieved her as the poor man had.

Edward would be ecstatic; everyone would.

Fenrys ran towards his cousin out of breath, who was still examining titles in one corner.

"Fenrys, god, slow down, man! Whatever happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

He blinked.

Then, without any attempt at tact or discretion, he blurted out: "Aelin is alive."

"Aelin, Aelin, stop that—no, look at your frock, mother will be so angry, no, Aelin! You will hurt yourself like that."

The man watched, concealed behind the ridge as a little girl skipped from one mud puddle to another, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved. Her elder brother followed at a more sedate place, calling out admonishments and threats, not that they had an effect on her.

Aelin grinned over her shoulder and ran, leading her brother on a merry chase.

The man was still debating how to go about abducting the girl when fortune smiled upon him; she twisted her leg and fell down, prompting the boy to run towards her.

"It hurts," she whimpered, refusing to stand.

The man smiled maliciously and waited as the boy looked around. "Very well," he said finally. "If you promise not to go anywhere, I will fetch papa. Do not move, Aelin."

The boy rushed towards the manor house, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach and burst into his father's private study. In his panicked state of mind, it took a few attempts for Rhoe to make sense of his garbled words.

A foreboding feeling rose in his stomach.

She will be fine, he tried to reassure himself. Aelin, troublemaker that she was, had had a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

But his alarm grew the nearer they came to where she was supposed to be and his heart pounded inside his chest. All colour drained from his face when they didn't find Aelin where she was supposed to be.

"Are you certain this is where you left her?"

Edward nodded.

Rhoe suddenly felt dizzy, his knees buckled and bile rose up in his throat.

He reined himself in and with admirable composure, organised search parties to search around the estate and the neighbourhood.

The search carried on until late that night, when an express rider from the nearby magistrate arrived with a letter: a nearby warehouse had burned down earlier that day and two bodies were found: a man in his forties, who could not be identified and a seven year old girl who had on a silver anklet bearing the word fireheart and requested Mr. Galathynius' presence tomorrow at the warehouse to confirm the girl's identity.

Rhoe folded the letter, excused himself from company and sent his sons to their beds.

Then he entered his study: the study no one was allowed to enter without permission—except his Aelin—slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and wept.

note: ...and it's here. I have so many drafts of this chapter lying around, I'm surprised I actually finally posted it lmao.

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[evolutionsvoid]

When you see the flamboyant duo walking through the door, you begin to count the seconds before you throw them out. Of all the folk to enter your tavern, be it thugs, drunks or beggars, none are as miserable to deal with than musicians. Minstrels and songwriters, the absolute bane of your existence. Full of pride and empty of coin, they stroll into your bar like they own the place and then think their talent can pay for food and drink. You learned your lesson the first few times, letting them fill their bellies then finding they don't have a cent to pay for it. But of course they can sing and dance, isn't that enough? To fill your tavern with that wretched caterwauling, driving you and your paying customers crazy and then pretend that is just as good as gold. As fun as it is to let your regulars rough them up after failing to pay up, it still doesn't gain you a single coin. They aren't joking about being penniless, most of those awful prancing fools have nothing in their pockets or head. You would put out a sign banning them from your premises, but you just know they would ignore it. Surely, that is meant for the bad musicians, and not for perfect little me. So when they walk in now, you lay down the rules right then and there. Money up front, and not a drop of drink or speck of food til coins are on the table. They will give the same sorry excuse each time, and then offer to entertain in order to pay their bill. And the answer to that, every time, is an absolute "no." Pay now or you'll be eating your instruments instead. A threat like that and a few mean looks from your regulars is usually enough to shoo them away. Usually. Of course the pair that prances through your door have a bit more spine to them. They pay no mind to the threat or the nasty looks. They instead choose to insist that they could play to fix their money woes, but you aren't having it. So instead they go a different route. They decide to challenge you and everyone in the bar to a bet, which already piques your curiosity. These fancy folk rarely have such courage, so you humor them and hear them out. They offer to play a single song for the crowd and then let your patrons decide their fate. They believe their music is so good, that your customers will happily pay for their meal and mead. If the song ends and the audience isn't wooed, though, then they will hand over their instruments and lend their bodies as punching bags. It is a bizarre bet, one that seems impossible to win for them, but they insist. They speak highly of their talent and music, on how everyone is enraptured when they strike their chords. In fact, they were just in La'Frel just last week and the entire town fell in love with their song! Their performance was legendary, it shook that town to its very core and every soul alive went crazy just hearing their melody! They hype themselves up just like every other jester that walks in here, but their bet leaves you intrigued. They have set out a deal they couldn't possibly win, so why do they think things will swing in their favor? You know your regulars, and you know what they like to hear. Surely these fools couldn't win them over, so a beat down is inevitable! And if they do win, then there is still money to be made, just out of someone else's pocket. Thankfully it won't be yours, so you give in and accept this strange bet. Your customers swear and jeer at the fancy fools as they get into position and ready their instruments. The hoots, hollers and flying mugs seem to signal your inevitable victory, as this crowd would never give into these kind of folk. All you have to do is wait, and victory will surely be yours. When the music starts, it hits like a lightening bolt. As much as you hate their grinning faces and goofy getup, they sure know how to start a show. The first note strikes your heart like a hammer to an anvil, and your veins practically pulse to the melody. You never heard a tune like this, and it feels like one you'll never forget. It is pretty good, and rather catchy too. Even your rowdy customers are showing interest in this performance. Their yelling and mockery has fallen silent, replaced with stomping boots and clapping hands. They sure seem to be enjoying it, and you have to admit you are starting to really like it too. The music feels like it is flowing through your body, and your heart is following along with the rhythm. Before you know it, you are clapping along too and getting caught up in the fun. The beat is getting louder and louder, but it only makes it more exciting. Your customers are now out of their seats and on their feet, dancing and thrashing to the song as the two musicians wail and writhe onstage. You feel like you are about to leap over your own bar to join them, but something briefly flashes in the back of your mind. La'Frel, that town that is a couple leagues down the way. You didn't think about it when they first brought it up, but now something in your brain itches at the sound of it. One of your suppliers is based in La'Frel, and they were the ones who were late on the delivery. You haven't heard from them about the missing drop off, which is a bit odd. Now that you think of it, some of your usual customers are from that town and you haven't seen them in a bit. When was the last time? Over a week ago? The memory slips from your mind as the music grows louder in your skull. No time to worry about those details now. The music is flowing, the party is going and you are ready to dive right in. The crowd screams and flails as the melody reaches a fevered pitch. These musicians have earned their meal tonight, that is for sure...         ------------------------------------------------------- “Two Completely Normal Musicians” Just a dumb doodle here. Was thinking about the demonic band, mainly the goofball duo of Miserel and Agored. Obviously the two go on their own from time to time to hunt for prey, getting a lot of fun from the whole bloody song and dance, and thought how they would disguise themselves. Of course Miserel is already human-shaped with human-like features, but what of Agored? This was just a fun "what-if?" As well as the confirmation that I am really bad at drawing humans.

[angelic-serenade]

Alastor + disaster cook! S/O

headcanons

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

you could not cook to save your life

any attempt at cooking would result in certain failure in the best case scenario and 5.4 magnitude earthquake damage in the worst

sure, you could make edible pasta and if you really put your best efforts into it, acceptable omelette too

but anything past that level of complexity was simply out of your league, a lost cause to put it mildly

don't you even think about making a cake, that shit's dangerous

as they say: as above so below

when you landed in Hell and found yourself joining the Happy Hotel soon after, you came to find out your culinary skills had not magically improved

which is quite ironic since Charlie had made you head chef of the hotel

the string of curses which had left your lips upon hearing the news had been legendary, even for Hell

you adored the demon princess with your whole heart (or whatever was left of it anyway), bUT REALLY CHARLIE? YOU DO NOT GIVE A GUN TO A CHILD AND EXPECT CASUALTIES NOT TO HAPPEN

at this point you were certain she was subconsciously auto-sabotaging

either way, you didn't have the heart to tell her no, so you decided to put your heart and soul into trying to learn how to properly cook, which didn't turn out to be the ideal choice of words since you were in Hell and your soul was probably rotten to the core

at least, nobody could say you hadn't tried your damn best

and hey! some days your cooking hadn't even been completely sickening

you decided to stick to easy, “safe” dishes though, you know, just to be sure

so pasta and eggs were definitely a thing

a constant and repetitive thing to be precise

you were trying your best, okay? nobody in your place with your limited set of skills would have taken the job, but you did and you deserved recognition for that feat alone

or a fucking donkey hat for your skyrocketing dumbness levels

things were not so bad at first

both Charlie and Vaggie were very supportive, each one of them in their own way - even though you had totally seen Charlie trying to swallow pure unadulterated fear that one time you had announced you wanted to try to cook something more elaborate

Angel Dust on the other hand... hadn't been as considerate as to lie to your face about what he thought of your cooking

"fuck me doll, this shit's disgusting"

*insert the I don't have friends they disappoint me vine here*

Vaggie had proceeded to give Angel quite the earful while Charlie tried her best to cheer you up

you went full hermit mode on them for two days after that

you were proud of yourself, handling criticism so well

anyway, the cycle kept repeating, with the only difference that most days Angel would grab something to eat outside of the hotel and join you during meals only to blankly stare at the plates and silvery

Charlie had tried to shield you from the truth, but you weren't that stupid

you respected Angel's choice, really, you did, and you had decided to be the bigger person among the two

that's why you began to put a lil bit of laxative into his portions whenever he decided to grace your efforts and actually eat your "disgusting cooking"

y’know just to spicy things up a little

at least now he had a valid reason to complain

with the whole fiasco on live TV and the sudden and suspicious appearence of the one and only Radio Demon at your doorstep, however, things started going haywire

Alastor's presence was eeirly demanding and unsettlingly charmimg at the same time

so it was only natural for you to gravitate the fuck away from him whenever you could

you always acted politely, greeting him whenever you bumped into him through the corridors of the hotel, but you only went as far as to appear courteous because you didn't want for him to go Hannibal Lecter on you. thanks, no thanks

“and what can you do my feminine fellow?”

“I can suck your dick!”

you had snorted a bit at that which immediately shifted the strawberry pimp's attention to yourself

“and what about you, pretty dame? I take it you're in charge of the kitchens around here?”

dressed in your chef attire, you were going to meekly answer him, but before you could, roaring laughter erupted in the room. it belonged to the one and only slutty spider you found oh so irritating

in the fraction of seconds, Alastor snapped his neck at an unnatural angle to stare at the spider with a strained smile on his face

needless to say, the cursed image would forever haunt your traumatized psyche

“hasn't your mother taught you it is rude to interrupt a conversation which you have no part in? that just won't do!”

static filled the air and you feared you were going to implode if the heavy pressure didn't lift off soon enough, so you decided to take action

“ugh... yes, I'm the head chef! but, well, I... could actually use some practice and proper training?”

you hated how uncertain you sounded, but Angel's comments and your own dissatisfaction with your culinary products made you quite self-conscious about your skills

“don't fret your pretty little head about it, my dear! I, for one, am a culinary connaisseur and wonderful chef, if I do say so myself. I'll be ecstatic to guide you through your training!”

how you'd be able to handle his booming voice during hours and hours of practice was your first and main concern, but you had never been one to refuse the chance to finally prove the people who had criticized you wrong *cough cough* Angel Dust

since that day, Alastor began to personally give you cooking lessons

he was exuberant and pretty sly when it came to veiled jabs about your dreadful cooking, but he really took his time to help you out

which you had been both grateful and suspicious about

“now, we can't have our future patrons starving to death, can we?”

he was strangely patient and an overall good teacher too (emphasis on overall)

he guided you step by step through each dish, simultaneously showing off his own flawless culinary skills

you hated that you daily found yourself boosting his already GIGANTIC ego, but you couldn't help it. you could only dream about reaching that level of artistry in cooking

he always came up with creative recipes to test your limits and cooked for you in order to make you more familiar with different tastes. his mother’s were your favorites, jambalaya being his one true specialty 

he had blindfolded you once and proceeded to present you with various samples of spices, oilments and all kinds of food so that you could acquaint yourself with the smells and flavors of the ingredients and figure out yourself which ones would best suit a certain dish

saying you were hesitant at first was an understatement, because you know? being completely at the mercy of a sadistic serial killer who had terrorized the seven circles of hell? not even being able to see him? not on your bucket list

he had tried to ease your nervousness with the whole “if I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would have done so already” thing, but it was getting kind of old pretty fast

“if I had been one to play with fire, I'd have joined a circus”

he found your sense of humor as endearing your sheer presence

(when he rolled up his sleeves to cook, you felt like you could catch fire any minute, you were a slut for strong skinny arms) 

yes, Alastor had always loved to show off his own impeccable skills but he unexpectedly found himself enjoying the moments spent in your company too

he relished in seeing you fail again and again, but he also admired the way you always managed to bring yourself back up to your feet each time

he had yet to fully understand if it was foolishness or stubbornness to guide your steps

either way, you turned out to be his favorite form of entertainment in the hotel!

no matter how many slights would he send your way, you'd always manage to find an appropriate remark that made his permanent smile stretch a little more in sheer amusement

“oh dear, this beef is so undercooked one could still hear the poor beast’s lament”

“the only noise I hear is the obnoxious ramblings of an arrogant boomer”

he wasn't technically a boomer but it was always so satisfying to irk him with terms he had no knowledge of

during your cooking lessons, when the only thing left to do with a dish was wait and pray for the best, you'd come to talk about everything and anything

he'd talk to you about his precious New Orleans as he remembered it and you'd fill him in on recent historical/social developments of your time

he always looked so taken when you shared with him that modern knowledge and it made you feel useful for a change

it was, dare you say it, almost adorable how he'd ask you countless questions about your home town, the catastrophes of the last century and had there been any other war since his death?

the topic switches almost made you dizzy though

once or twice, when the timing allowed, he'd even indulge in a musical show to pass time

on the days your mood soured because of a particularly complicated recipe or bad result, he'd drag you along and dance until you were so distracted by the absurdness of the circumstances that you forgot about your previous sadness

with time, his musical shows became more frequent as he realized you'd always offer him a genuine smile after his flashy performances

it was out of personal indulgence, not because he liked the way his music always seemed to cheer you up

he'd not been vocal about the way he tried to comfort you, but you were grateful nonetheless

the first time you managed to succesfully complete one of his complicated recipes, you had almost cried

“now, now deary, under my watchful eye, it was only a matter of time until you'd finally blossom into a fine cook!”

“Alastor can I... can I hug you?”

and how could he say no to such an adorable expression? he found himself stunned into silence, not being able to tell you yes either, therefore you slowly came closer as if trying not to scare a wild animal away

when Alastor passively stood before you, not moving away, you wrapped your arms around him

he really was such a dorky noodle

he didn't relax into the hug, but he kept still as you relished in the moment and let the pressure you had hoarded for months now loose

Alastor proceeded to show off your dish during dinner and even Angel Dust could do nothing but shut up and dig in

The all powerful Radio Demon was simply so proud of your progress - not that he doubted you'd prevail in the end, thanks to his expertise and guidance

from that moment onward things only got better and even if you didn't necessarily need Alastor's help anymore, neither of you ever mentioned going your separate ways

you were both secretly glad for the silent agreement

friendly banter and dad jokes were a daily occurrence and with your new-found confidence in the field, you'd always bite back showing off new delicious dishes instead than words

you still had trouble every now and then, but Alastor was always there to help you out

not that you'd ever hear the end of it if you actually asked him for help

“what was that, my darling? is the mightiest chef in Hell having trouble in Paradise?”

you had noticed however that he'd started sneaking glances your way more than usual lately and he also started following you around wherever you went in the hotel. he became your shadow both inside and outside of the kitchen

the attention soon became unnerving, even more so when you'd go in the kitchen only find a different flower on the counter each morning

you came to realize that Alastor's advances were rather old fashioned, but you would amuse the dork and yourself for a while before taking charge

gifts became an ordinary occurrence as well as praise and you preferred not to think about what praise could do to you when it came from Alastor

he enjoyed your reactions to his flattering words a little too much, he had to admit

you had had enough of his childish antics one day and you decided to finally put your plan into action

“Al, can you come here for one sec?”

he wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, but you just loved to get under his skin as much as he did when it came to you

“what can I do for you, my darling chef?”

“here, I have a gift for you”

he looked uncharacteristically unsure of what to do but slightly amused as well. in the end curiosity took the best of him and he finally decided to open the box you had handed to him rather unceremoniously

“what is this dear?”

the apron you had chosen was a perfect fit for your long boi

“read it, please”

“kiss the cook? well, if you ask me so nicely, I just might have to”

he then proceeded to peck your cheek and you swore you could have fainted right there and then by the sheer sweetness of the gesture

it hadn't exactly been what you had planned, but you weren't going to complain

your relationship was bound to be full of surprises apparently

[unrcpentant]

i came embarrasingly unprepared to this and i have no excuse…well…c’est la vie. i’m ac, 24, she/her and i hail from the unholy gmt+1 timezone. this is my boi julian, he’s an oldie but goldie. okay, this intro is just gonna be very short and basic because first of all…unprepared and second of all, i’m dumb ya know?

XAVIER SERRANO, CIS MALE, TWENTY FIVE, HE/HIM   ⟨  ✽  ⟩   hey, you haven’t bumped into  julian blake  lately, have you? they have been living here for the past  twenty-five years and during that time, locals have gotten to know them as  charismatic  &  clever.  a little birdie told me they can be quite  cunning  &  arrogant  though. explains why they’re a masters student in political science at whitby university.  they really remind me of  abnormally high standards, the burning feeling after taking a shot and smirks that infuriate.  if you’re ever looking for them, i bet you can find them around  conan & sons.

BACKGROUND & PERSONALITY:

to  keep  it  short  and  sweet. julian  was  born  in  spain... his  parents  were  young  and  broke  and  they  already  had  one  child  to  take  care  of. julian  wasn’t  exactly  planned  and  so  they  gave  him  up  for  adoption.. and  that’s  how  he  ended  up  with  the  blake’s.  they’ve  been  living  in  port  briar  for  ages,  well  on  the  outskirts  in  some  over  the  top  mansion.  both  of  his  dad’s  succesfull  in  their  respective  fields,  a  politician  and  a  lawyer.  which  would  explain  his  compromised  moral  compass....

he  was  definitely  an  easy  child  growing  up,  he  didn’t  get  in  much  trouble  and  just  kinda  took  care  of  himself,  very  independent  from  the  get  go. could  easily  find  entertainment  when  bored,  generally  dealt  very  well  with  boredom  tbh. it’s  supposedly  very  healthy  and  all  that.

around  his  teenage  years  he  started  becoming  more  influenced  by  his  peers  and  although  he  still  mostly  steered  clear  of  scandals  and  drama….you  could  always  kind  of  find  him  adding  fuel  to  the  fire. man  the  guy  loves  gossip  and  watching  people  fight  each  other  as  long  as  they’re  not  fighting  him.

anyway,  from  a  young  age  he  was  playing  soccer,  sort  of  a  homage  to  his  birthplace. he  was  good  and  he  only  got  better  with  age  but  he  also  grew  a  lot  more  distracted. see  he’s  not  really  that  good  at  fully  applying  himself  to  things  he’s  kind  of  the  master  of  half-assing  things  and  getting  away  with  it. king  of  bullshitting. truly  he’s  just  lazy  but  he’s  great  at  putting  others  to  work.

it’s  kind  of  how  he’s  gotten  through  college  so  far  as  well. with  a  major  in  political  science,  and  honestly  a  weirdly  good  business  sense,  he  could  probably  sell  sand  in  sahara. he’s  arrogant  but  just  charming  enough  to  get  away  with  it,  even  if  he’s  lying  through  his  teeth,  he  has  a  certain  way  of  sarcasm  that  most  people  don’t  catch  on.

he’s  on  the  whitby  soccer  team,  has  gotten  offers  to  play  professionally  but  it’s  like...a  lot  of  work  and  he’s  just  extremely  indecisive. so  when  whitby  approached  him  about  doing  his  masters  there,  he  kinda  accepted  without  even  really  thinking  about  it. kind  of  just  an  insane  excuse  to  put  off  making  a  decision  for  another  two  years. he  somehow  gets  away  with  half-assing  soccer  as  well  -  despite  actually  loving  it  -  showing  up  late  to  practice  or  with  hangovers  or  not  showing  at  all.

likes  to  be  the  smartest  person  in  the  room,  albeit  he’s  most  likely  not,  but  don’t  get  me  wrong  he’s  definitely  smarter  than  he  looks,  and  it  won’t  stop  him  from  acting  like  it. very  business  savvy,  knows  how  to  charm  a  crowd  even  if  that  crowd  is  simply  a  bunch  of  rich  old  men  gathered  around  a  table  in  a  conference  room. twisting  people’s  words  and  actions  to  his  benefit  is  also  kind  of  a  specialty  of  his. —   tbh  he’s  fairly  easy  to  deal  with  when  you  know  him,  he  may  think  he’s  super  clever  and  mysterious  but  he’s  just  kind  of  a  fool. his  humor  is  very  specific  and  yet,  you’ll  find  him  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  like  most  of  the  time,  even  if  it  is  one  you  kinda  wanna  smack  off  of  his  face. has  a  tendency  to  laugh  at  the  wrong  times  though,  don’t  take  it  ill…it’s  not  you. it’s  him.

drives  an  aston  martin  vantage  f1  edition  because  he’s  got  expensive  taste  okay,  although  he  obviously  has  several  choices  including  his  beloved  motercycle.  the  aston  martin  is  his  preferred  though.

he  lives  in  a  nice  apartment  on  high  street,  with  his  two  year  old  dobermann  called  zeus.  it’s  his  most  used  phrase  “  can’t,  gotta  take  zeus  for  a  walk  ”