#ts ask game

[goddessofmischief]

Chemtrails over the country club by Lana

the MOST shanks coded song in history

"You're in the wind, I'm in the water, nobody's son, nobody's daughter" like excuse me

[insertdisc5]

How much of the core audience of isat will crossover with project ts?

th... the.... the sifloop enjoyers. i think. but i think the isafrin enjoyers will find their happiness here also. yeah. thats what i think

[saint-cecilias]

Okay, but it's TRULY the way this is very much giving Jon as King Beyond The Wall and Sansa as Queen In The North diplomatic ~relations~ & after-dark shenanigans. Blessed be.

[dreamtydraw]

That Mhin and Eleanore doodle reminded me of this,

dhfvdfrsgf two big eyed freak staring at each other-

[thelikesoffinn]

In an array of monsters, hive minds and secretive bastards, one shouldn't stick out as shady. Right?

So why is Leander literally the only one making my skin crawl??? He's so pretty, I want him but....???

And Ais is literally right there - hive mind, cthulhu-type-spring-monster, a 'friend', not-so-googly eyed pets, creepy red spring. HE should feel shady. Or the mysterious doctor. Or, I don't know, the weird horny fox dude.

But nah. It's the cute little gang leader with his dead eyes and pretty flowers.

[todayis-snowy]

Whats Noels resting face like?

they have a problem of looking immensely lost in thought and/or concentrated if they're not talking to someone lol

what are they thinking of? they won't say

but it doesn't take a lot for them to snap out of it ^_^ guess who's calling them

[sweet-milky-tea705]

Draw Kuras with his very real and legal doctor's license

I believe him..

[playerprincess]

Do you think the player character already suspects that Kuras isn't human since he was able to reattach their arm without being affected by their curse?

I don’t know if the player does, but I feel like anyone with common sense would know something is up.

I can only speak for myself, but if someone could sew my ripped off limb back on without leaving any stitches, I‘d be pretty suspicious of that person.

Also his golden eyes… I don’t know if that’s a normal occurrence in the TS universe, but golden eyes?? I mean… how could you NOT think that this guy is supernatural??

Maybe the game will touch up on it once it’s finally released, but I sure hope MC isn’t dense enough to not see that Kuras is a little bit out of the ordinary.

[goddessofmischief]

If you are still doing that ask game where people send you Lana del Rey or Taylor swift songs and tell them I'd they are mihawk shanks or buggy coded then I have a song for you!

Young and Beautiful by Lana del Rey from the Great Gatsby

was gonna say shanks, and it definitely has a bit of a shanks vibe lyrically, but the music is just too mihawk to ignore. the lyrics are very mihawk too. so, mihawk coded!

(and yes, this ask game is permanent!)

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (7)

warnings: misunderstandings, feeling trapped, unhealthy thoughts about an assumed situation, death and injury mention, discussion of debts, unreliable narrator, virgil horribly misinterpreting yet another normal conversation, literally embarrassing levels of thick-headedness

-

Letting his guard down around the humans was far, far easier than it should have been.

He still eased his defenses down slowly, bit by bit, of course, he wasn’t a complete fool. An understanding between him and Patton didn’t necessarily mean that the others felt the same.

They were humans, not shifters, after all, and while he could see the shape of a pack in their closeness, that didn’t mean he could assume the same principles would apply. They all took on equal responsibilities in maintaining and protecting their home, and none of the three had shown any particular indication that they were a designated envoy, meant to speak for the entire pack.

Frankly, with it only being the three of them, a lack of envoy wouldn’t have been too surprising even if they had been shifters. Some smaller packs forewent assigned roles, rotating them as needed, or were close-knit enough that they essentially acted as one whole, any individual able to speak for the pack.

The humans loved to bicker, though, and it would have been like a slap in the face to trust in Patton’s promise and then have them argue about it right in front of him. Instead, Virgil tested the firmness of the new ground he’d been offered with slow, tentative steps, like a deer crossing over a frozen lake. Better to take his time and test the ice than plunge right through.

Irritatingly, the humans made it far too easy for him to forget how precarious his standing was.

Even the simplest of interactions seemed to please them. When he’d responded to Patton’s friendly greeting for the first time, the morning after their midnight conversation, the human’s expression had lit up like a lightning bug at dusk. When he’d finally answered one of Logan’s questions during a meal, the scholar had blinked a few times in quiet surprise before smiling in a way that made his entire face look softer. When he’d pursed his lips and snapped out a sharp retort to something annoying Roman had said, the hunter hadn’t hesitated to needle him right back with friendly delight, the same as he did with the other two.

They were keeping him trapped here, because they were human and they knew better than to let a monster roam free in the woods around their home, but they didn’t want a starved prisoner or a ticket to easy riches. They wanted to offer him comfort and belonging in the time that he had left.

He’d saved them, and they were repaying it in the only way they could afford to.

It was pathetic, how relieved he felt. How genuinely grateful he was for the simple fact that he wasn’t being forced to relive the unending torment of his first imprisonment. How such basic offerings of food and warmth and companionship made it possible to ignore or even briefly forget about the executioner’s axe hoisted over his head.

He’d been on his own for a long time. Returning to that solitude would be its own kind of death, a slow and painful relearning of what it meant to be alone. He knew this, but tried not to dwell on it. He’d survived it once before, and he would again. Better to endure the loneliness than lose the safety of isolation.

So, he forced himself to keep focusing on methods of escape, on the ways this slowly-growing camaraderie would offer lapses in security, on the new freedoms he could take advantage of, and didn’t think about what he would do afterwards.

With this goal in mind, he immediately decided to test his luck by poking his nose where it didn’t belong.

He’d regained some mobility after another week of healing, though he kept his walking pace to a slow shuffle out of caution, and the humans still tended to hover like agitated honeybees whenever he was on his feet for too long. The cabin was small enough that he had mapped out most of it within a day or two, and now he approached the only room he hadn’t yet entered or peered into.

When he pushed the door of Logan’s workspace open, the human’s head snapped up immediately, wearing the beginnings of a frown. Once he saw that it was Virgil who stood in the doorway, though, the displeased turn of his lips faded away, replaced by eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Hello,” he said, voice polite despite the interruption. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Of the three of them, Logan had been the most respectful in his formality, and so Virgil impulsively tested the bounds of that patience by not answering right away, instead letting his gaze drift over the room and its contents.

There were far more plants scattered about than he’d expected, though perhaps he should have expected as much from the dedication Logan tended his garden with. Pots of different shapes and sizes were settled on every inch of the window ledges, and planters hung from shelves and hooks on the ceiling alike. There was an entire corner of the room dedicated to racks of drying herbs and flowers, both wild and homegrown, which lent the room a pleasant dusty floral smell that almost covered up the sting of ink and chemicals.

There was a table against one wall, the shelves around it packed full with bottles of miscellaneous ingredients, all of them labeled in neat handwriting. The table itself was covered in neatly-organized supplies, with protective sigils carefully carved into the outer edge of the wood, keeping any experimentation contained. It stank less than he’d thought it would, for human magecraft, but then he hadn’t yet seen Logan doing any of the typical dissection and harvesting of supernatural creatures, either.

After the full moon, it would have the bitter tang of magic made through unwilling sacrifice, the distant preserved rot of bottled blood. Virgil would recognize the stench of post-harvest ingredients anywhere. Not that he’d be there to smell it, at that point. He forcibly pulled his attention away.

The last section of the room was less orderly than the rest, primarily due to the heaps of books that were stacked and shoved wherever there was space. Logan’s desk was the only semi-clear spot, and even that had a few precarious book towers sitting atop or alongside it. It was also covered in stacks of parchment, with lines and lines of writing or intricate diagrams sketched on the paper.

Logan sat behind it, still awaiting a response, those keen eyes watching him right back.

There was no sign of the lodestone for the ward around the cabin at first glance. He had known better than to think it would be that easy, though.

He hadn’t known that he would actually get this far, assuming that they wouldn’t want their magic prisoner sticking his nose in the most likely place to find a way out of their wards. Even Roman and Patton didn’t tend to disturb Logan too often when he was working in this space, so he’d assumed he’d only get a few moments to glance around at best.

“You haven’t been to the leyline crossing,” he said, because the silence had begun to grow awkward and he’d panicked and they really hadn’t, even though it was well past the usual time of the month they went.

Logan’s stare sharpened, which was probably a bad sign, but he only stood up to clear the books off of a second chair, and gestured for him to sit.

This had been a bad idea. Virgil slunk forward with extreme reluctance and sat.

“We haven’t,” Logan answered affirmatively as he returned to his seat, adjusting his spectacles. “It didn’t seem wise to venture into the woods, seeing as that is where the bear headed, last we saw it.”

That was… a really good reason, actually. Virgil shuddered at even the idea of them running into that creature again in the dead of night, without him to help.

“I take it that you’ve been familiar with us for a while, then, since you know of our routine offerings?” Logan continued, sounding more curious than angry.

Virgil froze up, regardless. He should have known better than to hope he could make it through a conversation without giving anything away. He hadn’t even managed to make it through the first sentence.

“I am not upset,” Logan offered, glancing down at the open book before him in a gesture that seemed designed to give Virgil a moment to breathe. “On the contrary, I am… rather relieved, to have my suspicions confirmed.”

“Relieved?” Virgil echoed dubiously, his voice a low croak. It tended to go raspy and hoarse if he wasn’t focusing on speaking, probably the result of not using his human vocal cords to speak to anyone in literal years.

“Indeed,” Logan answered. “I will admit, my initial impression of you was made hastily. We had never seen you before, and yet you didn’t hesitate to defend us, and you earned a significant injury in the process. It was worrying to unexpectedly incur such a debt.”

Virgil managed to shove aside his embarrassment in favor of confusion. It was strange to mention a debt, especially one owed to a shifter. Humans didn’t consider shifters worth trading with in any fashion, in his experience, and even other supernatural beings knew that wolves weren’t fond of holding debts or grudges. Really, the way Logan spoke about it sounded more like…

“You see, I was aware that it is rather rare for a shifter to reveal themself to humans for any length of time, as I’m sure you know, and I was also aware that the fair folk are often deft hands at taking on wild shapes of their own, particularly when interacting with humans, so…” Logan trailed off, looking a bit flustered at the admission.

“You thought I was fae,” Virgil completed the thought, feeling a bit taken aback at the idea. He certainly would have done a fair bit more against that bear if he’d had the sort of natural power that faeries so often courted.

Of course, things also would have turned out a lot worse for the humans if he’d been a fae, more likely than not. Humans who had fallen under the attention of one of the fair folk frequently met an unfortunate end because of it. Whether the faery in question was maliciously fixated or lovingly obsessed, the human would be lucky to come out irrevocably changed. They’d be lucky to come out alive at all.

“It was a working hypothesis,” Logan said primly, turning a page in his book despite the fact that he almost definitely hadn’t been reading while they spoke. “It was disproven easily enough, and so my precautions weren’t needed in the first place, but seeing as my haste has gotten me and those around me in trouble before, I thought it best to perform them anyhow.”

Precautions? Patton had said that Virgil saved his life, if not all of theirs. To the fae, a life debt like that could only be paid off one way, whether they’d been tricked into it or not.

Oh. He had wondered why Logan had been so uncharacteristically careless before, carrying an agitated and injured shifter back with its teeth only a handspan from his neck. If Virgil had been fae, if he’d chosen differently and torn out Logan’s throat, that would have been the end of any debt between him and the others. A life paid for a life owed.

“Did you run that plan by the others, first?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Logan waved a hand dismissively, not bothering to pretend at regret. “They traveled out here on my behalf, in the first place. To let them suffer for my mistakes would be a poor repayment.”

From what he knew of them, Virgil thought Patton and Roman would disagree. Loudly.

“…Right,” said Virgil, in his most dubious tone. “On your behalf?”

“I’m cursed,” Logan explained shortly. “I don’t have the constitution required to perform magework without damaging my health. It was intended to make me choose between my health and my passion, but I was willing to give up neither, and found a third option: proximity to powerful natural magic, which would prevent spellwork from being as taxing.”

“Huh.” It was a clever solution. Logan might have been the one to propose their solution to Virgil, too. Offering a shifter a peaceful last few weeks certainly wasn’t an option he would have expected from any normal humans.

Right. He’d almost forgotten that his plan had been to push against the boundaries of his cage, to force them to acknowledge that he was stuck here, to remind himself that no amount of kind company was worth the pain of how this month would inevitably end.

“Well, you don’t owe me anything,” he said, a little too sharply. “And in that case, there’s no point in me staying.”

Logan sat up straight, posture stiffening as he frowned. “You’re still far from healed. I understand why you don’t wish to shift, but surely, leaving is a bad idea for the same reason?”

There it was. In the end, that was the biggest flaw in the arrangement the humans had come up with. If Virgil attacked them or tried to leave, they’d be forced to kill him immediately. He would lose, but so would they; killing him in his human form would make his corpse far, far less valuable.

“You’re only making things more difficult on yourself,” Virgil told him, crossing his arms as tightly as he could without jarring his wound. “I’m not fae. There’s no worth in being hospitable to me.”

It certainly wasn’t going to convince him to stop trying to escape. He might be pathetic, but he wasn’t that pathetic. Honestly, it’d probably be easier for everyone if they just cut their losses and killed him now.

Logan closed his book, folded his hands over it, and met Virgil’s eyes squarely. “We offered you our hospitality because we wanted to. It is freely given, no matter the ease or difficulty involved.”

Virgil couldn’t help the way his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. That implied that they would keep on offering him this kindness even if he did get caught attempting to escape.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t ever been truly punished for that first desperate sprint to the wards, had he? None of the things he’d believed to be threats or punishments had ever panned out the way he’d assumed. Ultimately, they hadn’t so much as directly scolded him about the escape attempt, as though the act was hardly surprising. He hadn’t been drugged, and he still wasn’t guarded.

He couldn’t be certain unless he got caught again, but… the signs were all there. They were confident enough in their cage to indulge him even when he was caught gnawing at the bars. They were underestimating him.

“Don’t blame me if you regret it later,” he said dismissively, but he couldn’t help the disbelieving half smile creeping onto his lips.

Logan returned his smile with an encouraging one of his own, apparently unfazed by Virgil’s renewed determination. “I very much doubt I will.”

He snorted and left the human to his work, not cowed at all by the arrogance. Logan could doubt all he liked. Virgil had beaten much worse odds before.

[wri0thesley]

Diluc and L, pretty please!

L - Lily (purity): “I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

cw: injury, dub-con, captive reader

You're trembling. Diluc is blood-stained, his jaw set stubbornly, his clothes a mess of blood and charred carbon and mud and Archon-knows what else. You shouldn't have done this, you think, as his hand grasps your chin in his, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh of your cheek. He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

"You want to clean me up?" He asks you again, and you curse yourself for your own stupidity. He is your captor, not your lover. It can be hard to remember, wrapped in luxury, brought breakfast in bed by maids and dressed in pretty morning gowns of fabric you could never have afforded before Diluc's attentions - those days when Diluc is not here, and you can imagine Dawn Winery is yours.

But you are, at the heart of it, his captive.

When he is at home, he broods through the house; tells you shortly that you're not to leave this room, you're not to go onto the balcony without anyone with you, you're not to eat that, or say this, or forget your manners again. He sleeps beside you, arms like vices around your waist.

But he has not been home for two weeks, and when you had seen him at the door to your shared chambers, his face bruised and his lip swollen and bloody and his entire body bowed with exhaustion . . . you had forgotten all of it in a moment of weakness, and the memory of who you were before Diluc had made this your life had come rushing to the forefront.

You had seen to plenty of men and women injured like this, when you were in the employ of the Church of Favonius, running their clinics. You had patched up children's knees and sewn shut the wounds of the Knights with the same sweet smile and gentle disposition. You had learnt what to say to men like Diluc, who gritted their teeth and insisted it did not hurt and they did not need your assistance even as they fell to their knees on the marble floor of the cathedral and you had to ask some of the sisters to help carry them into the infirmary room.

You could backtrack. Slink back into bed, shake your head, say something about the mess and the scent of the blood--

But you couldn't really, could you? Diluc had - at least, he says - fallen in love with you in those little backroom infirmaries, elbow deep in blood and medicines and bandages. He had looked at your soft smile and heard your gentle voice and, he says, thought you far too sweet and precious a thing to languish there, at the mercy of any rogue who could walk into the Cathedral and ask for sanctuary. He would know you were lying.

You give him a wordless little nod instead, your face still cradled in his gloved hand. A look flits across his own visage; something so sweet and adoring and disbelieving it makes your stomach twist.

"I don't deserve you," he rumbles, and truer words have never been spoken, as he lets you take him gently by the arm and tug him towards the adjoining bathroom. You ignore the muddy boot-prints on the floor; you try and will yourself to imagine the Cathedral around you. Nothing more than Master Diluc Ragnvindr, needing your aid - you think, as your fingers reach for the fastening of his shredded, tattered jacket and push it off the broadness of his shoulders.

He lets out a hot breath that reminds you that this is not just an ordinary day at the Cathedral; looks at you through half-lidded eyes as you busy yourself with running warm water into the basin, searching for cloths and sponges. There is nothing untoward kept in this bathroom - Diluc does not even shave in here, lest you get the wrong idea about something sharp - but there are, thankfully, enough cloths and a tiny bottle of antiseptic, so that you can clean the wounds on his already scarred chest even as he hisses.

He . . . isn't often undressed around you.

That, he tells you, he will wait for - big soulful crimson eyes trained on you. Until you're ready. Until you realise just how hard he is working to take care of you and you return to him the affection he knows you have in your heart. He would never, he promises, hand on his heart, force you to do anything--

He says, as if you are not forced to play house like a pretty little spouse in his luxurious winery already. He says, as if you are not forced to bite down your growls and hisses and sharp words about the life he has stolen you from. He says, as if you are not forced to pretend you are someone else lest you simply go mad.

His breath is coming out in pants as you work your fingers through the matted crimson strands of his hair. His cheeks have flushed beneath your careful, slow attempts to clean him and his wounds. He groans, chest-deep, as you swallow and reach for his trousers, where you can already see that a gash on his thigh has stuck the fabric to his skin.

"This is how I fell in love with you," he grunts, as you manage to undo it, as your cheeks burn with humiliation as you undress him and he sits there, placid and silent. "So . . . lovely. So . . . caring. Even to those who don't deserve it." You kneel before him, so you can check over the wound to make sure there is nothing stuck in it--

And your mouth goes dry and fear and disgust war in the pit of your stomach as you realise he's hard, the stiff outline of his cock pressing against his underwear. Diluc reaches out for you, one hand curling around your shoulder, another soft groan falling from his mouth as he looks down at you.

You freeze where you are. The moment shimmers between you, charged with possibility, and you find yourself reciting a prayer to Barbatos in your head over and over again, muddling over the words in a fever pitch that Diluc will keep his word--

But he's been off ever since he limped into the Winery. Muddled. A blow to the head? Whopperflower nectar? Some creature's venom, some spell from the Abyss? You don't know what it is, only that Diluc is looking down at you and there is a hot, burning kind of hunger that he usually tries to hide written clear in his crimson gaze.

"You're so pretty down there," He says, voice low and dark and husky. "I . . . I shouldn't taint you like this. Not when you're so pure."

"Diluc?" Your voice comes out thready and reedy, your body trembling like a harp-string. "Let me patch you up--"

"No," Diluc says, more to himself than to you. "I've waited so long--"

The hand on your shoulder curves upwards, thumb brushing your collarbone, your jawline. You curse the thin little morning gown you'd let Adelinde dress you in this morning, the square neckline a little risque - giving Diluc unfettered access to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat and your collar.

He's not interested in those, though. His thumb presses against the seam of your lips, instead. With a strength that an injured man should not possess, he uses his other hand to pull you closer at the same time as he hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it to open up.

Panic flaring in your mind. Diluc pulls your mouth open as wide as he can, uncaring that you're drooling - his eyes are somewhere far away now, as he mutters to himself--

"It's not so bad," he's saying, "I'm not . . . it's just your mouth, and I've been so calm, and you're so beautiful-- it won't . . . ruin you--"

"--'iluc--" You can't speak for his thumb in your mouth, for the saliva filling it, for the fear that runs through you as his other hand slowly goes to unbutton his placket as if in a trance.

"Shh," he says to you, and you have never heard a less reassuring hush. "It's alright, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. You offered, remember? I would never . . . force you to do anything--"

[msmargaretmurry]

im still not over the fact that ovi apparently calls connor mcmichael jesus?? dylan strome you will not outrun the ghosts of your past but on the other hand it does not seem to be bothering him at all

lmaoooo it's not just ovi! the whole team has been calling him mcjesus/jesus all season, just not usually directly to the camera so you have to be a freak like me who watches way too much caps content and catches guys yelling it in the background 😂 anyway i think it's VERY funny. dylan will always be haunted but also he truly is in his own lane, unbothered, thriving, and we love that for him. he also has more goals than both mcjesuses (mcjesi?) this season so who's the real winner here? that's right. Us (dylan strome nation)

[dreamtydraw]

I hope this isn’t really weird to randomly send you, but Ais reminds me of those guys who say, “We’re gonna crash,” when they’re on a plane or roller coaster.

This is such a random ask wiskdi but I think it’s funny no worries.

Ais looks like he would fake mini freak out to scare people who are skittish and then act like nothing happened. Like, he see you’re on edge and make a loud noise before completely lying about it just for the fun of it. Chill guy energy who do playful mischief in my opinion.

He would also say no when you ask him to do something and then proceed to do it- again for the fun of it.

[glindalesbian]

top 5 (or 10 if you can) cooper moments #cooperhive

this is such an incredible prompt okay let's go american housewife nation, in no particular order:

"Wow! Turns out being gay IS the same as being rich!"

2. When he runs out of fancy hair pomade and spends the episode looking like a sad drowned cat

3. When he shows Greg how to open champagne with a sword and then tells him not to drink it because "that's so gauche"

4. "kraft singlé"

5. when he stands up for katie in front of all the rich neighborhood moms!!!!!! <3 best boy

6. honestly EVERYTHING about his bond with Katie it makes me cryyyyy but especially when she makes him do chores and learn how to be normal and every time he talks about being an Otto <3

7. when he becomes oliver's nagging wife in his soft blue sweater and watches below deck without him

8. "No dude Gina will never be a third wheel with us"

9. the all white country club custom italian leather tote bag outfit

10. "dude" <3

BONUS because this isn't a specific moment or Cooper specifically, but the katie/greg and cooliver parallels make me crazyyyyy

[dandelionsunset1210]

35. So as a Swiftie I must ask this: any of her songs you think are very everlark but haven’t been able to pull in to a chapter title or reference yet? (I absolutely loved the “tell me about the first time you saw” me conversation at their wedding)

Oh I have so many Taylor Swift songs on my chaotic little everlark playlist and I could probably write an essay about each but instead I’ll just pick my favorites and the most everlark lines

Sad Beautiful Tragic (Mockingjay Katniss/Hijacked Peeta. “In dreams I meet you in warm conversations” & “You’ve got your demons and darling they all look like me” 🫠💔)

Say Don’t Go (VERY Peeta at the end of thg coded, but also dare I say “I would stay forever if you say don’t go” = “stay with me? always”)

Call it what you want (there is nothing more end of mockingjay everlark than “all my flowers grew back as thorns / windows boarded up after the storm / he built a fire just to keep me warm”)(also “at least I did one thing right”)(ALSO “starry eyes sparkling up my darkest night”)

Peace (You actually cannot convince me that Taylor didn’t write peace about everlark but like “all these people think love’s for show but I would die for you in secret”???)(probably will try to incorporate this one into my current fic ngl)

This Love (very beach scene + growing back together vibes overall)

Fresh out the slammer (I may actually write an essay about this one some day because I don’t know what this song is about if not everlarks entire love story)

Midnight rain (the whole song gives cf vibes but especially the line “it came like a postcard / picture perfect, shiny family / holiday, peppermint candy” always reminds me of that one scene in cf where the peacekeepers show up to Katniss’ house and they’re throwing the peppermints and I get a little emo thinking about the “picture perfect shiny family” from Peeta’s pov)

Probably more than you bargained for but I can go on about Taylor swift and everlark all day

[sweet-milky-tea705]

Leander with maracas

Babygirl your swag too silly theyll kill you