#have 0 time to write and post

[yourislandgirl]

@sheepsgf

JUNGWON at the kbs song festival 2024

[s-wave-entertainment]

NO BECAUSE I DON'T THINK WE TALK ABOUT THIS ENOUGH WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THIS ENOUGH CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS? BECAUSE

Yeah okay that's a pretty terrifying thing to see, and I can pretty logically assume this is hallucination on N's part, but does that stop him from literally CATCHING HER IN THE NEXT THREE SECONDS???

NO THE FUCK IT DOES NOT LOOK AT HIS HAND LOOK AT HIS HAND UNDERNEATH HER HEAD LOOK AT IT

CAN WE ALSO TALK ABOUT THE CHANGE IN EXPRESSION THAT I CAN ONLY ASSUME IS DUE TO WHAT HE SAW?? Like also I assume yeah obviously he's worried about Uzi because who the fuck wouldn't be (Cyn) but like LOOK AT THIS BULLSHIT

HIS EYES DON'T HOLLOW OUT UNTIL SHE NEARLY HITS THE GROUND AFTER THAT WHOLE THING OCCURS AND YOU CAN SEE THE FUCKING SWITCH FROM "Oh my fucking god what the hell is happening" TO "BEEP BEEP BEEP RED ALERT SHIT'S GOING DOWN OH BISCUITS OH FUCK"

"Myrah what the fuck are you on about it's 8:30 in the damn morning?"

I AM UNWELL ABOUT THESE TWO GODDAMNIT

[toxintouch]

Started out as an elaborate “draw me like one of your French girls” joke and spiraled outta control from there... @lu-dao-writes posted the same scenario in their Kinktober 2024 and they were kind enough to give me their blessing to post my take! Please check out their fics as well!  If this scenario in particular interests you, I rec you this post! :3

Further details below the cut so that the above the cut stays safe for anyone who is just scrolling through!

18+ Content MDNI || VERE x AIS x Reader

PROMPT/KINK(S): Dom!Vere, Dacryphilia (Tears)* + Cockwarming + Size Difference + Consensual Voyeurism. Power Play. (Some feral monsterfucking spice sprinkled v lightly on top.) [*original challenge prompt, randomizer used.]

OTHER INFO: “You” pronouns used for MC/Reader. Unspecified genitalia for both POV Character and Vere but Ais has a dick. Reader is the receiving partner in penetrative sex.

“Hmm, hold that pose,” Vere purrs.

Ais huffs a hot breath into your face as he freezes above you.  His brows furrow, mouth twisting into a determined grimace as he grits his teeth.  His forearms tense hard where they are resting on either side of you, fingers flexing against the silken sheets.

You can feel him pulsing inside of you.  A hot, insistent ache.

You try to relax, try to breathe through it but the lack of movement makes you hyper aware of every inch, the raw feeling of him stretching you open, the way your body twitches so sickly-sweet with the effort.  You inhale a slow, shaking breath, chest trembling, and shut your eyes in an attempt to block out some of the sensations—the clawing need gnawing at your core.

“Eyes open, darling,” Vere corrects you, tone somewhere firmly between scolding and teasing.  “And turn your face back towards Ais.  I’m trying to capture the moment .”  Your heart is pounding in your ears but you can hear Vere’s smooth, sly voice with perfect clarity.  Ais is an overwhelming force but Vere is a magnetic presence; no matter how caught up in each other you and Ais can get, Vere will always command attention without effort.

You turn your chin as requested, only to be caught in Ais’ gaze

(Caught and breathless–the same way you were when he was bullying his thick length into your hole, thrusting sharply and sighing in satisfaction, his fingers still at work massaging and pressing and stroking as he sunk into you inch by inch; he'd prepared you until your entrance was puffy and swollen, sopping with thick, medicinal smelling lube and he still had to take his time.  Fucking you slowly until you could take all of him.  And then, the moment you finally could...)

“Hmm, that's better.  Stay just like that.  Let me see those pretty expressions.”  You hear Vere adjusting his heavy vellum paper.  The glide of quick, clever lines being drawn.

You maintain eye contact with Ais, drunk off his breath, his body, the very essence of him, hovering so close above you, and are utterly unprepared to meet his intensity.  The way he looks at you like he’s seconds from devouring you, barely held in check by the challenge that Vere has laid before him.  Before both of you.

You bite into your lower lip as you shift involuntarily, oversensitive nerves still riding the throbbing of Ais’ dick.  He’s so fucking thick and girthy that he presses at the soft spot inside you without even trying. The angry pulse of him is a gratifying thrum, stoking your aching heat by way of mere burgeoning contact.

His cock gives another strong twitch and your insides clench around him.  He feels so fucking good–you almost think you might be able to come like this, if you can get your body to keep on clenching like that. 

—Almost.

Your next breath comes out as a sob.  There’s a high pitched whine building at the base of your throat and your lashes are wet when you blink.

A monstrous snarl escapes Ais’ lips, one that you can feel even more than you can hear, the vibration of it echoing through your body everywhere you're pressed against him.  The pinnacle between your thighs pulses with it, and your toes curl involuntarily as an errant tear runs down your cheek.  Ais is shaking, sweat dampening his face, his pupils expanding and contracting rapidly, his eyes locked on you as he barely holds himself back.  “Sparrow,” he says, gravel in his tone. 

You say his name in return, your head tipping involuntarily, bearing the softness of your throat, faded marks from both your lovers decorating your skin.  You hear the sheets rip below you, torn into shreds where Ais’ nails have dug into them.

Vere sighs pointedly.  You hear him stop his work, tap his charcoal against the paper as if he’s not entirely satisfied with the scene in front of him.  He pauses for a long time, leaving you both in limbo.

When he moves, it’s to stand.  To saunter over to you both.  You’re pinned beneath Ais, unable to look away, but you can feel Vere’s shadow fall over you just before his hand touches your face, forcing your eyes to his as he catches a crystalline tear with his index finger.

“Shame,” he says, dipping his fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up the taste of your tears, lavishing the digits with his tongue.  You whine out a desperate, quiet note just from watching his tongue at work and he basks knowingly in the attention.  “I really thought I could get you both crying.”  He smiles dangerously once his fingers have left his mouth. 

He uses them to drag a wet path down Ais' spine.  “Oh, but the night is still young.  Perhaps I may still think of something that will do the trick...”

18+ Master List | SFW Master List ✦"Kinktober Speedrun & Other Gratuitous (TOUCHSTARVED) Smut" on Ao3

[nessacousland]

Well, I finally finished Dragon Age: Friendship is Magic and that is *my* biggest regret.

[memento-morri-writes]

Rook's Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Day

(Aka, just one part of Rook's first Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend. (he's had two of those.))

I posted a small portion of this yesterday, but I'm just so obsessed with this scene, and I figured it's time I shared a slightly more complete version of it so you guys have a little bit more context. There's actually a lot more because a whole 'nother very intense conversation happened after this one, but that's for anther time. Enjoy getting stabbed in the heart several times in quick succession! pov: Rook wordcount: 1.7k character(s): The Liars [Rook (D&D), Sigmar (NPC)] canon status: canon session rewrite trigger warnings: mentions of death, suicidal behavior, and self-harm; implied self-sacrifice. (yk, usual Rook stuff.) summary: Rook wakes up after collapsing in the middle of a tavern. His mentor, Sigmar, interrogates him about the circumstances leading to his collapse. Note: I can only take credit for some of this, since the dialogue is as close to a direct transcript of the dnd session as I could manage. You can thank my amazing DM for all of Sigmar's gut punches here.

Rook comes to consciousness slowly, his mind fuzzy from sleep. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking them several times before he registers a wood-beamed ceiling. Where is he? He raises his head ever-so-slightly, looking around. The room comes into focus, semi-familiar. This is his room at the tavern. He has no memory of going to bed. The last thing he remembers is entering the tavern after the fight, and then…

Footsteps draw his attention away from that mystery. “Rook, you’re awake!” Sigmar rushes over to Rook’s bedside, relief clearly visible on his face. “You were out for twelve hours.” Seeing the question forming on Rook’s face he adds, “You fainted last night. It was… concerning to say the least.”

Rook slowly sits up as Sigmar continues talking. “What happened to you? I knew things were rough for you after we talked on the way here but the way you looked last night… you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I wasn’t.” The words are off his tongue and out of his mouth before Rook can process what he’s saying. “I wasn’t, yesterday.”

Sigmar peers closer at Rook, concern mounting on his face. “You weren’t what,  Rook.”

Again, he speaks without thinking. “Alive. I wasn’t alive yesterday.”

The color drains from Sigmar’s face. “What do you mean? What do you mean you weren’t alive yesterday?” 

Rook is taken aback by the forcefulness in Sigmar’s voice. Why does he sound so worried? Slowly, parsing out the words to keep from stumbling over them, he says, “Wolf sent an assassin after me. She succeeded.”

Sigmar’s brow furrows and his voice get louder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” When Rook doesn’t respond he adds, “Who saved you?”

“Aki. At least, I think it was him. I woke up and he was next to me.”

A flash of surprise crosses Sigmar’s face before vanishing, obscured by a new wave of concern. “What caused this? You looked terrible last night.” There’s a thread of something that sounds vaguely like fear in Sigmar’s voice as he says it, which catches Rook by surprise.

Rook takes a long moment to think. He can’t tell Sigmar the truth, at least not the whole truth. He’d tell the rest of the party immediately, and they’d all be in danger again. Rook settles on a partial truth. 

“I haven’t been sleeping.” He thinks hard, trying to remember the details. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than a couple of hours in the past two weeks.”

Sigmar’s jaw drops. “With that little sleep, you’re lucky to be alive.” He looks at Rook closely, inspecting his face. Rook shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “What has been keeping you from sleeping?”

Again Rook pauses, taking a moment to consider his answer. “I don’t know. I can’t fall asleep and when I do I wake up again shortly after.”

Sigmar narrows his eyes. “I’ve told you: you and I are the same. We’re both liars. So don’t lie to me.”

An answer pops into Rook’s head and he puts conviction behind it, laying on false hesitation as if he’s revealing a big secret. “It’s Captain Wolf. Ever since I ran into her again, I haven’t been able to sleep. I keep having nightmares. About her.”

Sigmar stares at Rook for a long moment before seeming to accept the answer. A sense of relief floods Rook’s body. His secret is safe, for now. 

“Why are you doing this?” Sigmar asks, breaking the silence.

Rook blinks at him, uncomprehending. “Doing what? Coming to Torsek?”

Sigmar nods. “You’ve been pushing yourself to your limits, throwing your life on the line over and over again. Why? You’re endangering yourself, you’ve even died,”  Rook could have sworn he heard Sigmar’s voice waver on that word. “But you keep doing it. What could possibly be worth that?”

An answer leaps to Rook’s lips. “Because they need me.” It comes out quietly, but seems deafening in the empty room.

Sigmar leans back slightly, eyes widening in surprise. He looks Rook up and down, as if he’s reevaluating him. 

Without thinking, Rook adds, “You’re one of them.”

Sigmar, who has opened his mouth to speak, closes it again. He regards Rook for a long time. Eventually he says, “Your motivations may be more noble than mine, but at heart we act for the same reasons. I know you have not felt the care of a parent the same way I did…” He trails off momentarily, then continues, “But you are desperate for love all the same. I do everything in hopes of someday committing an act that will make the world love me. You, you act in hopes that the Vanguard will love you.” He looks Rook directly in the eyes, face serious. “You’re a fool.”

Rook says nothing, unable to summon up any kind of response to that statement. Sigmar continues, “The Vanguard does nothing but show you love, try to help you. They attempt to show you their love over, and over again. But you refuse to accept it.”

The words hit Rook like a slap, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Sigmar pushes ahead. “Instead of accepting their love, you throw yourself recklessly into danger, putting your life on the line again and again. You’re killing yourself, Rook.”

Rook’s eyes blaze with anger. He isn’t killing himself at all. He doesn’t want to die, far from it. He fights viciously for his life in every battle. He snaps back, “I’m not killing myself.”

Sigmar’s reply is swift and painful, like a bullet from his gun. “You might as well be.”

Rook finds himself speechless. What the hell is Sigmar talking about? He crosses his arms and turns away, refusing to meet the other man’s gaze.

A long silence stretches between them. Sigmar finally breaks it by saying, “I’ll help you. I just need to know that you’re telling me the truth.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, much softer than the whip-like tone from a moment earlier. 

Rook looks up at him. “I am telling the truth.” 

Sigmar frowns. “Rook, I told you, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!”

“You are. I know your tells.”

Arms still firmly crossed, Rook keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. He won’t – can’t – tell Sigmar the truth. 

Sigmar seems to realize that Rook plans to stay silent, and sighs. “I can start listing off my theories. My ideas as to what’s keeping you from sleeping.”

Rook says nothing, still looking at the floor. His eyes follow the grain of the wood as it meanders through the planks.

“Did Maka do this to you?”

Before he can stop himself, Rook’s head whips upwards, mouth falling open in shock. “What? No!” 

Sigmar merely nods, and Rook is hit with a sudden feeling that he may have just played right into Sigmar’s trap. Rook turns away again, trying to find the same grain on the same plank he had been before Sigmar had spoken.

“I’ve felt the same symptoms as you are now, but lesser, once before. Do you still bear Furicifer’s curse?”

A chill runs down Rook’s spine. He forces his voice to stay steady and calm as he says “Furicifer was banished. He’s gone.”

Sigmar is silent for a long moment, and Rook’s heart begins to race. Surely Sigmar will believe that. It’s not far off from the truth.

When Sigmar speaks, it almost knocks the air from Rook’s lungs. “I told you not to lie to me.” His voice is deadly serious, simmering with anger. As he begins to speak again, it grows in intensity, though still quiet. “What in the gods’ names were you thinking? We need to get rid of him.”

Rook interrupts him, voice firm. “I can’t. If I lose this curse, Furicifer is free to return to the material plane.”

Sigmar shakes his head. “We’ll find a better demonologist. Someone stronger than this Dr. Zayeed.”

Without thinking, Rook blurts out, “You promised you’d help me!”

Sigmar immediately falls silent, looking at him. His face is a mixture of sadness, concern, and something else that Rook can’t quite read. He stares at Rook until Rook grows uncomfortable, looking away. “I have two options here. I can enable you, help you continue to hide this from the rest of the party. Or I can tell them. Let them try and talk some sense into you.”

“I can’t.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you can. Tell the party and-”

“I can’t.” Rook’s voice shakes, but his tone is determined. 

“Why not?” Sigmar snaps back.

“It was them or me.” The words are out too fast, and Rook regrets them the minute they’re out. But he looks up, meeting Sigmar’s gaze. He says again, softer, but more steady, “It was them or me.”

A long silence passes, and Rook eventually looks away. He stares at the ground for  a long, long time, before he sees something enter his field of vision. Sigmar’s hand, holding one of the pills he’d made. Rook looks up at him, surprised. “Take it.” Slowly, Rook reaches out and grabs the pill. 

He swallows it quickly, downing it before the taste can manifest on his tongue. Energy floods his body. Though he feels miles better than the day before, he hadn’t realized how much exhaustion still lingered in his body. 

Sigmar grabs a pouch, presumably holding the other pills in it, and holds it out to him. Rook reaches for it, but Sigmar pulls it back. “I’ll help you on one condition.” Rook stares at him, but says nothing. “If your condition worsens again, I’m telling the party. And if you’re in your right mind, you’ll be telling them too.”

Rook’s shoulder slump in defeat. He needs the medicine desperately. He looks down at the floor again as he says, barely louder than a whisper, “Fine.”

Sigmar places the pouch in his hand and turns towards the door. “The rest of the party will want to see you.” 

As he reaches the door, hand on the knob, Rook speaks. “Thank you.” The words are quiet, but genuine, tinged by the weight of Rook’s desperation. Sigmar’s hand hesitates on the doorknob, but he doesn’t reply or turn back before he opens the door. As he walks off down the hall, Rook can hear him calling out to the party, “Rook’s awake.”

[flow2024]

I wish you would write a fic about irreconcilable artistic differences on a movie set between Joe and Nicky.

not really irreconciliable as in not solvable at all but you know i had fun with this

Joe squeezes his eyes shut, covering his face with both hands, and leans forward. His shoulders tremble uncontrollably. He takes a short, sharp breath, and another, and another, but he can’t quite seem to get enough into his lungs. There’s a lump in his throat and a weight in his stomach. He leans forward with a low, wounded sound and–

“Cut,” Nicky says softly. Then, because it takes Joe a second to hear him: “Joe, stop.”

Slowly, Joe raises his head. Wipes at his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. Nicky’s already up, frowning ever so slightly as he looks at the camera. 

“What is it this time?” Joe manages. His voice is hoarse; he has to clear his throat once or twice. Nicky doesn’t look up. The clock on the nightstand reads 01.34, but Nicky’s changed it a few times over the course of the shoot. He has no clue what time it really is, only that it’s dark outside.

It’s just the two of them in the room. Nicky had wanted to keep this one small, just him and Joe and the camera. The apartment they’re in is nice, if a little empty, though Joe supposes that’s the point. They’re in the bedroom, Joe sitting cross-legged on the bed, shirtless, sheets bunched up over his lap, a phone lying on the nightstand behind him. One entire wall of the room is taken up by a floor-to-ceiling window which lets the moonlight in, though there’s a few low lights set up behind Nicky to send bars of silver light across the bed, because the natural light hadn’t quite been strong enough for the effect Nicky wanted. It’s otherworldly; it’s beautiful. 

Nicky still isn’t looking at him, so Joe says again, “What?” It comes out a little harsher than he means it to, but it gets Nicky’s attention.

Nicky runs one hand through his hair. Joe can’t see him well, not with the light behind him and the shadows in the room. “I don’t know,” Nicky says. “It’s missing something.”

Joe has worked with Nicky enough times before. It’s not that he doesn’t like working with him - they’re friends - but he can’t fucking read him, and so after the sixth take of the same scene he can’t help but take it a little personally. 

Joe reaches for the bottle of water hidden just under the bed and takes a long drink, mostly to keep himself from snapping. What time is it? “I can try again, but I can’t do this indefinitely, Nicky.”

“I know, I know,” Nicky says, fidgeting again with the camera, “it’s not you, it’s just–” 

“What else could it be?” Joe interrupts. He’s not stupid. This scene doesn’t work if he can’t get it right, which means the entire film doesn’t work if he can’t get it right. More than anything else, this one depends on him. No music, no camera movement, no dialogue, nothing but him and the camera. And he wants to do it right, he loves this project almost as much as Nicky does, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest and he’s spent the last however-many-hours having a near-complete breakdown over and over again and it’s still not right. And Joe doesn’t know what it is he’s doing wrong.

“I don’t know,” Nicky says quietly. Now he is looking at Joe, and Joe can’t tell if he’s disappointed, or angry, or – or what. He’s perfectly expressionless, as always. 

Joe loves this job. And he wants to get this right. But it doesn’t mean it’s not one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, and he’s tired.

“I don’t have much more left in me, Nicky,” he says, and this time he does snap. He wipes at his eyes again, can’t look at Nicky. He’s supposed to be making himself vulnerable, above all in this scene, but suddenly he can’t stand the way Nicky’s looking at him. “Pass me my hoodie.”

“Joe–”

“I can’t. I can’t keep doing this.” He kicks the sheets off and gets tangled trying to do it, grabs his hoodie when Nicky offers it, pulls it over his head in one fluid motion and gets out of there as soon as he can. Thankfully, there’s only Andy and Nile in the other room, Andy lying back on the couch with her feet up and Nile perched on the arm of it. They both look up at Joe as he enters, both look like they’re about to ask, and Joe can’t stand it, can’t be in here a second longer, can’t–

“We are done for the day, I think,” Nicky says behind him, startling Joe. He hadn’t realised Nicky was there.

Andy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. It’s already the second day of trying to shoot this scene: they’re running the risk of falling behind schedule. 

“We’ll find something else to do tomorrow,” Nicky says. “I’ll look over everything tonight. We will try this again on Monday.”

Andy and Nile look at each other. Nile shrugs. 

“Get some rest, Joe,” Nicky says. 

Joe shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t say a word.

–--------------------------------

He doesn’t get called in the next day at all, and he doesn’t interrogate it too closely. Takes the day off, pretty much, because they’ve only really got one scene left to film, and there’s not much more he can do for that. Nicky had wanted to leave it to the last, and Joe had agreed, at the time.

At about nine pm, someone knocks on his hotel room door, which is unusual on a day where they don’t have a night shoot to do. When he opens it, Nicky is on the other side. Joe lets him in without a word. 

“I wanted to apologise,” Nicky says, standing in the middle of the room and looking as uncomfortable as Joe’s ever seen him. “For last night. I was pushing you too hard, and I should not have done.”

Joe closes the door behind him. Nicky fidgets with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Sit down,” Joe says. 

Nicky does, settling himself on the edge of Joe’s bed, not quite looking him in the eye. Joe joins him, after a moment. 

“At the risk of sounding cliche,” Nicky says, “it’s not you, it’s me.”

Joe laughs, mostly because the phrase sounds so strange coming from Nicky and also because out of everything he’d thought Nicky might say, he hadn’t expected that. 

Nicky smiles slightly, too. Then he gets up and heads for the minibar. “Mind if I have a drink?”

Joe shakes his head. Nicky gets out a little bottle of wine, glances at the label, and takes a swig straight from the bottle without bothering to get a glass. 

“I can’t seem to get it right,” Nicky says. “You know I wrote almost fifteen different versions of that scene?”

The scene in the script itself is barely a page long. “No,” Joe says. 

Nicky nods. Rubs a hand over his face. “I wanted it to feel real. I thought if I could get it right, it would… help, somehow. I don’t know.”

It’s the exact same reason Joe said yes before he even read the script, when the whole thing was just an idea in Nicky’s head, when they were talking about it over drinks at Andy’s and Joe was in love with the idea almost immediately. He knew exactly why Nicky was writing it; he knows, now, exactly why it needs to be right. But at the same time – “I don’t know if that’s possible, Nicky.”

Nicky sighs. “I know.” He crosses back over to sit beside Joe again, takes another drink from the bottle. “But there is something missing, and I cannot seem to find it. And so it does not feel real. And I know this is not easy for you.”

“It’s not,” Joe says plainly. 

“But you know,” Nicky continues, “I could not have trusted anyone with this but you. If you had not said yes, I would not have done this.”

That, Joe didn’t know: he knows he’d been Nicky’s first choice, but he’d assumed that’s because they know each other well enough already. But it makes sense: the reason Nicky wrote the script is the same thing they’d bonded over. 

Even still, it’s a lot. “I don’t know if I can do it the way you want,” Joe says. 

Nicky looks up at him from where he’s been running his fingers over the label on the bottle absentmindedly. “If you want to stop, I can–”

“No,” Joe says quickly. “But I don’t think it’s ever going to be exactly the way you felt.”

Nicky looks away. “It is a lot to ask,” he says. “I know this.”

Joe doesn’t think; just reaches over and takes Nicky’s hand. “I know,” he says. “Trust me.”

Nicky takes a deep breath. Then he nods. "Okay."

[littlelightfish]

I will scream at every non-romantic post I see about these guys. Writers be not afraid. I will love their non-romance fics. I'll blow up your coment section all alone if I have to. I will find you. Artists be not afraid. I will reach tag limit on your artpiece. If I see it at least. And if I don't, I will eventually. Or I'll try. Or @me so I won't fail you.

[julietasgf]

a long time ago I said I was working on a zombie apocalypse au with sejarcus and strabo on a sort of road trip, and I intended it to be a three chapters long work, but I haven't rlly been able to work on it at all. I was revisiting the wip and thought it would be nice to post here what I wrote from it:

The second oldest and clearest memory Marcus Delgado had came with a full name.

And it was Sejanus Plinth.

It had been at the first safety camp where Marcus and his family had stayed. Everything was new. Everything was terrifying. His Ma was one of the only trained health workers at the place, and her position as an aide in the infirmaries had earned them a spot in a section near the medical tents and the makeshift, fragile command centers. In that section, Sejanus was the only other child. They were the same age. And naturally, they ended up growing close.

"Do you want to play with me?" Sejanus had approached him after seeing Marcus sitting on a bench, drawing things in the dirt with a stick. "My name is Sejanus!"

Marcus was wary at first. His Ma had told him not to trust anyone, anyone. Did that include this boy his age, with big brown eyes, chubby cheeks, and freckles scattered across them? Should Marcus not trust him either? Marcus watched him for a moment, saw the curls falling over his face and the heavy coat he wore. He was holding a stuffed animal in his arms, a lamb. Who had the time to grab a stuffed animal before leaving, before leaving everything behind?

"I have to talk to my Ma first," was what he said before getting up and walking back to the tent where he stayed with his Ma and his sisters, not looking back to see Sejanus's expression.

The truth was, deep down, Marcus hoped his Ma would say yes. That he could talk to this boy, that he could play with him. He missed talking to someone, playing like the world wasn’t falling apart around him. How long had it been since Marcus had played with a kid his own age? How long since he had talked to a boy?

"Sejanus?" His Ma frowned when she heard the name, looking thoughtful that night. "Oh, I know his mother."

"So can I play with him?" Marcus asked, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat.

"I don’t see why not. Just be careful."

Just be careful. Marcus nodded, and the next day, when Camilla and Aurelia were asleep in the tent, the first thing he did was look for Sejanus Plinth in the section of the safety camp where they were staying. It didn’t take long to find him sitting on the ground, humming something to himself as he played with the same worn stuffed animal he had shown Marcus the day before.

"Hi!" Sejanus finally saw him and smiled hopefully, waving with his free hand. "Did your mom say you could play with me?"

"Yeah," Marcus mumbled, sitting down beside him on the ground, and for a moment, he felt like he had forgotten what it was like to play with another child. "My name is Marcus. What are you playing?"

It was with Sejanus that Marcus learned he couldn’t get attached to anyone in a world like that.

They were inseparable.

At eight years old and in the middle of a collapsing world, Marcus had learned to live in fear. But in the hours of the day he spent sitting beside Sejanus, drawing in the dirt, or when they used an old rope to jump, or when they mentioned and retold scenes from the cartoons they used to watch. Marcus liked Sejanus. He liked his laugh, and he liked when Sejanus held his hand to drag him around the safety camp.

"Marcus!" Sejanus would exclaim every time he saw him, even though he saw him every day, and he’d jump toward him to hug him and giggle. "You’re my best friend!"

Looking back, what Marcus had was a little crush on Sejanus Plinth. One time, Sejanus kissed his cheek, and it was like the rest of the world disappeared. Like the undead outside the fence didn’t exist, like they didn’t hear gunshots at night, because Marcus had Sejanus and could hold his hand during their free hours. And that was what mattered, at least in the moments when it was just the two of them walking through the areas allowed by the authorities.

"How did you get here?" Marcus once asked as they lay on the ground, staring up at the blue sky, as if nature hadn’t noticed all the tragedy that had become part of daily life.

Marcus was holding Sejanus’s hand, and at that moment, he didn’t care that his jacket was going to get dirty, and that his mother would surely scold him for it. Sejanus shifted a bit at the question, uncomfortable, and Marcus had never seen him uncomfortable, not with him, and not like that. For a moment, he wondered if maybe he had said the wrong thing. If maybe he had crossed some unknown line in a still fragile friendship.

"Hm..." Sejanus murmured softly, not moving from his spot. "My Ma told me I couldn’t tell anyone..."

Marcus blinked slowly.

No matter how hard he tried to act mature for his age, no matter how hard he tried to act older than Camilla and Aurelia, no matter how many responsibilities were placed on his shoulders, Marcus was still just a child. And children were curious by nature.

"Why can’t you tell?" Marcus asked, out of pure curiosity.

"My Ma said it’s a secret," Sejanus shrugged. "And that it could put us in danger. So I can’t tell you, Marcus. You wouldn’t like me anymore."

In that moment, Marcus almost told Sejanus how he and his sisters ended up there. About how his Ma chose to abandon her patients at the hospital to go get them at school, and that was what made them survive. Marcus found it hard to believe there was anything worse than that. He found it hard to believe anything could change the way he saw Sejanus. At eight years old, Marcus had learned very early that people did bad things to make sure they could survive.

And he couldn’t think of anything Sejanus’s parents had done that was bad enough for Marcus to stop liking him.

"I would never stop liking you," the words left his mouth before he had really thought about what he was saying.

Marcus felt his cheeks heat up. He couldn’t look Sejanus in the eyes to see his reaction, but the truth was that Sejanus was smiling like a fool while still staring at the sky.

"Will you always like me, Marcus?" Sejanus asked, sounding like he was holding back a giggle, and all Marcus could do was nod firmly.

Sejanus sat up, leaned in to kiss Marcus’s cheek, then got up and ran off, laughing, leaving Marcus behind. And Marcus stayed frozen on the ground, staring up at the sky, his cheeks so hot it felt like he had come down with a fever. That’s what his Ma asked when he returned to the tent, worried, checking his temperature with the palm of her hand. Marcus asked himself how he would talk to Sejanus the next day, how he would look into his eyes. Not that he needed to think too hard about it.

That same night, in the middle of the night, his Ma woke him up by shaking him.

"Marcus," she whispered, sounding more nervous than ever. "Get up. Get up, love. We need to go. We need to go now."

Marcus was sleepy. He had always been a heavy sleeper. But there were noises outside the tent, and his Ma looked terrified. That was why, this time, he didn’t take long to sit up and rub his eyes.

"Get your sisters," his Ma whispered.

Only then did Marcus realize the sounds outside were gunshots. And his blood ran cold. It was like he finally woke up.

In the future, he would grow used to the way safe camps would sooner or later fall and face their inevitable collapse. Some lasted longer than others. One lasted around five years, the last one close to the New Mexico border, before his Ma died and the camp crumbled for good. But that night was the first time Marcus felt true despair, the pounding of his heart, and the fear that he might not make it through, whether because of the things that might invade the place or the men with guns who knew no mercy. He never really knew what happened that night, and his Ma always seemed too nervous to talk about it. That’s why Marcus eventually stopped asking questions as they made their way to another safe zone.

Marcus didn’t see Sejanus Plinth after that night, and he believed he never would again in his entire life.

He wondered if Sejanus Plinth was even alive.

Until now, as he cleaned the wound on his leg.

"Marcus," Sejanus’s eyes had lit up when he asked his name, and all Marcus could do was whisper back. "Marcus... Delgado...?"

Marcus nodded.

Sejanus turned, staring wide-eyed at a tall man who watched the scene with a stern look, his hands never letting go of the shotgun. Sejanus swallowed hard, and Marcus figured maybe he should be afraid, too.

"Pa," Sejanus murmured. "Please. Please."

The man, whom Marcus assumed was Sejanus’s father, grunted. He ran a hand down his face. Maybe he didn’t have the patience to deal with this kind of situation right now. Maybe he thought it would’ve been better to shoot Marcus earlier. But Sejanus looked on the verge of tears, and the man himself looked exhausted. None of the three had the energy to do anything, anything, but give in.

"We stay here tonight. Not a day more."

***

Marcus couldn't remember spending much time around survivors who weren’t his mother and sisters. And he preferred it that way. So did his mother.

"You can't trust people," his mother had said since the beginning of the apocalypse, patiently braiding Camilla’s hair while Marcus watched from the corner of his eyes. "Listen closely to what I'm telling you, Marcus. A man with a gun is more dangerous than any of those things out there."

And Marcus believed her. He always had, because it was men with guns who caused the collapse of safety camps.

Not the invasion of creatures.

It was the first time he was surrounded by other people, but he was too tired to even consider how wrong this could go. And of course it could go wrong. Marcus hadn’t seen Sejanus Plinth in at least... ten years? They had been kids. How much do people change? The rational part of Marcus told him it would’ve been better to just ask Sejanus to leave him there. Go away and leave him alone.

The other part of Marcus was desperate for company.

He was afraid of dying alone.

He was exhausted from the past few days.

And that’s why Marcus was now sitting around a makeshift fire built by Sejanus’ father, while Sejanus himself sat next to him, checking his foot as if Marcus were an ally. As if he were an old friend.

There was no way Sejanus could trust him that easily.

"What happened?" Sejanus was the first to say something in the terrifying silence of the mall.

His voice was barely a whisper, and yet, it echoed like a thunderclap through the shopping center. Marcus felt a shiver run down his spine and tensed at the idea that another one of those creatures might appear, but nothing happened. He wanted so badly to believe they were safe, but the truth was there was no place where they were truly safe. None.

Sejanus seemed like he wanted to say more, to ask more questions, but maybe he thought Marcus wasn’t willing to talk. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

"I came into the mall to try and find shelter for the night," Marcus grunted in a low voice, and even the sound of his own words gave him a headache.

"That’s not what I mean," Sejanus said softly, looking at him with those same big eyes as always, as if afraid of what his own words might stir.

And Marcus knew what he meant.

His mother. His sisters.

"I'm heading west," he said without meeting Sejanus' eyes, giving no real detail. "I heard there’s a camp near the border."

Sejanus’ eyes seemed to light up and he blinked.

"We're heading west," Sejanus said, pointing to himself and his father.

Sejanus’ father. For a moment, Marcus had forgotten he was there, watching them like a guard dog ready to attack at any moment. His hands never left the shotgun. He frowned for a second at Sejanus’ words, his eyes hardening.

[soggy-fishsticks]

guys ive been drawing so much lately I've been starting to actually hate it 🙁

[itspileofgoodthings]

thinking about how sometimes I cannot extroverted-bear to Not Be Noticed immediately and positively in a group setting and other times I love to blend into the furniture like you’ve never seen before.

[thepreciouspurrsian]

So I innocently dove a bit deeper into our AC fandom (like some reckless initiate) and guess what I found in the deepest darkest layers of our fandom?? Not wisdom. Not peace. Just existential dread and a pile of questionable MAIN headcanons confirmed by AC Mirage and Valhalla author-gods themselves!!!! By the roots of Yggdrasil… what in the nine realms were you scribbling??!!

I regret to inform you I have seen things. THINGS I CAN NEVER UNSEE 😭😂 I’m now saving the most cursed reblogs (like pieces of Eden) before I report my findings. Stay tuned. It was… shocking and I am not okay. Such an authorized narrative chaos! BASIM, SWEETIE, EXPLAIN YOURSELF. WHAT WAS THAT. Explain yourself before I call Layla to shut this simulation down.

Honestly, it feels like I’ve been desynchronized. I’m going through this mess and there’s no Roshan to save me. See? I’m THIS close to calling the Hidden Ones for emotional support. My sanity’s currently parked somewhere in Asgard and I’m too tired to drink from Valka’s potion.

Nothing is true, everything is… way more cursed than expected. 💀

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent life photos

[act11as]

I have genuinely never had to fully close and re-open an app more than I have had to with tumblr since the new ui update holy fuck it’s absurd

[britishsass]

The Three Adventurers come across a small cabin in the forest after a long day of walking. Graham and Link are happy to see someone willing to help, but Guybrush is suspicious.

Things are definitely not what they seem in this forest, and when his friends mysteriously disappear in the night, that’s what Guybrush is out to prove.

(A dramatic little fic to celebrate the 10th anniversary of @threeadventurers ! Congrats for such an incredible feat, and I sincerely hope that this one chapter is still a nice gift for the occasion :3)

[peak-knuckles-dumbass]

Reverse Sonic Prime AU — Character/Cast List

For context here’s the first post of me talking about the idea of this AU

I’m in the middle of rewriting season 2 and I want to post the complete rewrite of season 1 but I feel like

I have to make a character/cast list first cuz literally all of the New Yoke City, Boscage Maze, and No Place are different except for the Chaos Council and Big (somehow he remains the universal constant lol) AND

I still haven’t seen season 3 so I could still change it based on what I see in it — the same applies to this list honestly so disclaimer: all of this is still up for change until I finish season 3 of Sonic Prime

For the sake of this AU working, I’m saying that Sonic Prime ISN’T canon to the games and that it follows a different continuity from it — think like Sonic Boom or the live action Sonic movies where Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are there but are obviously different from their game counterparts

I’m doing this because I’m adding other canon Sonic characters to the alternate universes as people created by the Paradox Prism to take the places that Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and Rouge left behind by not being shattered — which means they don’t exist in the main universe of Green Hill in Sonic Prime, similar to all of the Chaos Council being made for New Yoke City all of them not existing outside of it

New Yoke City Characters

Like I said, the Chaos Council remain the same, but Rebel, Knucks, Rusty, and Nine are replaced by Blaze, Silver, Ultimate (NewYoke!Shadow), and Sneak (NewYoke!Sonic)

Blaze and Silver take Rebel and Knucks’ place in the story and they don’t have their powers purely cuz they’d be incredibly overpowered if they had them — the Chaos Council would’ve been destroyed day 1 lmao

Ultimate is the New Yoke version of Shadow and takes Rusty’s place in the story, tho he’s gonna have history with Sneak obviously

Sneak is the New Yoke version of Sonic and takes Nine’s place in the story — instead of being bullied like Nine, he used to be part of the Resistance along with Blaze and Silver, but after losing someone close (*cough cough* Ultimate *cough cough*) and his leg in a battle, he leaves and tries to survive on his own

Boscage Maze Characters

Prim, Gnarly, Mangy, and Thorn are replaced by Espio, Vector, Charmy, Prick & Quill (Boscage!Shadow & Sonic)

Espio, Vector, and Charmy obviously take the places of Prim, Gnarly, Mangy — the only thing that’s different is that, unlike Mangy, Charmy can talk

Prick is the Boscage version of Shadow and takes Thorn’s place in the story, shutting the others out for destroying the forest with their greed but going too far and harming the forest himself in his anger

Quill is the Boscage version of Sonic and takes the place of Thorn’s Birdie — he agrees with Shadow about the others’ greed but is also harmed as Shadow gets more and more possessive of the forest — the constant shadow (heh) of the trees blocking out the sunlight makes it is very difficult for Quill to see what’s on the ground in front of him as he runs, making it so he as to crawl just to make sure he doesn’t constantly trip on rocks or vines (also he doesn’t talk cuz I like making Sonic mute + I think it fits his role)

No Place Characters

I completely changed the story of No Place so, while I say that Batten, Black Rose, Sails, and Dread are “replaced” by Mighty, Ray, Fang, Bark, Bean, Fleet & Doom (NoPlace!Sonic & Shadow), they don’t actually fill the same roles

Mighty and Ray technically take the place of Batten, Black Rose, and Sails, but that’s only because they are part of Fleet’s crew like how Batten, Black Rose, and Sails’ were a part of Dread’s

Captain Fleet is No Place’s version of Sonic and technically takes Dread’s role, his struggle isn’t that he doesn’t want to pirate anymore, but his constant battles with his nemesis

Captain Doom is No Place’s version of Shadow and is Fleet’s nemesis — both of them have half of a map to the Devil’s Lighthouse but refuse to work together to get it because they think the other will steal the treasure for themselves — they battle every day over the map but they’ve never defeated the other

Fang, Bark, and Bean are Doom’s crew of pirates, tho they aren’t very loyal and are tired of Fleet and Doom’s repetitive battles

And that’s all of them for now!! This took a lot longer to type out than I thought, hope yall like my ideas <3

Also if anyone reading this has any of their own ideas for this kind of AU please let me know!!!!!! I’d love to hear about them :]

[unladielike]

...So since reblogging asks hasn't really helped in instigating more interactions on my blog (because I guess people don't really enjoy continuing asks into threads anymore?), I'll be posting a brand new starter call! Anyways, you know the drill. Like this post for a starter and if you're a multimuse, please specify a muse. Oh, and alternatively, if there's a verse you specifically want to request from Vivian, do specify that too; otherwise, I will default to using a more modern, slice of life setting.