Kaz Brekker: hunger games au
  • Kaz is fifteen when he’s reaped, but he’s been training for six years, ever since he saw his brother being murdered on screen by a teenager, ever since Jordie’s lifless body was sent back in a box 
  • he will never forget staring at his brother’s corpse, that moment when what hope remained finally left and something inside him stirred, insisting that someone must pay for this, that his family wouldn’t be hurt like this again
  • while Kaz waits in the Justice Building, the only person that comes to say goodbye is Jesper, and as they share a quick hug Kaz furiously claims that this is not their last meeting
  • he rarely speaks at the Training Centre, and when his stylist tries to dress him up in the most ridiculous garb, he calmly tells her he will not be the laughing stock among the rest of the tributes and to whip up something decent, for Christ’s sake
  • Kaz wonders what a miracle it must be, that his drunken mentor’s liver can still handle that amount of liquor each day
  • thoughts of his dead brother haunt him every night because this is where Jordie slept and ate and dressed and was prepared for slaughter
  • he trains with the other tributes, observing his opponents, deciding which ones are threats and must be put out first
  • once in the arena, Kaz starts taking down the tributes one by one          
  • numerous parachutes fly down bearing gifts when the sponsors realise Kaz is ruthless and didn’t come here to die
  • the residents of the Capitol wait eagerly for the cameras to show Kaz because there’s never a dull moment with him; everyone is talking about Kaz Brekker, the excitement they felt as he bashed a boy’s skull in, how they clung to the edge of their seats during a particularly intense fight
  • meanwhile, the people at home can’t bear to watch: there’s a monstrous gleam in Kaz’s eyes, and with every tribute he kills they know the last Brekker is slipping away even further 
  • he injures his leg during a fight with the colossal girl from Two, and during the times when his leg isn’t almost numb with pain Kaz tracks down what’s left of the tributes
  • every slit throat and snapped neck means he is one step closer to home
  • after he’s won and he’s back home in district 10, the horrors of the arena keep him awake in the strange new bed, and during the few hours of fitful sleep, his brain brings back grotesque memories of when he murdered innocent children 
  • he can’t stop thinking about the families that are mourning because of him, can’t help but think of the siblings that are broken beyond repair just like he was after seeing Jordie being drowned on television
  • Kaz can’t look the Ghafas in the eye because he was the one that killed their daughter, felt her warm blood on his hands and patiently waited for the cannon to sound her death


GOSH i wish i could do better backgrounds … and coatls for that matter anyways, random lore for some dragons rushed into my head after seeing the Spirit of Winter Forest skin. And i ended up drawing this to go along with it. im still not done writing the lore by a long shot, but i did get this little bit done specifically for this under the cut

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SasuSaku Month 2017
Day 4- Lean on Me
Taking Care of You
Summary: Sasuke, Naruto and Boruto have just returned from their fight against Momoshiki. Sakura was waiting for them, and she was ready to take care of her boys.
Her heart was beating faster with every minute gone by with no sign of them. Lungs demanding for air, adrenaline running through her veins and her hands were sweating in pure anxiety, as the pink haired woman was clearly afraid of the unknown. She was terrified, for her boys were still out there— wherever the hell out there was— and yet, she had to keep it all inside because she was not alone on the top of the Hokage tower. There were people around her. Her subordinates, her friends and her daughter, and they were all depending on her strength.

They were all scared. Probably more so than her. They were praying and holding each other’s hands in order to unite forces, as their hope slowly escaped their hearts.

It reminded her of how it felt to watch it all from behind as her comrades risked their lives fighting Madara. When she was left to heal those who needed, while she could only hear the despair from all those scared souls, and when everyone was looking at her as if expecting she would offer them protection and comfort.

Yes, it felt just like the war, again. With all those eyes and that heavy atmosphere, Sakura could feel the weight of the world falling over her shoulders. And just like that time— and during so many others—, when the ones surrounding her started to lose faith, the Uchiha matriarch took it upon herself to make sure no one gave up. Even if she didn’t have answers, and even if she was as lost as all those around her, she had to be strong. No matter what, she was not letting anyone give up on them.

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emily’s eyes better look creepy as shit when she uses dark vision, all dark and outsider-like, maybe with some terrifying glowing yellow pupils thing going on, i hope anyone seeing her do this would run screaming for their life because her eyes are monstrous

anonymous asked:

if you could pick a dream skin to be made for one character from each class (or just one character in general if 4 is too much) what would that dream skin look like for u?

i want a formalwear skin for every hero but besides that these would be pretty cool to see

  • genji: maid outfit or some kind of cute cat-themed skin aw yeah
  • mccree: deadlock!!!!!!!!!!
  • pharah: her in her raptora suit but also in a basketball jersey. nothing else is different.
  • reaper: you know the art with him in lingerie and heels but also with his mask on? absolutely that
  • s76: something like his halloween spray with a Dad Sweater and Dad Reading Glasses
  • sombra: something with a dark robe and a skull mask like we ALL THOUGH SHE WAS GONNA HAVE when we thought she might be a female omnic
  • tracer: ok i know i said formalwear but THIS OUTFIT is so cute on her
  • bastion: a cute pastel/floral/lacy pattern. even just an epic recolour
  • hanzo: besides his reflections outfit, a talon-themed skin would be sick
  • junkrat: BEACHWEAR so he can remain shirtless but have trunks and a snorkel mask. beachwear for everyone would be cool but imagine cleanrat
  • mei: TANG DYNASTY FORMALWEAR you know what i mean
  • torb: whatever the fuck his casualwear is when he’s at home because i doubt he wears his armour in the house
  • widow: practical armour
  • something starcraft/esports-themed with promotional stuff over the MEKA and maybe her team jersey or whatever it is sc players wear
  • orisa: overgrown, like bastion’s, with the flowers and grass
  • rein: a dark souls reference
  • hog: biker outfit complete with leather jacket
  • winston: lab coat outfit for maximum science
  • zarya: you know heavy’s bear hat? bear cape zarya
  • lucio: bard lucio complete with d&d reference voice lines including (please) a vicious mockery voice line. or like, a punk skin where his voice lines are rude just because i want to hear him say ‘this team is shit’
  • mercy: something monstrous/demonic with glowing eyes like possessed pharah and oni hanzo, i think she could use a scary skin because her devil and imp aren’t scary they’re just kind of cute
  • symm: something like this (seriously, formalwear skins when blizz)
  • zen: wearing a robe like mondatta’s, i really liked his outfit. 

missed opportunity: ai!hinata/Izuru’s weird red square aura from dr 2.5 would have looked SOOOOO cool as just… glitching or being less human. like his features blinking from Izuru to Hinata, or leaving a trail of stray pixels, or seeming to Skip Frames when they walk, or occasionally having extra eyes or monstrous characteristics. can. you imagine.

it makes the ai versions of the sdr2 cast being terrified of him much more understandable too. if you were confronted with a human glitch that basically does not look like they belong in this world and crawled out of the uncanny valley, you’d be scared too, right? meanwhile if you saw a normal person with Red Squares surrounding them you’d just assume you’re sleep deprived.

(plus it makes ko’s last stand against him in the construction site so much cooler. like ko’s just standing there calmly talking to this tear in the seam of reality.)

it’s something I have seen literally no one talk about or even headcanon and it makes me sad bc the idea appeals to me so much :(

Scenario: What if the lights went out in the middle of the RFA Party? Featuring Nightblind!MC

Hallo Hallo! I’m the new Admin Bloo~ I’m very excited to be writing from now on! Please feel free to send us any request for headcannons, imagines, scenarios and what-ifs.  No matter how small or big or whacky XD

Note: Nightblindness is caused from a deficiency in vitamin A. While normally, one’s eyes quickly adjust themselves when suddenly put in a dark situation; a nightblind person takes very long to finally adjust, even to the point where they may not be able to see at all. There you go, now y’all have learned something :3

After its long hiatus, the first RFA fundraising party was looking successful. A wide variety of guests had arrived; from wealthy business men to tribal chieftains to high-level players of LOLOL. The press had finally settled down and had taken to interviewing some of these high profile guests. All of the members of the RFA were working diligently to ensure the event’s success.

Until calamity struck. The lights went out~


  • Poor baby screamed a little when the lights go out.
  • And it probably happens when he is in the middle of ushering some scary powerful businessman as well
  • Tries to find MC, Jaehee or really anyone to find out what to do…
  • …Except I can 100% guarantee you that this boi is nightblind too. He can’t see anything
  • Sure he likes to cook and stuff, but does that mean he’ll eat his carrots? No sirreee
  • He is in SUCH A PANIC and SO MUCH FRENZY that he keps knocking into people.
  • Constantly apologizing to everything he bumps into.
  • When the lights come on, he is seen bowing down to a chair/table and furiously apologizing.


  • As an actor, he probably knows to keep his calm in any setback thrown at him.
  • Add to that, his monstrous healing ability…
  • His eyes probably adjust to the fading moonlight through the windows and people’s dim flashlights in like 3 seconds or something.
  • He quickly excuses himself to see what is going on, and how to fix this.
  • Quickly locates mistatrustfundkid Jumin Han and marches up to him.
  • All that money and you can’t even find a proper venue?
  • This man just loves arguing


  • He probably has the calmest reaction to the blackout.
  • Quietly sips his wine, secretly enjoying that slight chaos that has ensued.
  • Makes a quick call to Jaehee to investigate and fix this problem ASAP.
  • He apologizes for the minor setback, and tells the guests that the problem is being fixed right now and can we continue discussing the cat hotel?
  • When Zen corners him, he simply defends himself by saying that he can not account for every possible mishap.
  • Must he be be blamed for anything that goes wrong? Oh yes, because Zen is never responsible for anything.
  • savageJumin


  • I have a feeling she religiously follows through all of her plans to a tee, and prepares for any setback….
  • EXCEPT this one! Because in no way had she expected such a luxurious party hall to be like this.
  • Whips out her phone to turn on the flashlight Jaehee so smart
  • She quickly apologizes and excuses herself to meet with the other members to discuss what is their next course of action.
  • makes a mental note to give the owners a piece of her mind
  • Power walks around the hall and finds Jumin and Zen arguing.


  • As mentioned before, she can’t see anything, even after a few minutes of standing there.
  • Honestly, she is pissed as well. But let’s try to fix this disaster first MC so Optimistic!
  • She waves her arms around her as she tries to navigate herself around the halls.
  • Although there is a ruckus around her everywhere, she tries to follow the very loud arguing going on somewhere around the corner…
  • It takes her a while, but she finally bumps into Jumin, Zen and Jaehee.
  • Literally bumps into Jumin’s back. (Jumin: “I just collided into something soft”) (MC: “Ow! My nose!”)
  • Very quickly notices that 707 is not in this group and points it out


  • Yup, you guessed it
  • He is behind it all
  • Cackles wildy as he flips the fuses
  • Takes a lot of selfies and probably videoes it all happening.
  • He’ll replay it all in slow-motion when he gets back home.
  • Just as he is about to take off, however, the gang (minus Yoosung) shows up in the room and flashes their flashlight at him.
  • Instead of being cornered properly like a good boy, he just slips away and takes off
  • Zen and MC run after him and try to catch him…
  • …More like it’s just Zen because MC ran face first into a wall (owie…)
  • Jumin quickly calls in an electrician and replaces the sparked fuses
  • When the lights come back on, Jaehee forces 707 to go up on stage and apologize publicly as punishment
  • Nooooo Mary Vanderwood 3rd would kill me~~~~~~

~Admin Bloo

Sometimes Rain Falls

A BTS Fanfiction

Type: AU/Alternative Universe

Summary: Sometimes a normal life is a good one to lead; its nice…its easy…
But sometimes, normal isn’t the way that things were meant to be. And when you’re chosen as a possible candidate for one of the kingdom’s 7 princes, life isn’t as nice and easy as you always presumed it to be…especially when you catch the eye of more than one of them…



Chapter 16

TAE-HYUNG - (The night before)

He watched her look around in confusion when she realized he’d disappeared from behind her, grinding his teeth angrily as he watched his brother comfort her in her apparent distress, circling her waist with his arms and burying his face in her neck.

He should be doing that.

The hunger pulls at his jaw, stretching his gums so that his fangs reveal themselves to the midnight air, the usual pain that accompanied them causing him to stumble back in agony, leaves crunching quietly under his feet, and he just about manages to escape the sights of his brother as he lunges back into the darkness. He ends up curled into the wet, cold, earth beneath him, groaning silently as he claws at his jaw, begging the pain to stop as tears leak from his eyes, and blood begins to drip from his gums onto the ground- this being a recent development in his distraught, yet determined, attempt at restraint.

When he finally manages to push the pain back enough to look back up in her direction, she’d gone.

He’d been so close once again…so…infuriatingly…close…

‘What are you doing?’

Its just as he takes a clawed swipe at the ground in his fury that he hears his voice, the question causing Taehyung to snap his head up in his direction and see his older brother languidly resting against a tree, appearing irritatingly at ease, until the smirk he’d been wearing dulls, and Namjoon’s eyes begin to widen as they catch sight of the blood trailing from Taehyung’s lips.


‘Leave me alone.’

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The Desert Sun was Never Cold

There are many stories told of princesses, each described as the most elegant, the most beautiful princess who had ever lived. None of these stories are true, for the most beautiful princess who ever lived is, without a doubt, the desert Princess Sun.

From the moment Sun was born she has been graced with the gift of beauty, her skin is black and pure, her dark hair thick and coiled, eyes so brown you would believe they were born of the earth, and kissed by the sun with flecks of gold.

As Princess Sun grows, so too does her beauty and grace, sun gifted vitiligo on her skin growing and strengthening as she ages. Strangers travel the harsh desert of her homeland just to gaze upon her, and bring gifts to earn her favour. All those who come wish to be the one to receive a royal kiss from the Princess’ own perfect lips.

Sun is kind and gracious, she will offer food, drink and shelter to those who travel to greet her, but never will she offer a kiss. Some will plead and beg, others bargain and bribe, but not a single soul is able to pry the much yearned kiss from the lips of the world’s most beautiful princess.

“It is a silly tradition,” Sun will tell her servants, “A kiss will not heal them of their weariness, a kiss will not fill their bellies or dry their parched mouths. I offer them something they should value far more for their efforts and still they remain stubborn for the touch of my flesh upon theirs. I refuse to take part in such a useless exchange.”

A palace guard risks his life for hers and is refused a kiss, but offered medicine and a life of ease in the palace. A magician saves her people from a frightful Monster of the Sand, she too is refused a kiss, and instead given gold and jewels and rare herbs for her potions. Princess Sun gives only what is deserved and what is needed, she gives generously, her people love her, her people respect her, and yet-

“The Sun is cold,” her people say. “I hear she has never loved, she has never embraced another, never even touched another. She is generous in spirit but she is cold of heart.”

They pity their princess, incapable of love, cursed to be forever alone without a soulmate to complete her. They mean well, but Sun loathes the whispers. She is not cursed, she is not incomplete, but she is lonely.

She is loved by all and befriended by none, those she meet want her kisses, they want her devotion, they want her to bear their children, they do not want her unless they can have her lips or her hand or her womb, all things Sun is unwilling to give.

“I do not understand,” she says to her servants, “I give them all that they need and they ask only for parts of my body. How can my body give them the pleasure of a soft bed, or a fine wine? What pleasures can my body give them that riches and jewels cannot buy? I do not understand.”

Her servants say nothing, they understand the pleasures of the body that Sun has never craved, but these are not things to be spoken of to a Princess.

Things change with the presence of a new visitor to the palace. His pale skin is wrinkled and sallow, face gaunt, eyes sunken and back bent, he appears simultaneously bloated and withered. The servants fetch Princess Sun immediately and she hastens to greet the ill foreigner.

“I have not long in this world to live,” he rasps. “Please, all I ask of you Princess is a kiss, a kiss from your own beautiful lips to ease my pain.”

“Nonsense,” says Sun. “You are not in need of a kiss, you are in need of medicine and herbs and rest. My servants will take you to a room of your own, you will have your own personal healer and food and drink delivered to your bed.”

The old man clutches his chest in pain, “But my lady! I have come all this way at the end of my life just to gaze upon you, and you will not even ferry me to the afterlife with the touch of your soft lips upon my cheek?”

Sun feels pity for the man, in his state she knows he may not last the night, but she cannot accept his request, he is ill and perhaps diseased, were she to kiss him she may become sick herself and she would not risk her own health for the sake of a simple useless gesture.

“I am sorry I cannot grant your request, but I can give you comfort, my most beautiful guest room and the finest foods you can eat. If my healers fail you and you pass into the afterlife this night, you will pass on in luxury.”

In the great arched entrance of the royal palace the hideous old beggar transforms. In his place there is a stunningly beautiful young man encased within a whirlwind of pure light, his hair is like spun gold and the blue of the sky dances in his eyes.

He points a slim, delicate finger encrusted in shimmering jewels at the stunned Princess.

“You believe your wealth to be of more worth to an old dying man than a simple gesture of love and warmth. The Sun of this kingdom truly is cold. You do not deserve the beauty you flaunt in the faces of all those who adore you, those you bring the hope of love and then snatch away in exchange for mere trinkets! You are a heartless beast!”

As the servants cower before this shining Sorcerer in his otherworldly beauty, Sun stands firm. A scowl on her lips and the flare of her namesake in her eyes, she is no helpless waif and she will not be intimidated.

“I offered you comfort and medicine!” Sun’s voice echoes through the halls of the palace. “I offered an old beggar the luxury of passing on in peace with the chance to live another day, a chance to keep his flame alight! Most paupers could only dream of such a way to pass! How dare you liken this gift to a mere ‘trinket’! Were I a princess of any other kingdom I would have granted you your precious kiss and left you on the street to DIE! And yet you call ME heartless?!”

The Sorcerer’s soft, pink lips pull up in a sneer. “I see you will not easily learn your lesson Cold Sun. It will take more than my words to prove to you the meaning of a tender loving touch to one in need.”

“Don’t preach false lessons to me Sorcerer,” Sun spits. “You come into my home a liar, here to steal my intimacy through trickery and now that you’ve failed you claim a higher morality to save your ego. I see right through you Sorcerer, you are no more than a selfish, deceitful, entitled BRAT.”

The Sorcerer’s face hardens in fury, his magic lashing out and twisting around Sun, grabbing at her with golden hands of light, fingers clawing and grasping until not even a strand of the Princess’ dark hair is visible under the blinding light of the strange magic.


As the Sorcerer’s magic peels away, the palace guards and servants look on in horror as a creature unlike anything they have ever seen is revealed in the place of their beloved princess.

Knotted locks of dull, tangled hair covers her large, hulking body, standing on all fours her sharp claws dig into the marble floor as she shakes off the tattered remains of her fine clothing. A ragged tail cuts sharply through the air as Sun rears her head, flicking a matted black mane off of her beastly snout and ghastly twisted horns.

All that remains of the beautiful Princess are the sun kissed markings upon her deformed face, and the bright flecks of gold within the black beads of her monstrous eyes.

The twisted beastly lioness turns to face her servants as they run in terror, pointed ears twitching at the sound of the Sorcerer’s manic laughter. Before she can leap upon him he disappears, leaving in his wake an enormous pulsing heart of molten flame. It hovers in the centre of the palace hall, shifting shape and shooting off tendrils of fire with every beat.

A mocking voice echoes through the palace doors, “If you fail to find someone who will look upon your monstrous form and willingly place a kiss to your beastly snout before the heart grows cold, then, and only then, will my spell be broken. It is your turn to yearn for a tender touch that will never come.”

Sun roars. She roars in anger, she roars in despair, she roars in outrage at this unfair curse undeservingly placed upon her. She has no lesson to learn, she has done nothing but show kindness and generosity to all who graced her halls, and still it is not enough, it has NEVER been enough.

She refuses to be punished for the greed of the Sorcerer, she refuses to bow to his whim and search for one who will kiss her, she has never wanted such things and this new beastly form will not change that for her now.

If she is to be this way forever, so be it.

Her servants quickly abandon the palace, guards blockade the front gates to keep the monster inside. Sun knows that she could easily jump the outer walls but she thinks better of it, her people are terrified of her, her presence would insight only violence and panic among them. She stays inside the palace, wondering what to do next, she no longer has a village to run, no diplomats to meet, no treasury to organise, no future to plan for.

Sun cannot remember a time where she had so little to do, so she sleeps.

Her claws tear up the fine silken sheets and her heavy mass collapses the bed frame, but she hardly notices once she lays her great maned head down to slumber. Sun does not dream, the fate of her village and her people does not come to her mind, all of her stress and worries simply melt away, but she cannot sleep forever.

When she wakes and finds herself unable to grasp the calming nothingness of her deep slumber once again, she concedes to the waking world. Lifting herself upon her large legs she walks the palace grounds. She has not eaten yet she feels no hunger or thirst, and so cannot use such needs to distract her, boredom settles upon her quickly and Sun begins her search for entertainment. She avoids the palace entrance, and the large pulsing heart of fire within.

Word spreads through the village fast, “The Princess has become a beast!” they say, “Cursed by a Sorcerer, only a kiss will free her!”

The palace guards stay by the gates for days, they stay as the people flee to neighbouring villages, wishing to keep their children safe from the monster behind the palace walls. The beast makes no move to escape, but every so often the guards will hear the heavy footfalls of the creature shuffling through the gardens and they remain in place. Their princess would have wanted it.

As days pass the village degrades, most left the day the curse was laid, others followed slowly as resources dwindled and looted homes become empty of valuables. The guards are the last to leave, ensuring that no one has been left behind.

Sun wakes one morning to silence from outside the walls. In her boredom she had circled the grounds, listening to the guards chatting outside. She recognised most of them by voice, she had considered many of them friends after all, but her friendship had always been one-sided. She could speak freely to them, but they could never speak freely to her, it had always been that way. Sun will miss listening to them talk casually amongst themselves.

Years pass and the princess swiftly runs out of ways to keep herself occupied and the palace begins to fall apart with neglect, her library is useless to her when her claws tear apart any book she sets her paws on, the gardens become more and more overrun with weeds every day, the once beautiful golden sheen of the palace walls become dulled without regular cleaning. Floors begin to crack under Sun’s immense weight, many narrow doorways are destroyed when she tries to fit through them. Parts of the palace roof and walls degrade quickly from her daily climbs up to watch the sun rise and set over the dunes.

Though she does not require food Sun still eats from the overgrown trees and vines from her once impeccable garden and leaps over the walls to reach the large oasis that her servants would fetch water from to deliver to the castle so long ago. She had never visited the large lake herself before she was cursed, but she now does so regularly, as splashing through the water feels wonderful on her thick, dark fur.

With every year that passes, Sun forgets more and more of her human life as she falls into the nature of a beast, hunting rodents and small critters through the empty streets of the village, sharpening her claws on the remains of sandstone walls. Chasing and pouncing upon the surviving abandoned livestock for sport, eating only out of boredom than any real need for food, more interested in chewing on the bones left behind.

There is hardly a shred of Princess left in the beast that roams the neglected desert kingdom, and the Cold Sun lords over the grounds with eyes of pure gold and a heart that no longer feels.

Until the day comes when a stranger enters her palace.

She is small and weak, young and fragile. Damp from a dip in the oasis but the smell of unwashed clothes and many days of travel still cling to her skin. Sun stalks the malnourished waif through the ruined village, watching as she raids old stalls and homes in search of something. Food? Treasures? The girl’s search leads her to the palace, she climbs over loose stones through a break in the dilapidated wall and enters the great doors.

Sun, focused on the hunt, follows the girl, she forgets that she has not been inside the entrance hall in many many years, she forgets why she has been avoiding this place for so long, she forgets until she looks upon the great heart slowly pulsing in the centre of the room. Every beat sends a weak tongue of flame flickering through the cracks of the icy skin that has grown around it. Heat shimmers below the cold armour, splashing the walls with eerily beautiful patterns of light.

Sun remembers.

The Sorcerer, the curse, her Palace, her people. Sun is a princess, Sun is a leader, Sun is a woman who cares deeply and gives generously. Sun is not a beast, Sun is not cold like the heart before her. Sun is not cold. Sun is NOT cold.

“Sun is not cold.” her great, gravelly voice echoes through the chamber.

The ragged girl, entranced by the heart before her, quickly turns to find she is not alone. Sun can see the fear on her face, she can smell it in the air, it sickens her.

“Do not be afraid child.” Sun sits on her haunches, tail sweeping lazy across the grand marble floor. “I mean you no harm.”

“You are the Great Beast,” the girl says. “I believed you to be a story, a legend to frighten away thieves.”

“Are you a thief?” asks Sun.

“No! I am not here to steal treasures! I simply seek shelter from the harsh desert winds.”

The girl’s skin is rough, her eyes and lips are red, chapped and raw, but there is also hunger in her narrow emaciated face. Sun knows it was not merely the promise of shelter that brought her here.

“Did not the temptation of my lush gardens draw you in? Did you not hope to find food behind the palace walls?”

“I had no intention of theft Great Beast! I did hope to perhaps find food in your garden, but now I know this garden has not been abandoned, and so I will not take from it. Unless you would allow me? I have little to trade but I will give you everything I have for a night’s rest and a full belly.”

Sun thinks. She thinks of the curse and the girl and a trade. A kiss on her beastly snout for a night of rest and respite. The heart is close to frozen, she has little time left, it is a fair trade is it not?

Sun shakes her wild mane in disgust. Never in her life has she asked a price for food and comfort, she has given freely to all those in need who have graced her halls, she refuses to change now. Curse be damned. The Sorcerer’s magic heart can grow as cold as the lands of the far north for all she cares, for her own heart will always be warm as the desert sands, warm as the great celestial being she was named for.

Sun does not need a kiss to prove so.

“The palace and gardens are yours to roam at your leisure, the garden’s spoils and the water of the oasis are yours to gorge yourself on as you please. I need only look upon you to see that you have lived a life of poverty and pain, so know that for as long as you remain here, you will be cared for. I will give you all that you need, child.”

The girl’s face is clear with suspicion. “Do you intend to fatten me up to eat me?” she asks.

Sun laughs, a mighty roar of a laugh that sends the short, black hairs on the young girl’s neck standing straight. Her blazing eyes soften to a comforting dark brown, only subtle flecks of their previous gold shining through.

“Child, of food I have plenty. Of company, I have only you.”

The girl, though still weary of the beast, does not turn up her nose at the generous offer. She feasts upon the sweet fruits of the garden, returns to fill her water-skin at the oasis when it runs dry, and the Great Beast simply sits and watches, leaving her side only once to return with the leg of a large, hoofed animal for her dinner. The young girl sleeps in the most comfortable, luxurious bed she has ever laid eyes on that night, pleasantly surprised to find that she has not been eaten in the morning.

The girl does not leave the next day as planned, never has she been so comfortable and well fed, never has she had such a pick of fine, though dusty, clothes to wear, never has she had someone look over her with such generosity and care.

“If the Great Beast truly wishes to fatten me up and eat me,” she thinks to herself, “perhaps I won’t mind if it means living my last days like this.”

The girl does not merely spend days living alongside the Great Beast, she stays a much longer time. Every day she wakes fearing her generous host less and less, she passes time telling stories of her travels, the places she’s seen and the many languages she speaks. For a girl so young she has been through so much, and she is grateful to have a place to rest and feel safe.

“My name is Acacia.” the girl says one night as she lays against her friend’s great black hide, decorating her mane with tidy, twists and braids.

“You may call me Sun.” the beast says in return.

During daily visits to the lake they both romp and play in the water, splashing and roughhousing before drying off in the desert heat. Acacia helps Sun brush the clinging sand from her fur, and in return Sun will lick the sand from Acacia’s own short locks of hair.

Acacia spend the years teaching Sun the many songs and rhymes she has learned in all her languages, Sun teaches Acacia how to hunt and track and kill large prey. The two run together through the dunes, chasing the wind and challenging the sandstorms, for they know that no force on this earth can take them down when they ride together.

One day Acacia ask, “How is it that you became a beast? Stories tell of a curse, that you were changed for being cold of heart, but I can hardly believe such a lie about one so warm and loving.”

“Those who hold magic are not always deserving of their power,” says Sun. “The curse is what froze my heart dear Acacia. It is you who reminded me of it’s warmth again.”

“Is it true you can be saved with a kiss?” Acacia asks. “You have done so much for me, if a kiss is what is required to end your curse I will gladly give it.”

“Thank you my child,” says Sun as she bows her great head. “But I have no reason to return to my mortal form. My spirit has grown too large for the skin I once wore, and to accept a curse as a gift is a greater insult to a Sorcerer than playing his game and breaking it.”

Sun laughs to herself and nuzzles the young girl’s hair with her great snout, Acacia responds with a scratch behind her friend’s large ear, she does not ask about the curse again. The flames within the magical heart flutter with one last beat before finally succumbing to the icy cold of the Sorcerer’s spell.

Sun, enveloped by the warmth of Acacia’s love and friendship, does not even notice.

In time Sun knows her friend will grow old and pass away, but they have many many years to spend together before such a tragedy befalls her, and in that time Sun hopes that others will come to the old palace, others who may be seeking food and shelter. They will find all that they need here in this forgotten desert village, as they always have and always will, because despite what all the stories say;

The desert Sun was never Cold.

oh my god this is so long I’m so sorry but the tumblr app dOESN’T LET YOU USE READ MORES AND I WROTE IT ON MY IPAD AAAA

*cough* so here’s my spin on aromantic, asexual Beauty and the Beast, take care to notice my own aro ace ass projected literally everywhere and also my love for giant monsters mothering tiny humans, also changed the working title from The Cold Sun because The Desert Sun was Never Cold resonated stronger with me 😎👌✨

Sun’s looks are loosely based on Canadian model Winnie Harlow, (vitiligo yo it’s gorgeous) the setting is loosely based in North Africa, you can basically assume everyone but nobody’s-favourite-blue-eyed-blond-haired-asshole-Sorcerer are POC

Sun’s beast form is like a huge mix between a lion and a Tibetan Mastiff and I want to cuddle her SO MUCH and Acacia you will be braiding that mane all fucking day if you aren’t careful there is a lot of hair to work with and Sun will just sit there and let you do it

man but yeah, I wanted this story to highlight the importance of not assuming asexual people are unfeeling robots, and how we need love and attention just as much as any other person, we just don’t need the sexual and/or romantic kind of love and attention, and that doesn’t make us cold or selfish and ngl we are all secretly giant lions on the inside don’t tell anyone

House Call, Part 2

The detective sauntered down the concrete alleyway, as his protégé tread with a light step behind him. Eyes felt something, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. Was that… Music? He could feel the abrasive beat against his chest, a bass level unrivaled by wasteland technology.

Fish rapped his knuckles against the steel door with a metallic echo, and almost instantly, the slat in the door opened and a deep voice emanated from behind the passage

“State your business” it said

“It’s Fish, V expects me.” Fish answered, Eyes  genuinely terrified of what could possibly lurk behind that door.

The voice spoke in a foreign tongue to its comrades, and turned back to the opening in the doorway

“He’s in the back.” It said, slamming the slat back shut. The unmistakable sound of latches and bolts unlocking could be heard from the other side of the door, and opened inwards for the two of them. The music was considerably louder inside, and shook Eyes to the core on every beat. It was some sort of gangster rap music, but in a language unknown to Eyes.

The voice was revealed to be a four-armed monstrous man with hands like wrecking balls. He wore a white tank top over his hulking muscle structure, and upon further examination, had rock-like shards spreading across his entire body. Marked on his shoulder was a tattoo of a triangle with a single eye in the center.

Fish and Eyes entered the building, which elicited the slight glance from a few menacing , but nothing serious. This alone was enough to startle Eyes, who sidestepped behind Fish who was busy lighting a cigarette. Fish stepped forward towards a large wooden bar, once a glorious altar to friends and drunks alike, the dark oaken bar was now a lively spot for anyone with the coin and a willingness to step above the law.

Fish, a regular drinker as Eyes had observed, mounted a worn leather and wood barstool, surely seeing its fair share of late nights.

“Fish!” A voice called from the left. Eyes, still contemplating whether to sit or not, looked up immediately to see a man, well dressed in white and black. His body was truly nothing more than a white circle with arms and legs and a single monstrous eye in the center of his torso.

Fish looked up to meet the circular stranger’s gaze, and his face perked up a bit

“Cuz, long time no see. It’s been a while lil’ guy, how’s the bar?”
“Not too bad” Cuz responded, his eye slowly shifting to meet Fish’s thousand-eyed comrade. “What’s the deal with your tagalong? Witness Protection? Suspect of a crime? Someone kill his family?”
“Business. None of yours actually.” Fish responded sternly.
“Well jeez, pal. Didn’t mean to get you all rough in the gills. Let me make it up to you.”

Cuz pulled a roughly marked glass bottle with a dark liquid inside of it and poured some into two glasses.

“We square?” Cuz asked, sliding one of the glasses across the bar to Fish.

“Sure.” Fish replied  

“Listen Cuz, you’re my favorite barkeep, but I’m not here for the rotgut. Not today, at least. We’ve got business with your brother.”

Eyes stood beside Fish contently and nodded as if to back up his point.

“Alright, I get it. You come by for the first time in weeks and you don’t want to have a drink with ol’ cuz. No worries mi amigo, I love you too.”

“Let’s not get all offended here, I’ll be back for that drink, don’t worry.” Fish reached into his coat pocket and dumped a small pile of coins which Cuz quickly slid across the bar and funneled into a glass container. He got off the stool and looked at eyes, waving a finger to motion for him to follow. Fish and Eyes walked across the bar, ducking past patrons far larger than the two of them combined.

In the back of the bar, a tall ornate maroon door stood in a golden frame, guarded by two of the larger well dressed patrons. One looked down at the duo, and stepped aside allowing them entry. Fish promptly opened the door as Eyes examined what lie behind it. Realizing that some no one larger than him was in the room beyond, Eyes sped through the ten foot door frame eagerly.

The room beyond was the cleanest, most luxurious display Eyes had ever seen, the carpets were stainless, monogrammed with a “YV” patterned across the area of it, shining pillars rose from ceiling to floor, standing spotless and shined, and a gigantic golden chair stood behind a desk that appeared to have been polished every day for a thousand years.

The chair began to swivel slowly, and the occupant was revealed. On the cushion sat a triangle, he was simply that. Nothing more than a triangular body with a single eye and limbs. He wore a white pin-striped suit and a shining gold revolver at his side. He sat up in his chair and placed his hands on the desk.

“Fish. Thank you for coming. Your associate as well.” The figure said, his eye studying the two of them.

Fish took a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it promptly. “What do you have for me, V” He said, busy taking his first drag.

“First things first, it seems you owe me an introduction to this one.” V said, gesturing towards Eyes

“Right, right. This is the kid I’ve been keeping around. I just call him Eyes, shouldn’t be too hard to see why” Fish said, chuckling at his own joke.

V forced a laugh, then met one of Eyes’ many stares. “You know who I am, boy?”
Eyes shook his head nervously, wondering if he should

Fish turned to Eyes “This is Yung Venuz. Head of the Venuz gang, a legitimate businessman who has often been wrongly accused of revolutionary crimes.”
Venuz laughed, this time legitimately.

Eyes’ stare widened, now realizing the caliber of criminal he was dealing with. Venuz, not nearly as physically threatening as any of the mutants in the bar was the mastermind.

“Look at the kid, you scared him I think” Venuz said, forcing words between laughs. “Come here, kid, I’ve got something to show you” Venuz dismounted his chair, and Eyes waited for the sound of his feet to hit the ground, but it never came. As Eyes walked across the room, he soon realized that not only was this the criminal mastermind of the city and beyond, he could levitate.

Venuz pulled open a drawer of his desk, inside it were more revolvers than Eyes had ever seen in his entire life. The boss picked one up, inspected it, and held it towards eye, handle out.

“Take it kid, you’re going to need it if you’re working with this guy” Venuz said, gesturing backwards to Fish.

Eyes slowly and reluctantly grabbed the handle of the revolver. He felt its weight, which was a surprising realization, as he had never held a weapon in his life.

“Well, seems like you owe me for that gun then, right?” Venuz asked

Eyes looked up from the firearm immediately, staring nervously at Venuz.

“Looks like you’re tagging along on the job then.” Fish said “So what is it, V? Someone get shot again?”
“I wish, my friend. But this one is a bit uglier.” Venuz walked over to a maroon and gold wardrobe along the wall. He sorted through various sizes of an identical uniform consisting of a black dress shirt and pants, white vest and white armband with a logo of Venuz on it. He pulled two sets from the closet and closed it back up.
“Someone’s been stealing from our supply posts in the desert. My boys don’t usually get put on the outposts without a clearance to shoot anyone who isn’t one of us, so you two are going to need these.” He tossed each of them a uniform.

“I don’t have the slightest damned clue what’s happening over there, but I need two out there who aren’t one of mine.”
Fish inspected the uniform “White isn’t really my color, V. But hell, it’s a job.” He stretched his hand to Venuz who accepted his shake.

“I want you two out there as soon as you can, I’ll have a map drawn for you. You have my clearance to shoot the bastard when you find him.” Venuz said

Fish took a drag from his cigarette, and met Venuz’ eye.
“We’ll find him, V.”

The two shook hands, and Fish turned, uniform in hand. Eyes, still distracted by his revolver, looked to see Fish leaving and ran after him.

“Let’s go, kid. And don’t shoot anybody til’ we get there.”

You’re Alive


Blood rushed loud and fast through Ed’s ears, yet he felt clammy, cold, like he was standing in a refrigerator. Not that this place was well insulated. Not that this place had much of anything to recommend it. But the cold hadn’t bothered him until the disconnect between the deafening roar in his ears and his complete inability to feel anything other than… cold.

How are you alive?”

A sneer flickered into Oswald’s expression. But his eyes didn’t change. They looked… like Ed had never seen, lit and yet hollow. They bored into him relentlessly. His mouth creaked open to speak. “You’re a lousy shot.” His voice cracked, as if he hadn’t spoken in a month.

“I pushed you in,” Ed countered, reliving the moment, reliving the blood, the shock, the silky touch of Oswald’s clothes before he let go, “to make sure.”

A strange crackling sound came from Oswald’s throat. It might have been a laugh. It was hard to make out any sounds over his pulse.

“Well then, you didn’t try very hard,” Oswald’s voice was gaining strength, “I warned you. I told you, killing me would be like killing no one else.” He raised his hand to gesticulate.

“Because everyone else stays dead!” He must be shouting, his head was ringing. But it was so hard to hear.

“Next time, do the job right!” Oswald hissed, wringing his hands around the bars until his knuckles turned white. “You wanted to kill me, you should have done it properly!”

He stared straight back into the emptiness of Oswald’s eyes. “Yes. I should have.”

Oswald’s teeth ground to a stop. There was no sound again. His eyes… his monstrous eyes wouldn’t change. The blackness in them was ravenous, sucking Ed in. He could not escape. He’d be drawn into the wells of Oswald’s eyes and drowned there.

Neither of them said anything. Distantly, the blood in Ed’s head brought forth the lapping of waves. The water had accepted Oswald whole, splashing up to take Ed too if he chose to join. For the faintest of seconds, he remembered wanting to follow Oswald into the water.

“Why couldn’t I kill you?” he muttered, half-unaware he was talking again.

The sudden, ragged sound of Oswald’s breath brought him up sharp. He saw, now, that Oswald’s face was creased by pain and his arm, outstretched again, was swinging ineffectually between their cells.

That was not an answer. But as he looked at Oswald, pressing tenaciously between the bars, he saw that Oswald had no answers. Anger boiled in him again, rising to the surface. He could feel it in the grit of his teeth and the heat of his breath.

Oswald’s arm hung there, uselessly, between them, perpetually reaching out. It was not for lack of trying that Oswald had no answers for him.

Ed turned on his heel, looking at anything other than Oswald for the first time since he arrived. Behind him, he heard thrashing, scrambling, and weak, whining whimpers as Oswald’s hunger tore at him. Ed did not reply. He folded his arms across his chest, brought a hand to his lips, thinking.

Oswald was still alive because he had failed to kill him. Whatever else happened, whatever machinations brought him here, he was only enabled to come because he was alive. Because Ed had failed.

You need me, Edward Nygma. Just as I need you.

There is no Ed Nygma without the Penguin.

“The Riddler.”

Ed dropped his arms. His shoulders straightened. Slowly, he turned back over his shoulder to look at Oswald.

“That’s what you call yourself now, isn’t it?” Oswald’s hands were white-knuckled around the bars again. He tilted his head back slightly, trying to use the low light to get a good read of his face. Ed took a half-step closer, turning fully toward him.

“It’s… who I am now,” Ed muttered.

“…it’s a terrible name,” Oswald sniffed.

Ed started to smile. “So was the Penguin.”


(Someone asked for prison cell fic and asked to be tagged in it, of course I can’t remember who now, but I think it was @kingsofgotham? ^^; let me know if I’ve miss tagged!)

Head of the Young Bacchus


c. A.D. 1 - 50

On view at The Getty Villa in Malibu

“The final secrets of existence and non-existence transfix mankind with monstrous eyes… Here there is nothing but encounter, from which there is no withdrawal… Because it is the god’s nature to appear suddenly and with overwhelming might before mankind, the mask serves as his symbol and his incarnation in cult. The mask has no reverse side. ‘Spirits have no backs’, people say. It has nothing which might transcend the mighty moment of confrontation. It is the symbol and the manifestation of that which is simultaneously there and not there: that which is excruciatingly near, that which is completely absent – both in one reality.”

- Walter F. Otto, “Dionysus: Myth and Cult”

For the record, I adore OT3s. It takes a particular combination of personalities before I’ll buy in, but once I do, I’m pretty much ride-or-die. 

In WTNV, Cecearlos was my jam. I have yet to be sold on anything for the Juno Steel stories, just because Juno strikes me as so very monogamous (and the most likely candidate for an OT3 explicitly stated that she was not about to put up with such things).

This one, though? This one I can totally get behind.

My big question is what we’re going to name this ship? Darilla? Scaly Bouquet? Anybody got any better ideas?

Keep reading


Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creators!

Imagine: You get captured outside of the goblin caves by Azog, and Thorin’s reaction when he suddenly notices you.

The devilish grin that spread across Azog’s features as himself and his warg stalked towards the company, whom were barely hanging onto a flimsy tree, was truly monstrous. He sneered, eyes burning holes into Thorin’s as a tiny yelp came from behind a section of Orcs.

Thorin’s icy blue orbs widened, fear clouding in them as your bruised figure was thrown before the pale warg. You let out a whimper, in too much pain to fight any longer. You had no energy left to spend.

The guilt in his eyes of not taking care of you, his lover, well enough, quickly evaporated; being hastily replaced with rage as he straightened himself out. “You will pay for this.” Thorin spits, growling ferociously as he charged towards the pale orc named Azog.

Please keep requesting imagines! If you like it, please follow for more.

You sleep like a child
Curled up in your bed
I’d creep into your room
Put my gun to your head
I’ll kiss your sweet lips
gouge out your blue eyes
My monstrous rough fingers
Pushing inside
Whisper sweet nothings and words of true


As the matress soaks red
The deluge from


“the seam of skin and scales”

I am not a woman trapped in a man’s body. This body is no man’s; it is mine, it is me, and there is no man in that equation. And I am not trapped in it. There are a million and one ways out of this body, and I have clung to it, tooth and claw, despite an endless line of people and institutions who would rather I vacate the premises, and have sometimes been willing to make me bleed to convince me they’re right.

This body is mine, and I claim it and its bruises, and it is not a man’s, and I am not trapped here. I have looked leaving my body in the eye and I have said, in the end, hell no. There is too much to do, too much to love, too many who need one more of us to say hell no and help them say the same.
You might not like it. It might be a wrongness to you.

I am done with traps. I am done with the philosophy of traps, and I am done with the feminism of who owns my body for what cause.
It is time for something that tells you that I am here for blood–my blood, the blood of my loved ones, the blood of the people who have battered themselves against my life and found me still here.

It is time for a feminism of the monstrous.

That is this body. That is this me. That is the voice that says get your names off of my parts and your hands off them too, that says stop colonizing my reality and telling me what I mean without listening to a word I say.

What I say may be in a language incomprehensible, but there is a time for that, and it is right now, because this is a monster’s creed. It is for the cobbled-together, the sewn-up, the grafted-on. It is for the golden, the under-the-earth, the foreign, the travels-by-night; the filthy ship-sinking cave-dwelling bone-cracking gorgeousness that says hell no, I am not tidy. I am not easy. I am not what you suppose me to be and until you listen to my voice and look me in my eyes, I will cling fast to this life no matter how far you drive me, how deep, with how many torches and pitchforks, biting back the whole way down. I will not give you my suicide. I will not give you my surrender.

This is for the Lilim, because you forget that the next part after your co-opted icon parts ways with Adam and goes her own way is and she begat monsters, and she becomes terrifying. This is for the Gorgons and the vampires and the chimaeras, for Cybele and Baba Yaga, Hel and Ashtoreth, for Lamia and Scylla, for Kali and Kapo ‘ula-kina'u. This is for all of them with teeth.

It is time to look the monstrous in the eye. It is time. It is time to say that we are beautiful in our fierceness, and that we are our own. We are not the rejected of what we can never be. We are what we were meant to be. We are not pieces of wholes thrown together incorrectly. We are not mistakes.
We are not inferior knockoffs of someone else. If our monstrousness is frightening, then it is time we bare our teeth and draw that fear close to us and stop being so afraid of our fearsomeness that we fear everyone and everything else right back.

I am throwing my head back, here, and saying it: no more being afraid. Hell no. My monstrousness is not a place of shame. It is a strength. It is the power to say I am mine, and I will tell you what I mean. Not you. I am not any thing trapped in anyone’s body. I am tougher than that, and I have plenty of blood to spare in this body of mine, and plenty more miles to go before any of you can bring me to my knees, and I dare you to try.

I am choosing to stay here, and it is mine to choose. And if that means changing shape, if that means putting together the unexpected, that is any monster’s ancient right. It is damn well traditional.
The only ones setting traps are the ones in our way.
There. There’s my teeth. There’s my cause.

Keep kicking: a thousand, thousand slimy things lived on. And so. Did. I.


“the seam of skin and scales”, by the awesome littlelight (sadly no longer active on the internet).

It is time for a Craft of the monstrous, too.

Death is one of four(five sometimes, when Conquest is Pestilence and Pestilence Conquest — but they are distinct separate entities that do not overlap, they are not creases on the same paper — they are not tailored from the same cloth). Their beings were forged in two different stars: distilled from their light, folded into shadows. All of them burn. All of them burn alone.

                                                                       Death burns in pale, sickly tones.

When the Garden was freshly painted, the ink on the canvass not quite set — Death walked his first few steps while flowers leaned away from his touch. He cannot unmake, he is a step lower on the cosmic ladder: he can take what was forged in stardust and ingest it; spit it as ash to ash, dust to dust. (All the Horsemen eat what God created, it is their purpose — sometimes, sometimes they even give the angels knife-carved smiles).

Death does not hate as people understand hate: his is a loathing that is primal, spun in the inside of a black hole where he came into being. There is nothing impartial about the lives he grinds beneath his heel, he takes them all but some of his executions carry with a more vindictive pleasure. And yet his eyes are fixed on the cosmos, aspiring usurpation: if Death could make the world anew, flowers would lean towards him like a second sun.

Death is not an art, though he agrees once with Michael that dying might be. They walk from star to star, because the Horsemen are young — bursts of wild energy, wings, hooves, eyes and eyes and eyes. Monstrous, even by angelic standard. Made that way so they can fulfill their purpose. (Death asks Michael if he thinks God is proud of carving their features, being what they are — a cosmic point split in four equal parts of destruction).

Death and his siblings play hopscotch across galaxies, each footstep leaving an imprint of their essence behind. Nature learned by trial and error; War crushes the planet’s metal core between the roof of her mouth and tongue. Conquest screams the atmosphere down. Famine inhales the remains; throws a tantrum, spits them out.

And Death?

The youngest, out-pacing them all once he understands that his is the talent to End. His siblings rain destruction and he swings the scythe: learns the way to hold his fingers close enough to pinch solar systems and hurl them into the abyss. Not unmade.

Death confesses to Michael this: he wants to unmake, claw the edges frayed by the others with his blackened fingers, eyes obsidian holes spilling tar. He will unmake the world then, lapping it up, strings and tar, ash and dust. A good dream to have while he slumbers beneath Michael’s  grey stare, his heavy hand pressing down the lid of Death’s glass coffin.

                                                                      Death dreams in glass velvet grey.  

— Horsemen & Archangels || Eliot C. © || collaboration with @baratheonrenly

Posts: September 4th

Tropes:  Neighbors AU, Slow Build, Pining, Friends To Lovers, Trapped In Elevator, Sharing a Bed, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Coffee Shops

Summary:  Imagine an old industrial building somewhere in the sunny San Francisco — with all its sixteen flats and sixteen families. (Or friends. Or just roommates. Or, well, brothers.) Imagine the mayhem, the drama, the romance. Imagine a young attractive mechanic named Dean. Did you know he’s pining for the hot neighbour from the loft upstairs? No, not the short and noisy one. I meant his brother, the one with those dreamy blue eyes. Let’s call him Castiel, okay? Imagine Castiel — he is a handsome, young ex-accountant who likes coffee, yoga, and Dean from apartment 3C.

You got all that? Great. Now this is the story of how they got together.

Keep reading for a sneak peek!

Keep reading