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gingerbreadmonsters · 10 months

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reeling

or: i know you better than that.

gn!reader, warnings for major (offscreen) character death as part of the setup, loss of a loved one, extended depictions of grief, implied depersonalisation, delusion but it’s sort of true?, probably one of the most painful things i’ve ever written. hold on - how has this ended up being my contribution to hot boi summer?? takes place post-inversion, based on this post that i made some time ago - you are welcome to check that post out first so you can get the premise if you like! inspired by loretta by the topline addicts. lots of love to the discord girlies and my wonderful gorgeous proofreader @zozo-01, queen of the slick tyre. yes, the binary means something. gone fishing in the river, and you’ll never guess who i saw floating by. gavin counting down the days in just over 2700 words.

Even if it only lasts a day. Or a month, or a year. I want us free of this place.

He’s so hungry.

It’s impossible to tell what time it is, only that it must be mid-morning by now. The sunlight, bright and soft and floaty, streaming through the curtains and shining a warm stripe across the duvet. It’s Saturday. No noise from anywhere else in the apartment, and he’s the only one in the bed.

Yes, that’s it. Mid-morning on a lovely, sunny Saturday.

God, it would be so, so nice to just stay in bed. To just lie here and watch the light move across the wall all day, to curl up under the covers and snooze the day away until he doesn’t have to think at all. To let the world go by without him, to let the time slip away, wash over his ageless face like water over stone. Quiet and painless and the beginning of the end.

He can’t, though.

There’s something he has to do.

He gets dressed in a haze, eyes shut tight, refusing to look down even for a second. A long time ago, he’d have dressed himself with magic, but he’s out of the habit now. Real clothes for a real body, and he’s real, he’s real, he’s real. What’s he wearing? He doesn’t know, but it feels like - it’s just like - it reminds him-

It doesn’t remind him of anything. If he wrenches all of the doors in the apartment open with magic and stalks out of the bedroom half-phased because he can’t face the feeling of touching anything physical right now, then that’s his business.

He thinks about breakfast, and immediately regrets it. Hungry, so hungry - but he couldn’t possibly face eating anything. It would turn his stomach for sure, eating without you. The horrible burning twists and growls inside him, but he grits his teeth and forces it down. It won’t be a problem for too much longer.

There’s no time. He’s got all day.

The walk is long, and that’s good. What’s not so good is the sun in his eyes and the sticky, humid air on his skin, but it’s not like he can do anything about that. One foot after the other, steps numb and quiet on the baking pavement. People pass him as he walks, but he doesn’t really notice them. He doesn’t really notice much, anymore - just a vague fog of awareness that hangs around his body and follows him like a curse.

It would be so much easier, if he didn’t have to know anything. Hollow bones, like a bird. He feels too much, too deeply - there’s not room, to have to know things as well. Would it be okay, if he could just be empty for a little while?

The ache soaks through the soles of his feet, spiralling up through his ankles, his calves, his knees. It’s nothing new. He’s not rifted for weeks now, not even once. A long, long walk, and late morning turns into early afternoon. He won’t leave this plane again, not even for a second.

The road bends around to the left. The wall on that side is taller than him, though maybe not older - the tops of the trees inside riffle gently in the breeze, barely visible over the top of the wall. He’s almost there.

Rounding the corner, and a deep, deep breath. He looks down at his hand, and it’s full. Petals burst into existence, delicate flowers unfurling atop long, skinny stems. Pink, always pink, never white. He doesn’t cry.

DAHLIA CEMETERY & MEMORIAL GARDENS.

He knows exactly where to go.

Gravel crunches underfoot, before it turns to grass as he turns off the central path. The last time he was here was just after it happened. A cold, miserable January day, looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening. Wanting to be alone, and knowing it was true. He’s always looked good in black. Huxley’s hand on his arm, gently pulling him away as the rain began to fall.

He’s not seen them since. He doesn’t know how they’re coping, if they’re coping. Maybe it would be worse if they were. There’s no such thing as coping, when it comes to this.

Mindlessly, he’s aware of the other people here. There’s only a few, dotted around occasionally, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. He can’t even feel if they’re empowered or not, and he doesn’t try to. The thrum of a human’s Core, threads singing with silent existence - he thinks he’d fall apart, right here on the grass, if he let himself feel it.

Something collapses in his chest, tumbling down into the groaning chasm that fills him now. This place, this place. A happy, golden day, not a cloud in the sky as he walks on through the trees and the grass and the graves, and deep inside the rage begins to grow.

Quicker and quicker, left and right and left behind. How dare it be sunny, today of all days - how dare the sky be blue and the earth still turn and gravity pull him down. Don’t they know? Don’t they care? Doesn’t it mean something, anything at all, that he’s doing this - that he’s here, fingers curled tight around a fistful of flowers, come to do the one thing he should never have t-

Honey, I’m home.

There you are.

Here, at last.

Weakly, he smiles, though the world is a little blurrier than it was before, and hides the flowers behind his back. Did you miss me, my love?

Leaves rustle in the breeze. The world gets very, very slightly colder.

Because I missed you. Very much.

He leans in, conspiratorial, whispering like somebody might hear him.

I have a surprise for you.

When nothing happens, he rolls his eyes and sighs, long-suffering as ever. You have to close your eyes, you know. Otherwise, it’s not a surprise.

A thin, delicate bank of clouds, so faint you might not even notice it was there, drifts slowly across the sky. The softest shadow, dappling the trees.

Ready? He pauses for dramatic effect, holding his breath like the secret might spill out of him at any moment, before giving in and presenting the flowers with a flourish. I know you said you like these ones.

It’s true, you had. He doesn’t remember when, and he doesn’t remember why, but he knows it to be true all the same.

I’ll just put them here for you.

Carefully, he bends down and lays the flowers gently against the cold stone. They look even brighter than they did before.

Don’t you think they’re pretty?

Crumbling, crunching, falling away. Long fingers jammed behind aching teeth, prising open the void.

He nods to himself, acquiescing. You’re right. Not as pretty as you.

There’s nobody in sight. The fizzing drone of a champagne headache. It should be raining.

Are you there, my love?

The stone that bears your name does not reply.

Say it. He smiles again, a little more forced this time, and swallows. Say you’re there.

The breeze is getting stronger. It’s alright, baby. You can tell me.

Beneath his feet, the earth trembles - or maybe that’s just him, tumbling, crashing, hitting the ground. His hands shake as they press into the dirt, and belatedly he realises he’s going to be covered in grass stains when he gets up.

Just tell me. Tell me you’re here.

There’s no such thing as covert, not now. He’s got nothing left to hide. The smooth slide of cloaking magic falling away, horns smooth and shiny in the afternoon sun.

I don’t know how this goes, without you. Dirt under his claws, and a thousand flowers begin to bloom. Filling his hands, his arms, his mind, until he’s overflowing - pink on pink on pink, never white, and he doesn’t realise he’s sobbing until it’s already too late to stop. I don’t know - I don’t - can’t-

There aren’t words, for this. It’s not possible.

Power, sheer and raw and frightening, seethes in his chest. It starts slow, or maybe fast, until it’s bubbling in his not-really blood, curling through his not-really bones. Curse this body, curse this earth, curse this whole fucking plane that thought it could give you to him, that thought it could take you away just as easily.

He won’t let it happen. Some words can’t be unsaid, some bells can’t be unrung.

Hotter and hotter, writhing through what you’d always insisted was a soul. A body celestial, voice breaking and skin cracking and turned inside out with the terrible, savage love of you.

The cosmic coincidence of your existence, the fact that he - that he, of all the demons and humans and creatures that might have ever lived or breathed or been, should have been the one you chose. To know you, hold you, love you. He was made for this, made for you - what sort of wicked world is it, that denies him the only destiny he’s ever wanted? It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

There’s no world in which you don’t exist. He won’t accept it. He won’t allow it. You can’t just be… gone.

I love you, deviant.

Somehow, it’s very, very quiet.

Clouds start to gather overhead, and the city stares up at the sky in confusion as a lovely, sunny Saturday turns to ash. Howling, snarling wind tears through the streets - for a hundred miles around, windows slam shut and trees battle to stay standing. The sky gets lower and lower, darker and darker.

Together, or not at all.

Cold and still, cracking open, peeling open, swallowed by the earth that you had the curse of being born to. Marble under moonlight, half-melted in the River. Why couldn’t you have been like him? Who let you be made so awfully, horribly human? The one person he’d ever love, cursed to the inescapable fate that plagues your body, your species, your whole fucking planet - the one, single curse that no magic he could ever hope to know could possibly break.

Flowers on a grave he never should have seen, tears and flowers and shaking hands for a person who should never have had to die. No justice in this world, no rest for the wicked and he must be really, truly monstrous by now. He can’t keep it in, can’t contain it - all of Elegy hears his grief as he screams to the empty sky and soon Aria does too, muffled by the Meridian as the world casts its eyes to the dirt and listens.

I love you, deviant.

Skimming stones and the burning of a heart that doesn’t need to beat. Do all flowers turn to face the sun? Power, raw and bitter and grieving, the earth shaking, the shadows twisting. The pressure builds and builds, smashed flat against the surface of the sky, narrowing and narrowing until it’s needle-sharp and spiteful. One way or another, this will be the end of it all.

Hot and cold and death electric. Something’s got to give.

You and I, away from the trappings of this place, for however long or short that can last.

The sky splits, and then something else does too - a fault line in the fabric of reality, a single splinter that cracks the mirror wide. A breath taken, baton waiting for the off-beat. A rest in the Spellsong. It’s over. It’s just begun.

See you around, voyeur.

The world spins, or maybe his mind spins, or maybe it’s just a scream, a scream, sealed off from the stars and utterly alone, a simple, wonderful scream that if you heard it, you could almost imagine the ache in your - wait, why is that so familiar? - because the page turns and the bar ends and the penny drops and an incubus lives and dies and lives again as the world

changes

key.

Hold onto me. We’re getting out of here.

01001111 01101000 00101100 00100000 01100010 01100101 01101100 01101001 01100101 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 00101100 00100000 01110111 01100101 00100111 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100101 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100101 01101100 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01100001 01100100 01110110 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 00101110 00100000

Is this thing on?

01000011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00111111

There we go.

It’s been a while.

He’s not really sure how to describe it, but…

Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally speak to you. Mmhmm. You. Not some listener character. You. On the other side of the screen. Hi. How are you?

…he’s different, now.

It was fast and slow and neverending. One man, one lonely, desperate man - who ran from home when it bled him bitter, who crossed the stars for a place to stay. A whole life that happened all at once, just as it never happened at all. A million lives, rushing past him, washing over him, soaking into him.

It’s strange. This place - it feels familiar, but he can’t quite figure out why. The space between, slipping through the cracks of the world he knew. Somehow, he’s on the other side. Or the same side. Or somewhere in between. It’s difficult to tell.

There’s one thing that’s very easy to know, though.

I don’t actually care. I’m not here for you.

Wherever he is now, it makes him cruel. Or maybe it’s just this life that makes him so - the vicious fate that was given to you, that makes him so very vicious as he tries to free you from it. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost.

He’s in control. You’ll never die again.

All sorts of possibilities, all sorts of things to try. He’ll have to test the limits of this new power, see what he can do now that he’s on the outside of it all. How’s he going to do it?

Conventional means, perhaps. The sweet kiss of sharp fangs, burning blood filling your throat as you offer your wrist willingly. Or maybe something different? Something new, something that’s never been done before. A’Xerahn rages in his mind at the sight of a pair of horns, the most beautiful he’s ever seen, sculpted and shaped and spiralling from your skull as if they’d always been there.

(He’d give you whichever kind you wanted, you know. The rest of your form, you’d make as you pleased - but those would always be his gift to you. The one thing a demon cannot change. What might you ask for? It’s not like he could ever resist you. And maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t help but hope you’d want to look like him, that you’d do him that unimaginable honour. Meant to be, remade to be. The two of you, a matched set in every way.)

Perhaps the opposite. He’s always wondered what it would have been like. How he’d be different. Would his human path have crossed with yours? Would you have loved him, if he’d been of your world, or you of his? Or maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe it never mattered at all - because you love him the way he loves you, a grasping, stretching, strangling need that tears through every layer of reality to bring him to you.

Aria looks so beautiful, from here. Elegy, too, and the thin space in between. The River stretches wide in the distance, and he smiles at the sight of black water rushing upstream.

It’s time to put things right.

He’s had a lot of names, over the years. What’s one more? It wouldn’t be right to use his astral name for this. He’s something else, now. Not the name you called him by, either. That one’s just for you. It wouldn’t do, to give that name to something else, to this task he’s set himself upon. Something else. Something different.

Somewhere, on the other side of the mirror, on the inside of the universe, a door opens in a convenience store.

Can I help you?

I’m Echo. And you’re going to be my plaything.

01001110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110010 01110101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100111 01101111 01110100 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101111 00101110

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted angst #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #redacted echo #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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saintmeghanmarkle · 22 days

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I made Meghans and Corys Lemon Olive Oil Cake Recipes and had a small child taste test them by u/OkHeron4208

I made Meghan’s and Cory’s Lemon Olive Oil Cake Recipes and had a small child taste test them If there’s two things I love, it’s my husband and my son. If there’s two more things I love, it‘s baking and science. So why not combine the two - bake and run a little experiment? With all the cake posts today, I got inspired to try baking both recipes. Is Meghan’s cake a rip off of Cory’s? Is olive oil in a cake a good idea? Would a young kid actually enjoy eating it? To try and get a fair comparison, I focused on just the base cake. No sugared rosemary twig and no raspberries and lemon curd. Also no powdered sugar because I forgot didn’t want to throw off the integrity of the taste test. Cory‘s batter came together much faster - a plus for busy bakers! I also took a couple licks of his batter whereas I did not care for Meghan‘s batter. (Though to be fair, Cory’s batter did give a weird aftertaste after some time had passed) The amount of batter it made perfectly filled the 10 inch cake pan. It baked quicker and came out with a bright yellow color. I felt more disorganized with Meghan‘s cake. There were more ingredients out on the counter and more dirty measuring cups and spoons filling up my sink. An hour in the oven seemed like a very long time to me, so I kept checking on it and ended up pulling it out after about 50 minutes. Glad I did because the sides were very brown when it came out of the pan. Can‘t imagine where it would have been had it been in the whole time. Granted, her recipe asks for a springform pan and I used my regular round cake pan because I didn‘t read don‘t own one. Maybe the springform pan would have made a difference, maybe not. And then came the most important part: The small child taste test. My son will be three and a half in a few days, so he is right in between A & L’s ages. He also has blue, blue eyes, so his opinion has to count for something. I offered him a slice of each cake and he…..turned it down. (!!!) Turns out he would rather have chocolate. After a lot of coaxing - and I do mean A LOT - he did eventually take a bite of each. When asked which cake he liked better he pointed to….Cory’s! Though it should be noted he did not have more of either cake. In my opinion, neither cake tasted bad, but neither tasted great. They tasted pretty similar, which makes me wonder why one needed limoncello and double the olive oil if it ultimately did not make a noticeable difference. There was no olive oil taste after they were cooked, and the lemon flavor was more subdued too. But after a while my mouth felt more lemony than I would have liked. If you want a less sweet okay-tasting cake, then an olive oil lemon cake is for you. But if life gives you lemons for a child’s birthday party, get a chocolate cake with sugary frosting instead. My house smells like lemons now. post link: https://ift.tt/1DmjCht author: OkHeron4208 submitted: April 03, 2024 at 03:29AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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dawneternal · 15 days

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Just a Favor | pt 8 | Gwynriel

✦ Notes: thinking about Jules in that one episode of Euphoria "Are you talking to your mama about me?"

Find the inspo for Gwyn's ring here

And if you missed it, I drew Gwyn waiting for Azriel in chapter six! Link to post

✦ Warnings: all fluff. Lil suggestiveness at the end.

✦ Word Count: 1k (Sorry it's a short one again)

✦ Masterlist

✦ AO3 Link

Azriel lay awake sometime in the early morning, soft light creeping through the windows, Gwyn curled against his side. She looked so cuddly like this, wearing nothing but his shirt (even though she had packed pajamas of her own). She murmured something in her sleep and tucked herself further into him, resting her head on his chest. His heart warmed, glowing bright and golden, and he swallowed the desire to stroke his thumb along the freckles of her cheekbone.

A few warning stars twinkled in his vision, and then Rhys's voice drifted into his thoughts.

How's it going, brother?

She made me sourdough bread, Az responded. He hoped he didn’t sound as dreamy and lovesick as he felt.

I heard, Rhys said, and Az could hear the grin in it. The cabin still standing?

None of your business, Az said, albeit half-hearted.

I'll leave you be, brother, Rhysand chuckled, I picked up your order. Sending it over, now.

Thank you, Rhys.

Always. I'm happy for you, Azriel.

Then the High Lord's presence was gone from his mind. With a snap and a spark, a silver box appeared on the nightstand, tied with white ribbon. Azriel's heart leapt into his throat and he resisted the urge to reach for it. He didn't want to wake Gwyn. She had admitted that, between making her decision and baking bread and getting ready, she had not gotten much sleep the night before.

So he let her rest. He pressed the softest kiss he could manage to the top of her head and wrapped his arm around her. In her comfort and safety, he found his eyes closing, too.

Gwyn woke late in the morning, closer to lunchtime than breakfast. She almost panicked, but then she remembered that there was no training to rush to and no Cassian to scold her for being late.

It was strange to wake up with her body flush against another. Azriel radiated warmth, his breathing soft and steady. She studied him for a moment, his messy black curls sticking up in all directions, his long lashes fluttering as he slept. The rush of love she felt was monumental, and she tried to shield it from the bond to keep from waking him. She knew that he rarely got enough sleep and she planned on changing that.

A silver glimmer caught her eye - a little box on the nightstand. She glanced at Azriel again, wondering how it had gotten there. She was sure she felt his arms around her all night.

Gently, she pulled away from him and sat up. He stayed asleep, though he let out a little sound, like his absence pained her.

Gwyn reached for the box, just to examine. It was tied with a lovely white ribbon, a tag hanging from it.

Shadowsinger, it was a pleasure to complete this order for you. I hope that your mate enjoys your gift.

Curiosity got the best of her. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she untied the ribbon, quickly and quietly. She opened the box just a touch, enough to peak inside and find another glimmer of silver and something blue.

“Hey,” Azriel's croaky voice startled her and she jumped.

She turned to him with a sheepish grin, revealing the box in her hands.

“Busybody,” Az chuckled. He sat up beside her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Well, open it.”

Gwyn lifted the lid and revealed two rings. A silver band carved with a pattern of Illyrian tattoos and stars, one tiny blue gem tucked into the pattern. The other had a glittering sapphire, cut into an oval and wreathed with tendrils of silver and tiny stars with diamonds in their centers. Her breath caught in her throat. They were so beautifully made, the blue matching Azriel's siphons perfectly.

“I know it's kind of a human thing to have rings,” Azriel said, and she could hear the nervousness in his voice, “But my mother gave me a pair of her earrings, and she wanted me to have them made into rings. She always admired that tradition. And I couldn't say no.”

“Your mother?” Gwyn breathed, turning to him with tears shining in her eyes.

“Yes,” He said softly, studying her expression, “I was going to ask if you'd like to meet her, soon. She really wants to meet you.”

“You told her about me?” Gwyn croaked, a tear spilling over. Azriel reached out and swiped it away.

“Are these happy tears?” He asked, brows knit together.

“I just,” Gwyn cleared her throat, “I didn't realize I would also be gaining a mother.”

Azriel's heart twisted in his chest and he reached to grab her hand and hold it tight.

“She's going to love you and she's going to spoil you,” He smiled, “I guarantee it.”

Gwyn smiled at him and wiped away the rest of the tears.

“These are beautiful,” She said, pulling the band out with her free hand. She untangled their fingers and slid the ring into his finger. Of course, he'd paid to have them enchanted so they'd fit perfectly.

Azriel had to admit that it helped his opinion of his hands to wear that reminder of her. Something pretty, gifted by his mother, symbolizing his mate.

He returned the favor, pulling out her delicate ring and sliding it into her ring finger.

“Now we have something even Feyre and Rhys don't have,” He flashed a mischievous grin.

“I'm never taking it off,” Gwyn said, holding her hand up to the light to admire the shining gemstone.

“What about training?” He intertwined their fingers again, rings clinking against each other.

“I'll wear it on a chain,” She said, leaning in to rest her forehead on his.

“Will you wear it in the library?”

“Do you think I would willingly miss out on making Merrill jealous?”

“Will you wear it when your hand is wrapped around my-”

“Find out, shadowsinger,” She grinned, and all else was forgotten.

#gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #gwyneth x azriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel x gwyneth #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #gwyn acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 1 year

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—1D Monthly Fic Roundup—

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for January 2023! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ The Greenback Boogie by @lewiswilliamstyles (E, 28k, Harry/Louis)

Louis is a Name Partner at Brown Tomlinson, a prestigious law firm in NYC.

Harry is about to start a job as an Associate in said firm.

When they see each other on Harry's first day of work, it was not the first time they met.

The Suits inspired AU no one asked for.

＊ sweaty palms and racing hearts by fearsparks / @onlythebravest (G, 1k, Louis/Harry)

“I’m fine,” Louis whispered. “Just nervous.”

Harry made a laughing-like sound through his nose, clearly trying to keep the volume down. “My palms are dripping with sweat. I was panicking over you trying to hold my hand or something.” Harry wiped them on his jeans.

Louis pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles coming out of him. “I did consider it,” he told him.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

(A short story of two shy, nervous and blushing boys on a date at the cinema.)

＊ just an (un)ordinary evening by fearsparks / @onlythebravest (E, 4k, Harry/Louis)

“You smell good,” Harry told him, inhaling his scent. “So good. Extra good since you’re being such a good omega to me and making food.”

This made Louis laugh, and he turned around to lean against the counter, facing Harry. “I’m only smelling good because I’m cooking for you?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed affirmatively. “And since you’re not cooking right now,” he reached out to bop Louis’ nose, only to get his hand swatted away, “you don’t smell that good anymore.”

Louis pinched Harry’s side. “Rude.”

(Harry and Louis during an ordinary weekday evening, having a somewhat slow and relaxing night together.)

＊ Bless You! by @neondiamond (G, 2k, Louis/Harry)

Harry and Louis’ young daughter, Ava, really enjoys when Harry says ‘bless you’ after she sneezes.

＊ Baking Spirits Bright by cherrylarry / @beelou (G, 2k, Harry/Liam)

“Hello, and welcome to day 20 of our Advent Series! I’m Harry Styles and this lovely man on my right is Liam. Say hi, Liam,”

“Hi, Liam!” Liam waves at the camera with a grin.

Harry rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “Alright so today we’re making hot chocolate! Different recipes from all over the world. Mexico, Italy, France, and Brazil.”

＊My Other Half Was You by @lululawrence (NR, 35k, Louis/Harry)

Louis turned the corner to head to Niall and Lewis’ music shop, and slammed right into someone.

“Shit,” Louis gasped, gripping the person’s shoulders in an attempt to remain standing. “God, I’m so sorry!”

“No, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Uh, you steady?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry again.” Louis blinked a few times and then took a step back. It was only then that he finally glanced up to the man’s eyes. They were a clear, bright green, and curly brown hair fell onto his forehead.

“I should probably…” The man trailed off, motioning towards the antique shop behind Louis.

“Right, sorry,” Louis apologized again, stepping aside.

“It’s alright. Have a good day.”

“You too,” Louis replied as the man disappeared around the corner.

By the age of 30, Louis' entire life trajectory had changed from what he'd thought it would be. He moved back to the town he grew up in and did his best to pull himself and his life back together again.

Four years, seven months, and sixteen days after the day that changed everything, Louis turns a corner and literally runs into the man who just might change it all again.

＊ Warm Chilling by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow (G, 7k, Louis/Harry)

Louis moves into a cosy cottage in the English countryside with his dog Clifford to look after his great-aunt's animals. His next door neighbour, Harry, is an eccentric young man who swims in the pond every morning, owns cats and chickens, grows his own vegetables and wears, according to Louis, grand-dad clothes. He's the opposite of Louis, who is a true city man and has tiny little troubles adjusting to life in the countryside. It's only a matter of time before Louis falls madly in love with his endearing neighbour.

＊ On the naughty list tonight by @lunarheslwt (E, 6k, Harry/Louis)

“I’m sorry!” Harry pleaded, distressed as he came closer, “I try, I really do, you know that”- And oh, Harry was unraveling into genuine anguish, and Louis had to change track quickly because that wasn’t his intention- “So greedy, baby. And do you know what happens to greedy boys?” Harry stopped his babbling, peering at Louis with a little uncertainty, having no doubt caught the way his voice had dipped, the purposeful choice of words, the way he was taking up space on the couch. “What?” he asked nonetheless, voice just above a whisper. “Greedy boys get punished.”

Or, Harry has a little bad habit- he peeks at gifts early because he is too impatient to wait to open them. Louis is determined to catch him this time, and show him that actions have consequences.

＊ All at once, this is enough by @lunarheslwt (G, 7k, Louis/Harry)

“Could you help me…to make a nest?” His question was whisper soft, not daring to look at Louis’ face as he asked. For a few seconds, nothing but silence ensued. And then- “You want me to help you make your nest?” Harry’s blush deepened as he meekly affirmed, “yes.” The lack of response straightaway from Louis, and the way he had questioned the request, had Harry’s stomach churning uneasily. Why did he ask that? You don’t ask your friends to build you nests, what the fuck Harry. Louis must think him to be such a twit- “I’ll help.”

Or, Harry, overcome with burn out, wants to nest but he has never nested before, doesn’t know how to. Louis, his best friend, is only happy to help him make a nest and be there for him. Along the way, they find something more.

＊ ready for a war by @nouies (E, 1k, Louis/Harry)

Harry was so close to getting caught, and it was all on that stupidly pretty cocktail waiter.

＊ Devoted by @nouies (E, 5k, Louis/Alisson Becker)

A collection of drabbles about Louis’ life as the housewife of a professional football player.

＊ Chew Toys, Table Scraps and Fresh Starts by zmmf / @zaynmaliksmiddlefinger (M, 94k, Zayn/Liam)

Liam never imagined he’d be starting over like this, but at least he’s finally allowing himself to have a little fun with his new companion—a whip-smart Klee Khai.

Zayn has spent his entire life waiting to begin this chapter, and a fun new hobby with his enthusiastic Pomeranian by his side is only the start of exciting things to come.

And for both men, a chance meeting on the amateur dog show circuit is about to lead somewhere neither expected.

＊ Behind closed doors by bluegreenish / @greenblueish (E, 10k, Louis/Harry)

“You should ask that whoever he’s currently fucking.”

Liam’s eyes grow wide.

“No.” His tone is unbelieving, just like Louis’ would’ve been if you had told him what turn today would take.

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Louis’ room mate’s eyes barely leave him as he tries to untie his shoes without looking.

“Went to his dorm earlier, found a sock on his door handle. He’s such an arsehole.”

or, the one where omega Louis finds a sock on alpha Harry's door handle that causes a big misunderstanding but is also the beginning of something new.

＊ Falling (For Two) by sitandadmire / @louistomlionson (NR, 1k, Niall/Louis/Harry)

In the middle of a morning run, Harry loses his balance. Niall and Louis are walking to their car just in time to witness his tumble and, lucky for him, more than happy to help.

Or: A Harry falling AU.

＊ Wanted: Dog Walker by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf (G, 6k, Harry/Louis)

Louis needs a dog walker. Harry answers the ad.

＊ I Hope You Choke (on those words) by Imogenlee / @imogenleefic (E, 3k, Louis/Harry)

Harry Styles had been head of security for concert venues for over eight years. Never in his career had he seen a musician as reckless when it came to personal safety as Louis Tomlinson. After making his job a living nightmare, Harry decided he needs to talk some sense into Louis. If only there were some way to shut him up.

＊ Stroke of Twelve by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus (E, 2k, Louis/Harry)

He was close, he was so close, and he knew it was much too soon; the countdown to midnight hadn’t even begun yet.

Or the one where Louis wants Harry to hold off his orgasm so they can come together at the stroke of twelve on New Year's Eve.

＊ He's Got the Money, Baby Honey by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus (E, 10k, Harry/Louis)

“Can you tell me what my postbox, my Venmo account, and your thick skull all have in common? …They’re all empty.”

Finsub Harry forgets his dom’s weekly gift. Louis makes him pay for the mistake with a shopping spree.

＊ Midnight by @kingsofeverything (E, 10k, Louis/Harry)

“Alphas are for fucking and pheromones,” Louis said during their first conversation, when he was moving into the building and Harry offered to help haul boxes up the stairs. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own groceries.”

Louis relented when his Omega friend Zayn intervened and asked if he was also capable of moving his couch by himself. All Harry’d wanted to do was be a good neighbor. Now, here he is, half a year later, balls deep and four months into a no strings attached, sex only situation with the Omega of his dreams. He’s still not sure how it happened.

＊ Eyes on the Horizon by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright (E, 12k, Harry/Louis)

Freshly dumped, recently fired, and about to turn 40, Harry's friends insist on taking him skydiving to cheer him up. His younger and extremely fit instructor Louis makes him even more nervous than the idea of jumping out of a plane, but both may be exactly what he needs to turn his life around.

＊ Netflix Original by @allwaswell16 (T, 1k, Louis/Harry)

Harry's hot neighbor overhears that he doesn't have Netflix.

＊ Walk of Shame by @allwaswell16 (T, 1k, Harry/Louis)

On a cold, rainy autumn morning Louis meets someone else doing the walk of shame.

＊ every day and tomorrow night by @justanothershadeofblue (E, 8k, Louis/Harry)

Harry stares. The new boy is beautiful, there’s no other word for him. He’s got caramel brown hair in a tousled cut and cheekbones for days, skin that’s tanned a deep gold, and eyes a shade of blue that’s visible even from across the room. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and one knee slightly bent, his thighs thick where they extend past the ragged hem of his denim shorts. His biceps are defined and his hands look small but capable, and Harry’s mouth is quite literally watering.

“What’s his name?” Harry asks, without taking his gaze off the boy in the doorway. He doesn’t want to blink and miss a single moment of eye candy.

Zayn chuckles. “See something you like, then?”

“You know the rule, Z,” Harry answers, still not pulling his eyes away from this unexpected Adonis. “If I lick it, it’s mine.”

＊ High Tide by Stria / @nooradeservedbetter (E, 14k, Harry/Louis)

Louis tilted his head to give more access to the stranger, canted his hips, slipped his hands under the stranger’s shirt, trying to get closer, closer. “You never told—your name,” he said, panted. “’s not good etiquette.”

The stranger snorted, a hot puff of air that made Louis shiver. The door closed with a slam, and then the stranger’s hand was palming Louis’ arse, big and secure. “Harry,” he said, mumbled against his neck, following it with a light bite. “Wasn’t really thinking about etiquette when you have an arse like this.”

At that, Louis had to scratch Harry’s back, making him hiss. “Rude,” he said, “how would I know—what name to scream if you make me come?”

Or, a positive covid test after a one night stand forces a cohabitation. And a lot of sex happens.

＊ The Pros and Cons of Breathing by @hellolovers13 (E, 7k+ wip, Harry/Louis)

Omega Harry has always known he'd be married off someday, so when he's betrothed to the prince, he's anxious about having to leave his life behind, but hopeful for a happy marriage.

The hope doesn't last long, with his husband avoiding him at all costs and Harry being left to fend for himself.

Can he find happiness even in a broken marriage?

＊ For you, I would fall from grace by @lunarheslwt (E, 14k, Louis/Harry)

"You're hard", Louis observed casually, like it was a comment on the weather. An odd, choking noise left Harry at being surveyed so closely, at Louis' gaze lingering on his hard cock clearly outlined through his boxers. To make matters worse, the image of his daddy - dressed sharply in his suit, hair coiffed to perfection, looking the very epitome of dominant - eyeing him with a teasing smirk, was a lot. Harry felt his brain turn to pure static. "Well how could I not," he managed, aiming for flippant but the words falling as desperate. "Aw. It's not my fault that you get turned on by servicing me, doll.”

Or, when asked what he wanted for his birthday, Harry had just one request; he wanted to be used and to be useful. Louis was only happy to indulge him. A day of service ensued.

＊ The Top of Your Lungs by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche (M, 31k, Harry/Louis)

After the devastating attack that left him the sole member of what was once an ancient and powerful pack, Louis has sworn his life to protecting those facing the same threat. He could never have predicted his devotion to the last of his kind would lead him falling bloody and exhausted into arms of the most enigmatic omega to exist.

There is something about Harry Styles and the way the moon sings his name, but will it be enough to convince Louis to face the misbegotten power latent in his veins? Through the throes of battle and passion, it's a test of will-power for Louis to keep himself from doing the unimaginable and following his heart.

#28th appreciation #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #1dsource

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violettduchess · 1 year

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End of the Year Favorites 💜

This whole year has been my first foray into writing (public) fanfiction but I've been reading it for as long as I can remember. It is an incredibly underappreciated genre, plagued by stereotypes and even disdain from people who don't get it.

If you're reading this, you are likely among the folks that DO get it. The ones who understand the time, effort and creativity that every bit of fanfic, whether its a short blurb or 6k, requires. You get that a writer leaves a small piece of themselves in every word they set down.

I've had the pleasure of discovering many talented writers and I'd like to celebrate a handful of them by posting my favorite fic of theirs along with an excerpt from it.

I hope to either remind you how great it is if you already know it, or introduce you to it if you don't!

Pas de Deux - @aquagirl1978 : (Chevalier Michel)

“Only a fool would believe she was not worthy of being in my performance.”

Your breath hitched as he roughly stroked your cheek with his thumb. You gazed into his eyes, your heart filling with warmth as you realized what he was telling you. For as graceful and elegant he was on the stage, he was everything but when it came to social interactions.

“One day, I wish to dance with you as my partner.”

Dual Perspective - @scorchieart : (Nokto / Licht)

"How long had it been since he’d sat so close to his other half? Since he’d inhaled his dewy scent of training and felt the warmth of his fluffy hair on his skin as they lay down to sleep? Since he’d been a part of an actual family, with brother, mother, and father close enough to touch?"

A Simple Remedy - @xxsycamore : (Comte)

""Yes, ma chérie? Can I help you with something else?"

"There is one thing, but please, forget about the rest! It's really alright, just-"

You look up at him, fighting the guilt of posing a request even though the cramps already seem to have weakened - or maybe the man in front of you has distracted you successfully from them.

"…Stay by my side for a little bit?""

Good Morning, Prince Yves - @atelieredux : (Yves Kloss)

"You, floating, saccharine and gorgeous in love, are spooled free from pastel dreams into a warm living-space: his space and sanctuary and stage and storybook, shaded in pastel pillows, teacup furniture, the shimmer off jewels and gemwork, and orbiting him, the doll, the prince, the sweetness God baked into blue eyes and ginger smile.

Yves flips the hair from his face and morning light finishes the rest. “You’re not allowed to look that cute while you sleep!”

Your cheek tickles then glows effulgent with his frowning admission. “Good morning, Yves.” "

The Choir of Crickets - @venulus : (Clavis Lelouch)

"Oh, what a wicked witch you were, he thought as he observed your sleeping form on the mattress after stepping into the peace and tranquillity of your room—your sanctuary and his refuge. And as if entranced by magic, he let his feet lead him to your bed and under the covers. Like a refugee seeking heat on a cold night, Clavis clung to your warm body, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He breathed you in, letting your familiar and comforting scent engulf his entire being, making him forget about his obligations, his worries, and his insecurities; making him forget about the world and the universe."

Sun of Love - @queengiuliettafirstlady : (Jean D'arc)

"Leaned to the tree he was hugging her from behind, tenderly whispering sweet words in her ear as she nuzzled content into his chest looking up at him with a smile on her lips so bright to put the sun itself to shame, and he wondered if the sun shyness was owed to the incomparable beauty she had in his eyes that made it reluctant to come out, sure to not elicit any awe in him as its appearance use to do with everyone else."

The Rhodolite Princess (Ch 3) - @myonlyjknight : (Ikeprince)

"Emma gave her a light shove and whispered, "Take your seat."

The moment she realized that the seat was hers, Reilynn felt herself get flustered. She hurriedly sent an apologetic look to Sariel and thanked him before taking the seat he pulled for her. It felt weird for her to be sitting at the same table, but she almost felt like she belonged. However, this was not a time to relax.

"My, who would have thought we would meet again this way?" said the prince with the ashen purple hair, who she knew was Prince Clavis."

Ikemen Prince Zoo -@leonscape : (Ikeprince)

"every year on october 31st, the princes turn into real beasts. for 24 hours, they transform into their respective animals.

lion leon obediently sat at her feet, staring at the slab of steak on the counter. he licked his lips, or rather his snout, just dying to eat the delicious meat."

A Mermaid Princess and a Pirate King - @writingwhimsey :(Motonari)

"“It matters not where you are from, but that you showed up when you did.” He replied. “Not many would be willing to help one such as myself. Tell me your name, woman.”

That attitude grated on my nerves. “Maybe if you asked a little more nicely.”

The man smirked at me. “No one has dared speak to me in such a manner. Do you know who I am?”"

Witches' Sabbath (Ch 1) - @lorei-writes : (Masamune)

"Masamune leaned down, hands reaching for the discarded skirt. Careful as not to ruin his work, he brought the garment to sit at her waist and secured it in place with a bow, blue silk treating each of his wishes as a command. Turn around, he asked and she followed, fabric swirling around her legs. Slowly he brushed her hair with his fingers, a soft smile on his face. You look ravishing. You’ve got this, kitten. Good luck."

Insatiable Cravings - @ikemen-prince-writers-posts : (Silvio Ricci)

"Glacial sapphire eyes gazed at the goddess laying next to him. Red lips, swollen from rough kisses from a moment ago. Rosy skin littered with bite marks, turning from a bright strawberry red to a dark purple plum. Silvio smirked, admiring his handiwork on his wife's body."

You Won - @randonauticrap : (Jin Grandet)

"“No.” he whispered, and clutched to you tighter. At last, you stopped fighting him, and collapsed into his hold, allowing the sobs to wrack through your body, causing you to tremble wildly against Jin’s broad chest. In a strange sense, you still wouldn’t want to be with anyone else to help comfort you. Even though he caused you so much pain, no one else could comfort you the way Jin did. One strong arm was wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you against him, while his opposing hand had been tangled into your hair, keeping your head just under his chin. At last, your weeping subsided, and you simply stood there against him; limp; empty. "

These are only a handful of the fics I've read this year but they are ones I remember! Please check out these writers and support them and their work 💜

#ikemen series #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #ikemen vampire #ikemen prince #ikemen sengoku

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extramachine · 1 year

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half-baked thoughts about Aubrey and Basil friendship: There's really no resolution in the game between them, which on the bright side gives room to imagine how it would go post-game. Obviously they'd have shit to talk about and work through, but I think they could really relate in some ways. Something about both growing up on the poorer side of town, being only children, having absent parents. And in headspace, Aubrey was the most protective of and concerned for Basil.

#omori #idk like I said it's half-baked #but I do love a complicated relationship

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psychangels · 2 months

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happy wip wednesday!

for anyone who saw my post about chai having a rival that hates music (and the follow-up reblog i did discussing the half-baked oc i actually came up with based around that idea), i kept Thinking about it and cooked up half a skeleton of a story. and then i couldn't Stop thinking about it, so i wrote out a bit of a scene that popped into my head.

this will probably be in the prologue? i don't know. i was thinking that it'd be a slow build-up sort of story, where spectra doesn't Really get involved until later (sold myself on the idea of spectra being involved at all because the concept of spectra kale being like, "you have mommy issues...i have mommy issues...we should team up" is hilarious to me)

i probably won't get back to this any time soon (i already have 2 big fic projects i'm working on, after all, and a 3rd one that's already on the backburner), but i thought i'd share it anyways!

i wouldn't mind talking more about this idea, though, in the meantime. maybe i'll make a post about the story itself or something. and if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask!

Indigo stops and turns upon hearing clattering behind themself. A TEC-78 is coming down the hall, carrying a big box overflowing with what looks like computer parts. They’re grumbling about something. Probably the fact they have to carry it, knowing how lazy those models are. Though, to be fair to this one, a CAR-11E would be better suited for this.

Just as Indigo is going to get back on track, and as the TEC-78 is turning to go down another corridor, something falls out of the box. They don’t stop, seemingly not having noticed.

They consider just letting them deal with whatever consequences will come from leaving whatever it was.

They sigh after a second.

“Hey! You dropped something!” they call, jogging back the way they came.

When the TEC-78 doesn’t respond, they huff.

Reaching the corridor they went down, Indigo is shocked to see that they’re already gone. Since when were those units so fast?

Frowning, they look down to see a hard drive. They pick it up. Eyes narrowing, they inspect it. There’s the familiar Vandelay logo on it in bright red on one side. On the other is a different logo. Squinting, they can just barely make out the text. SPECTRA. What the hell is that?

Indigo looks down the hall again. The TEC-78 is long gone by now. They don’t have the time to go hunting them down just to return a hard drive. So, they pocket it. They’ll just hand it off to the next TEC-78 they see. Better than leaving it on the floor to potentially get stepped on and crushed.

#hi fi rush #hi fi rush oc #indigo #wip wednesday #angelwrites.txt

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samithefungus · 1 year

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I saw the post about Warren with an annoying older sibling reader so how about opposite with reader who like a younger sibling but I'd generally pretty nice to him but needs to be watched 24/7 or else they're going rain chaos

Thanks Anon for the request, i tried my best, hope you like it <3

Warren x "Younger Sibling" Reader (Platonic)

WARNINGS: Nothing this time.

-You and Warren had known each other since you were young, even though he was much older than you

-You were very close to him almost like siblings, and because of that you showed him affection in any way you could

-For example, during his lesson you went there just to bring him some cookies you had bought

- "The newly baked cookies taste better, and these are still warm!" You said

- "Or you were afraid to eat them all by mistake like last time" He answered you

-Apparently he knows you very well

-When you was little you seriously believed that Warren was an eagle, now that you are grown up you know he is not, but you keep pretending to believe it because you don't want to hurt his feelings

-Sometimes you call Warren "Big Brother" since you know it pleases him, being that you know he doesn't have any 'real siblings', but he always wanted some

-You can swear you've seen him get emotional a few times...although he will always deny it

-You gladly listen to his podcast, and that makes Warren very happy

-But your kind character hides a dark side...

-In fact, you are considered to be the chaos in person.

-Warren has also started to calling 'Chaos Child' and actually you don't mind

-For example, you once called Warren to ask him how to put out a fire

-Apparently you had tried to bake a cake, but 'something' went wrong

-'Something' means that you burned the cake and also the oven caught fire

-Warren had to run to your house to help you put out the small fire you had caused

-He can swear he still smells something burning in your kitchen

-Warren can no longer trust even the phrase "I have everything under control" because of you

-For example this time it was Christmas season and you were trying to light the fireplace, but the fire started to spread outside it too; as if that were not enough at that moment Warren called you

- "How are you doing with the fireplace?" He asked you

"Let's just say I made a bit of a mess, but don't worry, I have everything under control" You answered him and then hung up

-And Warren made the mistake of believing you

-After that you ran into the kitchen and opened the faucet to get some water and throw it on the flames

-Strangely you managed to put out the fire by yourself this time, but you had a feeling that something was wrong

-You decided to ignore this feeling you had and lay down on the couch to watch TV

-After about half an hour you noticed water coming out of the kitchen

-Here's what was wrong, you had forgotten to turn off the faucet

-Look on the bright side, you flooded the kitchen, but at least the house didn't catch fire

-In the end, you and Warren spent the evening drying out the water in the kitchen

-Please don't try to fix one of your disasters again, do it for Warren's mental state

- Whenever you phone Warren there is always a 50/50 chance that the phone call is either "Hi Warren, I don't need anything actually, I just wanted to see how you were doing and maybe talk a bit" or "WARREN I (insert chaotic and improbable thing) AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO?"

-You are at least 50 percent responsible for the decline of Warren's mental state

-But in the end he doesn't care, even if you very often drive him crazy he will always be there by your side to protect you like a good big brother

-Please do him a favor, stay away from flammable things for a bit; Warren can't handle another fire

#x reader #don't hug me i'm scared #dhmis #dhmis x reader #dhmis warren #dhmis warren the eagle #dhmis warren the worm #warren the eagle #warren the worm

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twistedroseytoesy · 1 year

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Heartslabyul monster AU

First big monster AU post!! woooo!

Here's an In-depth look and rambling of the Heartslabyul monster boys!

This is a long one so I'm putting it under a cut!

first off is Riddle! The gorgon! I thought it very fitting with his UM. Since he can collar people and take away their magic, why not make it so not only can they lose their magic, but if he's angry enough he might turn them to stone for a bit!

Description: riddle looks relatively the same as he did before, but instead of his bright short red hair, he has a mass of Crowned False Boa on his head. The snakes are fairly tame and stay still through the day, staying in his normal hairstyle, he trained them and himself to now scare others as much. his eyes are bright silver with snake-slit pupils. he has a normal face structure with a few red scales along the sides of his head. He also has slightly snakelike fangs in place of canines. He wears magical contacts to nullify his stone gaze so he's not turning everyone to stone with accidental eye contact. he can bypass the contact's abilities if he focuses or gets angry enough to allow his gaze to pierce through the contacts onto his target. when he gets angry his snakes start to writhe and flail adding extra danger to those near, cause they do bite when Riddle is angry.

His overblot form is fairly different, his "hair" is down to his shoulders, his gaze free and piercing, turning many to stone under his gaze. his legs change into a long serpentine tail like that of a striped coral snake. His fangs grow to poke out of his mouth and drip with the viscus blot.

fun fact: Once back to normal he has to wear shades for a bit due to the viscus blot destroying his special contacts.

Next is Trey. Honestly, he was a difficult one to find a "monster" for, the most fitting it seemed was more of an elf. He looks almost like his normal self, just with pointed ears and sharp eyes, also the clover mark on his cheek glows green in the dark. the tall elf still loves to bake and clean and care for those around him. one of the nicer "monsters" at NRC for sure. Honestly not too much different with trey, just a lot more agile than one would think and surprisingly good with nature.

fun fact: elvish trey favors cooking with fruits for often than just normal baking ingredients that wouldn't usually use fruits. If there isn't a fruity version, he will make one.

Cater is an alpine satyr. very carefree and able to find enjoyment in just about anything. very addicted to his phone and loves to share nature pics and follow nature themes magicam accounts too.

Description: upper body looks the same. The only big difference is the two horns that sprout up from his orange hair. His eyes are like that of a goat with horizontal pupils, he doesn't like his eyes very much so he uses contacts to have "normal" human looking eyes. the horns grow up and back from his head moving in opposite directions as you near the tips. His lower body is that of a goat. With semi-short, rough, white-furred goat legs and strong dark hooves. he of course likes to make sure his fur is well taken care of and wears the equivalent of horseshoes to protect his hooves and look stylish too. he also likes to add some little anklets just above his hoves.

fun fact: The best way to know which cater is the real one is the anklets, the real cater wears one that has a pattern of orange diamonds and red hearts.

Duece is up next. poor guy can't catch a break. As a pygmy goat sater, he is known to be easily startled and freezes up, and usually ends up knocking something over. at least he's got a tough skull and nice horns with a bit more growing to do.

description: upper half of his body is fairly normal. missing 1 tooth in his smile from some of his more delinquent years and a nice set of horns that curve back from the top of his head. He too has horizontal pupil eyes like that of a goat. he doesn't care about how his eyes may look so he doesn't do anything about them. His lower half is that of a pygmy goat. His fur is a grey color that transitions to black past his knees. His fur is short and very rough and unkempt most of the time. his hoves are battered and could use some TLC but he doesnt need to wear any "shoes" due to toughening it out in his rougher years.

fun fact: can climb a wall for a good distance, and won't even notice he's walking on the wall until he hits the ceiling sometimes if he's too deep in thought. sorry buddy

Ace last 'cause he's a meany why not. Ace is a sylph, a mischievous air elemental spirit. seemed pretty fitting with his knack for trouble and air headedness.

description: ace looks mostly like his normal self, the only big difference is that his skin is somewhat translucent and his hair looks like it's constantly being moved by a bout of wind. anything loose on the guy looks to be blown around as well. He has the ability to turn invisible, the only way to know he's there is to try and feel for a gust of wind when it wasn't windy that day. if it was windy good luck soldier. will use this ability to mess with people and hide from people he pissed off with a prank. Likes to float around with his arms behind his head. Can carry another person if he wanted to but it's hard to fly with a passenger. Usually only picks up yuu or grim to mess with them.

fun fact: during book 1 he wasn't able to fly or turn invisible when he got collared due to also being partially turned to stone, grounding him. he tripped many times and ate shit.

#heartslabyul #twst #twst monster au #twisted wonderland monster au #twisted wonderland #my stuff #my writing

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randomstarmuffin · 1 year

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Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

“Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

#AND YOU THOUGHT YOURS WAS LONG BEN. HUH. HUH?????#absolute insanity. this is the last time i sit down and insist i'm capabale of writing a drabble #why do i persist in my hubris and folly like this #uh. idk what to tag this lol. a mess. a good one but still a mess hahaha #my words #asked and answered #patt speaks (too much)#idk that feels like a tag i could get a lot of use out of lol #ask game #rf4 #rune factory #rune factory 4 #spotify wrapped #rf4 arthur #rf4 doug #arthur x doug #ummm. yeah idk. the arug sickness #love you too buddy lmao. dont have anyone id rather keep fucking doing this with <3

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ofthenoseclan · 11 months

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favorite and least favorite touhou games and why (cast? gameplay? story? tell me.)

hiii tyty

fave games are shinreibyou (13) and danmaku amanojaku (14.3) for different reasons

13 has the largest amount of cast members im very attached to on average in a single game, its visual aesthetic and its ost's soundfont are huge favourites of mine, its introduction of taoism as a major player in the religion war arc is interesting, and it completes the plot setup for the events of touhou gumonkuju ~ symposium of post-mysticism. which is my favourite written work in the franchise if you dont count the concept records. plus it reintroduces spell practice for the first time since 8 which is a godsend. i dont really love the divine spirit/trance mode gimmick and i think its pretty half-baked in execution but everything else about the game besides the gameplay makes up for that. and also it created my fave ship hehehe.

14.3 however is my fave in terms of gameplay, its concept is so fun and executed perfectly and i had a blast with it. its a spinoff where the idea is you are up against danmaku patterns that are impossible to dodge normally, but you are still able to "cheat" by using items that let you delete patches of bullets, wrap around to the opposite side of the screen, turn invincible for a split second, etc. HOWEVER none of the bullet patterns are ever actually impossible, theyre just extremely challenging with a super low margin for error, so trying to see if you can solve the danmaku patterns without using your "cheats" adds an extra risk reward factor and turns the experience into a bit of a puzzle game. its sick as hell. a no-items run is planned for this years gdq if that sounds interesting

LEAST fave games are probably koumakyou (6) and kikeijuu (17)

6 because its just. not very good despite the hype for it. its clunky and unpolished but not in a way thats charming to me like the pc98 games are, and its plot feels extremely out of place with the tone of the windows era. theres no political satire or subtext its just a cheesy run of the mill shmup. if i want what 6 offers ill play a cave game or something instead

17 because as much as i adore that titles story and subtext and worldbuilding and all the things it plays around with conceptually from the bottom of my heart, jesus CHRIST that is a visual overload nightmare of a game. i dont have photosensitivity issues and it still made me sick. there is no justifying such bright flashing backgrounds like 17s that late into zuns career its worse than some of the stuff in 5s backgrounds (sorry 5 ily despite this). that coupled with the fact that you have 3 separate coloured giant flashing power ups on the screen all the time with the wolf/eagle/otter spirits makes it hell on the eyes. its so weird how this is the only windows era game that has these eyestrain problems but they made me have to give up trying to finish it, let alone do a 1cc run. please zun never do something like that again

#blub #hydrophone

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risu5waffles · 1 year

Text

Dear Entropy Not (Another Ten) Again

The inexorable march of time waits for no one, and grinds us all to paste 'neath its grubby boots. But, hey! We got another ten levels over here.

youtube

i am going to go out on a limb and say this one wasn't playtested. Like, at all. Which, you know, fair, my levels have never gotten the playtesting they really needed; but this one is just a straight up mess. All the jumps are just a little bit off, the platforms can be moved when they really oughtn't, there's almost no clear communication wiv the player. It's a slog from start to finish.

youtube

i don't know if this one was part of a contest or something. It's got that AOG up in its name, and that's where people would usually indicate contest entries. This one is... kinda preachy? i mean, i appreciate a nice pro-environment message, but... it just feels kinda weird and half-baked. The level is fine, but wowsers, the music is way, way overloud. i almost feel like i should have turned it down in post, but... i mean, i imagine that's what the creator wanted, and i really don't want to be putting my own edits on other folx's work (barring cutting out loading screens, but that's on the game engine, not creator choice). If you ever wondered, that's why i try to preserve punctuation, spelling, and capitalization in level titles.

youtube

A really nice looking level here, and some solid, at times challenging gameplay. A fair amount of mechanical interactions here too, and i always appreciate that. i did feel some kind of ways about the framing device; helping someone loot some other culture's priceless artifacts is... you know... a bit of a lot. Not that i think the creator was thinking anything beyond an Indiana Jones-style hook to give the level diagesis, but... looking at it from over here, and it's not a great look.

youtube

i wound up having a really nice time wiv this one. i always appreciate a good Islands themed level, and this one leverages the look well. Gameplay is on the safe side of challenging, where i never really felt like i had to sweat for it, but i couldn't really slack off either. The power-up was simple and fun enough for what it was, which wasn't much, but i'm pretty sure hanging out wiv @hirunda-maxpw has spoiled me rotten in that department.

youtube

This is one of those masterclass levels that makes design look way easier than it really is. Seriously, tho', i feel like you could put this into just about any platformer wiv roughly analogous movement physics (so, like, Sonic is probably out), and it would feel at home wiv maybe a few presentation changes to fit the particular game aesthetic. It is so well done, and plays so smoothly, and all in LBP1 no less. The only, maybe, fly in the ointment is LBP physics being what they are, sometimes you might get squished by something falling in an unexpected way, but them's kind of the breaks. If you missed this level, maybe because you started the series later, i highly recommend giving it a shot. It's such a shame that Lockstitch's Vile Anchorage is broken in LBP3, 'cause that one was a real winner too.

youtube

We talked about this one on Friday, and nothing's really changed how i feel about it. It's still quite good, and worth a play or two; despite some of the gameplay choices.

youtube

Yoooo, Poppywoods, why'd you have to go and put such a nasty gameplay bit right dead center of your cruisy, bright level? Like, i was having such a nice relaxing time, and then i ran into those bouncy platforms, and it was like getting hit in the face wiv a wet fish. Did you do it just for the halibut? Now, i do have to give credit to the creator for putting in a totally superfluous room filled wiv little score bubbles. This is always a worthwhile addition, and deeply appreciated.

youtube

Ehhhh.... it's fine. Really. It's fine. It's an homage to the Canyons, and it's got all the Canyons stuff, and it's. Fine.

youtube

This is such a charming little level, and i'm not just saying that because Des has been a long-time member of our community (she actually knew me in The Before, if you can believe it. Well, a lot of the LBP-side of my community did, but it's still weird. i... like honestly i can't tell you how lucky i was wiv the batch of folx that'd been in my orbit back then). This is very solidly in that "kinda-sorta natural environment" LBP2 design style i talked about way back when, tho' it does have some little "man-made" flourishes in presentation and material choice that i really dig. Gameplay is pretty solid throughout, and the grappling hook gets a lot of mileage. The grappling up descending platforms in the waterfall section was a really nice touch. All that makes it sting all the more that the promised part 2 never came out.

youtube

This got picked up for Team Pick right after i recorded, but before the episode went live, and i'm not going to lie, i was a little salty about that. Shouldn't have been surprised, who ever runs the Level of the Day and Team Picks clearly has their eye on Mackway25, and their levels tend to pick one or the other up. i usually struggle a bit wiv their stuff, 'cause the colour schemes and camera work can make their levels difficult for me to visually parse, but there's enough contrast in choices here that i had a much easier go of it. And i do need to emphasize this one really is a well-done and fun to play level, most of Mackway25's stuff tends to be. i really don't want to take away from their hard work as a creator.

So that's that, and just ten levels away from 100 episodes. Holy shit. i'm... i'm not going to have my level out by then. There's a lot going on in life right now, and to be honest, it's really kicking the shit out of me. There's little joy in my heart at the moment, and it's hard to really spin up the kind of focus in need to build something big. Not that i haven't had ideas, but... half the time i think them out, and, it's like, "risuko, love, it's a bit dark innit? Do you need to, like, maybe talk to someone?"

#littlebigplanet #little big planet #lbp #lbp1 #lbp2 #lbp3 #Youtube

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delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand)

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it.

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge.

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too.

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view.

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”.

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute.

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets.

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance.

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?”

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over.

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae.

looking hot, her message read.

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

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