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kleotheundeadone · 2 months

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Scenario: Angel Shows You His Poetry

(A/N: I head cannon Angel as being a fan of poetry, and writes some of his own in his spare time. Originally this was gonna be a little huskerdust oneshot, but after a very stressful 10 minutes I concluded that I did not know how to write for Husk. So until I figure him out, I turned this into a Scenario. I kept it pretty neutral, so feel free to interpret your relationship with him as romantic or platonic) ⚠WARNING, WARNING⚠ It's sort of angsty? KInd of? I dunno, i'm warning you anyway just in case

"Hey, what's this?"

You carefully pick up the pink binder filled to the brim with paper from off of the floor, the words "poetic shit" written in the center in swirly black lettering. "Oh hey, how'd that get out here? Nugs must have been messing around under my bed and pushed it out." As if on que, Fat Nuggets wiggles himself out from underneath Angel's bed, sniffing slightly as he waddles over to him. "What is it?" You flip it open for only a second before Angel pulls it out of your hands, tossing it onto his pillow nonchalantly as he sits down on his bed, Fat Nuggets cradled in his lower set of arms, already fast asleep. "Nothing nothing, just some like joke poetry nonsense I write sometimes whenever I'm feeling bored." You had never really taken Angel as the artistic type. It wasn't totally unbelievable, but it was kind of hard to picture. And out of all the things... Poetry? It was intriguing to say the least. "Can I see them?" Angel gave you a look. He was hesitant. Nervous even. But he quickly covered it up with a smirk as he grabbed the binder and flipped it open, pulling out a small handful of pages. "Of course! Here's some of my best work. It's some real Shakespearean stuff, believe me~." There was something tucked away beneath the surface of his expression. Something you couldn't quite place. You wanted to prod, but you decided against it. Maybe it's nothing.

The poems he showed you were about what you expected. It was basically the typical sex jokes he'd tell usually, only now they rhymed and were in glittery pink cursive writing. So why were you still disappointed? It was Angel. What did you expect? But still... You had a feeling there was more to it. More to him. "Oink!" Fat Nuggets poked his head up from Angel's arms, squirming further against him as he attempted to press his nose against the hand Angel was using to hold one side of the binder. "Ahaha! Nugs! Come on little fella, cut that out, eheha!" A page from the binder came loose as Angel lifted it up in order to get it away from Fat Nuggets curious snout, falling face-up in front of your feet. As you lean down to pick it up, you quickly notice that the page is older than the others you read, based off the slight yellow tinge and tears at the corners. "Woah woah, hey, hold on a second-" His words don't register in your mind as you begin to smooth out the pages creases, taking notice of the complete shift of writing style. It was written in regular black pen, in print instead of cursive, was much longer than his other poems, and it didn't rhyme. And as you carefully scanned the words on the page, you find yourself getting lost in the literature before you, unaware of the way his cheeks paled as you read silently.

Hot And Cold

How does one ever survive in the cold? I may never truly know the answer Yet in spite of such, I am living in it, overtaken by the icy frost I breathe in the air that surrounds the space between us, and my chest burns My lungs filled with ice crystals, and I shiver I'm cold So very very cold I beg of you, I beg Let me feel your warmth If not only for a moment A second A fraction of that time My mind freezes over, and I forget my name Tell me what my name is Unthaw my snow covered mind Whisper warmth into my skull and melt the ice away So I may know the feeling of being alive again You hold me, and I feel warm So so so warm Too warm It burns All I ever wanted was to feel warm But who am I to deny your heat? So I dare not turn you away Burn away my skin, and consume my flesh in flames Tear away my cooked remains, and lick my bones clean Bury me in the ground, and let the earth take root in my marrow May my sullied remains be worthy enough to bear fruit That is my only use My only use The flames between us glow dimly A raging forest fire, now a mere candle, flickering in the wind I am warm I know just who I am I am real, raw, and absolute I could just about say my name My name is... The candle flame flickers and goes out You're gone I feel cold I don't know who I am I'm so cold So so cold

You were speechless. You only start to realize you're tearing up when you notice your tears dripping onto the page. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve before looking up towards Angel, his gaze locked onto you anxiously as he balled up and released his fists repeatedly. He didn't rush to take the page from you like you expected, or even tried to play it off like a joke. He just sat quietly, waiting for you to say something. Anything. You smiled softly as you held it out towards him. "This is beautiful Angel." He smiled back.

"Thank you. Just... Thank you."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel scenario #hazbin hotel writing #hazbin hotel angel #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel angel dust x reader #poetry #I WROTE THAT POEM MYSELF #PLEASE BE PROUD OF ME #also whoever can guess my meaning behind the poem i'll give you not one #hazbin angel dust #should i tag this as angst #hazbin hotel angst

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nell0-0 · 1 month

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AHHHH! He lost his EYE in the war! AHHHH!

I am perfectly normal about your last comic. I swear. Very normal. Just...not at all sobbing and emotional over it. You should know that. Definitely. ;_;

It's so good and so sad!

Yep ;u;

Glad you liked it tho!

Take the broken mask drawing as symbolism (?). A piece of him is now forever a part of Mask, and there's no taking that back.

There are many protrayals of Fierce Deity out there, but I like to think he ain't necessarily mean (quite the contrary), just a bit out of touch with how hylians work and feel. Fierce Deity deemed some things necessary for Mask's survival and well being, and not necessarily all of them were free of consequences. It was done with good intentions tho. If only he bothered to explain/tell Mask that...

Tormenting Twilight a bit is fun sometimes too ksksks

> Context about the ask HERE

> Twili Twilight looks HERE

> Continuation of this HERE

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zillychu · 3 months

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woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me

edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house

I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS

so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.

except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.

Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.

this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.

and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.

at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.

over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.

it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.

and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.

neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?

Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.

it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.

this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.

and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?

after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.

Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.

Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.

Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.

and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)

anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk

#I'll be honest. it has interested me. I've read fics. I'm just more interested in other stuff for dp #but the prospect of pitch pearl 'enemies to friends also maybe they kiss about it' has me sweating nervously #the struggle and angst of defining yourself against your progenitor. the defiant sorrowful anger funneled into misplaced hatred #only to slowly realize your progenitor is a sweet person who didn't condemn you. they even fight for you to have your own agency #so once you finally have your own body you'll do anything to protect that person you've come to truly care about #and because you shared a body for so long. because you had the same origin. you know them as well as you know yourself #you're not incomplete but you still hold half of each other #HAHA WOW anyway I'm in danger :)#don't. don't look at me #should i even tag this. yeah okay #Danny Phantom #pitch pearl

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captaincolorblob · 2 years

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Everyday i think about this screenboard scene that got semi-scrapped from Donnie vs Witch Town, like it just explains so much about Donnie as a character and i’m very sad we didnt get to see it entirely

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #like it just reveals that donnie has thought his only use to the team is being usefull via his tech #and feared he might get replaced or wasnt needed anymore #and instead of talking about it he bottled it up and it turned into aggression towards magic #like god we need to use this angst potentional more #cause it explains /why/ donnie was so stoneset on using his tech instead of mystic magic and kept saying how its better #and why his tech is usually gadgets or things that help him and/or his family #he thought thats all he's good for #apologies if i keep repeating things i'm a sucker for donnie angst and this makes me go wild #listen donnie vs witch town is not a high ranked episode on the tier list for me that scene next to the fight scene was the only part #i enjoyed a lot #and i wish they kept the entire screenboard in cause it explains a lot about donnies character and gives some drama #dia rambles #edit cause this post gained way more notes then i ever had or imagined i would ever have::#i am flattered and virtually high-fiveing every one of you folk that said they liked my tags #i was unsure if i should even put the ramble there cause i wasnt sure if people were even gonna read it #so if means the world to me seeing people in the notes having the same reaction towards the screenboard and liking my ramble in the tags #HOWEVER i would greatly apprichiate everyone who copypasted my tags to at least credit me #some have given credit and i'm gratefull for y'all and i understand that maybe theres still the glitch for mobile users and you can always #edit your rb #I'm not mad or upset at anyone i would just really prefer it if people at least prev tagged me #ALSO SIDE NOTE to all the folk that said they'd maybe draw/animate/write smth with this a) i put the link to the full screenboard in a rb #and b) please tag/dm me or send me an ask to inform me cause i would LOVE to see it

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feelo-fick · 15 days

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miscellaneous au doodles + a VERY self indulgent song lyric comic :D

+ extra evil comic below the cut :

"chil!" "don't look at me like that..."

#ill be honest this is all so self indulgent that its embarrassing but whatever. peace and love. i will live my truth #yes the song lyric comic is childhood friends t4t chilchuck + his wife. what of it.#yes i also put chilaios. SUE ME OKAY #anyways im really proud of that first comic i think i did the format justice #also to the fellow filipinos out there i salute to you all #if anyone who doesnt speak filipino google translates the song and talks to me about it i will uhhhhhh. kiss you <- joking #(BUT I DO ENCOURAGE TALKING TO ME ABOUT IT I WILL SCREAM)#now time for actual tags #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #<- technically #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #should i tag his wife? ill tag his wife #chilchuck's wife #laios touden #not gonna tag the others in the first comic cause theyre not the focus #chilaios #<- feed on angst with me. play with me in this space.#by the by im slightly dissatisfied with how i drew that evil comic i think it looks a little weird but i love the concept of it #i mean none of you have any context except for my friend whos working on this au with me but. i prommy that its good #oh yeah i should probably tag this au huh #[ tragedy au ]#<- dont worry about the name. d. dont worry about it.#PRAYING BEGGING PLEADING THAT THIS WILL POST PROPERLY THIS TIME

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cupidsdolll · 1 month

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word count: 1.1k

summary: harry’s angry at the world, himself included and he makes it everyone’s problem but there might be a light coming in the middle of his storm

notes: this is part two of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of drinking to cope with his grief, violence inflicted onto others and a brief scene of it as well.

masterlist

- - - -

To say that Harry’s been miserable lately would be a huge understatement. He’s been absolutely insufferable in the past two weeks. He spends all day drinking and holed up inside his office, he’s grumpy and snappy with everybody and he’s even more mean whenever he has to take care of someone. It’s his release in a way, the one safe space he can let out his anger at the world, at the Gallegos for taking away his love, at himself for not doing more.

“Goddamn! Fuck!” He screams in the confines of his office. He down a shot of whiskey and quickly pours himself another one, the burn going down his throat is welcoming — encouraged is the better word for it. His chest rises and falls harshly as he stares at the picture of her. One he had taken a couple of months into knowing each other, a bright smile on her lips and her hair and dress flowing in the wind behind her as they walked through a park. She had wanted a picnic and he was a sucker for her smile, so of course he’d do it for her. It was all worth it in the end, to see the smile plastered on her face and the excitement in her eyes

He misses her terribly, the past week has been the hardest week ever and he doesn’t know if it’ll get any better. He allows the tears to fall freely, to stain his cheeks and the mahogany oak of his desk. It seems as if his tears are never ending, just becoming a permanent addition to his appearance. He can’t bring himself to care, too busy wallowing in his guilt and pain. He guesses he deserves it in a way, none of this would’ve happened if he’d been paying more attention, if they would’ve stayed home or better yet if he’d never given her his number.

He huffs sadly as he wipes his tears away the best he can, he can’t do anything about the stains left on his cheeks. He takes another shot of whiskey and heads towards his office door, he figures now is as good of a time as any, and really he just can’t wait to let out some tension. He walks out the room and down the hall, ignoring the eyes of the few employees gathered around the desk before rolling his eyes as they start whispering.

“Don’t you all have a fucking job to do? This isn’t Barbie’s show where we all sit around and look pretty.” He huffs before mumbling under his breath, watching them with crossed arms as they scramble to find something to do.

He continues walking then, taking deep breaths to try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He can’t look weak in front of them. He walks past the framed pictures on the wall, past the rooms where clicking and the occasional scream filters through the closed doors until he gets to the last door in the hall. The dark wooden door detailed with swirls and large black handles is heavy as he pushes it open, but he enjoys the pain. His own form of punishment he guesses.

The room is filled with different tools and weapons, lights scattered all over the ceiling but still keeps the room dark enough. He prefers this environment to feel more like a horror movie than just a simple killing room, and wants it to feel eerie and depressing. He wants the room to inflict absolute sheer terror and feet into anyone who just so happens to end up strapped to the chair. His dress shoes click against the concrete floor, echoing around the room and he watches happily as the man strapped to the chair begins to squirm and try to break free. It’s no use though, he’s mastered the best knot to tie around the body and the chair tightly to keep them from moving but also to inflict pain when they try to escape.

“Well, well, well. Not happy to see me?” He asks in a sickly sweet voice, too sweet to be used in such a setting. The man shakes his head violently as he tries rocking the chair side to side, his screams are muffled behind the tape. Harry simply chuckles, he’s always amused at their useless attempts.

“Now, I just have a couple of questions for you. I just need some information and I believe you should be able to help with this.” He says as he leans down so his face is right in front of the man with tears filling his eyes. The man shakes his head and Harry grabs a handful of his hair, firmly holding him in place.

“So you don’t want to leave? I was gonna let you leave if you answer… but since you don’t think that’s fair.. you’ll be stuck here.” He says and he watches as more tears fall from the man’s eyes and Harry just laughs, everyone wants to be all big and bad until they have to confront their behaviors. They think that no one will be able to catch them, they always underestimate his dedication. He’ll search every corner of the internet and the world just to find someone, and he’s been doing that lately. Searching for hours and hours on the internet to find someone.

He pulls himself back as he smiles, he’s gonna enjoy himself through all this. He starts off small, a few punches and rough tugs of the hair, and he relishes in the muffled cries of the man in front. He rips off the tape and the man screams.

“Who wanted my girl dead and why?” He asks and the man shakes his head.

“I don’t know man!” He says through his tears and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed.

“Such a shame.” He says as he walks to a table full of various weapons and tools of all sizes, he grabs a pair of pliers and walks back to the man, hitting the pliers against his palm.

“Maybe this will ring some answers for you, for every question you don’t answer and I’m not satisfied with the answer I’ll pull one of your teeth out. How does that sound?” The man cries and shakes his head.

“Please man, I’m serious! I don’t know anything!” He cries out and Harry sighs.

“Already onto a bad start, my friend.” He says as he yanks the man’s jaw open as he decides which teeth to pull. As soon as he picks one, the door opens and EJ’s voice rings out.

“Hey boss, sorry to bother you but you have a phone call, it’s important.” Harry shakes his head. He should know better than to interrupt him. He’d hate to have to fire him.

“Uh, I’m busy. Tell them I’ll call back later.” Harry replies back, sarcasm and annoyance dripping from his voiceand the door still stays open.

“It’s the hospital, Y/N. She’s alive.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one direction #harry styles fan fic #harrystyles #harry styles one shots #harry styles sad #harry styles angst #harry styles x fem!reader #brief mention but i think i should still tag it #harry styles x y/n #my writing

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factual-fantasy · 1 year

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Where there any side effects after Mario got revived by the 1-up

Like any markings or anything?

Mario has no physical mark or scar from the injury that killed him. Thanks to the power of the 1-Up mushroom, Mario’s body has 100% healed itself. Every last cell was put right back where it should be..

But the 1-Up mushroom couldn’t heal Mario’s mind. And sometimes during times of stress or exhaustion.. he feels a sort of.. phantom pain. Due to the trauma of the whole event.

Its usually a hot pain that forms right where the gashes happened. And Mario has a relatively high pain tolerance. So its really frustrating for him- and actually embarrassing for him when he immediately crumples under the pain. He doesn’t like being seen as weak. He doesn’t want Luigi to see him as weak. He needs to always be seen as strong. For Luigi.

But of course Luigi doesn’t see him like that. He never sees Mario as weak during these times. All it does is it just.. its makes Luigi really sad. To see his brother hurting like this. Knowing there isn’t really much else he can do other than get him a cold rag and wait it out..

#super mario bros #mario and luigi #this post was a tad bit more angsty than intended #but boy after the week I've had?#drawing some good dramatic angst was a nice stress reliever #how do I tag the creepy mushroom-#tw distorted face #maybe?#tw phantom pains #might be one-#lmk if there's any trigger warnings I should add I'm not too good at those-

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isjasz · 10 months

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The brainrot continues (Blame @vesperionnox and @cherrysherin we are dragging the whole server down with this au)

Part 1

#desert duo #LoSBotwAU #grian #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #solidaritygaming #desert duo au #totk spoilers #if you squint #my art #isdoodles #i thought i got over this -> gets dragged back into this au immediately upon one mention #i really should have a tag for this au but i have no idea LMAO IT HAS PPL FROM HC EMPIRES AND LIFE SERIES HOW ARE U SUPPOSED TO NAME IT #the struggle has been resolved: jimmy is now a rito because canary dying first is just too good #scheduled so i dont procrastinate on posting this again #tumblr only bc bless tumblr for accepting more than 4 images <3 i have no idea how to post these on twt so nope LOL #(edit: nvm i caved im still gonna post some)#goddamn i need to get in the habit of posting more or THEY ALL PILE UP #OFOJASIOEJEKALJKSJ IM SO NORMAL OVER THIS AUUUUU #tho it has been slowing turning from desertduo angst into we must draw everyone in this au and put grian in links every outfit #still id call that a win #and btw feel free to send me any ask about this au ill be happy to answer HASJAHHAS #insanity in a nutshell: whatever this is #yeah idk what the dark link one means either idk enough about his lore to make sense of it HELPDDP #THE CRISIS HAS BEEN RESOLVED IT HAS A TAG NOW CHECK IT OUT HEHEHEHRH #yep its just the legend of scar we are geniuses LMAOAOAO

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beatupcorpse · 11 months

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and every morning, he waited

#character death #rotten art #comic #Hiiii i just finished watching seabound!#so here is some grief comic!#The first bit was going to be a stand alone thing but i saw the potential for angst in the mention of death and being together forever #funfact: this is an exchange me and my older brother had when we were little!#hmm should i tag this...#w the main tag i mean hfghdjfgdf #ninjago

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zi1arts · 4 months

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stuck together, huh?

A REDRAW OF THE INFAMOUS FAMOUS LUSH CAVES EPISODES SKDHFBEUCBEBBNCNE

#my art #ava tsc #ava the second coming #ava red #animator vs minecraft #WOAH okay #dude like #i didn’t really ship anything #when i watched it #but THIS #i need all ships to at least have some level of angst and tragedy #and this indeed #is angst material #not sure if i should tag this as secred #platonic secred #ava orange

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yanaleese · 3 months

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Karma with a reader obsessed with Dior and what not?

Honestly, Karma couldn't give jack shit about MC being obsessed with Dior. It's actually in his favor, since he gets a ton of money from his unethical job. Plus, his mother is obsessed with designer brands so he has a good eye. So - prepare yourself with a billion accessories, dresses and/or suits, and vacation days! He will happily spoil his Xaxi to pieces <33333.

However, just make sure you're within your boundaries. To Karma, your gifts are earned through sheer hard work. Failure to put in the work, or become dependent on his gifts will result in him giving more sentimental gifts. And if you fail to see the meaning in those (which shows why he invests in you in the first place) then you get no gifts at all.

Another thing he also strongly despises is your indecisiveness. More specifically, it's not really you being doubtful of purchases, but rather what you focus on most. If you become a lover of money and things, you will lose his affection really quick. It will come to a point where Karma will force you to choose between him and your things. And if you choose that over him, you won't be getting a torture or a kidnapping session - you'll be getting a swift kill.

Because you're not working with a lovestruck Karma. Neither are you working with a Karma who's desperate for your love.

Instead, you're working with a Karma who's lost everything:

You.

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metaphorical-goblin · 6 months

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Thinking about Mia screaming at someone (not Morgan, Morgan would not fight her as she left), hand wrapped around her own necklace heavy with beads (heavy with power, study and training lining the edges), and tearing it away from her neck, beads clinking to the ground like heavy raindrops, her magatama digging into her sweaty palm

and thinking about Maya watching quietly from behind a cracked door, tears rolling down her face as she watches her sister shout (or curled up in bed, hands cupped over her ears, shaking, because this isn’t something new, isn’t really unusual from their routine)

about doors flying open, hands tearing clothes out of drawers as Mia stuffs a bag full (and would she have stopped if Maya clung to the sides of her robes, begged her to stay? Did she stop, if Maya did?)

or about a quiet evening flight, where Mia packs a suitcase for weeks, one she pawned off a passing-by-traveler who didn’t want it anymore because a big tear split through the side (nothing a needle and strong thread couldn’t fix, mind you), about a silent exit in the dead of night, about a ticket for the last train that left Kurain without so much as twinkling lights to wish her goodbye, good luck

Does she say goodbye to Maya, then? Does she wake her younger sister from her sleep and pull her close, whisper that she’s doing this for them, for their mother, for her. Does she kiss her forehead and tuck her back in?

Or is the only thing that Maya gets a scribbled note on her bedside table in the morning, without so much as an apology written on it?

(Does Mia know that she is still clinging to her magatama? Does she even know it’s still digging into her palm until she leaves?)

#ace attorney #maya fey #mia fey #having thoughts about the Feys #I might write this eventually. I like thinking about Maya #angst #sorry I realize now I should tag for that lol

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quikyu · 5 months

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Momo, her father, and the Mask-Maker

#death #blood #gore #pokemon #ogerpon #sinistcha #teal mask #pokemorph #quikyu oc #quikyu artiste #Scientifically generated hottest man alive (named Deko)#Or. HAHA. I shouldn't say 'alive' should I. HAHA #do i tag this angst too?#momo #deko #mask maker #If you didn't know already. Momo's father takes the place of Ogerpon's Companion

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estrellami-1 · 6 months

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If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33

Steve isn’t sure what he expects after his admission, but it’s not for Eddie to completely shut down.

“I can’t be your experiment, Harrington,” Eddie says seriously. “Pick some other schmuck with no self-respect. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

All Steve can do is stare, open-mouthed. Eddie must take that as confirmation, because he nods once, mouth a thin line, and turns to leave.

Finally Steve is able to move. “Eddie, wait,” he implores, hand stretching out and brushing Eddie’s knuckles, reminiscent of the night on his roof. Was that really just last night?

He’s going to say more, as soon as the world stops spinning, but just then gym must finish because guys come pouring in.

Eddie shakes him off and disappears into the crowd.

Steve spends the rest of the day adrift. Robin catches his eye in the hallway, but he shakes his head. He knows if he talks about it now, he won’t be able to finish the school day.

Finally the last bell rings and Steve practically drags Robin to the car. Without asking, he drives to Lover’s Lake and sits on the edge. He vaguely thinks about the oddness of it all: in three years, or about two weeks ago, there’s a gate at the bottom of the lake. For now, it’s placid, makes his fingers itch for a skipping stone.

Robin sits next to him. Somehow knows he needs the silence. He is—not for the first and certainly not for the last time—suddenly hit with how grateful he is that she’s his friend.

He swallows. Drags his fingers along the ground, feels the pebbles shift in response. Says, “I kissed Eddie.”

Robin stays silent, but knocks their shoulders together.

“I guess technically we kissed each other? We’d been flirting, and joking around, and… my lip had been bleeding, right, so he asks if I need him to kiss it better. I say yes, and we kiss, and it’s…” he swallows, leans over until his head is on her shoulder. “It was so nice,” he whispers. “I really like him, Robs. Really. And we talk about it and I mention how he’s the first guy I’ve kissed, and he gets weird about it and says he can’t be the guy I use to experiment on. But I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t do that, Robbie. I really like him.” He sighs, tucks his forehead into her neck. “I should’ve said something, but I didn’t, and then it was too late because everyone was coming in from gym, and… he left. And I didn’t have another class with him and I think he’s been avoiding me, which makes sense, but I hate it, Robs, how could I have him and lose him in the same moment?”

Robin hugs him tightly. “Want me to go yell at him again? It worked the first time.”

He manages a chuckle. “Maybe. I dunno.”

Robin snickers. “Plausible deniability.”

He laughs and pushes her away. “Don’t make it sound like you’re gonna murder him, Robbie, I want him back, not dead.”

Robin just shrugs, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

He stares for a second before tackling her in another hug. “God, I love you.”

She shrieks as he knocks her over, but wraps her arms around him with a laugh. “Love you too, dingus. Now let’s go, you need to drop me off so I can go yell at your boyfriend.”

Steve snickers and moves off of her, offering her a hand up before they walk back to the car together.

He drops her off and walks inside his house, sighing as he drops his backpack just inside the entryway.

He collapses on the couch and shuts his eyes. He’d forgotten just how tiring school is.

He wakes up a few hours later when Allison opens the door, returning from work. She grins at him. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she teases.

He groans and wipes a hand down his face. “Hey.”

She frowns and pads over to the couch, nudging his legs to make room for her to sit. “What happened?”

It’s not really a question. He tells her everything, and she narrows her eyes. “I’m opening the door when he gets here.” She raises a significant eyebrow. “When,” she repeats. “Not if. First of all because I may not know Robin super well, but I feel like I know her well enough to know she’s absolutely terrifying when she wants to be. And second because I saw the way you look at each other.” She smiles. “You more so than him, but that’s just because you’ve known him longer. And you look at him the way Cassidy and I look at each other. And he’s almost there.”

She pulls him into a hug. “He’s a runner, bubba. That’s something he learned. Give him time to learn it’s safe to stay.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #eventual steddie #angst #*evil laughter*#robin buckley #Allison Harrington #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fic #time travel fix it fic #I still don’t know how to tag this #starambles

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jamespotterbbg · 26 days

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iconic or dumb?

i wrote a wolfstar fanfiction and the premise was based off of my experience with a girl i liked 😭😭😭

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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She almost runs over her guitar on her way in the driveway.

For a second, the image is so obscene that she laughs. She’d gotten her hands on a permanent marker, when she was three, scrawled her name across the body with careful hands a tongue stuck out of her mouth in concentration. The N is backwards, and she’d creatively used the soundhole as the O. Hollered for Daddy to come look, to come ruffle her hair and swing her over his shoulders for a job well done.

He’d come to look, alright.

“Well, Helen,” he’d said to his wife, scrubbing a hand over his neck, “damn thing’s hers, now, I suppose.”

He’d always warned her to be careful with it. Scolded her for every sticker she’d slapped on the neck, every painted doodle on the face. Picked it up when she left it sprawled on the couch, placing it gently on the stand. Careful as he was with all her things, with her.

It’s strings-down on the pavement, now, half-crushed under the weight of her patched pink backpack. She takes a half step forward, chipped paint of her purple toenails scratching against the wood of the guitar. She crouches down and touches it, softly, wincing at the twang of the twisted strings.

“What…”

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks up just in time to catch the pale blue curtains swish quickly shut over the bow windows, to see the lights flick off.

Mouth dry, she touches her stomach. The swell is barely there — barely noticeable. Barely far along enough to feel the kick.

She wants to scream. She wants to run up to the door and bang on it ‘til Mama swings it open, wants to collapse to her knees and sob and beg for their forgiveness. Wants to tell them about how scared she’s been for months. Wants Mama to grip her hand in her calloused ones, sit her at the kitchen table and get her the exact type of tea that’ll settle her stomach and soothe her heartburn. Wants Daddy to smooth back her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her forehead, squeezing the curve of her shoulder. Wants Wally the cat to hop up onto her lap, mrrping and bumping his head into her sternum.

Instead, she swallows. She swings her backpack over her shoulders, picks her guitar gently off the cracked driveway, and walks straight-backed to her car. The key sticks in the lock, as it always does, and in her increasingly desperate attempts to force it open she twists the damn thing, and the key is sad and thin and bent when she yanks it out and she cries, almost, the tears build and build and build in her eyes, util suddenly she grits her teeth and decides that she will not. She shoves the key back in the lock and twists the other way, bending it back into shape, wrenching open the door and throwing her backpack in, relishing in the thunk as it hits the passenger door. With her guitar she’s gentler, barely, setting it neatly along the backseats and wrenching her hand back as hard as she can to make up for it.

She sits in the drivers seat so hard the whole car shakes. The steering wheel is warm, still, from the heat of her palms on the drive here from Molly’s house, because she’s been overheated lately. For the last four months, to be exact. Overheated and cranky and nauseous and heavy.

“Well,” she whispers, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She wraps her arms around her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut, biting her tongue as hard as she can. “It’s you and me and sheer fucking will, I guess, kid.”

She rifles through her CDs until she comes across a case with a wood-pattern print and a man with a revolver lounging across it. She pulls out the scratched disc and feeds it carefully into the player, waiting for the deep baritone to rumble through her shit plastic speakers, and listens to the first bar, the second, the third.

But this is for real, so forget about me. Eight more minutes to go.

The light doesn’t come back on. The curtains don’t flick. Her Daddy doesn’t come runnin’ out the door, screaming for her to wait. Mama doesn’t follow out calmly after him. All there is is shadow, shadow, shadow, and the shape her guitar made upside down on the pavement.

She backs out of the driveway where she tripped and fell and lost her first tooth, and drives, and drives, and drives.

———

When she was little, her uncle took her to go see Alien.

He shouldn’t have. It was far too old a movie for a kid her age, and the clerk had told him so. But Noah Solace had a penchant for being stubborn and a chip in his shoulder, so he’d taken her anyway. He should have left when the alien leapt from its nest and definitely when one of the freaky little parasites burst from the guy’s chest, but he didn’t, and Naomi had watched frozen completely in her seat, palms sweating, spine rigid, squirming at the thought of something growing inside her. Of being betrayed by something that lived in the deepest recesses of her body.

The day after she leaves home, she taps her chewed-up fingernail on the sides of the wall-phone by a rest stop. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The Bell logo is covered partially by someone’s tag, by a curved C and bubble O B A L T. Ironically, the worn Sharpie ink is purple.

617 343 7844. She knows the number by heart. She knows the song of dialling it like she knows Jolene. Bah-duh-duh bah-duhduh duh-bah-duhduh. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, four. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She sucks her lip into her teeth. Training her eyes on the purple COBALT tag, the obstructed Bell, the rainbow of wads of gum balled up in the corners, she presses the right buttons. Bahduhduh-bahduhduh-duhbahduhduh. Ring. Ring.

What is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring.

Naomi isn’t one for planning. She’s absent-minded, she knows she is. Flighty and distracted. Head in the clouds, never one to study. A coaster. A drifter. A real one, now.

Ring. Ring.

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to respond to your letters. How am I? I’m great! I slept with a god and now I’m nineteen and knocked up and homeless, to boot. Wanna come pick me up?

Ring. Ring.

God, what is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring. Ri—

“Fuck d’you want?”

Low baritone. Gravelly. Rough, slurring. Sleepy?

“Hello? Can you hear me? Who’s this?”

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to —

“Is this one’a them fuckin’ tele — fuck they called — tele…tele…”

— respond to your letters, great, nineteen knocked up —

“Tele…grams? Telefuckin…telemarketers! You one’a them fuckin’ telemarketers?”

— pick me up pick me up pick me up please —

“Swear t’a fuckin’ Jesus — I told you sons of bitches —”

— parasite —

“Ah, fuck you. You call here again I’mma fuckin’ —”

Click.

Riiiiiiinnnnnng.

She stares at her own finger on the receiver, white and bloodless. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale.

You have disconnected. To reconnect your call, please —

She flings the phone from her hands, against the receiver, against the box, clink, clatter, bounce, tap tap tap tap tap tap against the pavement. Tap. Scritch. Tap tap tap. And flees to her car.

———

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

She blinks back at the yellow little fuel light, humming along to the stereo. She can push it for a while longer, probably. Maybe even to the district line.

What happens if she just drives? If she drives and drives and doesn’t stop. Lets the little light blinkblinkblink at her, keepin’ time with Reba McEntire and her dying husband. That’s the night when the lights went out in Georgia.

She’d have time to pull over, probably. Coast on the speed she was going, cut across to the gravel shoulder. There’s no one else around, anyway. She could recline her seat and cross her arms over her chest and watch the clouds through the dusty top of her windshield. Sleep through the night and wake with the mourning doves’ cooing. Then what? That’s the night that they hung an innocent man.

Walk, probably. On the side of the highway, along the stretch of dying grass and reedy weeds. Guitar on her back and backpack tucked under her arm, strolling under the balmy March sun and sing to the cawing crows, to the rushing cars. Well, don’t sell your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer.

Someone’d pull up next to her, probably. A trucker or a group of hippies. Headed to Oregon, they might say, round glasses covering bloodshot red eyes. Need a ride? ‘Cause the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands.

And she would need a ride. She’d sing for them, maybe. Pluck along to Hey Jude on her out-of-tune guitar and holler with the wind rushing in from the old broken windows. They’d know someone in Cali, of course they would, slip her their card. He’s a manager, he’s looking for some new talent. You’re just what he needs. Well, they hung my brother before I could say.

Right. A knocked-up nobody who’s paying for gas with her last few bills and the four quarters she found in a sticky mess of juice in her cup holder. She’ll go platinum, right up there with the Stones and the Roses. Naomi Solace, part-time mom, full-time country star. The tracks he saw while on his way.

She drifts off the exit to the first gas station she sees. The blink, blink, blink of the light irritates her, now.

The highway town she drifts through looks like a carbon copy of the dozens of others she’s been to in her life. The giant grey rest stop, the 24 hour McDonalds, the three separate Mattress Firms. She skips over the Buccees — the stupid mascot gives her the creeps — and pulls into the first gas station she sees. Dollar twenty a gallon. Jesus.

There’s an old man at the pump across from her. He stares as he pumps his gas. Nausea builds in her stomach, but whether that’s the gross factor or the avocado-sized mass growing inside her, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. She sprints for the little convenience store at top speeds, shoving open the door and ignoring the startled cashier and stumbling into the little bathroom in the back, barely making it to the stained toilets before emptying the contents of her stomach. She can see the half-digested junior bacon cheeseburger she had for lunch. It makes her throw up more. It also makes her mourn the eighty-nine cents she spent on it. Fuck.

She walks back into the convenience store grimacing at the taste of her own mouth. Nobody tells you that mouthwash and water bottles account for approximately eight billion dollars of your pregnancy cost. Of course, Naomi has never asked, but that should be a bigger part of the condom ads.

Or abstinence ads. She’s not sure how helpful a piece of rubber is against godly sperm. Mary seemed to struggle with the ordeal. Godspeed to her — she gets why the Catholics are so bananas for her now. This shit is hard and she handled it like a champ. Good on you, Mother Mary.

“Just these?” the cashier asks hesitantly, poking at the travel mouthwash, the water bottles, the singular packaged pickle, and the tiny jar of strawberry jam. And the plastic spoon she grabs from the hot table.

“And pump number 5. Please.”

“…Twenty-three sixty.”

Gas and water and a snack.

Twenty five dollars.

She has to count out her coins, hyperaware if the cashier’s dirty look. She bites back a comment about how frustrating it must be for them to have to do their job when it’s so busy out, what with one customer. Shame. Because she’s used up her irresponsibility quota for the next few years, she reckons, so she oughtta bite her tongue.

Half her fortune poorer, she walks back out to her car. The gas nozzle is still sticking out if it. She puts it back while holding her breath — do gas fumes kill growing babies? They probably kill growing babies — and shoves open her trunk, digging around. Blanket — no. Forgotten impulse purchases from months ago — no. Umbrella — no. Grad cap — no, and also why.

Finally, she finds what she’s looking for. She climbs onto the hood of the car, digging into her jam pickle, and flips open the paper atlas, turning the many pages until the map of Texas stares out at her, huge and overwhelming.

Twenty-six dollars and forty-nine cents. That’s what she has left. ‘Round twenty bucks for a full tank — that’s what she has left. 400 miles on a full tank. Seven or so hours until she’s out of the state.

“I could leave,” she says aloud.

And go where? New Mexico? Barely. She’s nowhere near LA, she’s nowhere near New York; hell, she’s nowhere near Austin. She’s nowhere near anything. Not even the nearest Amtrak station. She could drive until she runs out of gas, leave her car on the side of the road, and walk — to where? To the desert? To some serial killer’s basement?

To fucking find Apollo again?

“This is ridiculous.”

Slamming the atlas closed, she stomps back into the convenience store.

“There a secondhand store near here?” she demands.

The cashier regards her for a moment. Taking her in, probably, her ratty jeans that she can’t button anymore, her stained pink sweater, the greasy mess of her hair. The jam sticking to the corner of her mouth and the sliver of stomach pushing over the waistband of her pants. Her peeling flip-flops.

“Not here,” they say finally. “Highway town, ma’am. Ain’t got shit but what you can see from the road. You wanna real store, you gotta head ten miles east to Blowshow.”

“There’s a town called Blowshow?” she asks incredulously.

“There’s a town called Sheffield,” replies the cashier, mouth twitching, “which no one calls Joansburg, on account that the mayor was caught with his secretary gumming his green bean behind his desk by the film crew of the local news station coming to talk about a recent policy change. It’s got a main road and a general store, and will most definitely have a secondhand store.”

Naomi nods, rocking back on her heels. “Anybody hirin’?”

“Well, I ain’t been to Blowshow since last Sunday. And even then only to come see my sister. I wasn’t lookin’ at help wanted signs.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’.”

The cashier hums. The busy themself with a stack of cigarette boxes behind the counter, fiddling with a strip of cardboard come loose.

“There’s a diner,” they admit. “Di’s. Worst turnover rate than any place I ever been to.” The glance over at her, eyebrows raised. “Frankly, you won’t last a quarter year.”

Instead of sneering something about bowing out quickly and how they must know lots about finishing early, because that’s gross and also uncalled for, Naomi simply walks out. She gets in her car and starts the engine and turns the radio to thirty, making the warbling over the speakers so warped she might as well be listening to static, and guns it east. Or what she’s pretty sure is east, anyway. It’s fifteen minutes the empty pothole roads give way to something that looks like it’s seen a person in the last forty years. A little house sits nestled in the trees, bikes strewn about the driveway. A few hundred yards down road is a jogger that she gives a wide berth. In minutes, she’s pulling into a proper town — a tiny town, with more trees than people, but a real town with a real purpose. She slows to a crawl, eyeing hand-painted banners and peeling signs until she finds what she’s looking for.

The secondhand shop is small, clustered, and smells like mothballs. A shelf of broken old toys blocks her view of the rest of it and any people that may live inside of it, so she steps aside it, stepping carefully around chipped tile and stacked up boxes, looking for the right section. (The right shelf, really; nothing in this store is big enough to be a section.)

She finds what she’s looking for in a dusty old corner near the very back. Behind a broken typewriter and an ancient fax machine, and more random wires and cables than she can count, is a little portable cassette player. A pair of wiry headphones are wound around the hunk of black plastic, foam ear muffs cracked and peeling, and the worn label on the side reads Isobel. She grabs the clunky old machine carefully, brushing the pads of her fingers over the peeling paper label, and holds it to her chest.

At home she has a proper CD Walkman. It’s pink and pretty and covered all over in shiny foil stickers, and it’s chipped on the side from when she dropped it down the stairs. It skips every sixth song of an album without fail and she has to skip three backwards and two forwards to hear it. She has a collection of CDs to go with it longer than her longest shelf, and they’re arranged by colour and favour.

On another shelf, she finds a series of chipped cassette tapes. She flicks through the selection, frowning, trying to restructure hopes that were set too high and read labels written thirty years ago.

“I’ve got an extra box of them by the counter,” says a voice, making her yelp.

“Christ alive, you could kill somebody,” she snaps.

The man shrugs. He wears the loudest shirt she has ever seen and cutoff shorts that are way too short for someone his age. There are streaks of blue in his white hair, and four sweatbands on his left wrist. Green purple grey yellow. One, two, three, four.

“I’ll take a look.”

She spends another ten minutes in silence. The box, at least, has a little more variety than the shelf, so she picks out what’s worth it. She ends up with a stack the size of her arm.

“I have ten dollars,” she lies, Mama’s lecture about showing your cards ringing in her head. “That cover it?”

“Beautifully,” says the man, shiny gold-tooth smile. His bug-eye spectacles gleam in the yellow light. He holds out his hand. “Ten bucks for the player and tapes.”

Looking him right in the eye, she hands him her last twenty-dollar bill. He glares, when he sees it, muttering something about liars and thieves. Strangely, he looks at her with a little bit of respect when he slams her change down onto the counter.

She walks back out to her car, unwinding the headphones as she does. She’s half-worried the ancient things will disintegrate in her hands, but they manage to stay whole, if a little warped. She slides in behind the wheel and pushes back the seat, settling against the itchy carpet upholstery. With a quick glance out the window to make sure there are no creeps, she pulls up her shirt, bunching it up around her ribs, and lowers the waistband of her jeans. She eyes her belly critically.

There’s definitely a bump. Not much she couldn’t explain away with a particularly filling lunch, but it’s hard and there and constantly kicking at her from inside. Slowly, feeling foolish all the while, she stretches out the headphones until both halves rest on either side of her stomach. She picks out one of the tapes, slides it in the player, and clears her throat.

“Listen, kid,” she says, trying to sound less embarrassed than she feels, “I don’t want some lame baby who doesn’t know that Tina Turner was country first, okay? That’s a — waste of my time.” She clears her throat, hovering over the play button. “I better get some engagement.”

The twangy guitar is loud enough that she can hear it through the headphones. Or maybe they’re just that bad. Either way, Alien Parasite should be able to hear it just fine, amniotic fluid be damned.

“‘Means your true love daddy ain’t comin’ back,” she sings along. She closes her eyes and relaxes against the recliner seat, bare skin tingling. “‘Cause I’m movin’ on, I’ll soon be gone. Mhm, hm hm. So I’m movin’ on.’”

At the crest of the bridge, as the guitar speeds up and beats get harder, there’s a point of pressure right above her navel. Another, a few seconds later, at her pelvis. A third right below her ribs.

“Acrobatic little freak,” she mumbles fondly, smiling at her stretched taught skin.

She adjusts the headphones, adjusts herself, and turns the music up louder.

———

#naomi solace i love you #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #naomi solace #will solace #naomi solace & will solace #angst #will solace backstory #should be a tag tbh #pregnancy #teen pregnancy #my writing #fic #longpost #lowkey this is original work. but whatever

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