#* loops!

[almostfoxglove]

FREYAAAAAA hi baby <33

made up fic title: tumbling down your street

ooh or for a challenge: you can't be a flat earther!

LOOPS omg. these are so much fun!! thank you for them :,,) I'M HERE FOR A CHALLENGE. LET'S GO YEARN.

you can't be a flat earther! has dieter bravo written ALL OVER IT. childhood friends, perhaps? someone who grew up with dee and knows all his quirks and has seen him through every crazy, cool, and horrible step of his unfathomable rise to fame. the kind of status that has hives of staff and super fans flocking at his heels wherever he goes. no more late night grocery store runs for snacks, just the two of you. no more sundays at the park smoking pot and watching the birds swing through the clouds overhead. no more living together, where he could crawl into your bed whenever he couldn't sleep and beside you pass out immediately.

but a female roommate was not good for his image, according to his publicist. dieter disagreed until the paparazzi snapped a photo of the two of you leaving your apartment, hand and hand, and the tabloids had a field day. your name was everywhere. your parents' too.

for dieter, the world went red. he'd never been so mad in his life. it was one thing for him to be followed, tailed, stalked, prodded - but you were untouchable. you were off limits. no one got to fuck with you. so he moved out, covered his portion of your rent for the rest of the year and moved into some giant, tasteless, empty penthouse downtown with security posted in the lobby. for weeks after the move he slept like shit - reaching across the mattress for you.

you still see each other, of course. but it's different. he's hardly ever in town and you've got your own life. these days all anyone does is placate him, say yes, mindless and boring. when he's working, sometimes all that gets him through a shitty day is knowing you always pick up his calls.

because you know him too well to paint on some plastic smile. you never tell him what he wants to hear unless you actually believe it. so you're the one he calls when he's fallen down some rabbit hole after one too many edibles and is freaking the fuck out. you'll tell him if the world is ending, right? you won't sugar-coat it. dieter insists he's discovered irrefutable evidence that the earth might not be as round as people like to believe? you, trapped in the pixelated screen of his phone, correct him hastily, firmly. tell him he is not allowed to be a flat-earther, that he's smarter than that, and all that tangled-up panic in his chest just... unwinds. like magic. his paranoia clears like fog burned away by the sun.

then it's just you and him on the phone. lying in beds continents apart while you tell him about your week. about your normal-person job and normal-person life and the normal-person date you had that he's privately relieved to hear went terribly. about the painting you can't get right that you know he'd see just how to fix. he promises he'll help you out when he gets home and neither of you acknowledge that his return will be months from now, at best.

sometimes he misses you so much it feels like someone's got a crowbar wedged between his ribs and is wrenching them apart. he tells you as much, and for a second the video freezes you to a single frame: eyes swung high to your ceiling, glassy with tears. by the time you stutter back to catch up with your voice, the glimpse of it is gone. maybe he imagined it. maybe you don't miss him in the same way.

"don't worry, dee," you coo to him - your voice sweet but not as sweet as it is for real, in person. still he clings to it, knuckles white around his phone, gripping too tight as he nods. you smile sadly and a rib splinters in his chest. "gonna see each other soon. then you'll be sick of me."

you're joking, smirking, but to dieter it isn't funny. he's never sick of you, never has been. never will be. and that's the problem, isn't it? that he's got everything and could have more. could snap his fingers and have just about anything delivered within the hour. but for all his having he'll never again get what he really wants - to spend all his days with you, never sleeping in separate beds.

send me a made-up fic title game

[nofilter-cory]

Dog

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

This song has single-handedly taken over my life and it’s only been like a week

[maudiemoods]

If life is a never ending loop of dirty dishes and laundry then that means life is a never ending loop of home cooked meals and comfy clean clothes

[wackom]

Bothering the beast

[homunculus-argument]

No wait, random worldbuilding idea:

A people who have an age-old tradition, that when warriors left home to go to war, their family that remains home prepare funeral goods for them while they wait, sewing them the clothes and preparing the tools and all that they will be buried with - to emotionally prepare them to the hard possibility that the one who left will not return home alive. If the warrior returns, their burial goods are all burned in a bonfire that is lit for the celebration of their return.

And to this modern day, mothers of the culture will tell their children "fine, but let me take your measures for burial clothes before you go" as a way of telling them that something they're about to do is lethally stupid. Sharing stories about just how dramatic their mothers are, someone tells their group of friends that his mother once actually took out a measuring tape to start taking his measures when he said he's leaving home for a work trip.

And another one goes "pfft, yeah. This one time I went to a rock concert and came back home to mom sitting on her sewing machine, fucking making me a funeral coat."

[frankenfran]

whenever people say they can't watch/play/read anything slightly upsetting or scary or challenging because it's... upsetting or scary or challenging all i can think of is this lol

[skullzy20]

I want him dead (said with endearment)

[idlelizard]

twisting and bitturning

[faitokie]

I know the truth hurts

[returntosunder]

I really liked Kris playing the piano

[prokopetz]

Well, the good news is that you've broken the time loop.

The bad news is that the reason you've broken the time loop is because whatever force was responsible for maintaining it looked at the shit you did on that particular iteration and thought to itself: "you know what would be really fucked up?"

[nofilter-cory]

Cat

[thestuffedalligator]

It is November of 1893. You have just killed a vampire. Exhausted and worn, you close your eyes and rest.

You wake up. It is May of 1893. You are on a train en route to Transylvania. Your diary says you have had queer dreams lately.

You try to believe it.

(An old woman puts a rosary in your hands. You accept it without question.)

You are a guest in a castle you have never been in before (you recognize every hallway and know without trying that every door is locked). Your host is a man you have never met before (you killed him you killed him you killed him he had turned to dust and there was blood on the snow).

One morning you cut yourself while shaving.

There is nobody behind you in the pocket mirror’s reflection.

You turn fast, and the razor is like a Kukri knife in your hand.

[goldensunset]

all electric/flying types go to hell