#I’ve been writing for like an hour?

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[ang3lwithapen]

Shoutout to any and all Interactive Fiction writers because the sheer amount of time and effort that goes into every single chapter (AFTER you’ve learned how basic coding works) genuinely cannot be understood by someone that hasn’t tried writing an IF before.

[calumfmu]

drunk!steve harrington x fem!reader

(fluff; wc- >1k)

okay but can you imagine being at a party, laying in a random bedroom, trying to stop the world from spinning around you. you’d been laying there for the past 30 minutes in the dark, praying that the drunkness was waring off at that point. it had actually started to work until you heard someone stumble into the room.

the lights still off you couldn’t tell who the person was until they threw themselves next to you and turned on the bedside lamp.

“oh hello” you heard the voice say next to you, looking up it was steve harrington, boy toy. he was in his classic, knit sweater pushed up to the elbows, khaki, white converse. you would never admit it to anyone but his classic was the type of stuff you saw in your dreams at night.

you didn’t know how to speak to him. he hadn’t looked your direction—ever, and the only reason you were in the same vicinity was because one of your friends begged you to go so she can get sight of eddie.

“what do you want?” there was a bite behind your voice, slight albeit still there. steve made a small frown, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout.

“that’s not very nice of you” he sighed, scooting down so his head was at eye level with you. his hair fanned out around his head, hands crossed gracefully across his chest. he was drunk, glazed eyes blinking slowly at the spinning ceiling fan.

“i had the room first.”

he turned his head to look at you before shifting his body so he was facing you, the both of you curled into each others directions.

“and i had it second, yn.”

your heart made a jump, falling into your stomach as you realized he knew your name.

“you see, i was hoping,” he began, voice deep with the drowsy effect of the alcohol on his system. hiccups teetered on every other word of his. “that i could just lay here and ac-” hiccup “-quaint myself with a new” hiccup “friend.”

you quirked an eyebrow at the ‘friend’. he chuckled, noticing the expression.

“okay fine. im piss drunk,” and another hiccup “i can’t focus on anything right now and just really need to sober up”

and there he was, classic steve. you rolled your eyes, humored by him. a conversation quipped up between the two of you, beginning at the topic of small talk at the party to more, intricate details of your personal lives.

the things you talked about that night were miscellaneous, random thoughts. they were topics you both clicked on though, laughter echoing through the room as his poorly constructed dad jokes interrupted your stories. he was funny after all you discovered. there was more up there in that brain other than the farrah fawcett hairspray fumes.

“yn?” he asked, laughter still on his breath. you stared up into his eyes, watched as they crinkled at the corners.

“im glad i met you tonight.”

biting your lip in excitement, you flushed in the face—red pooling at your cheeks.

“me too, steve.”

“you’re beautiful, yn,” he continued, voice dropped into a whisper. his face was closer to yours, your gaze falling down to look at his lips. “truly so… so beautiful”

he leaned in slowly, glancing into your eyes once more before his lips met yours. it was unsure at first, steve testing the waters as you leaned into the kiss further. as you took his lips between yours, you wish you could say that it was fireworks, something you’d seen described in a teeny magazine—but it was so much more. it was a pulsing sensation throughout your entire body, a proclamation of a feeling you had never explained before.

he pulled away after a moment, licking the taste of you off of his lips. steve placed a small peck on you again, before shutting his eyes with again with a smile.

he sighed, contentment behind his voice, “time to sleep, yn.”

and you closed your eyes, tucking your face into his chin, corner of your mouth tugging into a small smile. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to not be giddy over the moment. a giggle threatened to explode from you but you fought it back, chewing the inside of your lip. his arm came to lay at your waist, steve sighing as he made himself comfortable as well.

and if the two of you fell asleep face to face that night, no one would know. his arm draped over your waist, nose pressed into the top of your hairline as you curled up into him.

you two wouldn’t talk about it come monday morning when school was in session. you would walk by him and he by you, arm wrapped around a different girl than the previous week. you would spare glances at each other, small smile on your face as you saw him wink in your direction, hidden from his group of friends.

that night was something special between the two of you, something that couldn’t be taken away. it was a secret you both shared, a memory meant that would only be dreamt of at night in the dark of each other’s rooms.

[sugarsnappeases]

just had this thought of lily as a lit student volunteering at her local library and barty as this delinquent being assigned to do community service there. like she starts off with a bit of a ‘oh this poor criminal, i must save him’ mindset and then is constantly frustrated by barty as it’s clear that he just. doesn’t want to be saved. and he’ll deliberately mess up the book organisation systems and try to scam people by fining them when their books are nowhere near overdue so he can keep the money for himself. and lily is running around after him, huffing as she loudly puts the books back in their proper places, whacking him round the back of the head when she catches him trying to scam some old man. she’s screaming at him in the back room, leaning over him as he sits back unbothered on one of the chairs, shoving her finger in his face but he just grins and tries to bite it so she’s whacking him again and storming out bc he’s just SO infuriating. but then somehow he’s also going in depth with her about the motivations of iago in othello and whether the tragedy can be blamed entirely on him or if society itself plays a part in the plot’s development or animatedly discussing keats’ ode to a nightingale and the concept of negative capability and how it relates to the body. and she’s just completely fascinated by him, she wants to analyse him like one of the texts from her classes, she thinks she could write essay upon essay about his view of the world and the way his brain works and the tattoo she can always see just poking out of the top of his collar. and now she’s missing deadlines bc she wants to spend time w him, and laughing as he knocks over an entire bookshelf while trying to tell her about the book he’s just read, and really he doesn’t want to be saved but maybe he’s saving her instead…

[kacievvbbbb]

God what even do I do with this chapter 😭 but here are some of my thoughts.

SPOILERS FOR CH. 268

- what the fuck

-“Maybe it’s time to try living for someone else” okay the itafushi shippers really won with that one, I can’t lie. But at the same time it feels like Megumi’s always been living his life for someone else specifically Tsumiki. so it kind of feels like the stronger message would have been to decide to live for himself? Kind of how yuuji’s journey went from finding this greater purpose to live and fight to simply just living is okay as well. But that’s just me. Im interested in hearing other people’s take on the situation

- this is from last chapter but I so really like the parallel of yuuji in this fight for his life with Sukuna and Mahito and being so weighed down by everything that he has lost and everything he is still trying to save and then Kugasaki hits that resonance and Yuuji sees that he’s not alone and god something about it always being Nobara and her insanity breaking him from that sorrow and giving him that last push to fight like he's not alone.

- also I do think seeing Nobara’s resonance after having to be the one to break it to itadori that she wasn’t recovering, really solidified that there where things still worth living for.

- I don’t know something about Sukuna finally after all these chapters acknowledging itadori by finally saying his name is so very Sukuna off him. It’s like the inverse of him going into Jogo’s flashing life and telling him he’s strong. This time he’s the one dying and he’s finally acknowledging the boy that killed him. Say what you want about Sukuna but he ain’t no sore fucking loser.

- God how fucking Yuuji Itadori of the whole thing to after everything all the terror and the torture and the pain to still offer Sukuna a chance to live and live better. A chance to not be a slave to his nature to this curse in their blood. God Yuuji what do I even do with you.

- okay so not even a fucking frame of the Hakari/Uraume showdown. Really 😭😭. It looked like things were happening too. With that final parting it looked like they’d reached some kind of understanding and not even a fucking frame. Gege the way your mind works.

- really not even one punch? Not even one gambling shot. I’d have payed good fucking money to see Hakari explaining how a pachinko machine works to a 1000 year old curse servant.

- the little “you’re just lucky is the best compliment for a guy like me” and the “yeah I guess it is” was a great exchange tho. Which is is why I wonder. Really not one fucking frame😭. I wonder if mappa will just ignore this and give them a fight scene anyway like they elongated the Sukuna vs Mahagora fight.

- and now finally, some good fucking food.

- Gojo’s little I killed your daddy note is so funny. What the fuck is wrong with him

- again. What the fuck.

- Nobara being as rude as fucking always god I love her. She is taking no prisoners. Fuck you mean you aren’t weeping at her feet at her return.

-Them trying to do the whole box suprise for Megumi and him catching them in the act is so stupid I actually can’t 😭. They really only have one braincell

- Nobara not giving a single fuck about her mom like what. Also what did she mean by “Special grade authority”

- crazy that they all got face scars now. They’re a matching set.

- I wonder what Yuuji’s talk with gojo was. I wonder what parental figure gojo exposed for him.

- I dunno this chapter making me feel like he might come back. Gojo Satoru just might make a come back.

- I’m glad that atleast after everything it’s gunna end with the three of them. Maybe a little damaged and worse for wear but together and that counts for something.

-lastly…..what the fuck m.

[dottores]

well, i was going to wait to formally announce something when i got the time but i’m a bit irritated that the first thing i see when i log in is this ask

^ to answer your question anon, idk why you’re following if that’s what you feel 💀 respectfully, unfollow and never interact with me again. and this goes for everyone else who has left nasty asks in my inbox demanding me to update. my priority is law school and family, not to update fanfics that i don’t get paid for. this is something i do on the side for fun, it is not a job nor does it help me secure my future. spend less time demanding free work from people and spend more time working on your own future. it quite literally should never get to the point where you’re demanding strangers on the internet to provide you with fanfiction and insulting them when they have other things going on—seek help. that is weird.

but on a more serious note to everyone who has been respectful & kind about it—i don’t think i’m gonna be able to update anything until winter break, i apologize to everyone who has been waiting patiently, i promise i’m not abandoning heliotropes but it will not be updated for at least a month and a half. my workload has skyrocketed the past two weeks and my professors are warning us that it’s only uphill until after finals when we get our break. i need to be focusing on work, i barely even have the energy to answer messages from ppl right now.

^^ so if you are here for just my writing, this is the time to leave. i’ve been very vocal about this not being a writing blog. it is just my blog. if you only want writing, unfollow and find it in the tags.

i am going to be closing my inbox to prevent more asks like this because it’s rude and it’s not something i want to deal with. officially on semi-hiatus.

[fleuraimer]

tw!! dubcon/noncon smut. mdni.

can’t sleep and i keep thinking about cowboy!tangerine who makes you ride ‘im in just his cowboy hat :(( like imagine bein’ at the local bar and you’re all dolled up with your girls—your best boots, most cropped cropped top, and shortest daisy dukes donned. your lashes are painted and your lips glossy with pink and shimmer that smears on the rim of the lastest glass you’re nursing when a fella in tight jeans and a tighter henley manages to squeeze into the crowded bar area.

you’re…inebriated, to put it nicely, so you honestly can’t be blamed for the way you skip over to him, loose-lipped and overly eager.

“hi! you ain’t from ‘round here, are y’mister?” you slur over the live band, southern lilt still soft and sweet, leaning into his inviting, firm chest.

and perhaps the way he welcomes you closer should set off a few alarm bells, a pleasantly large arm coming to wrap around your teetering form, but the only pit in your stomach is from the incessant flutter of glass wings in your suddenly aching belly, no doubt evoked from the handsome allure of this newcomer.

he chuckles low enough that you almost miss it, but you hear loud and clear his sultry rumble of, “nah, darlin’, bit farther east then down here,” because it’d be difficult to miss the accent that came with it, smooth and all too fitting for his mysterious persona.

and just like that you’re wrapped around his big ol’ finger :(

barely gets his name out before you’re draggin’ ‘im out to the dance as a sad excuse to feel him up. he ain’t complainin’, though. no, of course not, how could he, with a soft, sweet little thing like you rubbing yourself against ‘im? god, he could never.

you’re just coherent and caring enough to let your girls know you’d be leaving with tangerine before being tossed over his broad shoulder and waltzed out of the establishment (their screams of concern, explicit calls of “what the fuck does a guy named tangerine do for a living, babes!?” shouted across the floor to reach you, but it sweeps right over your hanging head).

when he sets you down it’s next to a nice big truck, something the likes of your brothers and uncles would like (something your molded and chiseled little brain just drools over), and takes the cowboy hat on his head you’d be starin’ at since he arrived and places it on your pretty little head.

“wanna take a ride, sweetheart?”

poor, silly thing; you nod so quick, how were you supposed to know he meant a ride on his cock, not his truck?

it’s how you end up in the bed of said truck, your own clothes strewn uselessly around you, fingers clawing at his henley with legs split over his muscly thighs, his thick cock plugged up your little cunt. the rough fabric of his jeans irritate your innermost thighs as you grind on him, sticky, puffy clit catching on the cold, hurting zipper teeth every other roll. you shudder and hiccough, but his grip on your hips keeps you from lifting enough to relieve the pain.

“c’mon, sweet thing, fuckin’ ride it,” he grunts, spanking the full of your ass with both hands, gripping and spreading. “ride my cock like— yeah, like that, good girl, just like that, darlin’, grind it right there—”

he fucks up into your gummy walls—slick swirling in a ring at the base of his cock, leaking down to his full balls—presses his ruddy, leaking tip to that spot that has you fucking shaking in his arms, eyes threatening to roll back.

“that’s it, s’good, sweetheart—you sweet fuckin’ thing—g’na cream on m’fat cock?” he coos, fisting a hand in your sweaty scalp, forcing your eyes on his. you whimper as he sits you down and he fills up to the hilt, issues another spank to your red ass just to make you jump and gush around him a little, and then makes you grind that messy pussy s’more :((

“tan— fuckfuckfuck, s’big!” you gasp, glass wings fluttering in your throat now, slicing through your breaths, cutting off your oxygen.

that silly cowboy hat knocks into his forehead as he pulls you down for sloppy kiss, all tongue and spit and desperation. his big, tattooed hands slide over your soft belly and up to you warm chest, groping and squeezing and pinching at your peaked nipples while your lips stutter against his, tongue lulling as your thoughts leak from your brain in time with the drool spilling from your mouth.

“messy girl,” he whispers into your lips, but licks it up and spits it right back in your pliant mouth as he continues to bully his big cock in you sweet, wet cunt.

he plays with you until he hears footsteps coming into the parking lot—makes you come plenty in that time frame—then places your tremblings frame delicately in the passenger seat before hopping in on the drivers side.

he starts driving, and as you stop at the first red light, his fist finds its way into your hair again.

“not done with y’yet, darlin’,” he says as he guides your pretty little bobble head down to his crotch, jeans and belt still undone. his hat knock into his firm thigh and falls to the ground, but with his bulge, still hard and drenched, pressed to your nose, it’s the last thing on your mind.

“nurse on m’cock ‘n maybe i’ll give’ya m’cum when we get home.”

you mouth at him though his tacky boxers as his foot presses down on the gas

(and if that little detail about home flew over your head, too? that’s fine, tangerine promises he’ll take good care of you, his soft, sweet little thing).

——

not edited/proofread!!

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[killldeer]

I’d like to take a moment to appreciate the score behind the scene where Mat summons the Heroes of the Horn, because after rewatching it literally four times I finally realized why it hit me so hard – it’s scored like a modern movie or show of the genre usually would be.

This is the part where I admit that it took me most of the first season to warm up to Lorne Balfe’s compositions for Wheel of Time; I am an ardent enjoyer of the more classical, leitmotif-laden scores for things like Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, and for a while I felt a twinge of disappointment that WoT wouldn’t be getting the same treatment. But! I eventually came to my senses and realized that Balfe’s compositions perfectly suit Wheel of Time’s setting. WoT’s world is post-apocalyptic, risen from the ashes of an unimaginably technologically advanced society to form its own unique landscape – that’s wild!! It’s different!! And Lorne Balfe recognized that it warranted a different musical style to match. He relies on compositions that lean into synthesized, eerie reverbs, and substitutes the classic leitmotifs seen elsewhere for rhythmic choral chanting in the Old Tongue to explain characters and their motivations – if you have the ear to understand it, of course. ;)

This brings me back around to our good friend Matrim. As he summons the Heroes, something happens to the score. The choral element is still present, but the slow music beneath it is… a regular orchestra. Slow, soaring strings, the kind of sound western audiences typically associate with decades of moments of glory and victory on screen – the music we typically hear for our heroes. As Mat calls these warriors from past Ages, and as he says “I… I remember”, the music steps back with him, connecting Mat to them all. This is a moment that straight up would not have worked if Wheel of Time was scored like the Lord of the Ringses or Game of Throneses it’s so often compared to – there wouldn’t have been any contrast between this section of the score and all the others. But because the score is usually on a completely different plane, doing weird, unique, “out-of-genre” stuff, it clicks PERFECTLY. Even if you don’t consciously register it, the music has momentarily stepped into a style that’s completely different – but completely familiar.

[donuts4evry1]

Quiet i am OVERANALYZING over here

[obsolescent]

Hey!! Next one week I’m getting braces and as someone who has very strong anxiety this has been getting me so much stress and making me feel like complete crap. Could you please write a ghost x reader (gn since I’ve read that’s what you use:) ) trying to help reader just relax or feel better. Something like that would be nice. Love you work, you are amazing take care 🩷

Don't you Fret

Author’s Note: Hi! This is so sweet. This will make my first Ghost x reader piece! I hope you enjoy it and I hope it’s what you were looking for! Also I left this ambiguous on what the procedure is, so if any of you are worried about any kind of upcoming procedure I hope this eases your worries some ♡ Good luck by the way!! You’ll do great :)

Content Warnings: Gender neutral language used, fluff, Simon trying to understand southern slang lol

You stare down at the paperwork in front of you. The contract, consent forms, guidelines, and instructions on what to do in preparation for your procedure next week lay scattered across the coffee table. Your leg is bouncing a mile a minute while you chew on your nail, the reality of it starting to set in. 

To say that you’re an anxious person…Well yeah, you are. It’s even worse when it comes to medical procedures. This ain’t even that extensive of one, but reading the step-by-step process of what will happen, how long it’ll take, and the aftercare is making you pretty antsy. “Ugh,” you groaned, putting your face into your hands.

“You alright, love?” You jumped, twisting around to find Simon standing behind you. “Good lord, felt like my soul left my body,” You gasped out. He snickered, walking around the front of the couch to sit beside you.

He grabs your hand and begins stroking it, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, helping to ease some of your nerves. He glances at the papers laying across the surface in front of you two and asks, “This what’s gotten you on edge?” “An understatement,” You grumbled, “More nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

He stared at you for a moment, face blank, before those blond brows of his started to furrow, brown eyes narrowing. You can almost see the equations floating around his head as he tries to decipher the phrase. “Fucking hell. English, please. Or at least slow down, can’t understand with you talking so fast.” 

“I’m very fucking nervous, alright?” You mock back, a poor attempt at an English accent. He huffs at that, before pulling you into an embrace. “Cheeky,” He muttered into your hair, giving a kiss to your head. You sighed, sinking into his warmth.

You’re so glad to have him home with you at this moment. The two of you always appreciate your time together, but you more so now than usual, with how worried you’ve been.

“Anythin’ I can do to help ease your mind?” He asks, rubbing soothing patterns into your back. You hum, nuzzling your face into his neck, before saying, “Not sure. I feel like crap right now, upset with myself for being so upset. It’s annoying! I wish things like this didn’t bother me, that I could be more like you. It seems like nothing phases you, you’re always so cool and collected.” You sighed, fiddling with the hem on his sweatshirt’s sleeve.

“It’s not like I’m having extensive surgery that’ll have me under for hours!" You exclaimed, making exaggerated hand gestures while speaking. Simon grunts in agreement, “Can’t help what your brain is in shambles over, love.” You sighed again, pulling away to look up at him. 

“Darling,” He said, voice gravelly. He cups your face in both hands. You look into his eyes, finding adoration and warmth. You feel a tingle in your nose, a sign you’re about to start crying. Scrunching your face up, you will the tears away, unsuccessfully. You start to sob, your hands coming up to cover your face. “None of that now,” He says, pulling your hands away, peppering kisses across your tear stained cheeks. 

“I-I’m sorry,” You choked out, “I feel pl-plumb stup–” Before you can finish your sentence, Simon is picking you up in his arms. You squealed, latching onto his shoulders as he made his way to your bedroom. He opens the door, walks toward the bed and drops you onto the mattress before plopping himself down beside you. He turns you towards him, bringing you into his warm embrace once again.

“Now then. We’ll stay here as long as we need, yeah? Just let it all out, alright?” He murmurs, running his fingers through your hair. You cling to him, feeling safe and secure in his grasp. Hiccuping, you replied, “Thank you, Simon. Love you.” Your words are muffled by his shirt. He chuckled, pulling back enough to bring you into a kiss. “Love you, too, pet,” He whispered after he pulled away. Under his breath, you hear him begin to hum.

You two stay interlocked, listening to his heartbeat and humming, it lulling you to sleep. His hand continued its ministrations on your scalp as he felt your breathing even out. He pulls far enough away to look at your face, relieved to see you so calm. He smiles to himself, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “My favourite,” He whispered, content with you relaxed in his arms. 

[chimerahyperfix]

cw: gore and mentioned death for like 2 lines, nervous breakdown (or at least on the edge of one). Spoilers for ISAT.

YIPPEE ONE OF THE 3 FUNNY LOOPS!!! YIPPEEEEEEE

readmore'd this one early because the cws are at the beginning (and this one's kinda chunky)

----------------

You'd been doing so well, this loop. You didn't crab anything up, you made the bomb and yet, and yet here you crabbing are, in the same bloodstained halls as always, kicking through puddles of gore like it's a normal Sunday, which you GUESS it is now!

Nothing you do matters. It doesn't matter it doesn't matter IT DOESNT! MATTER! And you just have to crabbing LIVE with it, forever, twenty four hours over and over, twenty four big metal bars of your hand-crafted cage.

So you just. Stop. Pull off to the side and sit up against a wall that isn't coated lightless with death and just.

You break down in tears.

It's still going. You're still going YOU'RE STILL GOING. One for all. Just you suffering, because everyone will be okay after you loop back, but not you! You'll carry this with you, forever! You don't want to be here anymore. You just... want it to stop.

And.

It does?

The world fades out, and not in the way it does when you die, no; it just... is suddenly dark. Thick and heavy like syrup around you. It's hard to move, to breathe. You find yourself struggling.

There are. Footsteps, coming in your direction. You can hear them clearly, like a pin dropping in a silent room. You struggle to your feet-- and it's a struggle, because you still can't breathe right and your legs shake like a newborn animal. It's a struggle to see anything around you through the veil of pure darkness that sparkles and floats around you.

And here you stand, in the sky itself, facing yourself.

More correctly, a mockery of yourself. It pulls itself forwards like you'd been doing all day, tilted and shaking and exhausted. Painted pure lightless and sparkling, like the blood painted on the King's armor. You glare daggers at it, because it is not you and if you believe it even could possibly be, even just a little, you will probably be giving it some kind of power.

It faces your direction, and it's lack of eyes and mouth sends shivers down your spine. It's not real, it's not real it's not real!!! It can't be!!! Why would this be real? You're frozen, you have to be because this is a crabbing DREAM it has to be you have to be frozen because if it's not then what the crab IS THIS, is your brain working against you? Are you imagining the frost crawling up your spine and the burning in your throat, if you try speaking you'll spit pure fire because you have Changed yourself with a capital C and Destroyed yourself with a capital D. It's a big angry mockery of yourself and you want it to go away you want everything to stop, stop, stop please--

It shifts. You move in response, nails digging into your palm. It takes a step forwards. The floor ripples like waves and they roll over your shoes, washing the blood from them. You back up some in return.

You open your mouth to say something or try and ward it off, but only a cough comes out. Blood runs down your chin.

It tilts its head (your head, YOUR head, it's freaking you right the crab out) and opens its OWN mouth, and--

It. Speaks.

[BURNING ONE.]

The sound that comes out, it's the King's voice. It shocks you still, and your lungs stop pulling in air at the pure horror. The thought hits your brain, did the King make this thing?

[Claude?]

No. No wait, now it's Euphrasie.

What.

[Do you know what this is?] Now it's Mirabelle??? [Don't drink it? What do you mean it's toxic?!]

Okay. Stop. This is making your head hurt. Like your brain has been restarted, turned off and back on again. You've run directly into a brick wall and now you're just confused. It's... using other's voices. Mockeries. Pulling from random conversations that you've just barely remembered. Mirabelle poured one of your potions on a plant she tried to grow once and it killed it. You hadn't cared at the time, but now, now... you'll never leave your stuff out again. That very same potion killed you, and it could've killed HER.

You know damn well what you've worked with. The plants and chemicals, toxic in every way. You'd always liked to dance on the edge of safety, tempting death to come get you: maybe that's why you're here now, doomed to repeat the same day over and over. Death coming back to laugh at you and take your soul, over and over again.

Maybe this thing is Death, coming to mock you face to face. Wouldn't that be a crabbing laugh? The very concept of the end, pointing and laughing right in front of you, using the voices of the ones you love. What a crabbing joke.

[Claude,] it pulls from Euphie again. [Are you okay?]

No. Why would you be okay, at this point? It tilts its head, and you shake yours. Crab it. Why not. Your voice is failing, withering away in the furnace of your mouth.

[HOW HAVE YOU DONE IT?] It echoes the King's voice at a louder volume.

You know. You know, you know you know. You wished, and figured out something new, something different, and now you have eternity and you want it to stop.

[Are you enjoying yourself over there?] Ohhh, oh you need it to stop using her voice. Twisting your girlfriend's kindly voice into something wrong, using it against you. You throw a punch, and it surges back.

[What do you mean, you've done this before?] Why, why is it doing this to you. You want it to stop you want it to go away you want to. [Can you tell me what happened?]

You can't. You don't, you don't want to do this anymore. Make it stop. Make it stop.

It looks at you. At your clasped together hands.

[YOU?]

Your voice sputters to life. Gurgles over blood. "I don't remember."

It opens its mouth.

[I wish...] Oh... that's...

[I wish we had more time!]

It reaches out, and grabs you by the lapel of your draping coat. Pulls you forwards. Your legs buckle under you, and it slightly holds you up. Looks down at you.

It has eyes behind the glasses now. Irises curled with spirals, the same crabbed up shade yours are.

[I'M SORRY.]

That's... that's you.

[THIS WAS THE DESTINED OUTCOME OF THE EXPERIMENT.]

Ahh...

The ice creeps up your back. Daggers and pins in your spine, between the bones.

[IT'S TIME TO GO TO SLEEP.]

You wished for more time, and...

It lets you go. You fall limp.

You can't move.

That's okay.

[BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD.]

You

Let go.

(If you had held out for five more minutes, you could've been there, beside yourself, when your hopelessness ate you alive and turned you into a Sadness. Watched as they found you, how they screamed, and how they had to kill what was left of you. Lucky you!)

[demiboydemon]

Writing an outline for a longfic! My goal is 120,000 words and 24 chapters. I’m thinking I’ll call it “The Memory of You”.

The plot is that Link speedruns the game and doesn’t get the paraglider or memories. He finds an alternative way off the Great Plateau and defeats Ganon mere days after waking. Unfortunately, this means he doesn’t remember Zelda at all. They go to all the villages to help with post calamity stuff etc. and Link slowly regains his memories while also falling in love with Zelda in the present, all over again. Meanwhile, Zelda is coping with all the issues that come with what happened to her, the way the world has changed, AND that her best friend, the only person she has left, is a whole different person now.

There’s lots of pining, tension, emotional hurt/comfort, religious trauma, slowburn, eventual fluff, and all the angst. It’s 3rd person narration with alternating POVs.

I’m 2,000 words into the outline and only about 1/6 done. I want them to kiss already but I must prevail!

[m1d-45]

(what about me?)

summary: even gods get lonely, it just takes them a bit longer than most. but when it hits, it hurts, and hard.

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, mentions of wine, little guy is sad and alone about it :(

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

starsnatch cliff is empty more times than it isn’t.

it was a common destination for couples, the silence a welcome break from the bustle of the city of freedom. the stars up above were unblocked, bright, the full rotation of constellations visible by just tilting one’s head to the sky. two majors, twin sets of stars, the three minors orbiting, staring down, watching. the same form, night after night, a bard in green driving away the aspiring couples often enough they learnt to stop trying. a body is there, physically occupying the space, but with how little is being done, the cliff still feels empty. the stars watch, seeing all, as the same body comes and sits, as the same eyes turn to the sky, vacant with memory.

venti didn’t know which constellations were in rotation—he did, that was a lie, he knew every single one and their owners—nor how long they’d be up—liar, liar, liar—but he watched the sky anyway, spinning a cecelia in his hand. the stem was worn, some of the juice clinging to his fingers, but he didn’t set it down. to the left, to the right, the six petals twisting outside of his field of view.

the god of freedom found himself coming back to the same cliff every night, sometimes leaving the angels share earlier to get there quicker. he walked, picking a cecelia as he did, and sat in the same spot at the peak of the cliff.

was he truly free, he wondered, if the stars kept calling him back?

(he knew he was. it was his choice to return, his choice to stay until the sun rose, to take naps in the afternoon to make up for the sleep before coming back, back, back, night after day after night)

the galaxy streaking its way across the sky, blue and purple and greens mixing and blurring, broken only by the bright shine of stars. planets, all locked in their own orbit, worlds he’d never be able to see, all within his sight yet all out of his grasp.

his eyes fell on a star at random.

who lived there, he wondered? what was beyond the atmosphere he knew? how far was the next planet? was there even intelligent life? surely, there must be—you wouldn’t create only one planet with life on it, right? you’d create many races, aliens he couldn’t imagine, all created to thrive on their world and serve under you.

(were they treating you better? had you exited your resting world already, and found another planet to keep you occupied? was teyvat not enough for you? you… you’d tell them if they weren’t doing enough, right? you’d say? you wouldn’t just leave them in the dark, right?)

he wondered how far away you’d gone. he remembered you—of course he did, your visage was engraved in his mind, miles deep and never to erode—and your last moments on teyvat, how you’d promised the archons that you would return soon. that you wouldn’t be far.

of course, ‘far’ was relative. and what was time to a god? how long was ‘soon’ for you? how long would it be until he could be blessed with your presence again? the little of your aura that bled through your vessels wasn’t enough- it wasn’t, and he was horribly selfish for thinking so, but it wasn’t. not when he’d been able to lay his eyes upon your true form, not when he’d felt your skin beneath his as he led you through mondstat for the first time. the small glimpse of you that seeped into the air around your vessels may be enough to rest weary souls, but for a god?

you were the shining light of teyvat, always everywhere. traveling from nation to nation, occasionally visiting off-world but never for long, never, he never had to go without you for more than a year or two at a time, he never had to feel erosion start to sap at his life-

the stars grew blurry, and venti hastily wiped the tears away, continuing to search the sky.

he knew he was eroding. every god was. memories, resilience, patience, all of it fading. mortals (part of his mind flinched, but he was right, he was mortal, he could die) weren’t meant for the power of the divine, the gnoses grating against the walls of their soul. it was never a problem before, not when they had you, you to temper the flame of creation, you to brush your hand over a wayward god and breathe life back into their heart, you with your endless compassion, to accept what felt like overwhelming and discard it as trivial.

barbatos was eroding without you. every god was. the ley lines were acting up, the abyss growing stronger, the eons without your presence turning teyvat into a hollow husk. and yet, the pathetic little he discarded from your vessels had begun to heal it anyway.

why did you use vessels? you had to know it was easier to descend yourself, right? to let flowers bloom in your wake and the breeze brush grass from your clothes, to tuck ei’s hair behind her ear and let empathy back into her mind. your vessels did a lot, but they could not manage all- murata, focalors, the tsaritsa and her wretched fatui- you could fix it all, all with a blink and a smile, a gentle hand across the earth to sew it at the seams.

he was being idealistic. he knew he was. and yet, he could not help but to wish—wish, he wanted to laugh at the irony—that your return ‘soon’ would be within his lifetime.

he wanted to see you again. he wanted the scars across his soul to heal, for his empty, cracked cup to be filled with you. he wanted to go back to how it was, when ei could smile freely and the tsaritsa wasn’t so cold, when the wind blew softly, carrying the sound of laughter. time only turned one way, yet he wanted to reverse it, to force the universe in rewind, to when his greatest worry was which song to play you at lunch. he wanted to bring a bottle of dandelion wine and watch as morax insisted upon osmanthus, as rukkhadevata rolled her eyes with a smile and suggested how about tea instead, it’s barely noon.

he was selfish. every god was, to an extent, but he…

as venti looked up at the stars, he couldn’t help but pray that one of them was you.

[quibbs126]

So I said I was going to make two Choco Milks, but one of them I kept thinking about more and his name eventually changed. So now I have Choco Block Cookie, as well as his husband, Granola Cookie

The other Choco Milk will be drawn eventually. Hopefully

Anyways, so these two. Basically Choco Block is a coach of some grade school sport (I never figured out what specifically, but I’m thinking not soccer), while Granola is that same school’s nurse. These weren’t their original jobs, but that’s what they do currently. They also are far less successful than their children, but they don’t really mind, they’re fine where they are

All I can really say about Choco Block’s personality is that he reminds me of Sergeant Hatred post Season 3 in Venture Bros, if that makes any sense. I also envision him with a similar voice, and in that same vein, Granola with a voice similar to Pete White, including the accent. But something else about him is that back in the day, he was a up and coming hotshot athlete himself, until his career crashed and burned. In present day, he sees a bit too much of himself in Choco Ball and is concerned that he’ll follow the same fate

As for Granola, he’s a somewhat vain guy who cares about his looks, hence why his attire might not be entirely appropriate for his job. Despite that he’s very good with kids, and he’s very supportive of his own kids’ successful careers. Choco Bar is probably his favorite

I’m really not sure how they met, I haven’t thought about that too much. Unlike most of the fan parents I come up with, these guys have only been in my brain space for like a day or two, so I haven’t had enough time to come up with a lot of stuff

Okay, on to their names. To be honest I kind of just made something up for Choco Block that sounded similar enough. He was originally Choco Milk but I thought it didn’t fit in well with the others, and that he should be something solid

Granola’s name comes from me needing nuts for Choco Bar’s nuts, as well as peanut butter which he’s also made of. Also it comes from me thinking that Choco Bar is a chocolate protein bar as opposed to a bar of chocolate with nuts in it. He’s also not Granola Bar because I needed someone to not be rectangular for Choco Ball

Chocolate block and granola:

So Choco Block is just supposed to be a coach, simple as that, and that’s what his design is

I also tried to make him visibly wider and thicker, and I think I accomplished that. I need to do that more in my designs

As for Granola, I have to admit I don’t feel like I made him look school nurse enough. I think part of that is due to Candy Floss, who’s also a medical professional, and me not wanting to take too much from his design. I mean I guess I can use his personality as an explanation, but still

But yeah, I’m honestly not sure what else to say. I think they look good enough

Also these are their rough sketches

Alright, well that’s these two, hope you like them

[batfossil-fr]

I’ve been really thinking of reopening my art shop soon… I’ve been taking some practice doodles (hence all the posting lately) while I shake off my rust and I’m finding things I enjoy working on again. I miss trying my hand at more dragons/OCs and colors. my shop’s so broken rn lmao but that’s a problem for a later date it’s just nice getting back into art