#I'm really proud of this one it was fun

[acertainmoshke]

Fun With Genders (or, Taking a Break from Almost Dying)

Slight cw for mention of breasts and binding and vague reference to being formerly suicidal

I didn't have any context then for how out of place we looked. It was second nature for both of us to smooth over our inhuman features, but we'd never had to think much about our clothes. If anyone had been on the street to see we would have given them a heart attack: Kris in an old and wet sweater with a gash through it like he'd been mauled, and me in no shirt at all. I hated the way my chest jerked with every step, but I didn't know just how inappropriate it was to leave uncovered and there was no way I was getting back into my own wet sweater. Wet jeans were bad enough. I wore sweaters, though the cold never bothered me, so that I didn't have to think about the scars, the evidence of times I didn't dodge fast enough, times I wasn't careful enough with iron, and times I just wanted to stop.

But the shadows in the diner and our bare feet slapping the concrete were the only signs of life. A block down the street we stopped in front of a little shop with clothes hanging in the window, a "closed" sign posted on the door.

Good.

That made things much easier. So much easier to tug at the air until it pushed the lock aside than to gather the energy and lie to a person. Especially since finding clothes was more complicated than grabbing food. It would take time and I didn't have it in me to keep someone glamoured that long.

Kris immediately headed for the back corner, flicking through the biggest clothes, but I couldn't focus.

Lift a shirt on a hanger. Shake damp hair out of my eyes.

Could I wear this?

Run my hand over a pair of pants. Try to wiggle my shoulder blades out from under stiff clumps of hair.

Were they soft enough to fight in?

Take a step. Brush hair away from my bare shoulders.

I let out a groan. I couldn't even think enough to figure out what was worth wearing.

"You good over there?" Kris looked up from the pair of pants he was holding up to his waist.

"Just- hair- touching- me." I meant to sound casual, but it came out through gritted teeth. After last night, I was too tired to ignore it like usual.

"Want me to cut it off?"

That startled me. "What?"

"Look what I found," he said, holding up a huge pair of scissors.

"Can't." Even though it sounded so comfortable.

"Why not? You cut mine."

Because it was too much trouble. Because I didn't deserve to be comfortable. Because it felt like it would mean something big, but I couldn't grasp what.

"Because you're a boy and I'm..." something more monster than girl. "...not."

"Oh, come here." He grabbed my arm, firm enough to tug me across the little room to the chair behind the counter, but loose enough I could have pulled away. I didn't.

The snips as my hair felt away to the floor were loud and crisp. The metal near my head, smelling faintly of iron but not enough to bother us, felt cool on my scalp. I stayed still until he huffed, set them down, and turned back to pick up his pants.

I shook my head. Nothing happened. No tickling to make me cringe or weight thumping on my back. It felt so light, so easy. Great. With that taken care of, I would be able to focus on clothes.

The problem was that these clothes were different than the ones I was used to scrounging off of clothes lines and out of dumpsters. There were no jeans at all. The pants were brown, black, and blue, stiff and crisp like the ones the men rushing by me in the mornings wore. Worse, they were all long enough to cover my feet. They dragged the floor when I held them against my body. I would never be able to run or kick in these, even with the cuffs rolled up.

"Fuck, yes!" I looked up to find Kris, now topless also, buttoning closed what must have been the biggest pair of pants they had, black and starched like the others. They stopped several inches above his ankles, but he didn't seem to mind. "Did you see any scarves?"

I was happy enough to abandon my futile pants search to help him out. A quick look around revealed a rack of scarves by the door. They were soft and light and I worried they would snap under the pressure, but Kris hummed in delight as they criss-crossed his skin and I used a new pin to hold them together in the middle of his back. I didn't mention the spines I could see starting to poke through the delicate fabric.

"Do you want some, too?"

I looked up, feeling suddenly very young and silly, a child again playing dress up with Dad's clothes. But the undershirts were as big as the pants and I couldn't fight if I was going to be bouncing everywhere. I nodded once, and he immediately reached for some more.

We had grabbed them randomly, though I needed half as many as Kris, and I ended up wearing polka dots for the first time in my life. He had been right about the texture. It was smooth, cool, and soothing against my skin even as he pulled it tight and pinned it so I couldn't feel the bite of metal.

Safely held down, Kris tried on and discarded a stack of shirts that seemed nearly identical to me, all white or gray with a collar and a ton of buttons. He finally settled on a white one. It would get grimy fast, but the short sleeves would be good when summer finally showed up, an eventuality I usually tried to avoid thinking about. He pulled a green sweater on over it, but it was unlike any sweater I'd seen before. It was open in the front like the shirts and fastened with four huge brown buttons. It was tighter than his old one and I could already see the buttons popping off the first time he twisted to headbutt in a fight.

He looked in the mirror and smiled so big and bright, showing all his teeth.

I didn't say anything.

I'd given up and sat on the floor to watch his long journey to an outfit, my knees pulled up to my chest. The soft fabric of skirts hung above me was smooth on my bare shoulders.

Kris turned to me suddenly. "Your turn!"

"Uh-" my jeans felt so scratchy, on both my wrists and my legs. I could feel them tearing at my tiny leg hairs. "Nothing fits."

"He smirked and held up a pale yellow skirt. "What about this?"

I stuck my tongue out. Nothing that pretty and fluffy belonged on me and he knew it.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But look over here."

He moved to stand next to a small rack of brightly colored clothes. Children's clothes. Short, puffy dresses. Shorts with huge hems. Tiny collared shirts with no buttons. But Kris stepped past all those, reaching for the bigger boys' clothes on the far end. I didn't see what he grabbed until he flung it in my direction.

I stood up at the same moment and suddenly found brown ridged fabric covering my face. Tugging it away sharply revealed a pair of brown overalls in a thicker and softer fabric than the pants I was used to. And they were the right length.

Good enough. We were pushing our luck on time already. I tried not to think about how I was turning 40, or...25? Whatever age Kris thought we really were, I was an adult but still the size of a schoolchild. I grabbed a random shirt—soft, dark green, no collar to claw away from my throat or buttons to fight with—and stripped off my jeans.

Despite my hurry, I stopped for a moment and breathed. Cool air soothed my legs and filled my lungs and all of a sudden the day seemed much more promising. I never wanted to put on jeans again. I would have to, when we went home and the overalls wore out, but that was the distant future and this was now and I was free.

The overalls were clean and dry and soft when I pulled them on, brushing lightly against my skin. I sighed, as content as I ever was, and turned to go. Kris grabbed a new coat on the way out, making me suddenly aware that my shirt left my scarred arms exposed. But I was already out the door and had no interest in finding a sweater just then. Besides, the cold air felt good on skin I almost never let feel it.

We left the shop as it was, discarded clothes flung across the desk and floor, my hair in a dark puddle behind the chair. I did re-lock the door behind us, leaving them to wonder who had entered their closed-up shop and how. A little mystery makes life more fun.

On the short walk back to the car I began to notice things, now that my brain wasn't full of discomfort. Things like how no one was walking down the street. Maybe all the children were at school, all the adults at work. But no one? At all? Sure I expected less people than in the city, but this was almost creepy, even to me, and I generally avoided people.

The little grocer, the shoe shop, and the candy store we passed were all closed. Was today Sunday? I had no idea. But I was sure I'd glimpsed people in the diner...

I paused to look as we reached the parking lot again. Yes, there were cars parked here and people moving inside.

Kris groaned behind me and I hurried to catch up. He was scowling into the front seat of the car, squinting to see past his reflection to the pile of pixies on the seat. "They're still asleep. Guess we should get food or something. What do you..."

Kris was still talking, but his voice seemed far away suddenly. Everything felt crisp and clear. Almost like fighting, except it felt good, calm. Almost soft. I stared at my reflection in the window. In the chaos of last night, I'd let my glamour slip and hadn't fully restored it. I was looking at me as I really was. There were the sharp teeth, the sharp ears, the discolored skin. But for the first time in my life, I didn't look away as fast as possible.

A feeling was bubbling up in my stomach, and it took me a long moment to connect it to the way I felt wandering the tunnels with Kris and my yoyo and no worries. I was happy.

Something about the way my unevenly short hair hung just above my ears, sticking up in places, made me feel really good.

I jumped when Kris put a hand on my shoulder. "Hello? Diner? Food? Yes or no?"

[nouverx]

Day 1 and Day 2 of RadioStatic Week

First Meeting and Sharing a meal! I like the idea that Alastor is the one who approached Vox first because of how unique he looks eheh

[art-is-kayos]

Checking up on his commission

[somnimagus]

My page for @kairizine. It was such a huge honor to be part of this wonderful book with everyone, I had so much fun!

[id in alt!]

[ricky-mortis]

“You’re a caveman. And I’ve invented fire.”

Close-ups under the cut :)

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[kbsd]

john and gale in stalag luft iii // "violet hill" for @swifty-fox

if you love me, won't you let me know?

[pardonmydelays]

anyway this is my fucking jacket. i have decided i'm not going to spend like... over 100$ on something i could try to recreate myself so i just bought some white paint and made this in two days. i've literally never done anything like this before so i'm kinda proud of how it turned out.

for reference, this is the original jacket:

yes. that's literally the best picture i could find. whatever. you all know this jacket anyway.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking of the Nie disciple that told Nie Mingjue it was Meng Yao who stayed behind to clean up corpses on the battlefield today.

Nie Mingjue didn't just randomly stumble upon poor lil meowyao eating bread in the novel, he was already looking for him to thank and reward him for his work.

That's what makes it so fun that nieyao's first conflict will end up being about someone else taking credit for Meng Yao's work.

And I'm sure that Nie Mingjue's actual opinions on plagiarism are a lot more nuanced, all we really get from him in this scene is "well you shouldn't kill someone over it!" which leaves a lot of room for what punishments he thinks are appropiate. But I bet that it isn't occuring to him in this moment that the only reason he knows Meng Yao at all, the only reason he got such a capable deputy, is that he noticed someone was taking care of the dead and cared enough to want to know their name. And then the Nie disciples didn't lie to him. The disciple he asked could have said "it was me, Zongzhu" to rise in the ranks himself, but he didn't. He went and asked others, who all also could have taken the credit, but they didn't. Someone saw Meng Yao working and decided to be honest about it and that simple decision is the catalyst for Meng Yao becoming Nie Mingjue's deputy.

Meng Yao can't just work hard to get results, others have to acknowledge that work. If they don't, it's as if he didn't do anything at all.

[staurolith]

The Great Eagle

[akans-dead-at-sea]

He's so babygirl ✨💜✨

60s timelapse too cause why not :>

[hailsatanacab]

Your Favourite Author's Favourite Fic

in no way is this me sneakily trying to get fic recs out of people, but here's my new tag game!

Rules! When tagged, reblog with the fic you've written that you love the most

Not the fic with the most kudos, or the most comments, or the most hits, but the fic that you're the most proud of. I'm talking about the story that kept you up at night, the one that you still think about, the one that you wish more people would read

So, it's time to show off! I strongly encourage - in fact, I demand - that you give yourself some compliments, a well-deserved pat on the back, and tell us all the reasons why it's your favourite!

Then tag five people and make them go through it, too 🥰🩷

I'll tag @wolfjackle, @tourettesdog, @gilbirda, @die-erlkonigin6083, and @thewritingowl to get us started, please and thank you!!

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[cheesecake801]

It's been a while but have drawings I made of @cupcakestreets marvelous designs for Ingo, Emmet and Cilan ! I love them dearly 💖

[mymarifae]

sooooooo when i jokingly said to myself "haha did ruan mei play aeonic necromancy on tingyun's remains or something" i wasn't expecting that to literally be the case what the fuck

[upsidedownsmore]

Tennotober 2024 Day 10: Graffiti

Previous (Day 8: Atomicycle) || Next (Day 11: Onlyne)

3:30am 4-hour overdone BRC/JSR Octavia Iridos crossover 3 days late?

we're so back