#if the fucking dreams that are fucking me so horribly

[christinesficrecs]

Hey! You are amazing! Thank you for everything you do for the fandom!

Do you have any recommendations for cute fics where they have pet names for each other?

Thanks!

Hey! ❤️ These are the ones I have.

I love this one if you haven't read it yet. 🥰

Baby, You’re Like Lightning In A Bottle by TriskeleHale | 35.8K | Explicit

Derek is ninety-eight percent sure Stiles hates him. So, he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

Sugar Pie (Honey Bunch) by larriecloudss | 2.6K

Stiles just really loves to annoy Derek with pet names.

Don’t Call Me Buttercup by ElloPoppet | 15.8K

Isaac wants to do Secret Santa. Derek is bad at gifts. Stiles helps, and also practices making Derek uncomfortable with awful, cutesy pet names along the way.

Derek secretly loves the pet names. Oh, and he loves Stiles as well.

The Moon’s Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific | 82.8K | Explicit

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

Inside This Place Is Warm by wolfcloaks | 40K | Explicit

Where Derek and Stiles are complete dweebs in love and jump to horribly inaccurate conclusions

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too by MereLoup | 82.9K | Explicit

Derek spent too much time, walking amongst the ashes of his life and refusing to move on into the future; refusing to move past the anguish. But somewhere along the way he found purpose, rebuilt this house, found his mate, and he realized that this didn’t have to be the end, that he could continue the legacy of the Hale pack and carry on the traditions and rebuild his life. And now, in this house, with his pack, he was beginning the next generation of the Hale Pack with the most incredible mate he could have ever dreamed of.

Six Minutes by  CosmoKid | 4.3K

“What do you want?” Derek practically grows when Stiles is near enough to hear. He can definitely feel the werewolf vibes coming from the guy as well as the fuck off vibes that roll off him in tsunami-sized waves.

Stiles has one thing he needs to say to Derek, but he also has eight million questions to ask him about the werewolf thing and he can barely sort out his thoughts as it is, let alone when there’s a ridiculously attractive werewolf who’s basically Adonis staring at him. Derek takes another drag of his cigarette and raises his eyebrows at Stiles expectantly. He shivers and blurts out, “Six minutes.”

salt and a waltz by  The Byger (Byacolate) | 7.4K

In which Stiles is a faerie and Derek is sick and tired of not being able to fuck him.

Hey Ewe by  wuffedoutalpha | 7.3K

In which Derek cares more than Stiles originally thought he did.

Or four times Derek sneaks Stiles gifts and the one time Stiles gets why (plus one).

Endearments and Interventions by  Captain_Loki | 1.2K

Stiles calls Derek “baby” one time, and exactly one time only. It goes a little like the time he clasped a hand to Derek’s shoulder in the front seat of the jeep only three years previously. Derek levels him with the same incredulous look of stunned disbelief as he did then.

Even the stars they burn by  rufflefeather | 5.7K

Derek finds out quite by accident what makes Stiles shut up. If he reveals along the way that he didn’t always carry this darkness around, then that’s entirely Stiles’ fault.

Back to Beacon Hills by  surrenderdammit | 10.4K

Stiles is a born werefox, returning to Beacon Hills with the hopes of starting over and finding some sort of home again. Maybe he can finally stay in one place long enough for his scent to catch.

[more-sonorous]

Uh I love going through your channel and reading all of the stories you come up with and I’m amazed and love them. It brings me joy to read them. I don’t know if you take requests I was wondering if you could do one where race has some problems and Jack is the only one who can get him to talk. Thank you!!!

i loved this ask! played around with it a bit and created a piece full of brotherly love that i'm truly hoping is what you were looking for!

have this little slice of life :)

.....

little ray of sun-- racetrack and jack

By all accounts, Jack Kelly had a decent day. He’d spent the morning pissing Pulitzer off by drawing egregious comics all of the other artists found funny, flinging droplets of ink onto the man’s shoes every time he strolled up to his desk, and using the most horrible grammar he could muster. By five, Pulitzer’s jaw was twitching but he had three spectacular political comics staring him down, so he couldn’t complain. Instead he glared up at Jack and a snarl formed beneath his perfectly groomed mustache as he dismissed him for the day.

Pushing old Joe’s buttons was Jack’s favorite work pastime when he worked at The World on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It always put him in a chipper mood to know that he was one of the most popular artists on Pulitzer’s team, so the old bastard couldn’t really fire him even if he wanted to since people were raving about his comics. He couldn't fire him over little things anyways, like Jack putting his feet up on his desk or wearing a bandana ‘round his neck instead of a tie. He’d gotten good at subtly irking the man without breaking any office rules, and it added a bit of life to his boring office work. When he earned that little jaw twitch? Well, Jack considered the day a win. 

He carefully shelled out a few cents on a pretzel for dinner and finished it on his way back to the Lodgings, brushing the coarse salt off on his trousers and whistling to himself as he walked. At his core, Jack Kelly was a little shit. He enjoyed his little shit moments when he could.

As he dreamed up ways to dramatically retell his office antics for the littlest newsies, he rounded the corner to find Albert’s head of gleamingly red hair perched on the steps leading up to the familiar lodging house. The moment the sarcastic ginger laid eyes on him found him shooting to his feet and practically speedwalking to Jack. 

“Kelly!”

“Yo, Albert.” Jack greeted cheerfully, removing his own hat and pushing a hand through his hair as he took a glance at the distressed expression on the freckled face in front of him. His cheer seemed to slip into nothingness. “Everythin’ okay?”

Half of Albert’s thin mouth curled into a snarl. “No. Obviously it ain’t. It’s fuckin’ Racer, Jack, he’s– he’s doing that thing he does and I dunno what the fuck to do.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack sighed, glancing up at the doors as a spike of worry for his almost-little-brother shot through his chest. Tension coiled through his limbs. “Okay, I’ll handle it–”

“You better, man, because I couldn’t. I even got Crutch and Davey to try. He wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t say a goddamn word to us. Davey’s out collecting bits from the guys to pay for Race’s bunk tonight, and I’m sure he’s gonna get enough, but this can’t happen tomorrow. Racer’s already short on cash–” Despite Albert’s harsh, biting tone, Jack knew the kid well enough to see deeply rooted concern in the furrow of his brow and the tight shrug of his shoulders. He was tense right up to his ears.

“I got it, Albert. Anyone tried getting him to eat yet?” He started a quick jog up the stairs and into the building. Though Jack knew what to do, that didn’t make him any less jittery when things like this happened.

He found himself despising his ‘real job’ because it meant he couldn’t spend mornings here with the boys. If he’d’ve known about Race’s situation sooner, maybe his brother wouldn’t’ve missed out on a day of selling. Jack barely checked in with Kloppman as he thundered up the stairs, Albert trailing behind and talking a mile a minute through a lopsided, thickly accented mouth. His speech might’ve sounded like another language to someone that didn’t know him well.

“Yeah, Crutch’s up there workin’ on dinner. I just dunno what coulda caused this one, Jack, he seemed fine yesterday and he was playin’ poker last night before bed– he seemed fuckin’ normal and now he ain’t even speakin’ to anyone–”

“Well, sometimes there ain’t a reason.” Jack toed open the door to the bunkroom and Albert stumbled to a halt behind him, both of them gazing at the sight of Crutchie murmuring softly to a despondent lump of Racetrack. Other newsies lingered silently around, awkwardly pretending like they weren’t nosy-ly watching the scene in the corner unfold. Jack’s chest squeezed tightly and a soft exhale escaped him, worry and exasperation all in one. “Sometimes he just gets like this. But I’ll figure it out, Al, don’t go all batshit on me.”

The redhead practically growled, proving every stereotype of fiery gingers more than true at that moment. Race would be delighted to know that he had an angry guard dog as a best friend. “I ain’t even close to batshit, Kelly.”

“Well, if that's the case, why don’t’cha help Dave collect donations? Scare the kids into puttin’ a penny in your hat or somethin'.” He swiped Albert’s backwards cap right off his head and held it out with a well-practiced cheeky grin, earning him another sneer. 

Albert snatched his cap back and stormed out of the room, each movement tight and tense with worry. Jack crossed the room in a few strong strides, gently tapping Crutchie on the shoulder. He held a glass of water and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, both entirely untouched. When Crutch met his eyes, a silent understanding passed between them and like the well oiled machine of brotherhood they were, the boys switched places. Crutchie ruffled Jack’s hair and tucked his crutch beneath his arm, immediately limping off to go clear the stragglers out of the room.

Jack pushed a hand through Race’s head of fair hair and glanced over his expression– tight with sadness, blue eyes staring straight ahead. “Mornin’, buddy.”

Racer closed his eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, which he took to be a good sign as he ran his fingers through his brother’s tangled hair. Jack's skin seemed darker than usual against the light coils of Race’s dirty hair, matted and tangled. “Rough day today?”

As expected, Jack didn’t receive a response. He carefully set the sandwich and water aside and tugged his fingers through Race’s hair. It wasn’t very intimate or sweet as it might’ve been with someone like Dave or Kath, because Race was a proper mess and his hair was beyond tangled. Jack worked the kinks out and watched his nose wrinkle and twitch, upper lip curling every so often as a reminder that he was cognitive and alive and feeling something, still. 

“Everybody’s worried about you.” Jack started, trying not to betray just how deep that worry was. This wasn’t the first time– far from it– but that didn’t make it any less scary. “I am too, a’course. Wish I woulda been there for you this morning, buddy, but Bastard Old Joe would fire me if I was any more than a minute late to his shitty office. Still, ‘m here now. Want’cha to talk to me, if that’s appealing at all. You gotta talk to someone, after all, or Albert’s gonna get so mad his head’ll turn as red as his hair. Then he’ll explode or some shit, I dunno.”

Jack knew this side of Race like the back of his hand. He remembered countless days in their shared past when Race would wake up just the same as he was now, glued to the sheets and subdued and silent, remaining still and motionless for as long as possible. The impossibly impish trickster he normally was would disappear beneath lumps of thin quilt and stony silence would take over in its wake, turning Racer into someone unresponsive and lethargic. Jack had a hunch that it was because of the constant motion Racetrack was in. Always with a smirk or a stinging quip, running betting circles and poker games and puffing cigars. Full of biting sarcasm, mind racing a mile a minute, bright as a star with nowhere to shine. An engine constantly chugging along, overheating until the point of exhaustion. Breakdown. That was whatever this was– the point where he chugged to a sudden halt and collapsed, withdrawn and almost unreachable. 

It happened once or twice a year, almost always in the bleak, dark, wintry months. Sometimes Race would spring out of bed the next morning, chipper like nothing ever happened. One time, when they were around ten and twelve, he was stuck in bed for a week. Jack wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“You don’t want Alfred to explode, do you? We’ll hafta find another token ginger…”

“No.” Race croaked, finally responding to the subtle joking that always drew him out of his shell. 

That’s what Jack had figured out– gentle touches, lighthearted mood, quips and teases. It took that. He didn’t respond well to Crutchie’s optimistic mothering or Albert’s intense pushing. Jack could picture Davey in all of his awkward loveliness trying to sternly coach Race out of the bed with false logical positives, like he was waking Les up and trying to get him dressed for the day. No, Jack knew Race, and he knew that Race responded to the feeling that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That things were normal.

“That’s what I thought.” Jack responded, with the same calm cheer coloring his tone. “Now c’mon, you can’t let me have better hair than you for a whole day. You wanna get up? Have a bite of dinner? Looks like someone got you somethin' from Jacobi’s…”

After a moment of silence, Racetrack weakly shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “Can’t.”

“Can’t get up, that’s okay. I ain’t gonna make you.” He parroted, gently pulling his fingers through Race’s separated curls. “I would like it if you’d talk to me, though. So’s I can get a good night’s sleep, knowin’ what’s on your mind. I know you like torturin’ me but I sorta need my rest…”

The blonde let out a quiet snort, the motion jerking the blankets he held clutched to his chest. Jack couldn’t help his own smile at the transformation in the younger boy’s expression. He seemed to soften around the edges, with a little exhale that spelled progress. “Can’t deprive the great President of his beauty sleep… How’s he gonna sell papes without his pretty boy face?”

“That’s the problem– I need my pretty boy face. It’s the only thing I got goin’ for me.” Jack joked back with practiced ease, like everything was fine and Race wasn’t having one of his bad days. It was good, and it worked, because Racer snorted again.

In one shift of obviously difficult motion, Racetrack rolled onto his back and stared up at the wood holding up the bunk above them. Jack placed a careful hand on his shoulder and went still, waiting patiently. He could see Race’s mind moving behind intelligent blue eyes, the dart of his irises and the wrinkle of his nose as he thought. Sorting through his thoughts. Analyzing. A mathematician's brain, not at all like Jack’s artist brain or Davey’s literature brain or Kath’s journalist brain. Solving a problem. Race was a skeleton of problems and solutions wrapped in skin with a trickster’s smile. He was missing one of his pieces in that bed, because half of his face was occupied by an uncharacteristic frown. 

Finally, he spoke. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about what the fuck I’m gonna do after this.”

“After what?” Jack tried to put the pieces together, but he’d never been good at solving Race’s cryptic riddles. “When you get outta bed?”

“No. After all’a this.” He muttered, throwing one hand up as if gesturing to the entire bunkroom. “I got nothin’ planned. Once I’m eighteen and Klop gives me the boot, I’m done.”

Oh. Jack knew this rabbit hole of thought all too well. The cause of Race’s spiral was one that had caused him many spirals of his own, and it probably did the same for almost every newsboy that came before them. “You ain’t done. You basically got two years to figure shit out, man. Plus, you’se smart as a whip. Anybody would kill to have you workin’ for them if they knew how your brain worked.”

“Yeah, but they don’t, and since my Ma had to go and fuckin’ die on me, I ain’t got no schoolin’ to show for it. No proof.” He muttered, dragging his hands over his face. “I hit eighteen and boom, I’m on the streets. My Pa’s gonna want me to join his fuckin’ gang and I can’t do that, Jack, I swear to God–”

“You don’t hafta join any gang, Race, we’ll find you some other job. Stuff comes up when you least expect it. You gotta look at the good and the bad.” Jack reassured, carefully squeezing Race’s shoulder.

He sighed, hard and long. “Well sometimes it don’t feel like there’s any good.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Jack responded, even though he knew the feeling far too well. Before Pulitzer miraculously offered that job, he’d been thinking the same thoughts. Now he was staring down the barrel of a secure future where he worked full time as an artist for the paper. It had all been pure luck. Chance. How was he supposed to explain that sorta thing? “I hear you, but you might not be lookin’ in the right places. Listen– we’ll get Davey on the job hunt with us. I’m sure he knows a couple places that are hiring. You can get in early, start up part time like me, work your way up. By the time you’se eighteen, you’se set.”

“Okay.” Race breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay, that… that sounds okay.”

“Yeah?”

A tiny nod, a jostling of blonde curls. Jack let out a sigh of relief as Race finally pushed himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face. Every movement seemed like he was pushing through a sea of syrupy fatigue, fighting his own body to get things working again. Jack rubbed his back through it all– though he’d never experienced this sort of thing, Race had been through it more times than he could count, and it looked the same every time. Painful, difficult, but a surefire show of Racetrack’s incredible determination.

After a moment, he twisted awkwardly and lurched into Jack’s arms, wrapping him in a messy embrace. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me that, bud.” Jack responded simply, swinging his arms around Race and embracing him happily as the little shit exhaled a harsh laugh into his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and stale bed linens but he was talking and awake and moving, and that was more than enough to make Jack grin. “You want dinner? Water? You’re prob’ly fuckin’ parched.”

“Huh. Guess I am.” He said almost absently, like he was just then remembering his own humanity. Race reached across Jack and downed the glass of water in one go, before Jack offered him the sandwich and he slowly tucked in.

Moments like this made Jack remember why he’d stayed in this position for so long, leading these boys. They made him dread the day he had to leave, too. He slung an arm around Race’s shoulders and leaned back against the headboard of the bunk as the door creaked open, revealing a green-eyed boy with his cap held carefully in his hands. Jack motioned Davey in, tugging Race closer up against his side. The younger boy curled up beneath his arm, seeming to melt into the embrace.

“Hi, Racer. Feeling better?” Davey asked politely, coming to a halt beside the bed and tucking freckled hands into his pockets.

Race nodded wordlessly, without making eye contact as he bit his sandwich. He’d probably only be talking to Jack for a few hours, but that was how things always went. Jack had a remarkable knack for weaseling into people’s cracks and gently breaking them open. Davey rocked back on his feet, wearing a pleasant little smile. “That’s good. Your bunk is all paid for tonight, so no need to worry about that.”

“Great. Thanks, Dave.” Jack briefly grabbed his hand and squeezed, and like clockwork, Davey squeezed back. He trailed up to hold onto the taller boy's wrist as an idea struck him. “Hey, Davey, you think you could help Racer here start up a job search? Like, a post-newsie career?”

“Well, sure. I can think of a couple things that suit you, Race.” He smiled the type of smile that appeared when he had an idea. Jack felt confident for Racer that Davey was going to take good care of this little issue. Things would be okay, even if it was slow going. Even if Race was burrowing further into his arm, looking stony and miserable. “I’ll get back to you on that as soon as possible. Is it alright if I go tell the guys you’re alive and well up here?”

“Go inform the masses.” Jack responded easily, shooting Davey a lazy grin.

Davey returned the bright smile, crinkling his wide eyes into crescent moons. “Yessir. Oh, and Jackie?”

“Yeah, Dave?”

“Les gave me a couple of taffies for Race.” He briefly dug into his pocket and carefully deposited the candies in Jack’s palm, just a simple brush of pale skin against tan. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, but if you do, I promise they’re safe for consumption.”

Jack thanked him and he disappeared as quickly as he came. Only once Jack had set the taffies aside, did he notice Race’s shit-eating smirk. A little bit of bright mischief was returning to his eyes as he trained them on Jack, brows curling downwards into a ghost of his usual impish expression. That was both a good and bad sign. Jack felt his own eyebrows raising. “What? What are you making that face for?”

Race’s teeth flashed in a little grin as he did a remarkable impression of Dave: “Jackie…”

And that earned him a smack upside the head. Jack’s face prickled with heat as he adamantly shook his head, rolling his eyes to the soundtrack of Race snickering beneath his arm. “Shaddap, ya’ bastard.”

Then he started fucking cackling, and Jack didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off at being the butt of the joke, because Race was gonna be okay. Rough patches were tough, but he could see a bit of sunlight through the clouds. Jack held him a little bit tighter and thanked the higher powers for small breakthroughs. 

....

thank you for the ask, darling! <3

[madegeeky]

Apparently my brain has just decided it's done with everything and has decided it's time for a stay-at-home vacation. Like, it's there but it's not answering any work calls. And I think it's smoking pot but, like, without me which is a weird sensation.

Anyway, what all this means is after 7 days of shit sleep I appear to have gone past exhausted into something that, I imagine, is similar to the way one feels when high. I'm also feeling my personal brand of manic: bad typing (y'all, this post took me so much longer than it should have) and talking too fast, too loud, too much. And I keep feeling I'm opening my eyes too wide but I can't tell of that's actually true or not. And, I don't know of any other way to explain it, but I feel dizzy but without actually being dizzy.

In a weird fucking place today, friends.

[fadelbison]

#A READ#but a deeply loving one - @chicademartinica

oh man it is SO deeply loving what can I say about it?

bad shows and mediocre shows and boring shows are necessary for the artistic process. the truth is that sometimes Jojo Tichakorn will make a boring show. bless Never Let Me Go but I don't remember a single thing about that show other than Pond and Phuwin sat on the beach soulfully looking out at the sea in sepia adjacent coloring. But that was simply his artistic impulse. there's no THK without only friends without NLMG. And in that VERY same interview from TWO years ago Jojo revealed that Ninew originally wanted Only Friends to be set in an acting class while Jojo pushed it to Business. and now??? Ninew gets to direct Only Friends: Dream On. HIS vision of only friends. It's mind boggling, for a queer person to live such a sweet life, training under a mentor, working towards and achieving their dreams I just dgaf if it's horrible I love OF: Dream On with all my being already.

I don't know if P'Golf will ever construct a story where they don't pretend that the villain is not the villain? Like they build such compelling narratives of conflict and intimacy and the intimacy to be found within conflict and then completely forget to set up the motivations of their antagonists (RIP Thua and Ter plywood beams supporting so much of the narrative's weight) but like I really dgaf the person who submitted Thailand's marriage equality bill, an act that changed the course of history can do whatever the fuck they want lol

I mean many such cases?? I didn't watch Last Twilight despite Aof being one of my favorite directors period is because I knew his protagonists tend to follow lakorn logic, he did it in ATOTS, DBK, MLC and even in Bad Buddy (random shooting my beloved <3), like idk if it's the shared enthusiasm for RPF or traditional asian narratives but I feel this man's vision on an atomic level and I knew from the trailer how that show was going to end and I didn't watch it because I know his artistic limitations. But then it suddenly became about how GMMTV hates disabled people. Like??? Not only did Aof Noppharnach present such a beautifully compelling and deeply celebratory representation of queer disability in MLC he named his queer disabled character Heart idk how to explain the shock I felt when faced with people's short term memory regarding this.

I'm not surprised that Nuchy is the one directing Burnout Syndrome, a three-way entanglement with gun atthaphan as the centerpoint. The exclusion of GramBlack, outside of its social reactions and implications, was a significant failing of her narrative. Gram was in fact in love with Black, that's what how it was in the original story from which Not Me was adapted and that's how it was in the show. To change who a character is in love with is changing the whole character which she simply hadn't done but she compromised her art against social pressures and like I don't have proof but im not surprised that the keys to Gun's Off Jumpol chastity belt was handed to Nuchy.

it's incredible, make your shitty pots my dears I'm here to witness it. we are nowhere near the peak for any of these people. Hayao Miyazaki was 47 when he directed My Neighbor Totoro. Jojo is only 40 years old that's a baby in artist years. They are pioneers in an entirely toddler of a genre, they have countless more life experience to collect and tonnes more stories to tell imperfectly and I am simply so happy to be here. I like to acknowledge GMMTVs hand in creating this reality.

I think one of the most incredible things about gmmtvs artistic direction *is* their dedication towards the commonplace the steady the familiar. Not only do they make boring gay shows (in addition to the exciting and interesting imo) but they do it consistently every single year. Every single year they make terrible shows and boring shows; shows you can put on in the background and promptly fall asleep during shows that I consistently forget exists or even aired (in addition to the great!).

Will P’Golf ever stick the landing in their shows? idk but they certainly will be directing till we find out 😂 Is New Siwaj on some quest to turn his low stakes college anthology style into like a degrassi or skins-esque staple? idk gonna find out during gmmtv2026. Which formative media for Jojo is going to become his next aesthetic centerpoint? Idk but we gonna find out. Will Aof Nopparnach ever stop directing like he wished he was making lakorns instead? maybe if it’s RPF but idk we gotta find out.

Like??? I am following pioneer creators on their creative journey *as* they’re taking it. I’m watching them fumble and pirouette as they sculpt their pieces; flaws and all.

man what an incredible place for queer media to be and what good luck to be experiencing it when I am

[nandermoenthusiast]

The coffin lands with a crash, Nandor already out of it gracefully as his vampiric nature grants him.

“Have you survived the fall Guillermo, are you allright?” he asks haughtily and with a barely concealed predatory grin at the yelping heap of limbs and clothes that is Guillermo right now. Of course he was never truly worried for his well being, Guillermo might be human, but he is no regular human, if his van Helsing blood has anything to say about that. Nandor just likes to tease.

“Yes master, im fine, i just wasnt prepa-“

Nandor offers him a hand out of the coffin, the way Guillermo has done so many times before for him. Nandor looks at him curiously, Guillermo looks all flustered right now, hes cute. Hes always cute of course, but damn. He hasn’t even realised the obvious parallel yet, just took his hand absent-mindedly as he was rambling about something. His hair is all mussed up too. Cute.

Probably the moment registers into Guillermo’s mind as Nandor hears his muttering protests suddenly cut short. He’s looking at their gingerly intertwined hands and kinda looks like hes about to swallow a frog, or maybe like he’s about to start crying again. This fucking guy. Always a theatrics with him. But Nandor has learned to lean into his little guy’s moods. He leaves him to his maybe horny maybe emotional thoughts and finishes helping him out of the coffin.

The air is thick between them now. He can sort of hear Guillermo’s heartbeat from this distance, the little guy probably has a concert thumping in his ears right now. Nandor enjoys playing with his food, always has, and today is no different. He takes a step closer. Guillermo takes an infinitesimal step back. There is a wall very close to his back. Right where Nandor wanted him.

“You know as i was saying about the cameras, Guillermo…” he starts feign-casual as he very not casually hovers over him, black eyes boring into him with the fire that only very rarely comes out in front of the crew. Guillermo looks like he’s a mixture between disbelieving and like he’s gonna pass out from hyperventilation at a moments notice. It’s an endearing mix.

“Y-yes, you -were saying something about your hair…” Guillermo couldn’t physically look away from Nandor if his life depended on it right now.

“And other reasons”, very seriously.

“- Yeah”, an exhale.

Just look at his eager little eyes. Should he put the guy out of his misery? Well come to think of it, should he put himself out of his own misery? He’s been in love with the guy for the better part of a decade now. Of course he’s not about to say that now. Let him play the part of suave vampire for his Guillermo, let him fullfill any fantasy he’s ever had, at the very least this very first time they do this dance. There will be time for the mushy stuff later. Come to think of it, what is Nandor doing?? Acting on years of pent up sexual and romantic tension, of course, but what is he setting himself up to? Heartbreak.

Violent, earth shattering heartbreak. Maybe not today, maybe not in 10 years, but soon. Soon to a vampire anyway. No- you don’t know that. If Guillermo loves me, he might find a way to not leave me like he always does. He always does leave. But then he also always comes back. Doesn’t he? Nandor loses himself in these thoughts for a moment, and Guillermo seems to notice his mind is suddenly somewhere else.

Oh, to be known so completely. Oh, to have a worthy partner, a partner who knows everything about you, a Lazlo to your Nadja, a Charmaine to your Sean, a Sire to your Baron. And to have to lose it in a matter of years. Just his luck. But also like Colin Robinson said, dont be sad cause its over, smile cause it happened.

Nandor’s eyes keep searching Guillermo’s as he draws closer and closer, eyes intensely registering every microexpression on his beloved’s face, the little crinkle between his brows and the small nervous smile that’s forming around his lips. His hands land seamlessly and delicately on either side of Guillermo’s face, and he feels his breath hitch. He really doesn’t give a flying fuck if he’s gonna suffer for a thousand years, Guillermo is here right now and he looks like he’s gonna break under his touch. One hand goes to cradle his head, thumb delicately swiping over Guillermo’s ear and pulse point, as Nandor brings their noses together and they breathe the same air for a moment. The other hand is held gently across his cheek, just there, a reassuring weight. “I’m going to kiss you now”.

And Nandor kisses him.

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened…'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

[ablog]

Girl help I wish to travel to different dimensions just to watch a movie/show I really like a little to the left

[call-me-pup2]

Why are people blatantly mean and horrible in reviews? Like please let me know what's wrong don't just say 'it's shit lol' how the fuck am I meant to fix the situation or improve my work in general if that's what you've said?

[aingeal98]

I miss rwby so much I haven't felt the same amount of extreme emotion since I saw Ruby kill herself in front of her older sister who raised her and watched the fandom explode with angst material.

[mangomybeloved]

its night time and i cannot seem to sleep... lovely

[averageclawcodeenjoyer]

CLAWCODE RAAAAAAAA

I FINALLY FINISHED AN ANIMATIC INSTEAD OF GIVING UP ON IT!!!!! (ignore the mistakes.. please...... I forgot about them..)

Context: Miles and Ganke used to be best friends until Ganke got too close and caught feelings. He eventually ended up confessing too soon to Miles, who wasn't ready (and totally wasn't absolutely terrified of his own feelings and backed out) and ended up cutting contact with him. Several months later, Ganke still wasn't over it, and started writing letters and disposing them in various ways to cope. This one just so happened to be a paper airplane that, by some strange twist of fate, carried it across the water and directly to where Miles was stationed waiting for his uncle. (This might come up in my fic.. if I ever start writing it again..)

Also tiny detail that I don't think I executed very well but want to talk about:

Ganke is made up of dark colors, while the world around him is very bright. (Metaphor for the sadness and guilt he feels from losing Miles as a friend)

Miles, however, is colored very brightly while the world around him is dark. (Metaphor for how his life feels without Ganke in it)

Without each other, they cannot be complete.

Thank you.

Also, Ganke's letter, for anyone who is curious.

"Hey, Miles, it's Ganke. I know you're probably never goung to get this, but my therapist told me to write letters to people about my feelings, so I guess that's why I'm doing this. I'm still really in love with you. And I know we haven't been talking, and I should be over it, but, well, I'm not.

And this is so stupid, so I'm glad you won't ever read this, but I can't help it. I know I messed up, and we were supposed to just be friends.. but, God. You were everything to me. Anyway, I'm running out of room, so I'm going to shut up. I'm sorry. For everything.

Love, Ganke."

[vriska-serketboard]

do you ever scroll through the tea and secrets blog & pretend/worry that all the anons about hating/falling out of love with someone are about you even if they don’t match up to any of your actual life experiences whatsoever, or pretend/worry that you sent some of the asks and then just forgot, or that you’re living in a different world where this stuff actually happened to you and marches up with your own life experiences & this present moment is just some kind of really long hallucination? Just me? Hahaha ok slay

[hussyknee]

I love living in this fascist shithole.

[crimeronan]

i had truly fucking BIZARRE and WILDLY VIVID dreams about luz and hunter that were pretty surreal/nonsensical but. the main thread was that luz and hunter had been close as teens (like the canon) and then ended up cosmically separated; luz lost her fucking mind for years trying to get back to him (like an extended version of being trapped in the human realm); when they eventually reunited, it was clear that something had gone Wrong and had been done to hunter, he did not remember her at all even beyond the unrecognizability and he couldn't remember anything except being the golden guard......

and also i woke up with a fully formed song chorus in my head which i jotted down in my phone notes immediately bc. what

and you're looking at me as i'm looking at you / and i wonder if you know the things that i do / two hearts surviving, we're one and the same / am i a predator or am i prey?

[dzozef]

i got offered the promotion at work.... why am i every business owners wettest dream damn....

[bunnyb34r]

Can my brain stop fucking forgetting where I put things???

It's been like a month since I last saw my meds that I REALLY NEED but I don't want to waste a refill and be short a month. I finally was able to refill it for Dec/Jan and god I cannot wait to not be in agony anymore. Like I have been praying, crying, thrashing (that's more a physical symptom of nerve pain), wanting to scream, losing sleep, FOR WEEKS.

I cannot fucking remember what I did with it. It's just a blank. I have a visual memory and can remember specific shit accurately (as accurately as memories as a whole are) BUT NOT THIS

I now have lost my ipod touch... my beloved 🥺 that's where my stories are (that I wrote), that's where my music is, where my games are (okay like 3 games now that ios is updating and god forbid we get another ipt). That's where my pictures of Bean are, and I need them to post reruns on his account to keep it active sgdgdggdgd That's another story

Anyway I lost it when I changed my sheets and it's not downstairs in the laundry (shook out the blankets). It's not behind the bed, not around it, not in my usual spot. BUT most importantly... I cannot fucking even conjure up a vague memory of when I last saw it. 😠 at all. Like my meds it's in my room SOMEWHERE

And ofc bc I have been off my nerve medicine for a full month, I am so fucking drained that I don't have energy to fucking deep clean and look for these things better/more

I'm so fucking sick of this shit