#if you see any mistakes lmk

[evilovesyou]

I'd love a drabble about Harry coming into the kitchen to find Louis raiding the fridge at night (might be bc I'm super hungry lol) 🙏🏼

Harry blindly followed the quiet, indiscernible sounds, eyes almost closed in the familiar hallways of their house. He squinted when the light spilling out from the doorway of the kitchen came into his field of vision. He had half a mind to turn around, but light probably meant Louis. It might also mean a very clumsy burglar, but Harry was willing to take that chance. He’d seen Home Alone. 

Standing in the doorway, he saw Louis’ legs beneath the open door of the fridge. He’d found him, then! Time to close his eyes again. He leaned against the doorframe and started to drift off again, when he heard Louis humming a song. It made him smile, knowing the melody, and took him a little while to hear that the lyrics were entirely wrong.

“How the fuuuuuck do you make pancakeeessss? Where the fuuuuuuck is the flooouuuur?”

“Recipe’s in the purple book,” Harry mumbled, licking his dry lips, “flour is in the cupboard with the pasta above the stove.”

“Christ, love! You almost made me drop the eggs!” Louis’ lively voice was loud in the quiet of the night.

“Why aren’t we sleeping?” Harry grumbled, opening his eyes enough to walk up to Louis and wrap his arms around him from the back as he strained to reach the flour.

“Pancakes!” Louis explained, humming happily when he finally got the box of flour down and he could lean into Harry’s front.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect time for pancakes,” Louis said very matter-of-factly. “Wanna sit down while I work out this recipe of yours?”

Harry, whose eyes were firmly closed again grumbled, hugging Louis tighter.

“Alright,” Louis giggled. “But keep your eyes closed, love. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”

“I know.” Harry said into the nape of Louis’ neck. “Wake me up when the kitchen’s burning.”

more of my writing

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Wheeler

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.6k || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Karen Wheeler stands in the open door of her own house, shock etched into her gaping mouth and wide eyes. She reaches out towards what Steve assumes is the wound across his forehead and into his hairline, an angry red from getting the stitches removed earlier that morning. He sees the moment she decides against it, dropping her hand back to clutch the door handle. "I'm sorry, Steve, but Nancy isn't home right now."

He accepts the change in direction with a sharp pang of disappointment, forgetting amidst all of the bullshit his life has been lately that Karen Wheeler loves her children and the people close to them. And that's not Steve, not anymore.

She’s wearing the red and green sweater she bought on sale last winter. Karen had thrown her handful of oversized shopping bags into the middle of the living room floor while Nancy and Steve were cuddled up watching reruns on the couch. Nancy tried making up an excuse for them to skip the fashion show, but Karen looked so disappointed– plus Steve really does love shopping. So they’d spent the next twenty minutes pouring over each piece she found. The sweater was one of his favorites, and she’s now paired with simple light-wash jeans and a casual pony-tail. 

She looks good, but Karen Wheeler always knows how to put herself together enough to fool anyone, even her own family– like mother, like daughter.

"It's ok," he replies, tone bursting with false cheer. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually. About Mike."

Although Steve practically lived with the Wheeler's for the past year– much to Ted's chagrin– Steve and Mike tended to avoid interactions at all costs. Their arranged seats for dinner were at opposite sides of the table. While Steve and Nancy watched a movie in the living room, Mike would hide upstairs. And whenever Mike beat them to the remote, he would steal Nancy into the basement. Steve was always cordial when he could be, but Mike would only reply with dirty looks or a roll of his eyes.

So when Karen sighs and waves him to follow her into the kitchen, he's surprised that she seems like she’s been expecting him. He takes his normal seat at the table and she hands him a glass of iced tea with lemon on the side. The familiarity clogs his throat, and he thinks the slight twist of her mouth means she's stuck in the same moment, a nostalgia for affection neither of them had a choice in ending, but with an ending all the same.

"Mike told me you got into a fight with a boy from school, but I never imagined–" Karen gestures at his face, mottled brown and yellow like bruised fruit. One scrutinous glance from Karen Wheeler has him mentally cataloging the numerous injuries decorating his face, and he can feel them all at once. 

The swelling in his eye has gone back to normal. His lip's scabbed over for the third time and he can feel the edges peel away where he absently pokes at it with his tongue. Steve wishes he could hide the evidence of his failure in the same way he can with the headaches, fuzziness, and the night terrors. The stiffness in his hands and neck, and the high-pitched static in his ears.

"Yeah, looks like I'm not the best fighter in town." His laugh is hollow. She knows it in the tilt of his lips. He knows she’s figured him out by the tap, tap, tap of her foot.

"Mike said you were protecting them," she says, lilting up at the end in question. "He said something about the new girl, Max, and how her brother didn't care much for Lucas."

When he nods, she pulls out the chair next to him. Her normal spot at the table, Steve on one side and Holly on the other. He never really understood why Nancy and Mike always seemed annoyed by the way she was always around, or how they felt genuinely misunderstood when Karen would ask about their days. Maybe they saw Ms. Byers carve her way into another dimension to save her son, setting a bar so high it forced them to wonder if their mom would do the same. Not realizing some parents wouldn't notice their child missing in the first place.

It's not a competition, Steve repeats to himself whenever he feels that familiar thick bitterness climb up his throat. The Wheeler’s lives aren’t better or worse from one his, just different.

Karen pats his fisted hands, pulling him from his reverie. He unclenches his teeth to take a sip of his favorite drink, and she smiles at him. "Is that what you came to talk about, Steve? About the fight?"

"Kind of," he answers. "I'm worried that Max's brother won't– that maybe it'll happen again. And I want the kids to feel safe, so I was hoping you'd let me watch out for Mike when he's not home. I've already talked with Mrs. Henderson and the Sinclair's, and they're ok with me driving the kids to and from school, hanging out at my house until they're done with work. Stuff like that. Max's mom's alright with it too, not that you know her, I guess."

He takes another large drink to stop his rambling. Talking with the other kids' parents wasn't easy for him– well, except for Claudia, who welcomed him with open arms and a slightly painful kiss on his forehead. But now all he can think of is the fact that he can't remember the last time Karen Wheeler hugged him and that she probably never will again.

"Do you think Mike would feel safe with you?" The question cuts through him. He looks up to see genuine softness in her eyes, and Steve’s forced to realize he's not actually sure what Mike would think. He'd only thought of the kids being together, all in one spot where he can see them and know for certain they’re alright without having to drive all over town in his pajamas in the dead of night just so he can be absolutely certain. "I know Nancy forgave you pretty quickly for what happened last year. And since I've gotten to know you, I've seen you grow and change for the better. But Mike," she trails off.

"I know." He’s not sure of what else to say. How did he get this far without even considering what Mike would want? He spent weeks planning what he'd say to everyone's parents, assuming the kids would be ok with it. How could he be stupid enough to remember that, no matter how hard he fights, Mike’s never quit hating him. "I'm not sure what to do to get him to forgive me."

"My boy might be stubborn," she says, "but he knows right from wrong, and he knows a good person when he sees one." Karen stands from the table, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she bends down to look him in the eye. "If you talk with Mike and he's ok with it, then I'm ok with it." She pats him on the shoulder and he moves to follow her where she’s headed to the side door leading out to the garage.

They find Mike kneeling on the floor, bike flipped upside down and fingers covered in grease as he holds the chain in front of him. Without looking up at them, he huffs, annoyed and frustrated. "Mom, I told you I'd be done before dinner, okay? Jesus–"

"Hey, language," Steve chides in time with Karen. They share a smile until the moment's severed by Mike's shrill screech.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Instead of scolding him once more, Karen gives Steve's arm a last reassuring squeeze before he hears the door close behind him. Mike stares at him, confused and impatient. Steve supposes he can't blame the kid, but it doesn't change the fact he doesn't know what to say.

Steve takes a cautious step down off the entry mat, the hard concrete floor shooting spikes of cold through his socked feet. Mike stands and takes a step back, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants, and he finds himself feeling a little bad for Karen when she inevitably finds them in the laundry pile.

Might as well rip the band-aid off.

"I want to be your babysitter."

"Fuck no!"

"Hey, I said language, Wheeler! How many damn times–" he trails off, the automatic response dying out as Mike's answer settles into his brain. "Why?" It comes out sounding small, more desperate than he likes.

"Why would I want you as my babysitter?” He throws his head back, barking a laugh so full of hate it reminds Steve of himself, of his father. “You think you can get whatever you want just because you've got money and hair and a fancy car. You've convinced everyone to forgive you, and that you're a 'good guy', but you're still just King Steve.” 

Mike throws the chain down on the ground between them, and Steve flinches on reflex. The tantrum unfolding in front of him is red and swollen and hurts more than the cuts on his face. 

It leaves Steve momentarily frozen, long enough for Mike to dash towards the side door and out into the yard. He follows Mike around front to the driveway, socks damp and cold with melted snow. Steve wraps his arms around himself, jacket on the hook inside the front door with only a maroon Henley to fight away the chill of a dark, winter evening. Mike isn’t faring any better in jeans and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt, but Steve breathes a small sigh of relief to see the kid’s at least got shoes on.

"Mike, look, I'm sorry–"

"You're sorry?" Mike yells, turning to get in Steve's face. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?"

Headlights blind them as Nancy pulls into the driveway, hurrying out of the driver's side door. Steve takes a step towards her when he hears another car door close. Jonathan rounds the front of the car from the passenger’s side, taking his place shoulder-to-shoulder with Nancy as they stare at him in confusion.

"What's going on?" Nancy asks, gesturing to the both of them.

Mike scoffs. "King Steve here thinks he's going to be my babysitter just because he's charmed everyone else’s parents into thinking he’s a good person now." He's looking at her like she's in on the joke, but she's looking at Steve with surprised awe in her eyes. Brief butterflies fill Steve's chest, quickly dying out when Jonathan takes Nancy's hand. He sees her squeeze his grip, yet she doesn't look away.

"Steve?" Her eyebrow's arched in question, and even Jonathan tilts his head as they wait for an explanation.

He somehow can't find the words. They're trapped in the fog behind his eyes, and each time he thinks he's grasped it, all he finds are nightmares. 

You weren't there, you left me! You left me and I was scared and alone and I almost died because you weren’t there and youleftmeyouleftmeyouleftme–

“Nance.” A small whisper, a plea. Jonathan squeezes her hand but Steve couldn’t care less. There’s only one thing now that matters. “I just want them to be safe, please.” She frowns, pulling Jonathan in her wake as she stands in front of Steve. Nancy’s gaze pierces through him, and he watches as she catalogs each and every one of his injuries. 

Steve closes his eyes as she gently runs her hand over the cut on his forehead and into his hair. They never talked after they made it back to the house. He doesn’t blame her for it, at least he tries not to. She’d been concerned with Mike, flying to his side as soon as her and Jon had stepped through the door. Mike poured himself over Will’s limp body draped in Jonathan’s arms, and Nancy had wrapped herself around him from behind. It was beautiful and painful and it was in that moment he knew Jonathan Byers was the perfect man for a girl like Nancy Wheeler.  

Steve hears her sigh, and as he holds back tears when her touch leaves him unmoored, Steve looks up to see Nancy and Jonathan share a look of understanding he’s never experienced from her. The way she looks at Jonathan isn’t with what he now understands as motherly exasperation. When Nancy gazes at Jonathan, she sees a partner. Someone who will stand next to her in a fight and support her the way she supports him. 

Jonathan needs her just as much as Nancy needs him back. But she’s never needed Steve, not really. He’s only ever needed her, and that only ever weighed her down. 

He knows she sees the desperation for purpose in his eyes. The drive to be useful if not wanted in full. As Steve holds back tears when she removes her hand from his hair, he’s momentarily bolstered by Jonathan patting his shoulder. A gesture in solidarity that leaves Steve stunned enough to miss Nancy turning to Mike.

"Mike," she says, firm and unyielding in a way only Nancy Wheeler can sound. "You know Steve’s changed. None of us would be standing here if he was still just King Steve. He kept you safe from the demodogs and from Billy. You know he deserves a second chance so why won’t you give it to him?"

Mike sneers at her. "Just because you were stupid enough to give him a second chance doesn't mean I will. He's an asshole, Nancy! He was an asshole to you and you act like it never happened. You just took him back and he got to have Christmas with us like we all loved him. How did you expect us to like him when you couldn't even pretend to?”

Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open, and she steps back to gain some space. Steve's never seen this kind of anger in a kid before– deep seeded and heavy– and it seems Nancy's just as surprised. 

He turns to face Steve now, screaming at him for all of Hawkin’s to hear. Light from the kitchen window flashes across the snow covered front lawn, and Steve absently wonders if Karen predicted how this would all go and wants to see for herself.

“You're an idiot if you think you’re the one who kept us safe. You got your face beat in while Max did all the work. Why would you think you're good enough to be my babysitter when all you are is a punching bag?" Steve watches Mike's face bloom red across his cheeks and ears, flamed with rage built up over a year of sharing a dining room table with a guy he hates.

When Mike’s first punch hits one of Steve’s bruised ribs, he tries his best not to wheeze and fall back. The second hit sends sparks of lightning through his chest. Even through the searing pain and the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he finally understands that Mike’s right. Steve really is stupid, in a way. 

Because when Mike looks at Steve, he sees every bully who’s ever pushed him down or called his friends names. Every popular asshole who looks at him in the halls and only sees the weird kid who plays DnD and joins AV club. 

Mike looks at Steve and refuses to see the difference between him and bullies like Billy Hargrove. People who find outlets for their anger through violence and scathing slurs instead of brains and compassion. 

Steve’s always been angry. An angry child raised in an angry home by an angry father. All out in the open and easy to see by anyone who looked their way, not that anyone did. Best to avoid Richard and Elizabeth Harrington if they could, but obvious all the same. So Steve tries not to be too hard on himself that he failed to recognize the same undirected anger in Mike’s eyes. It’s not so obvious with the Wheelers.

Maybe monsters and bullies and missing friends drove an angry and confused Mike to his father, unbothered and aloof, leaving Mike with only the same bullies and monsters to model his anger.

Maybe Nancy looked to her own mother to find a polite, mild-mannered woman who kept her feelings close to her chest. Steve only ever saw Nancy as passionate with a fierce sense of justice, when she’s just a girl angry that her best friend is dead and there was nothing she could do about it. How their relationship fell apart because Steve’s never seen a girl filled with rage, so he couldn’t recognize the fire in her eyes for what it was, and how Jonathan’s eyes burn the same.

Maybe, Steve thinks, the four people standing in this driveway are all searching for outlets for the same, too-big emotions bubbling inside of them, and Mike’s picked Steve. 

Good. Because now Steve finally has a purpose for Mike Wheeler.

He’s not sure when his arms wrapped so tight around the boy screaming into his chest that he couldn’t move, but he feels Mike shaking against him as his small, grease-covered fists continue to hit him in the back, each strike slower and softer than the last. Steve’s surprised to see Nancy silently crying in Jonathan’s arms, her hands clenched in the front of Byers’ jacket and knuckles as white as the snow around them.

Steve’s whispered apologies morph into just a string of slurred, repetitive noises. He knows the anger never really goes away, but there’s only so much energy to burn before it flares out and dies. 

Steve’s socks are soaked through, his toes are filled with painful pinpricks, and there’s a wet spot on the front of his jacket where Mike’s head rests against his chest. Whether it’s just a towel and a punching bag or a babysitter and protector, Steve will be whatever Mike Wheeler needs him to be. 

Drained, Mike finally slumps against him. Steve holds him up.

“Mike,” Steve says softly, moving the boy back far enough to look him in the eye, “it’s ok if you don’t want me around, or if you don’t want me to be your babysitter. I want you to feel safe, and if that’s not with me– then it’s not me.”

The kid’s face is a wreck of red splotches, puffy eyes, and a leaky nose. Steve smiles, as soft and gentle as he can manage as he tries to pry Mike’s dirty fingers from his sweater. The small hands hold firm, and he watches as Mike does his best to stop from hyperventilating. 

“What about Will?” Mike asks.

Before Steve can ask what he means, Jonathan cuts him off.

“I’ll talk with Will,” he responds, smiling at Steve. He lets out a small chuckle. “I think Will’s been wanting to meet you anyway. He’s heard enough about you from Dustin and Lucas that I think he feels a bit left out.”

“Really?” Everyone jumps at the volume of Steve’s voice, shocked.

“Yeah, man,” Jonathan laughs again. “They won’t shut up about how cool you are. I think even Max likes you.”

The scab on Steve’s lip breaks open, his smile so wide he can feel it prickle behind his eyes. He hoped the kids had grown used to him by now. Fairly confident that Dustin, Lucas, and Max enjoyed having him around, even if it was just to poke fun at him. All in good spirits, and that’s ok with him.

Knowing Will Byers, of all kids, wants the chance to get to know him is more than Steve could’ve ever hoped.

“I’d love that,” Steve chokes out, releasing his hands from Mike’s shoulders to rub the wetness from his eyes. 

“Come over Thursday morning. Early, like six-thirty. Mom’s usually getting ready by then.”

Steve nods, hard and fast and excited enough that it makes him a bit dizzy. Last year, Jonathan had told Steve all was forgiven, that saving him from the demogorgon more than made up for their fight. He never really believed him. Steve only accepted the apology because it was important to Nancy, not because he felt he deserved it. 

To find out Jonathan not only truly forgave him for what happened, but that he trusts Steve to keep Will safe. After everything the boy’s been through, everything the entire Byers family has survived, he feels overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Mike sighs, low and exhausted. “If it’s ok with Will, then I guess I can give you another shot.”

Steve tastes the metallic tang of copper on his tongue when he smiles again. 

“I promise I won’t let you down, Wheeler,” he vows. He’s met with a hesitant but genuine smile, and it fills him with hope.

Steve walks with them back up to the house to grab his shoes and coat. Karen greets them at the door, pulling Mike, then Nancy, and then Jonathan into a hug. He finds the same bitterness in his throat again, but it’s smaller now. Easy to push aside now that he’s starting to understand the Wheeler’s as they are, rather than how he used to see them.

He hopes he can be more than what Mike sees in him too, happy just to be given the chance to show them all the person he’s trying to be. Someone who’s safe and strong and caring. All the things he needs to be a good babysitter.

[ftmsteveraglan]

big daddy (trans bear william afton x amab reader)

this one goes out to all the trans william enjoyers! i've been in desperate need of both big bear william and trans william, so here i am doing both. also, before anyone says anything, i know matthew lillard is on the skinnier end. this particular version is inspired by the fantastic fanart by keikoyume (not tagging her just in case she's not a fan of that!) because holy FUCK i'm feral for her rendition of him.

contains: dom william, trans bear william, sub reader, seriously the reader is submissive as shit, cunnilingus, under the desk shenanigans, daddy kink, praise kink, size difference, getting caught masturbating

you didn't know what you were getting into when you walked into the office.

it wasn't like you had anywhere else to go. your luck with your last job had run out after you'd cursed out your manager for scheduling you on a day you'd specifically asked to take off for a doctor's appointment. now, desperate with nowhere else to turn to, you'd decided to come to the job counseling office, hoping you'd find a solution.

the secretary called your number, and you jumped up to follow her into the back office. you weren't quite sure what to expect when you got there.

you didn't anticipate the man sitting before you.

even as you entered the room, you could feel his presence dominating the area. sitting before him, he loomed over you, even though he was sitting back in his chair. he had to be at least six feet tall, if not taller. he'd combed back his hair, dark brown and graying at the temples, in an attempt to look professional, but a dark part of you wanted to see how it would look unkempt and messy. he looked like he hadn't shaved in while, with a scruffy, salt and pepper beard on his chin.

no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't ignore was just how big everything about him was. broad shoulders, muscular arms, meaty hands, sizeable paunch; it was like every part of him was built to be domineering. you couldn't help but love just how much bigger he was than you, how strong he looked before you.

the nametag on his desk read "STEVE RAGLAN".

mr. raglan read through the papers in your file, humming as he flicked through the pages. he tsked, shaking his head, and said your name a few times, rolling it on his tongue. piercing eyes gazed through aviator glasses, over the pages, and straight through your soul with a look only a disappointed dad could make.

"care to explain what happened with your last job?" he asked, leaning back in the chair. you swallowed, trying to compose yourself, before talking.

"i cursed out my old manager," you said bluntly. "he scheduled me on a day i'd told him in advance that i needed off for a doctor's appointment. he wouldn't take no for an answer, so i swore at him and walked out."

mr. raglan hummed as he looked down at you over the file. "your previous jobs all have good things to say about you," he said, "but you haven't lasted at them for very long. what's that about?"

"i've been moving," you explained. "i've only now just settled down. i'm looking for something i can do to save up money so i can go back to college."

mr. raglan stayed quiet as he leafed through your file. he looked like he was about to say something, but stopped and raked his gaze over you. you tried not to squirm as his eyes moved down your body. you couldn't tell if he was checking you out or scrutinizing you.

"i might have a job for you," he said, setting your file on the desk. you perked up at the mention of a job, watching him as he got up from his desk and moved to the coffee machine at the back of the office. "want some?" he asked as he poured himself a mug.

"sure, thank you," you said with a nod. mr. raglan poured a second mug, and you took the opportunity to ogle him from where you sat. your eyes were drawn to his thick thighs, and you wondered just how big everything else of his was.

"normally, i'd try to find you a job somewhere else, at a place that fits your qualifications," mr. raglan said as he set your coffee before you. he sat back down in his chair, took a sip, and said, "but i've actually been looking for someone to fill a position around here."

curious, you drank your coffee and listened as he continued. "i'm looking for a personal assistant." with a nonchalant shrug, he explained, "it's nothing complicated, just keeping track of scheduling, sorting paperwork, things like that. pay's alright, $12 an hour." he sighed and said, "but, if you want, i can try to find you something more your speed-"

"i'll take it," you blurted out. mr. raglan looked down at you, one eyebrow raised. his expression looked more intrigued than anything.

"that was quick," he said with an amused smile. "you sure?"

"i'm sure," you nodded. such a job was perfect, both because the pay would be enough for rent with extra to spare and because you'd be able to hang around this mountain of a man just about every day. "when do i start?"

mr. raglan took another drink and sat his mug down on the table, resting his hands on his belly. "how does monday sound?"

you could feel yourself smiling as hopefulness set in. "monday sounds perfect."

that was where your relationship with mr. raglan had started. it started off strictly professional for the first few weeks. he'd shown you the ropes, and before long, you were handling his scheduling with ease. he eased you into further duties, nothing more than you could handle. it was simple busy work, and eventually, you'd established a routine which allowed you to get things done with time left to spare.

at first, mr. raglan was cordial towards you, letting you have your space as you did your job and elaborating on anything you didn't fully understand. however, over time, you swore that his attitude towards you was shifting. maybe his opinion of you had changed. maybe he'd always felt this way towards you, and his mask was slipping. either way, he started behaving differently whenever you were around. sometimes, when putting paperwork in the filing cabinets, you'd feel eyes on you, and when turning around, you'd find him shamelessly watching you, a dark look in his eye. it wasn't anything malicious or angry; it was more akin to a hungry wolf eager to pounce on an unsuspecting rabbit.

it wasn't like you were entirely innocent, either. but then again, who could blame you? mr. raglan was the effortless sort of handsome, the kind where he could simply roll out of bed and still be attractive. you couldn't help but sneak a few glances at him when he wasn't looking, though you were sure he'd caught you on more than one occasion. thankfully, he didn't ever mention it.

the tension between you two hung in the air for a while, the both of you refusing to mention it, until one day when you had to come in early. sundays were usually the day you deep cleaned his office, so you preferred to start the work day an hour earlier. you found it curious that mr. raglan's car was in the parking lot, but you brushed it off. maybe he wanted to get work done earlier, too.

it wasn't until you reached the door to his office that you realized something was up. you didn't know if your ears were deceiving you at first, but you could've sworn you could hear mr. raglan making noise on the other side of the door. the door was too thick for you to fully make out what it was. maybe he was just moving a few things around?

you should've expected what you saw on the other side, but you didn't know how to react when you opened the door to see your boss sitting in his chair with one hand down his boxers, groaning softly, a blissed out look on his face.

startled, you nearly stumbled over yourself trying to back away, closing the door, but mr. raglan had already noticed you there. rather than lashing out, however, he opened his eyes halfway and lazily turned his head over to look at you. his eyes had grown dark with lust, his cheeks flushed with color. as alluring as he looked like this, the last thing you wanted was to get fired because you walked in on your boss jerking off.

"i-i am so sorry, sir," you quickly said as your eye met his. "i'll just-"

to your surprise, mr. raglan didn't seem upset. he just chuckled, shook his head, and said, "no, no, no, come on in, sit down."

unsure of what else to do, you stepped into his office and shut the door behind you. you started moving to one of the filing cabinets, hoping to get started on work, but mr. raglan spoke up, "you don't need to worry about that right now. sit down."

swallowing your nervousness did nothing to quell the simmering in the pit of your stomach as you took your seat in front of him. his soft groaning and the sound of wet squelching from beneath the desk sounded incredibly loud in the morning quiet.

"normally," mr. raglan said, "i take care of this before you come in for your shift." he laughed and said, "i guess i got a little carried away."

you weren't sure how to respond yet. as hot as you found it to walk in on your boss getting off, you didn't want to overstep any boundaries, so you said, "i can just go if you wanna... you know... finish that up."

now, mr. raglan met your eye, and his face filled with that same dark, hungry look he'd been giving you for the past weeks.

"actually," he said, "i could use a little help right about now."

your eyes widened, unable to believe what you were hearing as he said, "don't think that i haven't noticed. i saw the way you were looking at me when we first met, the little looks you've been sneaking. you're not as subtle as you think, sweetheart." the last word dripped from his lips like a snake's venom. "don't act like you don't want this as much as i do."

you weren't about to lie to yourself. rather than try to formulate some excuse, you instead asked, "what do you mean?"

mr. raglan laughed and raised an eyebrow. "i offered you this job for a reason," he said. "i mean, i've been hunting for someone to fill this position, but i couldn't just pass you up."

you couldn't decide if you were more embarrassed or turned on at the realization. either way, you weren't about to let this opportunity slide. "you said you needed help, sir?"

a wolfish grin spread across mr. raglan's face. "just need some help finishing what i started," he said, pushing his rolling chair back from the desk a bit. peering over the desk, you could see that his pants were down below his knees, and a large wet patch had spread over his boxers. he motioned you to come to him, and you nearly tripped over yourself moving around behind the desk with him.

"there we go," mr. raglan cooed. "that's a good boy..."

mr. raglan calling you a good boy in that scratchy voice of his made your stomach do flip flops. he seemed to notice how flustered you were, because he chuckled as he finally pulled down his boxers.

"right down here, that's it," mr. raglan said, spreading his legs apart. you quickly got down on your knees between mr. raglan's legs. you were a little surprised to find that he had a soaking wet pussy rather than a cock, but you weren't put off by it. it just meant changing tactics.

cautiously, you slipped one finger into his folds, then two, pumping them in and out. mr. raglan let out a satisfied sigh above you, relaxing in his chair as you experimentally played with his hole. you moved your other hand up and circled his tdick with your thumb, which made mr. raglan groan and grip onto the arms of his chair. you could feel him getting wetter and wetter under your touch, which filled you with an odd sense of pride.

"does that feel good, sir?" you asked him.

"you don't have to call me sir, baby," mr. raglan chuckled. "no need to be so formal."

an embarrassing idea flashed through your mind, but you figured you had nothing to lose in your position. "can i eat you out? please?"

mr. raglan let out something between a huff and a laugh as he nodded. "go ahead, baby. i'm all yours."

you quickly moved your hands to grip his thighs and dove in, running your tongue up his slit. mr. raglan let out a low, throaty groan and let his head fall back. his breath came in huffs as you lapped at his slit, eager to taste him. you could feel his thighs tensing beneath your grip, hear the squeaking of leather as his fingers dug into his armrest even tighter.

"fuck, you taste so good, daddy," you whimpered as you ate him out. mr. raglan tilted his head down, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd accidentally offended him or said something dumb.

but then, mr. raglan chuckled, something dark and hungry, and moved one hand to sink his fingers into your hair, almost petting you like an obedient dog.

"that's it, sweet boy," he purred, gently scratching your scalp. "eat daddy's pussy for me, that's a good boy..."

his praise only made you even more eager as you went from simply drinking up his slick to tonguefucking him, trying to reach your tongue as deeply as possible into his hole. mr. raglan started to eagerly buck his hips into your mouth. you could just tell that he was getting close. eager to make him cum, you moved your mouth from his hole to his tdick, wrapping your lips around it and sucking hard, making mr. raglan gasp sharply. he swore and cursed under his breath as you ran your tongue along his cock, muttering, "fuck, baby, i'm so close..."

your jaw was starting to ache from working at mr. raglan's pussy, but you didn't care. you wanted to see this much bigger man fall apart on your lips. you moved one hand from his thigh to his hole, eagerly fingering him in time with sucking on his clit. that seemed to do him in, and mr. raglan tugged your hair to bring your face deeper into his pussy as he came, clenching his big thighs around your head.

for a moment, you couldn't breathe, suffocated by his pussy. eventually, his thighs fell away from your head, leaving you free to lift your head and breathe again. you could hear mr. raglan chuckling as he moved his hand from your scalp to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"you did such a good job, baby," he cooed, running his thumb along your cheek. his chuckle grew to a laugh as he said, "you really made a mess of me, didn't you?"

he moved his hand to pat his thigh, motioning for you to climb up. you swiftly got up and straddled his thigh, and mr. raglan leaned in to kiss you, moaning as he tasted himself on your lips.

"looks like you enjoyed this as much as i did," he murmured, bringing his hand down to your crotch to palm your half hard cock through your pants. embarrassed, you turned your head away, but mr. raglan laughed and said, "it's alright, baby. i think it's adorable."

he wrapped one strong arm around you and pulled you in for a half hug. you leaned into the hug, laying against him, resting one hand on his belly as you regained your composure.

"you know," he said, his voice low and husky, "if you help me clean this up, and if you do a good job the rest of your shift, we can keep this going once our shifts are over."

your eyes widened as you looked back to him and stammered, "a-are you sure?"

there was that look in mr. raglan's eyes again, that dark, possessive look, a look that said you'd just walked right into his trap.

"why not, baby?" he asked. "it'll just be the two of us once everyone else goes home."

as much as you knew that a romance with your boss probably wasn't the best idea, there was no way in hell you would turn this down. "god, yes. thank you, sir."

mr. raglan smirked and raised an eyebrow. "i told you, you don't have to call me sir."

your cheeks flushed pink as you realized your mistake. "thank you, daddy."

mr. raglan grinned and gently kissed your cheek, his beard scratching against your skin. "good boy."

[manicpixiedreamcrowley]

GOOD OMENS fic recs (#1)

-> fic info includes: title, link, author, rating, chapter count, word count, summary, and my notes

-> total of 28 fic recs (+2 accompanying podfics)

if any of the links are broken, please send me a message so i can fix them!

"sweet surprises" by euterpein | G, oneshot, 15.1k

Aziraphale, for reasons even she can't fathom, has volunteered to help out at the Halloween extravaganza being hosted at Adam's school. Things are going well until a certain red-haired solicitor and her son also get involved... Featuring unfortunate assumptions, secret plots, and an inordinate amount of pining.

notes: starting strong with ineffable wives human au ft. misunderstandings but with fluff instead of angst

"sweetest downfall" by restlesswanderings | G, oneshot, 9.9k

It hits Aziraphale out of the blue one day that if loving Crowley is a sin then it’s the only sin worth committing. or: some falls are gentle

notes: also ineffable wives romance with a bit of hurt crowley and protective aziraphale

"with her i would fly" by mickyrc | G, oneshot, 1.4k

Crowley curled up a little tighter, nuzzling her cheek into Aziraphale’s tummy and purring when her fingers dipped into the nook behind her ear. They’d been there for hours already, slowly working through a bottle of wine while Crowley slowly melted into her wife’s side. It's just a quiet night, cuddled together on the couch, and Aziraphale's found a poem that reminds her of Crowley.

notes: ineffable wives again but domestic fluff and cuddling

"fire in your heart (and your kitchen)" by waitingtobebroken | T+, 2/2, 7k

The most beautiful man that Crowley has ever seen is also the firefighter that keeps having to put out the fires in his kitchen. It just so happens that Crowley is awful at cooking.

notes: crowley starting kitchen fires for an excuse to talk to firefighter aziraphale

"the bicycle" by thelordoflamancha | G, oneshot, 1.8k

"Lily had heard the rumors about the penthouse flat in this particular building near Berkley Square in Mayfair. She had heard them talk about the mythical snake and the angry man that shouted at all hours of the day. She had seen the library staff consoling shaken door-to-door salespeople, petitioners, and volunteers sheltering in the library lobby after a run in with the owner. She knew the tales of the fearsome man with sharp teeth who would make mincemeat of even the bravest adult to cast their shadow upon his doorstep. Certainly, it was no place for a child. Even the kindly librarian had advised her away from this particular building in her fundraising quest." Or, Crowley helps Lily win the bicycle.

notes: another outsider pov fic but this time it's crowley encouraging corrupt marketing tactics in a kid

"a familiar bond" by chubbsthefish | T+, 20/20, 38.6k

There is a reason witches are warned not to summon demons. The sleepy town of Tadfield was supposed to be peaceful, a town full of witches practicing their craft without worry of outside persecution. At least it was until someone let a demon loose. But local bookshop owner and garden enthusiast Aziraphale doesn't really care about all that nonsense, not when he has just acquired a new friend and companion in the shape of a Familiar. Crowley just wanted to head back home. But that's getting harder to do now that he's gone and gotten attached to a certain witch, which is bad since he does not want the pure-hearted man to be corrupted by his mere presence.

notes: i can't really fawn over this without spoiling it so just go read it and report back to me

"something familiar" by joldiego | T+, oneshot, 2.5k

Aziraphale is laid out on the couch, seemingly asleep. This is not shocking. What is shocking, however, is the giant black snake coiled around him from head to toe. Anathema and Newt drop by the bookshop and make a startling discovery. Aziraphale and Crowley are just trying to have a lazy Saturday morning.

notes: outsider pov fic but through the perspective of anathema who can't exactly remember armageddon and thus doesn't know the bible lore around them

"mine" by joifuldreaming | T+, oneshot, 1.5k

Crowley is oblivious, Aziraphale is jealous.

notes: possessive aziraphale is something i didn't know i needed, but now that it has been brought to my attention, i can't get over it

"show me the sugar" by waitingtobebroken | T+, oneshot, 4.1k

When the new "couple" moves in the cottage down the road, it's apparent to everyone what their Arrangement is. Rachel, the owner of the pet shop they had just visited, is not so sure anymore. Who was supposed to be the sugar father again?

notes: i've read this one several times, i love it so much, i'm obsessed with outsider pov fics trying to understand what their deal is

PODFIC AVAILABLE

"find it in the dictionary under 'L'" by his_infinitevariety | G, oneshot, 1.7k

Demons can’t feel love, but Aziraphale can’t help noticing how much Crowley’s suddenly flinging the word around.

notes: one of those fics where aziraphale can sense love but either a) can't feel it from crowley for some reason or b) doesn't know it's him

"you are home (half of me)" by angelsnuffbox | T+, 5/5, 28.5k

Aziraphale had gotten dumped, plain and simple. But that small detail wasn’t nearly as important as all the things that happened after he’d gotten dumped - such as coming to a few realisations about his best friend of sixteen years.

notes: the epitome of gay people not being able to identify relationships

"the blinding look from me to you" by restlesswanderings | G, oneshot, 13k

There are nights Crowley aches so deeply she can hardly stand it. Nights where she’ll do anything to rid herself of it. She knows how Aziraphale’s arms feel around her and it’s the worst kind of torture, the worst kind of agony, because she knows she’ll never have it again. or: crowley aches for aziraphale in the best and worst ways

notes: holy shit dude

more elaborate notes: ineffable wives pining throughout the ages, this one is through crowley's pov

"are you my future or just an escape?" by restlesswanderings | G, oneshot, 20.1k

She wants to kiss Crowley and the urge doesn’t scare her like she thought it would – maybe it’s something she’s wanted all along but hasn’t allowed herself to think about. A dangerous thing, an angel wanting. Even more dangerous for an angel to give in. or: aziraphale can't stop looking at crowley and overthinking everything (companion piece to 'the blinding look from me to you' but can 100% be read alone)

notes: i actually read this one first, this is aziraphale's pov of the previous fic but could be read as a standalone

my ao3 history says "visited 15 times" as if i don't know that

"spare the righteous" by appleseeds | M, 4/4, 12.7k

When Father Gabriel brings a snake to their chapel and insists the nuns handle the animal as a demonstration of their faith, Sister Aziraphale can't help but be frightened. After a series of visits from Father Gabriel, when everyone in her Order has been bitten by the snake except for Aziraphale, suspicions rise and rumours spread, putting her future amongst them in jeopardy. At least Aziraphale has somebody to confide in about her worries - a lovely woman by the name of Crowley, who has recently started visiting the nunnery's bookshop on a regular basis and has proven herself to be very kind and understanding. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, she's also extraordinarily attractive and a constant source of temptation that Aziraphale isn't entirely sure she wants to resist.

notes: they're lesbians again! i have also read this fic 15+ times

"unexplained phenomena: or 5 times crowley & aziraphale didn’t kiss for the kiss cam and one time they did" by fractalgeometry | G, oneshot, 2.2k

Emma Rathmore knows everyone who comes to her son’s baseball games. Until she doesn’t. Still, even if she only ever sees these newcomers through the ridiculous new kiss cam, at some point they stop feeling so much like strangers. They’re certainly...interesting. And slightly baffling. But definitely interesting.

notes: outsider pov fic

“doggone batty” by kedreeva | T+, 4/4, 14.3k

Aziraphale, a werewolf who never fit in well with the rest of his pack, moves into a house he's just inherited a long ways away. The only problem is that he finds there's something more than a little amiss with his new neighbor.

notes: it’s impressive how in-character they are

“catalyst” by ikarakie | T+, oneshot, 7k

aziraphale spots a new sign on the door of the local brothel. that, a lunch date, and an obnoxious man bully him into finally making his demon actually his. OR aziraphale realises he has competition and immediately does something about it.

notes: starring jealous aziraphale, aka my FAVORITE aziraphale. i love it when he’s a bitch he deserves it

“all the dreams we had” by impishtubist | T+, 2/2, 6.4k

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

notes: this is one of the most devastating fics ever btw it has like…time loop aspects and amnesia at the same time..honestly even if nobody else goes through this whole list i’m glad that i was able to reread it LMAO

"and it hurt" by ineffabledoll | T+, oneshot, 3.6k

Aziraphale can sense love, but it was never supposed to be like this. The love was never supposed to be for him, for an angel, for beings loved only by God. It was not supposed to grow and grow, the ashen forest of a single spark.

notes: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ABSENCE OF COLD AND PRESENCE OF WARMTH...I AM UNWELL

"never judge books by their...?" by worseomens | *NR, oneshot, 4.4k

There's a burglary in Soho, right across the road from AZ Fell & Co's Antique Bookseller's. An angel and a demon are called in for questioning, and the detectives involved start to form opinions... (OR: Crowley's a flirt, and Aziraphale doesn't do PDA; people start to get the wrong idea)

*author did not rate fic, but i'd put it between G/T+ with no significant warnings

notes: another outsider pov fic

PODFIC AVAILABLE

"digging for gold" by worseomens | *NR, oneshot, 5.6k

Crowley finally stops hiding his visits to the bookshop, now the celestial powers-that-be have decided to butt out, only to be faced with a whole new challenge. (OR: The people of Soho make sure this newcomer isn’t about to hurt their beloved local madman)

*same as previous fic

notes: ANOTHER outsider pov fic from the outsider pov series by worseomens (total of 22 fics), this is one of my favorite outsider pov fics ever

"heavenly wicked cafe" by waitingtobebroken | T+, 7/7, 33.9k

There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

notes: i wish they knew how to communicate like this in canon

"from eden ('till armageddon)" by ikarakie | G, oneshot, 3.3k

the british museum needs to take their nose out of crowley's damn business. OR a 200 year old journal full of crowley's pining and confessions ends up on display.

notes: historians finding crowley's diary like damn this guy is so queer we gotta put this on display

"a model guardian" by fuuma_san | E, 23/23, 147.4k

Crowley is a self-sufficient model on the verge of stardom. They clawed their way up all by themselves and the very last thing they want is some cream puff bodyguard their agency hired following them around constantly. Pretending to be their boyfriend at work so they don't get a reputation as a Diva. Watching over them. Caring for them. But then it turns out "Fell" was not even his real name. Was it all fake? Would someone like him ever want someone like them?

notes: this is a giant leap from mostly oneshots but this is like doing drugs for everyone who loves with a good bodyguard au <3 be sure to check tags for possible trigger warnings

"revelation" by syrupfactory | M, 4/4, 13.9k

The year is 3021, and Aziraphale and Crowley have been married for a thousand years. Together, they manage the London Archive, a futuristic information hub that stands on the same block that one held a bookstore. An Anglican priest who visits regularly has a huge crush on Aziraphale, and Crowley is amused … until the priest grows bitter enough to make a very poor choice. As it turns out, envy is a bad look for a man of the cloth, and pissing off an angel is far worse.

notes: can you tell i love outsider pov fics? i just need to see what other people think of these freaks

"candied apples" by pentagrammar | T+, 20/20, 46k

Crowley, his diet being as limited as it is, has never had a craving before. But that is before he saw Aziraphale. At least, he thinks it’s a craving. Now, he is embarrassingly fixated on a single human, and to make matters worse, none of his plans seem to be working. Being a vampire is hard. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is growing increasingly concerned about the odd man who keeps showing up and saying deranged things, and the fact that his dear friend Anathema is convinced that an evil presence has latched itself onto his bookshop.

notes: crowley is sooo dumb my babygirl the love of my life (widely applicable statement to him in general)

"couldn't resist" by edosianorchids901 & luinlothana | G, oneshot, 3k

When Crowley falls asleep waiting for Aziraphale to finish reading a chapter, the angel has an idea based on photos the demon showed him a few days prior.

notes: snake crowley being dressed up in little outfits GOD i love this

"snake eyes" by lucy_ferrier | G, oneshot, 3k

Crowley has snake eyes. They look like snake eyes. They function like snake eyes. The thing is snake eyes aren't all that good for seeing with. He doesn't really seem to let it stop him from doing what he wants.

notes: blind crowley with canon typical communication skills (read: none)

[iridescentgleam]

as night eclipses day (know the sun won't ever rise again)

Hi, did someone ask for Leshycat angst? ...No? Ah, well, too bad, I guess. I'll just leave this here then. read it on Ao3 Word Count: 2,493 TW: Main character death and a brief mention of violence and maiming (although it is never depicted and no detail is gone into).(Note to avoid any confusion: My Yellow Cat's name is Rowan.)

The sky is bright and clear as Lambert casually makes their way to the temple for the morning sermon. They can hear their followers go about their morning routines all around, some just waking up and heading to breakfast while others are hard at work, having been awake for hours already as their job requires them to be. Nothing of note will be happening today, but their followers seem to be in good spirits anyway, conversing good-naturedly over berry bowls and stopping for small talk on their way to the refinery or the lumberyard. All things considered, today is shaping up to be a good day, they think.

Which is why the guttural scream coming from the direction of the shelters takes them so off-guard.

It’s a horrid, awful noise that Lambert can only compare to the feedback that was filtered straight into their brain whenever one of the bishops emerged in front of them back when the Old Faith was still around. It is not a typical mortal scream in any regard, but, somehow, it is familiar to the lamb in a way they cannot quite place. Even after the person has stopped screeching, the sound echoes deep into the woods surrounding their community and leaves the lamb’s ears ringing violently.

The flock is silent when the echoing finally stops. All chatter has ceased, and even the sounds of people working in the stone mines and lumberyards halt. Everyone, the lamb included, is stunned by the scream. For a moment, nobody is moving at all.

And then, in that same terrible voice, someone cries out, “LAMB!!!” and instantly, Lambert knows why they recognize that scream.

It’s Leshy.

All eyes turn to Lambert, the curious, confused, and concerned all wondering why someone, let alone Leshy, would be screaming for their leader on a day like today.

But Lambert knows why.

It is only after the second, “LAMB!” though, that they take off running. Because if Leshy is calling for him, that can only mean one thing has happened. -----------

It is natural for followers to grow old. This is the way of life and death, and by the time their followers become elders, the lamb makes sure they are well taken care of and ready to greet death with open arms, unafraid of what comes after.

Of course, for some, death is not the end, but rather another bridge to cross in the road of existence. Lambert is guilty of reviving followers who they believe truly earned their right to continue on past what is supposed to be the end, but only if they know that it is something they want. Many of their followers are perfectly content to embrace eternal rest, after all. It is because of this that they do not take resurrection lightly.

They know what can happen if a follower who does not want it gets resurrected.

Thus, it is customary to ask elders what they wish for themselves when their time comes to retire from work. Many have family members and friends they want to be reunited with in the afterlife, so it is not a hard choice for them. Some simply crave the pleasantness of eternal rest. Others still tell them that they would be honored to continue to serve the cult, granted they were chosen for revival.

After many, many years of asking this question, they start to be able to predict what a follower will wish before they ask them, even without reading their mind. Certain types of people are more inclined to choose one path over another, so it does not shock them when a strong, nurturing type chooses to be reunited with the family he lost due to heretics or a burly, hard-working type asks if she could serve the cult longer. Some change their minds as their end grows nearer, but, for most, this is a question they have entertained for a long while before Lambert ever asks it to them.

Very rarely do they receive an answer that truly surprises them. They ask the question more as a formality than anything and simply end up nodding along to the follower’s explanation for why they chose the answer they did, even though Lambert can easily deduce why themselves.

That’s why, when Rowan -the diligent head farmhand for more than twenty years- says that he wishes to pass on peacefully and leave it at that, Lambert is already nodding along with a pleasant smile on their face before they can even process what is being said. When they finally do, they find themselves rearing back as if struck physically by the shock of what they just heard.

“I’m sorry?” they can’t help but ask, glancing down at the yellow cat as if they were seeing him for the first time.

“I wish to pass on, Leader. When it’s my time, I do not wish to be resurrected,” he reiterates, his tone even and almost carefree,  although the lamb can still sense the faintest bit of apprehension in his voice.

“...You haven’t told Leshy yet, have you?” they find themselves responding in a considerably more somber tone. It isn't really a question, although it comes out of their mouth like one. They already know the answer because... “Otherwise, I would have heard about it by now.”

Rowan dips his head, his graying whiskers barely skirting his chest. It’s all the confirmation the lamb needs to see to know that Leshy, indeed, has not been informed of this.

“You do not know how to tell him,” Lambert deduces, their voice becoming soft, almost coaxing. “You know you will have to eventually.”

“I am aware, yes,” the cat whispers back in an almost pained tone of voice. “But I do not want my last days with him to be ones of sadness and anger.”

“So you will go on letting him think that this state of yours is simply temporary and that you will rise again shortly after you pass?” they ask, casting a side-long glance at where Leshy is currently on the other side the cult grounds, blissfully unaware of the conversation Lambert was currently having with his partner.

“If I must do so to maintain the peace, then that is what I shall do,” Rowan replies, a steely sort of determination entering his tone. Much to their chagrin, he seems willing to die on this hill. They get the sense there is nothing they can say to talk him out of it.

They have half a mind to stomp all the way over to Leshy right now and tell him exactly what Rowan is telling them, but something in the yellow cat’s expression stops them from doing so.

After a long drawn-out silence, he eventually states, “I’m sure Leshy will find another lover eventually. And I want that for him, I truly do! He’s terrible at letting people in, but, deep down, he’s sweet in his own way, and he’s been taking care of me for the past few months, as he has done for all the time we’ve spent together. He’s funny too, and he has a great sense of humor. Really, what’s not to love?” He laughs softly to himself with a fond smile, as if he’s thinking of something Leshy had said long ago.

Suddenly, the lamb’s heart aches as they get a full sense of what Leshy will be losing. Rowan truly loves Leshy, that much is plain to see, and anyone with eyes (or even without them) can see how enamored the ex-god is with him as well. Lambert desperately wants to shake the cat by the shoulders and snap some sense into him, but they can tell that this decision is not one he has taken lightly. There is very little anyone could do to talk him out of this.

So the lamb concedes. After all, it is simply not their call to make. -----------

As Lambert approaches the shelter area, they can hear the sounds of Leshy’s agony loud and clear. There is clearly another person there with him because they can hear him snapping at someone in between whispered sweet-nothings to a lover who can no longer hear them. Really, he's speaking in frantic, half-baked sentences more than anything. Sometimes, it’s just soft, barely there mutters of “...my camellia, my camellia…” over and over again before morphing into blind rage in the form of earth-shaking cries of “YOU! YOU!”

If it was hard to hear, though, it was even worse to see. The lamb hesitates for a moment as the scene comes into view, swallowing down a lump got stuck in their throat before continuing on.

Leshy is kneeling over Rowan’s body, both hands blindly fisted in the cat’s robes as he alternates from focusing his attention on said cat to the other cat that happens to be in the vicinity.

Narinder, for his part, looks stoically down at Leshy grieving his dead partner, seeming exceptionally detached from his brother’s grief. The bridge that had been burnt between the two a thousand years ago seems yet to be rebuilt.

When Narinder looks up and makes eye contact with Lambert, his only reaction is a casual, “Lamb, deal with this nonsense,” and a thrash of his tail. Once they approach the scene fully, the black cat hardly spares him another look before turning on his heel and abandoning his brother with little more than a second thought. Lambert knows, though, that he will not stray far, as is the nature of an older brother, however estranged.

Narinder’s words seem to have gotten through to Leshy, despite his immense grief, though, because the ex-god of chaos whirls his head around to face them so fast they worry he might have seriously strained his neck. If he did, though, he doesn’t say anything. He simply gently cradles the body of Rowan in his arms and hoists the cat up into a bridal carry like it is the most effortless thing in the world. If Lambert didn’t know better, they would simply think Leshy is carrying Rowan because he fell asleep again somewhere, as is typical for an elder of his age.

The lamb instinctually flinches back as his body is thrust at them like a broken toy by a child. “Fix him…” the ex-god hisses in an otherworldly voice. “I declare it. NOW!”

Any hope Lambert might have had that Rowan told Leshy about his decision promptly shrivels up and dies in their chest.

Well, they thought, it’s been a good run, at least. It was nice knowing you, Red Crown. Please give my regards to Narinder when you promptly return to him after my death.

When the lamb makes no move to immediately remedy the situation, Leshy takes a step forward and presents Rowan’s body to them even clearer, as if it were possible for them to somehow miss it the first time. “Well?” he hisses, his voice dipping in and out a vocal range that was achievable by mortals. “What are you waiting for?! I am not speaking in tongues, am I?!”

They send up a silent prayer to any other gods that may possibly be out there and listening to them at this very moment as they reply, “...I can’t.”

For a moment, Leshy falls silent, seemingly stunned, before the rage returns stronger than ever. “What do you mean ‘YOU CAN’T?!’’’ he hisses, sounding truly like a god again, despite his continued presence in his mortal form. “YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN!”

Woo boy, time for the moment of truth, they think, before just deciding to spit it all out in one go. “Rowanaskedmenottoresurrecthimimsorry,” they reply, half tempted to shut their eyes against the onslaught they know will be coming.

Leshy falls silent again, this time for a longer period of time. The silence rings loudly in their ears, almost as deafening as his screams, if not more so. It’s eerie, watching all the fight seep out of Leshy like a snuffed candle. “What… what do you mean?” he eventually asks, his voice no louder than a whisper. This time, he truly does look like a child, his expression open and vulnerable as he turns to face his late lover, despite not being able to see him.

The lamb takes a deep breath before answering. “He didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want you to be mad, but he asked specifically not to be resurrected. He said he was ready to move on.”

Oddly, it seems like the whole world has gone still. No birds are chirping, no insects humming. It’s all disturbingly quiet. The kind that tells you something is wrong. Lambert should have seen the signs before they all came crashing down on them.

“No… NO! YOU ARE LYING, YOU FILTHY LAMB!!!” he howls, throwing himself forward at the lamb despite still cradling Rowan’s corpse in his arms. “HE WOULD NOT SAY THAT, HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME!! I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS!”

“I’m sorry, Leshy,” they tell him sincerely, and that seems to be all it takes to break him, truly.

If they thought the scream he let out the first time was guttural, this one is just brutal. It sounds like it scrapes Leshy’s very mortal vocal cords raw as he falls to his knees and lays his late lover’s body back on the ground. Sobs and screams fight for the ability to leave his throat as he throws himself over Rowan’s corpse and cradles it tight to his chest. Black ichor quickly soaks the bandages that cover his face, so much so that the liquid starts leaking and quickly stains yellow fur as black as ink. As black as death. All Lambert can do is stand here and watch as Leshy starts pleading with his lover as if he were still alive.

“Please don’t leave me here alone! How come you get a choice and I don’t?!”

His cries echo around the silent grounds of their cult and permeate deep into everything that can hear his grief. Eventually, though, there is a limit to the mortal vocal cords, and Leshy’s wails of grief die into hoarse shrieks that fade away with each passing vocalization. Still, the ex-god will not give up Rowan’s corpse for anything. He fights brutally as a few cult members come by to collect Rowan’s body for burial, using instinct as his only guide. He successfully maims two of their followers because of it, but Lambert can’t find themselves too torn up about it after witnessing Leshy’s grief in its purest form. Rowan's body will need to be collected eventually, lest it rots, but it can stay a while still before Leshy realizes clinging to it will not bring his lover back.

For now, though, the lamb watches as Leshy, throat screamed raw, weeps over the body of one of their most successful farmhands. Watches and, for some reason, find themselves crying too.

[imminent-danger-came]

continue being a little mean to toh fans please it is really irritating how some act like its got the best writing of any modern cartoon

Daawwwww I don't have it in me. TOH fans love it for a reason, and there are legitimately good moments! It's just not the most complex or well-written show out there—which it doesn't need to be—but I also totally get your exhaustion. It gets tiring seeing people praise it so highly over and over again when it's just like...fine. It didn't do nothing but it also didn't do something, you know? It's main couple is cute and queer, but that's pretty much all there is to them. It has a fun cast of characters, but they all tend to fall into archetypes. Luz is a sweet main character, but she doesn't have any real flaws and kinda takes a back seat to Hunter and Eda (the white people lol). Her foil with Philip was interesting...but then they kinda backed off and went the "you and Belos are nothing alike" direction.

((I'm also going to answer this anon with another: ))

And It's not that an unsympathetic villian is bad, or that Belos would even be sympathetic with added backstory, it's just that...there were a lot of interesting things to explore with his character that were left hanging.

Like, while he's definitely not at all a good person, it's intriguing that he would bother to recreate his brother over and over again knowing that each time the grimwalker was going to betray him. It's intriguing that he was even willing to kill his brother to begin with (though Caleb was super underutilized in general). Like, you can give a villain depth without justifying or victimizing them (hi Finnegran from tdp, I'll also add Spider Queen & LBD here). So it just feels like a missed opportunity all across the board. It's still surprising to me that we got a confirmation on the Wittebane backstory through an unrelated background character, rather than Philip himself (who had literally possessed a main character, and mindscapes had already been well-established....the pieces were all there me thinks).

And obviously it's like, people can love something despite it's flaws, and they can cherish it for the good it has, but they still don't need to praise it as an ultimate form of media, you know? We don't need to pretend toh was this dark and complex story—it was just a story a lot of people liked and resonated with. Which I'm glad it's there for those people, and I'm glad there are options when it comes to queer pieces of media!

That said the show with the best writing of any modern cartoon is The Dragon Prince (streaming on Netflix).

[sliver-lioness]

I haven’t finished my actual Valentine’s Day story but did finish this earlier. So happy Valentine’s Day!

This is set very far into the journey since it’s kind of a slow burn. So a treat for now

“Were you joking about what you said earlier,” Wukong asked quietly.

Macaque hummed as he looked down at the king. He waited, the shy side of the king took some getting used to but he learned to wait for him to work up the nerve. He felt their tails curled around each other as he took a breath.

“About a wedding- um getting married,” he said. He played with the tail end of the Macaque’s scarf that wrapped around both of them. Despite the fact they were courting he feared talking about moving to the next step. It was rocky trying to court while on the journey, steps had to be skipped or moved back because of demons attacks and the fact they had to stay close to the group. It didn’t stop Macaque’s attempts on kidnapping and squirreling him away for a few hours or days whenever he could. It wasn’t the best courting, it was very messy, but he couldn’t argue that he’d want it any other way.

Macaque tightened his hold on Wukong’s tail for comfort. “Of course,” he said with a smile. “Is that what you’re worried about,” he asked amusement, ringing clear in his voice. “We talked about starting a family earlier,” he said, freezing when he looked at Wukong.

Wukong crossed his arms and looked at the other monkey with an unimpressed look.

“I mean grow our family with our own cubs,” he said, grabbing onto Wukong’s hand. “I know you see the other monkeys as your grandchildren but I want to raise cubs with you,” he said softly.

The king’s eyes softened at this. “Then when we do I hope they have your lovely ears,” he said, reaching up and brushing his ears revealing the warrior’s colorful petal-like ears from his glamor.

Macaque looked nervously to their companions when his glamor fell. “I don’t wish so, I would rather them not to be ridiculed,” he whispered softly.

“But they are so pretty,” Wukong said in awe; he couldn't think of a reason why no one would like them.

The ears shifted to a rosy pink from Wukong’s honest compliment. “Well I would want them to have your markings and maybe your fur color. A little star dancing alongside the sun and the moon.”

Wukong smiled, imagining carrying their cub around on his shoulders and chattering away with the other older monkeys, watching as they played with the other baby monkeys. “Maybe a small constellation of stars. I would want one with your lovely fur as well,” he whispered as he looked away in embarrassment.

Macaque blinked in surprise at that before a smile spread on his face before he hugged Wukong close and pushed his face into his neck to hide. His ears shifted to shine a soft but bright yellow with his happiness. “We’ll have a whole evening sky’s worth,” he said.

“Maybe not that many,” the king said with a laugh as he snuggled into the embrace. “But I wouldn’t mind a big family,” he said.

“Then we’ll have the most beautiful wedding at the end of the journey and return to flower fruit mountain and relax for a bit. Then one day we’ll welcome our cub into the world,” Macaque said.

“Nice talk but you guys better not be trying for them anytime soon,” a voice said. Wukong squeaked while Macaque slammed his glamor back into place as the shadows around them darkened intimidatingly.

They looked over the group to see Bajie looking over to look at them with a small glare without heat. He let out a small snort before he turned until his back faced them once again.

Macaque huffed as he pulled Wukong closer to him, he could hear his king’s heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing. Wukong let out a small chirp as he was moved; it took a few moments for him to calm and settle comfortably against the warrior’s side. He buried his nose into the scarf and let out a soft purr as the sweet scent of plums, peaches, and smoke greeted him.

“Sleep I’ll take the first shift,” he said, running his fingers through the golden monkey’s hair. The other gave a little nod before closing his eyes.

[gamercats-fight]

Welcome to the Gamer Cats tournament!!! Here is the bracket 🎉🎉I will be updating this thing as we go on our journey to find out who is the best video game cat.

Starting Sun. Feb. 4th @ 12pm EST I will be posting the first 8 polls (top row, left and right sides) and have it run for a week. All polls will run for a week. There will be a Loser's Bracket that will show up a week or two from now since I need cats to lose to place them 😥

Under the cut is a transcript with a schedule!

Welcome to the Gamer Cats Tournament!!

@gamercats-fight

Voting starts on Sunday Feb. 4th 2024

Round 1 - Week 1

[Big the Cat vs Giovanni]

[Simba vs Astrid]

[Remlits vs Eevee]

[Pocket vs Judge]

[Steelclaw vs Evil the Cat]

[Tara vs Fat Cat]

[Temmie vs Rover]

[Spider-Man/Bodega Cat vs Bob]

Round 1 - Week 2

[Léon vs Jorts]

[Shoe vs Jean]

[Giovanni's Persian vs Sushi Cat]

[Mitzi vs Meowth]

[Kiki vs Ankha]

[Frou-Frou vs Elizabeth the 3rd]

[Pixel vs 707's Robot cat]

[Gouto-Douji vs Saber-toothed tiger]

Round 1 - Week 3

[Tango vs Toro Inoue]

[Gizmo vs Tally]

[Coco vs Kitties!]

[Ms. Fortune vs Slip]

[Leona Kingscholar vs Cheka Kingscholar]

[Pepi vs Alexander the Great]

[Mr. Whiskers vs Mr. Mew]

[Lucius vs Grim]

Round 1 - Week 4 (has 2 extra for bracket to work)

[Hunter Slime vs Orchynx]

[Kittyball vs Keats]

[Leopard vs Bloodfang Sabertooth]

[Cisco vs Sims Urbz cat]

[Neko vs Kabegami]

[The Tiger vs Tiger]

[The Star vs Ann's cat]

[King vs Talking Tom]

[Ebony vs Ashes]

[Nintendogs' cats vs Nyan Cat]

Round 1 - Week 5

[Goomba Cat vs Pete]

[Super Mario cats vs Castle Town cats]

[Bongo vs Mr. Midnight]

[Judd vs MEWO]

[Chilly vs Tabby Bee]

[Vivi vs Yuumi]

[Cait Sith vs The Beast]

[King Tom vs The Empress]

Round 2 - Week 6

[Blaze the Cat vs ?]

[Daffodil vs ?]

[Stray cat vs ?]

[[REDACTED] vs ?]

[Raymond vs ?]

[His Majesty vs ?]

[Lumi vs ?]

[Jibanyan vs ?]

Round 2 - Week 7

[Wagahai vs ?]

[Stardew Valley cats vs ?]

[Minecraft cats vs ?]

[Espurr vs ?]

[M'aiq the Liar vs ?]

[Cheshire Cat vs ?]

[KITR vs ?]

[Spring vs ?]

Round 2 - Week 8

[Mae Borowski vs ?]

[Momo vs ?]

[Morgana vs ?]

[Krampy vs ?]

TBD

Round 2 - Week 9

[Tabby Slime vs ?]

[Eve vs ?]

TBD

[nihongoseito]

what’s the difference between になる and となる?

hi all!! i’ve been reading シュナの旅 lately and noticed that miyazaki uses となる way more than になるin that book, so i thought i’d look up the difference and share what i learned. 行くよ！

Xになる = to become X

chances are, if you’ve been studying japanese for any amount of time, you’ve come across this construction. it’s a lot like “become” in english and can be used with nouns and adjectives:

うさぎちゃんはセーラームーンになった。 = usagi turned into sailor moon. 🌙💫

突然空が暗くなった。 = it suddenly got dark out.

子どもたちは静かになった。 = the children grew quiet.

as you can see, Xになる expresses a natural, usual, or otherwise believable sequence of events. for example, while we don’t know exactly why it got dark out in the above 例文, it’s not an unusual thing to happen, and it doesn’t require extra explanation in itself—it just gets dark sometimes!

Xとなる = to finally/in the end become X

while Xとなる means basically the same thing as Xになる, there is a slight difference in nuance, as well as a slight difference in grammatical distribution. first of all, Xとなる usually can’t be used with adjectives:

❌ この辺はにぎやかとなった。（⭕️ この辺はにぎやかになった。 = this area has become lively.）

❌ うさぎちゃんはまた元気となった。（⭕️ うさぎちゃんはまた元気になった。 = usagi got better again.）

specifically, one of my sources (see below) says it is “接続しにくい” or “difficult to attach” adjectives to となる, so it’s possible you’ll come across it, but basically unlikely. (for what it’s worth, it’s not technically available to use an い-adjective with either に or となる, since the particles get dropped, but you probably knew that!)

the bigger, more semantic difference between the two なる constructions is this: Xとなる expresses the final stage of a process, often one which is unexpected, is unusual, or otherwise merits further explanation. for example, compare these two sentences (see below for sources):

すんなりと彼が村長になった。 = without difficulty, he became village chief.

すったもんだの末、結局彼が村長となった。 = after a big to-do, he finally managed to become village chief.

the difference between these two is pretty obvious with all the adverbs: when something happens according to plan or expectation, Xになる is the way to go, but when something reaches a final stage (especially after some difficulty or unforeseen complications), Xとなる expresses that nuance nicely. let’s have a couple more examples:

その島は無人島となった。 = that island became a desert island in the end.

その町は廃墟となった。 = that town fell into ruin.

色々審議をしてから、決まった予算は○○円となった。 = after a lot of deliberation, the final budget was capped at ¥○○.

lastly, here’s one final thing to remember: wherever you can use Xとなる, you can replace it with Xになる, but not vice versa!

anyway, i hope this was helpful or illuminating in some way! sources below the cut :) またね！！ 🙋🏻‍♀️

sources:

https://www.douban.com/group/topic/75245080/

https://learnjapanese-teachjapanese.com/?p=1613#:~:text=%E3%81%BE%E3%81%A8%E3%82%81,-%E3%80%90%E3%81%AB%E3%81%AA%E3%82%8B%E3%80%91%E3%81%A8&text=%E3%80%90%E3%81%AB%E3%81%AA%E3%82%8B%E3%80%91%E3%81%AF%E3%80%81%E8%87%AA%E7%84%B6,%E5%BD%A2%E5%AE%B9%E8%A9%9E%E3%81%AB%E6%8E%A5%E7%B6%9A%E3%81%97%E3%81%AB%E3%81%8F%E3%81%84%E3%80%82

https://sites.google.com/site/studyjapanesewithmie/bunpou--grammars/httpsitesgooglecomsitestudyjapanesewithmieHome/---to-naru----ni-naru----no-chigai

[icemavly]

ICEMAN + MAVERICK: A PLAYLIST (PART TWO/?)

somethin’ stupid, frank sinatra and nancy sinatra

i know i stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me / and if we go someplace to dance, i know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me / then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two / and then i go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "i love you"

friends to lovers, 30k words. ice and mav realizing their feelings in the slowest, most oblivious way, spending years pining after each other. one night, after some boring navy event, still dressed up, they end up in a bar, ordering beers and laughing at the crappiest jokes. a few people stare but it doesn’t matter, they’re having a good time. until maverick fucks everything up. he doesn’t know how it happens, but he murmurs an i love you under his breath like an idiot. he blames it on the drunkenness of the moment, but he’s frightened of ice’s reaction. he can feel the fear in his own eyes. ice looks at him for a moment, and then smiles, quietly asking maverick to follow him. he needs to show him how much the feeling is reciprocated in a much quieter place.

(years later, somethin’ stupid is the song they slowly dance to in the kitchen).

come as you are, nirvana

come as you are, as you were / as i want you to be / as a friend, as a friend / as an old enemy / take your time, hurry up / choice is yours, don’t be late

maverick and ice reunite after weeks. hell, maybe it’s been months. they lie together in bed, limbs tangled, and the quiet atmosphere is an unsettling background to their thoughts. they know that they can’t keep doing this, they know. a clandestine relationship, their only option of being together, is getting too much — too hazardous, too wearying, too difficult, too insincere. they keep pretending they are just friends, because nobody can be trusted with a secret that could cost them their careers, not even their closest friends, not even their families. still, saying goodbye would hurt too much, it would kill that very hidden but vital part of them that grows inside of their hearts. is it unbearable — pretending? is it that consuming, compared to the years without each other they will be forced to face in the future? ice sends maverick another address. another city, another hotel, another place to consume their love. it doesn’t matter how, maverick will be there.

new americana, halsey

young james dean, some say he looks just like his father / but he could never love somebody’s daughter

yes, maybe this song is overused, but look me in the eyes and tell me this is not iceman coded. young lieutenant thomas kazansky is, before anything else, his father’s son. he looks like him, talks like him, thinks like him. his father stares back at him every time he looks in a mirror and screams at him every time he makes a mistake. when ice falls in love with maverick, his father’s shouting in the back of his mind doesn’t stop — he simply learns to fight back.

[evilovesyou]

Prompt!

I’ve saved this one from the prompt generator, and I’ve been thinking about it for a while

Genre:Romantic Comedy

Trope: Angels and Demons

Prompt: Learning a hobby together.

It’s crafting time! and to flex those well developed fluff muscles!

When Zayn had looked through the peephole in the door, all he’d seen was a grinning Niall. Now that the door was actually open, he had the very same grinning Niall right in front of him. Marvellous. It was evident he’d rushed to see Zayn by his flushed pink cheeks and his crooked halo. Zayn was almost knocked off his feet with affection. 

And that was when he saw the box.

“What’s in that box, Niall?” he asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. He flapped his wings behind him in a threatening manner. It sounded a little bit like the sleeves of a leather jacket rubbing together.

“Supplies!” Niall was unperturbed.

“What are the supplies for?”

“We’re crafting today, Zaynie.” Niall nodded to himself, and stepped forward, ignoring the way Zayn tried to block him. “C’mon. It’ll be fun!” he said, petting Zayn’s left horn and using his momentary shock to push himself into the apartment. His soft, feathery wings brushed Zayn’s shoulder and he carried the scent of late summer.

“Don’t… Niall, I told you my horns are sensitive.” Zayn sighed and closed the door. The angel had already kicked off his shoes and put the box on the coffee table.

“And I used the information to get into your house.”

“That’s not very angelic of you, is it?”

“Eh,” Niall shrugged, wings fluttering with it, and pulling a series of things from his box. “I did it in the name of Fun. And Fun is sacred.”

“Fun, depending on what kind, can also be considered demonic,” Zayn pointed out. “Is that wood?”

“It’s willow reeds, Zaynie. We’re going to learn basket weaving!”

“What do we need baskets for?” Zayn slowly came closer and sat down on the edge of his sofa. His. This was his apartment, even though the angel he’d accidentally befriended in college seemed to consider everything that was Zayn’s to also be his. “And why are we making a mess in my living room, not in yours?”

“You know how Harry and Liam can get about messes in the house,” Niall explained, lining up the supplies neatly. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Zayn chose not to point out the fact that Harry was dating his best friend, who was the messiest demon he’d ever met. “What if I tell you I do mind, actually?”

“Oh, do you really?” Niall looked up at him for the first time, dropping his busy hands into his lap as he sat back on his haunches. Zayn’s soft, blue and yellow rug reflected in Niall’s bright eyes, the afternoon sun streaking his ash brown hair with golden streaks. The orange and pink of the oncoming sunset on Niall’s wings was completely out of place in Zayn’s self-proclaimed demonic, dark mind. He sighed.

“I don’t mind, Niall. I would just appreciate a heads-up next time.”

“But if I told you beforehand, you would’ve come up with a million excuses like ‘Niall, we don’t need baskets.’ and ‘Niall, for the love of God, don’t buy willow reeds on the internet at 3am.’ and ‘Niall, I don’t want to spend time with you–’”

“I always want to spend time with you,” Zayn rushed to correct, not realising that he’d said it out loud until he heard Niall’s quiet gasp.

“Yeah?”

“I thought it was quite obvious.” Zayn admitted, dropping his head into his hands. “Everyone teases us about it.”

“Yeah, because I have a crush on you, Z. Not the other way around.”

Zayn’s head snapped up so fast his horn almost poked Niall’s outstretched hand. Niall’s wings snapped up, ready to take flight, but immediately relaxed back down when their eyes met. His halo was still crooked. 

For a moment it seemed very quiet, until Zayn could hear people talking underneath the open window, a car going by in the street, the neighbour’s dog barking, his own heartbeat. He slowly reached across the edge of the table, tracing Niall’s temple, and fixed his halo for him.

“I like you, Niall,” Zayn said finally, as he dropped his hand. “A lot.”

more of my writing

[askblueandviolet]

Finally! We are back in the game! Sorry for the wait guys, as a reward here is a literal 20,000 word chapter of shenanigans AKSHFBIUHWOBDJKS- have fun reading!!!

Ask Box will open in an hour or so to give you all time to read :DDD

[captain-krow-drozdov]

Hello Hello! After A Long Day Of Playing Electrician I'm Happy To Say That How NOT To Reincarnate Has Updated Therefore I Offer Meh Quality Memes =}

As Always Link To The Beloved Fic Itself ↓

[need1etail]

If y'all are interested here are the allegiances to the dead kits AU! You may notice I've swapped some family trees around and scratched some of the ideas I had earlier :3c! Make sure to look around!i

[eurovision-song-bracket]

Bracket One

“We Could Be The Same” (Turkey, 2010) VS “Poupée de cire, poupée de son” (Luxembourg, 1965)

“SHUM”(Ukraine, 2021) VS “Ne partez pas sans moi”(Switzerland, 1988)

“Love Kills” (Belgium, 2013) VS “Refrain” (Switzerland, 1956)

 “Rändajad” (Estonia, 2009) VS “L'Oiseau et l'Enfant” (France, 1977)

“Wake up” (Belgium, 2019) VS “Un banc, un arbre, une rue” (Monaco, 1971)

“Dark Side” (Finland, 2021)VS “All Kinds of Everything”(Ireland 1970)

“Scream” (Russia 2019) VS “Si la vie est cadeau” (Luxembourg 1983)

“Under the Ladder” (Ukraine, 2018) VS “Nocturne” (Norway 1995)

“Not The Same” (Australia 2022) VS “Diva” (Israel 1998)

 “If Love Was a Crime” by Poli Genova (Bulgaria 2016)  VS “1944” (Ukraine 2016)

“De la capat” (Romania, 2015) VS “Zitti e buoni” (Italy 2021)

“Give That Wolf A Banana” (Norway 2022)  VS “Un Premier Amour” (France 1962)

 “Ai coração” (Portugal 2023) VS “Rise Like a Phoenix” (Austria 2014)

“Dance You Off” (Sweden 2018) VS “Fairytale” (Norway 2009)

“Playing with Fire” (Romania 2010) VS “Heroes” (Sweden 2015)

 “In Corpore Sano” (Serbia 2022) VS “Stefania” (Ukraine 2022)

[nomaishuttle]

umm i doubt literally anybody aside from me is at all interested in this but here is my frankensweeney playlist its got all the songs from the 5 casts that r on spotify (1979 broadway, 2006 broadway, movie, 2012 london, and 2023 broadway) organized to the best of my ability :]