#maybe it’s just my thing for sheet ghosts idk

[the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink]

Hot take but Gerard is so babygirl in this

I don’t know how to explain it they’re just,,, babygirl

(Maybe I’m biased because I got my vampires will never hurt you ghosts tattooed like 3 days before he came on stage in this but it’s such a serve)

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field IX

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: here we are!! 'season' two!! thanks so much for reading it and I'm SO so glad lots of people seem to love it :) if you do, please reblog it or leave your thoughts in the replies or in my inbox! i love hearing from you and talking about it so don't be a stranger !

without further adieu,, enter buzzcut coryo <3

next part

Coriolanus's stomach twisted as he could hear your screams from the hall, even though by then he was all the way on the other side of the school. He thought that was unsettling, only for them to abruptly stop just before he left. The silence that followed was so much worse. He didn't get any sleep, sitting on the roof in Grandma'ams rose garden with Tigris all night, wondering if you were dead.

He was just sick about it, even as he left the following morning, so early that the sun was yet to rise. It was a long, painful ride, and he spent the entire thing certain that you were dead. It was his fault, he had only wanted you to come with him, so he wouldn't be alone, but now he truly is alone and he won't even have you to write to back home. Regardless, he would try.

Rather than sit with the idea that it might even be pointless for him to live another day, especially with this unflattering haircut and a uniform that challenged the discomfort of the academy one, he decided to write to you on a paper he had found bunched between the train seats to ease his mind.

Y/N/N,

I hope you're reading this. I hope this gets back to you at home and finds you safe and sound, and you're sitting over your desk with a textbook open getting ready for university in the fall. That's not what's happening though, is it? You're probably dead. I probably killed you. If you are reading this in your room, or your library, or over my shoulder as I write this because you are only alive in what's left of your spirit, I hope you know that I am sorry. I did it because I wanted you with me, because in the moment I was so sure you'd be better off with me in the districts than you would be at home with your father. I think I was wrong. But I still miss you. You meant more to me than I ever told you. I guess, more than I ever told myself either until these last few weeks.

I think I heard them kill you after I left you with the Dean. If they did, boy, did you go out fighting. I always knew you would. I can't stop writing in case I never get to speak to you again. But again, maybe you're not dead, right?

Please tell me you're not dead.

Yours,

Always yours, your Coryo

He smoothes out the wrinkled sheet as he writes, hand shaking through most of it. He doesn't know if he should even bother sending it, or if he should just fold it up and throw it out the window in hopes that the message will find its way to your ghost. No, he has to send it. Otherwise he'll definitely never know, at least not for twenty years, and he couldn't bear that.

The wind hits the trees into the windows of the train as it rolls along the tracks, demanding that the branches be heard against the glass. It reminds him of you. Then again, what doesn't these days? Maybe it was just you letting him know you had read his letter, and that you forgive him. That would give him a semblance of peace for the rest of the ride.

When you woke up, it was impossible to tell what time it was. You only knew that it was dark, and your bedroom door was locked from the outside when you got up and carefully tried to open it only to be blocked by the mechanism.

"I have half the mind to agree with you on the Avox thing." You hear your dad sigh, his voice echoing from his study just down the hall. Your eyes widen and you try the knob again. Yep, still locked. "But we could always send her to Nine or Ten as a nurse. She's not staying here, that's certain."

"I don't want to push your decision, here, but she was saying she would tell everyone. She knows more than we thought, more details." Highbottom was here too, great.

"No, that's impossible. What did she say?"

"She knows we're selling, likely that you're storing it all here somewhere, and she knows it's enough to be treason. I don't know what else she knows, but it's risky business ever letting her out of that room again. The procedure might be our best option, here." You've heard enough, quickly making for your window instead. It's locked as well, but draping your old uniform over the lever gives you enough freedom to crush it with a particularly heavy, hardcover textbook without making much noise.

You change quickly, grabbing a few essentials that you could fit into your book bag, then climb out the window and slide down the back porch column before making as quiet of an escape as possible. Adrenaline carried you a few blocks away, but now, you were unsure what to do. You couldn't return, and you couldn't be seen, and you had a tragic shortage of friends at the moment. You find your feet carrying you toward the building you know Coriolanus lives in.

You're not particularly excited to see him, but with no other options, you're sure you can find it in yourself to be forgiving just this once. You could go to Sejanus's family home, but it's not far enough away, and you're not sure what his father would say. He'd probably call your dad in a second and it would all be for naught- you couldn't risk it. So, Coryo's it was.

You enter the building, walking straight for the elevator. He was in the penthouse, so you just have to hit the very top button and figure it out from there. You've never been to his home before, but he's talked about it plenty. Enough that you could find your way there, at least.

You groan when you quickly realize the elevator doesn't work, looking over at the stairs. It's a tall building, so you've got a long way to go. You wonder how he does this every day as you climb up set after set of stairs, taking note of how the walls are basically crumbling around you.

You knew he didn't have money, that he couldn't eat, but you didn't think he lived like this. No wonder he was so thin, and no wonder he still had any muscle left on his body. It was these damn stairs. That couldn't be it though, that wouldn't explain how his shoulders just seemed to go on for miles- maybe he had some kind of workout routine you never knew about.

You're drawn from your thoughts when you reach the top of the last staircase, hesitating to open the industrial looking door in front of you. Just beyond that was the front door to the Snow penthouse, and now that you're here, you're not sure what to do. Do you knock? You don't even know what time it is.

You sit by the door, deciding to think it over for a bit. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep leaning up against the wall where it meets the dusty floor.

Waking up, you're met with a gasp. "Y/N?" You blink open your eyes, seeing Tigris crouched in front of you, forehead creased with worry. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?"

"Tigris, hello." You mumble, gathering yourself to stand up as she helps you. "I, uh, I didn't know where to go, so..."

"Okay, okay. Come in for a second." She nods, holding your shoulder as she guides you back into the apartment. You squint at the sunrise through the large bay windows, she must have been on her way to work. "Can I get you anything? Some tea? You must be freezing..." She says, immediately shuffling into the kitchen.

"No, no. It's fine. Thank you, though." You insist, trying not to stare at the state the apartment has fallen into.

"Okay, well, please, take a seat. Tell me what's going on."

You nod slightly and move to sit down at their dining table where she joins you, reaching out for your hand which you gratefully take. "Did Coriolanus leave already?" You ask and she nods, giving you a sad smile.

"I must admit, I'm relieved to see you." She says, taking you by surprise. "Coryo thought you were dead. He was just so torn up about it, he said it was his fault but he wouldn't tell me why. I was expecting to see your passing in the papers this morning."

"Well, my days are numbered." You sigh, looking out the window again. The view was stunning. Maybe you would prefer a penthouse to your own large, empty feeling home. "My father and Dean Highbottom were discussing turning me into an Avox as a pity punishment, and I don't doubt that my father would rather bury me than have that on his name. I didn't stick around to hear their decision."

Tigris listens intently, squeezing your cold hands between her own. "And now, I don't know what to do. I had nowhere to go, I'm so sorry to intrude-"

"No, my goodness, please. You are always welcome here." She assured you. "But... what will you do?"

"I have to leave." You nod to yourself. "I have to leave and I can't come back, can I?"

"One day I'm sure it will be safe for you to return." She says, notably trying to put a positive spin on it. "I'll tell you what-" She stands quickly, going over to a hall closet and pulling out a large fur coat. "Take this, it can hide you and keep you warm. Take the next train to Twelve, that's where Coryo went." She places the coat in your lap. "He'll be ecstatic to have you and see that you're well."

You nod, standing up and pulling it on in a hurry. It was a beautiful coat, you could tell it was real fur. This must have belonged to one of their mothers. "Thank you, Tigris."

"There's another train headed there in about twenty minutes, if you rush you can make it. I had to check the schedule last night for him. Don't buy a ticket, just climb in a transport car from the opposite side, not the platform." She instructs you hurriedly,

You dig in your bag as you both head for the door, pulling out a handful of money and rifling through it to give some to her. You'll need some, but she will too.

"Here, Tigris. Take this." You say as she holds the door for you, and she instantly is shaking her head.

"No, no. I couldn't." She smiles awkwardly, waving a hand at you. "You'll need it more than I do, Coryo will be sending us cheques."

You smile at her understandingly, holding it out to her again. "If not for your help, then for this lovely jacket. Please take it. I insist."

Tigris sighs, taking it from your hand before pulling you into a hug which you gladly return. "Tell him we love him, okay?"

"He knows," You say, chin resting on her shoulder. "But I will."

It was dark again when your train reached its final stop, and you were curled up under the coat trying to sleep. You scramble to get up, having to bolt from the train before anyone came to unload the car.

Unfortunately, you didn't get the privilege of having a place to stay when you arrived, so once you're out of sight of the train, the best you can do is wander.

You don't have to wander long before you hear music. You didn't realize people were happy here, so the sounds of laughter and shouting and dancing coming from inside what looked to be an abandoned building made you tilt your head at the idea. Maybe you would just sit outside, around the side of the building where you won't be seen and you can listen.

You don't even get the chance to sit before you hear the singing start. It's Lucy Gray. You mentally scold yourself for not thinking of her sooner as you stand again quickly, finding yourself quite lightheaded. You must be hungry. Maybe there will be some food inside, or maybe you can find talk to Lucy Gray and maybe she'll let you stay with her. Just until you get yourself situated here.

Clutching your new coat tightly around yourself you walk in after attempting to dust off and salvage your clothes. Your favourite skirt and shoes took quite a beating throughout the day, and you're disappointed, to say the least. Hopefully Lucy Gray has a washing machine, but you doubt it. Did these people even know what a washing machine is? By the look of everyone in the room, the answer was a definite no.

Sure enough, Lucy Gray was on stage, singing her heart out. You had never seen her smile so wide, of course, and the kids surrounding her onstage were just as talented as she was at all their instruments. You've never seen live music like this before, only classical or opera where everyone sat quietly and listened until the end. This environment was entirely new to you.

Not wanting to interrupt, you wait until Lucy Gray steps offstage and her spot is replaced with a little blonde girl who couldn't have been older than ten.

"Give it up for the amazing Lucy Gray Baird!" The girl shouts into the mic, gesturing to your friend before more music started to play. "She'll be back, she's just taking a little break, but until then, you lot are stuck listenin' to me."

This is your chance. You push through the crowd and step into the hall you saw Lucy Gray go down. "Lucy Gray?" You call out hopefully, watching your step as to not roll a heel. In hindsight, these shoes were not ideal for the journey you took, but your options were limited by a time crunch.

"Lucy Gray?" You ask again, turning a corner and peeling into a large open room. It's a few moments before your eyes land on her, and she turns to face you having heard you walk in.

"Oh my days, I thought I recognized that voice!" She smiles, opening her arms and running up to you. "Y/N, my word, what are you doin' here?" Her excitement fades quickly into concern as she drops her arms from around you.

"Long story..." You chuckle nervously, pulling at your coat again as she nods for you to continue. "We got caught, for the compact. And the snakes, somehow. Coriolanus put our handkerchiefs that you used in the tank so they wouldn't attack you, I guess. I didn't know. Then they pulled us out of class the next day, he told them it was me, so then I put up a fight and they sedated me. When I woke up I was at home and they were talking about having my tongue cut out and turning me into one of those servants but I'm sure my dad would rather have me dead. So," You sigh, trying to summarize it as quickly as possible. "I ran."

Lucy Gray shook her head, mouth agape in shock at all the information she just took in. "Okay, wait... So they were going to kill you?"

You nod.

"But that teacher of yours seemed so nice."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, he gave me some money and escorted me into the train himself."

You scoff, shaking your head. "He's never liked either of us, but that's only because I have dirt on him. I don't know what Coryo did."

"Well," Lucy Gray sighs, rubbing your shoulders gently. "I'm glad you're here. That you're safe."

"You too." You smile. "Can I just say, too, we were so proud of you. We were so lucky to be your mentors."

"I count myself the lucky one." She grins. "Let's move on, shall we? On the up and up."

"Yes, sounds lovely." You grin at her.

"Can I get you some water? Liquor? What do you need?" She asks, turning at that and going over to a bench in the middle that had a few water bottles.

"I would love some water." You breathe out, joining her and sitting down as she hands one to you.

"Lucy Gray, could I ask you for a really big favour?" You say after taking your first sip.

"Please." She nods.

"Can I stay with you?"

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[noisyquokka]

Hi hi! First, I'd like to say how wonderful your writing is and how much I enjoy it. It always makes me smile :)

Second, I have a request. Could you do a GN!reader with Minho where we feel and listen to each other's heartbeats? Maybe throw in a good kiss for extra flavor? I just think it would be really cute, and being a cardiophile who ults Minho, seeing a story like that would make my day.

No rush at all of course, and thank you for your amazing writing. Keep up the great work! ❤

Midnight Symphonies

PAIRING - Minho x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - What more is needed than the sweet song of your Lover's heartbeat in the silence of the night.

WORDCOUNT - 1.1k

WARNINGS - Fluff, Soft Cardiophilia, a tad suggestive? (more like petting and caressing idk), a soft and domestic Minho who just needs a good night's rest

A/N - Love this request so much!! I apologize for it being so short. I was hoping to make this a little longer, but I'm not a fan of writing more in only to have it feel forced. I hope I've done your request justice, Dearie 😅

It's been roughly a half hour since he walked through the door. You heard the apartment door click shut through your haze of sleep, footsteps pad down the hall, even the subtle rustling of clothes slipping off at the foot of the bed. The water running in the shower was the last thing to ring in your ears before you dozed off again.

It's late now; just a little past midnight when Minho slips into bed. Your brows twitch as the mattress dips behind you, the sheets flipped up so he could slide in beside you. A warm hand coming to rest at your waist. You instinctively lean into his touch, hips shifting against the mattress to lose that space between you. To find his warmth.

"Can't sleep?"

The question has you stifling a yawn, rolling over so you're facing him. He smells like evergreen and lavender, the notes coming together to wash over your senses. Utter tranquility.

"No... jus' heard you come in." You mumble. 

"Sorry."

"You're fine, Babe."

Minho shifts until he's lying on his back, eyes closed as he pulls you on top of him. Your body settles into his embrace, falling into place as if you're the missing piece to his puzzle. Slender fingers run up and down the length of your spine, callouses coaxing you back into a sleepy haze as the minutes tick on. Your head falls against his chest and with that, the sure and steady thump thump of his heart hits your eardrums. It's the perfect metronome, as if his very existence were a symphony. It's more than enough to lull you back into that liminal space between conscious response and dreams. Though you're not quite ready to go back there yet.

"How was practice?" The palm of your hand travels as you pop the question, tired limbs and muscles twitching beneath soft flesh. 

"Good." He hums, lungs swelling under you only to release a great sigh. You can tell he's exhausted, if not by the short responses, by how needy he's being. Strong arms keep you pressed against his chest, lips making contact with your scalp. "Just glad to be home."

You smile at that, picking your head up to trail a few kisses of your own over the expanse of his chest, the skin dewy and warm from the shower. Minho purrs, his fingertips sweeping over the swell of your hip and you glance up to catch the beginnings of a lazy smile pulling his lips. He searches for your hand among the sheets, a short hunt that ends with your elbow propped up on his chest and lips ghosting over your wrist. Your pulse spikes at the contact. Brown eyes find yours in the dim lighting of the bedroom, half-lidded and malleable in your presence. 

"Feeling's mutual." You murmur, observing the way his fingers press into the underside of your wrist. The action alone is something so simple yet so... intimate. 

You've always found the sound of Minho's heartbeat to be hypnotic, to feel the muscle quicken under your touch. Strong and steady. Minho has never been opposed to the ritual. In fact, he'd been more curious than anything when you first brought it up. Now, you often find yourselves in bed like this— a mess of limbs and tangled sheets, few words spoken because you're both enamored by the life force that keeps both of you going. 

Minho has his own way of reciprocating. What started out as the subtle nuzzling of his head against your chest turned deliberate, always accompanied by the warmth of his hands sweeping over your flesh in search of your pulse points. His actions are always attentive and measured, even when he's trying to be subtle about it, having spent more than enough time discovering what makes your heart tick. 

Right now is no exception.

He's tracing small, soft patterns into the underside of your wrist, his fingertips dancing along the skin lightly enough to make you shiver. You let him continue his ministrations, your eyelids drooping as his hand slides up your forearm in a soothing manner. A ghost's caress.

"You trying to get me back to sleep?" You ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper. 

"Maybe I am." He mutters with a lazy smirk, a light grunt leaving his throat as he hikes your body further up the mattress. So you're draped over him. So that your chests are level with one another. That hand slips back down to your wrist, fingers dancing over the veins. Lingering on each as he explores the delicate network of veins hidden beneath the thin flesh. 

Each move is deliberate, but Minho is much too tired to tease. He's simply taking his time. Touching just to touch. But when he finally pinpoints the surge of blood running through your veins, you swear you're melting like butter on warm pancakes. 

Minho moves to adjust the position of your body, bringing you impossibly closer. Pressing you against his own frame. There's a pause. Brown eyes taking you in. An uptick in his heartbeat, you can feel it against your own. Then he's leaning in and you can't resist meeting him halfway. 

It's a slow kiss— a wave that crashes against your ribs and leaves you aching, a heat settling in your soul like the last burning embers of a fire. Minho breathes you in, feels your heart pounding against your ribs the same as his. His fingers run down the curve of your spine, sending shivers down your back as Minho shifts and pulls back. He presses another kiss to your forehead, eyes fluttering in exhaustion.

"Get some sleep, hm?" He whispers against your temple, his arms winding around you as your bodies entangle in one another.

"Alright," you murmur, snuggling up against him. Your muscles relax in his hold, loosening with every back and forth of his thumb. You let out a tiny sigh, resting your head against Minho's shoulder. 

Sleep is catching up to you, but you can't bring yourself to fall back into that liminal space right now. Not yet, anyway. You are content to simply lie here with him, skin-to-skin, feeling his heart pulse against your chest. Listening as his breathing regulates and those loving caresses slow until there's nothing but two souls tangled up in each other. 

Sleep can find you sooner or later. 

Right now, this is enough.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[dummie-writes]

the party walkers

self insert .✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* school bus graveyard

words: 2.21k

next part: a rescue mission

note: hot minute, hey guys, this is my first time writing for school bus graveyard! currently, it's probably my favorite webtoon (that being said, all my other favorites are on hiatus, so, yk. that's that.) if you followed me for genshin one shots, I just wanna let you know I'm NOT gonna stop writing them, permanently at least. I haven't been able to fixate on genshin for a bit because the app is too big for my phone and trying to play on my computer kills me inside. hope you enjoy, also things prooobably aren't gonna be perfect, lol, I'm going off memory of the first chapter/s

content: self insert for sbc, uh, go read that first, I don't think I'll end up including anything (at least, not here) that needs extra trigger warnings. long term, it's a tyler x reader, maybe, idk, but regardless I don't plan on starting that for a bit.

i. a demon inside of my skin

you hadn't been in "the room where it happened", so to speak. actually, you didn't know what everyone else was dealing with for about a week after savannah, because you thought you were having batshit crazy nightmares! your hotel room was a good bit further away from everyone else's that first night, and after making a run for it into a room and barricading yourself in, you thought that would be the end of it. everyone did, didn't they?

and then, you went home. warm bed, soft blanket, box fan running in the background while you scrolled through various social media apps. it was nearing midnight, but that wasn't new for you. the early morning hours were your friend, the moon a sibling by your teenage years. not unique, sure, but that was the reality of that situation. a small shiver tickles your spine as you remember the night mare last night brought you, your fingertips ghosting the spot on your knuckle where you had banged it and broken your finger in that dream. it was even sore when you woke up. sometimes, nightmares were like that though. sometimes people woke up gasping for air after drowning in their sleep, or craving cigars after being a smoker in their dreams. sore knuckles weren't that far off.

it was like a flash; one moment, you were watching a college aged blonde talk about the type of oils she used for her long, silky, soft hair, and the next, the sky from out your window was a bleeding carmine. there was a loud silence, no wind, no rain, no box fan or phone.

then, again, you heard it. click, click, click. chatter, chatter, chatter. okay. cool. another nightmare. fun and fantastic.

shooting out of your sheets, your index finger throbbed, sparing a second and glancing at it revealed purple spots upon green bruises splotched along your hand. curling your finger inward hurt, but was possible. making a fist around your blanket, you threw it as hard as possible off of you, hoping to distract whatever was making the noise. it did not have the desired affect, and flew a couple feet before expanding and landing softly on the floor. that didn't matter, you were already on your feet and they were thudding to your door before you were aware of what was going on, scrambling on the carpet of your bedroom as you heard skitter like movements from where your eyes couldn't catch the gray, uncanny human-like figure making its way toward you on all fours. it was fast. way, way too fast. the undignified squeal you released as you yanked open your door turned into a gravelly scream of both terror and agony when you slid through, slamming the door shut before you, a blackened finger along with it. it didn't fall to the floor, but instead was hanging painfully out of your back, right under your shoulder blade. like a when a plank of wood splinters, but has enough fibers to hang off and out of the main piece and bobs back and forth. except you're not a piece of wood, and you have to not scream right now.

you feel nausea drinking its way into your chest, but adrenaline pushes it to a back burner as a need to survive pulses in your brain. grabbing a random shoe, a picture frame from off the wall, and a small ball which were left on the floor earlier, you throw them in another direction and hope it sounds enough like footsteps that when you get into the bathroom, whatever that thing is doesn't try to follow you in there.

the balls of your feet aren't much quieter than your whole foot, but they'll have to do as you nearly slam the bathroom door, stop yourself in the knick of time to edge it closed instead, and lock it. for the first time in your entire life, you internally thank your parents that you didn't get that house with the skylight in the bathroom.

now, you hold your breath. the creaking of the floors beneath your cheap carpet tells you that that thing, that monster, that whatever-it-is, is passing by. your fingers shake as you cover your mouth with one hand, the other cupping your nose as you try desperately to slow and quiet your breathing. unfortunately, the racing of your heart isn't helping, and neither is the recognition of that wound that craved up your back so nicely. again, your stomach turns. you don't have time to deal with that right now, even if you can feel blood dripping down your back and throbbing which matches your heartbeat.

click, click, thump, thump. the shadow from the light outside darkens, two fuzzy shadows before the door. silence. praying.

click, click. click. it slowly, slowly, drags its hideous feet away from the door.

you can't breathe for another minute, and the instant you do, it comes out as a heave. your eyes go wide as you scramble toward the bathtub, making it just in time to spill your guts. after emptying your stomach, you pull away with watery eyes and a raw throat, coughing a couple times. you feel a little bit better, as you usually do after throwing up, but that won't last. also, you need water, and that means looking in the mirror if you don't wanna be loud. but for right now, you just need to lay down for a moment. just breathe. you're so, so light headed. you had only just woken up, and this all felt so real. the pain in your hand and in your back. the scratchy stinging you feel up your esophagus. the exhaustion pawing under your eyes as you start to lean backward;

except, you can't, and when you try that, you only shoot straight up and nearly puke all over again. thankfully, this time, the finger actually falls out of your back.

"𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯."

you can reach the majority of the wound if you really reach. it won't be perfect, but you should be able to get it properly clean and bandaged with the first aid kit your family keeps in the bathroom. you don't really know how to clean a wound this big, though. will you need stitches? the only real way to know is to look at it, even if you aren't really ready to do so.

"𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭."

the thought came to you before you even moved from your spot on the floor. oh, yeah. that's right. you're asleep.

...

huh. most dreams feel a little more, don't know. dreamy?? if this is a dream, candy is going to start raining from the sky right now.

right now. here.

𝘯𝘰𝘸, you think, looking up at the ceiling half heartedly. alright, if this was a nightmare, it was a really weird horrible one. and also, you'd rather not push your luck at this point. so, mirror it is. ignoring the pit of panic welling in your chest, you push yourself to your feet, and tip toe to the kitchen sink. you stare at the faucet, and then force your eyes upward. your hair is frazzled, and there are white specks along the corners of your mouth. and then, you turn around. your jaw tightens when you see the open wound, your nightshirt torn open and revealing tattered, aggressive flesh beneath it. that thing probably cut you to the bone. hopefully, because there is in fact a bone there, it didn't hit any organs. you can breathe fine, so your lung didn't seem all too punctured. it's just ugly. ugly and painful.

cleaning it is the first step, and you're just thankful that despite the fact that you stupidly, stupidly, stupidly dumped isopropyl alcohol onto it in hopes of doing so (for a second, before the burning, you felt a little uncomfortable. and then it hit, you nearly cracked your tooth from biting down so hard), it's over with.

a week later, you find yourself in class, rubbing sleepiness from your eyes. so, long story short, that wasn't a dream, and something is horribly wrong. you waking up to a long scab running down your shoulder blade told you that much. and things were about to get a lot worse. in the real world, that is.

"sir, please. they do literally nothing. they just sit there all spaced out, rubbing their eyes. it's like they aren't even trying for this project!" brandy, your classmate begs in a hushed tone. as annoying as the brunette could be at times, she wasn't wrong. a pang in your chest as you think of possibly making it so that the other members of your group protect fail because you are too tired to do your part. god, sorry brenda, you're too busy trying to huddle up in a bathroom all night and take care of a wound that isn't healing for some reason, all while praying that the thing that chased you in there and will probably kill you, doesn't murder you. but she's still not wrong. and it isn't like she knows that, because you have something seriously wrong with you. it's not her fault, and she shouldn't have to pay for you being crazy.

"mr. thomas," you quietly call, rubbing your elbow uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. you can see brandy pause from the corner of your eye, and you think there's even a sorry expression on her face. even if she was annoying, she clearly hadn't thought you heard that. and she had a right to be upset.

"I would like to change groups, if, um, possible."

there's a pause, and from your peripheral view, you can see your teacher and classmate motioning at each other, her probably trying to convince him to let you do so. a small thump, and then a sigh. "alright. I'm going to put you with ashlyn's group. "

as a redhead from across the room pops up and looks around, mr. thomas looks through a few pieces of paper, crossing something off with his pen. he didn't say it out loud, and frankly, he didn't have to. that was the group in the class that was also failing, so, you being in it wouldn't have much of an impact anyway. at least you wouldn't sink the whole ship all by yourself. was it smart, as a teacher? no. he probably should have put you with a tutor or something. looking up at mr. thomas as you nod and collect your things from your desk reveals an, in fact, apologetic eyed brandy. she mouths a "thank you", and you nod in return. you would drag your chair to their little group later, first, you should go introduce yourself, and hope they don't kick you out.

the bright blonde of the group catches you with his eyes before anyone else. you can hear him say something, and the rest of them stop talking and turn to look at you as you awkwardly walk over. their eyes are so piercing, it's making you uncomfortable.

"can we help you?" a brunette asks, tilting her head up to look at you. her tone carries no malice, just curiosity. makes you feel a little bit better.

"I'm so sorry to ask this, if you guys don't want me in your project I'll go ask if I can be alone or join another group or something, it's not a big deal. I'm having issues with my part of the project, and it's affecting everyone else's work in my group. so they were wondering if I could join in with you guys."

they all share a really weird look with each other, like they're talking telepathically or something. a tense moment passes, and two members speak up at the same time.

"yeah sure lol."

"fuck no."

"tyler! be nice! besides, we probably need someone who actually knows what's going on in this class!"

"didn't she just say she was having issues with her work? it's not like she's going to add much."

"to be fair, I don't think any of us are doing all too great on the work anyway."

you feel the need to clarify, mainly to get this over with. "I'm not really having trouble with the work. I'm just not doing it. I'm having sleeping issues, again, not a big deal if you don't want me to join."

they all stop, and look at you again. the redheaded one narrows her eyes, letting the braid she was messing with fall to her lap. her and the boy next to the brunette girl who asked you a question - actually, now that you're up close and looking at him, that looks like one of the boys on the baseball team. didn't she call him tyler? like tyler hernandez? huh. you didn't even realize you guys shared this class.

"what kind of nightmares have you been having?" the blonde asks, looking at who you're starting to assume is ashlyn. they have a staring contest of sorts while you start to answer. "oh, just weird ones. like, ones with monsters... and stuff..."

you didn't say anything about nightmares.

he looks at you again, a cat like grin on his face. "I think you should sit down. "

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

next part: a rescue mission

[ryuichirou]

Halloween is coming up! Who do you think would be the type to do couples costumes and what do you think they'd dress as?

Anon! Halloween is coming up indeed. And this is a very good question, considering we get to see boys going through Halloween every year… well, kind of sort of. Of course, technically, we’ve only seen them wearing one proper Halloween costume, and even then it was pretty much one costume per dorm, but that first ever Halloween event was very helpful in showing the boys’ attitude towards costumes and Halloween in general.

Now who would wear couples costumes… for some reason this part of your ask is much easier to answer than the second part lol But I’ll do my best and share my thoughts!

Thank you for your ask.

Ace and Deuce would do accidental couple’s costumes. They would work on their costumes separately, being very excited about Halloween and all, and then somehow they’ll end up matching perfectly lol They would be so weirdly embarrassed and a little bit pissed about it. Even though they would be dressed as Batman and Joker or something (maybe something less mainstream than that but), their roommates would call them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Trey wouldn’t necessarily do it right now, but he probably has a vision for his future when he and his partner (Riddle…) would feed trick-or-treating kids with homemade candy (some of the candies are yucky as a little prank!) while wearing couples costumes. His would probably be unapologetically cheesy and/or punny, maybe a little cringy. I feel like Trey is the type to do a “I’m a toothbrush, he is a toothpaste” type of shit lol It’s Trey’s dream, let him have fun in his head…

Kalim spent his entire life wanting to do a costume with Jamil! And if they were to start dating (or just sleeping together, or anything of this sort), Kalim would insist so stubbornly that Jamil won’t have a choice. “I can’t wear the same Halloween outfit as the Asim’s heir” doesn’t work anymore, and Kalim could even throw a little tantrum… anyways, they’ll end up doing couples costume! It would also probably be a very cheesy idea, but overly luxurious execution. Like ghosts, but the white sheet is bedazzled with Swarovski crystals. Well, with Jamil’s help, they could come up with something cooler. Like a doctor/scientist and his project, or a serial killer and his victim, or a tomb raider and a pharaoh’s mummy, or a king and a jester… somehow, Jamil always comes up with costumes with a very distinct and troubling power dynamics lol

Rook and Vil would absolutely do it, but they would also probably drag Epel into their little play, as they always do lol Not every single time though, so sometimes Epel gets to be the tiniest Jason Voorhees in the world. Meanwhile, Vil’s and Rook’s costumes are either a reference to a type of media that is kind of obscure for mainstream audience but very iconic for them (something more obscure than Beetlejuice and Phantom of the Opera, but less obscure than John Waters movies…), or very intricately done “original character” (idk how to call it) costumes: similar to their canon Vampire ones. Don’t ever doubt that these two came up with an entire lore for their characters while they were working on costumes. It’s never just some exorcist and some imp. It’s never just some investigator and some rich widow. There is always a story, and you don’t always want to know it lol Also, I feel like saying something about Morticia and Gomez is a must, but knowing how much Vil loves to overthink things, he’ll feel like these two are too obvious of a choice.

Ortho and Idia ABSOLUTELY do couple’s costumes! They’ve been doing it for their entire lives, and these days Idia is kind of anxious that Ortho will get bored of it one day and want to do couples costumes with someone else :( But Ortho wouldn’t! It’s super important for these two, and he loves doing it! They start planning their Halloween costumes very early, and always work on them together. I think the absolute majority of their Halloween costumes are either straight-up cosplay of their favourite horror characters, or their own take on some other characters. But Idia wouldn’t be Idia if he didn’t flex his design and craft skills, so whatever they end up doing, it looks so incredibly impressive… We’ve seen what he can do with his Pumpkin Knight costume with the sound effects and all. Like, these two would recreate a scene from Uzumaki with their costumes somehow. You wouldn’t even know what you’re looking at at first.

I also think Lilia would like to do a couple’s cosplay with Idia if they were dating… Maybe he would watch Idia and Ortho work on their costumes and feel like he kind of wants to have this much fun as well! But his costume with Idia wouldn’t be as complex, and he would probably go with something cute and silly and maybe a little bit provocative. For some reason it’s very easy for me to imagine Lilia going with a choir boy costume and making Idia dress like a priest lol Or a doctor with a nurse, or something like that.

Ironically, if he was to wear couple’s costume with Silver or Malleus, I think he would pick something else for himself. Something cute, but something less provocative~

[seresinhangmanjake]

Back for More

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake up and left you without explanation right before a mission. Now he’s returned wanting you back, but you want that explanation before you’ll be willing to let go of the pain and heartbreak from his sudden departure a month prior.

Notes/Warnings: the beginnings of smut and smutty thoughts, so 18+, Minors DNI. Fluffy ending, angsty-ish, cursing, heartbreak stuff. Idk why I added an emotional attachment to peanut butter in this, but it’s in there. I’m sorry if you��re allergic. Just switch it out with frosting. Works just as well.

Also: This is unrelated to Signed Away. I know—random, odd time to post this, but I finished it so…yea. Sorry if that disappoints :(

Join my tag list

Words: 2518

Requested: Yes, mostly. The peanut butter thing is my weirdness alone though.

 -------

He liked peanut butter. He liked eating it off you; spreading a thin layer along the line of your neck, or over your stomach, or around the hardened peaks of your breasts, just to lick it away. He would kiss you and you’d taste it on his tongue, that mixture of the pasty substance and your sweaty skin. He loved it, like it was the flavor of a drug he was unashamedly addicted to. He moaned like he would dedicate an hour of every day worshipping you in that way. And that’s exactly how he saw it, how you once saw it as well…worship.

After he left, you hated the stuff. It was too sticky, too gooey. Too salty or too sweet depending on the brand you bought, so you stopped buying it altogether. It wasn’t the same. Under that layer of salt or sweet was a glob of bitterness that made you spit out any spoonful you shoved past your lips. It hit your tongue and all you could taste was him. Him, after he had licked all over your body.

So you hated peanut butter—now—all because of Jake Seresin.

A month had passed without him. A month without any news. Those thirty days had come and gone, and you still had no idea if he was okay, if he was alive and safe. If not, you certainly wouldn’t be among the first notified, if notified at all. Jake claimed he wanted you to meet the important people in his life—his mother, his siblings, his team—but then he ended your relationship, and you didn’t have the slightest understanding of how many people knew of your existence, let alone who you once were to each other.

You tried to convince yourself that if he didn’t need you then you didn’t need him. And you were able to stay true to that conviction until a thought of him entered your mind or a random muscled, six-foot tall, blond man entered your peripherals while trying to run your errands. When that happened, you were left with no choice but to retreat to your bed and hug your knees to your chest as you gave it your best effort to breath in and out at a steady rhythm.

But when you inhaled, he was still beside you. No matter how many times you washed your bed sheets, you couldn’t escape his scent. It enveloped you. You drowned in it, letting it fill your lungs until the exhaustion of suffocating on tainted air wore you to sleep. And for a few hours, you didn’t have to remember it, him, and the agony that was eating away at you.

-

Don’t wake up. You heard the words, cloudy and out of reach. Just let us stay like this.

You could still smell him, but a warmth accompanied the scent now. The chill that had taken his place when he left now surrendered to the balminess of body heat. Featherlight touch made a line from your hairline to your jaw. A ghost’s fingertips. It was too good, too reminiscent of what home used to feel like, and you didn’t want to tempt the fates that whispered little cruelties of none of it being real, so you listened to the hazy words and let yourself stay in your dream, tucked away from reality.

-

When you woke, the world was gray. Sunless gray phasing into black. For the first time, you felt a kinship with Mother Nature. Perhaps she was miserable at the moment as well. Maybe she had turned the sky drab and filled it with dark, swollen clouds because she too thought she sensed her lost lover only to realize they had been a figment of the unconscious. If that was the case, then you took back every time you cursed her for pelting rain or frigid winds. No one deserved the pain of—

“Hi.”

You perked at the sound—a jolt to the system—and you whipped around. He stood somewhat rigid in your doorway, drying his damp hands on one of your dishrags. You’d seen this image before: Jake standing before you, waiting with a smile on his face for you to fully wake so he could drag you into the kitchen for an expertly prepared breakfast. But there was no smile this time, no gentle curve to the lips, no glint in the irises.

“Are you real?” you asked, blinking once, twice, to clear your vision, but he was still there.

“Real as ever,” he replied softly.

You couldn’t hold back your light scoff, your eyes rolling and landing on the rag in his hands as he continued.

“I, uh…” he threw a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of your kitchen, “I made you something to eat. When I came in earlier you looked like you could use some—”

“Jake, what the hell are you doing here?”

A beat passed. He stared blankly, like your question was out of the realm of the conversation, like it belonged somewhere else. Then his head fell forward, shoulders slumping to match his look of defeat as he fiddled with the rag. He tossed it on the mattress and ran a perfect hand through his perfect hair before looking at you.

“I’m back,” he answered simply. Too simply, irritatingly so.

“I didn’t invite you back.”

“I know, baby, but I need to explain—”

“You dumped me!”

“I made a mistake!” He snapped, then much quieter, repeated, “I made a mistake, ok?”

He waited for you to give him something in return, but you had nothing to give, nothing to share, nothing to reassure him that you felt any emotion at his words.

“I…” He took a step forward, but further examination of your empty features had him halting. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

Your eyebrow quirked and you resisted the urge to cross your arms like a brat. “A favor?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “A month ago, I was assigned on a mission that forced me to remember the harsh sacrifices my job requires; not just of me, but of those I love,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, still a good four feet from you. “I couldn’t guarantee it was going to end well. And realizing that it might not told me all I needed to know. That you don’t deserve to have the burden of losing someone you love that way. You shouldn’t have a boyfriend or husband who might end up dead.”

You considered it all, words absorbing into every pore and vein of your body. But once it sunk in, anger was what surfaced in its place. If that thought were ever to cross someone’s mind, it should have been yours; yours well before it should have been his. And yet, never did it. Not once had anything remotely close breached the barrier around your mind. That was how much you loved him. That was how dedicated and devoted you were. Everything you gave to him—your body, heart, emotions, love, loyalty—you had handed over with purpose. You knew you were giving yourself to the right person, and yet, the right person let you go.

“That’s not how it works, Jake,” you said. “You don’t just leave someone because of…” you shook your head, “If you loved me you—”

“I do love you!” he said sternly; not harshly, yet with absolute surety. “I have always loved you, Y/N, so do not try to take that away from me.”

“Then what do you want, Jake?”

“I want everything,” he replied. “I want you to want me back. I want to see you every day. I want you to…” His mouth was open, caught in mid-sentence, but then it closed as a cautious smile spread across his face. “I just want you.”

“And you’re suddenly fine with the idea of us being together again?” Thinning your lips, you shrugged your shoulders in false, nearly sarcastic, nonchalance. “Just like that? No big deal?”

“My job shouldn’t be a defining factor in our relationship. It took me losing you to see that, but believe me, I see it.”

“You didn’t lose me, Jake. You gave me up.”

The painful reminder pinched his features. “I know, and I’m a selfish prick for coming back, but not being with you…” He sighed and swallowed, then he shook his head and said, “I don’t know, sweetheart. Living life not being together may be an option for you, but it isn’t an option for me. I was stupid to think I could convince myself otherwise.” He looked down at his hands. Fingers intertwining, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. A few strands of hair fell from the defined shape but he didn’t bother to fix it.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips.

“If you decide you don’t want me,” he continued, his voice slicing into the few moments deafening silence, “that’s your right. But I don’t think I’ll ever get over you.”

“Why?”

He chuckled weakly and finally smoothed the wayward hairs back into place. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s possible.”

“And you think it’s possible for me?”

He turned his head to look at you, desperation clashing with more desperation. “I’d rather it not be,” he said, “but to wish for that would be selfish as well.”

It most certainly would be. You’d spent hours, days, weeks, going over in your head what you would say if ever you were to meet Jake Seresin again after what he’d done. Cursing was in abundance in your imaginings, spoken in an unrestrained tone while you held back unshed tears like a seasoned champ. The words exchanged in the last few minutes didn’t do justice to those thoughts, but now, as you looked at him and heard his truth, you couldn’t find it in you to spit more his way. So, selfish was he, yes, but his wish was not so unlikely to be granted. You knew you would never get over him either.

Sitting up on your knees, you crawled across the mattress until you were close enough to lean your chest against his back and wrap your arms around his neck. A large hand landed on one of your forearms, sliding back and forth along your skin.

“I missed you,” he said, quiet, practically to himself as he pressed a kiss to the inner side of your wrist. “I missed your scent.” Another kiss, lips open, accompanied by a small, warm lick from his tongue. “I missed your taste.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder and he turned his head to catch your eye. His gaze darted to your lips and back.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Your breath shallowed, but you nodded.

He didn’t instantly attack you the way you anticipated. Instead, he licked his lips, shifted his body, and with a gentle hand, pushed you down on the mattress until he was hovering above you. The leg he had wedged between your thighs brushed against your barely clothed core, forcing a whimper that was cut short by the press of his lips on yours.

“God, I didn’t think you’d ever let me touch you again,” he whispered between kisses, “I thought I—”

“Jake,” you stopped him, your hands on either side of his face, “if you do this a second time…if you leave…”

“Baby, I won’t,” he swore. “We don’t have to keep going right now if you don’t want to, but I’m not leaving you.”

Your stare flicked back and forth from his right eye to his left and back again, searching for a lick of dishonesty. Trust was never an issue in your relationship before, but this time, and rightly so, you wanted to verify his sincerity for yourself. His eyes never lied, and thankfully you could see now that he wasn’t deceiving you.

“Then I want you inside me,” you said as you reached your hand between your bodies and began to take apart his belt. He watched your fingers work, his eyes briefly slamming shut when you snuck your hand behind the band of his underwear to pull out his hardening cock.

“Really?” he breathed out in relief. His pearly whites peeked through the soft curve of his lips.

You smiled back. “Really, Jake.”

With the hand not wrapped around him, you gathered your t-shirt up to your navel and reached toward your thighs to pull the center of your underwear to the side. The chill that hit your core made you clench tightly, desperate to have something fill you. “Come on, baby.”

You gently tugged on his cock until he moved closer and lowered himself on top of you. Your hips lifted, forcing his tip to bump against your clit, and Jake blew out a jagged breath, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your neck. He took three more inhales, heat of the exhales fanning against your collarbone, then his hand lightly slapped at yours so he could take his cock back before he lined up with your entrance and guided himself through your folds.

-

“Everyone still wants to meet you,” he said.

You both laid on your sides, chest to chest, your arm wrapped around his waist as he brushed his fingers through your hair and gently massaged your scalp. You were still a bit dizzy in the aftermath of what you’d done to one another. Your head was a little heavy, and your eardrums felt full and fuzzy from your rushing blood, and your eyelids were growing weak. You shifted your leg and were reminded of the ache at your core. You’d not had sex in a month and Jake had a cock not easily adjusted to. He had been careful with you, gentle, and he took his time, but that didn’t stop his size from stretching you to your limit.

“They know about me?” You asked. The question came out lazily, thick and syrupy with elongated words.

“Mhmm.” He pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “My mom is begging. I told her if you take me back then I’m going to marry you—or going to try to, anyway, seeing as you’d have to agree.”

Your head tilted back so you could better look him in the eyes. “Jake—”

“Don’t panic,” he soothed. “I’m not asking now. I think we both know I need to earn it first.”

You smiled and lengthened your neck for a kiss, which he eagerly returned, before tucking your head against his chest. You pressed your lips to his pec and nuzzled into him. He smelled amazing, even with the layer of your combined dying sweat sticking to his muscled body. He smelled like home. And Jake was home, your home, just as you were his.

“I’ve missed the peanut butter, Jake,” you mumbled.

He chuckled and hugged you closer and said, “I love you too, baby.”

 --

A/N: I have no real excuse for this. The idea just wouldn’t leave my head.

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @wkndwlff @rileyloves5 @gigisimsonmars @hangmanbrainrot @withakindheartx 

[heartfullofleeches]

Just a random ramble about Cholly. (Also couldn't remember the pronouns so I stuck with He/They since I think I remember those being used but I apologize if it's incorrect!)

My brain is filled with Cholly for some reason and I just imagine them wearing the goofiest halloween costumes. Like the classic ones but having a silly gag. Vampire costume would probably involve them being caught having "blood" on his mouth but he pulls out tomato juice. Frankenstein (I know thats the doctor but for simplicity sake I'm calling the monster that) costume would be normal except he shocks himself with electricity. Unlike Frankenstein however, he shows that skeleton and black border cartoons use as he is zapped. Although his body is a mystery with how they can contort themself so those bones are just for show I'm pretty sure. Ghost costumes would definitely result in him being able to float while wearing it. Like it's just a white sheet over their head but when you pull it off he stays hovering in the air for a second but looks down and falls upon realization he can't fly. I feel like a mummy costume would just be him using toilet paper to wrap up people. He may wear it and then spin it off and wrap another person with it OR instead just pull it out and wrap others. Idk my brain is rotting and I think of the stuff cartoon logic can be applied to and Cholly just fills my brain perfectly.

Sorry if I bothered you with this! Just wanted to ramble a bit about Cholly :D

Never apologize when it comes to rambling about Cholly. I wholeheartedly advocate for more. You don't understand how much I love this goofy toon and would ramble about them daily if I didn't feel I was dumping too much about them at one time. They are so bby girl and such a delight to write for. (For future reference Cholly literally does not care about what pronouns are used for them as they are simply Cholly) For the Ghost costume I could see them doing a gag of drinking "poison" (maybe paint thinner?) and actually "dying" to become a ghost. (They'll be fine so no worries). Still throws on the sheet to spook their darling when the time comes. Probably throws it over their shadow instead and stands behind Reader, transparent and floating a couple inches off the ground. Uses their new abilities to peep on them before missing being able to touch Reader and hoping back in their old skin. - "Whatcha think of my new look?" It's certainly a look. Not the most original, but still quite cute. The trace of the rabbit's pointy ears stick out like a sore thumb from the sheet they wore. You could already imagine their cheeky grin, and the twinkle in their eyes hidden behind those big black circles cut through the blanket. You couldn't wait to see it. "Looking great, Cholly- just one little thing." The Ghost tilts their head, cloth bunching up just enough for you to make a grab at it with zero issue. "What's that?" "I already miss your pretty face." Lunging for the sheet, you yank it off their head in one fell swoop. Your speed surprises even you which boils to confusion as the dust settles. They aren't there. You've seen a number tricks from the colorful character, but there was always some trace of their presence life behind. You look to your right, then your left. "Cholly?" "Still right behind ya, Doll." You spin on your heels. It takes a minute for your eyes to pull away from the blank wall behind you and instead train on the head poking through it. Cholly waves, elbow propped on thin air and hand rested beneath their chin. Watching the quickness of your chest increase, their smile grows. "Hiya, Gorgeous~" You scream. Cholly snickers, eyes shut with the violent bounce of their shoulders. They let a surprise, elated gasp as their eyes widen beneath the see through lense of their kids. "Wow! I can see you even with my eyelids closed! Ghost life just keeps getting better and better." You march over to them, reaching out only to touch solid wall. "Are... are you...?" "Dead?" Cholly scoffs. "Pfft- Course not!.. I mean I am a ghost, but it's a toon thing. I can change back whenever I want to." You let out a sigh of relief. "Good..." "By the way.... If you ever need a hand in the shower, I could lean two. Missed a couple spots while you were in there earlier." "Cholly!" "Think I hear the stove runnin'. Better go catch. Catch ya later, Gorgeous." Bringing their hands up to the sides of your face, you feel the ghostly imprint of their lips upon yours. Only downside to their new form was they couldn't kiss you with the intensity and passion brew inside them whenever in your company. They wink as your brain redirects from the sweet gesture back to the topic of their little peeping session, and fazes out through the wall before you had the chance to chew them out.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap is my projection baby so... [eczema edition] idk I'll probably make like one other post about this

Ghost knew. He could see it in his eyes, the way he studied him when he thought soap wasn't looking. Maybe he didn't know what, but he knew. And he's pretty sure Ghost knew he knew Ghost knew.

They'd been dating for months now, Ghost was bound to find out at some point. He just hoped, maybe it could have been longer, but realistically it couldn't have been much longer anyways.

To be fair it had also lasted longer than he expected, thanks to military regulations, for once. Pants help, and technically they weren't supposed to be 'bunking' together... not that Price minded (not like Price didn't turn a blind eye to them)

He knew Ghost found it odd that he wasn't the first to open his door, for as open a book as he was. He knew Ghost found it odd that they consistently sleep in Ghost's room when soap had opened his door to him naught but one time for less than an hour. Okay, sleep may have been generous, they nap together, he never stays the night

He did eventually start letting Ghost into his room. But the bed was off limits. Ghost must know something it up at this point, but he never pushes. Soap appreciates that, maybe more than Ghost will ever know

And well, it's not that he doesn't want to spend the night with Ghost, it's just that... it's embarrassing. He's had partners refuse him because of it, he's lost friends over it, they think it's gross, or "contagious", or some other reason that they won't tell him.

And not to mention the 'crumbs' in his bed that he wakes up to most mornings, when dry, dead skin had flaked off in the night and littered his sheets. He doesn't even scratch at night, or he doesn't think so, or... he at least tries not to. It's hard, sometimes he doesn't even realize he's scratching until he feels the slick glide of wetness, and he looks down to see red underneath his fingernails, and his leg's got already drying blood smeared around welling scratches.

It's not that he doesn't want to lay down with the man he so desperately wants to spend the rest of his life with. He just wants a little more time before Ghost sees and pushes him away with whatever lame excuse he can come up with. Maybe he'll say they moved too fast, that he wasn't ready, that he's got an obligation to his duties. It's... I mean that wouldn't be a terrible excuse, he could probably convince himself that that's what it is, if he just ignores the timing.

And sure, maybe it'll last a little longer than usual, that's how ghost is. A problem solver, he doesn't give up. But soap knows, eventually he'll get fed up with it, or he'll look at him different, or start noticing all the little things because of it. And he'll finally have enough and leave. Or soap won't be able to handle how Ghost looks at him, or more accurately at his skin, and he'll leave.

So sue him for just wanting a little more time. It's not like he doesn't know what's going to happen, he just wants to enjoy what he has for a little longer.

[xxri]

tell us abt ur prsk unit....

it seems i ahve been found by prsk oc tumblr helloo. girl band with something very wrong. more under the cut i guess

helloo.... garden of eden posting.... vkei band that mostly plays vocarock and metal (i dont really know specific genres Heart emoji.) very much inspired by leia by yuyoyuppe I LOVE LEIA.

they don't really shoot for a huge goal like the other units they are all learning to love playing music for themselves and not for fame or whatever. they play together just for the sake of it ^_^ ive posted everyones profiles but here are their ref sheets

they have a cover song list here ^_^ (many of these would be rearranged but do u see my vision....)

and voice claims . i kind of designed all four of them with the singers in mind i am a #Big fan of all of them. ruri, tsubaki, kanna (1 / 2) (she is so greedy she has two), sumire

also vaguely inspired by musicians i like . i wanted there to be more obvious references in their unit outfits but i guess i can do that for card sets (if i ever design any)

as for story ......... idrk how to summarize their story on a surface level WHAHA . ruri is a vocaP and recruits the others to form a band for fun. tsubaki is her childhood friend, sumire is a huge fan of her music and brings kanna along (BAD IDEA) 99% of the problems in the band are caused by kanna arguing with everyone over nothing

at first the focus is on tsubaki and the others helping her search for her true passion before she graduates. she joins the band to spend time with ruri, she doesn't actually gaf about music (she doesnt gaf about anything) but slowly learns to love it and enjoy being in the band.

everyone else has their arcs, kanna is very annoying and pretentious and wants to be popular while the other three are like "hey man. maybe being in a band isnt all about fame ^_^;;" sumire is a total beginner at music and is seen as "weird" but finds friends who accept her, ruri arc happens much later cuz everyone else is just learning things she already knew. but she learns to be more honest with everyone.

basically they all join for superficial reasons and eventually learn to really truly love music ^_^ also the sekai is haunted mansion ish and the vocaloids are all ghosts Here is miku and flower probably. i am very indecisive on how they will look

ermmmm Idk what else to post. relationship chart and ruri and sumire instrument models (Ruri stolen from toko kirigaya #I LOVE MORFONICA!!!!!!) idk anything about drums or violin models so they just get whatever. their main motif is flowers i guess but they're not very flowery that's mostly just ruri's influence being a big flower fan. ok i will not make this post longer than it needs to be Thank you for asking i love my daughters ^_^

[midgardian-witch]

Potestas Nominum

I like the idea that all the Papas have actual normal human names just as much as the idea that Nihil was just like ‘Uh that’s one, two, three and the spare one.’ So this happened - I’m sure this is neither groundbreaking nor original but this was fun to write. Idk what to do with this headcanon drabble thingy but yeah. 

My first reader fic without a ship and it’s Ghost lore headcanon shenanigans - lovely 😂 

Reader could be a Sibling of Sin or a Ghoul or just a random person, feel free to imagine what suits you best.

tags: Sister Imperator being smug | gn!reader | hints of Papa Nihil's bad parenting (if you squint) | this is mainly me jazzing with the most shallow takes 😂

ships: none

word count: 0.8k

AO3

“I appreciate the history lesson but I don't quite follow.”

Sister Imperator nods in understanding, leaning back into her plush armchair.

“Names have power,” she explains calmly, “Titles have power too but only for the one holding them.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “But Primo still goes by Primo. Same as Secondo and Terzo. Only Cardi- well Copia - doesn't go by his name anymore.”

Sister Imperator snorts, her mocking laugh echoing through the small office. “Do you really think those are their actual names? Oh dear, you still have a lot to learn.” You huff, offended, and cross your arms. Sister shakes her head at your demeanor, bemused. “While I understand people are easily led to believe that Papa Nihil would name his children after the order they were born in,” she sighs like she had been suffering under Nihil’s antics for a long time, “Remember they still have mothers. They all have names, real names, but at this point only they still know them. And me, of course.” Her smug smile grates on your nerves but you take a moment to let her words sink in. And once you do it's all you can think about. 

You think of the various Papas, trying to figure out what name would suit them. 

For Primo something ancient; a name that makes you think of dark crypts and dusty tomes, of rituals performed in the dead of night, of secrets shared in darkness. One that invokes secret meetings in graveyards, the smell of incense and the echoes of choirs singing haunted hymns.

For Secondo something seductive; a name that conjures silk sheets and sleepless nights for all the right reasons, the temptation of the unknown; a name that makes you think of bodies drenched in sweat from the exhaustion of frantic fucking and the taste of only the most expensive wines.

For Terzo something awe inspiring; a name that will be idolized for centuries to come, that promises fame and fortune to those who follow it; whispering to you of all the things you could ever want, tempting you with words coated in the sweetest honey; a hand reaching out, eager to be held.

And Copia? If that is really not his name then you imagine one that nurtures loyalty. A name that makes you think of gentle words of comfort in the darkest night, of compassion for even the smallest and weakest creatures, of community. The name of a strong yet kind leader bringing the young and old, the weak and the strong together.

“I suppose you wouldn't tell me their names, right?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Sister Imperator only smiles at you sardonically. “Yeah, I figured,” you mumble dismissively. 

“So that's why they all go by Papa now? Because names have power?” you emphasize that last part with a mocking tone, “And what do you mean ‘titles only hold power for those that have them’?”

“I meant what I said. The power of a title can only be used by the person who holds that title. It elevates them to be more than just a normal human.”

“None of them are normal humans.”

She smiles again, nodding. There is a glint in her eyes like she's happy you're finally getting it, but maybe you're just imagining things.

“While true, that's besides the point,” she waves off your comment quickly, “Why do you think C goes by Cardi more than Copia? When he doesn't insist on being called Papa.” Her face looks funny as she refers to Copia as Papa, like she bit on a lemon while watching two raccoons fuck. 

“It's short for Cardinal, right?” you confirm, your brows furrowed. 

“Exactly. Which is?”

“...a title.”

“There we go. I knew you were a smart cookie.”

You didn't feel very smart, more confused than anything. But slowly everything snapped into place.

“Sister Imperator. Papa Emeritus. And the Ghouls,” you mumble mostly to yourself, since saying your thoughts out loud had always helped you to put things together in the past, “Nameless Ghouls. The Ghouls don't have any names either! Other than the nicknames Papa and the others give them.” Nobody at the Ministry keeps their names. It's all just titles.

You're having your ah-ha moment while Sister Imperator is watching your mind unravel with that smug smile she always wears in front of the Clergy. 

“That is all…a lot to take in,” you sigh, “Thank you, Sister Imperator. This was enlightening.” You rise from your chair and give a short bow. As you turn to leave the office space she stops you.

“Just remember: don't go digging for information you should not have. We trade in secrets here, yes, but some things are secret for good reason.”

Says the one knowing all the secrets, you think to yourself but nod at her, holding your head low in deference. “Of course, Sister Imperator.”

[samuelroukin]

Okay in the hopes of this maybe one day making it out of my skull onto paper, basically Soap was bored, and horny, and looking at. Hm. It was like a newspaper but not exactly? Anyway it he was like lame/boring/eh to every sheet and tossing them and then one was like a male body (maybe like a dancer? Like an image a paper might print, kinda like:

And Soap was like. Okay, hot, and started jerking it, naturally. (He was also totally naked, idk if always but you know how not-quite-dreams be) so he's going at it, and Ghost came in for whatever reason and obvs had a cat with dilating pupils moment and just started being mean and obvs Soap was visibly into it (naked and all) and Ghost starts crowding him on the chair and mocking and clearly not letting Soap continue to touch himself while like looming and putting a knee on the chair/going at his nips with rough gun gloves still on. Which is when Soap is like Don't and Ghost pretty harshly (hot for Soap, but secretly panic for Ghost bc holy shit is he. Assaulting a subordinate? Did he fully misread this? No he didn't) is like Don't What. And Soap is like Don't Make Me Come Untouched. So Ghost is like. I'm gonna grind my knee into you then and you can rub against it, and so on, but at the end, Ghost does give him a quick tug, and then that's when Soap comes and Ghost only lifts his mask enough to lick his come off the glove and Soap is like stop stop I'm already dead! And then I think Soap is like hey so you don't want me to return the favor and Ghost is like Actually I Have Bad Scarring and Don't Quite Run That Way. So. Yeah.

yessss good shit, i love when they just Do Things 🙏 and also panic afterwards lol. but the come licking 👀👀👀

[6ad6ro]

ok. i finally finished final fantasy vii rebirth. and i wanna talk about it. i guess you could call this my "review". this post will be vague and spoiler-free unless you click on the "read more".

i do love this game, but it's an absolute mixed bag: story: 10/10 combat mechanics: 9/10 music: 9/10 art direction: 10/10 voice acting (jp): 10/10 open world (non-quest stuff): 4/10 sidequests: 6/10 minigames: 3/10 pacing: 1/10 does this game have flaws? yes. is it as good as the og ff7? no. but is it worth playing? absolutely. i almost feel like this game needs a "cheat sheet" in order to know what parts to play and what parts to avoid. but the good parts (mostly the linear main story stuff) is SO gd good that it's still a must-play game. ok but now i'm gonna go into details (and spoilers) under the rm cut.

so i'll go over some of my scores. firstly, the story is the main reason to play this. they def fuck around a lot, maybe they bait and switch a bit too often, but in the end it makes for a very compelling (or at least interesting) narrative. at first, i was REALLY worried that this game was gonna turn into just some "fan pandering nightmare". and it felt like it was "ff7 without it's claws". esp when everybody was dancing like pop stars and aerith and tifa kept high fiving. but... it def got into that good ff7 trauma we know and love later on. and respect to them for following through with killing aerith. yes, they did what i sorta expected. they teased tifa dying instead, teased aerith NOT dying, and then killed aerith anyway. they EASILY could have left her alive, but they didn't. they kept in the loss angle, which imo is what makes ff7 "ff7". i kinda LOVE that now you have a batshit cloud "seeing" aerith's ghost like it's star wars. and everyone else seems almost... afraid of him. and rightfully so. also i LOVED the zack stuff, even though it was absolutely confusing. i like that they're hinting at zack somehow breaking through his reality into the rm universe. i also like the tease that... idk... will there be another "party" involving zack, kyrie, biggs (if he's still alive or not)? regardless, a great story!

the combat feels mostly improved over rm. the gameplay is fantastic with very few flaws. difficulty is way more balanced than rm, with easy feeling a bit harder and normal feeling less unfair. the only times i felt frustrated by the gameplay was when they laid the "stone" status effect on too thick in parts bc it felt cheap. is it as good as the og combat? no. it still def has the unfun "you desperately need to heal but don't have a charge and the enemy is immune to everything so you just die" thing. but credit where its due, the "free item a few times per battle" materia fixes a lotta those issues.

the music is incredible. the remakes of old songs generally kick ass. some of the new music was pretty good, too. though it gets a point off because a lot of the open world stuff music felt... generic? this is just a situation where the og game's music is TOO GOOD, so the new music will always be fighting this sort of uphill battle.

the art was perfect. just the shading alone... like jesus this game is absolutely beautiful. i took so many goddamn screenshots in game, and they'd often end up looking like key renders, even tho it'd just be a random ss i could take at any angle. this game went above and beyond all expectations.

the voice acting... there was SO MUCH and it was all SO GOOD. tho i did switch to jp voices. bc... in this sorta storytelling, eng just sounds like "drama club"? idk there's a reason the language of origin cast is usually better and that's just how it is. it was perfect.

ok now we're gonna get into some of my issues, starting with the open world. it's not ENTIRELY awful? some was genuinely fun and exciting. but the majority was busywork. like it's so weird when the mainline stuff was so good that this would feel like a shitty ubisoft game. and chadley... fuck that dude. worst character in the series. but for SOME gd reason he ends up talking to you nonstop! i hit the point where i'd wince any time i heard his "radio" turn on. he took an already mediocre open world and made it way worse. fuckin chudly.

the sidequests that weren't just repeated busywork were usually neat. tho some were bad, and others withstood their welcome. the cutscenes/dialogue were usually fun or genuinely great, but they too often came at the cost of wasting your time. they often had shit rewards. and they often incorporated the shittiest "minigames" ever (i'll go into this more in a minute). example: you gotta find ingredients for a character who is learning to cook. but it isn't just going out to find them in the world. no no no. you gotta follow a dog (ftr i love the song) as they slowly meander through a jungle, running into every mob they see. and when you finally get to where the "salt" is, there's a dumb scavenger hunt minigame where you need to find only the 5(?) salt piles that look like the photo. THEN you gotta get on your chocobo and look for mushrooms in a confusing, puzzle-like terrain. which also involves a smelling/follow the direction minigame, which always leads you into mobs. and once you get to each mushroom? there's this STUPID picking minigame. after all that, what reward do you get? an accessory that functions like maybe the worst materia in the game, but also takes up the accessory slot, making it even more unusable. FUCK this game sometimes, lol.

speakin of "fuck this game", the minigames. the 200 minigames (exaggeration, but it really feels like that many). some are genuinely incredible, like the piano minigame? which might be one of my favorite minigames of all time, it's legit THAT good. or "red xiii rocket league". but for every good minigame, there was a mediocre one. and then a terrible one. or one that gets WAY too hard in higher difficulties, like the mog game which starts fun but ends up dogshit and unplayable a few levels in. even tho the good and passable minigames are the majority, the bad minigames? they're maybe some of the worst minigames i've ever played in my goddamn life. like, by design, they're almost anti-fun. i genuinely believe some of the people in charge of the bad minigames should be blackballed from the industry. it's bewildering.

and finally that brings us to the pacing. if you play the game the way they seemingly expect you to play, getting to each new area and sidequesting a bit before continuing on with the story? then you'll spend five hours of mediocre/bad sidequest for each hour of good story. that's even worst if you're a "completionist" at all, you can triple or quadruple that number. we all loved remake because it "expanded the midgar section". we were all hoping they'd do the same with the og open world. the very idea of "big open world, but so much bigger" seemed incredible. but they certainly gave it to us! like they gave us exactly what we said we wanted, lol. when i first started playing rb, i was mostly completing each area. by the second or third area, i was more than 50 hours in. "burnout" is a gross understatement. all the mediocre sidequests combined with the sometimes unplayable minigames ALSO COMBINED with fuckin chudly? and i actually started to hate this game. it made me miserable. i'd get to a new area and just roll my eyes. i'd see a new minigame tutorial pop up and i'd mash "cancel". but wouldn't you know it, once i started skipping most minigames/sidequests? i started havin a ton of fun. turns out this pacing issue can be mitigated a lot. straight up you can ignore most of the open world, and i would actually strongly recommend it. if you DO wanna sidequest a bit between story, i'd say put on a podcast, set the difficulty to easy, and turn the voices down (bc chudly). and don't do everything. oh no. just do enough to unlock the chocobo, to buy the best materia chudly has from that area, and maybe get the summoning. even THAT is probably too much. bc near the end of the game, you get the opportunity to go back and finish a bunch of the stuff you missed the first time. and i actually enjoyed a lotta that stuff then! it was almost like a period of rest and relaxation before the end story stuff.

there are ways, intentional or not, to make this game feel even BETTER than remake. when you skip most of the side stuff, it's paced incredibly well. so it's hard to say it's a bad game. it's actually a really GOOD game with "too much side content". if you treat the open world stuff as just like, a living, detailed world you glance at as you zoom by? it's actually really cool that it's there. i have a couple more pros/cons that i wanna mention, but i don't know where else to put em. like the end fights. thematically, i adored em. in execution, it went on for way way WAY too long. it was like a 15 (yes FIFTEEN) phase fight. on normal, i swear it felt like it took close to two hours, full of unskippable cutscenes and only like one checkpoint. it also takes away al of your team composition too, consistently forcing you to use characters you don't wanna use in the hardest fights in the game. first time, i got through to the very last sliver of final sephiroth's health, only for him to cast some dogshit unblockable "everyone is at 1hp" move at the end. it was ok bc "i'd prepared for this". so i instantly had one character use a gigapotion on the other, who i switched to so they could dodge just to be extra safe. the potion... missed? how? and then before i had a chance to use another, he killed the remaining character. bad game. shit game. but whatever, i hit retry. and i couldn't believe it. it sent me back 7 phases. i was livid. it had sucked the air outta the room. so i said fuck it and restarted the whole fight from the start on easy, because i can't tolerate that kind of scumbag game design that wastes a player's time. and wouldn't you know it, turns out i'd been at the very end of the fight when i died. if the potion had gone off like it shoulda, i would have won, no question. ironically even on easy, that trash situation happened again, but the potion actually went off this time, that was the only difference. but yeah. fuck that fight. it was cooler thematically than the final fight in rm, but it was three times as long, and three times more unfair. fuck whoever designed this fight, they too should be blackballed from the industry, lol.

the last thing i wanna talk about is queens blood. bc my feelings on it are sorta all over. so it starts out kinda boring, like as basic as ff8 triple triad, but wayyy less fun. and you're very limited in who you can play and what cards you can add to your deck. the ai seemingly "cheats", but it's so "linear" that you can win anyhow. and they musta known they'd lose most players, so they legit give you the ability to "flip the game board" at any point in the match and start over with zero punishment. they knew the game wasn't rly fair by design. but it's still good they had the easy retry feature, or they woulda lost me too. the qb experience sorta continues this way until you get to the latter junon area, where suddenly you run into... idk what to call it. intense difficulty spikes? like this dickwad who's playin a rockabilly guitar. FUCK that dude's deck and FUCK his ai. almost single-handedly got me to drop qb altogether. i was absolutely done, had decided qb was just a poorly designed game. thankfully, right after junon they have this big tournament on the boat to costa del sol and it's really fun. you suddenly are getting cards that have actual strategy. and suddenly qb opens up. there was a slight misstep after the boat where they make you play these stupid "puzzle" versions of qb, but you can look up guides and, even if they aren't fun, they help teach you about the game. anyways, i cautiously started playin more matches in later areas (skippin fights that seemed too lame), and before i knew it, i'd kinda fallen in love w the game. it also helped that they started incorporating this fun n bizarre story, too. so idk. i'd say play qb the same way you play the side content, skip a lot of it until you get to the end game? and then go back with cards you bought or won and finish the ones u missed. it's so weird that so much of this game works this way. and i could see someone arguing that "it's just a bad game". because when most games hand you content, even side content, most players expect they should at least give the content a fair shot. it really is kinda poorly executed. but! there are so any ways to mitigate the bad and focus on the good. knowing what i know now, i like this game even more than remake (which i really REALLY love). rebirth was fuckin great. and thank fuck i didn't get spoiled, tho i never wanna hafta try n rush through a 100+ hour open world ever again. i'm really excited for part three, just hopin i can remember to skip over a lotta the optional stuff. also hoping i won't have to buy a fuckin ps6 or whatever just to play it.

[fluentmoviequoter]

okaaaay, first of all i just wanted to say that i've been OBSESSED with your writing and your fics about victor vale lately. it's just SO good???? just know you're changing lives out here

second of all, my request was yet another angst w victor (maybe with a fluffy ending??), but sort of inspired by the grudge by miss olivia rodrigo? i was just listening to this song rn and then this thought came to my mind all of a sudden 😭 idk if you're gonna like the idea, but if you don't, that's absolutely ok ❤️

Oh my gosh, thank you so much!! Changing lives? You're too kind. I absolutely love this idea; I don't listen to Olivia but I actually really like this song! It definitely gives Victor Vale vibes! I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted and please let me know what you think!! (PS, you said 'another' angst to fluff, did you request one of the others? If so, thank you for coming back and did you like it?)🤍

Warnings: ANGST, gets a little fluffy toward the end, spoilers for Vicious. 1.8k+ words

"The Grudge" by Olivia Rodrigo (explicit version)

Like a Grudge

The phone rings, and a rare photo of Victor smiling at you lights up the screen. Your day brightens as you answer. Summer is approaching quickly, but Victor promised to spend extra time with you on Fridays.

“Hey, Vic,” you greet, smiling at the flowers he sent you this morning.

“I’m leaving,” he interrupts, out of breath but emotionless.

“What do you mean?” you ask, sitting up.

“I have to leave. And I am never coming back.”

“You’re leaving school?”

“I’m leaving everything.”

“Why?” you whisper, remembering his promise from a few weeks ago. He said he’d be by your side through anything and protect you, hurt people before they could hurt you. And now, he’s doing the very thing he promised to protect you from.

“Angie.”

Your world shatters around you as the call ends. Victor chooses Angie.

✯✯✯✯✯

You sit up with a choked gasp, your sheets tangled around your legs as you wipe your hand harshly across your cheeks. Victor chose Angie like he always does. The memory of Victor betraying your trust, leaving you, and then hanging up on you still confuses you. Victor was your entire world, and he left, crushing your happiness between his fingers. Life without Victor is different than you expected, and the ghost of him haunts you every week.

The dead flowers on your desk are the only physical reminder of Victor, yet he never leaves your mind. Staring at them, you imagine Victor sleeping peacefully, unaware of the pain you’re experiencing, even years after losing him. You doubt he ever thinks about the damage that he did. Every single detail of the day Victor left you is vivid, but the slow, love-filled moments from before fade more each day. You cling to the memory of him, his voice choosing Angie, and the lack of care he ever had for you. 

You kick your sheets off as your heart rate slows, pulling your knees to your chest. Part of you, deep down, wonders what it would be like to wake up beside Victor, leaving this nightmare you call life behind. You know what you’d say. Despite what he did, you still love Victor Vale with a deep, undying love that you hold to like a grudge. As his voice fades, the nightmare returning to its waiting place in your mind, you stand from your bed, passing the flowers on your way to another day filled with distractions.

Since Victor chose Angie, his voice has been ever-present in your mind. It morphs daily; his simple answer of “Angie” becomes “I chose someone better” when you feel like you aren’t enough. Angie Knight was a part of Victor’s life, but he was yours. Or, at least, you thought he was. You had never worried about him finding someone better and leaving you, and it came out of nowhere, changing your life forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is taking you so long?” your best friend huffs, pushing your door open.

You stare at the flowers, and the pile of dead petals at the bottom of the glass directly mirrors your shattered heart.

“That boy did some damage.”

You shake your head, trying to be tough. “I don’t care. I’m completely fine.”

“Then why keep them?”

“Let’s call it a reminder of my past mistakes,” you answer, brushing past her as you struggle not to scream.

Your act that everything is fine, that you learned from the break-up and got over it quickly, is a failing façade. Under the fake walls you’ve built, you are utterly broken. The tough exterior hides the pain and tears threatening to spill over at any moment, but it doesn't make you feel any better. Victor made leaving you for Angie look easy, with no emotion in his voice as he said goodbye (though, you didn’t even get that, just "Angie"). If Victor made that look easy, you can make moving on look easy, even if it’s impossible.

Walking into the restaurant, you hope your friends celebrate the weekend without asking about your nightmares. You’ve regretted confiding that information to them since the night you called. You just didn’t want to feel alone, but the Victor-sized hole in your heart can’t be filled by gossip and perfume-coated hugs from girls who will never understand what you’re dealing with.

“How are you?” someone whispers.

You pick up your glass, taking a quick drink before raising it slightly.

“To cursed memories,” you say, deflecting from answering.

In your effort to forget him and block the memories out, Victor is the only thing on your mind. He never leaves, and for some forsaken reason, you don’t want him to.

“You should forgive him and forget him!” someone cheers.

“Then move on to the next!” your best friend adds.

Smiling, you wish you were strong enough to do that. Maybe desperation could force it, too, but you need Victor’s memory, or you’ll have nothing to live for.

✯✯✯✯✯

The first breath you take after getting in your car is cleansing. Your friends try to cheer you up and give decent advice, but it doesn’t help. Nothing short of finding out why Victor chose Angie will cure you.

Looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror, you go return to Lockland.

“I’m leaving. Angie.”

Right now, sitting in your car, you hate Victor, and you’re prepared to argue. It happens often: arguing with a ghost in your head, in your car, and in the mirror before bed.

There are hundreds of things you could have said instead of the tear-strained “Why?” you managed. When you picture winning, you lie about cheating on Victor or tell him you won’t miss him, anything to make him feel an ounce of the pain you did.

Winning in your mind is cathartic, especially when Victor falls to his knees, clutching your hands to his chest as he begs you not to go. Fantasising about when he’s sorry is fun at the moment, but when the nightmare returns and you remember the truth, it’s like you’re back in that moment.

There should have been a sign, a clue of some sort, that Victor was unhappy with you and looking for something new, different, or better. As you try to understand why he would do all this to you, you often wonder what you did to deserve it. Could you have saved everything by being less like yourself and more like Angie? Would calling Victor and telling him you loved him a few minutes earlier have changed anything? Victor had to have been unhappy and insecure, because you know in your heart that hurt people hurt people. Had you realized how hurt he was, you would have done everything in your power to heal him, to make him invincible.

“You hurt him too,” you whisper to yourself in the mirror.

It was never intentional, but Victor Vale was easy to hurt. You weren’t always there for him, didn’t notice when he needed to talk, or, evidently, when things were too much for him. You both drew blood, but those cuts were never equal. The scrapes you left on Victor will never hold a candle to the fatal stab wounds he gave you, and they still hurt.

✯✯✯✯✯

The flowers really need to be thrown away. Cleaning your room, you keep stopping to look at them. It’s been years, but moving on seems impossible. 

“Coming!” you yell, snapped out of your thoughts by a heavy-handed knock.

Opening the door, you freeze. You should slam it, throw the vase, do anything to keep space between you. But you can’t move.

“It’s been a while,” Victor says, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “I- I just needed to check on you.”

“You needed to check on me?” you repeat quietly, holding the doorknob with white knuckles as you look anywhere but at Victor’s face.

“A lot has happened, and Eli,” Victor begins, but you don’t want to hear it.

“So now I deserve your pity and care? Last I checked, I didn’t.”

“You- can I come in? For just a minute, and if you want me to leave after sixty seconds, I will.”

You clench your jaw as you step back, counting in your mind as he begins talking.

“Your flowers are dead,” he points out.

“Your flowers,” you correct.

“Mine- those are from ten years ago?”

“Yeah, apparently vitriol makes flowers live longer,” you snap. “You’re wasting your minute.”

Victor’s brows furrow as he says, “I tried to be there for you, but when everything happened-“

“You tried to be there for me? You built me up to watch me fall, Victor.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? You?”

“Yes!” Victor shouts, his hands raising and falling. “Look, everything fell apart, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I know that I should have gone about it better, but I was running out of time and your safety was more important than answers or explanations. That’s what I thought, at least.”

“You betrayed me for my safety. That’s an interesting approach, Victor,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest.

“You don’t believe me, I get it. But we were in Merit - for Eli - and things started looking better, and being this close? I couldn’t pass the chance to check on you.”

“We?”

Victor falters slightly before saying, “Yeah. My, uh, my friends Mitch and Sydney.”

You nod, glad that he has everything but wants more.

“Well, your minute has been up for a while, so you can go.”

Trying to be tough, to be mean, you’re disappointed when the comment doesn’t come out as sharply as you intended. You haven’t looked at Victor yet because your eyes will betray your emotions. They will show that you still love him.

“I know you don’t care, I guess that’s fine,” you add, walking toward the door.

“It takes strength to forgive, but I’m not sure we’re there yet,” Victor says, cutting you off.

“You moved on, Victor,” you reply, missing the flinch at your continued use of his full name. He wants to ask what happened to ‘Vic,’ but you continue, “How is Angie?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you watch Victor’s eyes widen as he asks, “You think I left to be with Angie?”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

“I left because I killed her.”

You fall silent, a wave of memories crashing over you. The EO topic was a joke as far as you were concerned, but it explains the sudden changes in Victor and Eli and their subsequent departures. Looking up at Victor, you remain in place, unmoving and failing to find something to say.

“Why’d you keep the flowers?” he asks, cutting through the tension.

He confessed something, so you decide it’s only fair to do the same. “Even after all this, you’re still everything to me, Vic,” you whisper.

Victor's shoulders fall slightly before he looks over your shoulder to the window behind your table. Hearing a giggle, you turn quickly and see a hand retract into the bushes outside as the dead flowers turn green, blooming again.

[soft-dyke-omo]

Also, 7 and 10 for Judith Deuteros? (idk if you have any ocs)

7: Do they wear diapers or pullups? (alt. Do they wet the bed?)

So personally I'm just not into ABDL at all, but I am still into some diaper-play, I just bow politely and exit stage left as soon as it gets overly cutesy and childish. (Oh, the woes of someone into omo who does not love term accident, truly the most oppressed of minorities.)

ANYWAY, going off my weak bladder necromancer hc, it would make sense that cohort necromancers get issued absorbent underwear or discreet pullups. But if we're talking a post-ntn scenario (because she WILL survive speaking it into existence) she'll actually have to go out and purchase diapers, which I don't think she will be able to bring herself to do until she has one or two truly devastating public accidents.

As for bedwetting: Yes, absolutely. I think I've talked before about me loving the trope of someone forced to wet the bed while awake and conscious because they are too unwell to get up on their own, but also: she's spent a year in and out of being possessed by the wrathful ghost of an eldritch being, PLUS all the regular horros of war and becoming a prisoner of said war. You can't tell me she doesn't have some bed-wetting nightmares every now and again. You also can't tell me that she wouldn't go near-catatonic with shame when she does.

10: Do they have a spouse or partner that diapers them because of their accidents? (alt: do they have a spouse or partner? How do they feel about Judith's bedwetting?)

Further doxxing myself but I will look God in the eye and walk backwards into piss hell: I'm a jodybeth truther. They have my entire heart. I feel Judith wants to be able to take care of herself and therefore insist on taking care of the changing and cleanup process herself, but she definitely needs a bit of encouragement to even consider going out and getting diapers for herself. Coronabeth probably broaches the subject a little less than gracefully, maybe after a public accident, maybe after the third or fourth time Judith wets the bed after a nightmare. Because Coronabeth is a literal Princess, you can not tell me that she ever had to change her own sheets even in dry circumstances before, so even if she wanted to help she'd be more in the way than any actual support, and Judith getting very snappy when she's embarrassed, I think it would be A Whole Thing for them, and an even bigger thing for Judith when she realises that Coronabeth is right and it can't go on like this. In total, Coronabeth makes way less of deal out of Judith's bedwetting than Judith does in her apocalyptic mortification, but she just doesn't want to have to deal with the mess or have to get up in the middle of the night.

As a little bonus, because they did share a living space for a lot of years and Judith did have a horrible, miserable, unwise puppy crush on her, here's a little bit of Marta as a treat: Even though she had her bladder under much better control in the pre-gtn days, every once in a while, like 3-5 times a year, she has a really bad night. Not often enough that she could justify using protection on a regular basis, since it happens infrequently enough that every time could feasibly be the last. She tries so hard not to wake Marta every time it happens, but being a cavalier Marta is a very light sleeper and cottons on to what's going on pretty quickly every single time.

Marta likes Judith a whole lot, sometimes despite herself. But she's just not a particularly nurturing person - she didn't even choose being a cavalier! She was canonically more-or-less pressganged into it by Judith's father! So they usually end up extremely awkwardly cleaning up side-by-side until Marta says something like "Why don't you head to the sonic, and I'll take care of the rest. All the sooner we'll be able to get back to sleep." She tries so hard not to embarrass her necromancer, but that's a task that's close to impossible.

They pointedly do not mention what happened in the morning, or ever.

(thank you so, so much for your asks! they've been burning a hole in my inbox for the last week, but I've been SO exhausted and sleepy I usally crawl into bed straight after coming home from work. 💛)

[annaraebananawriter]

For the angst drabbles (idk if you're still doing them) maybe Passive Nighty's ghost following Dream around? Sorry I don't really have any cool ideas...

Hey! Don't say that! I love this idea, and I know you have many other cool ideas. This idea is definitely one I've thought of before, and I even have a couple fanfic plot ideas lying down somewhere using it.

One involved Palette and him being the only one to see Passive Nightmare's spirit, and he decides to somehow give his uncle his body back and reunite him with his papa (Dream).

The other is similar, but involves the Bad Sanses and then finding Nightmare's crown, and Passive's ghost is attached to the crown, and so they have to catch this ghost up on things and keep it a secret from their boss and figure out how to take Passive to Dream without being killed along the way.

But that's enough about me (though if you want to hear more about these ideas, feel free to ask!). I did this prompt a little bit differently, but still the same type of deal. Also, Nightmare tells Dream a story in this one, which is The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde, just so you know ahead of time.

Happy reading!!

~oOo~

It was raining again. It came down in sheets, the sky rumbling angrily and streaks of white light glowed for a second before fading back to black. Wind made the few trees left bend, a few of the weaker ones snapping in half and flying away to a better place.

Nightmare shifted away from the drops, more of a habit than anything else. In his transparent state, everything around him treated him like he was dead and buried, slipping straight through him.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since the incident. No matter how many times it snowed or rained or the sun shone, nothing changed. Nothing new grew. The land Mother was on was dead, frozen in time. The village was no better. He preferred to look the other way, however; you could only look at corpses and rubble for so long before you felt sick. Physically, he couldn't move very far, so the most he could do was stare at Mother's remains and mourn what could've been.

He looked away. Dream's pained expression, gray stone weathered overtop, bore into him, accusingly. Well, probably not accusing him, his brother was too kind for that, but he knew when he was at fault for something and since no one else was around, it was up to him to hold himself accountable.

It wasn't your fault, Dream would insist if he wasn't a statue. Stop blaming yourself, Nighty.

Nightmare shook his head. "It is my fault, though, Dream," he said, responding like his brother could hear him. "If I hadn't eaten that apple, none of this would've happened. The villagers would still be alive. You wouldn't be petrified. That...monster in my body wouldn't be doing who knows what to people."

If you hadn't, how long would it have been until you broke completely? Imaginary Dream murmured. Things might've been worse.

Nightmare frowned, drawing his knees close to his chest. No, that was too harsh. Too fast. Dream would've made sure he knew it wasn't his fault before suggesting alternative ways things could've happened. Wouldn't he?

If he's honest with himself, he'll admit that he didn't really know what Dream was thinking anymore, not recently, and that's including before the incident. He stopped being able to read his brother the longer he kept his secret of abuse. It's hard to pinpoint when exactly, but he remembered when he realized it, a horrid moment of clarity as he watched Dream talk about his day before going to bed.

He had watched his brother's smile and couldn't tell anymore whether it was real or not, if his tone was genuine. Zoning out, a voice whispered at the back of his head, furthering his distress.

When had Dream gotten so good at lying?

Another round of thunder shook things. Nightmare flinched, glancing up, feeling guilty as he looked back to Dream, remembering the first night they witnessed the sky get angry. Scared at first, he had quickly gotten used to it, curiosity over something new taking over, being replaced soon by worry as he looked over and saw how his brother cowered in fright, eyes wide.

Helpless, he tried to comfort him, but Dream stayed that way, fear coating him more than their blanket did. He had started telling a story to fill the silence as he thought, just a silly story of something that happened to him a couple days ago--exploring the forest and encountering a frog, examing it and noting his observations, only to eventually startle as the frog jumped on his skull, making him tip backward and fall in the river. He had been pulled out of his thoughts by a giggle, abruptly realizing his story had helped Dream forget about the storm for a bit.

The thunder had sounded again and Dream jumped, quieting. Nightmare had smiled, tugging him close. "Don't worry," he had said. "I'm right here. Nothing will happen as long as I'm here. Want to hear some more stories? I have lots of embarrassing moments I never told you about."

Dream had nodded, but quickly spoke before Nightmare could start another story. "And you'll be here forever?"

Nightmare blinked. "Of course! What brother would I be if I wasn't?"

"Promise?"

"I swear it." Nightmare had held up a pinky finger and hooked it around his brother's. "Now, as for a story...well, another time I was exploring the forest and..."

Since then, whenever there was a storm, Nightmare would cuddle Dream and tell him story after story until they both fell asleep. In the morning, the rain would be gone, dew lingering in the air, and they would splash in the puddles together and laugh. It was fun.

This should be no different.

But Dream was a statue right now. Nightmare had no physical form. He wasn't even sure if his brother would be able to see him. There's no way a silly story could help things. Still, he couldn't help imaging his brother cowering again, this time unable to move an inch, eyes trained on the sky. He couldn't even cover his ears to block out the sound.

Nightmare had to do something about that. He couldn't let his brother, imaginary or not, be scared like that.

He shifted until he was leaning against his brother's legs. "It's okay," he said, patting Dream's statue, hovering uncertainly over the hairline cracks around his waist. "I'm right here. I told you I wouldn't ever leave you and I intend to keep that promise. Tonight's story is a bit different than usual. I only read it recently myself. I thought it fit, though."

He might just be talking to himself. Maybe this was the first sign that he was cracking from being alone for so long. Maybe this was a bad idea, a waste of time. His brother was a statue, after all, and statues can't hear or talk or react in any way.

And yet, didn't the statue in the story had a conscious? Wasn't he alive?

"Our story starts in a kingdom. In this kingdom, a beautiful statue of a prince stands on a pedestal, gazing over his subjects. He's made of gold plating, shining jewels for eyes, and his sword. Everyone admires him. One day, the birds are meant to be migrating, winter fast approaching. One sparrow, however, seeks shelter at the prince's feet. He notices the prince is crying. He asks why and the prince explains that he is sad because of the suffering his poor subjects face."

If the Prince in the story was alive even though he was a statue, then why couldn't Dream be alive? Or, well, conscious, anyway. He knew his brother was alive. He wouldn't be here if he was dead.

If that was true, though, then he could imagine his brother relaxing as the story unfolded, calming down. He could imagine him closing his eyes and trying to sleep, focusing on his voice and letting the images free in his mind for his dreams to shape as they please.

"The prince asks the sparrow for a favor. He asks the bird to take the ruby from his statue and give it to a poor mother and child. And although the bird needs to fly south, already late, he agrees to help. The next night, the prince asks another favor. One of his sapphire eyes needs delivering to a poor writer. The sparrow is upset, not wanting to blind his new friend, but he agrees after the prince insists. The next night, the prince asks for his other eye to be delivered as well, this time to a poor girl."

He made a promise, after all. Nightmare will keep it, invisible or not. And if he can only provide stories for his brother to sleep to during thunderstorms, then...that's what he will do.

"The prince asks for the sparrow to take his gold plating and give it to the poor as well. Feeling sorrow for his prince, the sparrow cancels his plans to fly away and stays with his friend, being his eyes for him, and delivering his gold as instructed. The prince is blind. Seeing his riches are gone, the people of the kingdom call the prince ugly. Only the sparrow knows otherwise, that the prince's heart is pure. Unfortunately, not being meant for the cold, the sparrow dies from the cold, and shortly after the prince dies as well from a broken heart."

Because what else are brothers for?

[microraptorreactor]

The Traveler's Book Club (minus the fire!)

Yeah I'm in the reading portion of my Destiny playthrough. There's two teams of writers at Bungie; the team that wants to write a game and the team that wants to write a novel.

Was reading the lorebook 'Ghost Stories'. Absolutely loved it, did find it very funny how it would flip-flop between the tragic reality faced by many ghosts and just ghosts being ridiculous. Like I'll be gazing blankly at my screen after a ghost comes to the horrifying realization that their chosen has been broken beyond repair and cannot/should not come back, click 'next entry', and now I'm reading the reviews for the worst play known to man.

These little floaty guys are miserable. They barely know why they are here, either. I want to hug one so bad they are just little guys, man. The one about the ghost bonding to a child and then emidiatly fucking dying???? Shattered me. Was makeing lamented sheet wobble noises.

Achilles Weaves a Cocoon and The Shipstealer were also really good. I read Shipstealer first, now convinced that New-Riis leadership was Eremiskel's evil lesbian polycul (+ Variks sitting in the corner). Or at the very least Eremis had feelings for some of her counsel members. And then Namrask mentions that she had a wife at one point (I think? Eremis's mate seems to use she/her) and my gaydar feels validated. We stan a wildly irresponsible evil lesbian queen.

I want to hug Namrask. I know he's probably committed every war crime from how he was described but those crimes don't exist if I can't see them. He just wants to help raise kids and weave things. Please tell me he didn't die terribly in another event.

I've been reading Your Friend, Micah Abram as I've found the penguins across Europa. I want to protect this small child with my life. Fingers crossed nothing terrible happens to him, but I'm getting What Remains of Edith Finch flashbacks. Plus, I think there was an exo named Micah mentioned during a later lorebook. Fingers crossed its a different Micah but still. Maybe one of his dads becomes a robot instead. Idk.

Next book on my list is the Felwinter one. I'm going to FINALLY learn Skinny Jeans Robot Man's deal! I'm only... over 30 hours into the game and I'm finally getting to the character that drew me in in the first place!