#not tagging the other two bc they not drawn yet!

[giratina-and-the-skys-bouquet]

(WIP FOR VID)

redraw/reference manga panel:

[cobaltfluff]

happy pride month to them!!

[in-the-airducts]

A little busy right now Rodimus-

(Congrats on your milestone avoidghost!)

[toytulini]

if you draw enough monster ocs, when you go back to drawing a human character, it feels like "sameface syndrome" everytime, by virtue of their face being. human.

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[vcnillazelda]

tattoos

simon riley x reader

summary: you colour simon’s tattoos during a briefing.

tags: secret relationship, soap being soap, ghost and soap’s bromance bc they need more content together, tattoos, me going feral over simon’s tattoo bc slfnndkdhsbrkci, rudy is reader’s bestie, alejandro is grumpy, he’s just not a morning person, gaz is just there

wow 2 posts in one day 😍

✞———————❖———————✞

simon’s sat down, eyes scanning over the room. price was waiting for everyone to get in the briefing room and settle, reading over his notes which gave simon a brief time to settle in. sitting in crowded rooms always made him anxious, even though he knew everyone in the room, it was still nerve-racking. you take a seat next to him, giving him a wide and friendly smile as soap takes the seat on his left. rudy, being close to you, sits on your other side and simon gives him a short nod. the two weren’t close, rudy always got uncomfortable around simon, but you two were best friends so simon tried coming off more friendly. the spanish man smiles awkwardly, looking at his lap as he fiddles with his pen. you snatch up the highlighters in the middle of the table, as per usual, and start doodling slightly on your notes.

soon enough, price starts the briefing, yet simon’s watching you. you’re drawing a little frog, colouring it in with the highlighter, then you glance up at johnny and add on a little mohawk. simon smiles at the sight of the soapfrog drawing. you carefully peel the sticky note from the pad, pushing it over to soap who accepts it and smiles a little, trying not to laugh. on the note below it, you start doodling a little stereotypical sheet covered ghost. simon rolls his eyes, looking back up at price, who sounds tired considering it’s 6 am. the feeling of a pen on his forearm makes simon jump a little, and he looks down. you’re colouring his tattoo with expert precision. the flames decorating his tanned skin are now highlighted orange, and simon moves his arm a little over to allow you more room. you smile at him, and his heart skips a beat. he sits completely still, as if he moved anymore than breathing would disrupt your work. you shuffle a little next to him, nudging your chair closer so you had more room to colour him in. eventually, you tap his wrist and he flips his hand over, pretending to roll his eyes as you start on the other side of his hand. the feeling of the cool tip of the highlighters was rather calming to him, albeit the smell was making him a little dizzy.

the briefing is taking forever due to some technical difficulties and everyone’s getting restless. price had stepped out to get someone more suited with tech, and you had moved on from highlighting simon’s tattoos to doodling upon the back of his hand. johnny notices, smiling a little. “can i have a go, l.t?” he asks teasingly, making alejandro and rudy glance up from their phones, gaz had his head down on the table and you all assumed he was asleep. “no.” simon deadpans, and you snort a little. “aw, but l.t-“ johnny is cut off by a glare, and he raises his hands in fake surrender. “draw on these, johnny.” you say, pushing your sticky notes over. johnny nods, drawing a poor image of you, rudy, simon and alejandro as stick figures. simon glances down at his hand, you’d drawn a tiny version of him, it was cutesy and he adored it. (he silently makes a note to take a picture of it later in private so it wasn’t lost forever). you had also drawn a cat wearing his mask as well as a little bar of soap next to the cat. “you have a notepad, y/n.” alejandro tells you, and you nod. “i know.” you reply, voice rather innocent considering alejandro was speaking to you as if you were a child drawing on the walls.

“ghost isn’t a notepad.” alejandro scolds, and you shrug. “he doesn’t mind, do you simon?” you smile at him, and he shakes his head. “look at his forearm.” you grin, holding his hand up so everyone in the room could see. “jesus christ…” rudy mutters, hiding a laugh behind his hand as he looks at alejandro’s unimpressed expression. the older man sighs, running a hand over his face. “look.” soap says, showing his tiny drawing of the crew. “aw that’s so cute.” you laugh, and johnny grins. “is that meant to be me?” alejandro asks, accepting the drawing from the sergeant. he shows rudy who laughs fully. “you’re built like a square, coronel.” rudy teases, pointing to the little angry face on the drawing. “i can see that, pendejo.” alejandro gently whacks rudy with the notepad, and he laughs more. you’re laughing as well, and simon presses his knee into your leg. you look at him and smile, hand slipping under the desk to rest upon his thigh. your fingers run soft circles over his pant leg, massaging the muscle. simon practically relaxes right there, leaning into you a little more. it wasn’t that obvious, so you nudge him back playfully. “how do you have so much energy in the morning.”

“me and rudy have been up all night, we’re both piped up on 12 energy drinks- each.” you reply, smiling brightly. “jesus christ… get some sleep tonight, yeah?” simon tells you, his hand squeezing yours. “i can’t when you’re not there.” you respond, frowning. simon feels his heart squeeze. “i’ll see what i can do.” he mutters, the room falling silent as price steps back in. “right, shall we carry on?” the captain asks, and everyone mutters in agreement. gaz raises his head groggily, letting out a soft “wha’..?” price rolls his eyes, continuing with the briefing. simon sits silently, hand encasing yours. occasionally, he glances down at the doodles on his skin. he was truly in love with you and all the weird little antics you had harboured over the years. no matter what, the two of you would always belong to each other, and you could always draw upon his arms.

[wine-dark-soup]

Hmmmm

[ahqkas]

♯ TOO SWEET ; mattheo riddle

❛ i take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at 3, you’re too sweet for me ❜

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! consummation of alcohol, lovesick mattheo, fluff, angst, a lot of my hcs for mattheo’s past (i wrote him the way i see him), lmk if i missed smth !!

NOTES! this is purely my view on mattheo’s character bc the hc i wrote suit him sm 😿😿 reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

ONCE A MAN FALLS IN LOVE, he finds himself drawn to not just the physical beauty of his muse, but for the essence of who the person truly is - their quirks, intelligence, kindness, and their unique way of seeing the world. Every interaction, every shared experience, every memory he brings, adds another layer to his adoration towards the love of his life.

His love for them is evident in the little things - the way he watches them when they aren't looking, the small gestures of thoughtfulness, the silent support during their dark moments of life. It's in the way he listens, truly listens, to the hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations, always eager to offer his thoughts and ideas. This love manifests in his desire to be their anchor in times of storm, their cheerleader in moments of triumph, and their person in all the in-betweens. It is a love that values their independence and individuality, recognizing that they are their own person with their own journey, and yet, he longs to be a part of that journey, to walk alongside them and share in their joys and sorrows of life.

Mattheo Riddle was no different.

He marvels at your kindness, your sweetness, and the light you bring into his life. You are his muse, his inspiration, a spark of the goodness that stands in stark contrast to his own perceived flaws and insecurities he feels deep inside himself. He sees you as an angel, a pure and radiant being who somehow chose to share your life with him, despite his own imperfections and inner demons.

He sees you as an angel in a human form, who chose to live among the devils, just so he could feel the heavenly touch for the first and last time in all eternity.

He often wonders how he, with all his rough edges, hidden scars, and a past life without a happy memory, could be worthy of your love. He feels like a monster, haunted by past mistakes and burdened by the weight of his own fears and failings. You, on the other hand, are everything he aspires to be - kind, compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. Your presence in his life is a constant reminder of the beauty and grace that he lacks, and yet, your love makes him strive to be better, to rise above his darkness and become someone worthy of your affection.

In his heart, he knows that your love is transforming him, helping him to heal and grow. Your existence is a light that dispels his inner darkness, a reminder for him to cherish that even monsters like him can be loved. He clings to this, that your love is making him a better man, one day at a time.

01. THE PARTY

The Slytherin common room was full of shadows and flickering lights, transformed into a wild moment of freedom for the night. The music, a thundering beat that echoed off the stone walls, could be heard from miles away, yet no professor or ghost visited the common room to cancel the party. It was as if the ancient castle itself had granted this one night of freedom to its most cunning and ambitious students. The rhythmic thrum of bass notes and the infectious melody of the latest wizarding hits filled the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

Bodies moved in a hypnotic dance, swaying in sync with the music. The students had discarded their usual aloof demeanors and uniforms, lost in the euphoria and joy of the moment. Green and silver decorations adorned every surface, shimmering under the enchanted lights that hung from the ceiling like glowing jewels. Laughter rang out, high and clear, mingling with the deep, resonant hum of conversation.

In one corner, a group of seventh years huddled together, their heads bent close in a whisper, before erupting into loud laughter. Nearby, a couple twirled around each other, their bodies intertwining like dark waves, eyes locked in their private world amidst the chaos around them. The fireplace, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was now surrounded by students perched on its stone ledge, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the night and alcohol.

Long tables filled with food and drink stretched along one wall, bearing the weight of a feast other students could be jealous of. Platters of magical meals, charmed to stay warm, smelled of aromas that mingled with the scent of butterbeer and stronger beverages. Bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine were passed from hand to hand, each sip fueling the atmosphere more and more as drunken the students got. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening tongues, transforming even the shyest students into party animals of the night.

The Slytherin common room had never felt so alive. Tonight, they were not just the students of Hogwarts; they were a family, united by their house and their understanding of what it meant to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo Riddle was one of those students who were enjoying themselves tonight. His breathing features were illuminated by the green lights as he leaned casually against a stone wall, a cup of firewhisky filled to the brim in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge with each of his slowed gestures, but Mattheo seemed unconcerned, clearly lost in the haze of alcohol. His dark curls, usually styled in the way that made uncountable amount of girls fall on their knees, now fell loose around his face as you watched from a close distance.

He was engaged in a drunken conversation with Theodore Nott, whose tall, lanky frame was the opposite to Mattheo's more athletic build. Theo's typically serious demeanor had softened, his features relaxed into a rare, genuine smile as he listened to Mattheo's ramblings with a giggle threatening to spill out from his lips. The two of them, often seen together, now looked like true brothers. It was almost scary how much they resembled family when they were drunk.

Mattheo's voice, rich and slightly slurred, carried over the music as he recounted a particularly outrageous story from his recent fight. Theodore threw his head back and laughed. It was clear to anyone how close those two boys were, drunk or sober.

"Can you believe he actually thought I was serious?" Mattheo snickered with a big grin stretching across his face, taking a swig from his cup, the whiskey burning a warm path down his throat. "I mean, I barely managed to keep a straight face!"

Theodore laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a menace, Riddle. One of these days, you're going to get expelled."

"Ah, but tonight isn't that night, mate," Mattheo replied with a slow wink, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To living dangerously and laughing in the face of consequences!"

They clinked their cups together, the sound barely audible over the throbbing beat of the music and you thought now was the best time to approach your boyfriend. 

Mattheo's brown irises scanned the crowd, catching a look of you as you pushed your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. The sight of you instantly brightened his expression and a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt a rush of emotions that the whiskey in his hand only intensified, each beat of his heart echoing with the certainty that what he held for you was pure love. The Slytherin straightened up, his posture shifting from the casual slouch of a carefree boy to the attentive stance of a man. Theodore noticed the change and a knowing smirk made its appearance on his lips as he stepped aside, giving the two of you a moment of privacy. 

"[Name]," your boyfriend called out, his voice full of warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you came closer. "There you are, love."

You beamed up at him, your eyes reflecting the party's enchanted lights, making them look like twin stars. "Having fun, are we?" you teased and the tone of your voice carried a playful match that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. 

"Only now that you're here," he replied. The world around you seemed to blur as he gazed down at you, all the noise and chaos fading into the background. "You make everything better."

Drunk on both the whiskey and his overwhelming affection, the boy's usual reservations melted away. He held you close, his hands resting on your waist as if anchoring himself to your presence. When he was sober or feeling down at heart, his love for you was often hidden beneath layers of stoicism and insecurity, but now, in this moment of happy drunkenness, it shone through. 

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, enjoying the sweetness of the contact. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, but I'm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of your love."

 “You have no idea what you mean to me. I look at you and . . . it’s like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, soaking up your light,” he continued without a break. The boy wanted to get every one of his words out as fast as humanly possible. To show you his hidden feelings he wasn't able to tell you before. “You’re my everything, [Name]. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re so kind, so . . . good. And me? I’m just . . . I’m a mess, you know? A monster sometimes.” 

You shook your head lightly and took his hands into your own, enveloping him with your warmth. He was starting to get emotional, and you didn't need to have your boyfriend drunkenly mopping around. His mood changed like weather when alcohol got involved. “You’re not a monster, Mattheo. You’re human. We all have our demons.”

“But you,” he didn't allow you to finish your sentence before he spoke up again, his voice raw with sincerity, “you make me want to be better. For you. I see you, and I just want to be the man you deserve. I’m not always good at it, but I try. I try because you’re worth it.” 

You could see the glazed look in his eyes as he swayed slightly on the spot. He was rough around the edges, you couldn't deny the truth, but he was the sweetest boy when he managed to fall in love. Which wasn't exactly difficult, Mattheo fell in love easily. But when he did, it was worth everything. Mattheo was your sweet boy. “Love,” you said softly to him, your voice filled with gentle concern to the brim, “you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to slow down a little, okay?”

Mattheo blinked, giving you a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of boyish charm and pure happiness. “But I’m fine, [nickname]. I feel great. Better than great, actually. With you here, everything’s perfect.”

“I know you’re having a good time, but I don’t want you to feel terrible tomorrow. Let’s take a break from the firewhisky for now, alright?”

He pouted slightly, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were actually serious. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But only because you’re asking me.” You chuckled softly at his behavior, threading your fingers through his and gently leading him away from the dancing crowd. You navigated through the common room, moving towards a quieter corner of the space where a plush couch sat, inviting you both in with open arms. The room’s enchantments cast soft shadows on the walls, the flickering lights creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Here, sit down,” you instructed as you guided him to sit on the couch. Mattheo obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh. You sat beside him, your hand never leaving his. You took the half-empty cup of whiskey from his hold, reaching for a glass of water on the table nearby instead and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Mattheo took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. He took a long sip, the cool water a welcome relief from the heat of the alcohol he consumed. “You really do take good care of me, don’t you?” he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.

“Someone has to,” you replied playfully, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the job.”

As the night wore on, Mattheo felt a warmth spreading through him that was only partly due to the whiskey. It was the warmth of belonging, of being surrounded by friends who understood and accepted him, flaws and all. Despite his often rough exterior, he was deeply grateful for these moments, these stolen hours of joy in the corners of the Slytherin common room.

02 - THE MARK

The past has a profound power to shape a man, especially when that past is influenced by suffering at the hands of a father. 

For Mattheo Riddle, his family history was the darkest shadow of all the shadows that clung to him, a reminder of the pain and fear that had molded his entire life. Raised in a home devoid of warmth, where love was a foreign concept and cruelty was a daily reality, Mattheo had learned to build tall and thick walls around his heart. A shield to protect him from more hurt that would come his way. 

The orphanage was a harsh place, stripped of the luxuries the boy had unknowingly been born into. It was a world of strict discipline and a poor form of affection. The caretakers, overwhelmed and underfunded, had little patience for a child with such a notorious legacy. Mattheo grew up under the weight of whispers and sideways glances, the infamous name "Riddle" ensuring he was never just another child. The women of the orphanage knew his father, having taken care of him when he was around the same age as his son. What a wicked child Tom was. Mattheo was different because of that, marked, and this awareness shaped his formative years in ways he could barely comprehend.

As he grew older, the whispers about his family name became more pronounced. The children at the orphanage were cruel. “Monster,” they called him, creating the very fears that nested within his own heart. He began to internalize these taunts, seeing himself through the lens of his father's sins. The idea that he could be worthy of love seemed more and more distant, more of a fantasy that had no place in his reality. But the same idea of letting someone see past his defenses, of allowing someone to love him despite his flaws, seemed not only impossible but dangerous. For how could anyone love a monster, especially one crafted by his own father?

Despite this, Mattheo yearned for something more. He longed for the kind of love he had never known, a love that was gentle and kind, that saw past his scars and accepted him for who he was. But every time he felt himself getting close to someone, the fear surged up, a wave of doubt and self-loathing washed over him and forced him to retreat behind his walls again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Hogwarts had saved him.��

Mattheo Riddle’s first steps into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were met with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. For the other students, he was a figure of whispered rumors, his infamous last name carrying with it a weight of fear and fascination. They had heard the stories of his father’s dark acts, of the legacy that haunted the halls of the castle like a ghost. But for Mattheo himself, Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a chance to escape the personal hell he called the orphanage and create his own path. The boy was no longer just another orphan. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be.

He wasn't deaf. The young boy could feel the weight of his father’s name bearing down on him like an invisible burden. And he wasn't blind either. He saw the way the other students looked at him, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and suspicion. They didn’t openly taunt him as the children in the orphanage had done, but he could sense the whispers and the wary glances that followed him wherever he went. For Mattheo, however, their fear was a source of power. He reveled in the attention, in the way his presence commanded respect, even if it was tinged with fear. He was finally someone. 

He excelled in his classes, his natural talent and restless ambition setting him apart from his peers. But it was on the Quidditch pitch that Mattheo truly came into his own. Flying high above the castle grounds, he felt a sense of freedom unlike anything he had ever known. With every twist and turn of his broomstick, he left behind the weight of his past and embraced the thrill of the present, making him feel like a bird. 

Six years had passed since Mattheo Riddle first walked through the grand doors of Hogwarts, a hopeful and determined young wizard with dreams of greatness he was so sure he'd achieve. But now, as he entered his sixth year at the renowned school of magic, the world around him had shifted irrevocably. The return of Lord Voldemort two years prior had plunged the wizarding world into chaos, and with it, Mattheo’s life had been destroyed once again.

Even among his fellow Slytherins, Mattheo felt like an outsider, a traitor to his own house and everything it stood for. He had once prided himself on his ambition and cunning, on his unwavering determination to succeed at any cost. But it didn't matter anymore. 

Mattheo sat alone in the quiet atmosphere of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the night sky that sparkled with millions of stars. Each twinkling light seemed to mock him, making fun of the darkness that now stained his soul even more than before. His fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as if seeking some comfort in the fabric, but finding none.  

 On his left forearm, the Dark Mark burned like a brand upon his skin. It was a mark of shame, of betrayal, and every time he looked upon it, he felt a sickening sense of disgust and self-loathing. He had thought that by aligning himself with the Dark Lord, his father, he would finally be able to escape the shadows of his past, to prove himself worthy of the name Riddle and his father's presence. But now, he realized that he had only succeeded in plunging himself deeper into the deep hole. Even the orphanage was better than this. 

The footsteps behind him shattered the sweet silence, echoing off the stone walls of the tower. Mattheo tensed, his heart racing as he turned to face the intruder, steeling himself for whatever judgment or punishment awaited him. But as he turned, he was met not with the accusing glare of Filch or the triumphant sneer of a rival, but with the concerned gaze of a familiar face. It was you, with your eyes filled with worry as you approached him slowly, as if he'd disappear if you were a bit louder. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. But he would be caught dead sooner than having you worry about him like that and more. 

He forced a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the emotions raging within him. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining the facade. “Just . . . thinking.”

You stepped closer, taking a seat on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mattheo. I know something’s been troubling you lately. You can talk to me.”

You were his angel, full of that purity and light he adored about you in a world darkened by his own sins. He longed to confide in you, to unburden himself of the guilt and shame that had consumed him since he had received the Dark Mark. But the fear of your rejection, of you seeing him for the monster he believed himself to be, held him back. It would shatter his heart, to see the pained expression on your face. 

“I . . .” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words, "there's something I need to show you." With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Mattheo finally mustered the courage to reveal the truth to you. For months, he had carried the burden of the dark secret alone, pushing you out and shutting you down in an attempt to shield and protect you from the darkness that was his father. But now, as he sat before you, his heart and his soul laid bare, he knew that he could no longer hide from the truth. The boy reached for the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers fumbling as he pushed the fabric up to reveal the twisted lines of the Dark Mark etched upon his skin. The sight of it made him recoil, a wave of shame washing over him as he exposed his deepest, darkest secret to the one person he had sworn to protect.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the mark, your palm flying to your mouth in disbelief. For a long moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the night owls. 

“I received this a few weeks ago," Mattheo confessed, his eyes avoiding yours. "When he decided I was good enough for him."

He felt your gaze on him, eyes searching his face for answers. He could see the confusion and concern written in your expression, but beneath it all, he saw something else - a flicker of understanding and acceptance that filled him with both hope and fear. How can someone be so good to someone like him? "I've been living with the Malfoys ever since," he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's not what you think, [Name]. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a part of his plans, to be branded as one of his followers. But I had no choice. He made me do it."   

Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke, and he felt a desperate plea for forgiveness in his chest. He needed you to understand, to see past the mistakes that consumed him and into the depths of his soul where his love for you burned bright and true. The thought of losing you hurt him more than the Cruciatus curse ever could. 

“Forgive me. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I was scared, I was ashamed . . . but I can't bear to keep this secret from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth, even if it means losing you forever." 

Your heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow as you gazed upon Mattheo, your sweet boy, sitting there before you with tears in his eyes and the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In that moment, all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and shield him from the pain and darkness that threatened to consume him. With shaky hands, you reached out to him, fingers brushing against the mark of his father's followers etched upon his skin. The sight of it filled you with a fit of fierce anger, but beneath it all, you saw the boy you so dearly loved - a boy who had been shaped by his past but who was so much more than the picture of his scars. 

"Love," you whispered into the dark, taking his face into your hands and wiping away those tears that managed to escape his control, "there's nothing to forgive. Nothing in this world could ever tear us apart, not even your father or that mark."

In that moment, Mattheo knew that he would do anything for you, that he would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness and safety. You were his light in the darkness, his angel in a world filled with demons, and he would cherish that for the time being his heart swelled at the thought of you. You were simply too sweet for him and you knew that Mattheo’s struggles were far from over, but for tonight, that was enough.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[keyotos]

kiss the girl

summary ⎯ five times dan heng has thought about kissing you, and the one time he actually does.

tana's words ⎯ i've been recently listening to kiss the girl (ashley tisdale version) and its cute and made me think of dan heng. and idk if this follows canon story or not bc im not at xianzhou yet lolz.

also ik the title says 'kiss the girl' but that's only bc i was listening to the song. reader is gender neutral.

tags ⎯ friends to lovers. pining i think. hurt and comfort (at the end). flustered dan heng. fluff i think.

THE FIRST TIME dan heng thinks about kissing you, he immediately pushes away the thought. it was out of character; it was outrageous for him to think of a friend that way. it made him feel perverted for even thinking of the action.

it was a sunny day. you two (plus march and stelle) were in belobog at the time and you guys were witnessing bronya's speech. all of you agreed the speech was marvelous, and you all felt a sense of pride for bronya.

your eyes were sparkling in the sun as you watched bronya speak, and dan heng couldn't help but become enamoured by your face. he looked away from his paper to peek at your awed expression.

at that moment, dan heng thought you were the most beautiful person he's ever seen. but he can't think that. he cannot. not only were you a fellow trailblazer, but you were also his friend. he couldn't risk one of his greatest friendships over something as minimal as this.

so, he pushed the thought out of his brain. he thought that it would be gone forever, but he was deeply wrong.

THE SECOND TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you occured while you two were gazing in the astral express. by this time, you two have left belobog, and are awaiting your next journey.

you chose to pass the time by 'star-watching,' a new term you created as a substitute to cloud watching. the activity is similar to cloud watching as you point out shapes that make beings.

dan heng told you that you were just pointing out constellations, you said that you wanted to pass on the technicalities.

so now, you two were star-watching. you kept pointing out absurd patterns, such as, "this one looks like svarog," (it did not) and, "this one looks like balls." of course, none of the constellations looked like either of the comparisons (dan heng was thinking about taking you to the eye doctor), but dan heng played along anyway. anything to make you smile.

at one point, the absurdities stopped, and you began pointing out real constellations. so many beautiful creations in the sky, yet the real beautiful thing was right next to him, continuously pointing out constellations.

you rested your head on your hand, mindlessly gazing out at the empty field of stars in front of you, "it's beautiful."

"yeah," dan heng mindlessly replies, not even realizing what he's just said, "it is," he finally says, looking at you.

maybe it's the light from the stars hitting your face, or maybe it was just your radiant beauty, but the urge to kiss you came up once again. subconsciously, dan heng knew the feeling would arise sooner or later. but that didn't mean he liked the feeling.

he wants to preserve your friendship so bad; but sometimes, the line drawn alongside friendship and love begins to thin. sometimes, the line gets so thin that dan heng fears that he'll trip and fall into you.

THE THIRD TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was when you two were hanging out in his room. over the span of months, dan heng has learned to appreciate your being, and sometimes (he will never admit this) he feels calmer around you.

usually, dan heng didn't let other people be in his room, but it was different with you. for some reason, he liked it when you were in his room. sometimes, he finds himself wanting you to be in his room.

he was quietly sorting through his data bank while you were reading. it was such a calm and quiet moment; dan heng felt peace for once. there was music playing softly in the back, the room was silent, and the air was just right. it felt nice.

dan heng was too tuned into his data bank that he didn't hear footsteps coming up closer to him. it was only when he turned his head to check on you, that dan heng noticed you were right next to him.

you were right next to him, head nearly leaning on his shoulder, and you were so close to him. dan heng's heart was about to beat out of his chest, and he began to worry about the warmth that was rapidly spreading to his neck.

when you noticed dan heng's reaction, you thought you'd surprised him. you moved a little bit back, "sorry, did i scare you?"

"no, not at all. i was just a little startled," dan heng replied while rubbing the back of his (reddening) neck.

"that's like, the same thing as scared," you gave a low chuckle and moved closer to him once again, "you would know this."

"dunno," dan heng paused, "maybe i was too frightened to remember." when you laughed at that, dan heng swore he blushed all the way up to his ears.

"you are not funny," you gave him a slight shove that didn't really affect him. you leaned closer into the database, "what are you doing?"

you didn't realize how close you were to dan heng, your faces nearly touching. you were scrolling around his data bank while dan heng was trying to hide his rampant blush from your eyes.

dan heng stared at you while you browsed, taking in your close presence. you didn't seem nearly as tense as he did. you were relaxed, comfortable, you leaned into him. dan heng found himself staring longer than normal.

then, the thought, came in. the same recurring thought he'd been having for a long time: the thought to kiss you. he wanted to take you by the hands and pull you closer to him. he wanted to feel your palms and he wanted to feel you closer to him.

and this is the moment were dan heng realizes that he wants to be more than friends. dan heng realizes that he likes you; he wants you to be with him, he wants to feel you by his side. he wants endless star-watching nights; he wants to see you constantly.

and that is dangerous. not only would that ruin your friendship, but it would also endanger you. there's so much that would put you at risk.

"you should go back to your room," dan heng puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, causing you to look back up at him. your confused expression almost shatters dan heng's resilience, but he goes on, "it's late. go get some rest."

you keep the hand on your shoulder, "you too. don't stay up too late, okay?" the soft tone of your voice makes dan heng melt, and he almost wants to pull you back and ask you to stay. almost.

dan heng nods and you leave. he leans back on his desk and puts his head in his hands. what is he going to do?

THE FOURTH TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was the night you arrived in the xianzhou. you (and march and stelle) were exploring the city and it's wonders while dan heng was treading carefully behind you.

you haven't had a full conversation with dan heng for days. you assume it was probably because you were snooping around his data bank, but he has never minded that before. you haven't got an actual chance to apologize either, because for some reason, dan heng is now constantly busy.

the four of you decided that you would split up to look around. march immediately went to stelle, so that left you with dan heng.

dan heng knew this would happen. he couldn't avoid you for too long anyway, even if he tried. he would always end up gravitating back towards you.

it pained him to not talk to you. he missed your voice, your jokes, your little touches. he missed your book talks, he missed the way you'd always be in his room, he even missed your nosiness.

you and dan heng were aimlessly strolling around the streets until you found a lively street parlor. they were selling food, and the aroma was absolutely divine. dan heng knew you immediately caught your mind on something when he saw your beaming face.

you still haven't found a correct time to apologize to dan heng, but that can wait for later. you just wanted to talk to him. "dan heng! we should try some," you beamed.

"okay. i'll wait over here," dan heng monotonously replied. your smile slightly faltered, dan heng thought the sight to be excruciating.

he couldn't still be mad at you, right? you had to apologize soon, because this silent is agonizing. you couldn't help the fact that you missed dan heng. you missed late nights and his warm touch. you missed his sarcasm and his gentle nature.

when you returned, you brought back one giant kebab that dan heng knew you couldn't finish. you'd probably have enough to share with the entire express.

when you took a bite of the kebab, you moaned with delight, and dan heng forgot how much he missed your smile. it all came rushing back to him, all the things he missed about you. you are right here, in his grasp, yet he still cannot have you.

after your first bite, you offered a second bite to dan heng. etiquette was all out of the picture when you were there.

originally, dan heng wasn't planning to eat. there were lots of problems at hand, and dan heng could not relax now. but you were an obstacle in his equation. how could he refuse you when you were practically bouncing on your toes, smiling, and looking at him with such mirthful eyes. saying no to you was like refusing a blessing from the aeons.

he took a bite out of the kebab, to which he nodded in delight. dan heng finished chewing with a delighted expression on his face, and your smile appeared once again. dan heng felt his lips creep up, and sooner or later, he was smiling as well.

he looked down at your happy expression, and he noticed that you had food on the corner of your mouth. dan heng usually scolded you for being slightly messy, but in this tender moment, there was no need.

dan hen grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and wiped the corner off your mouth off. he wiped the food off so tenderly that you would think he was tending to something delicate and fragile. and the gaze he gave you after. you nearly passed out. dan heng looked at you with such fondness and love that you gripped the kebab harder.

his mind hadn't registered what he just did before you quietly said, "thank you."

dan heng nearly malfunctioned. what he just did was criminal. it was a simple thing, however it was most criminal to dan heng. during that moment, all he could think of was your lips on his. the tenderness of his touch was his mind projecting how he would cup your face when you two kissed. all of it felt so wrong, but so right.

"no problem," dan heng blushed and avoided your eyes. "do you... do you think we should meet back up with march and stelle?"

"yeah," you looked down at the ground, slightly flustered, "yeah. let's go."

things were awkward. but at least things were okay. and that was all that mattered to you.

MARCH 7TH HAD speculations. you and dan heng were like a pair. you two were a dynamic duo, second to march and stelle, of course. you would always be seen with each other. when march "accidentally" stumbles into dan heng's room, you'd be somewhere in there as well.

so, why is it that whenever march barges into dan heng's room, you aren't there? why are you not with him? why is he "constantly busy" when he there is nothing to store in the data bank? something was up, and march was determined to find out what was happening.

"don't you think it's weird that we never see dan heng and yn together anymore?" march asked stelle while sipping on juice.

stelle huffed, "i mean, it's a little weird. but maybe they're both exhausted. we just got out of belobog and now we're facing more conflict in another world."

"yeah, but," march paused for dramatic effect, "i saw them together in dan heng's room a few days ago."

stelle furrowed her eyebrows, "are you stalking them or something?"

"what?!" march exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her seat. the scene caused stelle to laugh, "no. of course not, i can't believe you accused me of that!"

"so... you don't think it's weird that we never see them together anymore?" march continued.

"okay. i'll answer. it's a little weird. but whatever it is i'm sure they have a reasonable explanation for it," stelle said. "why are you asking about them anyway?"

"because," march drew out the syllables, "they're cute. i've been shipping them. and plus, dan heng hasn't really been acting like himself recently."

"yeah, but what are we gonna do about it? he hasn't really opened up to us about his problems... like... ever..." stelle trailed off, as if she tried to remember how many times dan heng has ever spoken about himself.

"don't worry stelle," march grinned, "i have a plan."

"i can't believe we fell for this," you grimaced in the closet you were stuck in.

march and stelle split up and told both of you that there was a group meeting in march's room. obviously, because the both of you thought there was something urgent, you rushed in there. you were prepared, only to be ambushed and pushed in a closet by march and stelle as a ploy to "make up."

alas, you knew you needed to talk things out sooner or later.

dan heng, on the other hand, was freaking out. you're close. you're so close that he can feel every time you exhale out of your nose. this closet had no space, so you were practically pressed up on dan heng.

the one thing he couldn't see though, was your face. dan heng wanted to see your face. he wanted to study you up close: he wanted to your skin with his hands, wanted to pull you closer so he can observe the way your mouth lifts when you smile. he wants so much, but he can have none of it.

"i think i can break us out," dan heng offered.

"do you think they're guarding the doors?" you chuckled. dan heng gave a small smile after hearing your laugh. it's ironic that you're laughing in this situation while dan heng's heart is about to burst.

"i think the both of us can take them," dan heng answered.

this is the most you two have ever spoken to each other in days. you missed his voice and you missed being so close to him. unconsciously, you leaned closer to dan heng. you would know his warmth from anywhere.

as you two try to find a good point to hit, your hands brush against dan heng's. the way his hand feels on top of yours just feels right. the way his touch is still so gentle; oh how badly you missed his touch against yours.

"i'm sorry!" dan heng quickly removed his hands from yours. he moved away from you as well. you wanted so badly to chase him: you wanted to come closer, to place your hands with his one more time.

but you didn't. you doubted the fact that dan heng wanted to be near you. with his recent actions, you were wondering if the two of you were still on good terms or not. you could mess everything up with one action; dan heng was the very last thing you wanted to lose.

when you two finally found a good breaking point, you both put all your body strength into prying the doors open. it took a few tries, but the doors finally opened. however, there were consequences. the closet fell down with the combined force of both your bodies shaking it.

before you two fell to the floor, dan heng grabbed your arm and pulled you underneath him in a quick motion. your heart raced against your chest; you were so close that you could feel dan heng's heartbeat as well. and to your surprise, his heart was beating just as fast as yours.

the closet fell on top of you, and dan heng shoved it off of the two of you in one motion. seeing him do that just made your heart beat faster, and you were sure that you were breathing faster as well.

dan heng looked down to check on you, but doing so brought him much closer to you. closer than he had ever been. if dan heng moved down a little bit more, he would be able to close the distance between your lips. the urge was tempting: he was on top of you, your faces were both so close to each other, and your breathing was rampant and quick.

"are you alright?" dan heng asked. his breath fanned your face and you stared right into his eyes.

"i should be asking you that," you breathlessly whispered. he was so close and you were about to burst.

"i'm alright," he leaned down closer, "don't worry about me."

you two were both in a daze when you found yourselves leaning closer to each other. dan heng cupped your face; he couldn't wait any longer. all resilience went out the window, because right here, right now, you were here. you were in front of him, looking as radiant as ever, and dan heng could close the distance right now.

his hands treaded carefully across your face, as if you were one-of-a-kind. finally, his hands rested against your cheeks, and he leaned closer. dan heng was so close to kissing you before a commotion entered the room.

"OH MY GOD!" march exclaimed before running out of the room.

you startled, and accidentally pushed dan heng off of you. you frantically apologized while dan heng brushed himself off and helped you up. you were shaking at what almost just happened. you almost kissed your best friend.

the distance between you and dan heng was wide. he made sure to stand exactly five feet away from you. his hands were crossed and he refused to look at you. dan heng was worried that if he got even the slightest glance at you, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from what would happen next.

you both quickly left the room with racing hearts, confused thoughts, and a realization that whatever just happened was a mistake.

WHENEVER DAN HENG NEEDS SOMEONE to help him with his wounds, you are always that person.

at first, it was for team bonding. before stelle came, you all would take turns patching wounds to build team trust. however, with dan heng, the only person that he'd let patch up his wounds was you. you used to tease him and tell him that he was like a dog in that way, but he always brushed it off.

you were always gentle with him; carefully touching up on cuts and bruises with bandages or rubbing alcohol. by no means were you any doctor, but you were tender and calm.

dan heng was wounded again. there was no reason for him to be wounded. the fight was tame; the enemies weren't extremely powerful or anything. but for some reason, dan heng surpassed the rest of the team with more cuts.

now, you two were in a small room together. luckily, it's more spacious than the closet, but it wasn't as big as dan heng's room. you and dan heng were both sitting on a table; you sitting criss-cross-applesauce while dan heng was sitting properly.

the both of you haven't talked ever since the closet incident. instead, you two have been sharing gazes, brushing past each other in halls, and staying five feet away from each other.

this was the closest you have been in a while.

you are focused on banadaging dan heng's cuts. your eyes are glued to his arms and torso; you refused to look up at dan heng. you couldn't look at him for two reasons: you were slightly mad at him for obtaining so many injuries and you still couldn't look him in the eye after the past situation.

dan heng sat in silence as you tended to him. he knew you were mad at him, and he felt awful. dan heng knew that he didn't need to sustain as many injuries has he had. the only reason why he had so many injuries was that he was trying to distract himself from his feelings. the closet situation had him questioning himself. given the chance, would he hold himself back or would he let his urges win?

"i'm done," you let go of his arms and started putting bandages away. dan heng didn't know you'd be done so quickly. he wanted to bask in your grace for a little longer. dan heng thought about pulling a stitch in order to get you to stay longer, but that just seemed weird.

dan heng knew he couldn't let you leave like this. there was too many unspoken words between you two; most of them, partially his.

during this, dan heng realized something. he realized that, even though you are still mad at him, you stayed with him. you didn't ask for march or stelle to help him, but you did it yourself. dan heng could be reading too much into it, but dan heng is tired. he's tired of longing for you.

and maybe, just maybe, if you'll stay when it gets difficult (like right now), maybe you'll stay when it gets hard as well.

dan heng decides to leave all resilience behind. for once, he doesn't calculate the consequences nor does he hold himself back.

you're about to slide off the table until dan heng pleads, "wait." he grabs your arm and holds you there with a gentle grip. you could slip out of it if you wanted to, but this may be the first actual conversation the two of you will have in a while.

dan heng takes your silence as an answer. "thank you," he says. he curses at himself at the simple response. it was anti-climatic. "i appreciate you," he adds on.

the compliment made you blush, even though it was very simplistic. you avoid looking at him and rather focus on tapping your fingers on the table. "no problem. it was nothing anyway."

you two remain silent for a few moments; you didn't want to leave in fear that this may be one of your few conversations. dan heng was trying to find the right words to say.

"i really do appreciate you. for being here. for always being here," he continues. dan heng realizes he sounds redundant, and he wants to slap his palm across his face. with you, he couldn't find the right words to convey his actions. saying, "i'm sorry," wasn't enough and saying, "i miss you," was too little.

"i told you. it's nothing. i'd do the same for everyone else," and you wanted to chide yourself for saying the last sentence. not true, because the only person who'd you really do all of this for was only dan heng.

"i think this is the longest conversation we've had in a while," you murmur to yourself.

"i know," dan heng replies. you jump back on the table, almost falling off. if it wasn't for dan heng catching you (yet again), you would've fell off. his touch sends electricity through your veins; his touch brings warmth to your body.

"hey! you need to watch your stitches," you automatically scolded him. your nagging was a normal occurrence, but this time, it felt rare. dan heng hasn't heard you nag at him for years (days), and he feels as though he can breath normally now.

"sorry," he pulls back. you're left shuffling closer to dan heng, not that you notice, due to your almost fall. you two were facing each other now; the distance was a lot closer than before.

you let out a small laugh at the situation. practically falling of a table was not a laughing matter, but you always found joy in those situations. sometimes, dan heng thought it was a bit strange, but he always valued your optimism.

"i'm sorry dan heng," you look back down on the table, "i didn't know going through your data bank would make you ignore me for days," you let out dry chuckle.

dan heng furrows his eyebrows in shock, "don't apologize. i don't mind you looking through the data bank."

you looked up after his reply, expression shadowed with confusion, "wait? really? so... why the radio silence? did i have something to do with it?"

"no! no, it wasn't you," dan heng quickly reassured. "it was me. i was the problem."

"don't have to tell me that," you smiled and bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing.

"i'm gonna let that slide," dan heng smirked. it was nice, the way you two fell back into your normal routines once again. it was like all the tension that was previously there, simply dissipated.

"i missed you," you crossed your legs on the table, moving back to the criss-cross applesauce position.

"me too," dan heng replied. "i missed you a lot." he looked straight into your eyes.

you flustered underneath his gaze, "i probably missed you more. sometimes i dunno if i can survive without you," you joked. it was a joke, but occasionally, you find it to be true.

"for me, it's the other way around," dan heng mumbled beneath his breath. "i really missed you. and our late nights. and star-watching."

"you missed star-watching?" you astonishly asked. dan heng wished he could take a picture of your grin when he told you that he missed star-watching.

"i missed a lot of things," dan heng paused, "but i missed you the most."

"i'm sorry for pushing you away yn. i was just⎯ scared," time to rip off the band-aid, "when i'm around you, i just get so messed up. you're the only thing on my mind sometimes. everything about you just makes me⎯ breathless? speechless? you amaze me to the point where i can't even think of a word to describe you."

dan heng pauses and his heart is racing. you're looking at him as if you want him to continue, as if you want him to finally say what he wants. dan heng doesn't know that you want it too.

"yn," dan heng looks straight at you, "i have feelings for you. feelings that i think will overwhelm me at one point if i keep it all together. i never stop thinking about you, longing for you. i want you and i think i really want to kiss you," dan heng finishes. he fumbled on his words back there, because he doesn't think he wants to kiss you, he wants to.

"dan heng..." your face is hot. your body is hot. your breathing is fast-paced and you feel like you are about to be on fire. adrenaline rushes through your veins and you are sure you are not thinking straight.

you pull him in for a kiss, tugging him closer by his chin and kissing him passionately. you take that fire from your body and you pour it all into this kiss. dan heng is surprised at first, but then reciprocates your actions. while your hand is on his face, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you closer and holding you tighter.

you two kiss until you have to stop for air. when you breathe, the whole world feels like it's on fire as well.

"i feel the same. i can't stop thinking about you," you lean in for another kiss, "i miss you," another kiss, "i missed being with you," another, "i missed being close to you," another, this time a little longer, "but i really hope i don't miss this."

"don't worry," dan heng pauses, "you won't. i promise."

and after all of that, dan heng finally got to kiss you.

[pm0]

@hajimedics revealing my #anonymous self to show how ur post inspired me 🫡

ok I guess I will explain what the symbolism in this drawing means under this cut now :)

BASICALLY Rave’s tags on his art got me thinking about mutual sentience theory & the idea that who these puppets actually are does not align with what playfellow workshop created them to be — specifically, the actual desires of the puppets in whps are not the same as what playfellow thinks they should desire — and it made me think about how it might apply to Frank & Julie.

We know that neither of them fall into (strictly) binary gender labels, we know that Frank is gay, we know that Julie was confirmed sapphic in a stream — and yet we see playfellow putting them into the roles of cisgender heterosexual man & woman respectively, that they cast them to be in the roles of each others romantic love interests (see julie-rella animation cels). So I wanted to draw something based on that concept, the contrast of who they are vs who they’re “supposed” to be.

This is why I included 2 Franks and 2 Julies here, one set in my usual style for drawing them and the other being more ‘on-model’ — the former are a representation of who the puppets actually are, with their agency, while the latter are who playfellow themselves outline the puppets to be. The playfellow puppets are a ‘perfect’ version of sorts, their canonical accuracy + their sparkling appearance being extensions of how true to the script they are.

The framing of these two sets, how they interact with each other within the image, is meant to show the situational helplessness Julie and Frank share. They are stuck together in a ring of lavender flowers (do you get it. wedding rings. lavender marriage. I’m a master of artistic metaphor /j), looking to one another in worry as they’re surrounded by playfellow’s expectations. Neither of them want this, for themselves nor for each other, but what are they meant to do? They aren’t trapped by something they can just escape from, they’re trapped by their own identities; the will of their creators and the will of themselves are intrinsically linked, each at their core are answers to the question of who “Julie Joyful” and “Frank Frankly” are, to try and sever that connection is an impossible task.

The circles above each of the on-model puppets’ heads are primarily meant to be halos bc well. you know how queer religious trauma goes (there’s a ‘playfellow workshop is a stand-in for american christianity and possibly god’ metaphor in there somewhere) BUT they are also supposed to represent wedding rings too, to show yet again how playfellow likely wants them to be a couple — and not in the “a couple of bestiesss(๑>◡0)~☆” way they’d like to be

I think that’s all????? not really much else I can say here. background is black + slightly red for that whrp undersite feel and the on-model puppets are drawn in white to contrast with the primarily black background but also because they’re technically Julie & Frank’s straightsonas & black+white=straight pride flag. ok bye

[aziraphales-library]

hello lovelies!! thank you all so much for all the work that you do!! y’all really are lifesavers.

i was wondering if you had any recommendations for fics that emulate the style of the original book/have a Pratchett-y vibe (footnotes, humour, structure, etc.)? i’d be especially interested in ones that are in this style but exist in the show’s canon rather than the book’s, but I wouldn’t mind either way!

We have a #footnotes tag, please check that out. Here are more fics with footnotes...

A Lot of Space Between Your Ears by nerdsandthelike (G)

“And you expect us to just waltz into Heaven, rob the archives, and walk back out?” “Yes.” “No.” Nearly a year after they successfully stopped the world from ending, Heaven obtains evidence that would result in Aziraphale being recalled from Earth. Crowley and Aziraphale decide to steal it back.

DIY How to build your own Garden of Eden by ximeria (T)

Post-not-end-of-days Crowley feels a change is needed, but he can't do it alone. Not to mention, he's not entirely sure what it is, this nebulous thing that he wants. He just knows it involves Aziraphale.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by divisionten (T)

“Well, Pulsifer, I can say with confidence I know exactly what’s wrong with your car.” “Oh? What’s wrong?” Newt peered down, looking at the undercarriage, as most people do who want to help but have absolutely no skill in basic car repair. “It’s shit.” (An anthology collection of the times Anthony J. Crowley, retired demon and occasional slumber party guest, and Aziraphale, forcefully instated Guardian Angel of the downtrodden, get summoned to deal with humanity.)

Yes and Please and Thank You by WyvernQuill (T)

"Go to alpha centauri, for all I care! Go now, this very instant, and never return, do you hear me, Crowley? Never!" Due to Crowley's firm conviction that "he need never know", Aziraphale has, for all the time they've known each other, been blissfully unaware of the obedience curse Crowley's been looping holes around since 4004 BC. You can't really blame him, is the point. Aziraphale had no idea what his unthinking words might do, and is already planning to apologise profusely at dinner... ...which might get a little tricky, seeing as Crowley has just been sighted in the vicinity of Pluto, and has concrete orders to never show his face on earth. Ever. Again.

Demon in Heaven, Angel in Hell by Hexqueen517 (T)

When the world ends, Aziraphale will be called back to Heaven and Crowley will be banished back to Hell, separated for eternity - unless they’re willing to listen to Beelzebub and Gabriel’s plan. Which is Beelzebub’s plan, of course, but they need Gabriel to act as a shield against plant misters filled with holy water. But not everyone in Heaven and Hell is on board with Beelzebub and Gabriel’s leadership. When everyone at the top of the Ineffable Bureaucracy has their own ambitions, the chances of averting apocalypse yet again may seem random. You never know who will come out on top when the dice begin to roll …

i have spent all my years in believing you by braveatironheart (M)

This is the story of how Aziraphale and Crowley inadvertently end the war between Heaven and Hell. The story of how they – indirectly, at least – avert the Apocalypse is in there, too, but I suspect you already know that one. If pressed and in an uncharacteristically honest mood, Crowley would have to admit he’d fallen for Aziraphale in the Garden of Eden. Things were not so straightforward for Aziraphale, who spent six millennia trying to ignore his growing fondness for the demon. He supposed the first time he’d felt drawn to Crowley would have been in Rome, eight years after the death of Christ. And what had he done? Invited him to lunch. It was no wonder, really, that he kissed him two thousand years later. How else was one to respond when one’s hereditary enemy saved one’s life and one’s books? 5945 years after they meet, Crowley and Aziraphale confess their love for one another. They certainly aren’t going to let anything get in the way, no matter what Heaven and Hell throw at them. aka Good Omens, except the only plot is Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship. Complete with original, lockdown-era plot.

- Mod D

[try02line]

Can you make a doodle of Evelyn kissing all over kid Philip's face?

THE OWL HOUSE: the fawn and the cardinal AU? Sort of continuation?

Finally a kid Philip ask! I was so happy when I got this, I love drawing this lil menace of a child-

I don’t think i have ever drawn such a cute scene like EVER- these two are adorable, i truly believe if given the change Evelyn could have been an absolutely amazing big sister figure for lil Philip, they are both menaces in their own ways and 100% would give Caleb grey hair so fast- yet he loves them both and is so happy to see them getting along.

Philip at first isn’t sure what the witch his brother seems so fond of is trying, but soon enough, he stops fighting back and happily accepts being peppered in kisses (growing up, he will have a smol rebellious face he would think himself too grown up to be babied like this, but it would be very short lived). Philip loves being spoiled and loves the attention- witch or not, he is going to take it and he quickly grows fond of such display of affection.

Really hope you like! I may color this drawing too in the future :3 or also try and do this from another angle bcs these two are too adorable.

I tag the following people because they seemed interested in this concept on my other post! @marcholasmoth and ofc @barnowled

Have a lovely day 🦊

[fic-recommended]

Shyan Fics

more to be added, if I feel like adding

—————————————

I’ll Crawl Home – carrieonfighting

(16,024 words / 6 chapters / Teen and up)

Tags: Demon!Shane, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, bc im PRETENTIOUS, Protective!Shane

"Shane was almost unnerved by how quickly he’d settled into this body, this name, this life - his friendship with Ryan was the most time he’d spent with any human before, and yet the man fascinated him."

Wow. That’s all I gotta say. I started reading Shane/Ryan fic because I had a weird dream and went looking for comfort fic to ease the edges of my mind. I stumbled upon this fic and was so fucking blown away. I was drawn in because of the demon!Shane tag and the way this story is charted out is insane. It’s nonlinear (there is a liner version tho I’m strongly against it). Just ohmygod read this fic it’s insane and hurts so good.

I’m Gonna Keep You in Love with Me (for a While) – beethechange

(21,847 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: fake married, also real married, friends to husbands to lovers to ???, Las Vegas Wedding, possible dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Rimming, just assume most of the kinds of sex are present here, probably more Celine Dion than you were hoping for, they say "fuck" a lot, also "dude" but I don't make the rules okay, Bedsharing

Shane is pacing around the hotel room. It’s not a huge room and Shane’s legs are long enough that he doesn’t have much real estate to pace before he has to swing back around for another loop.

“Can you stop?” Ryan asks. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Okay,” Shane says finally. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to—we’re going to be married. The only way out is through.”

“Um,” Ryan says, because this plan strikes him as counterproductive to their shared goal of not being married.

To me there are the big two when thinking of Shane/Ryan fics. That is to say the others aren’t amazing but two gutted me in a way I was not expecting from I ship I don’t even ship. This is one of the two and fucks sake it hurts me but in a way I really like and neeeeeded. (The other is the one above this)

Muscles Better and Nerves More – beethechange

(26,301 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Bodyswap, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, First Time, Pining, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Body Horror, Rituals, Swearing, Sexy Shame

“I’m serious,” Ryan says. “Don’t go fucking up my body. I want that shit back in the same condition I left it.”

“The same condition—Ryan. I’m not spending hours in a gym every day so you don’t lose muscle mass.”

“I want you to treat my body with the respect you would a national park. Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but memories.”

***

A certain meddling Voodoo Queen of New Orleans thinks Ryan and Shane need some new perspective on life. After an inadvisable ritual deposits Ryan in Shane’s body, and Shane in Ryan’s, the ghoulboys pursue some soul-searching and self-discovery to put things right. Sometimes in a sexy way.

I have found out while reading this fic that I am also a sucker for bodyswap!au. Something about learning to love someone completely while seeing (and being lmao) all of them is so intimate and endearing to me. Plus there’s dumplings in this fic and that is just sweet sweet poetry.

If you can find a way to love me, it’s all right – varnes

(11,232 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Psychic Ryan

When Ryan was a kid, he fell into a pile of bricks. They were playing hide and seek, and he thought he had the best hiding spot: high up in a thickly lush tree, his knees drawn to his chest so that he’d blend in. But the branch broke. He hit his head and doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. When he woke up a few hours later, the sun was setting, and his friends were gone, and his parents were calling for him, their flashlights swinging across the grass. There’d been blood on his bangs.

Anyway, now he can see ghosts.

Kind of.

Look, he’s not great at it.

--

Or: Ryan, personally, has three lists: “NICE GHOSTS,” “GHOSTS I DON’T FUCK WITH,” and, “IDK, SPOOKY STUFF.”

Oh my goddddd this fic is so sweet and so owie. At first I was skeptical because the fanon is that Shane can see demons or ghosts or whatever. But having it be Ryan???? So owie in such a good way. Other then this fic being the masterpiece that it is, I’m going to convince you with one sentence: Ryan has a cat with a ghost in it that demands Taco Bell. That’s it baybee. Read it or you’ll regret itttt.

BFFS Get Married For A Week – Ryan and Shane – aspookycryptidsock

(18,108 words / 8 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Pining, Mutual Pining

"As I was saying," Curly continues with a pointed glare in Ryan's direction. "It's my honor to join the two of you in unholy matrimony. The rules are simple, you'll live together, plan one date each, and cherish each other. Til week do you part."

I first read this fic years and years ago. I don’t know how it happened but me and my best friend found it while being at a library and we went feral reading it before their mom picked us up. It’s my origin story to the ship. This fic is my first love and my baby gorl. Shane is intense in a way I lovelovelove. Ryan is dumber then a pile a bricks amen.

Body Farming – shiphitsthefan

(7,251 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Season/Series 04, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Shane Madej, Protective Shane Madej, Omega Ryan Bergara, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Scenting, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Daddy Kink, Size Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Filth with Feelings, Community: bfukinkmeme, Multisex Omega

Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

Your honor I’d like to state my case by saying being horny on main is bc I’m silly goofy and I never meant no harm. ABO fuck or die in a cave? Fuccck kkkk y e aaaa

Por Favor, Sweetheart – carrieonfighting

(7,859 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Kid Fic, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, ryan dadgara, and shane dadej, Original Baby Character - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late

Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

Ryan gains custody of a baby and is strugggglinnnggg until a Sasquatch comes and helps <3. Ain’t nothing says romance baybeee then an actual baby.

daring it’s a faded notion – varnes

(28,760 words / 5 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Paranormal shenanigans, y'all remember that trope where people can't be more than 5 feet apart without Suffering?

The sun is too bright and Ryan’s whole body is alight with something that is eating him all the way up from the inside out, but he keeps his eyes open and he makes himself look, and he tells himself that once he finds Shane, he’ll think about it. Once he finds Shane, they’ll make a plan. Once he finds Shane, and only then, he’ll let himself have the thought he’s been swallowing down like bile since he came to: that they didn’t fall.

They were pushed.

OR: Ryan and Shane get cursed by a ghost, and now they can't be not-touching. It's ... not great.

Ghosties don’t like the no homo and said ummm yeeeeet!!! Into the Grand Canyon then the ghoul boys kiss???? Makes me go hubba hubba

Collide - needywitch

(35,310 words / 2 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Biting, First Time, Dirty Talk, Love Confessions, Rough Sex, Shane Madej Has a Big Dick

Ryan is desperately in love with his best friend.

Owieeeeeee. This one made me cryyyy. The prose of this fic along with a healthy usage of the word jaunty made this fic deeply emotional as well as made me want to cry when they kissed. Very excellent

A Perfect Piece of Ass, Like Every Californian - beethechange

(25,706 words / 3 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: entirely self-indulgent PWP, smut with feelings, Threesome, Birthday Sex, Oral Sex, lotta ball stuff here folks, so i hope you like balls, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Sexy Air Traffic Conducting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism

“Happy birthday, Shane,” Sara says. “I got you a Ryan.”

“Th—thanks?” Shane says. He looks at Ryan and Ryan just looks back, weirdly impassive, giving nothing away. “But I’m pretty sure I already have a Ryan in this model. What’s the return policy?”

“Not like this, you don’t,” she says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Out of the corner of his eye Shane can see Ryan bring his hand to his mouth, stifling a snicker that he turns into a cough. Oh, he thinks.

Oh shit.

I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that this fic is morally correct but Shane/Sara/Ryan fic is what I needed and it blew me away and it is the best smut thank you goodnight

[daisyful-gvf]

touch // by daisyful

18+

*********************************************************

tags: pwp, masturbation (m), drinking, overstimulation because it’s josh so i mean, lol that’s it

word count: 1.5k

summary: josh gets some time to himself in his hotel room

notes: just a short little thing bc this week was rough and this is all i could summon lol. i’m not mad about it

*********************************************************

As if his natural inclination towards touch was not enough, wine always made him so physical.

Gripping the shoulders of his brothers at the restaurant, or reaching out and touching the hand of his date too frequently after a glass or two—anything, he just couldn’t help it. There was something about a soft touch that was so grounding, so human.

So after nearly finishing off the bottle, even alone in the hotel room, it shouldn’t surprise him that his hands are seeking out the warmth of skin.

His eyes are a little heavier than they were at the start of the movie—2001: A Space Odyssey, a comfort film. He usually tried not to do it an injustice by half-paying attention, but that’s what ended up happening this time.

The white t-shirt hugs his torso in a familiar way, yet another source of comfort amidst all the travel, all the constant change.

He toys with the hem of it, trailing two curious fingers along the skin between the shirt and the waistband of the sweatpants. It feels nice, a little ticklish, so he continues.

With his other hand he’s fumbling for the wine glass on the nightstand, not bothering to peel his eyes from the screen as he grips it. He pours the rest of the sweet wine into his mouth, enjoying the warmth in his cheeks from the alcohol.

While he briefly wishes he had someone here to run his hands over, to explore and caress, the solitude is nice in its own way. He can reach his hand under his waistband and cup himself languidly as the movie plays on, and just exist that way.

But after a while, one hand gently over himself, the other under his shirt, splayed across the warm plush of his stomach, it’s inevitable—the craving to touch himself a bit more intentionally.

He indulges, letting out a soft sigh and grinning briefly to himself. This was nice. So much nicer than being cooped up in his bunk, curtain drawn, trying to stifle every noise that may escape him, never feeling like he can really enjoy it.

Yes, much nicer; the wine is warm in his veins, there’s a gentle heat in his belly, and his fingertips are hungry.

His eyes flutter shut as his head sinks back into the soft hotel pillow. He grips himself loosely, welcoming the slow rush of blood. Soon, just from the teasing, he’s hard and warm against his palm.

“Mmm,” he hums quietly, giving the first real stroke over himself. His exhale feels loud in the room, even with the movie playing.

With another genuine stroke, he groans, fully in it now. He realizes, then, that it’s been two days since he last did this. It had been so hectic, as fun as it was, and the need hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Coming to, eyes opening and adjusting to the light of the room, he takes a deep breath and slips his hand out of his pants. As the fabric hugs him, his hips push up into the barely-there pressure.

“Fuck,” he sighs, so soft it’s hardly spoken, as his hand briefly grips the sheet.

If he’s going to do this, he wants to do it right.

Standing up, he makes his way to the curtain and draws both of them, darkening the room significantly. The lamp doesn’t give off much of a glow, and he never cared for overhead lights, so those were left off.

He fumbles through his luggage, humming to himself along with the film soundtrack, until his fingers find the small bottle of lube.

The last bit of wine in the bottle stares him down, so he pours it into the glass and takes another sip as he heads into the bathroom to grab a washcloth.

Finally, he settles back on the bed, shifting until he’s comfortably reclined against the pillows.

Eyes lazily fixed on the television screen, his left hand wanders under his shirt and over the soft part of his stomach. His fingers splay out, and the hand rests there, warm skin on skin.

His right delves lower down, palming his erection through the sweatpants. It pulls a soft whimper from him, again, barely audible. Perhaps if he was with someone, he would let a bit more noise out, but there’s no obligation for that now.

After only a few moments of squeezing himself through the pants, he shoves them down to the middle of his thighs and takes himself into his hand. The white comforter is so soft on the backs of his legs, it makes him shiver.

For a brief moment he lets himself just lay there, hips easing up into nothing, observing the way he’s hard and flushed, resting on his stomach.

He reaches for the lube, and his breath stutters in anticipation. He squeezes a generous amount into his palm and flips the cap closed as it warms with the heat of his skin.

The first stroke, slicking the lube over himself to the point where it drips down him, makes his jaw go slack. It’s wet and warm, and he can’t hold back a soft whimper.

After he’s coated in it, he works over himself with slow, firm strokes. His hips push up into it when his fist reaches the base each time, just slightly. When he gets into a rhythm, with a light twist of his wrist near the head, his stomach grows warm.

It’s been two days; he’s sensitive, and now, with the pleasure in reach, a little needy.

His left hand trails down to his thigh, gripping at it absentmindedly as his right hand quickens its pace.

There’s a flash of heat in his stomach with a particularly firm movement, and it punches a short groan from him. He slows down, then, taking a breath so deep it stretches the muscles of his abdomen with the swell of his lungs and makes him almost dizzy with the exhale.

He makes an “O” with his pointer finger and thumb and slowly, but with a nice pressure, he teases the head, sliding his fingers up and down just below it. His eyes roll back—it’s not enough, not even close, but it makes his stomach flutter.

It’s not every time he likes to edge himself. Sometimes he wants it quick, and after only a minute or two of working, he’ll let himself have it. Not now, though.

Now, in this gentle daze, he can feel every pang of pleasure, every goosebump, every shiver. It’s delectable, the build.

So he keeps at it, as the skin on his neck grows hot enough that he’s almost sweating. A choked moan makes it way out of him, and finally, he decides to let it wash over him. He tugs his shirt halfway up his stomach in anticipation before returning the hand to his thigh.

Several quick, fervent strokes elicit a low groan from him as he cums on his stomach. He watches it rope across his skin, and for whatever reason, the sight makes his skin feel even hotter.

He takes a stuttering breath and grips himself firm, just holding, watching the head flush deep red.

With what is undeniably a whimper, he begins to stroke himself again. He steals his own breath with the first one, and as he works through the overstimulation, his head falls back with a force against the pillow. He draws more whimpers from himself, and staccato gasps, but he can’t help it at this point.

The overstimulation is making his brain fog in such a delicious way; there is nothing else to think about besides the way his spine is tingling with the hope of another, even harder, orgasm.

“Oh—fuck—”

It’s abrupt in the mostly quiet room, but he doesn’t care. He buries his left hand in the sheets and grasps. The muscles on his right arm begin to ache, but again, it doesn’t matter—he’s working quickly, causing his thighs to shake just slightly as his head still thrashes into the pillow.

It approaches brighter and hotter in his stomach than the first one. At the very start of the sensation, it’s enough to push him along to the breaking point. Too tempting not to chase.

There’s a sheen of sweat on his shoulders and the back of his neck as he works his slick hand over himself rapidly, crashing into the second orgasm with a loud, drawn out moan.

His eyes roll back so hard, blacking his vision, that he wonders if he’ll be able to see at all when he comes to. He can, but it’s blurry for a moment until he catches his breath.

With a final deep breath, he milks the last drop gently from the tip, before resting his sticky hand on his stomach. He smiles softly to himself as he feels his muscles unwind, relaxing fully into the soft bed.

Reluctantly, wishing he could just drift into sleep, he cleans himself off with the washcloth. He takes the last sip of wine from his glass and tugs his sweatpants back up, smooths out his shirt, and tucks under the blanket.

With his favorite movie on, and in a blissed-out state, he drifts off to sleep easily.

fin.

—

taglist <3

@starshine-wagner @dannywagners-middlefinger @writingcold @kels-gvf @aconfusedhippie @jordierama @fearless-wanderer @finelinejpm @thehourbeforesunrise @madz-0217 @gretavanbitches @doodle417 @rhythm-of-space @milkgemini @st4rdust-ch0rds @thegardensgate @myownparadise96 @gretavanfleas @josh-iamyour-mama @spark-my-nature @saltydogkiszka @caaattttsposts

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

I saw your tags on a post about becoming the mc in one of your novels. Gothic, where the character is more monster than damsel and i am 👀

Would you be willing to talk about it? The story, the character, anything?

(for those of you who did not see my tags on the post anon is referencing, the post prompt was basically 'you are now the main character of your most recent WIP' and my tags were: #technically I think this would put me as the MC of my novel#in a gothic mansion that houses a monstrous lord said to steal people’s souls#in a village the inhabitants view as a cage#after faking my death to escape an abusive arranged marriage#discovering that I am more monster than damsel)

so i talked about it briefly when i ran this poll a while ago asking which one of these two novels you'd all like to see first. it is the one that won, the gothic found family: Of Beasts and Wretched Things (working title). feel free to click through to the poll if you want to see what the results were, what the other option was, and what people's initial reactions were!

Of Beasts and Wretched Things is an inverted 'Beauty and the Beast' coming of age story that wrestles with the monstrosities of girlhood and the inherent horror of self-creation.

When the Lord of Crosswell Estate plans to wed his niece to a brutish lord to save his wealth, she runs away and stumbles upon Illthern, a forgotten trading village under the control of the monstrous Theodoric Gaut, whom she deceives in order to gain his protection from her wrathful uncle; but when she finds herself face to face with Lord Gaut, who is not what the stories would have her believe, she must wrestle with the monstrosity of her own making before he discovers that his supposed long-lost relative is not what she claims to be.

(More under the cut bc wow I...got a bit carried away.)

working on this project has helped me work through some of the trauma i have around my own relationship to femininity and womanhood. the MC struggles with the legacy of abuse inflicted by her blood relatives and what it means to be the person they tried to make her into. the inherent fear of things labeled 'monster' and the consequential fear of being monstrous is a predominant theme, as well as questions of how many of the monsters are things we make ourselves.

what really drew me to the gothic genre was the emotional weight i wanted to give these characters and this world; so often in gothic works it is the characters' own emotional turmoil that drives the plot and shapes the setting, you are the ghost haunting the house even though you still draw breath, etc. even in this real world, there are these weights of what society things a woman should be, the pressures of girlhood especially during adolescence, and these weird half-mourning periods of killing the person you used to be. i think because i wanted these characters to be steeped in the emotions they have about their situations in life and themselves, i found myself drawn to gothic conventions just because it fit so well with what i wanted to explore

with regards to the characters themselves, and particularly the MC, i really wanted them to feel like they were driving the story. the MC has the brilliant and terrible certainty that I know at least I had when I was a teenager. Theodoric is very similar to most characters you'd expect to see in a gothic setting: ominous, more than a bit sinister or mysterious, yet I wanted it to feel like he was always hiding a bleeding heart just under his coat. did i mean to make him autistic? no, but when I was proofreading i was like whoa yeah this man has the spicy brain. i'm a sucker for monstrous things that treat others with tenderness first, what can i say. i don't want to talk too much about any other characters just yet, I don't want to spoil anything :)

WIP-wise, I'm in the midst of getting the manuscript ready to submit to agencies and publishing houses. it's funny, as i'm doing the research to see what that entails, the other story seems to be way easier to market. who knows, maybe i'll self publish OB&WT the way I did Tales from Thicketdown Forest and then go the traditional route for the other one. we'll find out, i guess.

i did sort of know this was going to get long but jfc i went way harder with my prose here than i thought i was going to. uh, hope this answers your question????

Tl:dr; gothic found family h/c, heavy on the comfort, with tender monsters and monstrous girls :)

[anachronistic-falsehood]

AO3 WRAPPED NUMBER 29 but i want u to give me ur top 3. or top 5 if u have a lot

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

MAC MY FRIEND MAC GHOSTIEZONE!!! my top fav passages i've written this year.... this is gonna take a while to answer i have so so many to choose from omg.... i'm gonna put this under a cut bc it is going 2 be Long (also i am going 2 tag u because idk if u have seen it yet and i v much want u to see the dstuck passage i'm posting it's got wilbur in it :3 @stuck-in-the-ghost-zone )

3: this one is from my ctubbo oneshot titled Harlequin that i wrote on impulse in early september. mac idk if u have read it but u should i think u would like it :3 the style of it is v experimental in a lot of places but i had SOOOOO MUCH FUN writing it and it's kinda angsty but the ending is sweet and i reread it and was like ;-; this fic was very much me projecting onto ctubbo OK HERE'S A QUICK PASSAGE :3

Tommy is your brother, you think, but not in the way he and Wilbur are brothers. They’re brothers in general, two different souls who experienced such different walks of life and stick together regardless, who follow each other to the ends of the earth no matter how wrong or bad one of them thinks the other is.

You and Tommy are more like... kindred spirits. Brothers in war, allies in politics, victims of abuse who pull each other up by your boot straps and lean on each other so you can keep going side by side.

It’s never just Tommy, or just Tubbo. It’s always Tommy and Tubbo.

Like one name.

TommyandTubbo. TubboandTommy. T+T.

Brothers in experience. Partners in life. Two sides of the same coin. Inseparable.

But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You’re part of the same coin, but people look at you and see two heads, one on each side, no tails. Nothing at all to differentiate the two.

You could draw horns on one side and a white streak on the other, but at the end of the day they always see two copies.

When people run into you, they ask “Where’s Tommy?” “Do you know where Tommy’s been lately?” “What’s Tommy up to?”

You can’t always answer that.

For as much as you’re inseparable, sometimes you’re both alone for a bit. You always come back around like two magnets drawn to each other until something or someone yank you apart again.

You don’t like being a copy.

You don’t even know if Tommy realizes that’s what you are.

Tommy and Tubbo.

The main character and his sidekick.

He called you the main character once, during the Disc Confrontation, and himself the sidekick, and hearing that

it

actually made you

relieved.

Even if everyone else sees you as a second quieter Tommy, he doesn’t.

That counts for something.

2: MY VASHWOOD FIC Just As Beautiful As The Day I Lost You MY BELOVED <3 ughhhh writing this was so sad i genuinely cried doing it. the moment wolfwood remembers vash is what gets me. ik you've read it already but here's that one little passage here for u just for funzies <3 NOW CRY!!!!!!

The video stops.

Vash snaps his gaze to Rosewood. He’s trembling like a wet cat, hand poised over the spacebar. His breath hitches once, twice. He turns to Vash, slowly, just as tears begin to spill down his cheeks.

“What the hell, Needle Noggin,” he whispers. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Uncertainty is the only thing Vash can respond with. He steps closer, hand hovering over Rosewood’s shoulder. “I... don’t...”

Rosewood pushes the chair back, wooden legs scraping across the floor, doubles over, and buries his face in his hands. Vash takes that as a signal to do something, so he rests his hand on Rosewood’s back. After the comfort Rosewood gave him last night, it’s the least he can do, really.

Rosewood chokes back a sob. “I shouldn’t know these people,” he says, voice thick with tears. “How... do I know them? How do I know you?”

Vash’s heart leaps into his throat. He kneels in front of the chair so he’s level with Rosewood. “Do... Do you...”

Rosewood looks up, an angry furrow in his brow, even he wipes tears from his eyes. The expression is so incredibly Wolfwood that Vash doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“This past week has been fucking torture, Spikey. You—I saw you leave church last Sunday, and I didn’t even see any of this,” he gestures to Vash in general, the spikey hair, the glasses, the scars, “but you just—you stuck in my head and I couldn’t explain why. I... I still can’t.” He gives a wet laugh. “Humanoid Typhoon my ass. You’re more like a parasite.”

A lump forms in Vash’s throat, alongside something so bright and hopeful he feels dizzy with it. Hands shaking, unsteady like they’ve never been before, he reaches out, fingers brushing over Rosewood’s jaw. He wipes away a stray tear, stubble sharp beneath his thumb.

Rosewood sniffles, shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Needle Noggin. I can’t take it when you smile like that.”

Vash swallows. As quiet as can be, barely any breath behind his voice, he says

“Wolfwood?”

A sob rips itself from the throat of the man in front of him. Vash catches him as he lunges from his chair and into Vash’s arms, heaving cries pressed into his shirt. Vash holds him tight, hands clenched in his jacket. The black poncho remains on Vash’s lap, pressed between them. A stray tear soaks into the fabric. It takes Vash a moment to realize it fell from his own face.

He's never been so uncertain in his life.

But whatever this is, whatever he’s awakened in the priest in his arms, whether it’s real or a delusion, he wants to keep it.

He tucks his face into the crook between a neck and a shoulder, and he cries.

1: i think my fav thing i've written this year would be the tntduo chapter of dstuck that i sent you a while ago BUT since u have already read that and it's wayyyy too long to put in one post i am going to choose a different dstuck thing. most of the passages i wanna put here would involve MAJOR SPOILERS but i have one chatlog between wilbur and one of the cherubs i'm putting in there to kind of sort of replace cdream (i don't like ccdrm but his character is Important so i basically split him in two as a cherub and changed his name). honestly it was kind of a hard decision to change his name bc he's such an iconic villain but i think i did ok with still capturing his Evilness and his shitty asshole vibes ANYWAY this is one of my fav parts of this chapter i love writing chatlogs <3 tw for ummm some brief suicidal ideation bc it's cwilbur that's how it goes

hi wilbur! IO: Ah fuck, what do you want? can’t i just say hi and see how you’re doing? IO: I mean, I can’t stop you, I guess. you’re getting closer and closer to entering this game. isn’t that exciting? IO: Sure. you don’t sound excited. :( IO: What do you mean? This is the picture of excitement. IO: Look at me, I’m jumping up and down with joy at the prospect. liar. IO: Fuck you. hey, now don’t be rude! we’re friends, aren’t we wilbur? IO: We were, yeah. IO: When I was like, twelve. IO: But you started bad mouthing my bro and the rebellion and being all shitty and manipulative, and I literally tried to kms whben I was fourteen because of the shit you’ve said so like IO: No I wouldn’t say we;re friends. but we’re past that! i’ve changed, wilbur. IO: Yeah yeah so you keep fucking saying. if we’re not friends, why do you keep responding? IO: Because you’ll keep fucking bothering me until I do it's just because i want to talk to you. is that really so wrong? IO: Yeah IO: I know the shit that you did to my bro and I don’t fucking much appreciate it that was ages ago! come on, wilbur. you’ll get me out of here, won’t you? IO: If I could kill you I would. man, tough crowd. i think you’ll come around eventually. and even when i do get out of here without your help, your bro is the first one i’ll go for. i’m sure you know this, because it happened in your past. and then i’ll go for the little one. your pen pal. :) he is your bro, after all, and yeah, maybe the older one will slip through my fingers, but your pen pal? he's still young. your bro will get away from me when we’re both older, but your pen pal won’t defeat me while he’s just a kid, and i’m a GOD. :)

The chatlog closes on its own.

He used to be nice, but you think it’s just because he wanted to be your friend. Or, at least, pretend to be your friend. He filled you in on a lot of information about your future and the game, about your upcoming journey as a Bard of Heart, how destructive the class is, how you’re fated to destroy everything you’ve ever held dear and harm the people you love, the nuances of your aspect, the role you’re meant to play in this game.

He called you a supernova in the making, a nuclear bomb waiting to go off, a personified Chernobyl in your own right. It sounded kind of cool at the time, but it placed this heavy weight on your shoulders, this expectation for destruction.

You’re pretty sure he lied about most of the stuff he’s told you, but you can never be sure. You’re set on relying on Phil’s foresight to tell you your role now, although he doesn’t have all the answers. Still, it’s better than running in blind with your only guidance being the ravings of a madman from the distant future. He used to be so kind, it was hard not to believe him.

He wasn’t so kind when you had a sword at your own chest.