#thank you again for the prompts anon!

[galionne-diging]

You were asking for Arukenimon/Mummymon prompts? Well here's some - 1. The duo meet their alternate universe counterparts (y'know, X-Evolution and Ghost Game for Mumm, Survive and Ghost Game for Aru). 2. An AU take on their relationship, where their feelings for each other are inverted (i.e. she's head over heels in love with him, he's far less interested) 3. An AU where everything's the same, except Aru's a guy and Mumm's a girl (but NO abuse!)

Oh thank you so much! These are all so good!

I'm going to do just one for now and save the others for later (otherwise this will take forever) ; but know that I already have something written down for each prompt!

Linen Fascination

(Mummymon & Archnemon's relationship- reversed)

A cloud of dust followed the buggy as it roared through the empty, deserted landscape. Nothing stood on the horizon for miles except for the occasional cacti and dried up bushes dotted here and there. There was no road ; not even a cleared out path to follow. Mummymon had to remain completely focused on his surroundings to avoid potholes and rocks sticking out of the arid ground. As a result, it took him a little longer than usual to notice the movement on his left- until a face framed by delicate silver-gray hair appeared in his field of view.

Arukenimon’s face crept closer and closer, to her companion’s annoyance. Mummymon rolled his eyes. She rested her chin on his arm, looking up at him, grinning.

“-Put your seatbelt back on, the man in blue sighed, If something happens to you, Oikawa will have my hide.

-I’m not scared of him, she teased playfully, If he gets mad I can protect you, you know.

-Seatbelt.

-Hm… And what if I don’t want to?”

Arukenimon watched as Mummymon lifted his right hand without looking at her, keeping his eye on the road and his left hand firmly on the steering wheel. Before she could say anything, two linen wrappings shot from the inside of her driver’s sleeve with such force it pushed her back against her seat. She felt them wrap around her upper-chest and shoulders and slip behind her seat, effectively tying her down. She let out a cry of surprise- followed by a loud and dramatic huff.

"Ugh, you're so mean…”

She gave an almost comical pout- one which unfortunately went ignored by her target. When she realized she was not going to garner any reaction from him she resorted to removing the wrapping herself ; groaning and twisting in her seat until it finally slid off. She clutched the linen in her hand and looked over at Mummymon- and couldn’t help the grin that reappeared on her face.

There was something… Exhilarating about him.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was many different things. Maybe it was just one. All she knew for certain was that she loved him.

She wished she got to see his face more. He always hid it under his hat and behind his tall collar, upset at how inhuman it looked. Ashamed, even.

She didn't understand.

His face had always captivated her.

She loved the sharpness of his teeth and the way they rested so delicately over his lips. She loved his eye, golden with gentle specks of amber, piercing her with a stare she had never seen from any human. She loved the color of his skin, dark gray like a rolling storm.

He didn’t need to look “human”.

“Human” was nothing. “Human” was boring. “Human” was Oikawa, their boss, a pathetic man who only knew to sulk and yell orders and be upset. Mummymon was so much more than that… She always admired his devotion to their work. The cool temper that allowed him to keep a clear head no matter the situation. His will to push forward. Even the way he kept her at a distance gave him a kind of mysterious charm she could never get enough of. It was like a game ; one she had to win before he drove her mad…

“We need to find BlackWarGreymon quickly, before he throws another tantrum like the child he is…” Mummymon sighed irritably.

Arukenimon hummed playfully and leaned towards him again, earning a groan and a huff from her companion. She nestled comfortably against him (or at least as close as the seatbelt allowed) and rested her head over his shoulder. She brought two fingers above his arm and pressed them down, slowly ; ever so slowly in a pretend strut over the blue fabric of his coat.

“Mmh… I know BlackWarGreymon is quite the handful, but he's still important to us, don't you think?"

Mummymon paused for a moment, thinking. After a moment he nodded. Arukenimon grinned.

"-You're right… He's a strong Digimon, if we can regain control over him we could-

-We made him together!"

Oh. Right. That’s what she meant…

“-You made him, I had nothing to do with-

-We made him together. We created him, we gave him life… When you think about it, we’re just like parents to him… He’s not just any child, he’s our-

-I hate children.” he cut her off dryly before she could finish her nonsensical rambling.

Arukenimon was so taken aback by his tone that she fell silent. Then again, she didn’t know what else she was expecting from him…

She let out another dramatic sigh and slouched back into her seat.

Right, she had to win the game before he drove her mad…

It was just a shame she wasn't very good at said game.

[emry-stars-art]

Can I be cheeky and ask for some more tiny jellyfish Neil? I love him so much. In my pocket.

In your pocket!

[2aceofspades]

24, you pick who. There are definitely a few people who come to mind easily, but I want to see what you think!

24.) "Unless you ask me not to in the next five seconds, I'm going to hug you."

I won't even lie, I struggled with this one for whatever reason. But! I gave it my best shot 🙌✨

TW: Eye Strain/Bright Colors

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Thank you for your submission! 🙏🌟

(:

[the-broken-pen]

hi I saw your recent post I hope your moving went smoothly!

I have a loose prompt, if you wanted/had time/had WiFi to write: an interrogation room meet-cute between villain and non-field agent hero

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them the hero realized they were in the wrong room. A very wrong room.

They blinked. The villain blinked, taking them in.

“You look lost.”

“That’s rude,” they responded before they had the chance to think about it. “I work here.”

“Do you now,” the villain said, and the hero grew abruptly aware of their jacket stamped with the Agency logo, their gloves marking their designation as a touch based hero. It was a miracle they didn’t turn red with the embarrassment of it.

They tried the doorknob behind their back. It rattled, but didn’t open, and internally they started screaming. Just a little bit.

“They don’t open from the inside,” the villain said helpfully. “Security risk, or something like that.”

“I know that,” the hero snapped, and the villain raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

The apology blurted out before they could stop it.

“Did you just ‘apologize’ to me?” The villain looked at them incredulously.

“Uh,” they managed. “Funny question.”

“Funny—“ the villain cut themself off. “It’s not a question, I literally just heard you apologize.”

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked out,” they offered, and winced, because apparently every sane part of their brain had fled to France and left them with a singular suicidal brain cell.

The villain’s mouth was slightly open, as if they weren’t entirely sure what was happening. The hero shared the same sentiment.

The villain glanced at the camera, then back to the hero.

“You’re not a field agent,” they said, as if it was dawning on them.

“You don’t know that,” the hero said defensively.

“You’re holding a file.”

“Field agents are capable of holding files,” the hero replied. “Kind of rude of you to assume they can’t.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of the villain’s mouth.

“Sorry,” the villain said, and it was just barely mocking.

The hero rocked on their heels a bit, drumming their fingers on the file in their hands.

“They’re taking a while to get you out,” the villain observed.

“Yeah, Bob’s on duty.”

“Oh, so Bob doesn’t do his job?”

The hero jerked. “I did not say that.”

“It was kind of implied, though,” the villain said earnestly.

The hero had interacted with villains before: ending interviews for files, the odd informant. Never held a conversation though, and certainly not for this long.

This was why they didn’t do field work.

“What, no response?”

The hero smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I’m compiling commentary to add to your file.”

“So you admit to not being a field agent.”

“Continually makes assumptions, poor listening comprehension…”

“Not a very long list,” they pointed out.

The hero felt their smile sharpen. “The rest involves curse words.”

The villain barked a laugh, and the hero jerked slightly in surprise.

The villain regarded them like they were deciding something, as if they could see something within the hero that they themself couldn’t.

It had been a long time, longer than the hero would like to admit, since someone, anyone, had looked at them like that.

Like they mattered at all.

“I like you,” the villain said finally, slowly, like they weren’t entirely sure those were the words that were going to come out.

“You also like crime.”

“And you know how dedicated I am to that,” the villain said pointedly, a glint in their eye.

“How sweet,” the hero managed after a moment. “This is exactly why I became a hero. To be compared to felonies.”

The villain just smirked. They peered down at the handcuffed hands, then looked up at the hero. They weren’t sure when they had moved away from the door, closer to the villain, but somehow it had happened.

There was something warm to this; it sat in the hero’s chest, light and airy.

“I’ll text you when I get out. Say, next week?”

“You’re going to jail,” the hero reminded, mouth dry.

The villain grinned. “Right,” they drawled, amusement splashed across their face. “Jail. Which is where I am going. And where I shall stay. Absolutely.”

Something clicked, and the hero didn’t have to look under the table to know the villain had slipped their cuffs.

Despite their best efforts, their eyes flicked downwards, like they could see the now empty cuffs below the table. The villain grinned further, as if in challenge.

Are you going to tattle?

The hero swallowed.

“I’m really not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve gathered,” the villain said. “You work the desk all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Personal choice, or…”

“I like it,” the hero said defensively. “It’s just puzzles, and I’m good at those.”

“Puzzles?”

“Putting things together,” they said vaguely. “Routes and evidence and all that.”

The villain’s brow furrowed, as if they were mulling something over. Their gaze returned to the hero, and it was searing.

“You’re the one who found me, aren’t you.”

“Oh,” the hero said, blushing. “That’s-I’m not—“

The villain leaned forward. “Am I in that file?”

The hero tucked it behind their back.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No,” the hero said with emphasis. The villain laughed.

“You’re bad at this,” they said, but it was fond.

“Thanks, I try,” the hero said. They were waiting for the villain to stand up, but they seemed content to just sit there and watch.

“Mhm,” the villain agreed, and for some reason, the hero flushed even further.

The villain’s gaze snapped to the door, and they tilted their head as if listening to something.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” they said. The hero blinked. “To get you out,” the villain prompted.

“Right,” the hero said. They had forgotten they couldn’t leave, but the villain didn’t need to know that. They had a feeling they knew anyways.

“I’ll call you,” the villain reminded.

“You don’t have my number,” the hero protested.

The villain gave them a look. “You’re cute. Do you like pizza? We could do pizza.”

“We could never speak again.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard of that restaurant.”

“You—”

“Oh look, they’re here!” The villain said cheerfully.

The door swung open, and someone the hero vaguely recognized stepped in.

In the next second, the hero was in the hallway.

“Oh, and love,” the villain called, and the hero cursed themself for blushing. “Don’t be jealous of the other felonies. You’ll always be my favorite crime.”

The hero ducked their face behind the file, but they couldn’t stop the pleased smile that crept from the corners of their mouth.

[archangeldyke-all]

What if sevikas chihuahua and the readers dog start playing with each other at the park while their both walking their dog (like in legally blonde when elles chihuahua went up to that big Rottweiler) and then sevika and the reader end up going on a date?

CUTEEE

men and minors dni

zaun is a dangerous city, especially for someone like you.

a single woman, who lives alone on a first floor apartment? you're a prime target for muggings or burglaries in the undercity.

so, after a particularly scary walk home alone one night, you decide to get a dog.

you go to the shelter and ask for a big dog, something that will protect you and scare off potential attackers.

the attendant smiles and nods and takes you to a small room, then introduces you to sugar.

sugar's a gray pitbull, 60 lbs of pure muscle, and she's wearing a muzzle as the attendant brings her in.

he explains to you that sugar's nervous around men, hence the muzzle, and the second he leaves the room, her low growling and nervous expression melt into pure joy as she waggles her tail hard enough for her butt to shake and the two of you play together.

sugar steals your heart. she's a playful, loving, nervous wreck of a dog, and when she's not busy tapdancing at your feet with excitement, she's resting her chin on your lap and begging you for pats with her big, glossy, puppy eyes.

you take her home with you the next day.

you and sugar become inseparable. your boss lets you take her to work to sit behind the counter while you work alone, in an extra effort to keep your customers in line.

nobody gives you shit anymore. drunk customers don't try to steal, old men don't try to flirt, you don't get catcalled on your walk to and from work, and it's all thanks to your sweet baby, growling and baring her teeth whenever someone gets a bit too close to you.

sugar's nothing but smiles and cuddles when kids or women come into work, turning on her back and waiting for belly rubs, licking kids faces as they giggle, and nudging customers with her cold wet nose, gesturing to the little container of treats you keep on the counter, begging for them to sneak you one.

when you're not working, you're cuddling with sugar at home on your couch or in bed, curled around each other as a tv show plays or you read.

sugar loves chicken, tug of war, and cuddles. but above all else, sugar loves the dog park.

tonight, you're tired and grumpy. you've had a long fucking week, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep until you have to clock back in on monday. so when sugar wakes you up from your after-work nap by pressing her cold wet nose against her face, you almost turn over in bed and go back to sleep. but when her sweet, excited whines start up and she runs to the living room and fetches her leash for you, you can't deny your sweet baby.

grumbling and throwing on a robe, you hook sugar up to her leash and shuffle out of your house, beginning the quick walk to the park.

when you get there, you let sugar off her leash and she immediately starts doing her laps, sniffing and digging and barking with glee. you laugh and shake your head at your furry baby, before pulling a joint out and lighting up.

you relax against the bench, chuckling as you watch sugar run to and fro. behind you, the gate to the dog park clinks, and before you can look over your shoulder to see whose coming in, a teeny, tiny chihuahua runs up to your feet, snarling and yapping at you.

you giggle, and reach down to ruffle the tiny dog's floppy black ears. this seems to satisfy the puppy, and she gives you several licks before running off to mark her territory.

the little dog seems to think that she owns this park, because she barks at any dog who gets within a ten foot radius of her. this doesn't deter sugar, though, and she chases the chihuahua around the perimeter of the park, before the chihuahua turns around to chase sugar. you chuckle. it seems like sugar's made a friend.

"'s that your dog?" a low voice asks. you blink up and jump when your eyes land on a beautiful, tall, broad woman, standing beside your bench. you nod and laugh.

"sugar." you say, introducing your dog. the woman laughs. "you're the chihuahua's mom?" you ask, chuckling. the woman smiles and nods.

"slayer." she says. you cackle.

"seems like our dogs should swap names." you say. the woman chuckles.

"i'm sevika." she says, holding a hand out for you to shake. you smile and introduce yourself, scooting over on your bench to make room for the woman to sit.

you and sevika chat for hours as sugar and slayer play, sniff, and explore together. it's only when the park ranger comes by to kick you out that either of you realize how much time has passed. it doesn't matter, though, because after that night, you and sugar run into sevika and little slayer almost every evening.

sugar and slayer become best friends. you and sevika do too.

once you finally start dating (sevika invited you and sugar over for a 'play date' but then locked sugar and slayer in her bedroom, and turned the play date into a regular date with you, cooking you dinner and splitting a bottle of wine with you) sugar and slayer become inseparable.

for the first few months of your relationship, before the two of you move in together, any time one of you visits the other at their place, you bring your dogs along, so the two can cuddle and play while you and sevika also cuddle and play ;)

but once you guys move in together, sugar and slayer become a package deal.

slayer cries every morning when you and sugar leave for work, until you just give in and start taking both dogs with you.

if sugar's laying somewhere, you can bet your ass you'll find little slayer cuddled right up against her, or on some occasions, right on top of her.

both sugar and slayer are bed hogs, and there have been several occasions when you and sevika finally turn into bed, only to find your sleeping fur babies cuddled up on top of your spots. (you're both suckers, so you always let them sleep, pulling out the pull out couch for the two of you to sleep on for the night as the dogs sleep in your bed.)

cuddled up in bed one night beside sevika, you laugh as you watch slayer lick sugar's ear clean, grooming her best friend. you nudge sevika and she smiles at you.

"what're you laughin' at?" she asks. you gesture to your dogs on the foot of the bed.

"they're so cute. they're just like us." you say. sevika laughs.

"right, because i'm so petite and you're definetly the guard dog between the two of us." she teases you as she rolls her eyes. you just giggle.

"no, dumbass, you're sugar, i'm slayer. you've got the bite, and the scary claws and teeth and stuff, but you're really just a softie on the inside. and i'm your slayer, cute as hell and always bossin' you around." you say. sevika considers this and then smiles.

"you do yap a lot." she says. you giggle and elbow your girlfriend, and she pulls you against her side, kissing your scalp as she scratches your back. you relax into her, and in minutes, all four of you are asleep and snoring on the bed.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

maybe edgejeanist with one as a ghost?

Absolutely :]

It's always fun to make one of them a ghost, and i couldn't choose who to draw lol so have both <3

(ask game thing im doing, please feel free to send me things always :D)

[valyrfia]

guys i know everyone is kind of desperate for a 2025 reading but the number of people coming into my inbox just saying “2025 tarot reading?” “where’s the 2025 reading” “have you done the 2025 reading yet?” is making me feel a bit like a performing monkey and is most of the reason i stopped sharing my readings on here

[gianttol]

♡ GT July 2023 Prompt List ♡

Big thanks to @pocket-ozwynn for helping with the prompts!

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[skeletalheartattack]

hi I like gelato a lot

[yujeong]

back again because another prompt came to me: I love the idea of vegas making pete confront his "nonpersonhood" by either fucking in front of a mirror, or vegas making pete verbalize every little thing he wants vegas to do. very much forcing pete to be present and say what he wants and needs. (in a healthy way)

Hello anon! My sincere apologies for not having answered this in so long, but I didn't have the proper brainworms for it. Also, apologies for answering the second one you sent me first, but I got inspired for this prompt today, so I decided to work on it. Hope you enjoy ❤️ CW: Bondage, Handjob ----------------------------------------------------------------------- There's a man in the mirror. Pete doesn't recognize him. He's tied up—wrists bound by rope, legs spread out on the large bed he and Vegas sleep in every night. His hair is a mess. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is hanging open. His chest is heaving. He's completely naked; his cock is leaking precum on his stomach. The man in the mirror looks aroused, but uncomfortable. Lost. Out of his depth. But why? He's been in this situation plenty of times before. The position, the anticipation, the ache, it all feels familiar, and yet... "Pete." Vegas is standing next to the bed, his voice syrupy sweet. Pete turns to look at him. A good distraction; he tries to reach him, to lean closer for a kiss. Vegas grabs his face before he does. "No," he says, his smile replaced by a frown. "Not until you look." There's a man in the mirror. Pete doesn't know who he is. His breathing has grown heavier. He looks flustered; his bangs are glued on his forehead, sweat travels down his neck. He barely moves as he's stuck there, staring at someone who seems familiar, but isn't. He shouldn't be. "Look at you," Vegas whispers in Pete's ear. Pete can't understand what he means, but a shiver travels down his spine regardless. And then Vegas licks Pete's earlobe and it feels like a punch to the gut. His body reacts on its own, his voice too. It sounds like a moan, but Pete is too out of it to hear. His eyes are stuck on the man in the mirror, on the horror crossing his expression, on the realization that renders him breathless and aching. He probably started crying at some point, because Vegas is suddenly shushing him and caressing his hair and kissing him everywhere. It feels horrible. Pete hasn't felt this good in ages. Vegas doesn't waste any more time after that. He uses his hand to make Pete come and it feels exhilarating and like Pete is going to die, but he doesn't. A scream escapes his lips when the orgasm comes. It surprises him; it's never happened before. He calms down eventually. Vegas is there to take care of him, to remind him. He was staring at his reflection the entire time.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

36. Their favorite season

Mina, Jack, Arthur, Renfield, Van Helsing

Ooh love this question, anon! Spoilers under the cut (though I tried to keep it implied). Spoiler-free ask on different prompts with Jonathan here.

Mina:

Initial impressions: Fall. She feels like someone would love the fall colors, bundling up and — in a modern setting — spooky season! I can totally picture her being a stereotypical fall girlie (I say this with all the love, fall is my personal favorite season).

Final thoughts: Spring. I think she would love seeing the beauty of nature at full bloom and appreciate seeing animals, especially baby ones, coming out of hibernation. Plus, spring is the perfect time to take long strolls with Jonathan and her friends! We know she’d love to travel with him to different places and, while summer is an ideal time to do this too, I just think she’d love to go during this time of year when the landscape would be vibrant and colorful. There’s something indescribably special about spring for her!

Renfield:

First impressions & Final Thoughts: Summer. This one seemed pretty cut and dry (though feel free to give your thoughts if you think he’d have a different favorite season!!). Summer is when all of his favorite things that give him good life are up and about! Bugs are super easy to attract in the summer, as opposed to the other seasons. Beyond that, I also think he likes the feeling on the sun on his face — it’s more prominent in the summer and gives him a taste of freedom and the outside world he can’t feel otherwise… :(

Arthur:

Initial impressions: Summer. This is likely the time of year when he went traveling with the suitor squad and when Lucy accepted his proposal, so it would stand to reason it’s also his favorite time of year! With wide-open skies and the weather at a good temperature, this time of year probably makes him feel like a man in his element.

Final thoughts: Fall. I think he’s drawn to the leaves changing color and the wind in his face. I imagine he also likes the feel of bundling up and being able to hold loved ones close. I imagine after the events of the book, fall would be very hard for him to enjoy — considering the most horrific events of the book (especially the worst possible thing to him personally) takes place during the fall. However, I think he would come to enjoy it again eventually. Mainly because he’d have the Crew of Light to help him enjoy it. Plus, who else but him is going to show baby Quincey the leaves changing color?? I mean, the others could, but he’s the one who appreciates it the most!

Jack:

Initial impressions: He doesn’t have a favorite season! Seasons are things to be observed for science, not to be enjoyed.

Final thoughts: The initial impression is actually what I imagine he would say if you asked him at the beginning of Dracula but post-canon, I think he would appreciate winter the most. He would come to like sitting around a fireplace with loved ones, enjoying blankets upon blankets heaped on top of him to keep him warm (he gets cold easily). Also, while he’s improved emotionally, I think he would still like the quiet reflection he’s able to get in the winter months when he can stare off into the snow or the fireplace, thinking philosophical thoughts instead of depressing thoughts now. Of course, during Christmas, his extended family (aka the Crew of Light) would have *none* of that! Christmas is a boisterous affair…and Jack wouldn’t have it any other way. :)

Van Helsing:

Initial impressions: Winter. I’m not sure why, but I initially got winter vibes from him, and I could see it. I could definitely see Christmas being his favorite holiday, while also rattling off traditions of other winter holidays. Plus, it’s a time to be with family and he would certainly enjoy that!

Final thoughts: I think winter would be too hard for him to fully enjoy after the loss of his family (namely, Christmas). So, I think his favorite season would be spring. Like Mina (and we all know how much he loves being like Madam Mina), he enjoys seeing new life blooming after a harsh winter and serving as a constant reminder of good rebirth. I also think he would enjoy Easter for a similar reason. Fun fact: Easter egg hunts were a thing in the 1800s in England (introduced by Germans — source: this article), so I definitely think Van Helsing insisted upon hosting Easter egg hunts, especially after Quincey Harker was born. <3

Ask game here

[2aceofspades]

For the injury/angst sketch prompts-

#15 with Casey Junior and Future Leo? :) Maybe F! Leo has to re-locate Casey’s dislocated shoulder or leg… And Leo doesn’t want to hurt him. :( Might come to the point that F! Donnie has to fill in cause Leo just can’t do it.

15.) "I can't. I just can't."

This one stumped me for ~reasons~ , but hopefully I did it justice in the end

TW: Eye Strain/Bright Colors, Blood/Injury

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Thank you for your submission! 🌟✨

(:

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sweet Amber, I wana request "hushed sex while staying in the guest room of another’s home" for AOU Steve and reader when they were at Clint's farm, because he wants a life and family with his girl.

And thankyou for seeing my previous ask, I'm the same AOU anon BTW.. I can't tell how much I love this man.

I hope this is some of the feels you were looking for. I'm super tired tonight and having a hard time wording what I want to say. But thank you so much Babes for sending me this request. All the love right back and imagine Steve just loving you so damn much.

Send me an Ask from this list of Prompts

This is an 18+ Only Blog.

Everything felt so much MORE.

The squeak of the bed, Steve's soft huffs against your neck where he buried his face for a moment, the feeling bombarding both of you overwhelming in this second. Your thighs squeezed around his waist, encouraging him to continue while your fingers grazed up and down his muscled back, making an invisible painting speaking of your love along his spine and over his shoulder blades.

The tension of the past few days, all of your worlds being disrupted by Tony and Bruce's error was bleeding out of you both for now. You both tried to be quiet in your needs for each other, hushed tones whispered to each other about how good it felt passed between press of lips. The house was full, brimming with people and this might not be the right place or time, but there were no real rules between you two anymore.

Right now it was about feeling, anything, something. As long as it gave you both hope to keep going. The world threw so much as all of you, you had to take it where you could get it to prepare for the next disaster. "Oh god, Steve." You muttered, arching under him when his hips pushed back in, his cock thick against your slick walls, squeezing him just right that his movements stuttered in several quick thrusts before he pulled back again.

You were ready for him to push back into you, wanted it, your body arched in an invitation for him to fill you in the way you only ever wanted him to. "I know Doll, it's just so good." He lifted away to catch your lips, drawing out the moan built up in your throat to keep quiet, gasping against you at how you made him feel.

"You gonna fill me with your babies Steve?" You moved away from his mouth, moving along his jawline as his mouth went slick, his eyes screwed close in concentration to keep from cumming yet.

"Dance with me late at night after our kids are in bed?" You continued, painting the dream you knew he has had since you two fell for each other. "In our home full of love and life?"

You could feel him, he was so close and you didn't even care that you weren't. Today this was about Steve, being able to take care of him in a way he never had with anyone, to give him tenderness and passion among the anger and heartbreak surrounding them right now.

Steve pushed up enough to roll the two of you in the small bed, making it creak ominously beneath the two of you while you straddled him, pushing your hands against his strong chest to ride him slowly, let him savor watching you, your golden-haired super soldier seemed to finally let go of all the bullshit, being here with just you.

His hands glided onto your hips, fingers possessively pressing into the soft curves of you while helping you move, unhurried, you just let yourself sink onto him over and over, your sighs and moans all soft just for him. "You know I love you right?" He asked out of nowhere, his hips arching under you to press himself back into the deepest part of you. "I don't think I would have been able to do this without you Y/N."

You let yourself fall forward, your chest pressing against his and your hands cupping his face, tracing the angles of his features that you were so intimate with, your eyes softening with love in return. "It's always going to be you and me, Steve, no matter what happens."

Your forehead leaned against his, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close while you felt him cum, his spend warm as it spread through you and you melted in against him, sated and content to just enjoy the moment right now, not what had already happened, or what was possibly going to come. "I love you too Steve, we were always meant to be here I think." You let your head lift to look at him. "Even here and now, in Clint's house, trying our damndest to be quiet." You broke into a grin and his matched, finally some of the shine returning in his eyes.

"I don't know how quiet we were Doll, but we certainly tried."

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

How do you keep a from-scratch pie proper up and not melting all over the place? I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I always end up burning my hands trying to push the crust up before it finally hardens enough to stay against the tin sides on its own and it's horrible, I just want my pumpkin pie... Also, how do you make peach pie?

i love you anon. why do i not get MORE asks about pie making on my writing prompt blog??

i cant diagnose your issues perfectly over the phone, but generally speaking a melting pie is a symptom of the ingredients not being cold enough. whatever fat you're using in your pie, make sure its as cold as possible without being frozen before you cut it in, and make sure you're not using too much.

pie dough should only just come together before being rolled out, it should never be sticky. your butter/lard/shortening, whatever, and your water/vodka etc should all be cold cold cold.

different altitudes and temperatures will effect how well a pie stays cold/comes out, so no matter what I usually throw my pie crust back in the freezer or fridge whenever im not actively working with it. sometimes even after it's been filled, if it looks a little soft.

i will say, since baking a pumpkin pie requires blind baking (usually), that can definitely be a little more finicky. the bottom of my pumpkin pies are usually a little melty directly post blind bake/its not unusual for one section of the crust to droop a little. i recommend dry beans vs metal or clay pie weights and again, very very cold ingredients (I sometimes freeze the flour too if im baking in florida).

while i work on my own personal peach pie recipe (in the works, to test further this summer), here's the link to a good one.

i trust sally of the above linked recipe blog with most baked goods so i recommend looking at her other pies etc as well.

peace love and pie

- L