#thank you anon i needed whimsy after this

[pickl-o]

since art requests are open... perchance a doodle of mephone4 doing something whimsiful,? baking cookies mayhaps

hes tryin to make cookies

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[the-universal-sun]

More of the Grunkles in the Stan O' War? Whichever one you prefer to be little, idm.. (◕◡◕)

I went with a little Ford for this, we haven't seen him in a while! Sorry for taking so long to get to this anon, I hope you enjoy it if you're still here! Thank you for the ask!

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     "Avast ye, Matey! You'll never take the treasure of The Great Six-Fingered Scallywag!" Ford shouted, brandishing his wooden sword, its twin wielded by Stan. He wore an old captain's hat that kept tilting over to one side, making him all the more endearing in Stan's eyes. He and Ford were playing "Pirates" below deck to escape the rain outside. This game, a favorite of theirs when they were young, was brought back with Ford's regression, his headspace bringing back all the wonder and whimsy both twins pushed to the wayside as they grew older. Stan loves seeing how happy Ford is like this, how free he is. He never got to let go like this, not even as a child, societal and familial constraints forced him to grow up way too quickly. But here, on the open ocean where it's just the two of them and their boat, Ford can let go of shame and expectations, he can be Stan's little Buddy whenever he wants.

     "Oh I won't, will I? Well, that sounds like a challenge to me, The Deadliest Pirate in the Seven Seas, Eightball "The Slinger" Pines! Yaaaaa!" Stan shoots back, knocking his sword with Ford's, earning a giggle. Ford's eyes light up, filled with a playful mischief, and he knocks his back-harder-before backing up and pacing their cleared-out gallery with an exaggerated swagger, protecting his treasure from the Pirate in front of him. The treasure is, of course, Dr. Mittens who is dressed up in a fancy outfit Stan made for him, for an occasion such as this. He may have pricked his fingers more than once when sewing on choppy waves, but his twin never wants for much when regressed, so when he begged and pleaded for a "fancy outfit for Pirates" to be made for his plush, Stan had to oblige. And Ford's smile and answering hug were worth every bandage.

     They knock swords, each strike accompanied by an exaggerated "Hyah!", weaving around each other and giggling until they were breathless and slowing down. Stan's breathing was heavier than Ford's, his inner thoughts cursing his 30 years of greasy foods slowing him down. Ford's laughter, pure and free, brings a bright grin to his face, however, causing him to feel lighter than ever as he relishes this happy moment. Ford stops, eyeing Stan's panting form, and points his wooden sword at his chest, asking with all of the Pomp and Circumstance befitting a Little Pirate such as himself, "Do you agree to surrender and stop chasing after my treasure? If you do so, I may allow you to live and join my crew-" Ford smiles and holds back a giggle behind his hand-"swabbing the Poop Deck." He burst into a fit of giggles, the immaturity of his headspace getting to him. Stan takes his moment of distraction to move forward and gently tackle him into a mound of cushions, taking off Ford's Captain's hat and ruffling his hair.

     "Never Surrender! I shall reign supreme, Six Fingers!" They collapse into bouts of laughter, tears streaming down their faces from how hard they laugh. They slow down, eventually just sitting there, leaning against each other and catching their breath, breathing into the calm aftermath of their game. Stan knows the hard part is coming up, even if he can see Ford's eyes blinking slower and slower. It's nap time. Something Ford needs or else he'll be overtired grumpy and short-tempered the rest of the day, his energy depleting with his moods. Stan hopes that, since they played "Pirates", Ford will nap without protest.

     "Hey, Buddy?" Stan asks softly, Ford's head nestled into his shoulder.

     "Yes, Buddy?" came the soft response, Ford reaching over the bring Dr. Mittens to his chest.

     "You know what time it is-"

     "Nooooooooo!" Ford whined, a sign he was tired, and turned away from Stan, burying his head in a cushion.

     "C'mon, Bud, it's almost 1:30, we both know that's your nap time. Has been for months now. Let's get up and get some comfy clothes on, 'kay?" Stan asked gently, getting up with some cracks and grumbles about his knees and back.

     "But I'm not tired, I don't need'a nap!" Ford's pout was cute and all, but Stan knew better, he sees the slouch his brother has, and how slow his blinking's gotten. They do this same song and dance almost every other day-Stan's an expert at it by now.

     "Come on, Buddy, look at you. You're ready to sail away to Dreamland right now." Ford's still pouting-his cheeks read from Stan's childish words. Stan tries a different tactic. "Well, I know I wanna nap, and I can't sleep without my Sixer there to protect me from all those bad dreams." At this, Ford starts to look worried, biting his lip and staring at Dr. Mittens, as if he's having a silent conversation with the plush. Ford's protective of Stan, even when he's feeling small, and when he feels little, he believes that by sleeping next to Stan, he's fending off any nightmares that may come. It'd be really cute if it weren't true, but Stan knows his presence also chases away any of Ford's nightmares, so it's a win-win.

     It seems like Ford and his stuffy came to a decision, Ford dropping his head with a reluctant sigh, his defenses crumbling down at such infallible logic. "But we hafta sleep under my special blanket. Okay, Buddy?" Ford's referring to his weighted blanket decorated with constellations from both this dimension and ones he's seen from his interdimensional travels. Stan, of course, isn't going to deny him this, Ford loves that blanket and always asks to nap with it. Stan likes it too, if he's being honest, it's very cozy, especially sharing it with the living space heater named Ford.

     "Of course, Buddy. Now let's get you into some comfy clothes." Stan says, walking Ford into their room and heading to his "Little Drawer", the drawer in Ford's dresser where he keeps the majority of his "Little Clothes"-just things like pajamas, fuzzy socks, t-shirts, and sweat pants. Ford sets Dr. Mittens down on his bed-the one facing the door. Stan pulls out a soft, oversized t-shirt with Moby Dick patterned on it and a pair of soft, fleece lined sweats-the kind that felt like soft clouds against your skin. Ford squirmed a little as Stan helps steady him when he undresses, holding his arms up for Stan's help when he gets stuck putting on the shirt. "There we are, comfy and cozy, huh? 'S my turn to get cozy now, right?" And with a grin, Stan shucks off his pants and shirt, revealing his classic tanktop-boxers-combo, earning a disgusted look from Ford. He laughs, heading over to his drawers and pulling out a pair of lounge pants and a sweatshirt-letting Ford steady him and pull his shirt down over his belly. Little Ford likes feeling like he's helping, so Stan doesn't protest. He tweaks Ford's nose as a "thank you" and nudges him towards his nap tent.

     Ford giggles, warming Stan's heart, and he could all but see any remaining tension leaving his twin's shoulders. "You're welcome, Buddy." Stan helps Ford into the tent, laying him down on the pallet there, and grabs his glasses, putting them on the nightstand before grabbing both Ford's blanket and plush. He goes and climbs in the tent, depositing Dr. Mittens in Ford's arms and hauling the weighted blanket over both of them, tucking them in its warm embrace. He wraps Ford up in his arms. "Mmm, snuggly," Ford whispers, digging his body into the nest of blankets below him, the weighted one on top, and his brother's body on his side.

     “You’ll have the best dreams, Sixer. Just close those eyes,” he encouraged, brushing a few stray curls from Ford’s forehead. His brother, however, had already fallen asleep, his small snores reaching Stan's ears.

[wonderfulworldofwondertainment]

So, brother, tell me. What happened to Mr. Smiles?

Dr. Wondertainment froze. For but a moment, the air around him dimmed slightly, almost unnoticeably.

...Mr. Smiles...Mr. Smiles was once the crown jewel of the Misters. So brimming with whimsy that it sprung from his skin. He was great with children, and always cheerful.

Dr. Wondertainment smiled, staring off into the distance.

One day... the Factory decided I was a problem. I was too happy, made to many others happy.

He shuddered. Mrs. Wonder got a little closer.

It's alright. take your time.

They discovered the Trauma phenomenon. They... crafted a...poison with it. Bound to the rust off their machines. Shot me with it.

....What monsters...

At first, I was fine. But then it spread. It began to leech off me, growing and growing. And... Smiles...

Mrs. Wonder took his hand. Behind them, Ms. Advice and a couple of other Misters watched.

I begged him not to. But he refused to listen. He said, "I may be Mr. Smiles, but you're the one making things to smile about." Then...he took the poison into himself.

...I'm sorry.

That's part of why I want to help cure this ailment. I do want to help... but if I can cure it... Maybe...maybe...

For the first time in decades, Dr. Wondertainment seems...

You seem...Lost, Father.

All eyes turned to the door, where the lonesome visage of Mr. Lost resided.

Maybe...I can help with that. Would you like to go for a walk?

All present turned to Dr. Wondertainment. Ms. Advice spoke up first

I can clear your calendar.

I'll manage distribution.

Mr. Type and I Can Prepare A Press Release!

The sound of a typewriter rings out as Mr. Type speaks.

𝙸𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎.

I'll have the animals all squared away!

Dr. Wondertainment looked across the room as all the Misters pledged to handle whatever might come up in his absence. Tears welled up in the old man's eyes.

...I can't possibly thank you all enough.

Mr. Anon stepped forwards.

Happy fathers day, dad. enjoy your walk!

The Good Doctor smiled, and swooped up his son in a bear hug. After several warm goodbyes, he took Mr. Lost's hand and the two went on a walk to who-knows where. The Doctor wasn't worried. Lost always took people where they really needed to be.

[tuiliel]

Hello, the anon seeking fae advice is back once more. Please know there is absolutely no rush and I completely understand life being its own string of whimsy. Truly, thank you for your help. It is sincerely appreciated.

I was specifically considering a brownie due to a string of events. To begin, my patron is quite the trickster. He prefers a lawless game of chess rather than anything cut-and-dry. I had gotten into researching the fae out of curiosity born from thin air whilst cleaning out a cluttered old room, with intentions of doing my practice there. I left off my readings on an article about brownies and, since then, have proceeded to lose my keys thrice, several other items have vanished and reappeared in locations I swore they were not left, and I could not say if I haven't lost more. I am typically good at remembering where I placed my items, but it felt as though my memory was stolen from me. My spur was drawing an Oracle Card that questioned if I felt the presence of otherworldly helpers.

Thus how I arrived here. I typically draw Tarot and Lenormand Cards at my altar or offer prayers to a lit candle before drawing from an Oracle Deck. I'm willing to experiment with other means if it could be beneficial with communicating with them. (With a few practice tests beforehand, of course.)

In a contract, would you say to specify working times? Such as days or the week or hours. Or could that be a poor choice? As well, do you think it would be better to offer daily offerings or offer them weekly? (I shall not forget to add in a clause for missed offerings.) I imagine if this is a trial period, we both can negotiate terms as time goes along and if it takes root. Although, I fear this could be interpreted as disrespectful.

Then yes, I would skip the cheese and try for a Brownie. Though I imagine your patron might have someone in mind already to send your way; Manannán Mac Lir has sent a few my way after catching my attention in a similar fashion - a string of "loud" synchronicities.

Cartomancy is perfectly reasonable - I just usually caution against something like a pendulum with only yes/no/maybe type answers, particularly for a neophyte, because the phrasing of the question will matter so much that a no might actually be an implied yes. Cartomancy gives you more nuance, particularly if you draw at least three cards.

I would not specify working times. In fact, though I suggest weekly offerings, I would suggest you phrase it "at least four times a month". The more flexibility you can give yourself at the beginning, the easier it will be to continue to fulfill the contract in times of distress. Because fairy contracts are not to be taken lightly: breaking a contract - even with a being you have come to consider a close friend - can have dire consequences. Morgan Daimler tells a story of how they came close to breaking one once, with beings they consider to be family, and went blind for several days as a warning.

(Speaking of which, if you haven't read any of Daimler's books, I suggest you do - the Kindle editions are fairly cheap.)

And yes you can absolutely continue to negotiate during the trial period, and even after, so long as you negotiate before you change something, not after, and you leave space in the conversation for your new companion to say no, or counter propose, explaining their own needs and desires. The only time it is disrespectful to attempt to renegotiate is when you are on the brink of breaking the agreement, or have already done so.

[shiraishi--kanade]

I heard you liked diagnosing project sekai characters with physical illnesses. I'm not disabled myself, but I wanted to include this in my writing and I trust you more than google. Can you share the symptoms of what you think Kanade is going through?

Anon this is a funny reputation to have. Thank you haha

On a more serious note I think there's a difference between what I think the characters can realistically be going through and what I personally like to throw at them for fun and whimsy. For the accuracy's sake let's go with the first one for Kanade and just look at what symptoms she canonically has and go from there.

We get a glimpse in the most of Kanade's struggles with her health in Spojoy Park, in which she experiences stuff like:

* Being generally exhausted even from walking (exercise intolerance)

* Having to stop and take a break a lot on the walk

* Heat sensitivity (although the is said to have no trouble tolerating heat in her menu conversation, this event actually points in the opposite direction)

* Poor-ish coronation/balance issues (falling from being spooked by a cicada, for one)

* Muscle ache

Now, a lot of these can also come from a sedentary lifestyle, which is probably what Sega intended, but if you want to go with a disability headcanon, it might be connected with some kind of cardiovascular disease. All of the things above are definitely what I experience.

If you want something chronic that's not actively life-threatening (unlike my own illness lol), I personally headcanon Kanade having POTS (the same as Touya because bear with me). Probably hypovolemic subtype as well. I can't really give you all the symptom because it's very individual and also I don't have it (although I have something similar enough that they both get confused for each other quite frequently), but there's a fairly active disability community on Tumbrl so you can go through the tags for research. Here's my five cents into something me and people with POTS share:

• Shortness of breath (dyspnea): feeling like you desperately need air but your lungs just can't expand enough for a deep inhale (like there's not enough space in your ribcage), so you're kind of left breathing very shallowly like a fish out of the water. Generally feels super unpleasant, like you're suffocating on a psychological level, but you're probably still able to breathe through your nose, it just doesn't feel like enough. Varies in severity, worse after exercise and flares, also sometimes I get severe attacks after falling asleep (to the point of it waking me up) but I don't know how common it is.

• Chest pain. Super individual + varies, but if you've ever experienced a tension headache, imagine something like this but in your heart instead. Not a hard thing to do research on all things considered.

• Tachycardia. You've also probably experienced it at least once even if you're able-bodied, it's super common during stress, anxiety attacks and stuff. In simple terms, your heart is beating way too fast and way too hard, sometimes with irregular rhythm. You can physically feel it in your chest and arteries, sometimes it also radiates into jaw, head and fingertips for me.

• Heat sensitivity. Just being more vulnerable to sun exhaustion most people. Even being in the sun for fifteen minutes is enough to make me dizzy, lightheaded and headachy.

• Standing up for longer than like ten minutes is hell on earth and my cardiovascular system doesn't like that one bit. The general consensus seems to be that walking is more tolerable than standing still though.

• Trouble sleeping because of all of the above. In Kanade's case it might be even more difficult, since her sleep schedule is... Messed up in general.

• All the outwardly noticeable symptoms like visible blue veins and paleness seem to be possible for Kanade as well. Most people assume I'm high before they think I might be disabled though lmao. Generally not a nice thing to have but the paler I look and the worse my eye bags (unrelated! To the amount of sleep I get! People really don't get this one for some reason!) get, the worse symptoms I get and vice versa makes it easier for other people to notice I'm not doing so hot and need accommodations. The better the day is the healthier I look.

• Cold hands and feet that also look kind of purple-ish, especially on bad days. Not necessarily means disability (some people are just like that but are healthy) but tends to freak people out a bit in combination with everything else. Yes, my hands are cold even if it's 40°C outside. No, I can't help it. Wearing gloves/socks still doesn't help. My body just can't regulate my temperature normally. Messes me up with how difficult it is to type and write as my fingers get really sticky and clumsy. Possible for Kanade as well as she has difficulty typing on her phone, so might be connected with that?

Even if not POTS, I believe most people with some sort of cardiovascular disease also experience some if not most of those things, so that's to get you started so to speak haha.

She might also have iron-deficiency anemia both as a comorbidity and just a thing on it's own because of her dubious nutrition intake, and is likely also vitamin D deficient because the Sun, man. She doesn't even have her curtains open. So mentioning her having to take supplements for that can a nice touch for your writing, especially since those two things are fairly common conditions!

I personally also headcanon her as having (h)EDS, but that's a talk for another day.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Aaahhh can I pls request a family imagine where Cheka draws on his arm with markers so that he and Leon have matching lion tattoos?? (=^w^=)

Tagging @jessamine-rose, as this was originally their request, made off-anon.

Tumblr mobile was being dumb and didn't save the completed version of this before posting. This just happens sometimes when I have stuff in my queue 😭 I had to take the initial post down, rewrite the other half of the imagine that didn't save, and then repost it (which is what you're looking at now).

Imagine this...

“... tan! Ojitan!���

Leona groaned, tumbling onto his back and pressing a pillow over his ears. No dice--his nephew’s persistent voice still cut through. A familiar, high-pitched and cheery whine that made Leona’s head throb unbearably.

“What is it?” he snapped, glaring at Cheka from beneath his pillow arch. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep here?”

“You’re still sleeping? It’s so early in the day, there’s so much time left to do stuff.”

"That's precious napping time for me."

"You're so weird, Ojitan."

Leona let out a sardonic rumble of laughter. "You have no idea."

The cub grinned, putting a hand on his uncle’s shoulder and gently shaking him. “C’mon rise and shine! I have something cool to show you!”

Ugh.

Leona rolled his eyes, but relented with a sigh. (From past experience, he knew that if he didn’t, he would soon find Cheka sitting on his on his stomach.) “Make it quick, then.”

“Hehe, okay! Guess what I have?”

Leona’s gaze was immediately drawn to Cheka’s right hand, which had remained behind his back the entire time. Clutching onto a drawing pad, no doubt, judging from the markers and torn papers scattered all over the floor of the room. The efforts of childhood whimsy and wonder.

Instead of smiling, Leona frowned. “I thought I told you to make it quick. And I despise guessing games.”

“That’s no fun, though!” Cheka leaned forward on his tip-toes. “Guess, guess! Only one time is good.”

“... A monkey’s uncle.”

The cub’s free hand flew to his mouth, attempting to shove his giggles back in, but to no avail. “That’s silly!! You’re not a monkey’s uncle, you’re my uncle--and I’m not a monkey, I’m a lion!”

“I wouldn’t have known that if you hadn’t told me just now,” he replied sarcastically. “Thanks so much for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome! Hehe, I’m surprised I know more than you do.” Cheka flashed a grin, ever the oblivious child. “Okay, thanks for waiting! It’s time for my big reveal!”

“Oh, goodie.”

Cheka revealed his right hand, which was balled into a tiny fist. His fingers unfurled, revealing... nothing in his palm. Leona stared down at the emptiness, his expression blank, touched with a little dubiousness.

“... Are you surprised?” Cheka looked hopeful.

Leona threw his head back and laughed. “Is this some sort of a joke, furball? If it is, it’s not a very good one.”

“That’s only half of the surprise! The other half is... this!”

Cheka reached for his left sleeve and yanked the fabric up, revealing a flash of ink upon his caramel-colored skin. Black as burnt sugar, pointed teeth and a mess of a mane sprawling out... not unlike the dark swirls that danced upon Leona’s own left bicep.

“Ta-daaah!!”

His eyes bulged. “That’s...”

... A really crappy imitation of my tattoo.

“Cheka. When the hell did you find the time to do this?” Leona demanded, thrusting a finger at the marker-made mess on the boy’s arm.

“You were napping up until a little while ago, so I sat around and looked at your arm to copy it on mine!”

“You were watching me sleep?!”

“I needed a model! I can’t remember what the tattoo looks like from memory....” Cheka’s ears flattened, worry marring his innocent face. “Um, Ojitan... Could it be that you’re angry with me?”

“... I don't care. Better you than Rook,” Leona grumbled, sinking back into his bed. “You’d better wash that off before you head home. The servants will be beside themselves seeing their impressionable little prince like this.”

Leona grimaced at the thought over their beady eyes bearing into him again. As though he was not already regarded with enough scorn. To them, he was less like a man and more like a wild beast. Simultaneously feared and hated.

“Nuh-uh! I’m never gonna wash it off, cuz I wanna keep matching with you!” Cheka declared stubbornly. He flexed his left arm, causing his shoddily done lion’s mane to flicker. “I’m gonna be just like you one day! I’ll be smart, and strong, and cool... Oh! And I’ll even be a Magical Shift star, too!!”

“Don’t make me laugh. There are tons of role models for you out there. Better people to look up to and idolize, like your old man. After all, you are his flesh and blood... and the prized prince of the savanna.”

“What if I want to be like Papa and Ojitan?”

“You’re chasing an impossible dream.” The words came out more strongly than he had intended them to, each syllable dropping like a cement brick. “If you were smart, you’d know when to quit.”

You’d accept second place and be done with it already.

“... You don’t want to follow in my footsteps.” Leona waved a hand, his tone bitter. The once vibrant viridian of his irises had dullened, twisting into something darker.

“Your future’s brighter than mine. It’s so bright, it hurts my eyes to look at it,” he spat, his spirit shining with spite. “That’s what’s waiting for you, so you’d better take it before someone else comes along to try and steal it from you... someone like me.”

Cheka went quiet, staring at his uncle with a startled expression. The look of an antelope ensnared in a predator’s trap. Hurt and fear, all culminated into one. “Ojitan...”

He’s the same as them. I should have known.

“Do you get it now? I’m not someone worth some wide-eyed kid’s admiration,” he snarled, turning away from Cheka--afraid to meet that sparkling gaze, full of endless possibilities. “If you understand that much, then leave, and--OOF!!”

A small body tackled into his from behind, cutting Leona off. His assailant planted their face against his broad back, and their scrawny arms wrapped around his waist to give a squeeze.

“Leona Ojitan... I didn’t understand everything you said just then, but... I think I kind of understand. You’re... hurting right now, aren’t you? It hurts so much that you don’t know what to do.”

“Me... hurting?” Leona scoffed, even has he balled his hands into fists. His fingernails dug into his palms, leaving marks. “Ridiculous. You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t think it’s imaginary.”

“... What do you know? You’re just a kid.”

“I know lots of things!” Cheka tightened his grip on his uncle, his muscles straining under his skin, the lion of his makeshift tattoo stretching thin. “Like when you hurt like this, a hug’ll make it all feel better! Papa and Mama told me! So... Until it stops hurting, I’ll keep hugging you like this!”

“You’ll what?!” Leona paled, starting to buck and flail against his nephew. He attempted to pry him off, only to have the cub immediately cinch back onto him moments later. “O-Oi, Cheka...!! Let go, I don’t want--no, I don’t need any hugs, damn it!!”

“Hehe! Nope, I can’t do that! Our arm marks match, Ojitan! So I want our smiles to match, too!” The cub squealed, rubbing his cheek against his exasperated uncle’s. “You can’t run away from me!”

“This is why I told you to wash off that stupid marker...!!”

[angstyaches]

maybe elliott being really nauseous but not able to throw up? sickies that need to throw up but can’t is >>>

Read Part One first!

Also using dialogue prompts from this ask from an anon.

CW: ANGST. food mention, species-related food intolerance, nausea, stomach pain, burping, character suffering with emetophobia, induced vomiting (implied/fade-to-black).

Please let me know if I’ve forgotten to warn for anything.

___

The city centre was about twenty minutes from the townhouse, if one walked at a decent pace and cut through the public park. The rain seemed to have eased off indefinitely, so they made the unspoken agreement to walk, rather than wait for a tram to bring them closer to home.

Elliott was relieved; the nausea had simmered down to a manageable level for now, but he couldn’t speak to how he’d feel if he was to find himself crammed into a speeding tin box packed with noisy, smelly humans. That wasn’t to say that his stomach didn’t hurt under the current circumstances; the closest sensation he could compare the feeling to was developing a stitch from running too soon after consuming something heavy. The wad of undigested popcorn felt like a thin spike through his side. 

In an extremely manageable kind of way.

Although Felix was holding his hand, Elliott got the feeling it was more out of obligation than affection. Elliott couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he realised that his partner was avoiding eye contact, too.

“Thank you,” he ventured, giving Felix’s hand an unrequited squeeze. He waited, hoping for a ‘for what?’, or at least a glance, but was forced to continue unprompted. “Thanks for coming out with Asher and I tonight. I really needed the emotional support.” 

Hint: I’d like some support right now. Or even just a conversation.

Nothing.

Elliott pursed his lips before bringing them apart, making a soft popping noise. “For a movie about so many different cultures, the casting wasn’t very diverse, was it?”

Felix didn’t budge. His eyes were fixed right ahead, on the dirt path that stretched out ahead of them, weaving through stretches of grass and flowerbeds. Streetlights were few and far between here, but that didn’t matter much to either of them.

Time for the big guns. Elliott sucked in a breath. “I thought it was better than the book, if I’m being honest.”

The tension that leapt up through Felix’s back and muscles was palpable. He emitted the faintest whimper while maintaining that same, disinterested hold on Elliott’s hand.

Wow. This was some serious self-discipline from the boy who usually indulged each and every thought and whimsy as soon as it occurred to him. It almost made Elliott want to shake the boy’s hand.

“Fee,” he murmured. He mightn’t have cracked so soon under regular terms, but he was drained and miserable. He couldn’t keep fighting his partner at the same time as his own stomach. “I’m… lonely over here.”

Felix curled his fingers inwards, across his palm, as though he was about to examine his cuticles while he walked. 

“Jesus! You’re acting like I killed a guy,” Elliott seethed. He drove a tooth against the inside of his lip as his stomach pinched and bubbled with acidic foulness. “All I did was eat some popcorn. No more than three or four handfuls. You – you also ate the popcorn when Asher offered it.”

A light scoff finally broke through Felix’s wall of false stoicism.

“What?” Elliott demanded.

“That is hardly the same thing,” Felix said. “I am still partially human. Your system cannot process everything the way a human body can.”

“Yes, well, I don’t know if you’ve realised this before, Fee, but I am almost practically double your size.”

A faint flash of confusion crossed Felix’s face.

Elliott went on. “If I eat less than you, it looks just as weird as not eating at all.”

“Oh… gosh.” Felix tugged lightly on a pigtail with his free hand. “Maybe you’re right, maybe… Maybe I should have refused, too.”

“No, that’s - that’s not what I meant.” Elliott squeezed Felix’s hand, beckoning him to hold on a little tighter. He couldn’t help but shudder as he recalled Felix’s condition during his first few months with the Aldridges; alternating between being emotionally and physically unable to drink or keep down sustenance. “I never want you to refuse food – or anything, for that matter – for my sake, boo. I was only trying to explain my logic to you. Appearances mean a lot to humans. You understand that.”

“Yes. I do. I – I should have realised… Spending time with Asher’s important to you, and I understand that as well –”

The casual mention of Asher’s name made Elliott’s stomach turn in an entirely different way. He gripped Felix’s hand even tighter, aware of the fact that he was starting to space out as his partner continued speaking, but unable to do anything about it. 

It was... It was that hazy, untethered look in Asher’s eyes as he’d looked into Elliott’s, like he’d discovered a peephole into the far reaches of the universe… Elliott couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before, but his days of being friends with a human were now numbered.

All he had left to do was to choose a moment to say goodbye to Asher for good.

Elliott pressed his lips together to suppress a belch. I have to…

“– Honestly, Elli, I’m so sorry, but I was partially hoping that vampires had evolved beyond the need to eradicate food,” Felix was saying.

Otherwise, at some point, Asher will stop believing that I’m just ‘youthful’.

“Just as Ryan explained how intrinsic obedience to the Elder died out, or how our metabolisms developed to accept alcohol –”

He’ll realise I’m not ageing at all. He’s not an idiot.

“It’s rather unfortunate that – Elli?”

He’ll realise he’s friends with a monster –

“Elli.”

A bloodsucking creature of the night.  

“Darling!”

Felix’s hands created a gentle wall, beyond which Elliott’s chest couldn’t move. He blinked, struggling to focus on his partner’s face, despite the fact that the dark path and the dim lights did nothing to impair a vampire’s vision.

“Elli, what is it? You’re trembling.”

“I…” Elliott was almost startled by the sound of his own voice, muffled by a watery sensation that somehow affected his ears, throat, and the pit of his belly. He tried to reach for Felix’s hands again, but found that his arms, from the elbows down, were casually drifting in and out of tiny-swarm-of-bats form. He hadn’t even realised he’d been doing it. Hadn’t realised he’d stopped breathing. Hadn’t realised the wrenching pain in his stomach had escalated so much…

“Elli?”

“I can’t move,” he breathed.

“What?”

“I feel… sick.”

“You still feel sick?” Felix’s voice wobbled in alarm. “You didn’t throw it all up before we left the theatre?”

“Couldn’t…” Elliott shook his head and shut his eyes, hoping it would somehow still his senses, his nerve endings, his stomach contents, time itself, everything –

“You couldn’t?” Cold palms reached up to cup Elliott’s jaw on both sides. Felix’s fingers were gentle. Like he was handling expensive crockery. “Elli, what do you mean by ‘couldn’t’? You couldn’t vomit? You couldn’t vomit at – at all?”

Elliott gulped. Pain pulsed like electricity through his belly, there one second, gone the next. Back one second, gone the next – and when he tried to open his eyes and ground himself, oh, fuck, there was Felix’s face, inches below his own, eyes watery and wide, pale freckles even paler in the absence of sunlight…

He groaned at a sudden flash of pain that ran from a pinprick point behind his belly button, right up his throat and into his brain. Felix’s gaze was drawn downward as Elliott’s stomach gurgled, triggering a long ripple of movement inside.

“Fuck,” Elliott breathed.

“That’s – that’s it, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re alright…”

He barely noticed as he leaned into Felix’s arms and allowed himself to be lowered to the ground, easing himself onto his knees. They were right in the centre of the dirt path, but it was late enough that few other pedestrians would be making their way through. And even if they did, they would assume one – or both – of them was just black-out drunk. Humans in the city rarely gave a shit about each other, as Elliott knew all too well.

“I ca- I can’t,” he winced, his resting fangs bared to the night air, as his stomach cramped, sparking a jolt of electric panic in Felix. His hand was tentatively on Elliott’s back, which Elliott both resented and appreciated in equal, confusing measure.

Elliott’s hand flew up to his mouth, covering a shallow, but… extended burp. He gulped against the taste of acid. God, it felt like something was bouncing on his stomach… pushing on his throat… filling up his lungs…

On some level, he was aware of Felix’s repeated attempts to get his attention and ask him questions, but he might as well have just been plunged underwater for all he could hear. He wanted Felix’s hand off his back. No, he wanted Felix closer. No, he wanted –

His stomach lunged for the back of his throat. His throat fought back, feeling as though its walls had physically squeezed together to meet in the middle. He had visions of bile and blood and mushed-up mouthfuls of popcorn pouring out of him, even though the heaving in his diaphragm was as dry as the dirt path.

He gasped, feeling as though no air was reaching his lungs, and braced his fists against his knees. No, he thought, as his insides groaned prophetically.

“Elli? Listen to me, alright?” Felix’s voice had dropped to a register usually reserved for when he was emotionally drained, or… somehow, Elliott’s nausea-muddled thoughts landed on an image of Felix trying to coax Shayne into doing something basic, such as eating, or taking medicine, or getting out of bed. “I know. I know how much you hate this.”

This? Elliott inhaled heavily through his nose, his lips trembling and covered by the palm of one hand as the other continued pressing into his thigh. He fought another unproductive gag, and a rush of painful air in his chest, so that he could look Felix in the eye.

“I know it probably makes you feel as though you have no control, and Elli, I understand that it – it can be difficult…” Felix frowned, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Elliott’s jacket. “But this is important.”

A roll of nausea made Elliott’s shoulders jump. His throat constricted around nothing, and his abdominal muscles were sent into a fresh wave of spasms. He shut his eyes and shook his head, silently conveying to his partner, I can’t.

“You have to,” Felix whispered, understanding the message completely. “Darling, you’ve eaten something that your belly is clearly unable to handle. Listen to your body – literally and figuratively!”

“I-I can’t,” Elliott choked out. His voice was muffled behind his palm and beneath the tension building in his throat. A tearless, hollow sob shook his body, followed up by a grumbling belch that stung the insides of his cheeks. “I tried to – I tried, and I can’t, I can’t –”

“You don’t have much of a choice.”

He knew Felix was right. The cramps were getting tighter, as though something was physically gnawing and chewing away at his organs and running out. Elliott thought for sure that he was going to black out when another round of heaving clenched his stomach muscles, and was both impressed and horrified to find he was still conscious to let out another sickly belch afterwards. Sweat clung to every inch of his skin, stinging his eyes so that he couldn’t tell whether or not his eyes were watering from panic or pain or over-exertion.

“Fee,” he whimpered, once again not recognising the sound of his own voice. He lowered one hand so that he could grip Felix’s, with the unsteady hold of a prisoner about to walk the plank.

“Yes, darling.”

Elliott huffed anxiously around the knot in his throat and his swirling stomach. He couldn’t believe was he was about to ask Felix to do. He reckoned he must have looked pathetic, making pleading eyes as his sweat-drenched bangs clung to his forehead. “Help me.”

A beat of silence as Felix digested this. “Are you sure –?”

“Yes.”

There was a quiet shuffling of knees in the dark, the crunching of dirt and gravel, before Felix was behind his partner’s hunched form, trembling as much as though he were the one experiencing the worst nausea of his life. He brushed his fingers lightly against Elliott’s sides at first, feeling for any major flow of tension to those areas, until Elliott felt like he was going to scream, disturbing every bird or bat that dared to conduct its activities in this particular park.

“Just do it,” he begged.

“Okay, darling,” Felix whispered. His belly pushed against Elliott’s back as his arms snaked around him, one settling firmly around his waist to administer pressure to his stomach.

Elliott almost bit down on a whimper, but promptly released the distressed sound. His brain flooded with adrenaline, as though he was being pressed down upon by the crumbled walls of a four-story building, having the air pushed out of him –

The cool skin of Felix’s hand brushed against his jaw again, no doubt sensing the trembling tension there. Elliott tried to let go of some of that, too; the last thing he wanted now was to accidentally bite Felix’s hand.

A kiss was pressed to the back of his head. Elliott let out a soft sob, suddenly wishing Felix could somehow hold him even tighter.

“I love you, alright? You’re going to be fine,” Felix promised, before his fingers reached for Elliott’s mouth.

[themonsterunderthebed]

19, 20, 38 :)

19. what is your favorite album art from one of your favorite artists?

oooh i LIKE this one. shit okay this is not my real answer this is an honorable mention because i used transcendental youth by the mountain goats in my answer to an anon already but that album art is SOLID. tmg honestly often has good fuckin album art (see: dark in here)

okay here's the first thing that popped to mind after transcendental youth

from the album voyage by hms revenge. band has not existed for a Long Time and it turns out one of the guys from it is a shitty shitty dude but i remember being given that CD and being IN LOVE with the album art. honestly blown up on my screen here it looks less impressive than it is in my memory but i was SO into it. the color, the shading, the melancholy whimsy i somehow get from it. i could just stare at the cd case for like five minutes. also i gotta say even a decade later despite everything i still listen to this ep sometimes, it is good music

20. SHOW ME A PICTURE OF ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE ARTISTS. RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO SEE THEM.

OKAY i am SO torn on this question bc i wanna keep it Fresh and Exciting but i also am a simple girl who just really loves hozier and the mountain goats. u know i used my Fresh and Exciting credit in the last answer of this question so here's john darnielle for you i'm going to a tmg concert soon and i am beyond excited

why can this middle-aged nerd look directly into my soul

38. did one of your favorite bands/artists do a cover???? tell me about it!!!

YES okay we're veering into musicals territory bc musicals were my first love and i love them still. i listened to hadestown on a loop for like three weeks recently and eva noblezada is. my queen. my love. i am in love with this woman and she will never know i exist and i swear to god it is a terrible tragedy. anyway she sang "huddled masses" by shaina taub and i swear to god my heart broke and was healed simultaneously. i just put it on right now and had to stop because i couldn't type and listen to it at the same time because it demands full attention. god i'm obsessed. sidenote she also did a cover of take me to church that MURDERS me

okay i know the question is just for one cover but just REAL quick i gotta throw aaron tveit's cover of creep in here too because even in the shitty quality recording i am so obsessed with everything about it. his voice control. his acting the song (the eyes! he makes his eyes dead and resigned and tragic and then brings them to life? i can't deal). the way he DEVASTATES half a verse with his full vocal capacity and then brings it RIGHT back down to dead without any warning. it's just too goddamn good okay

thank you so much for the opportunity to ramble at length about random albums and artists, i honestly had SO much fun doing this!!!

the ask game, for the curious: https://themonsterunderthebed.tumblr.com/post/696915985297457152

[marshmallowprotection]

your response to an anon who asked about how you do matchups popped up on my dash and I thought it was really insightful. you seem like you have a lot of wisdom. i hope it's okay to request a romantic matchup of my own then, no worries if not.

My pronouns are she/her and my romantic preference would be for a guy. I'm 5'4 and my style usually lingers somewhere between feminine, preppy, and "basic". I do think it's important to put at least some level of effort into my appearance.

I'm a super hardworking and ambitious person (sometimes at the expense of my own mental health and wellness). It's important to me to be able to work towards my goals and be with someone who has goals of their own. I'd get frustrated by someone who never knows when to take things seriously. I have a tendency to stress myself out sometimes and often let my stress bottle up. Cleaning/organizing and baking always help me feel centered and reduce my stress when I feel like I'm freaking out a bit. I tend to also be a little bit of a control freak on occasion in everyday life.

I can be a bit reserved when it comes to meeting new people, but when I'm around my close friends and family, I'm much more open and talkative. I always don't feel the need to force conversation though and can enjoy time around people just by doing our own thing next to each other and relaxing in each other's company. My friends and family are really important to me and I always try to be reliable and there for them whenever they need support.

When it comes to hobbies, I enjoy reading, watching tv/movies, cross stitch, and shopping. My favorite genres in books, movies, tv shows, etc. are romance and mystery, but I especially love when something has a big plot twist or is really thought provoking so that I can discuss it with someone I know. I also tend to be a romantic. I'm not really an outdoorsy person though and don't enjoy things like camping and hiking a ton.

When it comes to my idea of a perfect date it would probably be something pretty classic like going out to a nice dinner. I do enjoy getting dressed up and doing something fancy. Though, I'd also enjoy something like going to a carnival or festival together and just enjoying each other's company for a day. The most important thing is just spending time and connecting with the person I care about. My love languages are quality time and physical touch. It's simple, but I think it's super sweet just walking down the street and holding hands with someone. I also think it's nice when someone is taller than me so I can lean my head on their arm or shoulder while we stand next to each other (this sounds cheesy haha).

Goodness this came out so long, but I hope it's okay. Thanks so much for doing this!

I match you with...

Jumin!

You're someone that tends to know what the little things are. You've got everything down to science simply because you want to be able to find that sense of whimsy. You know what feels good to you and all of the things that don't.

You want someone who means what they say and says what they mean, you don't want someone to lead you on or hide from you. You're a conversationalist, but you're also very simple when it comes to how you want to be in love. You want the classic bells and whistles. That's why Jumin Han works for you in the first place, you're the two that can get a nice meal together and not worry about what comes after that. You can take a walk together and look at the sky afterward, finding joy in holding each other tenderly.

You value parallel play. The ideal evening is you two working on your hobbies by the fire, Elizabeth curled up between you as you idly talk now and again, but let the music play in the background as things do play around you. Jumin loves to talk but at the same time, he loves that he has someone who knows what he's saying without thinking, and you talk through the meeting of your hands, your eyes, and your smiles. It's perfect.

[sonicfanj]

Why do you prefer Amy over Sally?

I’ve taken to long to answer this question and would like to first thank you for your patience Anon.

So, I suppose a bit of an explanation for why I took so long is due as well. Mostly, it was a lack of time but also trying to find a way to define ‘why’. There are an awful lot of ways I could go about it as I am the type of person who is heavily invested in the details. Unfortunately the more I thought about it the harder it was going to get for me to really actually break it down. Fortunately, something recently reminded me of the role the Uncle Chuck plays in it and I can fortunately use him to transition into my history with the characters.

Now, I’ve been a Sonic fan for a long time, all the way back to 1991 actually with the original. As a US citizen naturally I saw SatAM and AoStH on TV as well. Where I get strange from what I see though is that I was quite the picky kid. I couldn’t understand why Sonic did not match his in game design, and had no idea what was wrong with Eggman. And yes, even back in the early 90s I was one of the few kids who knew the Japanese name was his original name, though I used them interchangeably back then. The thing is though, neither show ever looked like the games and that bothered me to no end. I recall that my older siblings and I preferred SatAM to AoStH for the more serious story and atmosphere, even likening it to the bad futures of Sonic CD. There in though is where the divide begins.

I was one of the very few kids who played Sonic CD back in 1993 and to this day it is still my favorite Sonic game, no less video game of all time. I actually did not play the higher praised by the fanbase Death Egg Saga games until Sonic Jam on the SEGA Saturn and that little collection did something for me that Sonic CD had also done. They showed me with the OVA trailer that Sonic and Eggman could be drawn properly. It showed me that Tails could be colored properly. They showed me that the wonder of the games could be captured in animation. It was glorious and to this day still leaves me yearning for a Sonic anime that actually captures it. Sonic CD on it’s own though was already killing SatAM for me.

A lot of people praise the Freedom Fighters. That quirky crew of rebels has brought so many people so much joy and I have nothing but respect for them for that. The thing is though, they were forgettable to me. When I turned my back on pretty much anything that was not the games that I knew I completely forgot about them until I finally got involved in the fanbase after Sonic Generations was announced and I had to do some major research to know what anyone was talking about. A game centric upbringing with only really main games as those I played will do that.

Amy meanwhile, despite CD being the only game I played that she was in until Adventure just struck me right. Her design, her on screen personality. These things just filled me with joy and it was very rare that I would not interreact with her in Palm Tree Panic as much as I could. I was actually so disappointed her design was changed for Adventure but her personality was exactly what I was expecting; a sweet bubbly girl with a lot of spunk and a love for Sonic.

So at this point I should come back around to Uncle Chuck as he will be necessary to explain why it took so long for me to even find anything in Sally worth enjoying, no less actually liking her come the 252 reboot. As I mentioned above, Sonic CD is my favorite game all time, but for as much as I loved Amy even back in 1993, Metal Sonic was my favorite character. Getting to Stardust Speedway and spending hours trying to beat him were the highlights with my playing back the until I finally beat him and cleared the game. That difficulty endeared Metal Sonic to me and left a very strong impression on me that still persists to this day. The thing is, Metal Sonic was my childhood and Uncle Chuck was a slap in the face.

You may recall that back in SatAM and a lot of early Archie, Uncle Chuck spent a lot of time roboticized. Now I know I did not see SatAM regularly because TV stations are questionable in their practices and I have parents who wanted the TV for their own shows. As a result I was unprepared for his introduction and in the cliffhanger where they simply showed a pair of red glowing eyes, little Metal Sonic fan that I was thought they were introducing Metal Sonic. When the next episode revealed it was a roboticized Uncle Chuck and not Metal Sonic, it was the last straw for the kid that was into Sonic for the games, and I only had access to two of them. Yet I turned my back on SatAM and everything made in the US that was not directly related to the games.

So because of Uncle Chuck my primary exposure to the cast were the main games and Sonic CD. Adventure finally let me play as Amy and the Freedom Fighters were a shoved aside memory from a wasted opportunity who never impressed themselves onto me. All of that changed come Generations as X showed me that even the Japanese could butcher the games I love and not draw Sonic right and as I joined the fandom through the US Sally should have had the chance to impress herself upon me. Unfortunately she was not given that opportunity because of her fans.

As is obvious, I’m an Amy fan. When I joined the fandom being an Amy fan in the US was not seen as a good thing and the war of hatred between Sally fans and Amy fans still has scars left over today throughout the Sonic community. When presented with Sally through the fans I interacted with, Sally was simply perfection incarnate and Amy should die in a fire while Sonic worships her for killing the hellspawn. It was not a good experience and offered no support for the games and the adventures I enjoyed and came to Sonic for. I also for a time came to despise the character solely for her fans which happened to me in recent years with the Tales of Franchise and the character Alisha. Unpleasant fans make it difficult to enjoy a character or even come to at least understand them. Fortunately I was willing to do some research of my own because I still felt like I needed the knowledge, and maybe the character could speak for herself. I was in for quite a bit of disappointment.

What my research turned up at the time was a character who was simultaneously useless, nothing more but an object of power for Sonic to worship like an indoctrinated thrall, and managed to match Tails in point of view at the time of dumbing Sonic down to where I felt in their presences he couldn’t figure out he was supposed to open his own mouth to eat if they weren’t there. This may be hard to believe but I actually disliked Tails quite a bit for several years as Sonic seemed to be constantly dumbed down so Tails could be useful rather than the kid who could keep up if he gave his all. Yet the OVA (subbed) saved Tails for me. Sally meanwhile continued to undermine Sonic with the Genesis Story during the events of Sonic 1 via the first Genesis Wave where she “helped” Sonic find the courage to enter the water in Labyrinth Zone and he found it not so bad because of her. It was one of the few times I found why people called her a Mary Sue.

What finally saved Sally for me was actually Amy. Though I never liked how aggressive and violent Amy had become compared to playful and mischievous from Sonic X on, and a coming reexamination of her character after learning she addressed Sonic a certain way in the Japanese manuals leading me to fully fall for Kazuyuki Hoshino’s vision of her, her conversations with Mecha Sally would turn the tide for Sally. Amy being Amy spoke of friendship and the friendship they had. While I never read the comics and could not examine their relationship, come the reboot in 252, from the get go the two were shown as good friends and I could finally see Sally’s character. She was wise tactically and cared for her friends, bit was also highly responsible and took her duties seriously. In Amy and her friends she found the comfort to unwind and just be another person no matter what was going on. Her and Amy’s chats while going around the world during the lead up to and during the Unleashed adaption made her fun and enjoyable, no less relatable. She was finally a character, a person, and not just an object that Sonic was chained to like a slobbering cartoon dog with their bone. It was refreshing and I enjoy the friendship between Sally and Amy so much that I still feel if the Freedom Fighters were to have been adapted to IDW for just a cameo that Sally would have been the perfect friend to hand the Restoration off to as she finally returned to her own adventuring ways. And that right there is the big difference point.

I come to Sonic for adventure, whimsy, and wonder. The sense of discover of meeting new people and seeing wonderous new locations. I love characters full of life and the love for adventure. Sally, unfortunately for her, does not represent that. Her role for years kept Sonic away from those adventures. Instead of supporting whimsy and constant new discovery, she supported stability and staying forever at home. By the nature of her role as a character and in universe, she just can’t be that type of character and that is not her fault. Amy meanwhile is a character designed to follow Sonic no matter where he goes. That she also is a girly-tomboy, one of my favorite character archetypes, but also bubbly and silly, playful and mischievous, and generally full of good cheer and limitless positivity (or used to be at lease) just always entertains me. That she also has the courage to open wear and express her emotions, including her love, is both entertaining on one hand, but also inspiring on another when you are raised in a society that hates honesty, emotions, and expressing that you love someone. Amy was refreshing, whereas Sally when I first looked into her, and her fans that I interacted with, represented oppression and that being you was the worst thing that could ever happen to the human race, something that Sonic and Amy both stand against. Fortunately Amy showed me there is plenty to like with Sally, and it’s a real shame her character was vaulted before that potential could finally be perceived. And yet, in the end, as I grew up on the main games and had my expectations born of them and further refined as I learned more and more of the Japanese lore for the games, Sally and the role she has could never provide me with what I come to Sonic for. Adventure, the whimsy that gives rise to it, the discovers that come from it, and the heroics at it’s climax. Sally by nature is not a whimsical character, nor should she be. It isn’t who she is and she deserves to be respected for that. And it’s thanks to her friendship with Amy that I finally saw that and can enjoy her character. But like Amy, I want to follow Sonic on his adventures, and her bubbly, playful, cheerful, optimistic, and mischievous personality makes following Sonic that much more enjoyable to me.

To simplify it here at the end, my love of Metal Sonic and Uncle Chuck prevented me from ever learning who Sally was. It was Amy’s friendship with her that finally changed that and I found a character who has a lot of potential and is quite enjoyable on her own. But Amy’s personality, whimsy, and propensity for adventure, or the the trouble that will take her on one, makes her the more enjoyable character for me. I know the whole explanation was a little long, but I hope it helps explains my preference for you Anon. Thanks for asking.

[rwmhunt]

Leviticus, Chapter 23

1. Substitute day, and a return unto A sender of something, as to another place, That hasn't the wherewithal to get there either; I will open it again and learn That which is already known to be such As isn't so much.

2. And it's not mine, but a, And is the right way round. For as I set the seasons, I reprise, reply, replay; It's substitution day.

3. And Sabbath is the seventh, Whence the lord, in all thy dwellings, Is up for doing nothing; Or Sabbath is the sixth; I don't care.

4. And welcome to my channel, It's great to have each of you still with me- A man who speaks of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer, With- such are the seasons, Even, holy convocations, For want to be sure of a constant, It's Senhal, An obscure term For an old friend.

5. Love, love, lo, this is not Of a cloven love, Leviticus, I will speak of it Unto sundry strangers and neighbours, As just one more month's dusk Then it'll be passover, Not once. Not twice, Not once. Love. So we can still imagine a time When all of this will go again;

6. But a day will approach When, if there is something That can look back, Could think that 'here' and 'then' Are really very close;- And I wonder if they saw The strings of direct attachment, Lining their behaviours; Just flour and water, But I don't think so; Still, anytime was closer to history than this one, So what do I know?

7. If I were to put the onus On to the impossible, Then what was light-hearted and playful, Would be wont to become ridden and surly; Lord, being an influencer is a serious endeavour, For how many unsuccessful oblations are there That are out there? Lo, state your appreciation; Don’t just wing it. Plan it out in kalends, Of which are reckon'd to be backwards; so, To start, do nothing.

8. After a week, Let's go- Gift your influencers' grift, For, when you so do this, It strokes the ego of the flames, Who then add unto the savour of sacrifice, Thus, get me it up; Make it smolder, Then, use its fatal nature To activate the future.

9. And simple: These are nacks, To muster control Over gods; Are junk and have been; That we all have interest vested- Let ignorance of it control Hereafter, same, so anon and amen.

10. Crowdsplain- First fruit the priest Hard and long, Find the tunnels, Writing what's impossible For the brain to conceive, That it may then be read back of, To supplant and supersede; So become possible.

11. And thither, the Wheatchief Will wave the sheaf Tomorrow- See how it goes? Ol' Cathode Ray, and Non-mathmatical aesthetic identities, The spirit of the radio take her.

12. That once the sheaf And all the while Be specific unto thy niche- Nativize unto thy platform, For, the experience shall follow The rhyzome's swerve and function, So that the user-expectation be wrought From whence the contents be placed- In this case, Add in a lamb shank ponzi scheme to my platform; Smells wonderful.

13. So unto the titular character, Exerting such low level leverage as Begetteth me of an ephah cake, And a quarter hin of wine; I don't need the free stuff, I am a successful influencer, But shouldst you want me to advertise for suckers On my platform that I have built myself for free; Well, we're all getting along so good.

14. Then it's me first, And simple: see- That our boldest endeavours, And most exciting adventures- They have not yet even begun; That, in spite of all the detritus, In the teeth of all that we've done, my boys, I tell you: The best Is yet To come.

15. Then, 49 days later, Seek whence Thought might come in sequence, And I'm really so blessed and thankful to you all for being here; So, as thought comes  in sequence And thus, it wasn't known where We are going here as we begun. O tensions, retensions- I use to used to run.

16.  Know, influencers, I am the hype; So on-brand that I can give unto you, And through you, the trick- Pyramid that still stands For the thousands- Round it up; So nice.

17. And, super relevant- Optimize continuously, also, Compensate me handsomely; while Sacrifice may seem like a quick-success marketing strategy, It isn’t so. Such are the things that keep not happening; More food please.

18. Lots more, This is why the burden of proof for rhetorical claim Shall falleth shortly As among the Open Wounde who should maketh of such a claim; It is not upon the world to provide him a fallacy, But he, who's to prove the world its truth; which, Across all channels, He, rerewise, hath been completely unable to do.

19. So suffer him his own precarity; And then some; Think back to when, Twirrup twipip,-pwiwip, Suwee, psu, swoo swsoo, So sweepeth they in song, As we, quiet, Through our blossom comedown, That hideth our tiny singers, And the bulgence behind the wiltage, In the verges, Be of burgeoning seed.

20. And everyone wave; All this- so good as is it to be; And though under a hail Of black tormentors, Our torment, And through its over-drone, With no one remembering it happening, But, who'll remember the photograph?

21. Sit back; You've lost everything, So lo, olah, you remember how mother died- Bringing cow parsley into the tent of meaning; For she went by the umbels as we'd walked on the plain, And they had reminded her of those lace cushions That her ladies-in-waiting had carried, And so gave them the name.

22. Embassadors, Leave thy corners to disillusion; A true influencer ideally keeps doing What they genuinely gain of a passion for. They know their value and their need is not to shew it, So spend a lot of time reading news and sharing opinions with others online. By buying-up dozens of potential plots, They help to plot the exodus to less, And stake an astronaut over the shape of a woman. But politics isn’t about the weird worship of one dude, So his words became their actions.

23.  Is it worth your time To try and ignore that, if, What you are listening to Is  the most effective form of advertising- A babbling of a technique That hath impostulated language, Then, should things go well, We may even be able to rend a cross-paracleation With phantom trust-collaborators, Interested in guest-posting for backlinks and exposure, Thus, marrying into micro-influencers, And so tap into our y.

24. But be consistent: For my favourite casts come out the same- Here, crowdplain how a seventh month is a Sound the trumpet month; See how it goes? Lo, but half of me struggles with the whimsy Of the other side that's yet so entranced; No, I'm not sure why, it's just the way I feel.

25. Down tools, more please. Gnaw your own head off. All things positivity- and It is always negotiation; Not: You bring it to the tabernacle, I sing- There is no shortness of spirit In opinion To be cut down. Equal positives, so unto Those things that keep not happening.

26. There are voices you hear of, As quoted as begetters of insightful opinion, Who art themselves never made extant, Being only reported hereto as sources, And lo, that they are the influencers. And I'm super curious as to know what you guys think; Please be sure to leave your comments amid the margins.

27. Thence, afflict thy souls, For, tis atonement day- We're ten into the seventh, And the snap's back when I was An offensive lineman, And the pass sent over- The big lie, long, long to the long deceiver, Ah, burnt offerings- How original, Best look unto the analytics, And if they give you not access there unto , Verily, you are going to have to fight, Fight as peaceful as Sheol, Down, deep down and dirty- I'm not going to call it off.

28. Down tools; Atone to the dial tone, No one calls; Let Ladder Capital Createth of the sponsored post- Like many on the medium, To use an ode- I used to play the role; To laugh and laugh; Laugh til I despised all there was to laugh at, And then I stopped, And in the silence, saw what I had done.

29. But laughing is not so bad.

We've been a good wee band. Yes we have. No one is coming after us. And if you're alright, mack, You'll get cut off.

30. So workers got destroyed That day, And Aaron was frustrated, And livid. Reach round; Feel thy spine. The way people stop you From being helpful When you are helpful, So that you cannot be helpful, So that they can cut you From your people.

31. Tardiness in perpetuity, Aye, today, it is Yplangenday- Well, I'll have to put myself Through some more adamantine Paces than god allows, else I'll never get enough done.

32. And be bold, For, you'll need to deracinate; Chancers are toxic vocations Within the tent of meaning; It's content; it's all content- Divide and game, so- Focus and grow. I mean to make sure That you are a consistent- Start of the ninth evening , End of the next.

33. God doesn't eat though, That I can see- For all that we give him, God doesn't eat.

34. Crowd, 15/7, and tabernacle feast week; Still his words became their actions, Shrill, until the doctrine of laches, When the searched-after Faithless elector went libertarian, Like many on the medium, Clade unto such bolled and novel obstacles What stretched where chance was slim, And slim was still in quarantine.

35. To start again, down tools, For, lo, if you want to be in a prison camp, You needst allow yourself the luxury Of being stupid enough to get captured.

36. Sacrifice? Spluttereth the LORD: But I'm fed up with so much burnt rubbish, I wish for forced fresh rhubarb, So shunt and jive; I've Optimized, and optimize continuously.

37. Drinks break; take life indicting, Gratify all at a local craven hire scheme, Go abroad singing, so merrylike, To slough off the whole As one enormous rhyzome. Deus Hic! God is drunk! I heard that, Brian Leg-Coverall.

38. O well done Jehus, And good to be with you, Yes you, Who are good in a crisis; A reminder- I'm working with mischief.

39. Wait, rest again, To live is to live through An embarrassment of times, Damarkated as meaningful riches, That will not be well remembered. Really, I am so blessed.

40. But try to ask of a question; So that thy congregation Might make communion in answer, See how it goes? Say, But why, isn't it A bit like palm sunday? The stream changeth its name As it passeth through each neighbourhood. I knew it as; Well it doesn't matter- You're not reposting, nor liking my banal repartee, So, unfollow.

41. And it goes; for I have giv'n unto them a scapegoat, But they cast it not out; So shall there be a reaving that will follow, and Themselves, they shall be cut off from.

42. Then all ye home-born booth dwellers In dwelling booths, Shall dwell in booths seven days and know That you are living in the rhyzome..

43. And everyone will know that I made you do this- The old booth dwellers, needing my rescue out of Egypt, So weakened,  the Open Wounde stayeth open; And remember to tell us what you think, Way down, deep down, down in the margins.

44. And Mose went about with the crowdsplaining Old loud-haler; A simple fellow out of storybook glen, From the tent of meaning, From the twilight men, He ran and told- And the thing is, They were too clever To not know what they were doing- So the target becomes bios; Is the common psychle, The answer- How would you like it? Is - 'I didn't'. And that therein has a hold and salience, As before tends to be the best time to regret- It is a kind of nonsense. I'm so merry

I'm so merry and sad.

[searching-in-silence]

What's the deal with Jikook and NBC? I'm really, really curious, like there must be something meaningful abt the movie to them, if Jimin personally requested the limited edt snow globe for Jungkook as birthday present. Just like how Jimin gave the bear to V since his song named winter bear, it's something that very understandable.

Anon, thank you for asking me this question, I had been planning to do a post on this for a long time, but I think the opportunity is right for now. hehehe~

Anyway, so Why do jikook like Nightmare Before Christmas? What is it’s significance? And what is NBC anyway.

Going to be a long post, sit tight my friends~

What is NBC? (wiki)

The Nightmare Before Christmas (also known as Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas) is a 1993 American stop-motion animated musical dark fantasy Halloween-Christmas film directed by Henry Selick, and produced and conceived by Tim Burton. 

The Nightmare Before Christmas originated in a poem written by Burton in 1982 while he was working as an animator at Walt Disney Feature Animation. Burton began to consider developing The Nightmare Before Christmas as either a short film or 30-minute television special to no avail. Over the years, Burton's thoughts regularly returned to the project, and in 1990, he made a development deal with Walt Disney Studios. Production started in July 1991 in San Francisco; Disney released the film through Touchstone Pictures because the studio believed the film would be "too dark and scary for kids".

It was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Visual Effects, a first for an animated film. The film has since been reissued by Walt Disney Pictures, and was re-released annually in Disney Digital 3-D from 2006 until 2009, making it the first stop-motion animated feature to be entirely converted to 3D.

Plot of NBC.

It is the same routine every year in Halloween Town, on Halloween the monsters come out and perform a real scare. This particular Halloween, the pumpkin king Jack Skellington, bored of the idea, saunters off into the woods with his dog Zero after Halloween night. Upon the break of dawn, he discovers a clearing of trees with different doors representing various holidays. The Christmas Tree door attracts his attention and upon entrance into the world of Christmas, Jack is fascinated with this new idea of Christmas that he must absolutely share with the citizens of Halloween Town. But their view is different and they aren’t thrilled.

The story goes on and it seems like Jack and everyone else in town plans to sabotage Christmas except for Sally.The evil scientist in the story must whip up some reindeer, Halloween town's top trick-or-treaters are to kidnap Sandy Claws, and Sally's task is to make Jack a red Santa suit. She tries to tell him that co-opting Christmas is a terrible idea, but he's too wrapped up in his enthusiasm to listen.

Later when Jack’s plan fails and he realizes his mistake, Santa Claus scolds Jack about trying to take over a holiday that isn't his, and then sets about magically saving Christmas. Jack and Sally return to town just as Santa Claus flies over and offers the Halloween towns folk a bit of Christmas magic: their first snowfall. Jack and Sally share a tender moment in the cemetery, realizing they were always meant to be together. 

For what reasons could jikook relate to NBC??

(Reference taken from Oh My Disney, for NBC couple Jack and Sally)

The Nightmare Before Christmas enchants us with its whimsy and magic, but it also gives us really intense couple goals. Jack and Sally are the perfect couple, 7 reasons why:

  1. They’re opposites, so they balance each other out nicely -  Jack is impulsive and a dreamer, while Sally is far more sensible. Every relationship needs a little bit of both; that’s the only way things stay interesting, but never get out of hand.

2. They can both remove body parts while incurring zero harm to themselves - Jack can take his skull off to recite Shakespeare, and Sally can remove her limbs. Cool couples always have random, unlikely things in common.

3. They give each other cool presents -   And by “they,” we mostly mean Sally. Although who’s to say what sort of things Jack dreams up after The Nightmare Before Christmas ends? Sally gets Jack a ghost butterfly as a gift, which is way, wayyyy cooler than a standard tie or whatever.

4. They are both probably somewhat immortal -  We’re not sure exactly what the rules are here (it seemed like maybe Jack was in mortal peril when the military started attacking his sled?), but as a skeleton and a rag doll, we think they’re at least immortal in the elven “no death by natural causes” sense. People might say, “Til death do us part,” but not even death can stop them!

5. Sally supports Jack even when she disagrees with him -  What’s love if it’s not standing with someone even when they fail spectacularly, especially when you warned them about it beforehand and they didn’t listen to you? Sally doesn’t say “I told you so” even once. We think that’s magic.

6. They look so good together -  We know it’s what’s on the inside that truly counts, but look at them. Jack is the dapperest, and Sally the most chic. 

7. They’re simply meant to be -  It’s plain to see.

Now after seeing the above points ^, I reached to the conclusion that Jikook must relate to them, since Jack and Sally are couple goals, kekeke~

And we know that by coincidence, ‘Sally’ (another character with same name as of sally in the movie) is a part of Line friends collection, and Jimin is often seen with her.

(wiki)

Line Friends (stylized as LINE FRIENDS) are featured characters based on the stickers from messaging app Line. It was released in 2015 by Line Corporation, a Japanese subsidiary of the South Korean internet search giant Naver Corporation. These characters are used in various products, animation, game, cafe, hotel and theme park. The brand is currently managed by its subsidiary Line Friends Corporation since 2015.

Sally: with her unexpected charm, cute little Sally brings joy to her friends with full of bright and wild ideas. Don’t be fooled by her cuteness. She might reveal other side of her you’ve never expected! 

So it could be that Jimin related both sallys with himself and that is why he was so intrigued by the movie. Also who is as impulsive as Jungkook? Jack maybe ;)

Not to forget their whole Disney trip was nightmare themed. many even say that jk wore jack themed cap. hahaha. This relation is cute. :))

edit : for clarification, I have taken the NBC points from wiki, oh my disney and imbd. I have yet to watch the movie. and I m not analysing the movie, please keep that in mind, I have just stated a few facts I collected. and no nbc isn't a romantic movie.

the end result of the movie is what I highlighted that jikook may have related to. I could be wrong. so don't come in my ask box to hate on me for that.

[koszmar-zycie]

Gives xiuying an amulet that allows you to make a potential infinite number of clones of yourself.

--------

“This? This is...” the monk stared at the amulet for a good long while. “This is amazing. But. I don’t want to use it too much. I don’t want things getting out of hand! And I feel like this could get very, very out of hand.”

After a relatively short jaunt to the Peak of Serenity, the blue-clad monk walked serenely and with quiet respect through the stone halls of the order’s ancient make. A brief and calmed nod sent to a fellow practitioner, stepping aside to offer a more reverent bow to the far more uncommon master as they passed. Xiuying made her way to an old, small library section for personal use near the general quarters. A slightly above middle aged Pandaren man was sitting in a chair in front of the small room’s threshold. 

As the red, black, and cream furred woman stepped to enter, the elder and the young met one another’s eyes and gave a short, half nod to serve as an informal bow of respect. 

Xiuying entered, and simply stood within the confines for a few minutes, before lifting the amulet from her fuzzy sternum. Activating the effect within her mind, the room filled with seemingly perfect replicas of herself. Stifling a laugh, the monk gestured for the rest to sit still, while she exited the room. The elder and Xiu once again exchanged a brief and informal gesture, as she departed. Hiding and peeking from behind a building opposite the book-filled structure, she made a quick and subtle wave into the doorway.

Without a word or sign, the first copy stepped out of the room, walking past the older man, who gave a nod, before giving a quick double-take in confusion. I could have sworn... ah well. The older man thought to himself. 

Then came the second. This Xiuying copy, did offer a bow, to which the man slowly and confusingly mirrored back, the loss of words evident. 

Then the third, this one simply walking by cheerfully with a wave. 

Then the fourth, who skipped out energetically, departing down the opposite path through the area. 

Then the fifth, who simply offered a proper, formal bow before walking behind the build the original Xiu was peeking behind. 

Okay. The man thought. I’m not getting *that* old.

The sixth and last copy walked out, giving another silent nod, to which the man spoke. “Hold on! Are you...” 

Xiuying’s sixth copy stared back, eyes wide in friendly expectation to hear what the man would have to say. But with an honest expression, the man’s confusion continued to puzzle his brain. He strode briefly into the room of books and scrolls, while the copy watched him with interest. Sure enough, sealed up tight. Perhaps a small window here or there, but sealed with glass, and too small for an adult to fit through.

“I think I need to lie down. Please remember to return anything that belongs to the monastery.” He advised, before departing towards a portion of the personal quarters.

As he disappeared, the last of the Xiuyings returned to their original source, who activated the trinket, blending them all back into one. Xiuying eyed the thing with a clever and to some, troubling, smile that reeked of whimsy. “I really think I need to go visit Kuina.”

-------

Thank you Anon! This sounds like either a really terrifying, or really hilarious scenario.

[instakpop]

Chen scenario - Love games

Requested by anon (Supposed to be a drabble [>600 words] but I got carried away)

Genre: fluff, romance

Request: Chen drabble where your best friends with his sister and you have a big crush on him and his sister/your friend totally ships you two and tries to get you in situations together

*y/f/n = your friend's name*

Spite is such an odd reaction. We as humans either refuse to do something because another person wants us to do it or we do something when told not to. Growing up with my childhood friend, we always said we were like sisters. We loved the same foods and binge-watched the same shows, often times we'd finish each other's sentences like siblings. Around our school years, I started to notice something about her- well not necessarily her, but her brother, Jongdae. He radiated boyfriend material!

My crush on him started to become difficult to hide and y/f/n started to notice. She and I were sitting in the library one morning, working on a book report when I locked eyes with Jongdae from across the room. He smiled at me, making me feel all warm inside. I sent him a faint smile back and felt a little pinch on my arm.

"Y/n? What are you staring at?" Y/f/n said with an amused smile. She tried to search the room to find out what grasped my attention only to find her brother quickly turning away from us. "Wait... Are you two...?"

"No, we're not. I was just-"

"Giving him the look." She finished for me. "Oooh, this is perfect. You two can start dating, then after graduation, he'll propose and we'll be sisters for real! YES!"

"Shh!" The librarian hissed.

Y/f/n sat back in her seat, settling herself before she went on. "He clearly likes you back. If you want to go out with him, you have my blessing."

"Y/f/n, I'm not into Jongdae. I was looking in his general direction and he happened to look back."

Rather than respond to me, she just raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Whatever you say, sis..."

Ever since that day, I have been caught up in a real-life Parent Trap situations.  Countless times I have been locked in rooms with Jongdae, receiving flirty texts from him only to find out it was Y/f/n who stole his phone. In the midst of all this, Jongdae and I have gotten really close, but I never gave Y/f/n the satisfaction. Oddly enough, I tried to distance myself from Jongdae a few times.

As the years passed, Y/f/n's shenanigans wore down, Jongdae and I didn't really talk much as a result and things were nearly back to the way they were. But our lives were different. We weren't kids in school anymore and every time I looked at him, I didn't have as many butterflies, there were more! I would even think about him and be consumed in thoughts of how we would have ended up together. Maybe we'd still be together now and hearing wedding bells in the distance. It was easier to keep my feelings for him under wraps because of the distance in our social lives, but as long as my best friend- his sister is around, we always have an excuse to bump into each other.

The longest we went without speaking was nearly five months, a real record considering there was a time we spoke at least once a day. All of the silence would come to an end soon though. Y/f/n was having her annual birthday bash and she invited everyone she knew. Truth be told, I really missed Jongdae. If we were going to reconnect, I don't want to go back to just being friends. I wanted to be with him for real.

My nerves started to get the best of me when Y/f/n's party came around. I wasn't sure why either. I was almost certain that Jongdae felt the same about me... almost. I arrived on my own, immediately being greeted by the birthday girl herself.

"Y/n!" I was engulfed in a tight hug by y/f/n.

"Hey~ Happy birthday."

"Thanks. Stay close okay? I only have a few more guests arriving then we can party hard." She said with an evil grin.

I chuckled at her signature whimsy and agreed. I walked over to the gift table, placing my box up front. A few friends came up to me, striking up a conversation, but I quickly zoned out when I saw Jongdae come into my line of vision. As if he felt my stare, he turned around, locking eyes with me for what felt like minutes. He gave me a small smile and a friendly nod. I replied with a little wave and he returned to what he was doing. God, he was so handsome. He is far and away, the best guy I knew, but I was too stubborn to admit it.

"Y/n? Are you alright? You look flushed." My friend asked.

"Oh, yeah. It's just a little warming here. I'm gonna go... get a drink." I excused myself and headed to the bar.

I looked toward the entrance and noticed Y/f/n wasn't there anymore. I ordered myself a drink and took a seat.  I searched the room to check if Jongdae was still close by but I lost him in the crowd. I slumped over in the bar stool, beginning to doubt my little plan. But where there's a will, there's a crazy best friend who ships you with her brother.

Y/f/n came over, sitting next to me to cheer me up. "What’s wrong? Not feeling the club scene anymore?"

"No, it's not that... I wasn't even going to tell you this, but it turns out I kinda miss being around Jongdae, but we've been apart for so long that I'm afraid he'll forget about me." I vented.

"Because you looove him." She teased, causing me to smile a bit. "...oh... You really do love him don't you?"

"I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it and it's eating me up inside. I actually wanted to confess to him tonight, but I have no idea where he is." I saw the look on her face and narrowed my eyes in disapproval. She was up to something.

"Say no more. You can thank me later." SHe said simply. I was confused for a second until she took the remainder of my drink, spilling it down the front of my top.

"What was that?!"

"Oh, no. Y/n you need to cover that. OPPA!" He hollered and like a phoenix out of the flames, Jongdae appeared. "Can Y/n borrow your jacket? I need to get my stain remover out of my purse." She walked away, leaving the two of us together.

"Here." He slid his jacket off and helped me put it on.

"Thanks. Sorry about this." I said with a laugh.

"No problem." He let me off the stool and lead me to the back hallway to wait for Y/f/n. Jongdae leaned against the wall, pondering briefly before asking, "She spilled the drink on you didn't she?"

"Yup," I confirmed.

He laughed to himself and looked at the ground. “I mention I liked you one time and it becomes a frenzy.”

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“You didn’t know?” He questioned and I shook my head in reply. “Wow, I thought I was being obvious.”

“When was this?”

“Back in school. I’m not certain on an exact day but I guess I can track it back to the time I saw you in the library. You and Y/f/n were doing something and I guess I thought you looked back at me... I don’t know.” A rosy blush started to appear on his cheeks and my heart melted.

“Really?”

Jongdae looked up at me, noticing the way I was fascinated by his side of the story. I was amazed at the fact that he had the same feeling when he looked at me at that moment in school. He stepped a little closer, slowly closing the gap between us.

“Yeah.” He said back, stopping just a few inches away from me. We were so close, I could feel his body temperature rising. 

“I liked you too.” Our noses brushed together before he gently placed one hand on my waist, the other cupping my face before his lips pressed to mine for a long-awaited kiss. “Mmm~” I kissed him back, placing my hands on his back and shoulder. 

As much as I regretted being too stubborn to follow my heart, it all worked out in the end. Y/f/n’s final scheme worked like a charm and as a result, I was able to confess to Jongdae and she was able to have an official sister.

THE END

A/n: The “look” ⬇️

[allmytwistedshadows]

Sleepless

Pairing: Dan Howell x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes (Anon)

Request: Hey, your writing is amazing 😍 Can you do Dan Howell x reader, where Dan can't sleep, the reader comforts him and they become a couple? Thank you 😘

Summary: (Y/N) is a friend of Dan and Phil’s, spending the night after working on a collab with the pair. When his insomnia is at a high, though, he isn’t sure what to do. Of course, he isn’t the only night owl in the flat that night; and what’s a guy to do when something is troubling the one he cares about?

Word Count: 1,628

Warnings: Swearing, more than probable sardonic humor, rusty writing (Sorry it’s been a while)

AN: I’m not used to writing from Male POV so I’m sorry if it’s sucky.

“I will never be able to look at a spatula the same thanks to you,” (Y/N) said with a laugh, rising from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting next to fellow YouTubers and friends Dan Howell and Phil Lester. Dan thought it would be funny to remake the popular Cards Against Humanity video he did with Tyler Oakley three years ago. “Honestly, I am never making pancakes again because I know I can’t without thinking of--”

“What? No!” Phil cried, cutting the (h/c) haired boy off. “The (Y/N) Specialty Pancakes are the best!”

“Sorry Philly,” he said apologetically. “They’re no more now that I’ve seen the horrors of what Dan thinks a spatula can be used for.”

“That was a card well deserved,” Dan said with an awkward grin as he held up his win cards. 

The three laughed together before making the decision to order a take-away and watch reruns of Spirited Away for the night. While Phil went to go take care of the take-away, (Y/N) decided to help clean up everything. While Dan took care of the camera and the lights, (Y/N) took care of the pile of cards on the floor.

“If I were smarter I’d be making Phil clean this up,” he mumbled as he tried to straighten the cards out. “The sore loser.”

“Yes; but, as the Phandom loves to point out, it’s one of the many qualities that makes him so endearing,” Dan returned lightly, laughing silently to himself. “Not to mention it’s so hilarious to watch when I’m editing.”

“I’ll definitely give you that one,” (Y/N) agreed with a grin. “But can you please leave me falling off the bed out? Pretty please?”

“Nope,” Dan said with a smug grin. “If the world sees my shame--not once but twice--then they get to see your shame as well.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate me too,” Dan said without missing a beat. When he didn’t respond after a moment Dan was quick to add, “Kidding! Look at me: all jokes and grins. Haha great times.”

“Y’know, one day you’re going to meet someone who doesn’t appreciate your sardonic sense of humor,” (Y/N) spoke as he started setting the cards back in their box.

“Yes, but you do get and appreciate it so I’m fine,” Dan counters, pointing at me briefly with a wink.

Stopping what he was doing, (Y/N)’s face went blank as he looked up at the dark haired boy. “Daniel.”

“(Y/N).”

“Please, never do that again.”

“Pft. Okay hater.”

“Oh please. You know you’d have said the same thing.”

“Yes, but I said it internally.” The both of them laughed as (Y/N) sat on the edge of Dan’s bed. “Okay, moving on from my self detrimental mind, please tell me you weren’t serious about not making your specialty pancakes anymore.”

“I don’t even know why you guys love them so much,” he said as he brushed aside some hair that had been hanging in front of his (E/C) eyes. “They’re just my mom’s pancake recipe with carefully timed food coloring.”

“Blasphemy,” Dan spoke, placing a hand on his chest.

With a roll of his eyes, (Y/N) rose to grab the top of the box from Dan’s desk. “Well you can relax, Danny,” he assured him, purposefully using the nickname that Dan not-so-subtly dislikes for being “too American” for his taste. “I assure you that I will make the pancakes again.”

“Good because we took the liberty of buying everything you need to make them tomorrow morning.”

(Y/N) groaned as he rolled onto his side in the guest room. He stared at the window, mentally cursing himself for forgetting his melatonin when he agreed to stay the night. Having gone through this many times, (Y/N) knew better than to try and make himself sleep. So he sat up and pulled the duvet away as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Jamming his feet into slippers, (Y/N) rose from the bed and began to walk silently to the kitchen. Two in the morning or not, he’d be damned if he didn’t get whatever juice he could find.

When he got to the kitchen he opened the fridge and looked around for orange juice, apple juice, prune juice--any juice. There was soda, ribena, milk but absolutely no juice. 

"You mean to tell me I came on the one night these two don’t have any juice?” he grumbled.

“Have you met Phil?”

(Y/N) jumped slightly, turning quickly to see Dan sitting at the small kitchen counter with the orange juice next to him. Half of Dan’s face was illuminated by moonlight, giving him an almost mysterious sense of whimsy. The sight made (Y/N)’s chest tighten as his heart beat in his throat. Of course, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if that was from the jump scare or from something that he had spent a long time denying for the sake of their friendship. “Bloody hell,” (Y/N) muttered upon settling down. “Why am I not surprised you’re lurking in the dark.”

“I suppose the feeling’s mutual you nocturnal freak,” Dan stated as he slid the juice container towards the other boy.

(Y/N) grabbed a glass from the cabinet and then moved next to Dan, taking the container and pouring himself a glass. “So why are you up?” the (h/c) boy asked before taking a sip of the juice.

Dan shrugged, swishing his juice around. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

The other boy examined Dan with inquisitive (e/c) eyes, seeing the way his fingers fidgeted and how he couldn’t quite bring his dark eyes to meet him. “You’re lying,” (Y/N) concluded. 

Dan bit his lip ever so slightly, the simple motion making something unexpected flutter in (Y/N)’s chest. “Maybe,” Dan admitted quietly.

“What’s really up?” (Y/N) questioned as he set the cup down on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I just,” Dan started, his eyes searching around as if trying to figure out how to say it. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” (Y/N) frowned and looked at the curly haired boy in front of him. Dan took (Y/N)’s silence as he had intended it--as a prompt to go on. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“About what?” (Y/N) asked softly, not wanting to push him too far.

“A lot of things,” Dan stated vaguely before he received a raised eyebrow from the (h/c) boy and sighed. “Death, okay. I’ve been dreaming about death.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) started, sounding surprised. “Could it have something to do with Spooky Week? You and Phil have been playing so many scary games that maybe it’s just you thinking you guys it’s in the games.”

“It’s not,” Dan insisted, finally meeting his eyes. (Y/N)’s heart ached upon seeing the unshed tears making the beautifully dark eyes glisten. “Because it started before Spooky Week and it’s not me and it’s not Phil.” Dan looked down again before he spoke quietly, as if trying to keep him from hearing. “It’s you, (Y/N/N). You’re the one dying.” (Y/N) was taken aback just from the pure shock of it--the idea that Dan was even dreaming about him. “Every night you’re in trouble and I can’t save you--and I can’t stand it. I-I can’t take it because-because I can’t imagine my life without you in it and the thought of you not being there anymore is--it’s just too much.”

“Dan,” the other boy started softly, moving to stand in front of him, “I promise you that nothing is going to happen to me. You’re stuck with me to annoy you for the rest of your life.” (Y/N) took Dan’s hands in his own, drawing their eyes together.

“I just--I can’t bare seeing you die every night because-because--.” Before (Y/N) could ask why Dan’s grip on his hands had tightened and, suddenly, his lips were pressed against Dan’s. Before (Y/N) could even really react Dan had pulled away suddenly and began stammering. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that, (Y/N/N), I’m--”

(Y/N) cut Dan off in one swift motion, pressing their lips together once again. In that moment he let go of any concern he had harbored in the past about ruining their friendship because, in that moment, he was kissing the boy he had been fantasizing about in secret for the past year or so. So, (Y/N) pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Dan’s neck. Once the shock had worn off on Dan’s end his hands moved to the (h/c) boy’s waist. 

(Y/N) sighed as he felt Dan’s hands hold him tightly by the waist. The two stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, moving their lips against each other’s slowly. (Y/N)’s fingers curled into Dan’s dark curls, tugging gently. Dan made a small noise of pleasure against (Y/N)’s mouth. The sound made (Y/N) grin slightly against his lips before he pulled away just enough to look into Dan’s eyes--blown wide from what had just transpired between them. 

“I promise you,” (Y/N) spoke softly, “that I am not going anywhere and, as long as I’m with you, I’ll always be more than fine.”

Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes before he pulled (Y/N) into a tight embrace. The two boys stayed like that for a while, finding comfort in each others’ embrace. At some point in the night, neither could tell you exactly when, they had grabbed their juice and went into the living room to lay on the couch together and watch Spirited Away until they inevitably fallen asleep, tangled in each other’s arms. And, when Phil found them like that the next morning when he woke up, he simply smiled and moved to cover his two friends in a blanket so to not disturb what had to be their best sleep in a while.

AN

Okay so it’s reeeaaally bad especially at the end but I really wanted to finish this. I kinda rushed it at the end and it shows but, whomever the anon is who requested it, I hope you like it.