#thanks for stickin around here for so long

[ducktracy]

Happy happy bday Eliza!!

THANK YOU ADAAAAA!! i appreciate it!!!!

[bernicedoodles]

Childhood Comic 2/2

Good morning! Here’s the second part of the childhood comic! 🥰 For the first part, it’s the post right after this one. :3 also please pretend the 2001 is actually 2010 on the first panel 😇

AGSGSH so many of you guys commented on the last one scared of what we were gonna see and I didn’t even intend for it to give off that feeling LOOL 💀 after going back I can definitely see how it can give off those vibes especially with the mlp fandom omg 😭😔

anyways, I love to occasionally look back at this moment that started my artistic journey and the friends I made along the way. 🫂 I love My Little Pony and it’ll always have a special place in my heart for as long as I live. 😭 So you could imagine how thrilled I am to see the fandom come alive again. 🥹 or maybe it never died and my fyp finally went to mlp again? 💀

To have a show like that available to me as a kid meant the world. The joy of being able to share a passion and love for a show is truly so joyous and fun. I wouldn’t be here today without it and without you guys. Thank you for reading and stickin around. 🤲😭🥹🥰💛💖💛💖

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congratulations in 5K, wow that's amazing and I'm so happy for you!

Could you please write a Graves drabble (he doesn't get enough love) where he's just so absolutely in love with his SO? Like standing back, leaning against a door frame, and watching his partner do something as mundane as the dishes or drawing? Him softly smiling as his SO hums or does something subconsciously??

I love your writing. Thank you for being my comfort writer.

—Love Echoes In Silence

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞

You dip your soapy hands back into the water, grabbing another plate before moving it over to the side to rinse its white porcelain face—finally setting it down in the plastic dish rack. Shifting back over, you hum under your breath and grab another, snatching up the washing rag as well to get rid of any residual germs. 

You’d only been at this for about ten minutes; the dishes from last night were left for this morning on account of Phillip coming home early. You’d both had a soft supper with a few glasses of red wine before retiring to bed, where the man was still asleep in the ruffled sheets as his bare skin lay in the rising sunlight; his stomach to the mattress and his hair sticking this way and that. It had been a chore to sneak out from under his arm, but you’d done it nonetheless even if it had taken a few minutes. One delicate kiss to Phillip’s forehead later, you’d slipped into his large t-shirt and padded to the kitchen. 

So, here you are, cleaning up with a smile on your lips and sleepy heat under Phillip’s shirt. A slow hum echoing through the air. 

Another dish is added to the clean pile, and as you grasp one of the dirty wine glasses, you miss the small creak of the floor leading to the kitchen as you listen to the birds outside. 

Phillip rubs at his face with the palm of his hand, yawning slowly before he pushes back his hair and watches. He’s only in his sweatpants—the gray color bunched as the un-tied waistband hangs at his hips. Blinking at you, a slow twitch goes across the man’s lips as he leans to the side, his shoulder to the door frame. 

He doesn’t speak—doesn’t utter anything as his arms cross over his chest and you continue your shapeless tune. Phillip isn’t a good man; he isn’t worthy of care or compassion. He’s done things that will follow him to his grave, the one he’d been digging himself since long before he met you. But there were moments like these where the light hit your body just right; where the house was silent and the floors were soft underfoot. 

Tiny moments that echoed like a call to home. 

You place the wine glass upside down to let the water drip out, wringing out the wash rag and unplugging the sink. You’d only begun washing your hands when your ears twitch to movement. A smile peels your lips.

“Mornin’,” Phillip mutters into your hair, hands sneaking around you until you’re held back to a bare chest. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, flicking off the water on your fingers. Your heart is light. “Sleep well?” 

He hums, squeezing you gently. 

“Come back t’bed.” Your chuckle makes him smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Phillip, I just got up.”

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he pleads but doesn’t give you time to respond, arms bending to capture your legs and the span of your shoulders. You laugh as he hikes you into his hold—carrying you before your arms snap around his neck; curling into him. “Up ya get.”

“Really?” Your amused voice makes him look at you, raising one of his pale blows as he smirks softly. He brings you back to bed, tendrils of hair bouncing along the way. 

“Up and disappeared. You always leave the men with cold sheets and a yearnin’ in their hearts?” You roll your eyes, giggling into his neck. “You’ll be stickin’ right beside me today, Doll. That’s an order.”

All you do is kiss the corner of his mouth before he drops you both back onto the mattress.

[loungemermaid]

Based on this post, here’s a sneak peak of The Shaft, a fictional medical drama set in District Twelve that consumes Haymitch and Katniss. @mollywog @triassictriserratops this is both y’all’s fault

(Formatting is weird on tumblr so I’m not fixing it.)

[ Scene opens on establishing shot of small brick building, stained black with coal dust. A sign reads DISTRICT TWELVE MINERS' GENERAL HOSPITAL.]

"Haymitch, what the hell is this?" I ask, but he just shushes me. I groan. It's been ten years since the end of the war, and now that the Hunger Games are over, tv has turned into mostly optional, mostly dumb shows about things that don't really matter. A legal warning flashes on screen.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

"Well I was gonna say. Is this that thing that Plutarch wanted us to sign off on?" There was a District Twelve miners' hospital, abandoned for years while I was a kid. Now it's mostly restored, but we still airlift most trauma cases to Thirteen or Three.

"Would you be quiet? Please. I'm trying to watch, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes and watch as the show changes to the inside of a locker room. A girl, round about my age, with olive skin and black hair, and big grey eyes that have to be fake, is changing into a pair of dark blue scrubs. She takes a second to breathe and the text at the bottom says 6:54 am, then she pushes the door open.

The scene cuts again to a round desk in a middle of a big room, filled with machines beeping, a flurry of people in different colored scrubs, some in white coats and some wearing cardigans, all running around, caring for people in gurneys screaming. An older lady, about my mom's age, is talking to middle aged doctor. Both apparently Seam.

“Got two new doctors today, one fresh out of med school, one in residency. Both local kids. Dr. Florian Graves is your resident, and Dr Anthracine Caldwell is the fresher. Which one you stickin' with Clearwater?"

The man scrubs his face. "None of 'em. Neither."

"Oh come on, Nash, you cain't punish her forever."

"Ain't a punishment! Who said I was punishing her? Naw, I just don't think she needs to be teaching right now, not after. It's alright. I'll take them. Thank you Sadie."

Sadie sighs, looks back to her computer, then looks up. "There's your fresher, I bet."

"Hi." The young woman says. "I didn't, should we have met at an office or something? I didn't see…" she trails off. She looks terrified. The man, Nash, walks over to her with a stack of charts.

"No, ain't no time for that. Come on, let's get your feet wet, Dr Caldwell."

"Anthci, please." The two start walking together and for the first time, how small Anthci is compared to everyone around her is shown. Dr Nash is head and shoulders above her.

"Antsy? You really want us to call you Antsy?"

"Anth-ci. With a th." Anthci sniffs.

Dr Nash nods. "Sure, whatever. We're just about to do rounds, have everyone from night shift switch off. Stick close to me for now, we have some attending doctors comin in a bit later, round abouts nine or so."

A golden haired man comes streaming by in a white lab coat.

"Dr Graves, I presume? How good of ya to join us. Welcome to the Shaft."

"Sorry I'm running a bit late this morning. Did you call this the Shaft?"

Dr Nash laughs. "Yeah, boy. Minin' term. Dimly lit, long hallways, poor ventilation. And if you stay here, you're bound to get shafted eventually. Hop to, Townie."

I don't want to be drawn in, but I'm captured by it immediately. "They did their research."

"Yeah, on some of it. This part they did good anyway." Haymitch whispers.

"Names are a bit stupid. Hers especially."

"Yeah, well. They're Capitol, sweetheart. Course they gave her a coal name."

"But they didn't have to name her literally coal."

"Sh!"

"You know, I went to school here too. I toured the mines." Dr Graves says.

"Duddn't hold a candle to workin' in em. Or pullin' people outta them. Mines for you is a school field trip. Ain't your life. It's just the set dressin'."

The camera pans back to Anthci, with a pensive look on her face. "Did you work in the mines, Dr Nash?"

"I did, as a medic, before we were allowed to test out of the District and go to medical school. Back when most of what we treated people with were herbs and ripped bedsheets. Y’all don't know how lucky y’all are."

"Lucky? In District Twelve? I know you're lyin'". Florian quips.

"Are they suggesting the bombing still happened?"

"Are you gonna interrupt every five seconds?" Haymitch groans.

I roll my eyes, but shut my mouth and keep watching.

The next scene is a small group of people in a huddle around Nash. Some obviously ethnically Twelve, but some hail from other districts. One, a very tall woman with lavender hair and nice clothes, presumably Capitol, has the look of rage barely brewing beneath the surface.

"Alright, fairly normal day so far, but don't nobody rest easy. We are a trauma center in a rural area still not totally used to routine medical care. That means y'all're gonna see people who should've come in a lot sooner than they did, having exhausted all the answers they could think of. These people do not have medical knowledge, and they are no strangers to desperation. They ain't gonna always make the smartest decisions, to y’all, but it made sense to them at the time. Do not make them feel stupid, or next time they'll die on their couch. Do not underestimate pain. Just because they say they're fine, it don't mean that they are. A lot of the people who grew up here have chronic health conditions that would've been unsurvivable only a few short years ago. Managing long term conditions is a luxury these people never had before the Revolution. We also, thanks to a certain few people that played a part in said revolution-

My cheeks burn.

-Have a bustling tourist industry. Tourists are not responsible. This is a new freedom not many know how to handle. You're gonna get a lot of shit thrown your way but you do not have the luxury of faltering. You need to stay calm. Remember your training. If you need help, ask. No one needs a hero. They need a medical professional."

The camera pans back to Anthci as she breathes it all in, her terror turning into quiet determination. She can do this. The group starts rounds

[kedsandtubesocks]

Erika!! 🫣

Baseball Joel has permanently moved into my brain and I need to hold you accountable for my latest maladaptive daydream obsession.

I’ve got a kiddo in baby baseball now and I’m sitting here dying in the heat thinking about retired!Joel becoming Little League Coach!Joel and—

anyway. thanks for permanently altering my brain 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Lovely Toni this asks is now taking permanent residency in my heart oh my goodness THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 😭😫

And hold me accountable omg I’m dying LOL

My baby sister played little league since she was in 2nd grade so you are tugging right at my heart string! Plus Im melting extra hard knowing your little kiddo is also in the league!! Stay hydrated during those long hot games!

And OOOF!! Okay but you’re not wrong 🥵

So - I blame the mlb all star game being on tonight and it being western theme…it was like it was made for Joel so this happened lol

game changer - timeout

MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

warnings/tags: fluff but all my works are 18+ so MDNI. hot sports dad joel, discussions of the future/light talk of having children, not highly edited I’m sorry rip

wc: ~600

There’s been more discussions about Joel reaching retirement age. All the sports announcers love to make jokes about him being older than some of the coaches in the league.

But the conversation comes up when you’re on the phone with him while he waits for his flight. Joel talks about free agency and how his agents have been discussing options.

“Well…what do you wanna do after it all?” You ask quietly.

Joel sighs shakily, and you’re about to quickly reassure him that he doesn’t need to tell you. But he beats you to it.

“Could be an analyst.” He comments with a soft hum. “A lot of the guys say I’m good at breaking things down.”

He is, always patiently explaining parts of the game to you.

“Coaching has always been an option too,” he explains. “I know UT Austin’s always been houndin’ me ‘bout it.”

You’d love for him to be back in Texas permanently, even if it is hours away.

“You could coach little league.” You warmly offer.

Joel chuckles.

“Trust me, thought about it when Sarah and Ellie played. But I think I’d probably would’ve gotten into fights with other coaches.” His tone is light, a bit dryly humored, but you easily catch the fondness within.

Your mind trips over itself over the thought of Joel, looking so handsome, being such a firm sports dad, packing ice coolers and folding chairs, cheering loud at the game or even coaching - it rips open something wild and raw in you.

You don’t even try to fully process it, and instead shove it to the back of your mind.

“You’d be an amazing coach. For whichever team you end up at.” You truthfully tell him.

“Thanks, baby.”

“Maybe I’ll go coach for your university.” He suddenly offers low, but deep with an underlying hint of possibilities. That snaps your spine straight.

“Oh yeah?” You grin back through the phone.

He hums faintly playful. If Joel ever ended up coming to Houston you’d never get any work done.

“Maybe I’ll become an umpire.” He suggests, and you do think of how Joel would even look hot as hell with the protective face mask on.

“You’d be awful.” You tease. “You’d let the power go to your head.”

“Would fuckin’ not!” He barks back, and you laugh, warmth swirling in your chest.

“Whatever you decide, I know you’ll be great at it.” You simmer Joel down with your sincere words.

“Y’think so?” He’s being shyly coy. “Okay with stickin’ around with me for that long?”

His words make your heart flutter.

“Don’t plan on going anywhere, Cowboy Miller.” You quietly but firmly tell him, feeling your words solidify resolve in you.

“Hopin’ ya don’t either.” Joel admits soft, almost a whisper.

You swallow hard, feeling the image of him at the little league fields, a sleek fully silver fox Joel possibly holding a soft baby in his arms or coaching from third base… you can’t shake it.

“I’m still hoping to see little league coach Joel to make his appearance.” Those words slip up from you.

Joel weakly laughs.

“Yeah? Think that’s a whole other option we’d be havin’ to discuss, honey.” Without anything in it, you understand his hidden meaning.

You don’t know where Joel stands with wanting more kids. And you’ll cross that bridge if you ever do arrive, but for right now, you can simply soak in the glory of knowing he wants a future with you. He wants to have you in his life.

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t mind.” You truthfully tell him.

Joel breathes out your name, a soft beautiful reassuring tone, and it makes your soul feel like it’s been hit out of the ballpark.

[flamingator]

🛠️“The Engineer, is Engi-here!” 🛠️

-

Finally finished my design of Engie! I love this cowboy sm <3

Ramblings and close-ups under the cut below!

A lot a people have their own interpretations/style designs of the mercs, so I thought why not make one of my fav merc? So here we are!

-

Engie is that he’s an all-round decent guy, and treats everyone with respect as long as that’s reciprocated! He’s transmasc and ain’t afraid to show it, and loves his partner, the other equally insanely smart man on the team, Medic! ✨ If you don’t find him tinkering away in his workshop or hangin’ out with the Doc, you’ll find him spending some time with the other mercs that he likes, or playing with his robot dog :D

🛠️BLU🛠️

Like most headcanons, Blu Engie is a defender/builder! You’ll find him setting up a nest of defenses at a good point, and a good spot for all the mercs to heal up with his dispenser! He rarely goes out into battle and prefers to hang back, but if any enemies do get close, he won’t hesitate to give them a few rounds of his sentry >:]

-

🧨RED🧨

Unlike Blu Engie, Red Engi is a battle engineer! You’ll find him running into the frontlines with his trusted mini-sentry, gear and Gunslinger! He craves the rush of adrenaline and thrill of the fight >:D (kill and maim!!!)

-

✨Decals✨

One of the mercs Engie gets along with and looks out for the most is Pyro! Engie and Pyro are like a fatherly/unruly child duo to me, where they got each other’s backs on the field, and Engie himself just looks after Pyro! Pyro also looks up to Engie, and will usually show his appreciation by placing stickers on Engie’s hardhat, and pins for his overalls! Engie at first was uncertain about all the decal, but after seeing how happy it made Pyro when he wore them, he wears the decals proudly! Engie has a different decal set for both Red and Blu! ✨

-

Thank y’all for stickin’ around through my rambling!! I had a BLAST drawing and designin’ my Engie! I have a doodle sheet of Engie I’m almost done with that I will also be postin’ soon as well! 🛠️✨

[calcifiedunderland]

What We Brew in the Dark

or, Encounters of a Disney-Aware Prefect, ft. Epel Felmier

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here), Part 4

GN reader, they/them!

Warnings: none I think? Some claustrophobia and descriptions of the dark

Enjoy the brainrot, thanks for reading!!

—————

That first week, when Epel was sorted into Pomefiore, was more hellish than when the apple trees back home were infested with an apple-eating pest.

And that was saying something.

Sometime after the first night, when Vil was still on his haughty-gaudy throne, Epel had been so fed up that he challenged his housewarden to a physical fight. At the time he thought that the prissy fancy-schmancy actor wouldn’t be much of a fight, but Epel had gotten his ass utterly handed to him while Vil’s stupid smug face taunted him. That night, sore and still smoldering from the anger, Epel had wandered around the dorm to clear his head, grumbling curses under his breath that his grandmother would’ve boxed him over the head for.

At some point, he’d looked up and realized he’d gotten lost in his own dorm. That was before he nearly fell down a spiraling staircase that lead down, down, down into the dark.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and so he’d flicked on his phone’s flashlight and inched down slowly. Torches lined the walls, and judging by how the wood was slightly damp and moldy, they hadn’t been lit for quite some time. Epel flinched as mice scampered, but thankfully the staircase wasn’t too long. In front of him stood a rounded door framed with stones, and from the looks of it, it hadn’t been renovated with the rest of the castle over the years.

Still, he was curious, and it wasn’t like he wanted to go back to his dorm and run into anyone, especially Vil. And he was already this far, anyway. Meemaw didn’t raise a coward. So, Epel gave the door a sturdy shove, and it swung open with a loud, reverberating creeeeaaaak. The door opened to a small, cramped room stuffed with potion supplies that were now disintegrated beyond recognition. Flasks and looping glass potion-making gadgets sat on the work table. A skull stared back at him from the bookshelf.

Clothes and broken glass were strewn on the floor as if someone had left in a hurry and knocked over several items. Several undoubtedly expensive, and dangerous items. He pointed the phone’s light around the room, feeling more and more creeped out by the second.

A large sturdy black cauldron sat in the center, the heavy-duty kind that only professionals like Crewel used for specialty potions. Whoever used them last was clearly a serious potioneer. Rotted apples were spilled around the base, and Epel could faintly make out the dead carcass of a black bird on the floor. But what the hell was that dark greenish sludge sloshed on the floor by the cauldron, that seemed to glint and swirl ominously even in the phone’s dim light? And why was there a hideaway potion room in that huge castle in the first place?

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat and his limbs go rigid. By the sevens, what the hell was this place?

He’d seen enough. He didn’t dare go into the room. Turning on his heel, he marched himself up the spiral staircase, through the doors, and didn’t stop until he reached his dorm room. Not even caring that it was far past curfew and Rook, who was somehow aware of everything even while asleep, probably sensed him darting past his door.

As he tried to fall asleep and shove that strange basement out of his mind, his mind drifted. Meemaw was right, don’t go stickin’ yer nose about if ya don’t want it to be cut off.

—

This time, instead of gazing into a talking mirror or singing at a well or being stalked in a forest, you were dreaming of darkness.

A deep, pitch-black ominous darkness where dark thoughts spiraled and evil came to fruition. A dark where a black-cloaked old woman cackled gleefully in a dark hall with a covered basket. Was that apple you smelled? It reminded you of the sledathon in Harveston. That was nice, you wanted to go back to that. You’d have to ask Epel—

PREFECT!!! Where r u

Twisted wonderland to (y/n) can u hurry plz

before vil throws me out of the lab

no apple juice for u >:(

WILL YOU HURRY TF UP ISTG

By the third buzz you’d fully awoken from your nap as Epel continued to spam you. Then you shot up, catapulting a sleeping Grim off your lap, and grabbed your alchemy things.

“Nya— HENCHHUMAN!” Grim rubbed his side as you stuff your alchemy notes in your bag.

“Sorry! Be good Grim!” You called before racing out the door.

You reached the Pomefiore alchemy labs in record time, puffing. Epel looked over at you apathetically while stirring the cauldron. “Took ya long enough, I started without ya since we gotta brew this for two hours. Yer’ welcome.”

You huffed and opened your notes. “Okay, so you’re on step three, now we add…”

After some time, you two were finally able to let the cauldron simmer. “‘S gonna be about an hour ‘til it’s done,” Epel said. “Crewel’s class is gonna wreck me,” you groaned and flopped into a chair. “Seriously, without Rook helping me, I would’ve failed that last report. We need to do good on this one.”

“I hear ya,” Epel sighed, then frowned at you. “But couldja not be late next time? Vil kept hoverin’ over me like a hawk when he saw me alone. You’d’ve thought I’d’h’ve wrecked the whole damn lab,” he huffed.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I’ve been having these weird dreams and I’m just exhausted. I’ll help you though, as best I can.”

Epel looked at you curiously, and you elaborated “this time, I was in this weird room with a cauldron and potion stuff. And there was some old lady laughing and holding apples too,” you shrugged, nonchalant as if you haven’t had alarming encounters with objects ever since you dreamed the Fairest Queen. Or any of the Seven, at that. “I don’t know. I’ve been having deja vu lately.”

Epel frowned. “I know y’told Deuce and Ace about yer weird dreams, but that kinda sounds like somethin’ I stumbled across the first week here.”

Unwillingly, a chill went down your spine. What are the odds? “What.” Epel nodded, eyes wide. “Looked real spooky, too. Had bars over the windows ‘n everything.” You remembered green lightning flashing in your dream, through the barred windows.

Epel took your shock as a challenge, “what, y’don’t believe me?” He stood and crossed his arms, eyebrows drawn. “I c’n take y’there now!”

You swallowed, feeling dread settling in your stomach. “I… yeah, sure Ep.” With that, the two of you set of, leaving the cauldron gurgling gently as you left the safety of the lab.

As you walked, you thought back to your dream, straining to remember the details. Okay, it was dark, but Pomefiore is all windows and natural light. In your dream, the room had cobblestones and fire-lit lamps. Still, Epel lead you deeper and deeper into the dorm, and as the gilded glamour of Pomefiore melted into weathered gray stone walls, dread pooled in your stomach.

Any hope you had that your dream was a coincidence melted when Epel swung open a door that lead to pitch-black darkness. Immediately your mind flashed to your dream. A dark figure rushing down the stairs, cloak billowing out behind her—

“Prefect? Ya good?” Epel turned to you concernedly, “if ya don’t wanna go, y’don’t hafta. Creeped me out, too.” Any annoyance he had when you’d ‘doubted’ him melted away. “Y’don’t have to. Promise.”

You shook your head quickly, “no, I… I’m fine. Lets go.”

Epel switched on his phone’s flashlight, “alright. Watch yer step. There’s—“ “Stairs?” You finished for him. His eyes widened, but he nodded.

You both carefully stepped down. Somewhere you could hear the echoes water dripping, and the chill in the dark seeped in with your impending apprehension. Before you, Epel’s uniform blazer fluttered and he held his phone aloft. For an instant, in your minds eye, it looked like the Fairest Queen’s cloak, and the shine of the phone like her tall, pointed crown

You both stepped in front of a wooden door that was cracked open. “Opened it when I first came here.” Epel shoved his shoulder into it and hefted it open with a loud creeeaaaak. The room was washed in his phone’s light. “See, toldja.”

Your breath hitched. You brushed past Epel, who tried to stop you, as if in a haze. In your minds eye played your dream from earlier, the one you’d tried so hard to remember but couldn’t before. Until now.

Your feet took you to a shelf lined with books, and where your hand stopped was a gap in the books. You looked down instinctively but saw nothing on the workspace in front of you.

“(Y/n)…?” Epel walked cautiously to you, gingerly putting his hand on your shoulder. You shut your eyes tightly, saying absently, “just let me…”

You opened your eyes and walked over to the cauldron. You peered into it, seeing the remnants of the last potion ever brewed in it. Your shoes crushed down rotting apples, the pungent smell curling into your nose.

She stormed into the room, slamming the ornate Hunter’s box down. She spoke to herself, but what she said didn’t matter to you as she brushed her fingers over a book she plucked from the shelf. She opened to a page, reading aloud—

“Poison apple,” you said aloud, straightening as if you’d been struck by lightning. “Sleeping death. And…” Peddler’s Disguise.

Epel looked at you curiously. “…Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” he looked into the cauldron. “Goin’ by the look n’ smell, looks like sleepin’ draught poison. ‘N there’s apples everywhere.” He nudged one sadly, “what a waste.”

“No, it’s… that’s what she made in my dream. The Queen. And then…” you glanced at the broken glass on the floor. “She… made a potion to make herself look old.” You came to a chilling conclusion as you remembered your dream from a week ago. She looked at a girl with a blue and yellow dress with such hatred. “She was going to poison someone. A girl.”

Epel rocked back on his heels, and had no idea what to say. “Well… she was the fairest in the land. It’s no wonder that she’d have enemies.”

Going by your dream, you didn’t know if Epel meant the Queen or the girl.

You frowned, confused, but before you could say anything, your phone’s timer went off. Epel’s eyes widened, and you both yelled, “THE POTION!”

Abandoning the room, the two of you raced up the steps and through the halls, until you barreled into the labs again. Thankfully, the potion was still in good condition, and you were able to bottle it for tomorrow’s alchemy class.

As you and Epel began to unwind after your initial panic, your mind drifted back to the room and your dream.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Everything you’d encountered lately, from overblots to dreams to premonition dazes, couldn’t have been mere happenstance. And Epel finding that room, the exact room, in your dream mere months ago?

It was time you took measures into your own hands.

——

These chapters are getting longer and longer each time, I don’t want them to run too long but here’s the third part!

Next up is a Neige chapt I thought of at 3am. I want to do the other dorms too, lmk if there’s anyone you’d like to see :D

Ngl I didn’t think this would be as popular as it is, but I’m really happy that you all seem to like it!! Hopefully next part will be up soon, thanks for reading this far <3 I appreciate it literally so much

[awkward-fink]

Crime!AU TF 141

Your mobile phone rings at exactly 23:42 at night, it’s a Wednesday and the day at work had been more than exhausting, so the expletives you murmur as you are dragged out of your restful sleep are more than deserved in your eyes. Your phone is the only source of light around you, illuminating the small, dinky bedroom in a soft sheen of greenish white, making it look a bit bigger than it actually is.

Still cursing, one hand in front of your eyes, you blindly fish for your phone, fingers brushing against it at the third try. It’s a number, no name, no notice on your screen, just a number. But one that had burned itself into your head regardless. You stare at the still ringing phone, a heavy stone sitting in your stomach as you watch as the time turns into 23:43. You know you can’t just ignore this; you had tried it once and the consequences had been… unexpected.

You press the green button instead of the red one you dearly wish you could press. You don’t say your name, you don’t even have the time to do so, because as soon as the call connects an accented voice cheerfully starts to speak, voice happy and awake and loud. You wish you could reach through the phone to strangle him, but sadly such superpowers are beyond you. "Right, this is the reminder call fur Diner fur (D-)One! Yer order o' a dead fiery Pepperoni Pizza will be roond in aboot 20 minutes! The delivery driver’s already got their dosh. Thank ye fur stickin’ wi’ us!" The man booms through your phone, Scottish accent rolling through your hazy mind, summoning the picture of the smirking, mohawked man into your mind. You can just picture him and his stupid smirk and his flexing arms as he twirls the phone in hand, mischief in his eyes.

“Listen here, it is nea-“ – “BeepBeepBeep” – “… Oh, I hate this. I hate him. I hate his stupid smile; I hate his stupid boss and I hate this whole situation!”

You fall back into your bed, pulling your pillow over your face as you scream into the fluffiness you need to leave now, leave behind your rest and your bed and your dog, who is still snoring loudly at the end of your blankets.

20 minutes later on the dot you open the front door, watching as a small delivery car holds in front of your small bungalow and another of the Diner Crew folds himself out of the car, cap firmly sat on top of his head, his smile big as he loped up the short path towards you, his brown eyes warm as he looks you up and down, mustering your work jeans, your too big shirt and the hint of your mismatched socks. “Hey there, Hun. Another late-night delivery for my favorite, hardworking daycare teacher.” His voice is soft and warm like honey, and you can’t believe how pretty that man is. Effortless beauty, your mother would call it. So in contrast to yourself. “Thanks.” You smile tiredly at him, taking the steaming carton into your own hands. The darkskinned pretty man chuckles, tips his cap at you and lopes back towards the car.

You watch him go, going back inside only when his car turns the corner and is out of sight. Then you breath again, your brows furrowed as you close the door behind you. The Pizza looks delicious, like always, glistening garlic oil on top of the fatty pieces of Pepperoni thickly placed on your pizza. The problem was the other side of the cardboard, the thick red letters on the inside of the box.

O’Donnel Str. 47, yellow house, take three bags and lots of cleaner. Got out of hand. No alive. No police warned. Beware the cat. Ghost-job. “Fuck me. At least it wasn’t Soap this time.” You sigh, reaching for one slice of pizza and walking into your garage, picking out the supplies you would need for this job tonight. You hesitate before you put the whole box of cleaners in the back of your car.

“Fuck me.” You repeat, swallowing the last bite of the piece of pizza. “This I going to be a long night…”

--------------------------------------------

So I guess this is kind of a Crime!AU I got in my head? I wanted to write something about this and there is more lore to this in my head. But I dont know if people would even be interested in this? How would I even call this as a series? -- awkward Fink

[hermannsthumb]

Power outage and popsicles for the summer prompts...."dude, why not? They're gonna melt otherwise."

27. Power Outage + 30. Popsicles

from summer prompts meme here

i finished this & checked ao3 and realized that i techhhhnically filled a prompt like this a little while ago, but they're different enough it's ok. giving this a light M rating for some Suggestive Content because i tweeted about this concept and couldn't stop thinking about writing it

------------------------------------------

Look, Newt’s no stranger to a hot, humid summer, least of all a hot, humid summer that he’s left to tough out with nothing but the jankiest old window A/C unit in the world and t-shirts he’s badly modified with a pair of scissors to be a little more breathable. He got used to it back in Cambridge, where his apartment was the top floor of a creaky historic house built back before anybody really thought about things like central air or air circulation or living comfortably in general. But this is just ridiculous, man. Even if his broom closet of a bunk did have a window it wouldn’t be helping him much.

Yesterday’s kaiju attack took out the city power grid and most of the electricity to the Shatterdome with it. They’re not totally fucked, because relying on somewhere prone to frequent assaults from ten gazillion pound monsters to power local PPDC operations would be kind of an insane—if not, like, admirably ballsy—move, but the on-base generators they have as back-up are reserved for critical functions only: LOCCENT, the jaeger bay, and—well, yeah, basically that. Newt would estimate roughly twenty percent of base operations outside that are deemed critical, so whatever electricity is left is diverted directly to the mess hall refrigeration systems (so they can eat) and overhead lights in most of the common spaces (so they can walk down the hallway without falling down an elevator shaft or knocking over something expensive).

Basically, their little k-science team of two ranks comically low on that critical function list no matter how many complaints Hermann lodges with facilities about his precious little computers, or Newt does about the extremely necessary and much more important preservation of his kaiju samples. Under duress Newt will very begrudgingly admit this is not without some reason. It’s still annoying.

Hermann spends the first hour of the Black-Out trying to, essentially, pirate some of that diverted power (admittedly very cool of him) to get his computers back in business and cursing very loudly when it fails. Newt, meanwhile, thanks his goddamn lucky stars that it’s been a lackluster few weeks for kaiju harvesting and every viable sample he has is small enough to fit in some coolers with ice packs he keeps around for emergencies. Problem solved. They’ll want to hose them down before their next picnic so they’re not packing sandwiches in with kaiju guts—Newt’s kidding, mostly, Hermann wouldn’t be caught dead on a picnic with him—but it’ll work for now.

The main problem arises around hour two. On the average day it’s genuinely freezing down here, thanks to the lethal combination of the lab’s somewhat subterranean nature (stickin’ the geeks in the damp basement) and Hermann’s weird habit of keeping the A/C blasting so he can comfortably dress like he's strolling across Antarctica without breaking a sweat. With the A/C casualty to the outage, it doesn’t take long for the muggy humidity of the Hong Kong summer to creep up on them, and by the light of the comically large flashlight he’s very nicely holding for Hermann Newt watches it hit his colleague in waves: the exponential increase in handkerchief-swipes-across-forehead, the unbuttoning of his collar, the blazer shrugged off and tossed at a chair, then (egads!) the sweatervest following.

“Hold that still,” Hermann snaps when Newt lets the beam of the flashlight wander from the functionally useless computer he’s poking cables into to the scandalous display of button-down and wristbones he’s putting on right now instead. Talk about a strip tease. Newt ignores him and wolf-whistles instead.

“I’ve never seen you so naked,” he says. “This is definitely a new record. How many layers of pants do you have on? I’m guessing eight, nine.” He trails the light down one alluringly baggy slacks leg—because what is he hiding under there, man—and then back up to Hermann’s face. Hermann shields his eyes and recoils with a small affronted noise. His choppy bangs are sticking to his forehead.

“One,” Hermann says from behind his hand, “that is a completely inappropriate question to ask, and you are very lucky I’m used to that sort of thing enough by now to not file a complaint with Human Resources straightaway. Perhaps I will anyway. Two, that is categorically false. Please get that out of my face.”

“You’re right, I was being way too conservative. Ten pants?”

Hermann grinds his teeth together. “You saw me with significantly less clothing than this when you accidentally—allegedly—spilled a large amount of neutralized kaiju blood on me last year.”

The decontamination shower incident. Of course. How could Newt forget? Hermann looked like an angry wet cat in there, and Newt made a beeline for the exit the second he confirmed there weren’t any imminent biohazards and/or threats to Hermann’s health and/or threats to Newt's health before Hermann could get out and make one for him. Newt hid on the roof all afternoon.

A cold decon shower sounds pretty nice right now, actually. He wonders if the water in here is still running. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. “Which you’ve yet to apologize for,” Hermann continues, because Newt guesses they're still talking about this. “Get that out of my face.”

He tightens his fingers around Newt's wrist and yanks Newt’s hand back to shine the flashlight where he needs it, and, conspicuously, doesn’t address the whole pants question, which Newt assumes has to mean there’s at least three different things going on down there. Hermann strikes him as an old-timey long underwear kind of guy. The kind you'd see flapping on clotheslines in old cartoons.

A minute later he throws down the cables and hits the side of his computer with his cane. “Bugger,” he snarls, pushing himself to his feet. “I have work to do, and now I'll be behind by a whole day. This is completely unacceptable. I have submitted no less than four notices about the importance of—”

“Aw, no luck,” Newt says. He wipes his own forehead on his rolled-up shirt cuff. Would Hermann notice if he took his shirt off? It’s gettin’ hot in here, he thinks. Hermann’s temper is gettin’ hot, too, and he thinks if he doesn’t shut his mouth his foot might find out firsthand how that walloping Hermann’s computer just got felt. “Soooo, can I go now?”

He wants to take his shirt off very badly. And more importantly he has a hot—he means that very literally—date with a battery-operated fan and a minifridge of melting popsicles in his bedroom ASAP, and he’d like to get to the popsicles (and take off his shirt) sooner than later. “Fine,” Hermann says. He takes the flashlight and waves Newt off. "Get out of my sight, you wretch."

Newt’s bunk is darker and stuffier than the lab, if possible. His first order of business is to strip down to his bare chest stat before fumbling with the switches to his fan and the shitty little rechargeable nightlight he keeps on his desk. His legs are so sweaty that the denim of his skinny jeans is clinging to him for dear life, and it takes him twice as long to wriggle out of them. He succeeds, finally, flopping flat on his ass on the mattress in his boxers. After a few more uncomfortable minutes of wriggling he kicks those off too. Definitely a dick out kind of afternoon.

Tiny as it is, the fan feels fucking great. If Hermann wasn’t such a dick Newt would’ve considered inviting him over to bask in how great it feels with him. The popsicles are great, too, and mostly still intact, but—given the distressingly liquidy state of his little minifridge freezer—they won’t be for long. Newt unwraps two of them at once and eats them in alternating bites as quickly as he can without giving himself brain freeze. He’s just unwrapped a third when there’s a brusque knock at his door.

“Uggggh,” he says. “What?”

He rolls over on his side and squints at the door, wishing vaguely for some variation of x-ray vision to see who’s there or (better yet) telekinesis that could just open the door for him. He’s hot. And lazy. Basically, getting up and opening the door is at the very bottom of the list of potential activities he could engage in right now.

“It’s me,” Hermann says.

Pretty presumptuous of him, seeing as there’s a whole Shatterdome of me’s who aren’t Hermann that could’ve been at Newt’s door and who would totally love to enjoy Newt’s company, and frozen desserts, but Newt will let it slide, given ninety percent of the time the me in question actually is Hermann. He peels himself up from his sheets and shuffles over to the door to open it. “Yeah?” he says around his popsicle.

“Did you take my,” Hermann says, and then his mouth abruptly stops moving, and he goes a shade of red that’s impressively visible in the low lighting. “Oh,” he says.

Newt takes a bite out of the popsicle and swallows with a wince. Too cold, overly ambitious of him. “Probably,” he says. “I mean, whatever you’re missing, I probably took it. The sandwich you packed today, yes, your sticky notes, yes. I was hungry. For the sandwich I mean. Not the sticky notes. Didn’t you see my note?” By my he guess he technically means Hermann’s, because he wanted to do the polite thing and leave an IOU for the sandwich like a good little colleague but ran out of his own sticky note pads three months ago and keeps forgetting to order more.

“Do you want a popsicle?” he says. “I’m trying to finish off the box. I’ve already had two so far,” he sticks out his blue tongue as proof, “and I think I might get sick if I eat anymore after this. I guess I could just, you know, stop, but I spent a ridiculous amount of money on these, Hermann, you wouldn’t believe how much, and it would physically pain me to toss them out.” The snack food black market—hyperbolically speaking, it’s not actually a black market, just a handful of convenience stores who have managed to wiggle their way around rationing—doesn’t run cheap, and he paid for roundtrip bus fare on top of that.

“Er,” Hermann says.

He sounds confusingly confused over the offer. Historically, they eat each other’s food all the time, or at least Newt eats Hermann’s, but Newt has never been stingy when it comes to sharing his black market snacks with Hermann. It’s nothing new here. “They’re gonna melt, dude, why not?” Newt says.

Hermann is breathing hard and looking even more like the Gottliebian equivalent of a pin-up calendar right now: button-down undone to the collarbones, sleeves rolled up, slack cuffs rolled up, belt MIA, flush high on his cheekbones. And with his dumb little glasses to top it off, too. It’s working for Hermann. It’s working for Newt. He wonders, if he was to sabotage the lab A/C again in the near future, if it would be worth Hermann’s fury to see him like this again.

Newt sucks on the popsicle. Hermann suddenly thrusts an arm out, catching himself on the doorframe like he’s about to topple right over, and Newt realizes now that he’s looking a little sick in the face. The poor guy must be overheating. A wave of guilt instantly washes over him—Hermann might be a dick, but Newt really should’ve mentioned the fan thing, which makes him equally a dick for not doing so. Basically their dickishness is cancelling each other out here, which he thinks makes them both pretty stand-up guys.

“Okay, fine, you wanna come in?” Newt says. “I have a fan. It’s not, like, good, but it’s better than nothing. Also, obviously, popsicles.” A droplet of melted popsicle rolls down the stick and onto his fingers, and Newt licks it up. He gives Hermann’s sleeve a little tug. “Gotta say though dude, you’re looking preeeeetty indecent right now. I mean, forearms? My God, this is a military base, not a gentlemen’s club. Don’t flash me any sock garters, I won’t be able to take it.”

“I’m indecent?” Hermann chokes out. "Do you not—?!"

His eyes fall to Newt’s lips as Newt sucks the rest of the popsicle off the stick, and as Hermann digs his teeth into his own bottom lip, Newt thinks oh, man. He thought Hermann would be above the whole tragically juvenile popsicle=phallic thing. Very low-hanging erotic fruit. He’s almost disappointed in the guy. Newt can name ten different ways he could seduce Hermann right now, hypothetical success rate aside, that would be way more interesting. Newt chews on the wooden popsicle stick just to shake things up a bit.

“Okay, so are you coming in?” he says.

Hermann’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Newton,” he finally says, and the next bits out of his mouth are a confusing semi-coherent jumble, “I am extremely—what I mean is, I’m not sure—the repercussions of it all, in terms of our working relationship—and loathe as I am to admit it, I do consider you my closest—though of course I find you exceedingly attractive, and I want to, only…”

“Um,” Newt says.

Hermann hovers in the doorway for another ten seconds, weirdly and uncomfortably silent, before shaking Newt’s hand off his sleeve. “I have to do paperwork,” he says.

He books it out of there.

Hermann’s a weirdo, no use trying to figure it out.

[hexarcana]

@ask-mister-mystery sent Wait, you’re here alone? You want to stick with me, then?” From some school dance starters.

—-

“Course I am. Who’d be crazy enough to ask me to this?” Aggie shrugs, leaning on the hard plastic bleachers. “Cept Jesse, but he’s in juvie til school starts.” She grins at her friend, “Stickin’ with you was my plan, glad we’re on the same page.” She punches him in the shoulder affectionately. “You look nice, by the way.” She adds a little bashfully but not so much so that it’s weird. She’s gotten good at that, not being so weird.

They’re 15, recently finished with their first year of high school. Gravity Falls high school was putting on a prom style dance in the first week of summer vacation to make up for the fact that the actual prom had to be cancelled due to the gym being quite literally destroyed by what most referred to as “the incident” for the sake of decorum. But Aggie knew better, since she’d been there. It was gnomes. Gnomes destroyed the gym. She’s called Stan and Ford that night and told them all about the weird one sided turf war the gnomes had picked up with the Gravity Falls High School Football Team, and how that had culminated in total gym destruction. But, thanks to the help of volunteers the gym was mostly back in one piece, and set up for a dance.

Having it at the start of summer felt like a weird choice but Aggie personally wasn’t complaining. It meant that if she decided to go, she wouldn’t have to go alone. She’s almost thought to ask one of her friends (we all know which one) to be her proper “date” to the dance but she’d chickened out. But she had confirmed that they were going to go, so she made an effort to look… Nice. Nice as she could manage anyhow.

The last year or so had been kind to her, puberty was definitely showing her mercy whereas many of her peers were in the throes of that ugly duckling era everyone seems to have at 15. She’s still getting used to dressing for the subtle curves that has shown up seemingly overnight. Her Ma was little help, but Mabel had been absolutely buzzing at the chance to take Aggie shopping for cute girl clothes.

So there she is, a bit taller than the previous summer, her long blonde hair worn free of the braid she usually wore it in. She’s got a cute little greenish blue dress on, and as was her typical fashion, no shoes. She’d had some at some point but she’d long since abandoned them, stashed in her old locker.

The older kids who had lost out on their actual prom were taking the whole thing very seriously but the freshman and sophomores were mostly there to piggyback of the fun. Aggie had seen Carla (freshly graduated, and on track to head off to college in the fall) among these serious party-goers, dragging Thistle with her. He’d dropped out a year prior but still stuck around for Carla’s sake. He’s shot glared at Aggie who’s blown raspberries at him in response. They were nowhere to be seen at the moment though.

“Did you go to any dances at your school this year? We didn’t have any because of the gnome thing… Not that I was really planning to go to any…”

[gorgon-goddess-of-chaos]

Maybe some like really flirty Anti x male reader where the reader is super nervous when Anti gets flirty because he's not used to being flirted w so much and Anti like absolutely loves making the reader character flustered n stuff

Eggnog

Technically this is more fitting for Christmas, but I recently played the new Home Safety Hotline DLC so holiday parties were on the mind.

Antisepticeye (Anthony) x M!Reader ft. Darkiplier (Damien), TW: drunkenness Words: 274

“How’re ye doin’?”

Anthony leans across the table at you, a bit of an intoxicated smile on his face. Holiday party, and apparently these people know how to party. He’s in the IT department, so you haven’t seen much of him around.

“Umm, I’m fine.”

“Handsome lad like ye workin’ in a place like t’is? Waste o’ looks, in my opinion.”

His bluntness catches you off guard, making you hide in your drink to avoid commenting on it.

“T’e least t’ey could do is stick ye at reception so t’e rest o’ us can see a pretty face when we enter in t’e building.”

“Anthony, leave the poor boy alone…”

“Oi, we’re fine over here! Buzz off, old man.”

Anthony playfully pushes Damien away, leaving Damien to just roll his eyes as he walks off.

“As I was sayin’, why are t’ey stickin’ ye in a cubicle? Don’t want t’eir competitors t’ snatch ye up? Or do t’ey t’ink ye’ll be a distraction t’ yer coworkers?”

“I-I don’t know, I just work here.”

“We all do, yet yer t’e first t’in’ I’ve seen t’at makes it wort’ it t’ come in.”

His Irish accent becomes more difficult to understand the more drunk he is. He downs another pint of eggnog, much to the horror of Damien, who witnesses it from across the room.

“Anthony! I am cutting you off. This is a company party.”

“T’ey won’t fire me, I have access t’ all o’ yer search histories.”

“Annus Christ…”

“Did ye know t’at Mark looks at po-” “That is enough, thank you, Anthony.”

“Yer welcome!”

Oh gods, this is gonna be a long night.

[shouyuus]

HELLO!! for your ask game: 2, 12, 22!

also can I just say, i came from your old blog for hq boys, but am thoroughly enjoying your lesbian era keep it up girlie!!!

ask game!

OMG GIRLIE u are a REAL ONE for stickin around this long HAHAH thANK U BBY. i am rly stepping into my bi babe era and im loving it tbh U_U dont worry tho the hq babes will always be my og babes. there shalle be more content for them! i just... don't know when rn T^T

2. show us a picture of your handwriting?

answered here! :)

12. what’s some good advice you want to share?

oof. i think i've said this before but like. in terms of specifically writing in general? read. read everything. read good novels and shitty novels. read fiction and nonfiction. read published shit and read fanfics. read poetry and newspaper articles. read essays and religious texts and read the metas on both of those things. and i don't take my own advice nearly as well as i should but the more u read, the better writer you will become, and that's something i fervently believe.

intake media. sit with it. don't be afraid to critique it. if i don't like something implicitly, i ask myself why. why do i hate it. is it bc it's badly written/made? or is it bc some part of it made me feel off? is it challenging me and that's why i feel like i don't like it? or was it just actually badly executed. asking urself questions like this will ultimately make you a better "active consumer" and an "engager" in media rather than to just passively intake. and it will absolutely make you a better writer in the long run.

and conversely. you do not have to be good at a hobby to enjoy it. cringe is dead. throw out the concept that you have to be a "good" write to produce writing. if u wanna write fanfic then do it. if you wanna draw fanart then do it. write it anyway. write it bc its a story u wanna tell. write it even tho someone's written it and someone will write it again. write. write it anyway.

22. say 3 things about to someone you love

i did not know loving could be this easy. sometimes it terrifies me how you've made me fall in love with wanting to live again. i'm so sorry you have to watch my cry over my fictional s/o of the month over and over again LMFAO.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @cain-e-brookman!

Proud-of Tag

Rules: Post something you're proud of

Here's a little slice of Astra’s definitely fully platonic feelings from MG3 :)

Astra barked a laugh. “Yeah, I can fix ya up with somethin’. Maybe you can teach me to swim someday, though I’m feelin’ pretty pleased with my performance today. I bet I’ll be a natural, once I really learn.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Mashal’s mouth curved into a barebones smile, only for his eyes to flicker nervously. “If that’s the case, then… then are we going to stick together once I’m human again?”

The witch’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t considered that before.

“Of course we are!” she replied. “I— I mean, if ya want to, that is. You’re my friend, Mashal. The first friend I’ve had…. The first friend I’ve had in a damn long time. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed bein’ around someone the way I enjoy bein’ near you.”

The more she thought, the more she found the words were true. There was something about this man that brought out the best in her, and made her want to bring out the best in him. To find the deepest well of his heart and learn its depths as thoroughly as she might study the mysteries of magic itself.

She’d never had a friend like Mashal before. And now that she had him, she didn’t want to ever let him go.

At her side, Mashal’s smile blossomed gently back into place. He squeezed her hand and Astra felt a smile slide onto her own face. She knew how nervous he sometimes got with delicate motions like that.

“I enjoy being near you too,” he finally said. “I’d like to keep it that way, even once everything is put to rights.”

For a second, it seemed like he was about to say something more, only to shake his head and gesture back towards the way they’d came. “We should get out of here. Who knows what else is lurking?”

“Hopefully no more spiders.” Astra chuckled as she elbowed him in the ribs. “You know they’re more afraid a’ you than you are a’ them, right?”

Mashal made a gagging noise. “I don’t care. They can be afraid, just so long as they stay off me. Gods, I can still feel all those little legs….”

“I’ll find ya some bug spray later,” she offered, still grinning. “I reckon it’s a good thing I didn’t mention Abomination while I still had the vardo, I guess.”

“Who now?”

Astra grimaced apologetically. “The big ole’ huntsman spider that lived in the Extraordinaire. He was my pest control. I reckon he’s dead by now—I don’t know how long the critters live, but he’d been with me a while by the time you showed up.”

“A— A spider. You had a spider living in your wagon. A spider you named Abomination.” Mashal let out a shaky sigh. “Well, why not?”

“If he and my vardo are still there by the time we get back, I’ll relocate ’im to some cozy shed for his retirement.” Astra gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “Since we’re gonna be stickin’ together.”

“That’s, uh, probably for the best,” Mashal answered laughingly.

She's the demisexual rep I'm making for myself. Tagging @bunnymermaidwrites @sarahlizziewrites @sageswriting @autism-purgatory @katenewmanwrites and anyone else who wants to play :)

[thuganomxcs]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 | @waterhealer | 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

Mikiko entered the restaurant; she stopped for a moment to appreciate the interior. Quickly her soft, gentle eyes fell upon the  plushie jellyfish kissy kiss man. Giving him a smile. “Ah! So this is your restaurant?” She asked, the clacking of her high heels filling the establishment.

Here she is, practically the only woman in Japan who could get away with making Yusuke do something embarrassing and walk away to tell the story. Friendship was..very strange that way, but she did save his life..so if she wanted him to kill a stuffed toy then he will..long as it’s..a regular stuffed doll. But it also seems like she’s taken up on his invitation to step into his restaurant that’s been rebuilt thanks to the efforts of the heroes in the city.   ❝   𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬.   ❞ His tone is extremely friendly. “Caught me on my break..but hey, if you’re stickin’ around tell me what ya want and I’ll make it for ya personally. A way of thankin’ ya again for what you did.”

[starbright-sunset]

Y'know I actually feel welcomed here. Genuinely. It feels nice to have people genuinely interested in what I do!

That they wanna reblog my art or my writings, leave nice little comments on them and let other people see it!!!

I feel welcomed amongst the Phighting community. I feel like I belong here and that people LIKE what I do.

I don't think I've ever felt this loved and noticed in a community before... So thank you everyone. I know I'm gonna be stickin' around here for a long time now.

[sillyguyhotline]

Came for the yttd analysis, stayed for the shitposting

You're mentally ill but so am I

I hope you gain peace even though I myself don't have any

I don't really know anything about you

I feel close to you

I wish the best for you

You deserve the world<3

i don’t know why i took so long to respond to this my brain works in mysterious ways it’s no fault of yours :,) but hell yeah based on the yttd thing we’ve probably been coexisting on here for a pretty good while and i hope you find peace eventually too, whatever meaning that concept has to you <3 i have faith we’ll both get there someday!!! thank u for stickin around this long :]