#the marshmallow chronicles

[gluttonyedits]

“What kind of taste do you have, I wonder?” requested by 🍷anon: Banica Conchita stimboard with comfort Please do not tag as kin/ID/me unless you’re the requester. • • • # • • • # • • •

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

₂ i swear, next time i see you i'll be funny

memphis, tennessee. the road sign just appeared out of schlatt's peripheral vision, though he wasn't paying much attention. his hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel as the radio blabbered on about how tomorrow, december fourteenth 2022, a lady named cheryl would be winning a lifetime supply of chuck-e cheese tickets.

"can you shut the fuck up?" schlatt barked, slamming his hand into the console. not a great idea, he knew that— but there wasn't much else he could do. he was going as fast as he could without going 100mph, but that wasn't fast enough.

schlatt was a man with vices. whiskey, mostly, and snacking before bed. but his biggest vice was you, anything you asked— everything was thrown out the window. it'd come to bite him in the ass more than once, but anything for you. and he meant it when he said it.

so when you called, frantic and sobbing, all he had to say was:

"i'll be right there."

even though he was in the middle of a chuckle sandwich shoot, he had to run. ted even let him borrow his toyota tocoma (an honor which he rarely bestowed on anyone), but he knew it was an emergency. and notably, a sixteen hour drive. he drove all throughout the night, not even taking a second to breathe or blink as he made his way to tennessee.

eventually, the old truck made its way past the border of tennessee and into memphis. after a few illegal right turns, he made his way to your apartment. it was small. and it didn't take a genius to see it was also in an awful neighborhood, hell— he could hear police sirens echoing in the background.

which was fucking weird, because you had just shown the chuckle crew a photo of your new high rise you were going to purchase. it had looked nice as hell, eliciting an "ooh" from charlie, ted and even himself. and he was a man rarely impressed.

the whole apartment shook when schlatt knocked on the door, frantic. his huge, strong hands helped him out for once— besides opening jars of peanut butter and jelly or opening locks that were jammed. "hey, open the door!" no response, but he could hear little sobs and whines inside. he took a step back, bracing himself before jamming his elbow into the door, busting it wide open.

you were curled up in a blanket, sniffling and crying as you stared off into space.

in seconds, you were in his arms. your tears soaked his shirt, but he had hundreds of the same one— it didn't matter to him. his voice was hesitant, trying to soothe you. "hey, hey, sugar. nono, don't cry— don't—"

hysterical, you choked on your sobs and hugged him tight. "i'm sorry you came all this way, i didn't mean to bother you, i just—"

"no, fuck, baby. you're not botherin' me. i wanted to come, so i did. ya didn't ruin nothin', alright? cross my heart. pinky swear, whatever or whoever ya want me to swear it on, i do."

heavy, shaky breaths again. "but the drive here takes forever, a—and weren't you filiming a chuckle episode? gosh, don't tell me you left that early, jay..." you took a sharp inhale, voice wobbling. "my heart's beating real, really fast." you stammer.

"'kay toots, you're gonna listen to me now, alright? deep breaths. you can do it, know you can."

your eyes met his, and it felt like someone ripped his heart in half. "you can't just throw everything away to take care of me. what if one day you can't come save me?" you ask, voice quiet as a mouse.

schlatt shook his head, not even giving him a second to think about it. "i always will be," he insists.

"but, i—i am afraid i'll spend entire years— trying..." you stammer, getting all choked up again. "...trying not to need you."

"you don't need to worry about that." he assured you, his voice low and baritone.

and schlatt held you the whole way through. the entire night, coaxing you to stop crying, to at least have some water and have a bite to eat. he brought you hot cocoa with marshmallows and sat next to you on the couch in silence, until you drifted off to sleep.

the austin chronicle on november nineteenth, 2025, had their horoscope section on the second page, tucked into the bottom right corner. today, your horoscope said that old memories would come to light. you laughed and threw out the newspaper before glancing in your doorway to see a random stranger standing there, boxers low on his hips.

resisting the urge to rub your temples, you politely made conversation with the man (a hookup you'd already forgotten the name of, add him to the list.)

the door slammed.

you sighed, groaning and rubbing your eyes. another fucking morning. idly, you made yourself eggs and glanced over at the television. some person was crying to the reporter about a car crash that had happened. unfortunate, you mused. those kinds of stories used to make you cry just as hard as the person it had actually happened to, but now, you seemed impartial to it. just another thing in the walk of life, you supposed.

scrolling through your instagram feed, you got a message from one of your friends about going out tonight. why not, right? it's not like you had better shit to do. (you didn't.)

and in what felt like a blink to you, there were loud, flashing lights that felt like they were pounding in your head. but you didn't want to be the party pooper loser of the night and go home, you needed this, so you downed a few shots with your friends until you eventually loosened up.

your friends burst into loud, shrill shrieks. "ohmygosh!" one of them tugged on your arm, pointing across the club to—

fuck.

schlatt was standing right there, tall and broad as ever, dressed in a black turtleneck with a brown jacket thrown over it. he looked distinguished, and eerily out of place. in the same city as you. and partying in an outfit that looked like it belonged to a stuffy college professor more than your old friend jay who you hadn't spoken to in... jeez, it must've been three years now since you'd ran off from memphis, moved thousands of miles away, went no contact, and started anew. schlatt called so often, frantically worrying about your absence, that you had to change your number.

he met your gaze, and he immediately moved. it made your face blanch as he weaved his way through the crowd easily, not caring if he'd pushed someone or interrupted a makeout session.

"you." he breathed heavily, eyes wide.

a man of few words. your friends, perplexed at the fact he knew you (they had just seen one of his youtube videos once),

"big man!" you put on a big, fake smile like you were thrilled to see him. well, it's not like you weren't. just taken aback, you supposed. "guess one of us had to look better than before, and we all know it's not me." your friends burst into giggles at your self-depricating joke, your smile faltering a little. "you grew a little. how's new york, huh?"

"uh... good." schlatt's eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to say something, but bit his lip. "good."

[jadeshifting]

— THE HOGWARTS YEARBOOK

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the Hogwarts yearbook is a chaotic masterpiece, run by an elite squad of overachievers, gossipmongers, and a few artsy types who take their job way too seriously. the Yearbook Club is basically the unofficial Ministry of Hogwarts gossip, with photographers sprinting through corridors like paparazzi and editors arguing over the perfect font for “Most Likely to Hex You in the Hallway.” every house is represented, but the Slytherins are suspiciously over-involved, ensuring the drama stays juicy and the layout stays immaculate

THE YEARBOOK TEAM

— EDITORS-IN-CHIEF . two students (usually a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin for “balance”) who rule the team with an iron wand. they’re perfectionists, bickering over which Quidditch action shots make the cut and vetoing any ��unflattering” portraits of themselves

— PHOTOGRAPHERS . they’re either snooping in the Astronomy Tower for couple pics or camped out in the Great Hall to catch someone mid-chew

— DESIGN WIZARDS . the artsy crowd who charm illustrations to move, ensuring every page sparkles with subtle animations (stars twinkle and wink on Astronomy Club photos and the like)

— COPYWRITERS . they craft witty captions, most of which toe the line between clever and outright shady

— SUPERLATIVE COMMITTEE . a ruthless crew who poll the school on absolutely everything, stirring up just enough controversy to keep people talking without outright duels breaking out (usually)

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YEARBOOK SECTIONS

HOUSE HIGHLIGHTS . a spread for each house, with moodboard-like aesthetics. Gryffindor’s page has bold golden flames, while Slytherin’s practically drips with emerald and silver

— SLYTHERIN ‘AMBITION IN ACTION’ … emerald green with silver accents, Slytherin’s spread screams luxury with bite (surely it helps that one of the co-editors-in-chief is a Slytherin.) there’s a glam shot of the Quidditch team and a list of students’ most cunning moves—like that time Daphne slipped out of detention with an alibi so flawless McGonagall was impressed. the “Most Likely to Dominate the Wizarding World” section is basically a Slytherin monopoly, and the style feature highlights impeccable robes and shameless confidence. bonus? a gossip sidebar titled “whispers in the dungeon,” because secrets are currency, and they’ve got plenty

— GRYFFINDOR ‘COURAGE CHRONICLES’ … fiery red with gold accents, the Gryffindor spread practically roars with action shots—Quidditch players mid-dive, daring pranks in the Great Hall, and someone’s epic leap over a cursed stair. a “Daring Feats of the Year” section (sneaking into the Forbidden Forest again), plus a tally of House points earned through sheer audacity. Superlatives like “Most Likely to Save the Day” and “Biggest Trouble Magnet” dominate, while the “Common Room Candids” feature wild games of Wizard Chess and someone roasting marshmallows over the fireplace

— RAVENCLAW ‘INDEX OF INTELLECT’ … cool blues with bronze details, the Ravenclaw spread is the epitome of academic chic. a collage of parchment-strewn study tables, dreamy shots of the astronomy tower, and a “Top 10 Mind-Blowing Theories” list. there’s a feature on enchanted inventions created by Ravenclaws this year, plus a “Most Likely to Write Hogwarts: A History Vol. 2” superlative. the highlight reel showcases their Quiz Bowl domination, and a section called “Ravenclaw Riddles,” with the year’s most impossible questions and wildly creative answers

— HUFFLEPUFF ‘HEART OF HOGWARTS’ … sunshine yellow with black accents, Hufflepuff’s spread radiates warmth and quiet brilliance. a feature on the year’s most epic Herbology project (Venomous Tentacula that’s quite docile) and a “Badger of the Month” spotlight. the “House Unity” section is all about community moments—midnight baking sessions, garden parties, and celebrations after Quidditch wins. superlatives like “Most Likely to Lend You a Wand” and “Most Contagious Laughter” are sprinkled throughout, and the spread ends with a heartfelt note: “you don’t need the spotlight when you’re the glow behind it”

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CLUBS & COMMITTEES . features like “Behind the Scenes at the Dueling Club” and a “Potions Class Outtake Reel” section featuring exploding cauldrons

QUIDDITCH RECAP . full-page action shots, player stats, and a “Best Quidditch Fall” montage (with magically looping re-plays)

WIZARDING WORLD CURRENT EVENTS . students write essays about the biggest wizarding news throughout the school year, from Gringotts heists to controversial bans on experimental charms

THE SUPERLATIVES . the juiciest section, hands down (and what you’ve been waiting for, i’m sure)

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THE SUPERLATIVES

— Most Likely to Cause a Scandal

(an absolute favorite, hotly debated in the dormitories)

— Most Likely to Be Minister for Magic (or in Azkaban)

(usually goes to someone terrifyingly ambitious)

— Biggest Flirt

(complete with photographic evidence, yikes)

— Biggest Walking Detention Slip

(either breaking curfew, enchanting furniture, or ‘accidentally’ setting fire to something every other week)

— Class Clown

(when both the Weasley twins graduate, maybe someone else will have a shot)

— Most Likely to Cause a Quidditch Foul

(a Slytherin wins every year)

— Best Dressed

(a lowkey blood feud among Slytherin girls)

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DISTRIBUTION DAY

the yearbooks are unveiled in a massive, glitter-filled fest of grandeur in the Great Hall. copies literally soar to students’ tables, but a few always “go missing” and mysteriously resurface for their owners with secret annotations and doodles. sparkling and enchanted ink pens are handed out for people to sign each other’s books, and notes are exchanged with equal parts sarcastic laughs and heartfelt warmth

EXTRA EXTRA !!

— rumor has it there’s a banned page each year—filled with the wildest gossip, snogging scandals, and unapproved photos. only a select few ever see it

— the Restricted Section of the library holds all past yearbooks, dating back to Hogwarts’ founding, and rumor has it they’re enchanted to whisper secrets about their featured students

— this year’s “hidden Easter egg”? a charm that makes random yearbook pages occasionally shout out personal context when you flip through. it’s hilarious and fun… until it starts oversharing about your worst Transfiguration grade

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[starmocha]

you're the only one, my love [Zayne/Reader ★ 1700 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The perfect moment is one filled with messy hair, pj’s, and hot cocoa. Day 01 — to: my true love (Sylus/Reader) Day 02 — do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) (Zayne/Reader) Day 03 — in a gingerbread house built for two (Rafayel/Reader) Day 04 — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart (Xavier/Reader) Day 05 — ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls (Sylus/Reader) A/N: I started writing this immediately after the last one…….and if you saw my tumblr posts chronicling my descent into horniness….no, you did not. Anyway. That One Zayne Post was not an outline for this. I was. Going through something. ✨️This is a wholesome series✨️ Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @lavlynyan 【 request to be added 】

To you, every moment with Zayne felt like a present, always unexpected, always delightful, and every single one you cherished with all of your heart.

You greedily collected all of the precious moments in life, tucking them away in your memories for safekeeping. With Zayne, it seemed you had an abundance of cherished moments, with so many innocuous snapshots that filled you with such wonderous joy when you reminiscence.

The best days always seemed to be the ones alone with him doing nothing, and yet it meant everything to you.

In the kitchen, with your hair up in a messy bun and dressed in only Zayne’s white dress shirt much too big for you, you hummed and danced happily as you gathered items from the cupboard. As you scavenged for everything you needed, you realized Zayne had moved the hot cocoa to a higher shelf. Frowning, you leaned up on your tiptoes, arm outstretched for the cannister just within sight. Just before the pads of your fingers brushed against the container, another arm reached for the same item, easily grabbing it off the shelf. You gasped, looking up and meeting Zayne’s gentle smile.

“Is this what you wanted to grab?” he asked.

You turned around, your back touching the counter, and Zayne keeping you enclosed in this tight space. You nodded happily before frowning. “Why did you move it up so high?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” he said, explaining, “I was reorganizing the shelves by the different types of beverages, and coffee and tea outnumbered the hot cocoa.”

You laughed at his reasoning.

Zayne frowned. “Why are you laughing at me?”

You shook your head and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’re cute—in a perfectionist sort of way,” you said before walking away with the cannister of hot cocoa, missing the beginning of Zayne’s ears turning a light shade of red.

You resumed humming as you checked the countertop.

Sprinkles, marshmallows, whipped cream and many other sweet treats were neatly arranged on the counter, creating a little mini hot cocoa bar.

Zayne approached you and peered at the counter curiously. “What’s all this?”

“A hot cocoa bar,” you chirped brightly. “I thought it would be fun if we make our own hot cocoa.”

He smiled. “It is a perfect day for one,” Zayne agreed.

His eyes traveled across the counter, pausing at two items of interest.

Zayne looked on in amusement when he noticed the two mugs prepared. “So, is this one mine?” he asked, holding up one that says ‘hello gorgeous,’ his smile seemed to widened in delight at seeing your pinked cheeks when he purposely turned so the phrase was aimed at you. “I will take that as a yes, and I suppose…this one is yours?”

“Well…” Before you could hide your mug, Zayne had swiped it from you, picking it up and turning it around, pretending to examine it, though you both knew he was messing with you right now. He smirked as he read the text on the mug, ���‘Hello handsome’.”

He looked at you pointedly, his suggestive smile making your heart skipped a beat, because he truly did look so, so handsome in this moment. Still dressed in his pj’s with unkempt hair, he looked nothing like he usually did during work days. At home, particularly around you, he seemed much more relaxed and casual, letting his guard completely lowered in your presence.

Your cheeks seemed to burn hotter under his cool gaze. “They’re…a set,” you tried to explain feebly.

“Indeed,” he agreed, handing you back your mug, “I like them.”

You were practically brimming with joy at his comment.

“Now,” Zayne started slowly, his eyes traveling across the counter, taking in the array of preparations you had made. He tilted his head to the side curiously with a teasing smile on his lips. “This is not a trap, is it?”

“A trap?” you questioned, confused as you furrowed your brows.

“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”

Realization dawned on you, and you answered hesitantly, “I—I trust you,” you said, but Zayne’s look of disbelief had you backtracking immediately. “Well, this is not an everyday thing. Occasionally is fine.”

Zayne hummed in agreement.

“Why do I have to tell a doctor this anyway,” you mumbled to yourself, but Zayne heard every word.

“I practice what I preach,” he cut in with his own frown.

“Really?” It was your turn to look at him skeptically. “Greyson mentioned—”

“Greyson, perhaps, has a bit too much idle time at the hospital,” Zayne quipped, “That should be remedied.”

“Oh, Zayne, don’t bully him!”

“I would not,” he said pointedly. He grabbed your wrist and with a gentle tug, he pulled you to him. Your hands rested on his firm chest, your widened eyes darting up to meet his, surprised by this sudden closeness. Zayne reached down and brushed aside the little strands of hair that framed your face. “I feel like I am the one being targeted by everyone.”

You sulked. “Only because we care about you.”

Zayne’s hand paused, resting on your cheek. You turned, pressing a kiss to his palm before placing both of your hands over his larger one. You gently caressed his hand, your eyes looking to him with such sweet tenderness, it made him smile before he sighed resignedly, his hand pulled back and his arms now wrapped around you, keeping you held firmly in his embrace. Instinctively, you burrowed into his warmth, your own arms encircled around him.

“Should we get started then?”

You answered with a grin and pulled away from him.

“Okay, hot water or milk?” you asked him suddenly, “There is a correct answer.”

Zayne pondered, and then smirked as he answered, “Milk.”

“Ding-ding-ding! Correct!” you cheered. Retrieving the carton of milk from the fridge, you poured enough for two servings into an enamel milk pan on the stove, letting it gently warm up as you and Zayne made other preparations.

“Plain chocolate or peppermint?”

“Peppermint,” Zayne answered, smiling when you dropped a green chocolate sphere into his mug. “Now what is this?”

“It’s a hot cocoa bomb. Isn’t it cute?” you asked while placing a similar one into your own mug. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Zayne picked up the little sphere to examine. You refrained from laughing as you watched Zayne eyed it with the same curiosity as a cat would with a Christmas ornament.

Fitting for the Yuletide occasion, the chocolate sphere was shaped just like a Christmas ornament, the deep sage color and light shimmer of edible glitter made it reminiscent of the holiday. Surprised, Zayne was able to catch a faint whiff of peppermint from it.

“Interesting,” he said as he carefully placed it back into his mug.

“Extra chocolately?” you asked, and when Zayne nodded, you dropped a few spoonsful of hot cocoa powder into his mug and yours as well.

“The milk looks ready,” Zayne commented when he noticed the milk was simmering just below the boiling point. He turned off the stove and retrieved the milk pan. Carefully, he poured an equal amount of milk into both mugs, watching with almost childlike curiosity as the two chocolate bombs instantly melted from contact with the hot liquid.

Placing the pan aside, he accepted the spoon you handed to him. You both stirred your hot cocoa, accelerating the melting and emulsifying the beverage. From there, whipped cream, sprinkles, additional crushed peppermints and a snowflake-shaped marshmallow adorned the mug, creating the indulgent hot cocoa of your dream.

“Cheers!” you and Zayne said simultaneously, and the two mugs clinked together. You both drank from your respective mug, laughing when you noticed the whipped cream mustache on the other.

“Hold still,” Zayne said with a soft chuckle.

Compliant but also confused, you gasped when Zayne easily lifted you off the floor and set you on top of the counter. One hand rested behind on the countertop to steady your balance, your other still held your mug firmly. When you turned to face Zayne, he had already leaned forth, catching you by surprise when he seized your lips, kissing and savoring the lingering taste of whipped cream and chocolate on your lips. As you instinctively kissed him back, you also tasted the same sweetness on his own lips, wanting more and more.

“Ah—Zayne…” You nervously set your mug down to the side, your hands reaching up to settle on his shoulders. “Mm…”

He licked the lingering whipped cream from your upper lip, giving you another light nip before he pulled back. His arms wrapped around you and he rested his head on your shoulder, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. You could hear him inhaling deeply, and then a soft sigh escaped.

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured, breathing in deeply again, his lips pressing along your neck to leave little kisses.

“M-must be my lotion…” you said absently, feeling a warmth spreading as he continued to lavish you with kisses, the heat of his body against yours growing stronger.

“Is that so?” He kissed your cheek, his lips lingering long enough for you to notice. For that brief instance, it seemed like he was pondering before he asked, “Vanilla?”

“Yes…”

He laughed softly. Zayne rested his forehead against yours, his eyes peering down at you with so much affections. “You look beautiful, my love,” he murmured.

“Stop it…” you said, embarrassed as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “My hair is so messy���I’m not dressed properly…and…”

He reached down and grabbed your free hand, raising it to his lips. “You’re always beautiful in my eyes,” he said, adding mischievously, “Even more so when dressed in nothing but my shirt.”

“Zayne…”

He picked up his mug of hot cocoa, holding it out to you. “Hello gorgeous.”

You laughed, feeling a bit silly but also delighted as you grabbed yours to clink with his mug again. “Hello handsome.”

How serendipitous.

Among the billions of people in the world, to have found each other in this life, to know that he was yours and you were his.

How wonderful, how enchanting, how perfect was this life.

[space-station-nursery]

𑁯ᰍ Christmas agere questions !!

Below are questions you are free to ask! Just click the "mail time" button and ask away! Be sure to include your anon tag (if asking anonymously) and We will happily answer! ⁺　　○ 　 . 　 ⁺　　✦　　⁺ 　 . 　 ✦ ꒰ 🌨️ ꒱ Would you rather receive 20 small gifts, or 1 giant gift? ꒰ ❄️ ꒱ What's your favorite Christmas song? ꒰ ⛄ ꒱ Hot chocolate or eggnog? ꒰ 🧣 ꒱ Would you rather spend Christmas in the snow, or on a beach? ꒰ 🧤 ꒱ What's your favorite holiday tradition? ꒰ 🕯️ ꒱ White lights, or colorful lights? ꒰ 🎄 ꒱ Would you rather be Kevin from Home Alone or Kate from The Christmas Chronicles ꒰ ⭐ ꒱ Favorite gift you've ever been given? ꒰ 🎁 ꒱ Build a snowman or have a snowball fight? ꒰ 🎅🏻 ꒱ Do you believe in Santa? What are your thoughts on him ꒰ 🛷 ꒱ Would you rather be a Christmas toy tester or a Christmas food taster? ꒰ 🦌 ꒱ Is there a special tradition you partake in on Christmas eve? ꒰ 🫎 ꒱ Christmas play or Christmas carolling? ꒰ 🥛 ꒱ Would you rather wrap 100 presents or sign 100 cards? ꒰ 🍪 ꒱ Do you decorate? What's your favorite part of decorating? ꒰ ⛸️ ꒱ Fuzzy blankets or fuzzy socks? ꒰ 🎀 ꒱ Would you rather ride Santa's sleigh or ride The Polar Express? ꒰ 🧸 ꒱ Do you get a real, or fake Christmas tree? ꒰ 🚂 ꒱ Cocoa plain or with whipped cream/Marshmallows? ꒰ 🔔 ꒱ Would you rather play holiday games, or watch holiday movies? ꒰ 🌲 ꒱ What's your favorite Christmas movie? ꒰ ✨ ꒱ Rudolph or Frosty the snowman? ꒰ 📖 ꒱ Would you rather have a village of elves at your disposal or go Christmas shopping with an unlimited budget? ꒰ ☃️ ꒱ Do you dress in any holiday outfits or have any holiday stuffie's that you dress for the holidays? ꒰ 🥕 ꒱ Candy canes or peppermints? ꒰ 🍼 ꒱ Would you rather lose your voice for the holidays or only be able to speak in Christmas carols?

⁺　　○ 　 . 　 ⁺　　✦　　⁺ 　 . 　 ✦

Do not rewrite and post as your own

[justnatoka]

Welcome! This is my Masterlist for all my Lost Boys fics. Let's venture into the warm summer nights of Santa Carla together! It's fun to be a vampire after all!

One shots

Poly! Lost Boys

Creatures of the night (GN! Reader)

Haunted (GN! Reader, some hurt/comfort)

Deliver me from darkness (GN! Reader, angst, hurt/comfort)

What's going on? (Fem! Reader, a rewrite of certain scenes with reader added in)

Creep deterrent (Fem! Reader)

Wrong place, right time (Fem! Reader, fluff, hurt/comfort)

David

No disrespect (Fem! Reader, Reader is a baddie)

Big bad vampire and his little witch (Fem! Witch! Reader, grumpy/sunshine vibes)

Detective chronicles (GN! Reader, soft David, really stupid and extremely unserious)

Paul

Late night snack (GN! Reader, spicy)

Wild creatures (Fem! Reader, fluff, light smut, you are a menace and so is Paul)

Marko

Strawberry lip balm (Fem! Reader, a hint of spice)

Dwayne

Misunderstandings and macchiatos (GN! Reader, fluff)

Drabbles

Poly! Lost Boys

Prank wars and tickle fights (GN! Reader, pure chaos)

David

Rejections are hard (GN! Reader, sulking David)

Jealous? Nah. (GN! Reader, jealous David, fluff)

Paul

Playing with Paul's hair (Fem! Reader, pure fluff)

Love is in the air (GN! Reader, pure fluff, realization of feelings)

Distractions (GN! Reader, spicy)

Marko

Wearing Marko's jacket (GN! Reader, implied Poly!, fluff, a hint of spice)

Blushing mess (GN! Reader, light smut)

Dwayne

Of crushes and marshmallows (GN! Reader, fluff)

Headcanons

How they behave in a relationship

How they cuddle with you

When you don't say 'I love you' back

When you start becoming distant

The boys with a werewolf partner

Series

Midnight tales from the diner - ongoing

Poly! Lost Boys x GN! Reader

Actions... (protective boys, fluff)

...and consequences (protective boys, general chaos)

Letting go

Poly! Lost Boys x GN! Reader

Letting go (angst, bittersweet ending)

Coming home (slight angst, fluff, lots of emotions)

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🐦‍⬛ The Cold is Never Violent: Epilogue - The Cold is Never Domestic

The Cold is Never Domestic: The tools are recovered, Lucifer is (mostly) a bad memory, and the Dreaming is settling back into starlit normalcy… except its king keeps stealing your fuzzy constellation socks and brooding on the balcony. One late-night confrontation spirals into cuddle negotiations, pirate-duke slander, and the beginning of A Chronicle of Quiet Moments—Morpheus’s private record of every ridiculous, tender thing he never wants to forget.

Warnings: Mild Angst, Fluff and Humor, Brief Mentions of Hell and Demonic Violence, Reference to Imprisonment, Light Innuendo, Canon-Typical Supernatural Elements, Emotional Vulnerability.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Reader, Reader has Hair (For Plot) Pour Vous @melancholypancakes 😘

Word Count: ~2.8k

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The Dreaming is quieter than usual tonight—quiet enough that you can hear the hush of distant nightmares curling back to sleep and the soft creak of pale moon-iron hinges as one of the high balcony doors drifts in the breeze.You nudge the door open fully with a toe and step onto warm, star-dusted stone. The sky above the palace is a spill of aquamarine shot through with slow-moving constellations; a few stray dream-whales breach through clouds that look suspiciously like peach sorbet. Beautiful, yes—except this balcony is supposed to be empty at this hour, and it is not.

You find him on the balustrade, brooding. Again.

He’s leaning forward, elbows braced on cool marble, jaw resting on steepled fingers—picture-perfect Gothic gloom. And because the universe has a sense of humor, he is also wearing fuzzy ankle socks with tiny embroidered constellations—the star-stitched ones he made specifically for you after the Hell fiasco. They peek out beneath immaculate black trousers like two mischievous night-skies trying to escape from his admittedly majestic shins.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t also ruining the aesthetic by dangling them perilously close to a pot of moon-ivy. One stray vine and your socks will be devoured for plant nutrition. Unacceptable.

“I know for a fact,” you announce, arms crossed, “that those were not custom-woven for your icy man-ankles.”

Morpheus doesn’t turn. Of course he doesn’t. Brooding protocols forbid acknowledging intruders before the moment is perfectly dramatic. His voice drifts back, deep and unfazed:

“They were cold.”

“My socks?”

“No,” he says, still gazing into the cosmic nothing beyond the parapet. “My feet. The realm. My… heart.”

You blink. Then you stare at the back of his absurdly perfect, windswept hair. “Did you just say your heart was cold so you stole my socks?”

A pause. Then, quieter, as if the confession might shatter reality: “They are soft.”

Heat prickles your cheeks—half amusement, half oh-my-god-he’s-cute annoyance. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, sweeping past him to reclaim the other stolen item in this crime scene: his coat—your coat now—carelessly draped over the railing like a vampire cape having an existential crisis. You shrug it on with dramatic flair; the cosmos-lined interior billows and sparks tiny meteors as it settles on your shoulders.

“Is this what our immortal love has become?” you demand, spinning on a heel to face him. “Sock theft and balcony sulking?”

“I do not sulk.”

“You’ve sulked twelve times today.”

He finally deigns to glance over a shoulder, eyebrow arched. “Cataloguing my moods is not an act of love, Y/N.”

“Says the Endless who counted exactly how many marshmallows I put in my cocoa last night.”

“One must monitor sugar intake.”

“Mhm. Totally not sulking.” You lean against the rail beside him, angling your body so moonlight picks out the faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re just mad because I told Lucienne you nearly cried during the movie.”

“I did not nearly cry.”

“You got misty.”

“That child’s dog was unjustly taken,” he huffs, eyes sliding away—caught!

You grin. Victory tastes like cocoa with three marshmallows.

A feathered shadow flutters overhead, then drops onto the railing between you with a clack of claws. Matthew ruffles his wings, eyes darting between you both like a sports commentator at a boxing ring.

“Oooh, are we doing Relationship Fight Night?” he croaks. “Should I get popcorn? Do we have popcorn in the dream pantry?”

“We are not fighting,” Morpheus mutters, glowering at the raven. “We are conversing.”

“Uh-huh. Conversing.” Matthew leans closer to you in alleged whisper. “That’s Endless for domestic spat. Quick tip: he caves faster if you threaten to withhold back scratches.”

“I heard that,” Morpheus says without looking.

You pat Matthew’s head. “It’s fine. I’ve got bigger ammunition.” You point at the fuzzy socks. “Those are mine. You will surrender them, my lord, or face unspeakable consequences.”

Morpheus exhales, long-suffering. “Name your price, little nightmare.”

“My price? For socks you pilfered from my personal drawer?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” You tap your chin. “I want… an apology, three hours uninterrupted in the library’s romance section, and—”

“Throw in a foot rub,” Matthew suggests brightly. “He gives great foot rubs! His hands are like silky buckets of warm sand.”

Morpheus closes his eyes. “Matthew.”

“What? I’m helping.”

You bite back a laugh. “Actually, not a bad idea. Apology, library time, foot rub.” You hold out your hand. “Deal?”

He studies your extended palm as if it’s a contract with the Fates. Finally he slides one hand from the balustrade and slips his fingers through yours. His skin is strangely warm—maybe the fuzzy socks are effective.

“Deal,” he says. “Though your library time shall be extended indefinitely, as the entire establishment is technically yours already.”

“Flattery doesn’t nullify sock theft, Morpheus.”

“I would never presume.” His gaze softens. “Nor would I truly deprive you of comfort. I merely—”

“—wanted to feel close,” you finish, voice gentler now. “You could’ve asked, y’know.”

“I am asking,” he murmurs. And if the realm itself were capable of a reverent hush, it would echo this moment: starlight dims, distant dream-whales pause mid-breach, the moon-ivy stills.

You squeeze his hand. “Then take them with permission next time—preferably while I’m wearing them. That way my feet stay warm.”

Matthew pretends to gag. “Gross. Get a balcony.”

“We are on a balcony,” Morpheus notes.

“Our balcony to be exact,” you add dryly.

“Yeah, so go get another one!”

You laugh, and the tension cracks open into something light and comfortable. Morpheus reaches down, peels the fuzzy socks from his feet, and slides them back onto yours with almost ceremonial care. The fleece hums with impossible starlight as it stretches over your toes.

“There,” he declares. “Restored to rightful ownership.”

“I’d knight you Sir Sock-Returner, but that title’s dumb.”

“Agreed.” He straightens, slipping an arm around your waist to draw you flush to his side. “I much prefer Keeper of Your Warmth.”

“Keeper of My Warmth,” you repeat, nose scrunching. “That’s worse.”

Matthew flaps up, settling on Morpheus’s shoulder this time. “I vote for King of Cozy. All in favor?”

“One raven does not a quorum make,” Morpheus states, deadpan. “Besides, if titles are to be redistributed, perhaps we should address your new role.”

“Oh?” you ask.

He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a quiet kiss to your knuckles. “Guardian of Endless Hearts.”

Heat blooms beneath your skin. Matthew fans himself with one wing. “Okay, that’s actually sweet. But I’m still going to get popcorn.”

Matthew fluffs himself into a round, affronted puffball. “Yeah, well, I’m out. The lovebirds have spoken. I’ll, uh, go help Lucienne alphabetize the dream-grimoires—anything less nauseating.”With one last theatrical shudder the raven launches skyward, muttering about “mushy mortals” and “Endless with no shame” until he’s a fluttering silhouette against the sorbet-cloud moon.

Silence settles—soft as spun sugar, heavy as midnight velvet.

Morpheus’s fingers are still threaded through yours. He turns fully at last, hip resting against the marble rail. Now that he’s facing you, the half-smile you spotted earlier unfurls into something shy and radiant.

“You truly mind the socks?” he asks.

“I mind the larceny,” you tease, stepping closer until the star-flecked toes of his pilfered footwear brush yours. “But I suppose I can forgive a first-time offender.”

He tilts his head, dark hair falling like spilled ink. “Offender, am I?”

“Mm-hmm. Grand theft hosiery. Punishable by mandatory snuggling.”

A low, delighted hum vibrates in his chest. “Then I had best surrender myself to justice.”

You reach down, tugging lightly at one fuzzy cuff. “Sit.”

He obeys, folding onto the warm stone with surprising grace for seven feet of infinite melancholy. You drop beside him, knees touching.

“Restored,” he murmurs.

“Good.” You wiggle your toes in triumph, then scoot until your shoulder slots beneath his. The borrowed coat drapes over both of you in a shared constellation.

A fragrant breeze lifts shiny strands of his hair against your cheek. You tuck a few behind his ear; he shuts his eyes as though that single touch is a benediction.

“Library time?” you prompt after a beat.

“Later,” he says, drawing your legs across his lap so you’re half-reclined against him. Strong thumbs begin kneading slow circles into your arches—silky buckets of warm sand indeed. You release a scandalously contented sigh.

“Trying to bribe the judge,” you accuse, voice drifting.

“Fulfilling the terms of our bargain,” he corrects. Another deliberate press of his thumb along the sore place beneath your toes makes your head tip back. You glimpse the sky: constellations rearrange themselves into something that looks suspiciously like two figures holding hands.

Show-off Dream-Lord.

“You manipulated the stars,” you murmur.

“I did not,” he replies, though the sparkle in his eyes says otherwise. “They rearranged of their own accord. Stars appreciate romance.”

“Mm. So does this mortal.”

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. Breath mingles—cool night air and the faint sweetness of marshmallow cocoa.

“I wronged you,” he says quietly. “In Hell… after… I believed distance would shield you from danger, when in truth it only harmed you.” The hand on your foot stills, fingers trembling the tiniest bit. “I misjudged how integral you have become to my existence.”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears. “I’m not porcelain, Morpheus. I just want to be beside you—danger, nightmares, cranky ravens and all. Could do without the spike-headed roach…”

Morpheus’s entire aura goes brittle at the mention of Choronzon—moonlight icing over obsidian. His fingers pause mid-massage, and the constellations overhead shiver back into strict, orderly rows.

“I would prefer,” he says, voice flat as polished marble, “never to recall that creature in your presence.”

You can almost see storm clouds gathering behind his eyes—equal parts protectiveness and offended dignity. The sudden grumpiness, paired with bare ankles and stolen socks, is so hilariously on-brand that a tiny giggle escapes before you can smother it.

He narrows his gaze. “You find this amusing?”

“A little.” You bite your lip, shoulders shaking as the giggle turns into full laughter. “You’re pouting again, my love.”

“I do not—” He stops, realizes, and exhales through his nose like an indignant cat. “Choronzon is unworthy of your thoughts, let alone your breath.”

“Then consider him banished.” You slide a hand to his cheek, thumb smoothing the faint frown line. “Sorry, Your Majesty of Cozy.”

The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. “King of Cozy,” he corrects softly.

“And the cutest brooder in all realms.” Before he can protest, you surge forward and press a kiss to his downturned lips.

At first he’s startled—tense shoulders, wide star-dark eyes—but the surprise melts as your warmth spreads. He sighs into the kiss, fingers resuming their gentle kneading at your arches, as if conceding the point: kisses > nightmares.

When you finally pull back, breath mingling in cool night air, you whisper against his lips, “Better?”

His reply is a quiet hum—something between agreement and contented surrender. Then, with newfound playfulness, he flicks a glance at your feet. “May I borrow the socks again?”

You grin. “Ask nicely.”

He leans in, brushing another kiss to the corner of your smile. “Beloved, may I—temporarily—share your warmth?”

You giggle, slipping one fuzzy-socked foot up his calf. “Only if you promise more of that.”

His eyes darken, silver flecks shimmering like mischief caught in moonlight. “Then I shall dedicate myself to the task with singular devotion.”

“Oh? Singular devotion? Sounds serious.” You trail your sock-clad foot higher along the inside of his calf. “What if I demand quarterly progress reports on cuddle output?”

He arches an imperious eyebrow. “Very well. First report: one kiss, two foot rubs, and”—he slides his palm up your shin to your knee—“ongoing heat redistribution.”

You laugh, but a pleasant shiver skates up your spine. “Acceptable metrics so far, Dream-Lord. I’ll need charts next time—pie charts, preferably.”

“Bar charts,” he counters, lips grazing your jaw. “Pie charts are for Hob’s pub ledger.”

“Fine. But I want them color-coded.” You hook a finger in the lapel of his coat—your coat—and tug until he’s nearly off balance. “Now get up. Library hour officially begins, and you still owe me romance-novel commentary.”

He makes a low, dramatic sigh but obeys, unfolding his endless limbs. “I question the literary merit of Pirate Duke’s Forbidden Governess,” he says as he helps you stand.

“That’s because you stopped at Chapter Two.” You poke his chest. “You missed the part where the governess teaches the pirate duke to knit socks for orphans.”

His mouth twitches again. “Knitting… socks?”

“Incredibly soft ones.” You give him a pointed look. “It’s practically your memoir.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes him—small but bright. “Lead the way, Guardian of Endless Hearts. And if the socks slip from your feet in the stacks…”

You narrow your eyes, though the grin ruins your severity. “Then the King of Cozy can carry me back to bed and continue his quarterly cuddle quota. Deal?”

He bows—ridiculously elegant, fuzzy socks and all. “Deal.”

Morpheus leads you through the grand arch and into the hush of the library, but he doesn’t veer toward the velvet chaise you expect. Instead, he guides you deeper—past polished ladders and miles of illuminated manuscript—until you enter a small octagonal alcove you’ve never noticed before. Its single window frames the night like a portrait; moonlight paints the marble floor in silver angles.

On a low rosewood table rests a solitary volume bound in midnight-blue leather. You glance at him, questioning. He releases your hand, brushes dust from the cover, and opens to the ribboned page. No theatrics, no quips—only that grave, quiet focus that is undeniably Dream of the Endless.

“I wished,” he says softly, “to share this with you when the time was right.”

The book’s title, inscribed in delicate silver: A Chronicle of Quiet Moments. You flip to the first leaf—blank except for a line of fresh ink that coils like constellation dust:

Entry One: The night she stole my brooding.

Heat pricks your face. “You—wrote this? Tonight?”

He inclines his head. “This volume records… us. Not grand quests or cosmic games. Hours. Breaths. The small weave that binds eternity.”

You trace the next entry—his elegant handwriting curving into another vignette:

Entry Two: She returned my warmth, and the stars applauded.

The sincerity is staggering; it settles every lingering flutter in your chest. “Morpheus, you don’t have to chronicle—”

“I desire to,” he says, a quiet finality. “There is power in naming what matters. And you matter.”

Canon Morpheus seldom indulges in banter, but when he does, it folds back into solemn truth. Now he closes the book, slips it into your hands, and meets your gaze with that vast, star-deep solemnity.

“I will continue the chronicle,” he vows, “with your permission—entry by entry, whenever a moment is worthy.”

You swallow, overwhelmed, and manage a whisper. “Every moment with you is worthy.”

A faint, genuine smile lifts the corner of his mouth—rare gold. He takes the volume, sets it aside, and extends an arm. When you settle against him, his coat drapes around you both like a silent nebula.

“No pirate dukes tonight?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” he answers, fingertips absently brushing your hair. “Though I remain skeptical any so-called duke who misplaces both ship and socks could truly lay claim to nobility.”

You snort. “Be nice—he learns to knit for charity.”

Morpheus gives a soft, regal hum. “When he masters purl stitches without tangling himself in the yarn, perhaps I shall elevate him to baronet.”

Laughter shakes your shoulders; his low chuckle rumbles in reply, rare and precious. Outside the alcove window, a single shooting star arcs past—punctuation to the quiet joke.

You tuck closer beneath his coat-galaxy, heartbeat steady against the endless dark.

Morpheus summons a quill with a faint flick of his fingers—raven-feather black, tip already inked—and angles the book across his knee. You watch, amused, as he pauses, seemingly weighing how much dignity an Endless can safely sacrifice to humor.

At last he writes:

Entry Three: She laughed so hard the atlas of nightmares rattled on its shelf.

I have concluded:

Her mirth is stronger than dream-fire.

Pirate dukes are unfit to wear fuzzy socks.

I, however, remain eminently qualified.*

He adds a tiny, perfectly rendered doodle in the margin: a stick-figure duke tangled head-to-toe in yarn while a smug, sock-clad stick-Morpheus stands victorious.

You clap a hand over your mouth, failing to stifle a snort. “You drew fan-art.”

“I documented empirical evidence,” he corrects—though the upward tilt of his lips betrays him.

You nudge his shoulder. “Add footnote four: Endless caught doodling by mortal girlfriend.”

He arches a brow, but dutifully appends:

4) Evidence recorded under duress of Guardian’s request.

Quill vanished, book closed, he murmurs, “Satisfied?”

“Utterly.”

Date Published: 29/4/25

Last Edit: 2/5/25

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Morpheus | Sandman

[fynnthefeline]

Hey there, fabulous fur-friends! 🐾

Today’s episode of The Chronicles of Cardboardia features your favorite floofy ninja on a mission! One cardboard fortress, one fierce feather wand, and zero chill.

I started in stealth mode, lurking in my top-secret spy window… until the jungle beast (aka the leopard print feather toy) dared to challenge me. Big mistake. I pounced, I booty-shaked, I conquered!

But the real magic? A head-first dive through the tiniest hole like a majestic flying marshmallow! Legs flailing, tail wagging—10/10 Olympic form if you ask me. 😹

I always get daily playtime with my hooman—different toys, same big fun. Play isn’t just purr-scription for happiness, it’s bonding time, laughter, and full-on zoomie therapy!

Do you have a favorite toy? Let me know in the comments—maybe I’ll try it next!

Purrs,

Fynn 🐾 #FynnsTales

.

[pigmhall]

Marshmallow Chronicle

I made a new game "Marshmallow Chronicle." It is a role-playing game for MSX2. The dialog is in English and Japanese. Elina, a girl who has lost her memory, travels the world. You can play it on the web.

Play: https://pigmhall.itch.io/mc

I hope you enjoy it.

[ingek73]

The real reason people are mad at Meghan Markle’s new lifestyle show

Leslie Gray Streeter

3/13/2025 5:30 a.m. GMT-4

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA - DECEMBER 04: Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, attends The Paley Center for Media hosts Paley Honors Fall Gala honoring Tyler Perry at Beverly Wilshire, A Four Seasons Hotel on December 04, 2024 in Beverly Hills, California. (Photo by Unique Nicole/Getty Images)

The role of an elite lifestyle guru is to present aspirational entertaining ideas that could almost be replicated by ordinary folks, but can’t be matched exactly without staff and one’s own goat to milk. Martha Stewart once presented a recipe for making marshmallows, an item available for about two bucks on the shelves of any store. Goop impresario Gwyneth Paltrow sold a candle that supposedly smelled like her genitals for… reasons.

On her hit Netflix show “With Love, Meghan,” the Duchess of Sussex creates a balloon arch for a kid’s birthday party with a pump you could get for less than $20 and makes little tea sandwiches in cute shapes, and on the internet she got literally compared to Marie Antionette. It’s so unhinged that some writers tried to make the show’s ratings, in Netflix’s top ten, into a negative because it didn’t do as well as “Meghan and Harry.”

I wonder what the difference is.

I’m lying. You know what it is.

“There is an obvious answer here. Ultimately it does come down to racism,” said Simone Phillips, who operates the local food site Charm City Table. Paltrow, Stewart and Ina Garten of “The Barefoot Contessa” are rich white ladies, but Meghan — actual royalty — is a rich biracial lady, so critics act like her show takes it a diamond-encrusted bridge too far.

So far, the duchess has been accused of bragging about keeping bees, a pastime Baltimoreans do on their roofs, or using a pricey but readily available Le Creuset pan that lasts virtually forever if taken care of. “I have some at home right now, and I’m not some millionaire,” Phillips said. “I did not fly to Paris to get it shipped to me.”

Some “With Love, Meghan” haters have had their own expensive knives out for her since the moment she started dating Prince Harry. Perhaps that’s because she’s living their adolescent fantasy, and a woman like her isn’t supposed to.

And the umbrage is further umbraging because she’s not only living in style but unapologetically enjoying herself. “It’s Black joy,” said Lynne Childress of Annapolis, a longtime enthusiast of scratch cooking and painting furniture, and my identical twin sister. “That offends some people.”

Every woman I spoke to for this column was raised in majority-Black Baltimore, where it’s common to know every type of Black person. “We can be hood, hood-adjacent or from Roland Park or Homeland,” Phillips said.

It’s not surprising then that those who look like us throw parties or have nice things, whether they spent coupons or the whole treasure chest. What is spent on each “With Love, Meghan” project " might be aspirational, but to say it’s not relatable? That’s ridiculous,” said Kendra Nelson, a lifestyle influencer known as the Charm City Maven.

The Park Heights native took her cues from her proud homemaker mom, Cynthia, who sewed dresses from her own patterns and designed curtains and homemade cards. Now Nelson chronicles her own fabulousness so that people know what’s possible. “The [critical] narrative is pushing against the idea that I can have a joyful, easy fun life,” Nelson said. “Black women have the right and ability to live their full lives. It shouldn’t be such a hard thing to reach for.”

It’s not. Both my grandmothers were consummate hostesses; one had her own garden in her modest but immaculate Prince George’s County home. My sister once made our Thanksgiving dressing out of bread she baked herself. I, on the other hand, used to joke that we should do a show called “Girl, You Know You Can Buy That” where Lynne would harvest her own almond milk and I would just buy a carton at Giant. But even as a single mom with little time on my hands, I have been known to happily make my own matzo balls and vegan cheese.

Black women are not a monolith. My sister, and, by extension, Meghan, whose show has already been renewed, do a lot. But they love it. So let them.

It’s not that mainstream audiences aren’t accustomed to seeing Black wealth on TV. The rich people on “Real Housewives of Potomac” or the recent Maryland-based CBS soap “Beyond The Gates” are blingier. What Meghan has, however, is referred to as a soft life — an existence that requires time and money, but has an ease that’s separated from the grit and toil in which Black people are expected to dwell.

And that’s what pisses the haters off. In 2020, London-based writer Liv Siddall claimed that the image of Black lifestyle blogger and former Elle editor Paula Sutton relaxing on her English countryside estate triggered Siddall into deleting her Instagram account. Many on Twitter at the time immediately clocked that Siddall seemed to be insinuating that it’s inauthentic for non-white people to aspire to that sort of rarified life. Maybe if she was picking vegetables as the cook, she’d belong, but as the lady of the manor? Unheard of!

My best friend Melanie Hood-Wilson, a talented scratch cook, said Meghan’s whole vibe would be received differently if she said, “‘This recipe is from my grandmama down in Alabama.’ We’re supposed to struggle, to be poor person aspirational. Meghan is rich girl aspirational.”

The whole point of the soft life genre, from Martha to the turtleneck-clad heroines of Nancy Meyers movies sipping white wine in their massive coastal kitchens, is to present an aesthetic that is probably fiscally out of reach but still fun to think about and try to replicate at HomeGoods. The resistance to Meghan, apart from the fact that some people just hate her, is a persistent disconnect between who gets to have that dream, and who doesn’t. Surprise! If you can buy that pan, or pump those balloons, you get to have it. And we’re gonna revel in it.

“One of the problems here is that people want her to make herself smaller,” Hood-Wilson said. “We don’t do that anymore. I’m not making myself small for anyone.”

[gluttonyedits]

requested by ✂️anon: Ney Phutapie and Banica Conchita stimboard Do not tag as ship. • • • # • • • # • • •

[kedreeva]

Pssst betterworldbooks has a used copy of The Secret of Dragonhome right now! (8/14 at 7:56pm CDT)

Anon, you're a little blessing and I am wrapping you in a soft blanket and bringing you cocoa with tiny marshmallows. I snapped that one up and while I was there it occurred to me maybe this little site had something ELSE I was dying to have back- the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, but with the original art covers. AND THEY DID. I'm so happy I could cry! Thank you!

[stardust-swan]

Coquette Christmas

🎀 to wear: pale pinks, baby blue, icy white, leg warmers, uggs with bows, sweaters with skirts, cable knit cardigans, cashmere scarves, earmuffs, mittens, pearl bobby pins, velvet scrunchies and bows, berets with pearls, sparkly earrings, pretty brooches on your winter coat, glossier birthday balm, becca pearl highlighter

🎀 bake heart shaped stained glass sugar cookies or gingerbread people with bows piped on <3

🎀 enjoy peppermint white hot chocolate with mini marshmallows while cuddled up under a blanket

🎀 read hans christian andersen fairytales

🎀 see a ballet like swan lake, the nutcracker, or gisele

🎀 visit the swans! in the northern hemisphere swans migraine during christmas so go to a canal or lake to watch then glide by

🎀 make your skincare routine different! skin tends to get drier in winter so use a richer moisturiser, do sheet masks (love lapcos sheet masks), use vaseline or a lip mask overnight (klavuu does a great one), put some glycerin or lotion on your feet and hands before putting on your socks and gloves, and remember to still wear spf! carry a good handcream and lip balm (fresh rose lip treatment is soo good) in case you feel dry while out. and obviously drink lots of water

🎀 ice-skate holding hands with someone special <3

🎀 light lots of candles! there are some great wintery scented one like gingerbread, frankincense, winter berry and mulled wine. I also like yankee's rainbow cookie in winter even though it's not strictly a winter scent. vanilla is always a good idea too

🎀 eat lots of marzipan, sugared rose petals, crystallised fruit, nougat, turkish delight, and caramelised nuts

🎀 practice self care with a warm bubble bath, a face mask, and a rich body lotion afterwards. put on silk pyjamas and fluffy socks that have been wrapped around a hot water bottle so they're already warm and cozy afterwards

🎀 to smell christmassy: layer scent by using a peppermint shower gel followed by a vanilla body lotion

🎀 decorate your space with figurines of swans, shepherdesses, angels, nutcrackers, and holiday barbies. and put bows on your xmas tree

🎀 watch: love actually, anastasia, little women, classic disney movies, white christmas, ice princess, harry potter and the sorcerer's stone, bridget jone's diary, barbie in the nutcracker, the chronicles of narnia, dead poets society, and any hallmark movie

🎀 write christmas cards in glitter pen and decorate with angel stickers and a spritz of vanilla perfume

🎀 to feel luxurious at night, spritz on some body spray, wear a flowing nightgown and do yourself in a clara style (half up with satin ribbon)

🎀 make snow angels!

🎀 make an emergency kit for those days when you come home miserable because of the cold and dark and have no energy, plans, and need some alone time. include things like a candle, a small box of good chocolates, some sheet masks, a perfume, your favourite tea, a book that comforts you, fluffy socks, a cozy blanket, paper and a pen to journal your thoughts, a photo album of your favourite people, old love letters, or anything else that you can easily keep at hand that will comfort you

🎀 listen to a pretty wintery playlist with genres like classical, jazz, and celtic/nordic traditional (mine is below <3)

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

“I am so happy,” Thomas whispered, hoping that his voice did not crack. “Because you finally understand that marshmallows are meant to be charred?” Alastair’s voice was a smile, a joke. It was also a whisper, the words intended for nowhere besides the space between them despite their frivolity. “No,” Thomas said, determined to express his emotions rather than allow things to devolve into fun but meaningless banter. “Because I married you.” - Or, the one where Thomas and Alastair officially realize that they are husbands on Valentine's Day.

@vwritesaus, I think you'll especially like this one.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @staywildefairchild @sourlemons262 @belle-keys @drunkonimagination @alastaircarstairsismybff @vwritesaus @claritywithclary @luciehercndale @what-ho-christopher-put-in @life-through-the-eyes-of @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @bluewrite @lulusofis @oursoulstheyplay @tessherongraystairs @athearaej @faithfromanewperspective @vwritesaus @imabitchforjemcarstairs @emmalovesfitzloved @daisymydaisycarstairs @fangirlghost-19 @angeldaisies @celias

[carsallthedifferentcars-2]

Hiii it's ask wave time~ who are ten of your favorite characters? They could all be from Bob's Burgers, or a mix! Don't worry it doesn't have to be ranked in order, and it doesn't even have to be ten if you don't want! Just who stands out to you?

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK... HEHEHEHEHE. Well, I have an good amount from Bob's Burgers.

From Bob's Burgers:

Bob

Linda

Tina

Gene

Louise

Jimmy Jr

Gretchen, she's so sassy 😝

Trev

Marshmallow.

And then of course from my favorite book series the Lunar Chronicles, i love

Cinder/Selene. (If you read Cinder you would know why she has two different names)

Iko, (I still ship her and Liam til this day, if you have no idea what I mean just ask if you're interested in the series)

Liam, he's an guard.

Wolf/Ze'vey Kelsey

Carswell Throne, HE IS HILARIOUS

Scarlett.

Winter

Cress. :)

[dippersaurus]

𑁯ᰍ Christmas agere questions !!

Below are questions you are free to ask! Just click the "mail time" button and ask away! Be sure to include your anon tag (if asking anonymously) and I will happily answer! ⁺　　

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꒰ 🌨️ ꒱ Would you rather receive 20 small gifts, or 1 giant gift?

꒰ ❄️ ꒱ What's your favorite Christmas song? ꒰ ⛄ ꒱ Hot chocolate or eggnog?

꒰ 🧣 ꒱ Would you rather spend Christmas in the snow, or on a beach?

꒰ 🧤 ꒱ What's your favorite holiday tradition? ꒰ 🕯️ ꒱ White lights, or colorful lights?

꒰ 🎄 ꒱ Would you rather be Kevin from Home Alone or Kate from The Christmas Chronicles

꒰ ⭐ ꒱ Favorite gift you've ever been given?

꒰ 🎁 ꒱ Build a snowman or have a snowball fight?

꒰ 🎅🏻 ꒱ Do you believe in Santa? What are your thoughts on him

꒰ 🛷 ꒱ Would you rather be a Christmas toy tester or a Christmas food taster?

꒰ 🦌 ꒱ Is there a special tradition you partake in on Christmas eve?

꒰ 🫎 ꒱ Christmas play or Christmas carolling?

꒰ 🥛 ꒱ Would you rather wrap 100 presents or sign 100 cards?

꒰ 🍪 ꒱ Do you decorate? What's your favorite part of decorating?

꒰ ⛸️ ꒱ Fuzzy blankets or fuzzy socks?

꒰ 🎀 ꒱ Would you rather ride Santa's sleigh or ride The Polar Express?

꒰ 🧸 ꒱ Do you get a real, or fake Christmas tree?

꒰ 🚂 ꒱ Cocoa plain or with whipped cream/Marshmallows?

꒰ 🔔 ꒱ Would you rather play holiday games, or watch holiday movies?

꒰ 🌲 ꒱ What's your favorite Christmas movie?

꒰ ✨ ꒱ Rudolph or Frosty the snowman?

꒰ 📖 ꒱ Would you rather have a village of elves at your disposal or go Christmas shopping with an unlimited budget?

꒰ ☃️ ꒱ Do you dress in any holiday outfits or have any holiday stuffie's that you dress for the holidays?

꒰ 🥕 ꒱ Candy canes or peppermints?

꒰ 🍼 ꒱ Would you rather lose your voice for the holidays or only be able to speak in Christmas carols?

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