#this was written in july or something

[c4rvingmyname]

Asmo's (Drunken) Love

tags: asmo/MC, GN MC, literally sleeping sleeping together, short & sweet

words: 774

summary: MC takes care of a tipsy Asmo

I posted this old ass fic a few months ago here, idk why I'm just now getting around to posting it here lol.

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Asmo stumbled alongside them, his hand wrapped around MC's wrist. They weren't sure he was fully conscious, which would definitely be understandable given how much he had drunk.

Each time he almost fell, they would put their hands on Asmo's waist, steadying him, and he would giggle as if he was being touched inappropriately every time.

“Asmo?” MC muttered, making sure he was still awake.

“Hm?” Asmo hummed in response, his head slumping.

“Let's get you to bed, okay?” they said, helping Asmo walk to his bed. It was much bigger than the one they stayed in���it was literally a princess bed.

They hadn't been in his room much, other than a few brief visits, much to Asmo's dismay, who invited them for a “sleepover” every other day. Though they were sure there wouldn't be much sleeping, who knows?

Asmo was very sweet if you looked past his blatant facade of narcissism.

MC pulled back the covers of his bed, helping him lie down gently (as he would plop down hard without their guidance no doubt). He sighed, turning his head away from MC.

Asmo always raved about not going to bed in “outside clothes” to avoid dirty sheets, but MC thought it would be a little intrusive to change his clothing.

MC put his shoes down after they slid them off, then covered him up, brushing some of his hair from his face. Mostly to make sure he wasn't hot, but they also enjoyed touching him. Something they would never admit, as it would only fuel his ego. How much bigger could it even get?

“I like when you touch me like that,” Asmo muttered, making them retract their hand. They were sure he wasn't aware of what was going on, or at least he hadn't been a minute ago.

He wasn't faking it again, was he? Asmo was prone to pretending he was helpless just for physical affection he could have simply asked for. Like he already always asked for.

You'd think by now he'd be more upfront with his true feelings, wouldn't you?

“Do you feel okay?” MC asked, adjusting the cover over Asmo. “If you feel well enough, I can go back to my room.”

Asmo nodded, turning his head to look at them. “But I don't want you to leave.” Asmo barely had his eyes open, they were glazed over, and his makeup was smudged. “I'd like it a lot if you stayed with me,” he continued.

MC couldn't really say no to him, not when he looked so cute and needy. They might even like him a lot better like this, all flushed and sweeter than usual.

“Fine, I can stay. But you have to behave; this is strictly for sleeping.”

In less than a minute of MC lying down in the bed with him, Asmo was already clinging onto them, nuzzling into their chest, and his hands digging into their side.

His bed was just as soft as his skin; MC would likely get hot sleeping here, they mused. Asmo did say he slept naked for “breathability,” which would explain how he's perfectly comfortable. MC could feel his heartbeat, causing their own to speed up and sync with his.

Asmo’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he managed a sleepy smile. “I wish you slept here with me more…” he mumbled. “It's so much more comfortable when you're with me.”

He tilted his head up, looking up at MC with a very dreamy, unfocused look. “I really love you, do you love me back? Say you love me back,” he said, his hand settling on MC’s stomach to rest.

“I do love you, Asmo, don't worry,” they replied, punctuating it with a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I just don't love the front you put up.”

“I just want you to love me, is all I need, okay? Forget about the rest…” He whispered, out of exhaustion. “You and I… forever? Right? You'll never leave me?” He asked, intertwining his soft hand with theirs.

MC smiled, letting it go for now, resting their head on top of his to get comfortable. “I promise I won't leave you. Even after I die, I'll haunt you.”

Asmo hummed, reaching for their hand again. “That sounds nice,” he mused. “If only you could.”

MC ran their fingers through his hair, watching as his breathing slowed as he (finally) fell asleep. Asmo was always so open about his feelings—yet when it came to the emotions he thought would taint his perfection, he was rather dishonest.

One thing MC didn't doubt though, was that Asmo did truly love them.

[tangledstarlight]

happy juke hallowjeudi !

in a world full of darkness, julie molina was a light. a girl born with magic in her blood and a song in her heart, she poured her soul into everything she did. she could make pencils float by the time she was three, made sparks fly from her fingers by ten, mended peoples broken hearts with a song by fifteen, by eighteen anyone in the know knew julie had a song to fix anything. by twenty-one she hadn't played a single note in over a year and the song in her heart was gone. at twenty, luke patterson was used to walking through darkness. he'd been doing it for twenty-five years after all. most people didn't see him, and those who did stayed away from the boy cursed to wander between the worlds, never quite whole, never quite heard. snatches of melodies and half formed tunes carry on the wind and linger in spaces until someone claims them as their own, and luke walks on with no one the wiser, a never ending tug in his chest. the first time julie sees him, it's raining. storm clouds making the world dark and dull with electricity hanging in the air and the echoing silence in her heart is replaced with hum. the first time luke sees her, a storm is clearing. rays of sun fight through clouds and light up the space in front of him, guiding him forwards until the tugging finally easies. the first time they sing together is magic.

in a world where julie is a witch whose magic manifests best in her songs but can't sing after losing her mom, and luke is a ghost stuck wandering the world whose songs keep slipping away from him on the wind.

[missjoolee]

Chapel of Love

1.1k words

The barest hint of hot, dry air ruffled against the baby hairs on the back of her neck doing little relief. Long gone were the multi-layered stage outfits, having learned she needed something more breathable underneath the stagnant tent two days ago at the start of the music festival. Instead, she wore a poofy crop top with shorts, and she could feel Luke’s eyes roaming the revealed skin of her shoulders, midriff, and legs with each song they sang together. He'd been winding her up with each set.

Her hands grip the top of the mic stand as she leans into where the mic sits, holding herself in place where normally she would be dragging it over to share with Luke in this moment. But they are halfway through the seventh and final set and his eyes weren’t the only thing she could feel looming nearby. Just outside the Loud & Local tent sat the “Chapel of Love”. And the next lyrics were too close to vows that she might do something stupid if she got too close to him. Why had they written them this way, again?

They hadn’t seen the simple archway that signified the “chapel” when they had arrived to set up, the van being parked on the other side of the tent that held the stage that they would share with four other bands over the three day festival. And when they finally had a chance to roam the festival grounds, Reggie pulling them to the food truck selling fancy milkshakes, they saw it but didn’t know what it was. Even on the information board sporting a map, it was just a tiny innocuous dot.

It had been later on a water run that Alex and she saw a small gathering of people under it, two of them sealing their love with a kiss. Apparently, you could get married at this festival.

"Huh," Alex had said, taking a drink from his bottle and then resting his arm on her shoulder. "That's a decision." "I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet," she'd responded. A snort rang out from above her head. "Of course you would say that." She'd sent an accusatory glare up at him, dropping her shoulder so his arm would fall way. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She had known exactly what he meant though. Her eyes close against the crowd in front of her and drift open to her left, knowing exactly where Luke would be.

She can feel electricity thrum through her body as she begins the call and response moment.

"I've got a spark in me."

She can see the confusion on his face, but he smiles at her as the words slide out of him with ease.

"I've got a spark in me."

She closes her eyes against the assault of love intertwining with the electricity already coursing though her. In her mind, the simple archway looms above them. This is why she was fighting her entire being from going to him. It was too soon. Too impulsive.

"And you're a part of me."

She can't escape the feelings that have been building with each performance they've done this weekend. The euphoria of performing their music with the her best friends, and the man she loves, not caring that she shut her eyes in an attempt to block it out.

"And you're a part of me."

Luke's voice right next to her sends a shiver across her shoulders, her eyes jumping open to see he'd closed the distance to share a mic with her. Not letting her run from him, not realizing she wasn't running. She was trying to reign in some very impulsive thoughts. She can see the concern in his eyes behind the determination and can't help the smile that graces her face, softer than what is normally part of her stage persona.

"Now till eternity."

His response is accompanied by the smile he normally saves for her when they are in the studio. One that Alex and Reggie unfortunately have to put up with because it side tracks things often enough. "Now till eternity."

The mental reigns she's been wrestling are completely forgotten about. She's a goner. Their voices twine together like they have thousands of times before.

"Been so long and now I'm finally free."

The rest of the set goes off without a hitch. The adrenaline and dopamine high intoxicating. She feels Reggie's arm go around her shoulders as Luke's goes around her waist and she looks at all her band-mates with pride. This weekend was amazing and did a lot to promote them, even if they were competing for attention with signed bands that have been around a whole lot longer on two other stages. They take a group bow to the crowd before they disperse like the non-existent wind.

Luke's arm tightens and he leans down to her ear to be heard. "Everything okay?" His voice is raspy and a bit lower than normal from doing seven performances in three days.

Perfect. The word rings in her head, bolstering her onto her toes next to his ear so he can hear her response.

"Marry me." Her own voice rough, lower and more sultry than she expected.

He looks surprised as he processes her words, but not like they made him uncomfortable if that same smile he saves for her lighting up his face means anything.

"Yeah. Okay."

She grabs hold of the hand on her waist, interlacing their fingers as she heads for the exit of the tent with determination. He drags behind her a bit.

"You mean right now??"

The first flicker of doubt hits her. "Yes?"

He drops her hand and scrambles to get the guitar strap over his head. "Oh hell yeah."

Her smile is so big she can feel the ache in her cheeks but she doesn't care. He wants this as bad as she does.

A voice interrupts them. "Uh Julie? Luke? Where are you going? We have to pack up our stuff so Midnight Mayhem can go on."

Reggie looks confused, his thumb pointing over his shoulder off the back of the stage. Alex's looks suspicious. Julie can feel heat soar to her cheeks as she looks up at Luke's face and sees the eager giddiness there and then back at Alex. Yeah, that tracks.

"Sorry guys. Got a little distracted. Band meeting after we get everything packed up."

She pulls Luke back over to their gear to begin packing up. Squeezing his hand before dropping it to unplug her keyboard.

He looks at her with confusion. "Band meeting?"

"We'll need witnesses."

"Riiiiiight. Nice."

[dragon-wisteria]

I don't hold to the idea that all intense/deeply meaningful relationships have to be romantic

BUT I do think it's bad if a character has a much more intense and meaningful relationship with their friend than they do with their actual romantic life partner.

[rockstar-roxie]

Pelipper mail! Two packages appear! One is wrapped in a thick pink ribbon and has a tag reading "To: Roxie" in neat, angular handwriting. The second is smaller and sports wrapping paper patterned with Galarian Weezings and a tag reading "Roxie" in light, flowing handwriting.

The first box contains multiple objects. The first is a choker in dark purple and yellow, studded with paler purple spikes like the bumps around a Toxtricity's wrists. The next is a small plush toy Toxel, the electricity on its head being made of a shiny material the crinkles when rubbed and the rest being deceptively soft to the touch for its looks. The box also contains a mixed bundle of fresh berries- multiple Shuca berries, Pecha berries, and Cherri berries tied together with their own pink ribbon. At the very bottom of the box is a plastic sleeve containing what seems to be a piece of cardboard. Removing it from the protective sleeve reveals a fairly convincing mock league card- it uses a picture of Roxie onstage at her tour's Ballonlea performance, lit up by spotlights and belting lyrics. It sports the Galar league's poison type style border, a large number "157" in the corner, and an iridescent foil finish. On the back of the card are small graphics portraying the team of pokemon she listed to Bede earlier- Amoonguss, Garbodor, Seviper, Drapion, Crobat, and Scolipede- as well as a large picture of a Toxic Badge. At the top is a small blurb: "Roxie, esteemed Gym Leader of Virbank City Gym in Unova. A poison type trainer, fierce battler, and interregionally renowned musician." It seems Bede hasn't exactly gotten the hang of the flowery and sensationalized descriptions on official league cards. On top of the box is a card, sporting Bede's signature. The lines are straight and neat, although it looks like they've been erased and redone multiple times in an attempt to make them perfect. The card reads "I seem to remember you expressing a desire for a 'cool custom card' in the past. I expect this will suffice, but if not, I've no doubt that you'll find the other gifts suitable in their own right~"

the second box is much smaller, and only contains one item: A pair of large earrings. they depict two Koffings made out of polymer clay dangling from silver chains. The earrings come with a note in flowy cursive: "Ms. Roxie, I was delighted to hear that Bede had decided to invite you over for our Delibird Day festivities. I meant to bring up the idea to him myself, you know, but he set his mind on it before I even had the chance to. I do appreciate you offering that boy your friendship... I like to think you've got him slipping out of his Torkoal shell more and more by the day. Enclosed you'll find some of my old earrings. now, I hope you don't mind getting some old woman's hand-me-downs, but I think they've about run their course with me, and they just cried out to me that they'd like to be with you. I do hope that they'll serve you well, and that you'll continue being so refreshingly, unapologetically 'you' in the new year to come. The world needs more trainers like you... and not just poison type trainers made my job so much more interesting, hm-hm! Best regards, Ms. Opal"

@ballonleastadiumofficial

(*A wide grin adorns Roxie's face as they accept the two packages and excitedly plop onto the floor to open them, much like a kid on Delibird Day morning. She chooses to open the package wrapped in a pink ribbon first, undoing the mentioned ribbon, and practically tearing off the lid.*)

(*Roxie's grin widens even further, if that's even possible, eyes lighting up as he picks up the first item. She admires the Toxtricity inspired choker for several heartbeats before immediately clasping it around her neck, continuing on with the gift-opening seconds after.*)

(*They grab the Toxel plush, giving it an experimental squeeze. Once deemed soft and squishy enough, Roxie sets it on their lap to observe her going for the bundle of berries still inside the box. Although she'll likely give the rest to her Pokémon, she can't help but take one for herself and shove it in her mouth.*)

(*While chewing the sweet Pecha berry, Roxie almost misses the last item sitting on the bottom of the gift box. With a quick wipe of their hands on her pants, she gently picks up the protected cardboard. Their brow furrows slightly in confusion, only for them to immediately raise in surprise as soon as the mock league card is revealed. An excited gasp leaves his lips, bringing it closer to their face to admire it. Roxie's fingernail, painted with chipped purple, traces the front of the card as she takes in every detail. Once done, she flips it around to reveal even more. Assuming the small paragraph to be written by Bede himself, Roxie feels her chest swell with warmth.*)

(*Blue eyes drift back to the discarded lid, discovering that there's a card attached to it that she should probably read. An affectionate chuckle leaves their lips, setting the card down a bit nicer than before.*)

(*Now time for the second, smaller box. Roxie doesn't waste much time opening it of course, revealing a pair of Koffing shaped earrings... In true Roxie fashion, he's taking the earrings he already had in out of her ears and putting in her new pair. After admiring themself in the nearest reflective surface, they turn their attention to the note that had come with the earrings.*)

(*Whilst reading the flowy writing, Roxie's wide smile fades into something softer... Her fingers grip the note a little tighter as they feel their face getting hot with flattery and appreciation. And if her eyes got a bit misty, well that's something she'll keep to herself. With only a few breaths to let the nice words of both Bede and Opal sink in, she launches themself from the floor to begin writing thank you notes.*)

[all-seeing-ifer]

sometimes i do get comments on give them all that they can drink that make me go ah i see god had to nerf me by making me too romance repulsed to write more than one (1) explicitly romantic fic per calendar year without throwing up a little in my mouth bc otherwise i would outclass everyone else writing romance too much. obviously

[lionessofwindsor]

From Chris' memoir In Spite of Myself (2010):

"Julie and I stood side by side in a small glassed-in cubicle facing two microphones...Warbling softly into a mike is far more difficult than singing full out in a theatre, as I was later to discover. One is much more likely to catch and collect "frogs" in the throat, whereas projecting usually gets rid of them. I tried so hard not to look like a complete basket case. Julie, sensing my nerves, took hold of my hand and held it throughout the session. It must have taken her days to recover the use of it afterwards, I had squeezed so hard." (Plummer, 405)

[colorful-craze]

Matchablossom one shot in the works…they’ve dragged me out of hiatus

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[soulfullives]

Marlene,

You will not have seen this letter, as it has been drafted and written after you have passed away. I would have wanted you to see it, and get to read my feelings, as so I yearn for one more moment of you.

Many things have changed ever since you have passed. For one, I am utterly lonely, and The Order misses your presence. You and James had used to be the brightness in a room as dark as the night. James is not with us anymore, and neither is Lily; they have gone in hiding, along with the Longbottoms.

I have also realized that death is nothing but imminent.

Whether one wants it or not, she does not care. She looms over you and grabs a hold of you when you expect it least, when you want it least. However, that does not mean that we must not live our life to the fullest. That does not mean I will not fight for what I believe is right, and that is avenging you. Even if I do bring death upon me.

Death is imminent, after all; it can be our choice and the own making of our destiny that brings her, though.

Death is bittersweet too, Marlene. Leaving a metal taste in your mouth and your heart aching, lonely and desperate for closure, but the sweetness of what you and them once had imprinted in your body, in your lips, on your veins, in your whole being. You'd never know, though. You never will, because you've been the first one to go.

You told me. Things, in that letter that you have hid under the loose floorboard under our bed.

You told me that I should laugh, that I should fall in love again (you have asked me to, do you remember that? Of course you don't; you're not with me anymore, and I am slowly distanced from you more and more, with every cold night.). And yet, surprisingly for you, though I had expected it, I can't. It has been you, it always has, and there will be no other.

And so, I may bring death upon myself. It is not my intention, of course; but, in order for the sun to rise, it must dawn, and it must be dark first.

Yours, even in death,

Dorcas ♡

[emily-mooon]

Anybody got anymore Stacey rarepairs?

I’ve seen two others (Stacey x Ramona and Stacey X Kim) and I’m in rarepair hell with nordegrim atm. I also saw a yt comment with Stacey x Lucas lee but I see them more as friends.

I just wanna see more pairings with my girl in it. She’s underrated and I think she deserves to have some cool girlfriend or boyfriend (heck maybe even a qpp) :]

[carlos-tk]

i have a wip idea that i’ve been thinking about for 3 days straight and i know!!! i’m going to actually have to lock in to ever actually get it written. but gee it’s making me giddy!!

[koka-mi]

Can y'all guess what these untitled documents are of

[dozenssporks]

the videos Vash posts online are funny and friendly but also in a way very impersonal, showing nothing of his deeper thoughts. There’s a two minute video of him laying on his back in a parking lot talking about unrealistic gun techniques and handling in shows, one video about using doughnuts as targets to see if he can shoot through the center without destroying them, but he never voices opinions or broaches serious subjects. It’s all lighthearted, no shadows.

which is why the video discovered online several weeks after the July Incident is such a shocking contrast.

*There’s something wrong with the camera, the image is so distorted it might be pointed at a face or it might just be random shadows. The audio is full of static and it takes a moment for the voice to come through*

“--actually made it, I can’t believe my phone actually survived that. That’s beyond ridiculous, it’s insane.”

*there’s a sound something like laughter. It cuts off abruptly*

“. . . insane, it’s insane, it’s completely . . .”

*static for several seconds*

“I need to say something, I need to tell you . . . but they’re not--the ones I really need to tell--they aren’t--”

*there’s something wrong with the speaker’s voice but beyond the slurring of words its hard to pinpoint what exactly with all the static interfering. The patchy shadows swoop into fractured lights and colors as the camera is re-positioned*

“. . . never put dates on this videos they’re not important, They automatically go into a queue to post whenever . . . But right now, today . . .”

*a distorted face and red torso are discernible now but the image is fractured and repeated so the person doesn’t look so much human as made up of too many human parts with with bright flares of light feathering the red edges into white*

“I’m having trouble, my head won’t work right. I don’t--I do know, I know, that today the date is important, I need to remember, I can’t let myself . . . what I’ve done. It’s my fault, I did this.”

*the audio is becoming more and more distorted, the semblance of an eye surrounded by a dozen copies looks at the camera, blue and alien but clear*

“Today is July 21st.”

*the next words spoken are strained as if said through clenched teeth and so soft they are almost lost in the static*

“I have no right to say this, as if it will fix something, but I can’t not say it--”

*several seconds of static*

“. . . I’m sorry--”

*the video ends*

Though widely believed to have been posted by Vash the Stampede the video has never been concretely linked to him

[aphelea]

disappearing for a while, see y’all soon :)