4chance

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hai

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i am the pied piper of selfshipping... i convinced two of my friends to make self ocs/a selfship because they saw me having so much fun with it

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i want to talk about issho with someone but it's just going to devolve into "HHGHGNGNNN UUUUUU THE CHARACTER 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺"

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Hey guys, Bruno has something to say to 🫵🏽you and your f/o.

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he just wants cuddles

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Kissues 🤍

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👨‍🍼

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After ending

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Come here😈

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My boy is so sweet and caring ♥️

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This is what info dumping oc lore feels like

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self ship is supposed to be fun. not a witch hunt. not a popularity contest. not a stressful job. not a morality contest. not a whites only event. not exclusive or exclusionary.

F U N for everybody.

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flow of our lives — I. a mr. crawling series built around the sweet mundane. — part 1 of ?

word count — 0.6k summary — you take care of crawling to make up for past bitterness. notes — SFW. gn reader (no pronouns). END04 implied. bold = otherworld language. we call him "crawling" here, because we're close enough with him now to drop the honorific.

You must use force to twist the knob of the faucet (more now than before your foray into that world) and let the water roll, until you stop it at the lip of the bucket. You dip your fingers in. It is warm, and the heat is not far from your own, not too harsh. Crawling will not shy away.

He loves you—so much. He has a zest for your life, like a sweet, loyal dog; he loves you like a dog loves the chocolate in your hand. You did not always love him the way he deserved: to this day, he wears you proudly on his face (in the blood you had shed when you plunged your crowbar down his face). You soak a microfiber cloth in the water, tip Crawling’s chin with the bed of your thumb, and press the cloth to his cheek.

“Hot?” he says.

Your face drops to a look of concern. “Many hot? You hurt?”

“Not hurt. Little hot feel good.” He tilts his head, burrows his cheek into the cloth. “Why you have this?”

The water of the Otherworld is cold and hard and stagnant. Crawling knows the hot of a scared, throbbing heart; of the fire meant to ward off his kind. When you take up your cloth and wipe the grime from his chin, you show him warm: a nice heat, that is not here to hurt him.

“Your face… have blood. Blood… go out of your face—me happy.”

“Happy?”

His hands dart to the cloth. He tries to wrest it from your grip and drag it toward the center of his face.

“Calm down—not… move.” Since the Otherworld has no word that you know for please—“friendly.”

You know Crawling can handle himself. He braved the Otherworld as long as he did, and you trust him now to keep your apartment during the day: he mops floors and folds clothing, prompted and not. Still—it is you that must make sure he knows: you are not here to hurt him.

He never let the other ghosts touch him (not like this—not at all). Perhaps he forgave you already—loves you just that much.

You bring one hand to cradle the back of his head; the other gives his face gentle strokes. His body melts beneath your touch; he swipes his face against the cloth to help you out. The cloth blackens quickly: one half of his face requires four dips in the bucket. You see now just how pale he is, not that ash-gray you thought it was at all—in fact, so white his veins show dark as tadpoles on his skin.

You glide the cloth below his curtained bangs. Your fingertips cave in on the crest of his cheekbone. “You okay?”

“My eyes… not able to clean. Sorry.”

“You should not sorry,” you say, in an attempt at your clearest Otherworld pronunciation. Crawling hides his eyes and downplays his height, and you are sure it is for you, so as not to repulse you—yet he cannot make you hate him if he tried. “You good.” You stroke the crown of his head, the way he likes; a giggle escapes his broadened mouth.

You do what you can—you kiss the bridge of his nose, then rise to change the water. The skin that lines his sockets has the gravity of jowls, lined in essence with the slick of fresh blood. You either cause him no pain, or he hides it for you. Really—what have you done to deserve him, who loves you so much?

(This—

You look at him as if he is a jewel in your hands. He has never been treasured. Not like this, not at all.

The breathy rumbling of his giggles, from his chest to his cheeks, brings a flutter to your heart, and a warmth to your gaze. All you have done is be fond of him, made the smallest things you do his world.

The Otherworld is simple, in that only the strong survive—and so when you show him warm, he knows you’re true, and that is all.)

[4chance]

I want to contribute to this lovely community so!!

Selfshipping reblog game~!!

Status: Open!

Reblog with your f/o and/or s/i and I’ll assign them something from my Pinterest based on vibes!! Probably an outfit or shoes but maybe makeup

Example with my f/o Kiriko!