#and the repost flopped

[3-aem]

You ever go im okay im fine but then something so insignificant happens and ur like inconsolably pissed off and part of u is like going wth this is weird why is this happening have you tried to live laugh l

[nariism]

letters from heaven — g. satoru

"i think i'm in love with you" + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining

synopsis. love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.

wc. 2.4k

— for the lovely @hanrinz 🎀 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you had asked Gojo Satoru what love tasted like two years ago, he would have answered with a lump in his throat.

Like curses, he would have told you. Like death and destruction. Fire and ash. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru was surrounded by love from his very conception.

Wrapped in silk blankets and bathed in warm milk when he was born into this world—it was as if the nurses thought he had been spoonfed ambrosia by the gods themselves.

He knew what it was like to have his entire clan at his feet with their foreheads pressed to the floor; to be dressed in the finest cloth and only by the most nimble hands; to get anything and everything he ever wanted without question. 

He was above everyone and had the eyes to prove it. He knew love like it was his only purpose.

Satoru was always a head in the clouds kind of guy. He understood his place in the world better than anyone else. That he was special. Gifted. Born with a blessing that only happens once in a millennium.

He hated the righteous above all. The ones who wanted to change the world that was promised to him from the moment he took his first breath. It was insulting; an act of defiance against the gods. Against him.

That is why he hated Geto Suguru—someone who wanted to change the world.

Satoru believed that he was too down to earth. It irritated him. But he never stopped being surrounded by love and never stopped loving, either.

For some reason, there was a strange comfort in standing alongside another. 

Perhaps it was that Suguru had never once bowed down before him—the fact that he had gotten the chance to memorize every inch of his beautiful face. Or maybe it was the tender way he had spoken his name, so soft and filled with adoration.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just his eyes.

Satoru adored and despised every part of Geto Suguru. He always would, even in death.

He thought that secret would die with him. That there was no one else worthy of standing by his side. He never thought he was capable of loving another again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(He was about to learn that love would loom over him wherever he went. It would chase him relentlessly, even if it were to the ends of the earth.

After all, Gojo Satoru was born to be enveloped in silk and sugar and everything wonderful in the world.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries.

That was Satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens with a misfired blast of energy. 

There was nothing particularly spectacular about you. There you were: horrified, head in your hands, crying over the phone to what he presumed to be your parents. He'd never seen someone doused in flour like you before, as if you had been plucked straight out of a cartoon.

Yet he remembers that his breath was stolen from him the way books described it.

Your very existence felt like it was built up from cubes of sugar. He was embarrassed that it was his first impression while you glared horribly at him.

The lawsuit came in the mail a few days later.

He paid, of course, without argument. And he tried to get your number afterwards because he really wanted to try that cake you were decorating before he blasted your shop to pieces.

You slapped him across the face and he let you. He even released his technique just so you could.

To your dismay, he kept showing up at the shop after it had been rebuilt. But he was a paying customer, and who were you to deny him a slice of butterscotch pie?

Still, he laughed at your ever-growing irritation with his presence. How he would preorder cakes days in advance just so you could anticipate his arrival. The way he would drop an extra five thousand yen on the counter and tell you to keep the change.

"Don't make me get a restraining order," you had once threatened him while he browsed the cupcake selection for the day.

"You wouldn't," he sang. And you didn't, because he knew your type.

You were the opposite of the one he loved most in the world. You wanted to make as little of a splash as you could—to bake pies and frost cakes with buttercream roses and wipe down your counters until they sparkled.

You knew your place in the world just as much as he knew his. And it seemed to be right behind the counter with a scowl on your face because of another poor attempt at flirting.

You didn't want to change the world. You just wanted to live in it, flour and all.

He found comfort in that, too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru became your midday companion when business slowed down. The sound of the bell strung to your front entrance brought you comfort when you were stressed about your little shop.

A part of you knew that this man was no ordinary human being. His eyes shimmered bluer than the sky when he would look at you with affection, nearly making your knees buckle beneath you on more than one occasion.

"What do you do at work?" You asked him curiously one afternoon as he sat on a stool watching you mindlessly pipe frosting.

"...Nothing important," he panicked, the thought of scaring you away when you had just started opening up to him too much for him to handle.

"Nothing important," you hummed, repeating his words until your eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"I am," he admitted shamelessly.

You looked at him in confusion, not missing the way he avoided making eye contact by burrowing his head into his arms. Through the glass of your display case, you could see his shoulders bunch up in distress.

You decided to drop it. It wasn't important.

"Here," you said softly, reaching around the glass separating you to place a dessert in front of him. "Don't worry about it."

Satoru gazed at the plate before him. Chocolate ganache and strawberries layered between sponge cake.

"This is for me?" He asked, poking at it with the fork as a grin split his cheeks.

"Just for you," you smiled. "As an apology for slapping you."

"I deserved it. I blew up your shop."

Your smile only deepened. "Sometimes things need to be destroyed to be rebuilt even better."

The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of his time was reduced to a puddle at your next words,

"I met you, after all. Didn't I?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like champagne-raspberry truffles and cappuccino chocolates.

On the day he planned to confess, you unconvincingly glared at him as he approached you with his hands behind his back.

You pursed your lips, expecting him to demand you make him something out of season. Outlandish requests were not new from him, but you always managed to whip up something that had fruits imported from South America, or using that expensive hojicha he insisted you take off his hands.

Instead, he held out a box of lavish chocolates he bought in Belgium.

Nervousness replaced the confidence that was permanently etched into his every feature, and your expression melted into something mellower than the warmth simmering in the pit of Satoru's tummy.

He had been pining for you for months. There was something about your company that made him feel whole again—more whole than he had been in all the time since Geto Suguru left this earth.

You laughed as if it were a joke, using your palm to hide how you flushed slightly.

"Satoru..." You quirked a brow. "What's this?"

The way you said his name stuck arrows through his heart. You could act like you hated him all you wanted, but the way you smiled at him when he wasn't being a prick was enough for him to feel comforted.

"Chocolates from Europe," he straightened up, trying to shake off his nerves.

"Why?"

Why? His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and he sucked on it in anxious thought, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say even though he had practiced all night.

Wasn't it obvious that he liked you?

You took the box from his hands and placed it down on the counter. Then you rounded it, picked up your spatula, and continued folding your meringue.

Satoru's silence made you glance back up, scrutinizing his downcast, troubled expression. You huffed through your nose with an exasperated little shake of the head.

"Save some nice things for yourself, too."

He was surprised when you reappeared in front of him. His eyes trailed from your sneakers, up your dirty apron to your smiling face.

Chocolate was melting between your fingers.

His grunts of protest were muffled as you stuck the treat against his lips, forcing it into his mouth. He glared at you, but ate it anyway.

Sugar coated his tongue and eased his nerves. You only laughed at his fluster.

He pinched your cheek.

You didn't know that Satoru already had everything else he ever needed. The only thing left was standing right in front of him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love is easy to taste when it's on your lips.

At least, that was the thought driving Satoru insane.

He didn't know when such an obsessive idea started plaguing him, or how to remedy it. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy with a silly, childish crush.

Worst of all, you seemed none the wiser. All his attempts to make a move on you fell flat—though, he wasn't very good at following through with them in the first place.

It culminated in his final attempt to rid the terrible thought from his mind: he was going to avoid you at all costs until it blew over.

If he could just have the time to get over you, to move on from his feelings, he could probably act with some normalcy around you again. It was tiresome to tread on eggshells around you, even if you were blissfully unaware of it.

You, however, did not take his avoidance very well. He did not see that coming.

Satoru's phone rang at 3:24 am, well past your store hours. In fact, you were supposed to be waking up in another hour and a half to get all your prep done.

"Hello?" Your timid voice crackled through the static of his phone and he jolted upright, fisting his blanket in anticipation. "Satoru? Are you up?"

He swallowed thickly, mouth moving to formulate an answer with a strange amount of effort. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

The other end of the line was silent for another moment before there was a loud crash, and he could make out the distinct clatter of metal bowls hitting tile.

He could imagine you standing there in defeat, surrounded by dirty dishes and drowning in work, trying to catch up for the next morning.

The thought was enough for him to rip out of his sheets, a flurry of limbs as he got dressed to find you.

"Hang on," he told you over the phone, then hung up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had not anticipated that Satoru's very obvious avoidance would take such a toll on you.

You'd let it escalate until you were overwhelmed with emotion, unfocused at work, and not able to untangle the feelings you had for him.

And now he was standing in your shop again, helping you pick up everything you had clumsily scattered across the ground.

Whipped cream and icing spilled on the floor, painting the tile an array of pastel colours. You grimaced at the mess, thinking maybe you should just close the shop for the day and take a vacation.

Satoru was dutifully wiping up cream as if he were being paid to do it. But he wasn't—he was just too kind to you. Too generous. You desperately wished he would get mad at you for waking him in the middle of the night.

Instead, he only seemed concentrated and slightly concerned.

"That's enough," you told him quietly, standing up to discard the towels you used. "I'll clean up the rest tomorrow."

Satoru stood up with you, trying to decipher the doomstruck expression on your face.

"I'll come by tomorrow to help."

You shook your head. "It's okay, you've done so much already. Thank you."

Everything about him had grown so familiar, so warm. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and that scared you. In the three weeks since you had last seen him, it finally came crashing down on you.

You liked Satoru.

The thought was heady and overwhelming in your mind. You stumbled a bit and he caught you by the shoulders.

"Woah there," he chuckled lightly, finally able to make out the look in your eyes.

"Sato—" your lip wobbled and he stopped it with his thumb. Then, he used his fingers to clean up the icing decorating your face.

"I got you."

He snorted softly at your dazed expression, drawing away from you. Your hands shot up to grasp at him, keeping him in your bubble. 

"Please don't pull away."

Satoru stilled, letting you drag him back into your personal space. "M'not going anywhere."

You weakly punched him in the chest, fist remaining there for a moment before you let it fall limp. Glaring at him, you sniffled.

"You're avoiding me."

"I was," he admitted.

"What happened?"

"I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought."

Silence hugged your bodies, heavy and stiff. You blinked at him in surprise, having trouble processing his words.

"H-Huh?"

"I like you," he said again, more adamant. More confident.

"Oh," you breathed. Heat enveloped Satoru's heart at how relieved you sounded. "That makes me..."

Your face morphed from relief to realization. Realization of the situation, of how close your bodies were.

"Really happy," you concluded, squeezing your eyes shut as his hands adjusted to cup your face a little more intimately.

He kissed the apple of your cheek, making sure not to skip over the spot where icing lingered.

The thought entered his mind: I am exactly where I need to be.

Gojo Satoru was born to be loved. It tastes like maple buttercream. And it's spilled all over the floor, stained on his hands and knees. Between his fingers. Melting on his tongue.

[fuctacles]

| 😺😺 | 😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺 |

| 🐈 | 🐾 | 🐈 |

Eddie was lowkey disgusted by how his uncle would talk about one of his neighbors. No, he doesn't think it's bad for old people to fall in love or have crushes. But it's weird to know these things about his own uncle. 

And it's also sad to watch, because it's been months of Stephanie this, Stephanie that, and nothing came of it, so he felt safe to assume the infatuation was one-sided. So when he tells his uncle he can't go feed her cats that week, he figures it's for the best. And not only because of Wayne's twisted ankle. To his surprise though, he doesn't seem fazed; he just waves his hand and says:

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No climbing the stairs with this thing." He pokes the cast with his crutch. "I've already volunteered you anyway."

Eddie raises his eyebrows because he surely misheard that.

"You did what now?"

"Told Stephanie I'll send you to feed her cats," Wayne says, confirming his fears.

"Why?! She has so many other neighbors!" Eddie points out, gesturing vigorously around the room, implying but meaning the flats surrounding them. 

Wayne clicks his tongue at him.

"Would you let in just any of your neighbors into your home? She already trusts me, and I'm vouching for you."

Eddie gapes at him, hating that he's making a valid point. Damned be his old man and his reasonable thinking. He crosses his arms because while it makes sense, it doesn't mean Eddie can't be angry about it. 

"When?"

"She's visiting her friend this weekend so she asked for Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And stay with them for a while if possible, so they don't go crazy. Ah, and the plant in the kitchen needs watering."

"Great," Eddie grits through his teeth. He's so delighted at the prospect of spending time with some old lady's cats. The whole place probably stinks of cat piss and he'll definitely kill the plant as soon as he touches it. (It was his only superpower, which is not what he aimed for when his five-year-old had been praying, thanks for nothing, Jesus.) He just hopes he won't have to meet her. Hearing some old hag complain about his clothes, hair, and general adolescence was the last thing he wanted on his weekend off. But, alas...

"She asked you to come over tomorrow so she can show you where everything is."

Eddie groans. 

------

It's a Friday afternoon, he's at his uncle's taking a break from college and work. He should be sharing a beer with the old man, complaining about the coursework, the professors, and other students, not picking him up from the hospital, and running errands while his foot is in a cast. And certainly not meeting up with old stinky spinsters. 

To add insult to injury, Miss Stephanie, (which, by the way, is such a typical old hag name) lives two floors higher and the elevator is perpetually broken. Not too high, but high enough for Eddie's anemic lungs to start collapsing. 

He stops around the corner to steady his breath, because regardless of his overall attitude, he didn't want to worsen the first impression. He already refused to 'dress like a decent man' and didn't want to wheeze into the lady's face on top of it. 

Once his lungs are functioning properly again, he walks into the hallway, looking for number 54 as Wayne instructed. He knocks on the door, hoping he didn't mess it up and is at the right place. What if it was 45?

It must have been because he was told Stephanie Harrington lives alone. 

"Uh, sorry, I must have—"

"Are you Eddie?" The woman who opened the door takes him in. At her feet, a tabby cat peers curiously at the new human.

"Uh, yeah? I'm looking for Miss Stephanie?" he offers awkwardly. Maybe that's the friend? Or a sister?

But the woman extends her hand and smiles brightly.

"That would be me, but please call me Steph. I wish I could drill that into Wayne's thick skull." She rolls her eyes fondly.

Her big, gorgeous eyes, framed by thick lashes. She's not an old hag, she could be in her forties at best. She's tall and curvy and her hair looks straight out of a shampoo commercial. She's gorgeous. Eddie shakes her hand in a daze.

"Hi," he croaks as he's ushered inside. 

"Come in, come in! I've heard so much about you, it's great to finally see you in person. I must say," she turns around and gives him a quick once-over. "Wayne's stories didn't do you justice."

Did she just check him out?

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly dry like his elbows during winter.

"Uh, same to you."

"Yeah?" She puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "What does he say about me?"

"Good things only," Eddie assures her. 

"So you're saying I'm a bitch." She squints at him.

"No!" His eyes widen. "What?!" 

"Well, if he's saying only good things about me, and you say they don't describe me right..." 

Eddie gets the point she's making and quickly shakes his head.

"No, he just made you sound like a crazy old cat lady, and you're..." He waves his hand uselessly. "Not that."

She sighs softly, shoulders sagging a little. It would be easy to miss but Eddie's senses are heightened after his fuck up.

"I kinda am, though," she says with a shrug. 

Eddie feels the need to reassure her somehow.

"Well, you're not eighty and your place doesn't smell like cat litter, I think you're fine."

She barks a laugh, it's low and surprised and Eddie's cheeks are red because he's just digging further into the hole he's in, isn't he?

"Good to know the bar is so low."

Eddie groans, tired of doing damage control that's not controlling anything.

"I'm gonna shut up now."

"Please don't." Steph smiles wide and teasingly. "You're a funny one. Just like your uncle told me."

Eddie scoffs. He's going to have a word or two with the old man once he's back.

"Great, this is exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

At his words, the woman eyes him up and down again, and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Yeah? Not as the local punk satanist?" she teases, making Eddie bristle.

"Metalhead," he corrects instinctively and immediately winces.

"Ah, my bad. I'm not good at the subcultures thing." She smiles apologetically but it doesn't read well with how clearly amused she is. "Anyway, here's the plant I want you to water tomorrow evening. Just like, half a glass."

Right. Plants. Cats. He came here on a mission.

"Come on, I'll show you my cats."

There's only three of them and they come rushing from all corners of the flat at the rustle of a catnip bag. Eddie never saw high cats so he's glad to have this opportunity now. Stephanie points to the tabby he saw earlier.

"This is Dart, she's not actually mine, but my friend couldn't keep her at the dorms. This is Garfield," she points to the orange cat, making Eddie huff a laugh. She grins. "Yeah, don't tell anyone, but he's my favorite," she whispers, to which Eddie mimics zipping his mouth shut. 

Lastly, she points to the black cat rolling on the carpet. 

"And this is Arwen."

Eddie frowns.

"Like, The Lord of the Rings Arwen?"

"Yeah," Steph sighs. "Dustin named her. He's the friend I've mentioned. Dart is short for D'Artagnan and I've fought teeth and nail for Garfield not to be called Pippin."

"Pippin is a great name, though," Eddie points out.

"Maybe," she huffs, crossing her arms. "But I wanted one for myself, okay? Not everything has to be about Dustin."

"Is Dustin like, your brother or something?" 

"Kinda?" She frowns. "We're not actually related but I babysat him, and then we became friends. He just stuck around, somehow." The words sound angry but her face betrays the fondness she has for her friends. 

"That's nice," he offers. "I'm an only child, never met any cousins, and only ever had friends my age."

"Well, good for you. Maybe if I had friends my age I wouldn't be living alone with a bunch of cats."

Eddie frowns. 

"Hey, now..."

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'll show you where the food is." 

Eddie's in a daze when he comes back downstairs, only realizing his visit ended when he's standing in his uncle's living room. He's been gone for only half an hour but it feels longer. 

"How did it go?" his uncle asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

Edie turns to him and blinks, fighting the cotton around his brain.

"Fine?" he offers. "She's not as old as I expected," he admits bluntly. His uncle snorts.

"What, just because she lives alone with her cats you assumed she's on her deathbed?"

Eddie winces. It's exactly what he did.

"Well, the people in her life weren't kind to her, so now she relies on her pets. Nothing wrong with that." Wayne shrugs. 

"What do you mean?" Eddie frowns, curious. Concerned. He goes to the kitchen, not wanting to seem too eager to get an answer, and grabs a beer for himself and his uncle. He opens the junk drawer to find an opener and hears his uncle answer from the adjacent living room space. 

"She doesn't say much about it and I never asked, but she's always alone on the holidays. Her friends visit a few days before or after."

Eddie walks back in and hands his uncle the opened bottle. 

"Thanks, son."

He nods and settles heavily in an armchair. Focusing his gaze on the label peeling off of his beer, he hums thoughtfully.

"No family?"

"Seems so." Wayne nods solemnly. "I think it was a conflict of lifestyle choices, but I'll be honest, I'm basing it off of rumors and my own assumptions." He scratches his cheek, frowning at the wall. "It's not my place to pry, though I offered to hear her out if she ever felt like needing an ear." He sighs. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Invited her for dinner over Thanksgiving, when you couldn't come. I was surprised she's into basketball," he muses. 

Eddie was seeking answers and now was even more confused.

"You invited Miss Stephanie. For a dinner?" He raised his eyebrows. 

"Yes. She was alone, I was alone, figured I could at least ask. I'm still surprised she agreed. She declined all my other offers."

"Wow." A teasing smile creeps on his lips against his will. "You've been inviting a lot of women since I moved out?"

"Listen," Wayne takes on his stern voice and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to cackle. He can see his uncle's mustache twitch. "Stephanie is a lovely lady, but she's way too young for an old man like me. And this old man is too old for romance anyway. Besides—" he cuts himself off like he realized he was saying too much. Which, of course, piques Eddie's curiosity. 

"Besides?"

Wayne shrugs.

"I don't think I'd ever be ready for someone like her."

Eddie makes a confused face. 

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, irritated. 

"Rumors and speculations, son."

[dragon-spaghetti]

The new playmats inspired me-

Edit: husk has one too now!!

(Please click for better quality!!)

[satanicdollx]

𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖊.

🦇 of // f@nsly // tip me 🦇

[nichelleladonna]

lindsay? more like lindslay

[sunsetsimon]

imagine roommate könig spying on you getting off…

it's late at night when the familiar, low whir of your vibrator starts, the sound travelling through the paper thin walls of your apartment. könig hadn't meant to be awake still, but sleep wasn't coming to him easily, and now he's wide awake. he lays there in the dark, slowing his breathing to listen as the buzzing gets faster.

he moves without thinking, his steps quiet as a mouse as he moves across the room. the old door squeaks as he pulls it open just enough to squeeze through, freezing for a second to make sure you're still oblivious. your door is closed with no light visible under the door, you must be in the dark too, he assumes.

könig leans into the door, his left ear focusing closely on each small sound that slips through the cracks. his cock swells in his sweatpants, throbbing and growing harder with each tiny gasp and whine you let out, palming himself through the fabric to ease some of the tension. his mind buzzes with want, picturing all of the things he could be doing to you instead of that stupid silicone toy.

his stomach twists as an idea pops in his mind. would it really be that bad to take a peek? he knows he should turn around and get back in bed, but his trembling fingers are already reaching for the doorknob. and fuck, he just wants a glance…

könig’s long fingers wrap around the handle, twisting slowly as to not alert you. his intense heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly drowning out any noise that had been coming from you. he twists until it unlatches, pushing it open just enough for his left eye to look through.

you’re laying on your bed with your eyes closed, legs spread open with your hands between your thighs. your skin is illuminated by the moon’s bright glow, the curtains on your window still open to the night sky. your mouth is hanging open with a silent cry, forcing it into a whimper as you bite on your bottom lip.

his cock drips with precum, quickly forming a damp spot in the thin fabric of his briefs. he’s lost all sense of right and wrong, breaking his promise to himself of ‘only a quick peek’ as he gets lost in you. every tiny squeak and whine you make as you push the pink toy deeper inside of you locking him in a trance. your small frame jumps and trembles as you work yourself, your wrist burning as you chase your orgasm. sweat drips down the back of your knees to your thigh, your body begging for a final release. rocking your hips with it, your other hand moves faster, rubbing and pinching your clit with your two fingers to drag yourself over the edge of euphoria.

his heart rate accelerates even higher, beating so fast in anticipation he swears he could send himself into cardiac arrest. you finally cum with a sharp inhale, your thighs squeezing shut against your arms as you continue to drag out your orgasm, your clit burning with overstimulation. it lasts for about few more seconds before you start to breathe again, gasping for air to fill your empty lungs. your movements slow to a stop, pulling the pink vibrator from your pussy. you fall back into your pillows, allowing yourself to come back to earth from the overwhelming orgasm as the room falls quiet.

könig releases his tight grip from himself through his pants, slowly pulling your door back to the frame as he twists the knob. as soon as it’s closed he releases it slowly, the door latching perfectly as if it had never been touched. his legs feel stuck, hesitantly dragging himself back to bed to finish the job.

he tells himself he’ll never do that again. but when he hears the familiar buzz again the next week, he asks himself if that’s really a promise he can keep…

[cricketandclover]

LOVE FROM THE OTHER SIDE

[scrapoddles]

his ass is NOT LISTENING

[insect-whorefare]

the thing that determines whether new zelda is a good game or not for me is how many slutty little outfits i can dress link up in

[marrekeye]

Keegan “Freak Eyes” Russ.

Was trying to make a joke about Keegan’s thousand-yard stare but it didn’t really turn out the way I wanted, so you just get charming(?) still slightly off putting Keegan instead! Logan isn’t quite sure whether to be disturbed or turned on. 💀

I was honestly really shocked about the positivity on the wip post, tysm for that!!! Some of y’all’s users or reposts are ridiculous, I loved them. Anyways, expect more ghosts content in the future.

These guys have been invading my brain since like last year, which is a bit sad but whatever lmfao. To the like 20 active people in the Ghosts fandom, hope you enjoy the food 🫡

Also including the original freaky Keegan sketch because I love its stupidity and it really captures the energy I was going for 😔

[illuteridae]

team building exercise

[sejaanus]

MARK OF CAIN DEAN + textposts

[eggydaxy]

ST "I still plan to experiment on you"

JC "shouldn't you buy me a drink first?"

He didn't even need to experiment like he already knew he was gay but I mean Johnny was so kind to say yes to it so you know

sorry guys new crackship dropped I think

[craske]

TELL MY BOSS THAT IVE BEEN FIRED

first time doing an animatic like that, so im very excited about this one. the song is sleeping in the flowers by they might be giants btw

[reblogs > likes]

[tylban]

Wake up darling, breakfast is almost ready