#are you gonna do this meme too dread??

[etherealstar-writes]

I WANNA BE YOURS | WOSO X READER | PT 14

pairings: woso x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: fourteen

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ you guys back me up here

lotte y/n absolutely not

neev oooh what's gotten lotte acting like this

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ so i made this insane connection yeah lotte is literally a female tom holland but miss wubben-moy here is denying it

the REAL karate kid huh?

mccard hold on you might be onto something here

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

LOOOK it's not the best photo to compare from but tell me i ain't the only who sees it

stairway OMG

brightness oh yeah i'm seeing it

stephy YESSS it's the side profile

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ exactly!!

meado that is insane

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ seeee lotte! i meant it as a compliment when i said you look like tom holland's twin

elton changed lotte's name to tom holland's twin

tom holland's twin

neev

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ 😔😔

tom holland's twin niamh do i need to remind you of this afternoon at the beach? because i will

hempo oooh i wanna know what happeneddd

daly

stairway WAIT YOU GUYS WENT TO THE BEACH?! AND DIDN'T INVITE ME

the REAL karate kid that is so sad we must've completely forgotten about you

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG YESS I HAVE AMAZING PHOTOS TO SHARE

neev Y/N NO

tom holland's twin Y/N YES

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

this one and jessie were STRUGGLING for an hour trying to place their mats 😭😭 it was so funny

flaming hot STOPPP DONT REMIND ME

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

and miss fleming here even gave me the bird guys she's not as innocent as she looks

flaming hot oh shut up y/n

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ you're just sour that the wind loved me

flaming hot yeah i really am

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

i'm justfdghjkem ehyu tyuiolkjehsyuikmdrnh

willybum um y/n you good?

elton are you having a stroke rn?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ sorry y/n's a bit busy rn

neev WHERE'S Y/N MY BAE AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ if you want to see her alive again i'm gonna need y'all to venmo me 10k each

stairway 10k?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ is that too much for you?

stairway oh no no it was just surprising how you didn't go for one 1 million like everyone usually does

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ oh well i guess if you want it that way then 1 million each from y'all

willybum STANWAY WTH

neev had to open that big mouth of yours

ona we'll save y/n just what is this venmo and how do i venmo you money?

elton i mean do we have to ..... she'll be fineee

neev you know what how about 1 m for y/n toone will pay for it on behalf of us all

elton HUH excuse you i ain't venmoing anyone a million dollars i'm positive i don't even have a hundred dollars in my bank account

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ wow glad to know how much i'm worth 😔

ona y/n! you're okay! do i still have to venmo for your safety?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ oh no no don't worry about it ona you're too sweet for this world 🥺 kyra and charli were being jerks and snatched my phone and ran away

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ added kyra and cha cha

kyra aw man you ruined the fun 😔 i could've earned some money

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ nahhh ona's too precious to be scammed by you but i mean ella on the other hand ....

elton OI

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG HOW MANY SELFIES DID YOU TWO TAKE ON MY PHONE?!

cha cha just enough 😁

stephy i was dreading when the three of you would meet up as if we don't already have enough chaos in this groupchat

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ stephyyy why would you think that 😔

cha cha honestly

kyra

the REAL karate kid 😭😭

willybum HELP

cha cha HAHA I LOVE THIS PLS

stephy

kyra WOAH WOAH WOAH

stephy

kyra

cha cha HELP YOU BEAT KYRA WITH MEMES I CANT BELIEVE THIS

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ HAHAHA STEPH YOU ICONIC LEGEND I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

i don't even know what the hell this is anymore 😭😭 but i hope you enjoyed this nonsense

part fifteen here

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[l0v3tast3]

ooh can i request a 141 witha reader that has bad abandonment issues and needs constant reassurance?

if it’s to much please then don’t do it, don’t wanna make you write something you don’t want to

but if you do mwah ily! ❤️❤️

as someone with severe abandonment issues. and also needs constant reassurance. thank you for this request lmao also mwah ily2 !!! (っ˘ω˘ς ) this was rlly cute to write lol also sorry this took like a month im finally trying to get caught up on requests lmaoo

✎ tags: gn!reader, young military reader, angst, mentions of violence, comfort, fluff

✎ word count: 900 words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests

✧ ˖ ° they all notice it when your eyes shift towards theirs for their approval when you do well during training, when you never say "no" to whatever they ask you to do for them. they think you're just eager to please. you're the shiny new recruit to the team, beaming bright and always ready to take on your next task, so they brush it off.

✧ ˖ ° simon is the first to really figure out how deep your servitude runs, what the real reason behind it is. it's during one of your missions together, him and johnny and you in a firefight. johnny gets separated from the two of you and he can nearly feel the panic radiating off of you at the thought of your teammate, your friend, being gone. you do a good job of concealing it, of pushing through it to clear the area before you bolt to go looking for him.

✧ ˖ ° it clicks for simon so quickly because he's been where you are before. he's felt that trepidation too many times, the dread dripping cold down his spine when the other end of the radio goes silent. he's felt that same dizzying relief when you both reunite with johnny and your shoulders visibly relax. so when you're all back at base and you're hanging back while you fiddle with your gear, he pats a heavy hand on your shoulder with a gruff "y'did good, kid," before he walks away.

✧ ˖ ° kyle doesn't quite figure it out in the same depth as simon, but he picks up on the way you get nearly giddy at any kind of praise or validation and how anxious you seem to get when you think you haven't done something as well as they want you to. as he gets to know you and grows more and more fond of you, he'll make it a point to encourage you and try his best to help you build your confidence in your abilities. it's subtle and obvious at the same time, a quick "nice shot!" over the radio during missions and a huffed "are you ever gonna let me win?" while you're sparring together.

✧ ˖ ° it's not something that's spoken between you two, but you know he'll always be there for you. being the closest in age (and social media knowledge) helps you both to bond quickly and strongly when you join the team, and eventually people start joking that the two of you are attached at the hip. and it's pretty much true; when you aren't together you're texting, sending memes back and forth and talking about how bored or entertained you were in the moment. during missions, you're checking in with each other every few minutes, to the point where simon starts getting annoyed.

✧ ˖ ° price can see it in you the same way he can see it in so many of the recruits that join the military seeking purpose and approval. you're looking for a reason that others will give you to keep going, and he wants to tell you that you need to find your own reason, that you will find your own reason, but it's not something for him to explain. instead, he'll show you a gentleness that he doesn't often show; it's not outright obvious, not enough that others besides probably the rest of the 141 will notice, but it's enough that you'll see it. encouragement and very slowly helping you build your confidence is the road price takes to help you. quiet affirmations after training sessions, positive feedback surrounding the negative, a heavy hand thumping against your back when you do well- price is quiet, but he notices.

✧ ˖ ° as for johnny, well... he's not oblivious, per say, but he'll be somewhere along the "realization scale" close to kyle. it's not something that he's personally worried about himself all that much. johnny knows his talents and capabilities, and the confidence he's built up after a decade in the military is unquestionable. but you haven't had as long as him, as any of them to climb to their level of self-assurance, and he's aware of that much at least.

✧ ˖ ° when he sees you struggling internally with your self-doubt, johnny always swoops in with something to lighten your mood. he brings up that you've mastered a particular move in training already or how impressed he was that you're already able to bring himself down while sparring. johnny sticks near you when he can; he'll eat meals with you and work out with you and just enjoy your company during your free time at the base. if he sees you struggling with something during training, you become certain that he'll always pull you aside after everyone leaves and help you until you've got it down.

✧ ˖ ° as a whole, the men of the 141 task force aren't great at outright reassurance and emotional help. they're hardened soldiers who've proven their worth time and time again, but they know you haven't had a chance to yet. so with their unknowingly combined forces, they'll do their best to make sure you do get that chance, to make sure that you know how much of an irreplaceable and valuable cog in their well-oiled machine you've become.

[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Part 3

When a legendary hitman Eye Threatens to break both your fucking legs?

They Are Not Joking.

FUCKING OW.

Still! Jokes on HIM! I'm in to that sh-! Wait, no, not the time for memes! Or is it jokes? Irrelevant! I can still fuckin RUN, is the thing. Sucks to SUCK, Sun boy! Us Lightnings are BUILT DIFFERENT!

And I BETTER not hear any snide "yeah I BET they are" from the peanut gallery!

My Flame type ROCKS! I am a TAZER who can put my fist through WALLS. Stand dead center of a road and just? Fuckin TANK a speeding car! Can YOU? Didn't THINK so! Lightning supremacy! One of you fuckers gimme a highfive! HELL YEAH!

But also? Like... I take back EVERYTHING I ever said about the Carcassa.

ALL OF IT.

They are the GEMS of the Mafia. The SHINING HEARTS of raw compassion! Skull-sama's willingness to PERSONALLY piss off The "I AM The Dread God Lesser Deity's Fear" Reborn? An inspiration to us all. I... I would steal for this man. Like? For FREE. Not DIE for him or anything, God no, but? I would steal really REALLY expensive shit for him!

The man's an absolute mad lad. A LEGEND.

I will NEVER forget this... assuming I survive.

Because somehow HE already has my name, face, and multiple alias plastered OUT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE. Ha ha... oh god. Thaaaaat is a bounty. BIG bounty. Lots of zeros. G...gonna die.

My phone chimes.

"You know exactly who this is. Pick up." The screen reads, right before it rings.

HA HA, NOPE!

I stand, well more like shoot to my feet, from my seat on the ground. Quuuuick steps too the blimp windows. Wrench those open. Sim card out! Crush the phone. AND YEET!!! BeGONE DEMOOOON!

We shall NOT be engaging with The Devil today! No Sir!

.....Skull's phone starts ringing.

I whine like a cornered animal. So... this is what a real life horror movie feels like. NEAT. I hate it! I watch, probably shaking, as Skull-sama casually drags out his phone. Glances down at it. Then over his shoulder at me. He doesn't even fully turn his head. Just one Cloud flame purple eye that seems to light up from within.

He's a happy go lucky guy. Cool dude. But like all Clouds? Fucking HATES cages. Being or SEEING other imprisoned. Trapped. Cornered and forced to do something against their will. And as the planet's STRONGEST Cloud?

He's always had exactly zero problems telling Reborn to fuck off to his face. Even when it gets him shot at. Everyone knew that.

"Sempai! Calling the GREAT Skull De Mort just to CHAT~♡? I KNEW you loved me BESTEST!" He PROJECTS into the phone, his speaking cadence shifting.

He'd been gregarious, bombastic even, the whole time I'd been on board. The sort of guy you can't help but want to buy street food with and check out some weird local sight you heard about. The guy that turns an event into a PARTY. A get together into a memory you TREASURE. Larger then life and unashamedly so.

But this? THIS was the SHOWMAN.

And this was the Showman being Obnoxious and MEAN.

Loud, intentionally grating voice. No break in the endless flood of mind numbing chatter that went no where. Bellowing cackling that even the best of speakers would be hard pressed to handle. Standing near machines and windows so the background noise garbled EVERYTHING.

Let no one say Clouds are not PETTY.

"Hmmmmm~? Your WHAT? Sempai! Don't be SILLY! You can't OWN people! That's SLAVERY! It's against~...!" He turned, leaning like a rock star of old against some navigation compartment. Casually examining his nails with a MEAN and wolfish smile on his face. "Waaaaa! Don't be maaad~ Don't be MAAAAAD~!! You know I'd NEVER lie to YOU, Sempai! I'd never DARE! I promise I'll keep a look out, m'kay? What? Don't hang up? Sorry! Can-KRRRRSHK! n't quite KKKKKRRRRRSK! Heeeeear yoooouuuuu~☆!"

Click.

He casually tossed his phone to one of his men. Ignored it even as it rang and rang. With an excited clap of his hand, he hopped up, out of his loose legged splay to stride over. According to him? We should eat! Have I had Burmese food? It's delicious! One of his guys just got "into" the whole cooking thing! So everyone is being supportive!

I can't help but laugh. Everyone politely ignores how wet it is, as Skull-sama throws an arm over my shoulders and drags me from the cockpit.

I know I'm not safe. But for now? Fuck it. Good enough. Maybe Skull-sama knows someplace Reborn might not IMMEDIATELY find me. And who knows? When this all blows over? Maybe I should join up with his crew. Reborn can't be THAT obsessed. Right? It was just the initial harmony high. With no Sky to actually bind us, he'll lose interest.

Behind me... the phone rings.

And rings.

And RINGS.

[matcha-milkies]

WELL, YOU DID ASK

Summary: Aboard the Stan-O’-War II, Stan finds out and confronts Ford about his past relationship with Bill.

Alternatively: “Ford, why did Bill call you babygirl?”

Relationships: Sea Grunkles, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Mentioned)

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Sex

Tags: Humor, Light Angst, Banter

Inspired By: This Meme and This Comic

Word Count: 2,489

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Yeah it’s been a HOT MINUTE five years since I watched Gravity Falls, and I’m still waiting on my copy of Book of Bill, so I’m sorry if there are any inconsistencies with canon in this. I was riffing hard off of secondhand material lol

Stan stares up at the top bunk as the room gently sways from side to side, a cabin cradled in the bosom of the ocean. He’s lying face up on his cot, hands on his abdomen, and he’s contemplating something very deeply. It’s unnerving, this thing. He almost wishes he could forget all about it. Almost.

He bites his bottom lip and deliberates over what to do about this. He could just leave it alone. Things have been good lately. Why rock the boat, so to speak? They could go about their day, have their coffee, cast their lines into the sea, fry that leftover kraken meat for dinner. Blegh, he’s so sick of kraken meat. He’s going to have to find a way to season that thing to spice it up a bit or else he’s gonna go crazy. Why do krakens have to be so enormous anyway?

Yeah, he could do that. He could be normal.

After all, if the answer is no, then there’s nothing to worry about in the first place. And if the answer is yes… does he really want to know about it? What is he going to do, where is he going to go from there? Ask for details? He’s racked by a fullbody shudder. As if.

But deep down, he knows he’s kidding himself. If he doesn’t confront his brother, then this is going to linger in the back of Stan’s mind for all of eternity. He won’t be able to look at his twin without pondering all the ‘why’s. Why him? Why didn’t you tell me?

Stan hauls himself to a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his bunk. He stares at the wall for a little bit, mouth quirked to the side. The Stan-O’-War II creaks, as if it’s also pondering to itself. He can hear his brother rustling papers a ways away in the other room. It’s a small boat. Of course it is. There’s only two of them to man it.

Stan starts to walk into the other room, then turns around and changes course at the last second, heading above deck instead. Hopefully his twin was too preoccupied with his work to notice. Stan walks over to the port side and leans his arms against the railing with a sigh. It’s a nice day out, at least. The sun is shining high in the sky with only a few clouds drifting overhead. They’re somewhere off the coast of Canada.

Somewhere further south but still along the same coast are his great niece and nephew, going to school again. He wonders how they’re doing. He wishes he could call them. He misses them, but he also wants to take his mind off of this. He hears footsteps pacing below deck, probably to grab a book off a shelf or something, because they soon pace right back to where the desk would be. 

Stan lowers his head until his forehead is against the railing and sighs. He’s probably going to have to ask. The thing he’s dreading is knowing that it’s not gonna go over well. He gives it maybe another ten minutes to psyche himself up, then turns and tramps back down the stairs.

Ford is situated at his desk (it’s not anyone’s desk but really it’s Ford’s desk), sifting through some old creased pages that look like they’re about to disintegrate at the slightest breeze. On his right-hand side is a cold, half-finished cup of joe. Occasionally, he mutters something to himself and pens something in his new journal. He’s entirely absorbed. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Stan appears in the doorway and leans his elbow against it.

“Uh, hey, Sixer, how’s it goin’ in here?”

Ford starts. The pen drops from his hand and rolls around on the swaying floor. “Stanley, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up like that?”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’m notoriously loud. You’re the one with your nose glued to that journal.”

“I–” Ford’s breath catches in his throat before he lets it out in a sigh. “I suppose you have a point. I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m just frustrated at how little progress I’ve made with this. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you say that, like, every time we find some weird thing, right?”

“I didn’t think we would encounter this many paranormal phenomena outside of Gravity Falls.”

“Maybe you’re the weirdness magnet.”

“Perhaps both of us are. After all, you were the one living in my shack for all those years pretending to be me.”

“Ha, yeah…” Stan musses his own hair. “Must run in the family.”

“Anyway–” after stooping to pick up the pen, Ford seats himself at the desk again– “you know I always appreciate your company, Stan, but I’d like to make some real headway before dinner if at all possible.”

“Uh, well, actually,” Stan says, and Ford glances up with a raised brow.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you accidentally dropped something overboard,” replies Ford, testing the temperature of his coffee. He looks displeased at the result but nevertheless continues to sip it anyway.

“Relax, relax, it’s nothing like that. Sheesh, are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“It happened yesterday.”

“Ancient history!” Eh, might as well spit it out, right? “Hey, speaking of ancient history, what was going on with you and Bill?”

Ford makes some sort of choking sound and dribbles coffee back into his cup. He casts about for a napkin or a towel. “What do you mean by that?”

“Were you like, just a fling, boyfriend-boyfriend, married? What was going on there?”

Ford sputters, gives up and rolls up his sleeve to wipe his mouth on his bare arm. His voice cracks a little as he speaks. “What- What do you- What do- Why would you–”

“Look, don’t play dumb with me, IQ. When he was in my head, he said some things. And I didn’t think much of it at the time, but see, now I got nothing but time out here on this tin can, and I…”

His twin finally manages to school himself back into neutrality, although they’re both well aware it’s too late. He’s already shown his hand. All he can do is pretend, deny, for whatever that gets him. He spares Stan a glance over his spectacles, and it seems to last an eternity, before the man finally returns his gaze to his notes. “Now is not the time to talk about this.” Oh. Okay. So not even a denial then.

“Uh, right. Sure. And when exactly is the right time gonna be?”

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs with a kind of bone-deep exhaustion. “I don’t know, Stanley, any time I’m not trying to decipher the code that we found etched onto the side of that washed up precolonial artifact last week?”

“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be a whole song and dance, Einstein, it’s a simple question.”

“Yes, we were… romantically involved. Obviously. Now please leave me in peace.” Not that he had expected that answer to buy him anything, but he still finds himself chagrined when Stan stubbornly continues his line of questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I didn’t think it pertinent.” Ford closes the book on his left-hand side, resigning himself to the unfortunate reality that this conversation is happening, and there is no walking away from it. Where would he even escape to? They’re stuck on a boat together until they land at the next port.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know you were getting… close with the literal demon that tried to kill us?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill us when I was getting to know him. Again, this should be obvious, Stanley. I don’t know why you’re making me spell it all out for you.” He strangles the air, vibrating with more frustration than he can dissipate. “Unless it’s just to torture me, which I wouldn’t put past you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? After all the things I’ve done for you, all I’m asking for here is a little honesty.”

Ford very graciously decides not to dwell on the “all the things I’ve done for you” bit and reopen that particular wound. Instead, he doffs his glasses, the better to massage his forehead.

“Oh, for the love of… We’re in our 60s, Stan.” He unfurls his arms on the table, palms upward. “What did you want me to do, honestly? You wanted me to sit you down and tell you about my crush like we’re still in high school?”

There’s something in the sincerity of his tone that throws Stan off kilter, disarms him.

“I’m not sayin’ that! I just— You’re makin’ it sound more unreasonable than it is! I’m still your twin and I thought you trusted me with this kinda thing.”

Ford pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He stares at a point just past Stan’s shoulder, mouth flattened into a line. “Oh, god,” he laments, as it dawns on him that the emotionally mature thing to do is to be vulnerable. He sighs, busying his hands by straightening all the papers on his desk. “It’s embarrassing. It was already embarrassing, don’t you see? And this just makes it so much worse.”

“What?” Stan pulls up a chair and sits across from his twin. “Sixer, come on. You think I came in here and brought this up just to laugh at you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it is objectively very funny, hilarious even—” he grins in the face of Ford’s glare— “but the last thing I’m gonna do is judge you. Between you and me, I think your relationship with that freaky triangle was more stable than anything I’ve ever had with any human.”

“Stable is not the word I would use to describe anything that went on in that shack in the 1980s.”

“Yeah, that just goes to show how low the bar is. Anyway, my point is, while I’m not gonna laugh at you, I definitely will still laugh.”

The scientist raises an unamused brow. “With me, you mean?”

“No, I’m just gonna laugh. Ha! Ha-ha!” Stan reaches across the desk to nudge Ford with his elbow. “Come on, it’s funny! You had a relationship with a triangle! Oh, the kids are gonna be so traumatized!”

“Wh- D- Stan, don’t tell them!”

“Why not? Dipper worships the ground you walk on. This won’t change anything for him. And Mabel… well, Mabel will laugh too actually. Very hard.” He brings a hand to his chin and narrows his eyes. “Or worse, she’ll start shipping you.”

“What does that even mean? She’s going to ship me? Where? How?”

“Uh, not important, and for all intents and purposes, I do not know what that word means either. Look, I’m just pulling your leg, Poindexter. I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. It’s your business.”

“You honestly mean that?”

Stan sweeps an arm through the air with finality. “It’s your own business and nobody else’s. Look, I’m—” He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for pushing you about this. It’s not something you’d wanna look back on, I get it.”

“Oh.” Ford doesn’t really know what to do with that so he resumes straightening papers even though they’ve been straight for the past three minutes. “I’m not used to fights ending like this.”

“Yeah, me neither. It’s weird. It’s like we emotionally matured or something.”

“Something like that,” Ford agrees.

They lapse into awkward silence. That should've been the end of it, and yet.

“I guess I just don’t get it,” Stan admits.

“What don’t you understand, Stanley?”

“He’s a— Well, he’s a little two-dimensional, don’t you think?”

“It was an extremely intellectual affair, Stan. Physicality had very little to do with it.” Well, that isn’t entirely true but his brother doesn’t need to know about any of that.

“You know what, I’d believe that. I’m just having trouble envisioning what it… what it was like.”

“Why are you trying to envision that?”

“Because it’s weird, Ford! It’s weird and morbidly fascinating. It’s like a train wreck, I can’t look away.”

“Do you have any more questions? So that I can answer them and we can be done talking about this forever?”

“So you… you never… y'know…”

“No,” Ford says about five seconds too late. There’s heat rising to his cheeks and he smothers his face with his hands as Stan sits slack-jawed in abject horror.

“What? Wait, seriously? How did that even work?”

“Ask me something else.”

“Okay. For scientific purposes, hypothetically, in a hypothetical situation, how would a human with glasses and a triangular demon go about—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stan!”

“God had nothin’ to do with it, I know that much.” Stan leans back in his chair, then eyes Ford suspiciously. “Wait. He didn’t possess someone else, did he?”

“No!” Ford sounds genuinely horrified. “How depraved do you think I am? That would be tantamount to— I wouldn’t do that. Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“I mean, they could’ve consented beforehand anyway, right? That’s all I’m saying. Although, Sixer, I cannot stress this enough: You locked yourself in a cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon and started drawing freaky symbols on the floor and communing with a literal demon. I think I’m allowed to be a little concerned.”

“Well– Sure, when you put it like that, it sounds more occult than scientific, but I can assure you my methodology was very sound.”

“Oh, okay, good. I’m glad your methodology was sound. That was the main thing I was worried about.”

“May I return to my cipher now?”

“Your Cipher, huh?”

Ford stares pointedly at his twin, trying to telepathically communicate how exhausting this conversation is.

“I just need to know how you did it. It’s gonna keep me up at night.”

“I fail to see how that’s my issue.”

“And then I’ll keep you up at night.”

“And then I’ll throw you overboard so that you can find that notebook you lost!”

“And then I’ll haunt you from the watery grave, you know I will. Besides, it’s laughable you think you could throw me overboard, Poindexter.”

“You really want to know?”

“For my own peace of mind, please.”

Ford sighs deeply, eyes shifting from wall to wall, as though afraid someone’s eavesdropping. Maybe he’s paranoid that a mermaid is listening in from outside. He gestures for Stan to lean in closer, cups his hands to his ear and whispers for a few seconds. Stan’s expression becomes unreadable.

“Oh. Wow. Creative. Okay. Welp. That answers that.” He claps his hands together as if to dispel dirt. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have another one of those memory-wiping guns?”

[illarian-rambling]

@davycoquette with the fun question games again!

Get to Know the Writblr

Gonna put this under a cut because it got long, but feel free to treat this as an open tag if you want to hop on!

On the Tumblr Writing Community:

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr?

Since the beginning of the year, maybe? Sometime in February, I think.

What led you to create it?

I was feeling pretty lonely having no one to talk to about my writing. None of my real-life friends are writers and I'm really terrible at expressing my interests verbally, so I figured online might be the place to go. So far, I've been right!

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

Oh, the people, for sure. It's incredibly rare that I come across anyone being less than supportive on here. No matter our skill level, I really feel like every writer on here has a sense of being in this shit together.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Hmmm.... I'm pretty open about sharing things about myself, so idk if there's anything major I haven't touched on yet. I wake up at 4am every morning for work, so if you see me posting at an egregious time, that's why. Also, if you ever want martial arts tips for your fight scenes, I'm your gal!

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

I love it when people make memes of their ocs. Makes me giggle every time.

What tips/advice do you have for someone who made a Writeblr today?

You gotta interact with people. I know it can be scary, but even a reblog with no tags can make another writer smile. Chances also are, if you leave a nice comment on someone's work, they might check you out and leave a nice comment on yours! A community isn't a community unless you go out and commune :)

WIP it Good:

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Lately, I've been juggling writing my first draft of Mortal God book 3 (tentatively title being The Machinations of Machine and Man) and going over @kaylinalexanderbooks lovely comments on MG1. My ghost ship project is also on a low simmer in the back of my brain, but I'm trying to leave that until I'm done with MG3.

How long have you been working on them?

Good lord, I started MG1 about... almost two years ago now? Damn, it feels like it's been so much longer. But hey, three book drafts in two years ain't bad! Honor's Outcasts, which is largely written by now, I started about three years ago.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

The two main characters of MG started as a vague daydream, which then became two important dnd npcs along with MG's main villain. I ended up liking them all so much that I wrote a short story which became *drumroll* three entire books! A lot of my inspiration came from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood and the Foundryside Trilogy of books. I can't think of anyone specifically who inspired the characters, except that Astra was originally based on the archetype of the silent wandering cowboy/samurai as seen in a lot of Kurosawa films and old westerns. For anyone familiar with her, uh, things changed quite a lot.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

At least ten percent of my brain's storage is dedicated to my wips at all times. As for how often I'm actively thinking about them... it's also quite a lot.

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

"Uh, fantasy stuff?" is my go-to.

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you do say)?

I really wish I had the ability to explain my wips as succinctly with speech as I do with writing, but alas. I would want to give a nice, book jacket blurb that doesn't give away too much of the crazy shit.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos:

Name any characters you created.

I think I'm really good at names, so we're gonna go down the list!

Izjik Meautammera

Sepo Kaiacynthus

Twenari Undetasib/Devaris

Djek Kagura

Astra DuClaire

Mashal Darezsho

Ivander Montane

Elsind Cavernsight

Duchon Avymere Kalaphon Spearsong III

Faalgun Falani

Nyda Burningrock

Kaulakri Ondohuroata

Pashananath

Anarac Fifth-Blood

Who’s the most unhinged?

Unhinged in terms of violence? Sepo for sure. Unhindered in terms of sheer chaos? I'm gonna go with Izjik and Djek as a duo. Between both of their high charismas and low intelligences, along with their combined expertise in fighting and creative uses of magic, they're unbeatable.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Probably Izjik. I've been writing in her POV for the longest.

Do you ever cringe at them?

Sometimes yeah, when they do something real stupid. But, then again, I did make them that way.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?

I think I know my characters really well and base my plot around their motives, so there really isn't a huge need for control.

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters?

PLEASE!!! FEED ME ASKS! I'LL TAKE ANYTHING!

On Writeblr Engagement:

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account?

Probably creativity. I've read a looooot of fantasy/sci-fi, so if you're doing something I've never seen before, I'll probably give you a follow.

What makes you decide against following?

Any kind of hateful rhetoric or someone who doesn't want 18+ interaction. Other than that, I think it's important to follow people who write different genres or have different methods than me.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I wouldn't say so. I get a little shy doing that.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

The characters of @kaylinalexanderbooks @mk-writes-stuff and @somethingclevermahogony all have a little place in my brain. Favorites from each include Robbie and Akash (not to be separated), Narul and Bop (love me a good living weapon/teddybear of a dude team-up), and Nellie and Stellaris (their earnest kindness makes my heart happy). If you haven't yet, you should go check out their stuff and see for yourself!

And with that, thanks for reading! Go out and have yourself a bitchin day <3

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter eight

[ chapter eight — 6.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ] "well, now you know what to get me for christmas." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: drugs, insects

the next day, you wake to your customary darkness. outside your window light snow whispers against your window and thick clouds beyond promise there’s more where that came from. you pull a mini pizza from the freezer, crack an egg on top and put it in the toaster oven, call that protein. boil some water in your smallest pot. pull out your favorite chipped blue mug.

the dream did come last night, but its dread was dulled by early waking. you’re grateful for that. this is about as good as it gets, you think: tea on the way, a thick stillness enveloping your apartment, the city outside preparing to sleep while you keep watch. 

but wait, the phone. 

you go into your room and kneel by the bed.

michael’s small box is half-empty now that you’ve put his shirt in the wash, so the nokia is easy to find. when you flip it open, he’s there, waiting for you—one unread text—and in the sleepy silence, a bubble of incredulous unreality balloons and then bursts. it’s not michael.

they all blur into each other like drops of blood in water: you’re crushed to find that he’s still gone, relieved he’s still gone, guilty you were relieved, relieved that richie’s texted—no, happy—no, that’s embarrassing, but you can’t help it. it’s happiness and it’s something else. happiness is the warmth by your side and something else is the radiator.

the message turns out to be a single emoji, the one with the pink tongue sticking out. definitely richie. with no idea what that’s supposed to mean, you try to think of something equally silly. failing that, you pull up wikipedia on the phone and generate random wikipedia articles until you finally come across a fragment that strikes you as too beautiful to pass up. you weren’t looking for beautiful, but what the hell, it’s charmed you. copy, paste, and send.

> it was announced on january 30, 2023, that she will be writing an original poem dedicated to nasa's europa clipper. the europa clipper will launch in 2024, and by 2030, will be orbiting jupiter. limón's poem will be engraved into the craft.

not expecting an immediate reply, you replace the lid on the box and slide it back under your bed, only to hear the vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards.

reading what he’s written makes you smile. proper punctuation and all, mimicking you. can’t tell if it’s meant to be snide or if he’s just matching what he thinks is your mood. you’ll take it either way.

> must be a bad motherfucker, that limon.

> must be.

> is she your favorite poet or something?

you feel a dissonant twinge of pride and shame. you once had a favorite poet, but that was a long time ago.

> i haven’t decided yet. are you getting better?

> i haven’t decided yet. i had three grape popsicles in bed for my breakfast, it’s kind of hard to argue with that.

> malingerer.

> i’m actually polish.

and so on. 

when he finally says goodbye so he can go back to sleep, you’re still laughing a little to yourself, and you’ve been kneeling there beside the bed for so long that your knees ache.

.

.

.

in the days that follow, richie texts you at exactly the time he’d usually visit. you stand outside like he’s still there, have a couple cigarettes, and enjoy the nonsense even as your fingertips go numb in the cold. once, he sends a picture of a meme so italian that you don’t get it. you obviously weren’t meant to get it, either, so you respond by sending him the middle finger emoji, which he, nonsensically, hearts.

if he needs help, he’ll ask for it, you think. you hope. he seems to be on the mend. anyways, you no longer feel that fear except in dreams, and you stop wondering when he’s gonna text and start expecting it, and then, less than a week later, he shows up. you know this because he texts, where are you?

you open the window and stick your head out into an eddy of snow. sure, you’re glad to see him, but: it’s too fucking cold for this!

he waves.

man was feverish for literally days and here he is in mid december with a hoodie under his leather coat but no scarf, absolute idiot, and so you close the window, go down to meet him, and break the rule. standing there, holding the door open, you say, c’mon. 

he’s surprisingly perceptive. he walks over, but he doesn’t cross the threshold, just pauses in front of you.

i don’t think we can smoke in there, he says.

we can’t, you say, moving back one more step, making even more room for him. or at least i can’t. i don't want to get evicted. my landlady will do it too.

yeah? he says, not moving. you're scared of her?

you shrug. you've moved back as far as you can, you're letting all the cold air in, and there's nothing you can do except say please.

you say, she's like four foot tall and a hundred years old, man. women that tiny that survive that long? you should be scared of them.

as if that was the final straw—though how could it be?—richie walks inside. without skipping a beat and for no reason you can figure out, richie walks inside.

learn my ways, sweetheart, he says, touching his chest and giving you his very best look of ridiculous condescension. old women love me.

as you close the door behind him, you fend off a stray, ridiculous burst of giddiness. it's just the lobby, pale linoleum floors and a single artificial plant by the elevators, but it feels radically different from the concrete outside. no cigarettes, no excuses. he’s only there for one reason.

old women do not love you, you say.

they do!

tina loves you. the rest of them, i don't know.

he snorts. you really don't want to be standing face to face with him for however long you’ve got him, so you lean on the wall instead, and he settles by your side the same way he always does.

when he looks over at you, there’s a hint of sly mischief in his eyes that makes you say, what?

wait for it, he says, and when you open your mouth, he holds up a finger.

you roll your eyes, but you hold your tongue with no idea what this is about, undisguised curiosity, and a readiness to be delighted.

you hear that? he finally says.

wind, maybe, or the distant rattle of a train? nothing special. you shake your head no.

that, richie says, is the sound of the sky not falling. 

knowing he noticed, that’s the worst thing about being told that everything is gonna be okay. it’s also the best thing. you shove him with a bony, solid elbow. i should’ve let you freeze.

he catches himself before he can topple, his smile gone goofy and so pleased. fuckin drama queen.

full han solo style, block of ice.

it was carbonite, not ice. how do you not know star wars?

course i know star wars, you lie. how do you live in chicago and not own a hat?

i have hats. i just also have a car.

uh-huh. if he wants to trade accusations, you’ve got a doozy you’ve saved up till you could turn it on him in person.  i noticed the other day that your place isn’t exactly in a location that makes my place ‘on the way home’ from the beef. 

he’s caught, not sorry. grins. you noticed that, did you.

yeah, i might not be from around here, but i still know north from south, all that shit. 

well okay, sherlock. you wanna charge me with a crime? the challenge in his eyes says it all; he knows you’re not unhappy to find he lied. 

you still need to get a hat, you say.

well, now you know what to get me for christmas.

you’re getting jack shit.

you already know what you’re getting him for christmas. 

.

.

.

kraft’s mac and cheese is a christmas tradition in a two-person slice of your family, and you’re one half of that slice, so mac and cheese is the first thing you think of when richie tells you he’ll be there for christmas eve. 

after that, it’s on to donna’s on christmas day. then i’m gonna kidnap carmy for some ice fishing, he says.

you ever been ice fishing before? you say. 

he splutters. do i not strike you as a, uh, an experienced-ass f—

no.

—fisherman and woodsman, and like—

nope.

—man of the… he gives up. whatever?

do you have a float suit? 

richie exhales smoke and fixes you with a look, annoyed but curious.

i’m carmen fucking sandiego, you say, by way of explanation. of course you’ve been ice fishing, you’ve been all over the world.  

sure you are, he says. he waves a dismissive hand. my buddy’s got all the stuff, we’ll be fine. it’s whatever, i just gotta get carmy out of the city so the only things he ends up killing are fish.

his first christmas since. you don’t have to finish the sentence.

yup, richie says.

it’s richie’s first christmas since, too, but there’s no call to say that. 

lapsing into a companionable silence and shrinking a little closer to the building as the wind picks up, you decide that you’re definitely gonna make him kraft mac and cheese for christmas eve. he wouldn’t take it as a letdown, he'd laugh at the single spinach leaf on top. he’d get it.

.

.

.

on christmas eve, ten minutes before you’re expecting richie to show up, you get a text message.

> need u 

it’s the wrong phone, though. it’s your work phone, and after everything those fuckers have done, they can’t possibly be calling you in on christmas eve. not now. your butter’s already cut, your colander’s in the sink, and you’re stirring the pot of boiling macaroni with a couple takeout chopsticks. they can’t—

the phone starts ringing. you pick up. 

fuck off, you say.

no wait! 

the voice is familiar; it’s kevin, a man so stupid that he once introduced himself to you out of anxious friendliness even though you’ve always made very clear that you don’t want to know anybody’s names. kevin must have you on speakerphone, because in the background, you can hear the telltale sounds of somebody else cursing in a continuous wretched stream. that piques your curiosity.

thirty seconds, you say. keep it clean. meaning, don’t give me names. 

kevin says, we were doing a thing and some stuff happened. 

that’s no use. he kept it a little too clean. you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers. you were doing a thing on christmas eve?

we thought…look, can you just come? aren’t you on call? isn’t this your job?

you tell me, you say. it’s been radio silence on my phone for three weeks and i haven’t gotten paid for almost a month now. 

oh.

yeah, you say, knowing damn well that it’s not kevin’s fault, but more than happy to take this out on somebody. they fucking ghosted me.

sorry to hear that, man, he says awkwardly. 

a thought occurs to you. likelihood of the carusos being involved in some shitbrained christmas eve scheme pulled by kevin? nil.

was this even a sanctioned thing? you say. like, did—

you know what, it’s fine, kevin says hurriedly. it’s basically a flesh wound.

the guy in the background howls, i got shot in the fucking foot!

shut up, howie, kevin hisses. you hang up.

there’s no reason for you to get involved. no orders, no blackmail, and probably no money; plus, your timer is counting down the last minute of macaroni boiling and richie will be on his way soon. 

you pocket your phone, walk back to the stove, and resume stirring. 

no reason for you to get involved. your timer rings out, so you dump out the pasta, put it back in the pot with the butter, add some water and the cheesy powder, stir with an eye for sauce thickness, wait for it to settle you. it doesn’t.

the thing is, there are so many small tricky bones in the foot, and you haven’t had a real surgery challenge in ages. ever since your bosses ghosted you, you’ve just been staying in your apartment, in limbo, seeing nobody except richie and occasionally a cashier. sleeping and waking neither on your old strict schedule nor on a normal daylight one. doing nothing, worth basically nothing. 

so yeah, you text kevin.

> send me the address

then, as quick as you can so you don’t have time to overthink it, you text richie. 

> work emergency, i have to cancel. sorry. 

the response is immediate.

> text me when you get home.

you realize that you’re still stirring, and you turn off the stove. although you give him a couple minutes, richie doesn’t add anything. no joke to put spikes on the soft gesture, no expression of disappointment to make you feel guilty for canceling this late. nothing. text me when you get home, that’s all.

if you were that generous, you’d text back don’t stay up, let him get some extra sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s christmas hell. but you don’t. you want to think of him waiting for his phone to chime, staying awake for you, thinking of you, even worrying. so you react with a thumbs up to his message.

the next time your phone goes ping, it’s kevin sending you the address, and you head for the door. 

.

.

.

you’re sitting on a coffee table beside the old sofa that holds your resting patient. lying on the coffee table beside you are half a dozen grape skittles, the remainder of your christmas eve meal. there’s literally baggies of cocaine sitting on the kitchen table, the tv is playing charlie and the chocolate factory, and everyone involved in this—including yourself—is so stupid that you’re all definitely going to jail. but you’re having one of your good nights.

only drugs compare to the state of pure focus that surgery grants you, and even though it’s always in shit circumstances done for shit people, you can’t help but feel like a serious machine doing all this ad hoc emergency shit. this has to be how athletes feel, after a game. it’s physical: your vision feels clearer, your hands are steady, your body’s slouched comfortable and sated. it was decent work you did, given the lack of fucking everything. you’re pretty sure howie won’t even have that bad of a limp. 

kevin finishes counting your pay and hands it over. you begin to count it again, too—twenty, forty, sixty—and then look up at him. 

what? he says.

you haul yourself up and walk over to the kitchen table, ignoring the cocaine in favor of the scale, on which you place a twenty. it comes up as 0.94 grams when it should be a single 1.0. so you throw your earnings in the sink, get out your lighter, and set it on fire.

the fire alarm! kevin rushes over to turn the tap on and put it out.

you can hear howie calling from the couch, what’s burning? 

kev just tried to cheat me. 

i did not, kevin says miserably, it was a misunderstanding. 

he pulls his own wallet out of his back pocket and starts to count the money, but you take it from his hands, sit at the kitchen table, and begin counting money yourself, weighing each bill as you go. once you’ve taken a hundred and fifty, you stand up and call over to howie, night.

yo, howie says. is my, like. what are the chances they gotta amputate?

that gets you a little, despite everything. howie spent the past few hours thinking he was gonna lose an entire foot, and he was stubbornly proud enough that he almost made it without admitting the fear to anyone. in a way, you gotta give it to him. admiration’s too grand a word, but it’s something like that. 

chances are super low, you say. as long as you follow instructions, keep an eye out for infection, and don’t get hooked on pills, you’re gonna be fine. 

for a second, there’s silence. then: thanks, babygirl.

for that, you take another forty dollars from kevin’s wallet and point them at him. asshole tax, you say.

as soon as you’re out of the house, you can hear kevin locking the door behind you. then he says, goodnight!

i shoulda robbed you, you say. then you start down the sidewalk. it’s bitter cold and you’re not a hundred percent sure you’re headed in the right direction, but just then you feel invincible. 

fuckin jagoffs, say to yourself.

.

.

.

on the train home, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a herd of college girls, twentysomethings all decked out in tinsel necklaces, clearly on their way to a different party, and hitting all the wrong notes in deck the halls.

most days, you’d hate this, but in your current state of satisfaction with yourself and the world in general, their effortless enjoyment doesn’t seem to completely shut you out. they’re so young, and one of them is sitting in another’s lap while a third drapes herself over her shoulder. they smell like spiced rum, they make it hard to be a bitter old crone.

one of the carolers makes direct eye contact with you, and instead of having the decency to keep herself to herself, she extends her hand to you and sings even louder, fa-la-la-la-ing like she’s god’s gift. for a second, you let yourself mouth along, fa-la-la-ing, but then she says, come on, i know you can do better than that! and nope, nope. fuck it.

you try to look away, she yells another, come on! and you give her the death glare. surprisingly, she keeps beckoning to you—they’re stubborn, kids these days—but eventually you win the way you knew you would.

she looks away and whispers in the ear of the lap-sitter. that girl, the tiniest of them all, gives you a look that could sear meat. you could break her in half with one hand tied behind her back, she really has the build of a hummingbird, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

you roll your eyes, lean back with exaggerated deliberation, and get out your phone. 

> i’m home.

you want somebody of your own, you want richie’s reply. but none comes. 

he’s not waiting for you outside your apartment building, either, so there goes that mad hope.

.

.

.

when you get inside your apartment, you kneel to untie your boots and spot a flicker of movement on the floor. it’s a black ant scurrying towards your countertop. with a rising sense of horror, you straighten up and see a swarm of ants, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred busily moving little black dots, crawling to and from the pot of macaroni and cheese on your stove. your stomach turns, and if you’d had a real dinner, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from throwing it up. as it is, you just gag. it feels like a violation, an invasion, and you’re more outraged about these fucking ants in your apartment—your fucking apartment—than you ever were about getting not paid or cheated or maybe even blackmailed. 

you go into the kitchenette and get the ant spray out from under the sink, then you stand back and spray everything in sight. the whole fucking counter, even though, yes, you cook your food on that, and the stove, and the floor for good measure. fuck them all. 

you should’ve known better than to leave food uncovered in this apartment. you’ve lived here for three years and this always fucking happens. you’d think the novelty would’ve worn off, but nope. it’s still as disgusting as it was the first time you woke up to see last night’s plate covered in black.

today, the spray isn’t working fast enough for you, so you get out a trash bag, put the pot in it, and head out for the dumpster. 

out there in the cold, waiting for the ant spray to do its work inside the trash bag, you remember that you left your lighter in kevin’s house. you tip your head back and look up at the sky. it’s so thickly smothered in clouds, there’s barely a glow of moon. 

yeah, you say. 

after a while, you untie the bag, shake the dead ants off your pot, and throw the bag away. you’d stomp on the ants for spite, but that would necessitate looking at them, and you’ve had more than enough of that. you just head back for home.

you almost make it to the front door, and then you smell it, the smoke.

well? richie says from around the corner. he must have heard your footsteps. you coming or what? 

you walk the last few steps and there, just around the corner, there he is. he has the navy hood pulled up over his head, both his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a cigarette between both lips. he looks at your pot with interest. 

after a second, you say, you’re late.

something tickles the inside of your wrist and you flinch. one last ant has crawled up the handle of the pot and onto your arm; you drop the pot in the snow and shake the ant off you. it lands by richie, and he stomps it dead matter-of-factly. 

it takes everything you’ve got not to start swearing like howie with a shot foot.

merry christmas? richie says after a second. 

merry fuckin christmas. you reach out and take the cigarette from his lips. long drag. you needed that. 

settling beside him so both of you can look out into the night, you hand the cigarette back. and that’s how it is for a while, sharing. the wind thins out, the streetlight across the way reflects in the glass of another apartment building's door.

when your body’s finally calmed down, you look over at him. i got you something.

aw, you didn’t have to, he say, a little curious and not particularly surprised. he probably thinks it’s a joke. 

you hold your right hand palm up, and he takes his right hand out of its warm jacket pocket to mirror the gesture. then you reach into your hoodie and unclasp his gift from your neck. 

the chain is gold. thick, but not so thick that it comes across comical. incongruous with you and with him, the weight of it and the shine, how new it is. when you lay it in his hand, it looks like a golden snake, intricate and flawless. 

after a second, he gives you his cigarette like he can’t both smoke and think about it. then he speaks. 

this is fake, yeah, he says.

hundred percent fake. 

actually, it’s regifted. it was originally one of your boss’s christmas bonus gifts, and given that you pawned all the other christmas bonus gifts to pay rent, you’re pretty sure that the chain is solid gold. it’s for the best that he doesn’t know it, though.

as you watch, he puts it on, fumbling a little with the clasp. looks at it for a second, tucks it back inside his coat. there goes the last 

yeah? you say, after a second. 

yeah. think i like this sugar baby shit. keep ‘em coming, he says. 

you laugh, real, so relieved that he didn’t take it weird, so relieved that you got lucky tonight and he got it the way he sometimes can, acceptance without explanation.

he lets you laugh, and then he says, mine’s better, though.

diamonds?

it’s back at my place, he says. i can drive?

you want that so bad, and you didn't even think to want it just seconds before.

yeah, you say, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out right beside the dead ant, unbothered. 

you want to take the pot up? 

you shrug, crouch down, and cover it with some snow; you’re not gonna leave him down here waiting for you, and you’re not gonna take him up to the horrorshow of dead ants either.

it’s still pretty obvious, richie says.

it’s christmas eve, who’s gonna bother digging in dirty snow to steal a pot?

this is chicago.

this is idle argument as companionship and you know that, but you're impatient. are you taking me home or what? yes, you can hear the double entendre. no, you don't fucking care.

there’s a slight pause before richie says, car’s this way.

.

.

.

in the car, there’s crumbs but not much mess; a coupon for personal pizzas in the cupholder, and that’s it. he must have cleaned.

when he starts the engine, you say, wait, and make an elaborate show of putting on your seatbelt. then you say, okay, now i’m ready.

fuck you, he says, and he’s still smiling when he starts to drive. 

the radio is playing carols dimly in the background, and you don’t hate it. 

you doing anything for christmas day? richie says. 

i’m working christmas, you lie.

seriously? tell your boss he’s fucking barbaric.

would if you could; you’ve already tried to say as much in your many texts, but it is what it is.

yeah, you say. bunch of fuckin jackoffs, right?

jagoffs, he says, over-enunciating, frustration immediate. he really is too easy and he knows it. you’re—

jackoffs, that’s what i said, that’s what you told me—

if you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all. he has to drive with his right hand so he can make chopping motions for emphasis with his left hand, because of course he does.

you say, jackoffs.

you’re killing me. 

and yet you go on surviving. you relent. got everything you need for ice fishing?

richie scoffs in disgust. yeah, but now carmy is trying to bail on me. 

if he’s not gonna say, typical, then neither are you.

he wants to work on the twenty-sixth, he says.

oof.

yeah. like a full planning session, go over the rest of the rollout schedule with the entire staff and like… he rubs his forehead. i don’t know. like we haven’t even gone to christmas yet and he’s already, fucking. i don’t know!

i mean.

he glances over at you briefly.

carmy wants to make the staff come in on the twenty-sixth just to go over the renovation schedule again?

he’s out of his fucking mind.

you already know what you want to say, but you have to double-check it in your own head to make sure you’re not overstepping. you don’t actually know these people.

but also, fuck it. 

you know, you say, you could tell him if he acts like this, syd’s gonna quit again.

he whistles. julie with the big guns.

how i’m built, you say.

yeah, i noticed, he says affectionately. it’s okay. i’ll figure it out.

i know you will. it’s kindness, and you mean it, and you don’t take it back. 

thanks, he says. 

you lean your forehead against the cold glass of the car door and watch chicago going by, all gold and black and white.

.

.

.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in an underground garage. 

you ready for this? this is gonna rock your world, he says. 

diamonds and rubies? you say, unbuckling your seat belt.

you’re gonna be fuckin crying.

diamonds and rubies and pearls?

.

.

.

at the door to his apartment, he says, close your eyes, hold out your hands, and wait here, so you do. when the door opens, you can smell whatever it was he made for his christmas eve dinner with eva. it smells like everything christmas eve should be, rich and homey. you could wait here for, say, half an hour. you could stretch this moment out. you wouldn’t mind.

okay, richie says. here.

when the gift touches your palm, you instinctively pull back. richie swears and catches it. 

it’s hot! you say as you open your eyes.

it’s soup, he says. you want it cold?

you look down. yeah, that’s definitely french onion soup, with a big white and brown patch of melted cheese and toast on top. it’s an echo of what you made him when he was sick. it’s him showing off his work in comparison to your two-ingredient version. it’s unfortunately perfect. there’s no way he knew that you haven’t had anything for dinner except skittles.

it smells like home.

here. you hand the bowl back to richie, but only so you can take off your coat and your shoes. 

there’s only one hook on the back of his door, so you hang your coat overtop his. as you move through his apartment, you take stock: the walls are still orange, but things are a little tidier and there are new drawings magnet-pinned to the fridge. eva’s going through a cat era, clearly. the kitchen lamp is as warm as before, and the cactus by the window has a small red ribbon on it, probably a nod to christmas. 

you sit down at the kitchen table on one of the foldable stools, and richie sets your spoon and bowl in front of you. there’s a half-empty bottle of coors on the countertop behind you, and you take a sip of that. he sits down on the chair to your left, so he’s in your peripheral. he’s next to you.

you can feel it coming.

um, you say.

he glances over, and you can feel that too. what’s up.

don’t be a dick, okay. you say it very low and very flat, not even angry, because angry wouldn’t cut it.

the pause is too long, but at least he finally says, okay.

you pick up your spoon and take the first sip. 

the bit of melted cheese hits first, warm and gooey and salty then the sweet savory richness of the broth, and yeah, okay. it’s happening. your eyes are wet.

you can feel him not saying anything about it, but before it can build up to torture, his phone rings. 

sorry, he says, getting up. it’s tiff.

he must know from the ringtone alone, but you’re not even mad at it, you’re relieved. saved by the bell, another bit of good luck. maybe christmas is real.

uh-huh, you can hear him saying. yeah. that’s— he laughs, and you know from that laugh alone it’s something about eva. yeah, put her on. a beat, then. hey, honey. no. no, she’s right. listen, santa won’t come if you spy on him. the guy likes his privacy, okay? he’s not in it for the applause, he’s not in it for the publicity. pause. well, that’s what the cookies are for. i am being serious, that’s what they’re for. okay. who—okay. he snorts. okay, you got me. don’t tell your mother, though, okay? she really enjoys it. pause. it’s up to you. okay, i gotta go. i love you. hey. i love you. 

that’s more than enough time for you to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, get all fucked up again listening to him, and wipe your eyes a second time. by the time richie sits back down, you’re basically normal.

that sounded like some saga, you say.

this jewish kid at school told all the christians that santa wasn’t real, he explains. and now she’s going around busting all the lying adults one by one. 

you laugh. 

they’re starting young, he says. when i was in school, they always used to make us wait until at least sixth grade before we could go around busting myths.

you’re jewish?

he shrugs. kinda sorta.

you see the opportunity to make another joke about him being zero percent italian, and you ignore it. did eva like the doll? you say instead. 

yeah. i mean, it was a huge hassle, it’s so expensive i had to go halves with tiff, and i nearly had a heart attack when eva said something about kirsten cause i thought i’d got the wrong one— he starts eating again, eating soup and talking, and you don't hate it. which by the way, swedes? have the most boring american history of them all, i don’t know why they’d make a doll about that, but anyways, yeah. she loved it. he reaches across you and takes his beer back so he can drink the last dregs of it. ever since the divorce, we don’t even call it christmas eve, we just call it christmas one and christmas two. as is tradition.

he says the last three words kind of weird. 

as is tradition? you repeat.

tiff and i, we don’t have a bunch of traditions from our parents, so it’s like. we make up a lot of stuff and then we say ‘as is tradition.’ cause it’s not.

i mean, you got two generations involved, so that counts.

eh, he says, drawing it out dubiously. 

i got two-generations traditions, you say.

you didn’t intend to talk about your family, you weren’t thinking about that at all, you were just thinking about richie. but now you gotta sit in the silence as he decides whether or not follow up about your parents.

finally, richie says, you got a kid? he’s doing his best to be cool about it, but his voice goes up a little crazy on the last word.

no, i mean—you’re laughing. i meant me and my dad.

oh, he says, maybe a bit relieved, definitely a bit something, you can’t quite place it. oh.

i used to make us mac and cheese for christmas. with a leaf on top, like lettuce or spinach or something. cause, you know, that makes it salad.

that’s cool, he says flatly. after a second, he adds, less flat, i don’t have any traditions with my dad. i mean, he’s dead, but like before then, we never. so i think that’s cool. 

you hate his dad. it’s a split-second decision, but you feel pretty confident about it.

two generations is all you need, you say. and you got eva. so it’s a tradition. 

heard, he says.

when you glance over, you see the chain catching the light, gold over his dark shirt. he looks at you. you both keep eating.

.

.

.

eventually, you finish off two bowls of soup and a hot chocolate too, courtesy of eva’s swiss miss unicorn package. you feel a bit subdued by the ordeal of being human, but relaxed. 

best christmas ever, you say.

really? richie says, like he believes it and feels bad for you.

god no, do you think i came out a dickens?

what the fuck is a dickens?

you’re illiterate, it’s okay. you look at him. you know that your eyes are a little red, but thankfully you can also see, reflected in his eyes, that he knows you're all right.

thank you, richie, you say. it’s all wrong, you shouldn’t be saying his name and you shouldn’t be saying thank you either, it’s thanks or nothing, but something about the formality feels a little heavier and therefore suited to the day. it’s getting late.

i’ll drive you? he says, and there’s a little extra question in it that you can’t bring yourself to consider. 

you shake your head and get up from the table heavily, feeling a thousand years old. i’m good. 

he gets up, follows you, stands there with his hands in shoved his pockets as you crouch to put on your shoes.

i wasn’t suggesting a sleepover, he says. 

no, of course not, you say, and you congratulate yourself on not making it sound bitter.

unless, richie says.

you look up at him. 

i have so many condoms, he says, deadpan. just. so fucking many. some of them are citrus flavored.

there he goes, saved it.

it’s not just tonight, is it? it’s not just tonight, it’s not just luck, it’s not just christmas; somehow, richie’s become…he’s figured it out, how to be with you. when to show up and when to let you go. not always, but more than enough, and he just. he wakes up and he struggles and he breaks shit and he irritates you and he calls eva and he watches youtube and he goes to bed and he wakes up and he struggles and he learns and you love him.

what a fucking time to find out. you look down and begin tying your shoes again.

you got pineapple flavor? you say.

in what world is pineapple citrus? richie says.

well, tough luck. you back up and turn around to put on your coat. for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.

you’re a real high-maintenance fuck.

you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea. 

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair. 

let me drive you, he says again.

you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head.

it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black— 

i’ll be fine.

it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? he says, and you look up, startled; you didn’t know he was upset. in retrospect, you were just focusing on avoiding his eyes, so what did you expect?

i’m not punishing you for anything, you were great. richie. you look at him straight on and steady, so he understands. a little gentle, as gentle as you feel you can get away with. you truly have to go, and there’s no resentment in it. i just need to clear my head. i’ll be fine, i’m always fine. 

you never… richie trails off, eyes you, decides against finishing the sentence. you’re stubborn.

always. you give him a small smile. thanks for the soup.

goodnight.

that should be the end, but it feels unfinished. his blue eyes are alive to the possibilities when you reach out, but you just touch the chain with a fingertip where it rests over his collarbone. his right hand moves a little and you draw back, your other hand on the doorknob at once, already leaving.

.

.

.

two days later, the cops issue a warrant for your arrest. 

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[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

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@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // the tortured poets department : the anthology rp meme. part one. part two here.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

fortnight.

i was a functioning alcoholic.

i hope you're okay.

no one here's to blame.

but what about your quiet treason?

for a fortnight there, we were forever.

i wanna kill her.

all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february.

i took the miracle move-on drug.

the effects were temporary.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

my husband is cheating.

i wanna kill him.

the tortured poets department.

i think some things i never say.

you're in self sabotage mode.

i've seen this episode and still loved the show.

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you like me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

this ain't the chelsea hotel.

we're modern idiots.

you awaken with dread.

i chose this cyclone with you.

i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be.

who else is gonna know me?

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

here we go again.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

i'm queen of sand castles he destroys.

i should've known.

we could've played for keeps this time.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

he runs because he loves me.

i knew too much.

there was danger in the heat of my touch.

he saw forever, so he smashed it up.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

i felt more when we played pretend.

he stole my tortured heart.

told me i'm better off, but i'm not.

down bad.

did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on?

i was the chosen one.

this world is bigger than us.

i knew cosmic love.

for a moment, i knew cosmic love.

now i'm down bad.

everything comes out teenage petulance.

fuck it if i can't have him.

fuck it if i can't have us.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

for a moment, i was heavenstruck.

i was heavenstruck.

i loved your hostile takeovers.

how dare you think it's romantic.

fuck it, i was in love.

fuck you if i can't have us.

so long, london.

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

i pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

my spine split from carrying us.

i stopped tryna make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

you'll find someone.

so long.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

i founded the club she's heard great things about.

i left all i knew.

you left me.

i stopped cpr, after all, it's no use.

the spirit was gone.

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

two graves, one gun.

i'll find someone.

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair.

every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

how much tragedy did you think i had in me?

just how low did you think i'd go 'fore i'd self implode?

you swore that you loved me.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

i'm just getting colour back into my face.

i'm just mad as hell coz i loved this place for so long.

but daddy i love him.

i forget if this was ever fun.

these people only raise you to cage you.

these people try and save you coz they hate you.

they slammed the door on my whole world.

but daddy, i love him.

you should see your faces.

floor it through the fences.

no, i'm not coming to my senses.

i know he's crazy, but he's the one i want.

growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

he was chaos, he was revelry.

stay away from her.

the saboteurs protested too much.

i'd rather burn my whole life down.

i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'.

i'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace.

i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing.

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

they think it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me.

you ain't gotta pray for me.

it's just my choice.

scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer.

we came back when the heat died down.

fuck em, it's over.

time, doesn't it give perspective?

no, you can't come to the wedding.

he's the one i want.

fresh out of the slammer.

i'm running back home to you.

he doesn't understand me.

handcuffed to the spell i was under.

it's gonna be alright, i did my time.

now that i know better i will never lose my baby again.

my friends tried, but i wouldn't hear it.

he kept me going.

i swirled you into all my poems.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up now that i know what's at stake here.

florida!!!

they said i was a cheat.

this city reeks of driving myself crazy.

your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

can i use you up?

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

i'm haunted but i'm feeling just fine.

i did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.

i need to forget.

tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

love left me like this and i don't want to exist.

guilty as sin?

this cage was once just fine.

am i allowed to cry?

what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

i keep recalling things we never did.

without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk.

we've already done it in my head.

i've screamed his name.

they're gonna crucify me anyway.

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly.

i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

you don't get to tell me about 'sad'.

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said.

nothing makes me feel more alive.

who's afraid of little old me?

who's afraid of little old me? you should be.

the scandal was contained.

at all costs, keep your good name.

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

is it a wonder i broke?

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean.

don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth.

they didn't do it to hurt you.

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong.

you caged me and then you called me crazy.

i am what i am coz you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud.

i can fix him.

i can fix him, no, really, i can. and only i can.

he had a halo of the highest grade.

good boy, that's right.

i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel.

trust me, i can handle a dangerous man.

loml.

who's gonna stop us waltzing back into rekindled flames?

we were just kids.

i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed.

i felt aglow like this never before and never since.

you and i go from one kiss to getting married.

we're never quite buried.

you told me i'm the love of your life.

you blew in with the winds of fate.

you took me to hell too.

you shit-talked me under the table.

i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all.

should've let it stay buried.

our field of dreams engulfed in fire.

you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart.

she's having the time of her life.

i can show you lies.

i'm a real tough kid.

i can handle my shit.

you gotta fake it till you make it.

lights, camera, bitch, smile, even when you wanna die.

he said he'd love me all his life.

he said he'd love me all his life, but that life was too short.

all the pieces of me shattered.

the crowd was chanting 'more'.

i was grinnin' like i'm winnin'

i was hittin' my marks.

i can do it with a broken heart.

i'm so depressed i act like it's my birthday every day.

i'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague.

i cry a lot, but i am so productive.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

i keep finding his things in drawers, crucial evidence i didn't imagine the whole thing.

try and come for my job.

the smallest man who ever lived.

was any of it true?

now you know what it feels like.

i don't even want you back.

i just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal.

i don't miss what we had.

could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

you hung me on your wall, stabbed me with your push pins.

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man.

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

were you a sleeper cell spy?

in fifty years, will all this be declassified?

confess why you did it.

good riddance.

it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden.

i would've died for your sins.

i would've died for your sins, instead i just died inside.

you deserve prison, but you won't get time.

you said normal girls were boring.

you were gone by the morning.

in plain sight you hid.

you are what you did.

i'll forget you, but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy.

this happens once every few lifetimes.

what if i told you i'm back?

i'm coming back so strong.

i'm the one to beat.

the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me.

who are we to fight the alchemy?

clara bow.

did you know you'd be picked like a rose?

i might die if it happened to me.

this town is fake, but you're the real thing.

the crown is stained, but you're the real queen.

you're the new god we're worshipping.

beauty is a beast that roars.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

[deimostes]

PLEASE tell me more about your Omegadow headcanons

OH MAN. GLADLY!!!!!!

building off the little thing team dark have where rouge and shadow always sit on omega's shoulders - omega likes carrying shadow around in his arms. at first it's just like, a mid-combat thing where he'll catch him if he falls, or whenever hes especially tired after a fight (as he'll do with rouge too), but sometimes on a normal day he just picks him up while knowing damn well shadow can handle himself. shadow tells him this too, but all flustered and Not admitting that he likes it. something something the big strong killing machine designed to keep you in check treating you with care like you're the most delicate thing in the world

i think it would be really funny if rouge associated chili dogs with them more than she did with sonic:

like that's her boys. she thinks they're SO cute she loves them so bad. she'll walk by a hotdog stand or something and just think to herself "huh, chili and hot dogs ..... !!! shadow and omega!!!!"

dating changes NOTHING about their competitiveness. the obvious! it just makes it come off insanely gay to anyone else listening. sparring is a date to them. these two love to rile each other up as a form of flirting. it's the only way they'll flirt in front of other people too. i'm particularly thinking of their TSR interactions like these are so

^ this last one is making me crack up. the betrayal. "LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED. ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING. YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD." "...you okay hun?" "MY BOYFRIEND HIT ME WITH A FUCKIGN WISP"

shadow starts using nicknames for omega without realizing it. omega has NO idea how to react at first but then he does too. he never thought he'd be calling anyone "love" in his life, but with someone who understands him as much as shadow does, he finds it comes naturally. neither of them are super openly affectionate, especially shadow, but eventually they get to the point they casually use these nicknames in front of other people. rouge is the first one to witness it. doodle about this i forgot i had in my files

i saw u liked my girl leonid (THANK U <3) so i'll talk about her too :) with a kid one would think these two would be like that one meme, shadow as the picture of the person cuddling the baby on a beach chair vs omega holding the baby upside down just by the leg and swinging em around. but i think it's the other way around when leonid is a baby. like omega is so so scared he feels like he's gonna pop her. meanwhile shadow (while not being as crazy as the meme depicts LMAO) can tell she's strong, like this is HIS and OMEGA'S kid, she'll be fine. and he's right! omega just has no idea how to react when he now has a whole CHILD but he gets used to it and she ends up just as happy to cause destruction as him :) naturally the ultimate lifeform and ultimate robot would have the ultimate cyborg - theres a day where leonid calls herself this for the first time just like, completely unprompted, and if robots could cry omega would have (it probably comes out as funny little warbling noises from his voice box instead)

[your-local-hoemie]

hi! i love your writing! if you’re taking requests could i maybe get tartaglia (and alhaitham and itto if you write for them too) with a really affectionate s/o? thank you!!!

Aaaaaa thank you!!! I’ve already done one super similar involving childe but lemme whip something up for ya ;)

Oh boy Itto is gonna be fun I just fucking know it he’s so chaotic~

Warnings: flufffff, lots of toothache inducing sweetness, gn! Reader, swearing, not proof-read.

Character: Al’haitham, Itto, childe.

Al’haitham~

This man is the human representation of a stick, I love him.

He’s serious boy™️

How he ended up with someone like you no one fucking knows

At first he found your constant shower of affection a little annoying especially when he was in the middle of work

Once he realised his moodiness wouldn’t dissuade you from showing his boobs him all your love and attention he inevitably gave up

He didn’t realise it at first but he actually grew to want your affection as well

Like he’d just be reading his god awful books or doing paperwork (idk what scribes do tbh) and her suddenly be like

“Huh I feel like something you is missing and it feels odd” he misses it

People have pointed out that he seems a lot more relaxed and less like a god damn plank when he comes into work

Truth is it’s just because you spent the entire morning showering him with cuddles and kisses :)

He’s so used to it at this point he’s even grown to holding your hand or giving you cute cheek kisses in public!!

Truly a miracle!

When he had a bad day he used to dread coming home and having to deal with other people kaveh but now he finds that you’re the first thing he runs to if things haven’t been going right!

He finds your head pats and sweet reassuring kisses to be the best cure for his frustrations!

People still will never figure out how he managed to woo such a affectionate and sweet person but neither of you care!

Man deserves to know what affection is.

Itto~

A puppy incarnate

Pat his head or give him a kiss on his cheek and man’s gone

It does boost his ego though so be warned!

I don’t imagine he’s ever had much physical affection before!

Being a oni people are usually against that

Assholes!

So when you first started officially dating and you randomly hugged him or smothered his goofy face in kisses he was flabbergasted

Absolutely bamboozled

The second you showed him affection you basically signed a life time contract with his heart

Refuses to let anyone touch your “designated holding hand”

That’s reserved for you and you only!

You know that meme where someone drew a heart on a guys hand and he refuses to wash it in the shower?

Yeah. He’s that guy.

He tried to use it to his advantage once since you seemed to give him kisses whenever he was being particularly dumb just to make him forget whatever shenanigans he was up to

So I’m return, he started being dumb(er) on purpose!

Lots of kisses!!

Of course you knew what he was doing but how could you refuse his goofy grin and those puppy eyes!

Has been winning a lot more beetle battles since he discovered you’ll give him hugs and kisses when he won~

Kuki is honestly so fucking relieved that someone else can deal with him besides her

My girls been through it with him

There’s never a time when he won’t want your affection!!

Bad day? Head pats, hugs and kisses!

Good day? Head pats, hugs and kisses

He’s super proud of it too!

Like pda is an absolute necessity for him!

He just has to show off that his hand is the one your holding!

If you wear makeup up and leave a lipstick mark on his cheek he will not remove it!

Over his dead body!

Had to clean it off while he was asleep

Childe~

*slaps childe* this bad boy can hold so much affection

At first he was definitely taken back!

He’s a harbinger and a battle maniac

The last thing he’d think someone would do to his is to grab his hand or arm while happily kissing his face (if you can reach this tower of a man’s face)

Honestly anyone taller than thoma scares me

So he definitely froze!

Blushy booyyyy

Tried to play it off by teasing you back but it didn’t really work considering he was a flustered mess to begin with

It just resulted in you rolling your eyes and kissing him again

Which also resulted in his brain shutting down

He will get jealous if anyone else steals your affection away from him

Even if it’s a kid that just gave you a hug!

Evil! His person!!

Is very similar to Itto in the fact that he’d be hard pushed to wash anyway any kind of affection you give him!

Pda is a yes too! Not as much as Itto because he still had to stay in guard and he doesn’t wanna draw attention to you too much ;-;

Gets super cocky too

Whenever he wins a particularly difficult fight he demands rewards!

Which of course the rewards being your smooches!

This man has never once even thought about asking you to stop

He’s busy? That’s ok, you can just sit on his lap and hug him while he works

Man’s sleeping and he just look so adorable that you have to kiss his nose or forehead?

You’ll send him into the sweetest dreams he’s ever had!

It really makes me feel so happy know ya’ll like my work aaaaa!!

Requests are still slow to finish as I’m still feeling bleh but I appreciate everyone’s patience! I will get them done I promise~

[thankyouforthev3n0m]

Aye, it's DubDaddy on the track

Not a rapper, but I thought I'd have a crack

Another song, another bar, another stack

We keep coming back now we're picking up the slack

Get laid, get paid, gatorade

Trigger treats sweet but can't beat the blade

It's Halloween bitch it's time to get made

You better lock up or you're gonna get slayed

Aye the boys are comin in

Got lit last night on the cherry gin

Smokin gas, eating ass, now committing sin

We going large like Amy Schumer's second chin

Hey everybody my name is JoshDub

When I don't do crime I talk shit at the club

I like corona no lime and having a tug

I get my bread no crust cause you know I'm a thug

It's Halloween, my girl cook and clean

Doing flips in the sheets, call that trick and treat

In the back of a Bentley and we got on rings

Riding in the streets shouting scary things

The Boys in town and we hunting clowns

Couple Kings with a couple crowns (dank memes)

Scaring kids while we're blowing clouds

It's Mully in the back and your bitch is getting ploughed

It's spooky and cold on this dreadful night

But we got some beauties in our sight

We love the shadows, and fear the light

But we'll steal your girl with one quick bite

On Halloween you can hear many sounds

Some screaming, some crying in the background

But if I see some kind of creepy clown

Oh you better believe it's going down

All the witches they be on me, with glee

When I walk up in a room its a party

Got no reflection but there's one thing you can see

All competition running scared as they should be

Never giving out our secrets I'm like (hush hush)

Wiping away all the haters like a (brush brush)

We be stealing all your candy in a (rush rush)

Dropping songs and videos that always (crush crush)

Got these demons in my head overwhelming me with fear and dread

(Dread dread dread)

Screaming in my bed, keep me grinding till I'm dead

(Dead dead dead)

Spirits in my mind come to visit me from time to time

(Time time time)

People say I'm sick but I swear to God I'm fine

(I'm fine, I'm fine)

Trick or Treat, excuse me what the fuck is this?

Candy corn, Bit O Honey, one Hershey Kiss

Que no sabes que me dicen el Mexorcist

If you don't know who I am, then I'll tell you what it is

Got a blanket to protect me and a wooden cross

I sprinkle holy water to show demons who's boss

I make videos to scare all the kiddos

And I'll exorcise your Tia with a bag of hot Cheetos

I shook Freddy Kruger's hand

Grow harder than the grudge

Make Pennywise float too

And give Huggy Wuggy a hug

I got good at hide and seek

You can always ask the fed

I put poison in your goat

Now that chupacabras dead

I live in the States, born in Monterey

Got a gringa by my side

She can cook some frijoles

I cross the border and la migra said

'hey, come on down but you just can't stay'

Running and hiding and walking and fighting

You don't got the papers to even be trying

To say it was easy then I would be lying

Soy un inmigrante con gran corazón

empeze recojiendo la bazura de tu escalon

Y ahora ocupo la pantallo de tu abitación

Asta parece yo tomo gasolina.

Te incendió con mi rap eso es pura adrenalina

Mi tierra la extraño nunca olvidare mi casa

Un saludo para todos mis latinos y mi raza

Now give me the Reeses cup bitch

Yada yada yada yada, something bout a square

New meme Juice Box bout to go Blair

Like the Witch, that's the sitch

Halloween night bout to wake up in a ditch.

And I'm stacking up dinero

Got this young man feeling like George Romero

Pick the bone clean always saw it in the tarots

Dig a little deeper boy you almost skipped the marrow

I don't really know

I don't really know

Yada yada

Yada yada

My goldfish took a little holiday

Left me feeling sour like that Minute Maid

One day he said he want to go to outer space

So I made a little rocket outta Gatorade bottles

Catch your grandma at the Walmart

And she gonna catch the fade

I don't really give a fuck

Im just tryna get paid

I'll smoke your grandad too

If he even looks my way

I'll kick your little sister

In her motherfucking face

That's that shit you learn in Florida

When you smoking K2

Hold that shit up in my chest

Boy I'm bout to turn blue

Im might mosey down to Target

Man and buy me that canoe

@jadest0ne

[everydayarsonist]

Hey yknow Glitch Productions? I’m gonna rank their villains.

Waluigi- 6/10. A funny interpretation of the “Everyone is Here!” Meme.

Bob- 8/10. The Rapper Bob Arc might be low stakes, but I really like how it twists a side character into a main antagonist. Bob slowly revealing just how twisted he’d become is amazing, and I’m glad they don’t forgive him right away.

Francis- 7/10. He’s the worst dude ever. Y’all remember when the Anime Arc was the darkest? Yeah me neither. In any case, Francis is also terrifying because if you’ve been on the internet for long enough, you’ve probably met someone like him.

SMG3- 8/10. Making a recurring villain the main villain of an arc was a solid choice, and it’s certainly menacing watching him replace the entire cast. I don’t have much else to say.

SMG0 (Or Eldritch Zero if you’re @itsgemystic)-6/10. He doesn’t really get much development other than his verses in the rap battle. He of course has to possess Axol because of course he does. We need some of that artificial drama and angst.

Niles- 8/10. The building tension in the arc of “Who is this guy? Why is he helping Melony? Why is his name Niles?” The slow realization of “Oh shit is this Zero?” has a looming presence. He doesn’t do much in the finale though.

Lawyer Kong- 4/10. He is essentially the representation of the existential dread that Nintendo has on the channel. But he’s not really utilized well. Small tangent, but the rap battle just feels so overconfident and exaggerated on the part of the SMG4 crew. I do adore his vocals just being drawn from the OG DK rap’s vocals. He sounds great, especially during the rap battle.

Wren- 9/10. He has some buildup as this greatly skilled champion during prior episodes and some allusions to him being looked down upon in recent years. Him being a villain isn’t too surprising, as the simulation itself builds him up as a dangerous outlaw. He immediately makes an impact on Meggy and the audience from just a few scenes. Overall, he’s a great execution of the “Pure Evil” trope. He doesn’t need to be redeemed. You understand his actions and know that he was influenced by someone else, but he’s still a terrible person.

Derek Lucks- 8/10. He’s a prideful businessman who won’t let morality get in the way of making money and advancing the industry.

James Sheridan- 8/10. He’s a scientist who spent years in the shadows, never getting recognized for his accomplishments. So now he’s going to show the world what he can do. He could’ve used more buildup, but he’s still a menacing villain whose presence is felt through the whole season.

Evelyn Claythorne- 9/10. She’s a spoiled rich white girl. That’s about it. She has some nuance, but it’s really not much. It’s incredible watching her getting slapped in the final episode imo.

Benedict- 7/10. He’s an evil genius crime boss who wants to be immortal. He’s not too complex or too threatening, but he’s definitely dangerous and immoral. Why does Meggy always have to fight the irredeemable ones?

EDIT: Okay so a few episodes of Murders Drones later and I have to rank…

The Absolute Solver- 8/10. Comedic and scary, but mostly exists to get the plot moving. Definitely menacing as of now, but I might update this once episode 7 is out, and definitely once episode 8 is out.

[theonewholivesinthemovies]

So in vigilantes, I love the banter that aizawa and present mic have. I wanna try and write what aizawa’s first day as a teacher was like.

————————————————————

Aizawa: “I didn’t apply because you asked me. Nezu asked me.”Mic:

“mmmHHHHMMMMmmmmm And who else has been asking you for years?? Hmmmm?? C’mon aren’t you EXCITED to work with me?” Mic taunted

I dread my productivity rates with you being around constantly. Quite simply not rational.

Mic: “Not rational cuz I’m gonna be distracting you ?” He fluttered his eyes. Putting both of his hands under his chin, his yellow shades sliding down slightly to look down at Aizawa’s slump.

yeah because you never shut up”

NOPE! BECAUSEEEEE you are gonna see me all the time and realize how much ya love meee and teeeaching and Midnight and Vlad and -

His Apple Watch started ringing. “OOP! Gotta run can’t be late on your first day there, Teach!”

Hizashi poked his finger at his shoulder. “Can’t make that impression with your class!”

Before Aizawa could follow up his confused reaction by asking “who was vlad” and then resolving it wasn’t worth the effort to ask, Present Mic had dashed out towards the door, hair hitting the frame of the threshold on the way. Aizawa looked at the clock.

Dammit, he was right.

Mic: “gotta go dash!” He said, a stupid wide grin on his face. (He’s trying to say gotta go fast as a sonic meme but not quite landing it)

Mic was right. He had to go or else he would be 10 minutes late to being early by 15 minutes. Hizashi knew this. He knew this from when they roamed these same halls together. Dammit. “He DOES know we aren’t attached at the hip right?” Aizawa thought to himself. Too much work to focus on something so irrational.

And loud.

Why did it matter who convinced him to work at UA anyway.

It’s simply makes sense to teach the next generation to carry on efficient work. As much as he did at night, he knew better than most that one man cannot solve everything. Not even all might. Working with the same colleagues he has worked in battle with was strategic planning, efficient, and effective. Teaching was just like a fight.

“Yeah” he muttered under his breath, convincing himself.

Getting to the point of the lesson and knowing good team work. Trimming the excess was something he was good at. Regarding teamwork, Aizawa recognized he was garbage at English, (part of the reason he hated press conferences) which is where Mic shines, and even as annoying as vlad king is, he makes a great coach for driving results. He didn’t know press work like Midnight.

He started to feel small. Tunnel vision started suffocating him. This feeling choked him and made him feel useless, especially being so reliant on his eyes. He looked around from side to side to try to steady but to no avail. What was he doing here? Teaching? Working with kids? Was he worth anything to guide students?

In 2 -3 - 4 hold 2 - 4 - 6 -7 Out 2 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8.

He stopped and caught his breath, like his mandated therapist from the agency suggested. The only thing that stuck. It was the quickest was to the parasympathetic nervous system and logically can shut down these unproductive thoughts.

The thoughts just like…

Like…Before oboro convinced him he really had a place here among the heroes.

He sniffed and shook he head, shaking out the past and emotions from this fight and hoisted the wrap around his neck to cover to his chin.

“Only rational to work as a team, just like they taught me. I have my strong suits, Mic has his.”

He thought.

He added, almost correcting himself subconsciously, “Err- everyone has their strong suit to teach at UA. You have to in order to work here. The primary objective is to make the best students into the best heroes to protect the future. Even though he preferred individual work, there was value in team effort, and this school called nothing but the best display of understanding your team and pairups.”

“Just rational.” His thoughts continued. “Nothing else. Even if I prefer to work alone, I can excel in teaching these kids that. Teach kids how to know themselves best so they can make a team even more powerful.” He smiled as he walked in to HIS classroom. Nobody could see that smile of course.

The classroom was already set up. He’d been in days before to make sure everything was spotless, seating tags in place, stocked supplies, including his sleeping bag and training clothes. He was nervous to break it out on the first day in case Nezu were to walk by, probably not a good look first day, but packed it before the shift tonight.

He walked around to inspect everything, and read through his class chart at the podium. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

15 minutes.

He turned on the police radio under the podium he had placed so he could spend a few minutes relaxing and planning his route for the night shift. That was much easier than what was about to come. After a few moments, when he turned to sit around at the desk, he noticed a sticky note on top of a pink retangle piece of rubber:

Hey Eraser,

You are gonna do GREAT!

If you want to, we can meet after your first day to talk?

-Zashi

His tired eyes flung open and burned from the sudden wind.

He flipped over the eraser and squinted to study it. There was an address on the back. A local coffee shop. His favorite local coffee shop, actually.

It wasn’t the invite to hang that was weird. This felt….genuine. Not over the top. Preplanned, not spontaneous. Zashi. Not Mic. Friend, not coworker.

They hadn’t been “friends” in so long. It pained him to admit it. Zashi had always tried to keep the friendship open but he…

He…struggled to reach out.

He worked late, woke up early to plan stings, worked out, was on call for police, and had 3 rescue cats and cactus at home.

He barely ate more than coffee, cigarettes, protein drinks, and takeaway.

Maybe Mic - Zashi, knew that? He wanted to reflect back on their relationship. He was taken aback by this small act. He felt perceived about his nerves despite…being himself.

How could he expect to attend to a friendship or relationship? That’s not what this job is -

He stopped himself. He had to remind himself of several lessons that were beaten into him on the significance of teamwork. That line of thinking was not going to get him anywhere.

He sighed.

There was no excuse. Zashi had always tried to keep the line open. Aizawa was the one who never followed up.

Maybe, this job would be good for him. Maybe he wasn’t as stable as he thought~

The door slid open

Ah. My first student.

[butchybats]

ask meme: how many crochet projects do you have going at the moment ‘:|

Okay so it’s only four rn everyone cheer and clap for me HGHGH ideally I would take pictures but I don’t wanna get up so I’m just gonna talk about them <3

1. Halloween sugar cookie sweater!! This is definitely my biggest project as of right now, it’s meant to look like those Pillsbury ghost, jack o lantern, and cat sugar cookies and it’s so CUTE!! It’s seriously such a me pattern, I love it. I have the front panel entirely done, I need to finish the border for the back panel, crochet the shoulders for it, sew the two panels together, and then crochet the sleeves and add ribbing. Honestly that’s probably less work than what I’ve already done like it really shouldn’t take super long to finish, I just have chronic can’t finish things disease. That being said I did spend a good chunk of money on both the pattern and the yarn and plus it’s so cute that I really gotta try to finish it.

2. Cardigan for my sister! I literally just said that I have chronic can’t finish things disease and if you want proof of that then this cardigan was supposed to be done for my sister’s birthday in the summer! And then it was supposed to be done by Christmas! It is halfway done! To be fair I hate the pattern I chose to do 😭 it’s a granny hexagon cardigan and it actually looks pretty cool but it takes FOREVER to work up (probably my fault for using a 3.75 mm hook but it matches the yarn my sister wanted) and it’s literally halfway done like if I really put my mind to it then I could finish it. That being said just thinking about it fills me with dread LMAO I’m thinking about doing either a raglan or patchwork cardigan instead because I would like to actually gift her the cardigan I’ve been promising for like 10 months now 🤡

3. Beetlejuice inspired vest: this project is sitting halfway done on my table right now TAUNTING ME. I was having such a fun time with it when I got the genius idea last night to try it on for size. It is way too big which means I have to frog almost the entire thing!! Trying to tell myself it’s a good thing because it’ll be quicker to work up if it’s smaller but it’s also disappointing because I have to undo my work!! Also to clarify when I say beetlejuice: it’s this bulky yarn that changes color from black to dark purple, lilac, chartreuse, and neon yellow-green. Such a fun combo that I had to have when I saw at Michaels

4. Forever ago I told @loelett that I would make them a bat. Said bat literally only needs feet, to be sewed together and stuffed, and shipped out. I struggled so much with the feet that it got put on the back burner 😭 but other than that it went well HGHG

This isn’t even counting the ideas I have that haven’t made it to the crocheting stage yet (I want to make an iwtv sweater so badly it makes me look stupid) but hopefully I can finish these up soonish so that I can start on new ideas!!

ALSO I FEEL THE NEED TO SAY THAT I LOVE CROCHETING AND CONSIDER MYSELF GOOD AT IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THIS POST SEEMS KINDA DOWN JGVHGGHG i would literally be unstoppable if I had the motivation to finish things is what this post amounts to. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[inspirationalucky]

Disney Princess Villain Songs

[ PART 2 / 2 ] a collection of sentence prompts / rp memes inspired by lydia the bard's disney princess villain songs. please don't add more prompts/memes to this list, definitely change pronouns, names, etc. as necessary for the situation! part one.

We Don't Talk About Bruno (Mirabel's Villain Song)

"You made him walk away."

"I've heard another take."

"From [ Bruno ], then you turn on me!"

"You whisper as if I don't see the fear and dread of what I'll be."

"Maybe you're too scared to make a sound at all?"

"She's a curse!"

"Well, I'm done playing nice."

"I see all the thorns that you hide"

"You might think no one knows, but I see right through your disguise"

"I'm done with this pretending."

"I'm finally free from chasing your love"

"Time to bring this family down"

"Yeah, I'm the villain in your fairytale now"

"There's just you to blame."

"How's it feel to stain your family name?"

"I'll reclaim all that I've lost"

"It's your end of the days"

For the First Time in Forever (Anna's Villain Song)

"Surely, you didn't think I bought your whole act?"

"I should be thanking you, really. You were the last push I needed."

"This really isn't anything personal."

"I just can't have you getting in my way"

"The story's gonna change and go my way"

"For the first time in forever I'm getting what I really want"

"I'm stronger now than ever, and it's time I take my place"

"Did you think I'd just keep taking it?"

"Well, now you'll learn just who you're messing with"

"Which begs the question: do I let you live?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised."

"Surely you can't have seen this going any other way?"

"I'm not looking for your love"

"I don't care for your approval"

"None of this had to happen. We could have been sisters."

"But I've run out of chances, and you've run out of time"

"I tried getting you to talk to me"

"I reached out when you were hurting, you froze me out completely"

"I just wanted a friend"

"There's one thing that always held me back, and that one thing was you"

So This Is Love? (Cinderella's Villain Song)

I thought it was finally my time!"

"I shouldn't be surprised, really."

"You know he didn't even ask me my name that night?"

"Watch them as they all fall in line"

"If this is love, then I'll decline"

"Must hurt to sit there lost and confined"

"I will not be made a fool of!"

"You'll regret the day you said 'love'."

"Now you'll learn just who the prey is."

"This thing you call love? Yes, I'm kinda done with it!"

What Else Can I Do? (Isabela's Villain Song)

"Stand up straight, stick it through"

"How could you when I was just a child?"

"Support the family, don't stray"

"You suffocate the ones you love"

"That's not just something you forget."

"I'm done with your games."

"My life is mine to do with as I choose"

"I owe nothing to you"

"The only one to blame is you."

"What could you possibly expect was gonna happen when you made me?"

"You're weak, and you're helpless to stop me from destroying you"

I Won't Say I'm In Love (Meg's Villain Song)

"Who is this upstart speaking into [ Hades' ] mic?"

"I'll make this short: [ Hades ] is gone, I killed him, blah, bla-blah, bla-blah..."

"But hey! You have me now. And man, do I have some fun things planned."

"Your leader's gone. He got tired of the view."

"Just say in line and we'll get on just fine. Scout's honor!"

"Well, either way, I'll end up with my crown."

"It's okay, I'm not a villain"

"You'll be okay, baby, when this world is mine"

"He'll curse the day that he walked out on me."

"In time, they'll say I was cruel because I cared."

Mother Knows Best (Rapunzel's Villain Song)

"Who'd want someone like that?"

"Should've listened to your mother."

"One way or another things always go wrong, I swear!"

"I believe he never really loved me."

"I'll do whatever she suggests."

"People are evil. They take advantage of your weaknesses."

"The world is dark, and selfish, and cruel."

"And trust me when I say that he will regret the day he ever crossed me."

[twothpaste]

1, 11, 27, 48 for the fanfic meme?

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike? Aw I'm bigly a daydreamer. My ideas usually spend a lottttt of time marinating in my head, and in my outline docs, before I get around to writing them. Whenever I get an idea there's always like 3 things ahead of it in my "shit to write" queue, so it simmers on the back burner for months or longer. Which is nice actually, cuz I like to make sure it's really a concept I can commit to before starting… If it can stand the test of time (I'm still daydreaming about it months later, I came up with more scenes/details in the meantime, it developed a Meaning or a Theme, etc) then I know it's a keeper.

2. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around? All in order, start to finish. Knowing how my brain works, I'm deathly afraid that if I designate some scenes as more appealing to write than others, and write those first? I'll never ever feel like going back to write the ones I decided were boring / difficult / underdeveloped in comparison 🫠. So I try to just approach every scene indiscriminately like "ok, how am I gonna make this one fun to write & compelling to read?" Makes it more straightforward for my anxious little head. (And fun too?? Genuinely I almost never find myself dreading a scene, or stuck on a scene I don't wanna write.) I'll constantly stop to hash out the narrative significance / foreshadowing / etc in my notes as I go, I'm jumpin' all over the place as I outline, but the work itself is a straight shot.

3. What area of writing do you feel strongest in? Characterrrrs, maybeee??? Specifically like, their relationships & interactions. I feel a special kinda magic when I get 2 characters bouncing off each other, complimenting or contrasting, highlighting traits & beliefs you might not've uncovered otherwise. And I feel like I can pull it off with almost any combination of characters, if I cram 'em in a room together. Folks tell me I'm good at characterization (thank y'all 😭!!!) - but I feel like it's more than just personality bullet points in an isolated void - strong characterization really comes from those chemical reactions that take place when blorpy interacts & orients themself against others. That's the shit I could think about & write about all day, at least, and hopefully I think maybe I manage it pretty well.

4. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom? It Is Probably Claus, And I Am Being So Fucking Brave About It. It's funny too, cuz when I started writing Mother stuff I was like "no claus lives AUs for me haha no sir." (🙃) In 2021 my fav character to write was probably Lucas, and he's still in like 1.000001st place, and still my fav character ever, so it's fine, like. It's ok. It's fine.

[ ask meme here ]