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#cricket writes
justherefortheride · 9 months
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Ripple on a Still Lake
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Available on AO3
Chrollo x g/n Reader
It howls, and howls, and howls and you close your eyes.
(or, the one where you wake up.)
Warnings: yandere dynamics, kinda soft yandere, implied forced relationship, not exactly kidnapping but not exactly free either, too much information about rabbits, the rabbits are unfortunately hetero but don't let that ruin the metaphor, Chrollo being a salty theist
Word Count: 1.6k
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Migrated exclusively to AO3. Please see attached link.
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The rabbit thing is true.
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dreamingcricket · 6 months
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Greetings! I'm Cricket, 23, hobby writer and enjoyer of various debaucheries. And also chocolate. She/Her.
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Requests are open!
Currently writing for:
Baldur's Gate 3 (All characters)
General Requests (villain x hero, non-fandom scenarios, etc.)
(This list will expand, the blog is new. Please feel free to request characters and fandoms outside of my purview!)
Rules and Regulations: I'm open to writing almost anything (one big exception: I will not write underage characters engaging in sex. Big nope.)
Spice is welcome!
Because spice is welcome, this blog is 18+.
On the off chance a request makes me uncomfortable, I'll leave it unanswered.
Any and all writing will be tagged and I'll provide content warnings.
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Well, I got tagged in this WIP challenge (thanks @neutronstarchild and @vitya-z ) so here we go I guess!
WIP CHALLENGE
Rules: “post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DND campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!”
I'm actually sort of astounded by how many WIPs I have, like I knew it was bad, but also.... OOF. So here we go!
After the Hot Springs Tour
Antigone in the Spotlight (Again): Phantom Overcoats
The City of the Stupefied
The Eight Happy Ones
Exceptional
Find Me With A Word
Karurusu Claims His Throne
The Murder of Josiah Holloway
Olympics Meet-Cute
One Last Gold
tonight: BONUS SCENES
Untitled Big Bang Fic
Viktor Nikiforov, Compulsive Planner
Ahhhhh I have sorted these alphabetically but I'll tag all the fandoms. Good luck. Also I definitely will NOT be tagging this many people but I'll give @scorchrev specifically a hard time, I'll check in with @petrichorandpilots, and also see what @balladoftime is up to. Love y'all :D
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velvetwyrms · 8 months
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Now for something completely different! I’ve been working on an AU called Guardians (page is still a WIP) for months now and I’m finally ready to share a story from it. Please heed the tags and enjoy!
Rating: General
Relationships: Hobie/Therapy
Characters: Hobie Brown, Original Animal Character, Pavitr Prabhakar (mentioned), Gwen Stacy (mentioned), Miles Morales (mentioned).
Wordcount: 1,430
TW: Starvation, Homelessness
Tags: Alternative title: ‘Author tears up over hedgehogs,’ Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Companions AU, Platonic/Familial relationship, Hobie Brown backstory, Set 2 years before he becomes Spider-Punk, Hobie needs a hug (and gets a very spiny one), it’s a lovely story I promise, Character study.
Summary: Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”
Ruthless
The smog-choked air was still so frosty this time of year. Once vaguely warm, the battered, grease-stained box she was curled up upon now did nothing to ease the painful shivers running from her goose-bumped skin, all the way to the very tips of her all-encasing, banded spines. Still, she was grateful. It wasn’t the height of winter anymore, they’d made it out alive and this was the first spot of good luck they’d had in a while.
Cold or otherwise, that’s the wonderful thing about pizza, you could eat it regardless— well, if you didn’t mind the pineapple. They’d both eaten far worse, or not at all. Besides, his tastes changed like the wind—
Her ears pricked sharply at the sound of a shoe sole scraping against potholed concrete, clunky and uneven. Her nose twitched fearfully. She should’ve pulled the box further into the shadows of the alley.
Pulse racing, she curled up tighter, spines splayed until the bootprints stopped abruptly, drowned out by the distant honking, shouting, screaming of East London on a Friday night.
Then the wind changed, and all at once her panic immediately soothed into relief.
‘Ruth? You there?”
The massive pizza box slid across the wet pavement with her scrabbling claws as she zoomed towards the end of their hiding spot; a nostalgic pull tugging at her tiny heartstrings as she snuffled at the air. “Over ‘ere! Took you long enough, where the bloody hell you been?” She could almost feel the responding eyeroll as the flickering, looming shadow at the alley’s maw rounded the corner and Hobie Brown stumbled in — joy bubbled and fizzed from her brightly glowing chest and into a resounding chirp — empty handed. Ah.
"Foodbank was sold out when I got there. ‘S fine though, we’ll— I’ll jus-“
“Nono, gimmie a sec,” she croaked and shuffled back the way she’d scurried. The sogginess of the ground nearly proved too strong for her teeth as it sucked on the cardboard, but she managed to drag it just far enough to cut her young charge’s dejection short. “Ta-da! We’ve got ourselves a chicken-dinner! The crowd goes wild, n’ we have full bellies.” Her words were muffled, but from the relieved laugh he’d barked out it was clear he’d understood the gist.
“Oh my days, Ruth you’ve outdone yourself! Also, you should know, you look ridiculous. Never thought I’d see a hedgehog carrying a takeaway box that big, come ‘ere,” the box was lifted effortlessly up into the sky before the boy slumped down next to her. Hobie opened the box with the reverence of a present he’d been counting down the days for, and wolfed down the first slice like a dying man. Well, that…that wasn’t exactly far off. “Where’d you even get this? It’s huge! Could last us two days easy.” Ruth sniffed the food eagerly, climbing up and using his thigh to balance her front paws on so that she could get a better look. Hobie then passed Ruth her single slice so she sat down next to him and set to nibbling away at it. She was rather proud of herself that she’d held out long enough for her charge to have the first piece. Taking care of him was, after all, her entire reason for existing in the very literal, physical, cosmic sense.
“Stole it from a Spaceship Pizza delivery bike while the driver was havin’ a natter. She saw but apparently thought it was funny enough to fight the good fight with her boss.”
Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “good girl, she gets it. Fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”
“Mm, found your new motto then.”
“‘Course.”
The silence between them as they ate was comfortable, well lived in, homey. Ruth was munching away at a chunky strip of cheap, processed ham when her beady eyes locked onto the dip of Hobie’s hollow cheek as he grinned, and all of a sudden they were seven years old again. The worry wrinkles, far too premature for someone who’s only just turned fifteen forming on his forehead, his sharp edges and his first, shiny, new nose piecing he’d convinced a friend to give him for free we’re gone. "Do you remember we used to eat this in school? You hated pineapple. You don’t now.”
“Nah, I don’t believe in consistency. You of all people should know that.” His bordered edges shifted and his skin turned from grey newspaper clippings about threats of anarchist uprisings to a happy, relatable, empathetic pink. “You haven’t changed a bit. Just a big ol’ hoglet.”
Ruth looked at him aghast, squeaking in disapproval, spines puffing in defiance. “You’re havin’ a tin-bath.” The stripes on her spines and the glowing patch on her chest turned from a happy, relatable, empathetic pink to the grainy grey of tv static.
“Oh no, you still look like a pup to me. Jus’ with more spines. Hey, remember when I tried to count ‘em all again last week? Think I got to 561 this time.”
Ruth huffed. She had waaaay more spines than that. “I could say the same thing, you had all the grace of a toddler the way you nicked your finger. Thought you’d be used to my spines after all this time. Guess I’ll just be free of your cuddles an’ keep warm on my lonesome.”
“Woah, hey now, I’m only playin.’”
"’Course,” Ruth snorted and licked BBQ sauce off of her nose, then sighed wistfully, “blimey, I miss moments like this more than anythin’"
Hobie’s crooked smile waned and seemed to wobble a bit. Seven years old and they’d already been kicked out of their second orphanage. School gave them hot food served with kind, pitying smiles. Their new placement did neither. "Yeah…Y’know, this is the only thing that's made the last three years bearable.”
“Pizza?”
Hobie’s laugh was small, humourless and tired, and Ruth felt a pang of something sharp in her chest that was anything but starvation.
“You. Company. Jus’ ‘avin someone who actually gives a damn about whether or not I live or die tomorrow. Can’t imagine what it’s like for those blokes n’ birds who ain’t got Guardians of their own anymore. Must be propper rough. I’ve heard that…sometimes, when it gets too hard, Guardians can just leave. Sever that bond from birth completely. It happened to ol’ loopy Louis on George Street, at least, that’s what he tells everyone. But I’ve seen others too, I’ve seen two different Guardians before just wandering around alone an’ feral. They looked so lost.”
Ruth suddenly felt sick. She couldn’t think of anything worse than loosing Hobie. She was supposed to take care of him. He was her best friend, her partner in crime, her reason to keep going through these first few years of surviving on the streets. He’d been through so much already for someone so young, he’s wise far beyond his barely 15 years and she wanted to cry. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
“I know, I’m jus’ really grateful. You’re a stellar Guardian, Ruth.”
“Well, I don’t know about that” Her voice cracked and she abandoned her half-eaten pizza crust to climb up onto his thigh again, pushing down a couple of times with her front paws to signal that she wanted up. Hobie put down his own 5th slice and picked Ruth up by the armpits to perch her on his sight shoulder. She had to grip onto his thin winter jacket to avoid falling off, but she managed, laying her spines down flat to avoid hurting him. She glanced down to their food through teary eyes, then the pins adorning the jacket’s leather collar, the cheap, patched, fraying jumper underneath and the crochet hook poking out of his top pocket where he kept the bands he was using to try out something new. He’d wanted wicks for a while.
“I do. No one else would go outta their way to steal a pizza three times their size for me.”
“No one worth knowing.” Ruth sniffed wetly, and Hobie, with carefully practiced ease tilted his head and rested his cheek on her back. “One day, you’ll meet people who will do anything for you, Hobie, jus’ like me. People who’d- who’d stop busses an,’ an’ planes and trains for you. They’ll shout your name whenever they see you, and talk about you all the time when you ain’t there, ‘cause they’ll love you millions. You jus’ haven’t met ‘em yet. I know it.
You’ll see.”
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crikkit-kitterton · 3 months
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How Many Lego Minifigures Should You Keep in Your Pocket? (Inspired by that one poem about crows)
One for luck
Two for stride
Three to outrun the coming tide
Four for vision
Five for a dream
And six for alliance with the perfect team.
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echioceras · 2 years
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first day of napowrimo (using @mercuriian's prompts)
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fleshadept · 7 months
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one of my oldest memories is from when i was about five or six years old. my grandma was visiting that evening, so she was tucking me into bed. now, my parents raised us agnostic with a side of unitarian universalism, so i knew next to nothing about christianity, or that god fellow, or whatever. my grandparents never approved of this, convinced they were damning us kids to hell forever.
so when my grandma was tucking me in and she told me to repeat after her and say “i love you jesus,” i did.
but then she said: “there. and now you’ve let jesus into your heart.” and kissed me and left me to dream sweet child dreams probably of jesus saving my immortal soul or whatever.
except, i didn’t know who the fuck jesus was, and i did not understand metaphor. i certainly had not realized that by saying that, i had apparently invited a small man to take up residence in my heart. my child brain raced with panic: was he in there? what would he do? would i be able to feel him moving around? was he stuck forever now? that seemed mean to him, and felt like my grandma had played a trick on me.
so, sensibly, i decided my best bet to expel this tiny man who i had NOT wanted to move into my heart (aside from surgery, which i discounted as an option when i imagined asking my parents about it) was to do the reverse incantation: i fell asleep that night mumbling and mentally shouting I HATE YOU JESUS I HATE YOU JESUS I HATE YOU JESUS, hoping he would get the message and relocate somewhere that wanted him.
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lesbiancolumbo · 4 months
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As Indigenous woman filmmakers, we knew that our path through the industry would be narrow and that our film, Fancy Dance, would have a small window for success based on the abysmal record of representation for Indigenous folx in Hollywood. As such, we channeled our collective wills as granddaughters of Dust Bowl survivors, descendants of genocide and avowed followers of the indomitable Merata Mita to give this film the best shot possible. If there existed a “how to make a successful movie in Hollywood” checklist, we followed it to a tee. Step one: Create a compelling script (after her sister’s disappearance, a hustler kidnaps her niece from the child’s white grandparents and takes her to the state powwow in hopes of keeping what’s left of her family intact) – check. Step two: Find top-tier producing partners (Nina Yang Bongiovi, Tommy Oliver) – check. Step three: Cast amazing actors at the top of their field (soon-to-be Oscar nominee Lily Gladstone) – check. Step four: Premiere and screen at world-renowned festivals (Sundance, SXSW, BFI London) – check. Step five: Receive excellent reviews (THR called it “exceptional”) and festival prizes (Hamptons, L.A. Outfest, Mill Valley, NewFest, Sun Valley, Tacoma) – check. Step six: Get a distribution deal – …crickets.
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fred-the-dinosaur · 4 months
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ok, I started writing this in response to someone in particular but it felt unfair to single them out when the reason I was moved say something was because they were like the seventh person saying the same thing in a day.
To all the people like me, who had never heard of those YouTubers. Yeah, I get the vibe. I'd never heard of him either! Or any of the others. But so what ? Firstly, someone else you like is probably doing the same thing, and Secondly, on this scale? You probably HAVE HEARD of him. You just didn't know.
As turns out, I HAD heard of him.
I was so sure I hadn't. Lucky me for being so disconnected from the internet zeitgeist that I am insulated from its fallout! lol. Except I had read @vaspider 's post rejecting his spreading of Leibowitz's statements about 'boring people dying of aids', someone who at the time was struggling uphill against public opinion. Someone else I follow had a Hannibal video plagiarized last year by a big youtuber who turned out to also be him. My wife and I love watching verilybitchie, guess who also got a video ripped off by somerton?
And, like, you're right about how the fuck did people not take more issue with the 'nazis so hot' shit. But lots of people believed him, and spread it wide enough that you might have seen it. I am sure I've seen other, less explicitly awful takes of his crossing my dash, even passed them on, takes that were not even particularly horrifying, just misleading or untrue or stolen and taken out of context. Takes that are distorting the narrative of queer history on tumblr, beyond.
I'm not pointing fingers, just worried the impact of the video is getting lost. I wish someone who could write better and sound less grumpy doing it had written this instead. I just hadn't seen anyone else say exactly this yet. Specifically that, like me, you probably have heard of him, or more importantly his influence. Lots of other people you like got their stuff stolen by him.
And if you really have never met him or the consequences of his actions. then you've met someone else just like him.
I'd never 'heard' of him. So what?
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aceredshirt13 · 3 months
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writing Holmes or Raffles fic versus writing Wodehouse fic
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cricketnationrise · 11 days
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some sentence sunday 24.3
HELLO I am momentarily back from a place of having nothing to share/not having enough time because i have another month or so of 6 day work weeks and so i have a lot of people to thank for tagging me in various writing things over the past [embarrassingly high number] weeks: @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @getmehighonmagic @kiwiana-writes @cha-melodius @three-drink-amy @firenati0n @inexplicablymine @heybuddy-drabbles @affectionatelyrs @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @leaves-of-laurelin @dumbpeachjuice @orchidscript @agame-writes @porcelainmortal @anincompletelist @iboatedhere @ships-to-sail @tailsbeth-writes @itsmaybitheway @indestructibleheart @magicandarchery @nocoastposts @lizzie-bennetdarcy @14carrotghoul @sherryvalli -- y'all are great
anyway some sentences! from a oneshot fic i'm posting called [redacted for spoilers] next weekend:
Alex sighs like Henry's the one being dense. “Okay. You know Angelina?” Henry’s gut sinks. “I’m familiar with your girlfriend, ye—” “Ex girlfriend, now.” “Oh, Alex, are you oka—” Alex brushes him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t pretend you liked her for my feelings’ sake.” And well, Alex has him bang to rights. Although Henry would eat his own left foot if he actually thought Alex knew the real reason Henry disliked Angelina. (And all of Alex’s other girlfriends.)
i'm tagging back literally everyone above, @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @everwitch-magiks @rmd-writes @montrealmadison @doggernaut @smc-27 @the-lincyclopedia @adreamareads @read-and-write- @clottedcreamfudge @historicallysam @anchoredarchangel and i'll slap an open tag on there for anyone who wants to share and needs the excuse
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justherefortheride · 2 months
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Reciprocity
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Available on AO3
Jude Jazza x g/n Reader
It starts with a peach.
(or, the one where you try to pay back a debt.)
Warnings: the game is canonically dark romance, canon typical violence, no one gets (seriously) injured this time, liberties taken with Jude's accent, liberties taken in general since the game isn't actually localized yet, Reader is in MC's position but we're ignoring the presets, other characters are briefly mentioned/present, mild allusions to canon events, overly descriptive food as an analogy for falling in love but no one is happy about it
Work Count: 2.0k
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Migrated exclusively to AO3. Please see attached link.
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withmyteeth · 11 months
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A request for your FLASH FIC EVENT!
Prompt: “If you didn’t want things to change, you shouldn’t have kissed me.”
With Jax Teller please!!
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Okay, so this went WAY darker than I intended when I set out. Hope you enjoy it anyways!
REMINDER: This is a writing exercise to get words down as fast as possible. It is being posted without being edited or reread.
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The door slams so hard behind you that you’re surprised it doesn’t splinter.  The dorm is not your first choice of hideout, but it’ll have to do for the time being as you pace the small room like a caged tiger, trying to out run your anger.  You and Jax had known each other since you were kids and never once has he ever spoken to you like that, demanding that you bend to his will, that what is said is what’s best for you.
In all actuality, he’s right.  You should stay here.  You were planning on staying here, with the shit going down with the niners, you didn’t want to be caught dead strolling around Charming without protection.  What you didn’t want was a prospect combing through your underwear drawer when you were perfectly capable of packing your own bag.  The thought that, at this very moment, the prospect was on the way to your house with your house keys to do that very thing flames your waning anger until your foot makes contact with the bathroom door.
“Ow, ow, ow,” you  spit, hopping on one foot until you fall onto the bed.  Before you can pull your boot off to inspect the damage, you hear a light knock on the door.  “Drop dead,” you shout, knowing that it was probably heard out in the clubhouse.  Good, you think.
You wished you’d thought to turn the lock on the door the same time the knob twists, Jax slipping inside, softly shutting it behind him.  The gentleness of his movements betray the flame in his eyes.  You can see the rage burning within him, recognize that he’s working extremely hard to control his ire and not become as explosive as you have.
He doesn’t say anything to you, using that eye blue stare to pin you to the bed, demanding your submission.  
You refuse to give to him.
Just as you always have.
“I don’t know in what universe you thought that was okay, Teller,” you growl, your injured foot completely forgotten as you push from the bed to meet his stare.
“All I asked was that you stay here and let me send the prospect to get your things for you.”  His voice is clear and measured, only a slight wobble giving away the fact that he is anything but calm.
You can’t help but scoff.  “If there had been a request in anything you had said to me out there, we wouldn’t be in here.”  Jax hadn’t asked you anything, when you’d tried to grab your keys to leave, he snagged them first, tossing them to the prospect while giving him orders to go pack your bag for you.  When you said you could do it yourself, Jax turned on you, using the opportunity as an outlet for his current frustration and anger, seeing something he could control.
How wrong he was.
“If you want to be an old lady, then fucking act like it,” he’d snarled.  “Do what you’re told.”
The shame that curled through your body at the dressing down in front of the club, the men you’d fought to earn the respect of, the ones you called brothers, all refusing to meet your eyes hurt almost as much as what Jax said.  The way Jax blew the door off of what had happened between you, that you were both still trying to come to terms with before telling anyone now out in the open, more than one trust betrayed in the heated moment.
Finally, you watch as the tension leaves his shoulders, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth.  Whether its the realization that what he said was completely fucked up or the fact that now you’re behind closed doors, but you can see his walls dropping again, see your Jax shining in his eyes.  “I’m sorry, darlin’.”  You expected the apology, but you didn’t expect the way tears pooled in his eyes.  Before one can fall, you toss your anger aside, closing the distance between you to throw yourself against his chest.  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he says, the words rumbling against your cheek on his chest.
You reach up, fingers running over the President patch, far newer and whiter than anything on his kutte.   “We have a lot of history, Jackson,” you start, taking a deep breath.  “You know me better than to try to use your presidential power over me.  I’m not one of your soldiers.”
His stills against you.  “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“And we’ve managed to do that for how many years now without you going ‘Clay’ on me before now.”
“If you didn’t want things to change, you shouldn’t have kissed me.”
You pull back from his chest, looking into his eyes, not recognizing the man you see.  Taking a step back away from him, you wrap your arms around yourself, if only to stop you from reaching out to him again.   “If I’d known that kissing you would change me into a piece of your property, I wouldn’t have done it.”
His lips quirk, his eyes narrowing and for the first time since you’ve met him, you’re scared of him.
He steps forward quickly, you try to back away but your legs hit the bed and he’s got his hand around the back of your neck.  “You’re mine now, baby, and you’re not going anywhere,” he says before smashing his lips against yours, a hollow replica of the kiss you’d shared the day before, before turning on his heel and leaving you behind, fear skittering up and down your spine.
Growing up in Charming, you’d heard the tales of how the gavel corrupts.
You just didn’t think it’d be this fast.
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Antigone in the Spotlight (Again): Phantom Overcoats
AHHHH THE BEASTIE. This is for the podcast Wooden Overcoats, which is 17/10 recommend. It was supposed to be a cute little one-shot that I wrote and posted before the final season started airing this January.... it's currently sitting at 5,696 words and the final chapter is giving me HIVES.
But anyway this fic is up to S3 canon-compliant, it's a community theater production of Phantom of the Opera starring:
Antigone Funn—former recluse, letting go of her unrequited crush on golden boy Eric, newly confident, wanting to try hard things, and cajoled into participating because her friend Georgie is directing—Christine
Eric Chapman—town fave, finally realising he's in love with Antigone, lowkey in this production just to hang out with her, an awkward mess for ONCE in his life—the Phantom
Roger Noggins—legit thought he was going to die last year and held a funeral, maybe the most unintersting man you've ever met, is trying to branch out and form new hobbies—Raoul
And a whole host of other characters that are riotously funny and interesting individuals. Which is why this fic is taking so long. I just wanted Antigone and Eric to kiss and get together BUT the rest of the inhabitants of Piffling Vale keep demanding screen time.
I love them. Maybe I'll finish for Halloween this year.
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mllekurtz · 11 months
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i'm just. taking a break from work and thinking about the fact that it's been almost two years since the c2 finale and that campaign still has me in a chokehold. i still think about the wizards all the time, which shouldn't surprise anyone but it's still remarkable. just taking a little moment to be in my feelings about them on main, nothing to see here
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cricket-approved · 4 months
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thinking of her again.
(splices of my writing + photos from twin peaks and fire walk with me)
thanks @emiliosandozsequence for heavily inspiring this poem with your reblogs lol
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