#fruit writing asks

[acacia-may]

Acacia, I shall be hitting you with a whole fruit salad.

I’m sorry but I do want to ask all of these. So please, take your time answering. 😅

🍒, 🍊, 🍑, 🍐, and 🍈?

Aww thank you so much, Erika! I really appreciate it. There's no need to apologize. I'd love to answer these for you. Thank you so much for sending them in. 🥰

🍒 What’s your favorite character dynamic to write? (Can be romantic or platonic, specific or general!)

I'm sure this will come as no surprise to you but I love to write brother relationships, especially in that sweet spot of they love each other deeply but the relationship between them is strained usually by external and/or internal forces and/or breakdowns in communication driving a wedge between them that makes it difficult to express how much they really care about each other. It's such a fascinating dynamic to me (I honestly don't know why, but I'm always so compelled by these kind of deeply loving but deeply broken relationships where you're looking at these fictional siblings and you just know how much they truly love each other but they just can't communicate that and can't overcome whatever it is that's tearing them apart.

(I'm going to ramble just a little bit here so please excuse me) For instance, you've got Finral and Langris who are driven apart by their own wounds & insecurities but also because they were pitted against each other by their parents and kind of had to see each other as adversaries in order to survive in their abusive home. Whereas Sanemi pushed his brother away to try to protect him and lashed out when Genya misunderstood and tried to prove himself by doing the exact thing his brother was trying to protect him from. Hero and Kel both pushed each other away because they were afraid of hurting each other. And don't even get me started about Kai and Sei because that is just... (I'm cutting myself off)

Anyway, the one underpinning thread here is that there is obviously real love between these siblings underneath all of that pain, strain, and brokeness in the relationship and therefore is a hope that they can overcome these obstacles and build a healthy bond with each other (whether that's again or, in some cases, for the first time). Even I have my limits though and there are some relationships that are clearly unhealthy and unsalvageable. When it's clear that their really is no mutual respect here and/or no potential for change or real love then I'm out. But those ones that are more nuanced where the relationship is just strained rather than permanently broken, I personally am very compelled by those and have a lot of hope of them being repaired. That's probably my favorite kind of relationship to write about.

I also love writing about platonic Male-Female friendships because I feel like those are criminally underrated.

🍊 Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

Gordon. I'm so sorry Gordon! He was honestly one of my favorite characters when I was watching and reading Black Clover, but he's just so hard for me to write that I've never really been able to do as much with him as I would've liked. I have half a story written from his POV for the Early Black Bulls Series but it was such a struggle that I just never finished it. I also considered making up an OC for him to marry in the future around the same time I was creating Lorelei for Henry (because he just seems like such a domestic type who'd be happy to settle down & have a family one day. Just such a loving Papa). But not a lot came of that. I name dropped his daughter (who is adopted) in one of my fics, but yeah...I really dropped the ball on poor Gordon. He deserves more love.

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

My sister and I make jokes all the time about (a well-adjusted) Langris sort of "adopting" all the high-stress, overachieving perfectionist kiddos we tend to adopt ourselves from other media and becoming kind of father figure to them and trying to help them --convince them it's okay to have fun and that they don't have to be perfect all the time and try to "earn" love (usually with Finesse's help and/or by begging Vanessa to intervene because he has no idea what he's doing). And the kids really look up to him and think he's super cool. We call them the "Langris Squad." It's a little hard to explain but kind of wholesome in my mind.

🍐 Is there anything in canon that you absolutely hate and love to fix in fics? A wrong choice made, a fuck-up in characterization, a misunderstanding never cleared up, a conversation never shown onscreen, etc…

...that House Vaude Drama needs a resolution. I think especially for me (because I'm a biased Langris-sympathizer) something I always try to include in fics is just trying to kind of explain why in the world he is acting the way he is and is (weirdly enough) sort of helping Finral best him. It's strange from the outside (I have a lot of headcanons about it), so I really like to dive into Langris' emotions, thoughts, and motivations about what's going on there since it was really abrupt and glossed over in the actual canon. Also, again, I like to resolve this mess when I can. (Not always in the same way because there are multiple resolutions which would be fine, but I don't really care for the way it has been handled in the canon).

Another one that comes to mind is the aftermath of the Golden Dawn losing so much of their squad in the fight against Zenon. I know that was a while ago, but it still irks me that we didn't get to see a whole of them grieving and trying to rebuild. Yuno had a really great and heart-wrenching moment about it in the Spade Arc when he tapped into his grief to motivate him during his rematch against Zenon, but I feel like there's a lot of untapped potential there, especially for Mimosa who unlocks such a powerful healing ability that she could use to save other people during the Spade Arc but couldn't use to save her own squad mates. I can't imagine how hard that is for her, and I was actually so frustrated this got glossed over that I wrote a story about it called "For What It's Worth" which unfortunately I think was written in the time before Tumblr and never made it over here. Maybe I'll cross post it, if you (or anyone else is interested)?

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

From Black Clover, Langris. Hands down. He was not always (and I detested him at first), but he's definitely the character I find most interesting now. I just want him and Finral to repair their brotherly relationship so much! It's what I have wanted most out of Black Clover for a very long time. I also really enjoy his friendship with Yuno and especially with Lady Finesse.

I have way too many headcanons about him, but I think the biggest one that comes up the most and has the most bearing over how I write his character is that Langris loves so much more intensely and deeply than he is given credit for. He struggles to be vulnerable and doesn't open his heart to too many people, but when he does, he will love forever and will be willing to make great sacrifices for what is best for that person and what will make them happy.

My most strongly held Langris headcanon is that it is the love that he has for Finesse that has led him to try to help Finral take over House Vaude. I flip-flop a lot over whether it is a romantic or platonic love, but regardless, I am convinced that however you want to qualify that, Langris loves her and is so concerned with her happiness that he would willingly give up what's he has worked for his entire life, his sense of purpose, and, really, his own sense of identity (in a way) just in the off chance that Finesse would be happy. And even more than that...would be happy without him. This is not a sacrifice to get the girl. This is a purely selfless action. He knows if he does this, he will lose everything and they will never be together, but he doesn't care because what he wants more than all of that is for Finesse to be happy and he doesn't think he can be the one to make her happy, so that's why he counts himself out.

[onekisstotakewithme]

🍒🍏 :)

🍒 What’s your favorite character dynamic to write? (Can be romantic or platonic, specific or general!)

LOVE me a good found family dynamic, I love writing banter between platonic besties who love each other very much.

Fandom-specific, I LOVE writing the triad, obviously, but it's also a lot of fun writing Daniel being team dad to the triad. And then CJ and Danny!

🍏 Is there something you overuse, whether it’s a certain phrase, trope, or piece of punctuation?

Yes! lol. I have this one concept I use a lot (radio/jukebox spitting out a song amongst static, that's not the specific phrase, but. it exists).

There's more too, but that's just one of them. Everything else I can pass off as a motif!

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[the-raindeer-king]

(have so much fun on that concert next week✨️)

What do we think about Simon suprising us with a picnic date near a lake?🥺 bonus points if there are little ducklings around

This has been in my inbox for a week 🙈 and I feel so bad!! But the concert was fantastic, thanks!!! As for a suprise picnic with Simon..... (as always, this is gender neutral, and happy pride month)

He'd take you to a park, but not one near your flat because you've already gone there together before. But he knows there's one near where Price lives, a really nice park with lots of flowers and a pond, a pond with ducks. And Simon knows you're going to be so excited.

He didn't tell you where y'all were going, just that it'd be outside and there was no need to get all dolled up. He wants you comfortable, and let's be real, this man is so down bad. You could show up in literal rags, and he'd still think you were the most attractive person he's ever seen.

You think that maybe you're just taking a stroll through the park. Simon's just recently gotten back from deployment, and you don't want him to overwhelm himself just to make you happy. But the park is quiet, mainly older folks. There's a family by the pond, the children talking with excitement as they toss frozen peas into the water.

It's peaceful, and it's a perfectly good day for a picnic.

You pick a spot with a good view of the pond, watching the ducks, as Simon gets the blankets set up. He barely has time to put the basket down, before you're grabbing his hand, almost frantic as you drag him away.

"Simon, come look! Come look!" You loudly whisper, excited but cautious, not wanting to scare the ducks. "There's babies!"

And sure enough, swimming in a little yellow cluster, there's a group of ducklings on the side opposite to where y'all have set up. They're so small and fuzzy, and you fawn over them for a second.

Simon let's out a small huff of amusement, wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you closer to him, your back to his chest, and he presses a kiss to your temple. Sure, the ducklings are cute, but he thinks you're far cuter.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 4!!

Someone mentioned a play on Divine Intervention, and I thought that would make for a short, sweet, tag-able title. So here it is - Fanatic Intervention!

This poll came really close. Gosh. Please share this around. I want anyone who would like a chance to play to have the chance to play. This isn't about followers or activity, this is about letting people know they are welcome and invited :)

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*****************

The Metatron walked calmly through the halls of Heaven. Anyone who didn’t know any better would use a word more like “stalked” or “stomped.” Of course, no one in Heaven would ever use these words to describe the Metatron, even if his eyes were angry and his feet fell firmer than usual. No, the Metatron was the Voice of God – he merely walked with purpose, grace even.

At the end of a corridor that did not exist, he approached a door that opened at his touch and his touch alone, into a room that took up no space. It is in here that he stopped, the door closing behind him as it was right to do, and brought his hands together in Prayer.

“I beseech you,” he began, “Mother and Father both of All Creation, Commander of mine tongue, and through whose Grace I carry out Thine Will.” He paused, unsure exactly how to proceed with asking if someone new was supposed to be there. “In my best efforts to bring about the long-foretold Second Coming, I have come upon some trouble. A human was dropped into the path of my efforts* and has suggested that they are here at Your Will. If this is so, please instruct me so that I may step aside or aid them as appropriate. I wish only to serve You, Your Will, and Your Designs.” With this, the Metatron paused and waited. He waited for what felt like eternity, even though he kew all too well it wasn't. He was met with nothing but silence. With a sigh, he spoke now to himself (and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have – mistakenly, mind you – inferred his tone to be sad).

“I suppose I should have expected nothing less.”

He straightened himself. Well, clearly The Almighty trusted him to sort this trouble out for himself. Oh, how he adored the trust and love the Almighty had for him. Alright, so, given that he was sort out this trouble himself, he deigned to use all the knowledge and intelligence that the Almighty had granted him. He had other resources that he could consult.

Exiting the room, he walked once more (with purpose and trust in God – not with pride), to the Room of Records which held The Book of Life. If anyone saw him, they said nothing and let him pass. If he saw anyone, he paid them no mind. The Metatron approached The Book.

The Book of Life holds all the world’s stories, whether they are true or not. Every. Single. One.

He turned the pages to the one where he had seen the passage regarding The Second Coming, and the events leading up to it. His eyes widened in surprise (he was far too important to gawk). The lines that had carefully discussed Aziraphale returning to Heaven, and the Second Coming of Jesus, had all been painted over with what appeared to be a thin white tape. And overtop of this tape, new words were appearing, detailing the arrival of the strange human and their interference. The Metatron glared (not snarled) at the way in which their interaction was being recorded. After a moment, he experimentally scratched at the tape. Much to his relief, the white tape gave way, revealing the original words still lay underneath. Well now, that was good news. The original plan, writing, story, was still there – hidden just beneath the surface. No doubt, if he took the human out of the equation, so to speak, the Plan would continue as is had been written so many thousands of years ago. He smiled, closing his eyes, and thanking God for this insight. Now, all he had to do was find a way to get rid of that human.

Suddenly, the lights in Heaven started flashing red, and a siren began blaring. The Metatron rolled his eyes. WHAT, exactly, had happened now? He went to the room that contained the large rotating figure of Earth, and noticed a large red plume of smoke trailing from it. While all of the lesser angels were fussing with it, Metatron stayed near the door that didn’t exist. He had no need to inspect it closer. He knew precisely what it was.

*(not that kind)

It didn’t take you long to tell them about the Second Coming, and convince Aziraphale and Crowley to ward the bookshop. Well, there was some slight resistance, but you pointed out that if they did a Big Joint Miracle On Purpose, then there wasn’t likely to be anything that anyone could do about it, even when they did notice. And thus, it had gone without a hitch.

Now, Aziraphale was collecting stacks of Bibles that he felt would be helpful for research, Muriel was taking notes, and Crowley had gone to get some wine (something about needing a drink to deal with all this). You look to your phone, pointedly ignore the Lives Counter, and start toward Google to help with research.

BUT

Does your Good Omens playlist still work? You can’t help but wonder, and your curiosity has you distracted and opening the app. Oh, well, there it is. Honestly it’s impressive. But then again, you suppose, Good Omens exists in this world, and the songs in your playlist exist here too, it’s just the show (specifically the Final Fifteen) that doesn’t exist here. Not anymore anyway. Any songs related to the show are gone, but otherwise your playlist is still very much intact. You smirk, crank the volume up on your phone, and start blasting Mother Mother’s Problems.

Now, dear Reader, I will take you aside to reassure you that Hozier is on the list of music they must and will hear. I have merely chosen this one because I don’t know your playlists, but I know mine, and this song fits the mood I expect you must be feeling. You are on the other side of panic, having explained everything, and secured the bookshop, you are now feeling the glee of being in Aziraphale’s bookshop with your favourite characters. You need something upbeat to dance to, wouldn’t you say? And Take Me To Church, being the most upbeat Hozier song that I know of, doesn’t quite cut it.

Crowley enters the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses (only two? How dare he. Doesn’t he know you’re...well...not going to deny a demon the temptation of a glass of red?). Aziraphale sighs the word “Bebop,” and you begin an elaborate sort of bouncing while singing the lyrics and pointing at them in turn.

“So,” Crowley says quietly to Aziraphale, “Any idea what’s actually happening here?”

You, dear Reader, are lost in your dancing. You are having the time of your life making up dance moves and trying to convince Muriel to at least bob in time with the music. You notice none of this.

Aziraphale sighs. “Honestly,” he replies to Crowley, “I can’t say I do. But given what we have to work with, I rather think that trusting them is our best option. Besides,” Aziraphale glances at you, then back to Crowley, “They don’t feel like the bad sort. I may not always be the best judge of character when it comes to angels, but I’m certain that this human is, well, rather the good sort.”

“Mm,” Crowley replies. He pauses, watching for a moment as you try to convince Muriel to stand and take your hands. “And, what about...you know, the thing that Nina and Maggie erm...talked to us about?” He notices Aziraphale’s cheeks turn pink.

“I think that we had best leave that for when the world is safe,” but the angel sounds resigned when he says it. Crowley suspects that “the world,” is actually meant to mean “we and the humans.” He doesn’t mention this, he only nods. The demon pauses.

“Wait a minute, wait, is this song about…”

You had finally convinced Muriel to walk in a twirl under your arm when Crowley finally notices that you had been trying to make it clear as bloody daylight that the song’s lyrics fit them to a T. Now that you have their attention, your smirk grows into a full mischievous smile.

“If you think this is impressive, just wait,” You say. And NOW you turn on Hozier.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridiscent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.

[simply-trash5]

Found Forever

Had a sweet request from @twilightlover2007 for a Momiji little something and this was so cute. It's a little short but I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Momiji X Reader

CW: none--fluffy fluff fluff

Momiji knew the moment he saw you that he had found his forever. 

That day in the park had started like any other for him, a nice warm day for him to run and clear his mind when he saw the sweet little bunny stuffie fly out of the stroller being pushed by what could only be described as an angel. 

‘It must be fate…’ he thought to himself as he chuckled and plucked the small toy from the concrete. He jogged alongside the stroller pulling an earbud from his ear and tapped you on the shoulder, your sweet face stopping his heart. 

“Excuse me, Miss…I believe this belongs to you…” Momiji said with an accent and smile that melted you on the spot. A blush bloomed across both of your cheeks as your hands brushed ever so slightly at the exchange of the plush toy. “T-thanks…” you stammered feeling like a teenager again. 

At the loss of momentum of the stroller your baby began to stir, making a fuss in her bundle and wanting her presence to be known. Momiji’s eyes lit up pleasantly at the sound of the baby. “What a sweet little face! What is her name?” he cooed looking down at your brunette bundle of joy. You reached into the stroller to grab your fussy infant who seemed to calm at the sight of Momiji almost instantly. “Her name is Mika–she is only a year old…” you smiled and kissed her cheek while Momiji smiled at the two of you fondly.

 You looked over at the tall blonde with a blush and a smirk. “Hey, I never got your name. How do I know you aren’t some creep who follows around young mothers in the park?” Momiji froze and began to stumble over his words. “I..I am so.. No my name is Momiji..” he stared at his feet suddenly feeling like a small child again who was caught sneaking a treat when he had been told ‘no more sweets’. 

You laughed loudly and placed your daughter back into her stroller. Momiji relaxed at the sound of your laughter knowing that it was the most magical sound he had ever heard. “Well, Momiji my name is Y/N if you would like to keep walking with us you can…” you offered with a mischievous lilt to your voice. You began walking without hearing his response, leaving him completely dazed. ‘Wake up Momiji…follow her!’ 

You soon heard his footsteps as he jogged alongside you and fell in step with you. The two of you walked until late in the afternoon talking about your less than amicable split with Mika’s father and him about his tumultuous relationship with his family; honestly it was cathartic talking with someone who was practically a stranger about the most deep parts of yourself…but when he walked with you to your car and helped you pack the stroller you had to admit you didn’t want him to leave.

“Y/N…” Momiji began to speak in a hushed tone, making you regret that the end of your time together had come. You nodded acknowledging him, “Can I see you and Mika again? I know that we just met and that it wasn’t exactly a date bu-”

You placed a featherlight on his cheek. 

“You talk too much. Of course I want to see you again.”

You grabbed his phone and put your number into it telling him ‘text me or else no more cheek kisses.’

Walking away from your car that night he knew, you and Mika were his forever.

[joysmercer]

okay I’m so curious about the short fic you posted yesterday

can I ask how in this universe nina dies? And does eddie too?

(it’s mask of anubis on main btw)

ooh fun questions!! i was hoping someone would ask cuz i couldn't figure out how to work it in. also i added way too much info that you didnt ask for so now it's under the cut :D

first of all, this au is a much darker take on how i think nina's life "actually" played out – I think she'll always have random spirits coming up to her etc, but in this au, it's pretty constant and can get very dangerous very quickly. on the flip side, she sees a lot more fame for her "irl" work than she does "in canon" (see below).

somewhat ironically (given how guarded nina becomes from the constant barrage of gods forcing her to do things), she makes her living off of writing movies about her experiences. i think she does this in canon too, but here she really throws herself into it, almost like a form of therapy since there isn't really any professional she can process things with, you know? she eats, sleeps, breathes her craft – whenever she has downtime, she's writing, editing, networking to get her words out there. she's so fast and so talented with it that she graduates university in three years with honors, by which time the chosen one (season 1) has already been picked up by a major company and has started filming; she wins her first oscar two years later, and the next two each year after that.

(actually, all four scripts got picked up at the same time, which is why the turnaround was so quick – but they didn't announce the sequels until after the oscars because at that point she was a relatively unknown person)

(also i know this isn't how these things work irl but just work with me here. maybe she called in a favor from a random god and had things sped along idk)

anyway, the point im trying to make is that she spends her whole life balancing what she wants to do (her work) with what she has to do (paragon shit) and has a weird sense of self-worth as a result (she knows she's good at what she does, but wants to hide it from the world at the same time (out of fear). she hates that she needs others to keep her safe and refuses to believe they're doing it out of kindness, even though she also knows that they genuinely love her. it's weird) (also she and fabian make up sometime during their uni years so all is good there)

anyway, they (amber + KT) set up a rota of all ex-sibuna members (+ willow as she learns about it pretty quickly post-grad) to spend time in the states for a couple months out of the year each. this essentially made sure there was always 1 other person on the mission with her and 2 people nearby who knew where they were going, should things go wrong and they need rescuing or something. but for small/random tasks, nina would just do those alone.

her last mission (that fabian alludes to) had taken months to complete: three formerly-benign ghosts had been "turned" by a magician up in canada, released from the underworld, and, driven mad by the magic (and confusion of being back in the real world), had started a series of freak thunderstorms across the american midwest. together with jerome, she had to figure out how they got released, stop the magician, construct the device necessary to trap the spirits and send them back, and use said device to stop the storms. the effort had completely exhausted her (so much so that she – making headlines – decided to take a step back on touchstone production, instead of hanging out on set like she did for the other three)

(that's why tor is the way it is. with her dropping off of the face of the earth, someone decided – while she couldn't argue against it – to absolutely slash the budget, which lead to a mess of a story (screenplay is the only oscar it wins)

nina's death (as alluded to in the article) really seemed out-of-the-blue. basically, she was on a mission – alone – that suddenly and very unexpectedly turned dangerous. but when she was found (by KT and amber together) it looked like she just collapsed at home – there was no indication of any foul play or anything, really, of how she died.

also alluded to in the article, but a lot (but not all) of KT's "investigative journaling" was her covering up the consequences of nina's missions with theories that would make sense to the general public. nina's last request of her was to halt any investigation into her death prematurely as she knew things would unravel pretty quickly otherwise

joy's role in nina's life was mainly to book her for enough public-facing events/etc so that people wouldn't question where she was when she "disappeared" for a month or two, as well as act as her social media manager/"source close to her" to tabloids during extended absences so people continue to think she's okay. this was especially important given nina's monumental rise to fame (and as a screenplay writer, at that! usually it's the actors/directors who get most of it!) and her relatively young age, which meant she got herself a fandom very quickly…and we all know what the rumor-spreading capabilities of stan twitter are like. there were quite a few times nina came back from a mission to find several "new" pics on her instagram or that shes going viral for something she doesn't "remember" saying lskdjf

amber's role was to media-train the hell out of nina so she never gives any indication that a) there's an element of truth in her work; b) she lives a double life; and c) weird things keep happening in the cities she happens to frequent (eg random buildings falling, artifacts disappearing, etc). we all know this girl can't lie to save her life…amber is nothing but a miracle-worker in that regard lol

as for eddie – his death is basically the reason things are so awful, now. he actually dies at the end of tor, and not only does osiris himself blame nina for it (using "logic" that can rival senkhara's in s2), but it also leaves nina terrified since she no longer has a protector – something all the other gods/spirits quickly take advantage of (threats/blackmail/etc) for the first few years, by which time word of her willingness to do anything spreads and she can't get rid of the constant requests. it doesn't help that his death also proved to them that nina (like her counterpart) can, and will, sacrifice herself to save the world, if it came down to it, making her the perfect pawn in a lot of schemes.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

i just read your taesan and myungjae sub fics and OMGGGGGG….. i’m about to rip my hair out those were so good😭😭 CAN I PLEASEEE request a LEEHAN SUB FIC 😭😭 where’s he’s just absolutely down bad for the reader PLSSS

heck yes!!! i haven't been really in the mood to write full fics lately, so im just gonna put down some ideas?? and maybe i'll turn it into something later!! if you want somethin abt leehan edging himself, lmk and i'll write it for you!!

* I'm ofc thinking roommate!leehan who acts indifferent to you but is actually obsessed with you, like his crush on you runs sooo deep

* sometimes you walk past him and he gets a whiff of whatever fragrance you have on, something so sweet it almost makes his head hurt, and he's immediately addicted to the smell. when you're not home, he sneaks in your room and steals something from your hamper -- a tshirt, a hoodie, anything with your scent baked into it

* he does unholy things to himself with his face buried in whatever fabric he could get his hands on, and later, when you ask him if he's seen these things, his poker face is so good you don't even second guess him

* but that isn't enough, and soon, he needs more. you guys begin building a closer friendship, and he's always been flirty, but he also becomes more handsy, giving you backhugs and shoving his face in your neck, he can't help himself, the scent is so much stronger straight from the source

* one day when you're out, he's so desperate for release that he finds himself in your bed, head buried in your pillow as he fucks the mattress pathetically. his pants are pulled down just low enough so that he can rub his dick against the soft fabric of your duvet, and the feeling has his eyes rolling back into his head. your scent is so strong in your room, hitting him from all corners, and he's so lost in the pleasure that he doesn't hear you enter

* you call out his name but he doesn't hear you, so you walk over to him and tap his shoulder. you're standing with your arms crossed and your hip out. you haven't even said anything, but your unamused facial expression has him feeling so needy, and the embarrassment of being caught makes his skin hot all over, and he's soaking your blankets with his cum before he can stop himself

* post-nut clarity has him apologizing profusely, immediately, but he's stunned with you press a finger to his lips to shush him.

* your own fantasies about leehan have often drifted from family-friendly, so you push him back against the bed and straddle him. after all, he's been so naughty, doesn't he deserve a punishment?

a/n bbbg leehan overstim fic when???

[askblueandviolet]

the way i abruptly stopped reading at the notif HKAHAJ

HI 1!1!1!1 :3 gift time real

uhhdhdhdjbdbd..hows mayor holdin up !?!? (fav mayor real) I REMEMBER THEM LIKING MILK ICE..IN CHAP IDK, so heres milk ice for them ;D

as for Edgelord™. howreu doing uh huh. uh. heres. shadow puppets. idk do w them as u please??? AS FOR BAI HEEEEEEE, ilysm, u get a catplushie real

(ITS 4 AM. ur fic stilltastes gud, like. tarts. yummy tarts. mmwmsm,snms hopeur doijg well <3 u get a taco fr 💪back to reading lolol)

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜🩷

Previous 💙💜🩷

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[tsunael]

(Count)down to Dawntrail. 6/27

You've ruined peaches for me.

- Circa after 'Endwalker' but before 6.1.

- cw: for (ahem) suggestive themes.

-> Forever inspired by this. <-

--

"If you could have anything at this very moment... what would it be?"

She paused, and he could sense her rifling through the many possibilities this life had to offer. Finally, she looked up from her bandaged hands. "... A peach tart."

He had to laugh. "You're not serious."

But she was-- though she wore a sheepish pout. She was a woman grown, still she loved her girlish treats. "Alisaie told me about the peaches in the market when last she was there. Beautiful, pink peaches... Yanxian imports, I imagine. They would be in season..."

Her voice trailed off as her mind wandered home-- far, far away from from her quaint hospital room and the bitter cold of The Northern Empty.

"I had hoped you would ask for something a bit more... substantial," he could not help but tease. "I’m afraid of the look your nursemaid might give me."

She tittered behind her hand. "You would simply come through the window again regardless."

"-- And you would do well to keep it locked, else a thief in the night may just steal you away."

He brought out her smile, though it fell rueful as her voice drew soft, marred by a cynical edge that did not suit her. "After all that has happened..." She drew out a deep sigh before craning up to look him, her eyes, searching. "... I would welcome it."

--

It was there at the apothecary where he espied the peaches Tsuna had spoke of. An imported bushel brought welcome color to the otherwise drab, frozen plaza. He took one in hand to turn it over, and caught himself admiring the soft, ripe weight of it.

He dropped coin for two of their best. Its twin sat alongside the boxed piece of tart he picked up at The Last Stand– two treats among the other foodstuffs in his satchel. Depending on who he asked, he either carried with him an odd lunch, or a meagre supper.

In his eagerness to move onto the next errand, he wasted little time in the partaking of his impromptu purchase. It barely fit in his hand, with blushed, taut skin that had been thoroughly loved by the Eastern sun. So ripe was it that its sweet scent availed him before he could even drag lips over the velvet cleft of it.

As soon as he felt the soft plunge of his teeth into flesh he understood why it was that she desired it so. The sweetness was immediate, overwhelming– the resulting tartness was a stimulating chase. There was nothing quite like it. How long had it been since he sought out such sweetness for the pleasure of it? Too long, he surmised. His jaw ached from the nectar.

Still, he savoured the bite. And the next, and the next.

His thoughts fell to her doing the same: her lips wrapping around the gentle curve of it. He imagined her mouth dripping, teeth skimming across skin, her tongue lapping at the excess…

Before he knew it, his heart began to race as if he were a thief at market. Before he knew it, he had hit stone.

His tongue still sang from the taste, but he found himself wanting more. Chasing the taste on his fingers wasn't enough, though he ended at the base of his thumb to thoughtfully chase the remnants that had dripped. Every drop was swallowed with a greed he hardly knew. 

He took a step back and thought of his poor, jogging heart, and of the treat purchased a bell ago. Why had he come here? Gone through this trouble? She was still on his mind– and more, he wanted her on his lips.

Ridiculous, he grimaced, inwardly chiding himself. Arousal was gripping the back of his neck in the middle of the Sharlayan markets.

At some point he would have to admit to himself that he wanted her; wanted her near him, beside him, beneath him. Eventually he would need to come to terms with the fact that he loved that woman in every conceivable way a man could.

[acacia-may]

🍍

Thank you so much for the ask, friend! (I've collected all of the fruits but one now (I think?)! Yay!! 🥰)

🍍 What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with?

Since my favorite genre is Slice of Life, I don't write a lot of AUs so I'm not sure I have a favorite...🤔

I like to play with Fairy Tale/Myth AUs sometimes. I've written a HanaNene (TBHK) Hades & Persephone inspired AU and had a lot of fun with a Sunfish (OMORI) Mermaid AU (but both of those were written for ship weeks so I'm not sure I would've written them on my own). I also have wips of Black Clover AUs inspired by Princess and the Pea, Rapunzel, and Beauty and the Beast but I never finished or posted any of those.

I think the AUs I've written the most are "Everyone Lives" or "[Insert Character Here] Lives" AUs, and those are nice and can sometimes be interesting and/or cathartic! 💖 I have also surprisingly written quite a few "marriage of convenience" AUs (most of which were never finished or posted) which is honestly really surprising to me given how rarely I write anything romance related. (I'm not sure what my penchant for writing that type of AU is all about though lol 😅).

In terms of AUs I don't particularly care for, I don't vibe with abo or any hardcore horror/gore AUs.

[thousand-sunnies]

every day the collection of fics i want to write grows bigger

[gmanmedias]

WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING, THE ULTIMATE DISGRACE, WRAPPED UP AS A GIFT OF GOD

🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️

💙 💙 💙

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️

32/37: Aranea Serket

[abubblingcandle]

if you need more words cast and bench?

Thank you so much anon! This has taken a while to get round to but I'm here eventually!

For Cast - from God Forbid You Leave Me

“Should we have done this?” Higgins sighed. This was so impulsive. Jamie had made him feel just as useless as Rupert had always done and now here he was inviting him into his home just because he heard a sob story. He was a sucker for a sob story. Give him an injured stray like a lost footballer in a cast and all reason flew out of the window. “It was an impulsive decision yesterday but I would have done the same. It does give an explanation, not an excuse, but an explanation for some of his attitudes at Richmond,” Julie mused, pressing a coffee into Higgins’ hands. He hadn’t noticed the wince of tiredness in his eyes and the faint twitch of his muscles as he recovered from the eight hours of driving and the disrupted sleep as he watched over his new charge.

This sprint got me 247 words 🚨

For Bench - from Death Fruit

Jamie was warming the bench despite his sulking and determined protests. “You basically died three days ago Tartt,” Roy growled after Jamie had tailed him home from film the day before the Spurs match. “But I didn’t die did I!” Jamie huffed, perched on the counter as Roy put together a stir fry. Roy didn’t know when it was decided that Jamie was staying for dinner but he started cooking for two and couldn’t stop now without it being embarrassing obvious. Jamie might as well stay and pout at this point. Because Roy was not changing his mind on this. This was bigger than Jamie’s bruised ego. This was about Jamie’s bruised throat. He was still croaking for gods sake and was now saying that he was fit to play a ninety. He was at most fit for a ten minute spell at the end to keep his game fitness and that was only agreed because the physios said ok and Nate was a fucking coward when Jamie squared up to him in the film room earlier.

This sprint got me 205 words 💖

[melrosing]

im so sorry about all the stuff happening with your dad. i would say i can't imagine, but i can, and it's terrifying. to have someone you love be sick in that way, where they lose more and more of themselves to something incurable and irreversible, is the most devastating thing i can think of. i hope that when you emerge from this place you will remember that your life will continue to contain joy, as much as it did before, as much as it will forever. when it's over and he's out of it he'll be whole again in your memory. for now i hope that in the hospital they give him the lemon jello instead of the gross orange flavor.

thank you anon 💜 it really is just fucking devastating!! im grateful that he's not in pain and that the condition has left him in a pretty oblivious state (i.e. he can't really meaningfully reckon w the fact that he's dying) but at this point it's taken pretty much everything else, and it's not even done. just a deeply evil disease.

but thank you so much for your message, i really appreciate it. the bit that comes after is still v scary for me but it would be lovely to remember him as he was again. it has been a while :(

one thing he still retains tho is his deep and abiding love for custard which is great bc if there's one thing you get in these places it's custard. one of the few bonding exercises i have left is feeding my dad custard