#im not putting this in the main tag bc it's totally shameless and i would be flayed alive

[gingerbreadmonsters]

i've been enabled and i'm making it your problem

@autisticempathydaemon and @zozo-01 are FAR better to me than i deserve - and so commences the most stupidly difficult, totally self-indulgent and utterly ridiculous game you may have ever seen 🥳🥳

somehow, i've racked up 31 redacted fics in just under a year (??? how on earth has THAT happened??) and for each one, i've picked my favourite favourite line - it's your challenge to match the line to the fic it's from!

(please, don't take this too seriously - i'm not trying to shamelessly promote myself, or fish for compliments or whatever. all that's happening here is that i'm really proud of some of the stuff i've written over the past year, and it's my blog so i can do whatever i want lmao)

under the cut: first off is my list of lines, and then a comprehensive list of fic titles (arranged by date published, and then separated by series) so that you don't have to go traipsing through my masterlist! there's 31 total - i wonder how many you can get...

(i'll probably reblog this post with answers later, for anyone who may be curious, but again it's not that deep lmao)

oh, and one last thing: MINORS DNI 💕💕 there's nothing explicitly nsft here, but the implication is HEAVY for a few of these, so i'm erring on the side of caution!

(also, it's fairly obvious, but beware spoilers for, like, everything i've ever written lol)

-

ginger's picks:

What do you get when you cross a bullet with a human brain?

Ask for the impossible, just once more, and know that he has never been able to resist you.

sitting cross-legged in the bowl of your pelvis, holding your stomach softly in his lap and stroking it like a pretty cat.

(That’s you, by the way. They’re watching you. Smile.)

his heart beats on. maybe you’re asleep, maybe you’re awake. it doesn’t matter. you dream of him either way.

Books be damned. You, the answer to his prayers, the apple that bit back, and he’s forever in your gentle grasp. What is magic, if it isn’t whatever he has with you?

he doesn’t stay to read it, but there is a small plaque attached to the front of the plinth, glinting in the light. the text reads simply, “THINGS TO HOLD ON FOR.”

Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Gavin - the man who plays Mario Kart at full volume, and blows kisses to the mirror as he twirls around under your arm in his new dresses, and regales you with story after story of the time he and Vincent didn't mean to cause a low-speed traffic incident, we promise, deviant!

will you hate it, spit it out into your hands, dump it in the trash with the rest of his candied heart?

The tortured scream of an incubus, from whom the world just takes and takes and takes, sealed off from the stars and utterly alone.

(The mug is blue. Elliott is lactose intolerant.)

Vindemiator, the patron saint of the empty champagne glass. Always the bridesmaid, never the incubus bride.

it belongs to you. he does too.

How is it that you find him, over and over, sunshine in his moonbound soul?

He raises his nearly-empty glass to you, a polite suggestion of a toast, charming and melancholy in equal measure. “You love him. I love him too. In us, may he never disappear.”

the howl of your laughter, the flash of your teeth in the mirror - his sweetheart’s as animal as he is.

“When he holds your legs nice and wide, stretching you out, filling you up… Look down, honey, there it is - feel that? Feel how full he makes you feel?”

It's the look that means he's plotting something nefarious again - one of his diabolical schemes that should send anyone with common sense running for the hills, and that probably means you either need to find your passport, renew your life insurance, or check the stability of every flat surface in the house.

Laying herself down amidst the wreaths of flowers, shrouded in lace and tulle, a silver sixpence under her right heel and feeling oh so very blue.

they can’t make a dream like he can make you.

Pantomime villains, or not even that - a whole clan of half-baked sidekicks, tripping over themselves to trip him up, thinking they’re bigger and badder than they actually are.

“You think I need half an hour? Shit, sweetheart, you must be in the mood for more than I thought,” he laughs, phone already in hand. “And here I was thinkin’ you still wanted to be able to walk tonight.”

a rest can look like sleep can look like death. rigor mortis sets in. bleached to bones in the burning sand.

his jaw goes slack. you cannot seriously be expecting him to be fit for any sort of company, polite or otherwise, rose-tinted spit smeared across his face and eyes blown wide with stifled pleasure.

“i swear it on my life. every everlasting day of it.”

All you can do is stare down at the little post-it note by your right foot, bright pink paper stuck cheerily to the front of your current case folder, and try not to look like your heart is melting into caramel.

The smell of smoke, the sound of a campfire, and a single chair to sit on. Yes, a wonderful dream. When does Elliott get here?

head spinning, he pulls hazily at the hem of your shirt, too drunk on your touch to hear your laughter (he can’t quite tell if you’re calling him “needy” or “pretty”, and it really could be either), too desperate to worry about the careless way he’s practically tearing your clothes off you. whatever it was, he’ll buy you a new one.

You’re his, in this room most of all, his most treasured little darling that prefers the taste of his kiss to any wine he gives you, that craves the glow of his adoration as much as the sting of his disapproval, that knows every curve and line and swirl in the wood of his desk where he bends you over it.

Warmth and weight and water. A happy little inchoate, snoozing away in Vega’s arms, and you don’t remember if you dream.

All things are equal on the altar of his adoration and he is your greatest disciple, raising the knife up in his hands and swearing on your name that he will bring you back to life. Watch over him, bless him, smile upon him. Just you wait. One last miracle.

fic titles (standalone first, arranged by date, then series):

green umbrella trees

take a sip

ivory tower

thy fair imperfect shade

can’t help but see

knock knock!

sh-boom, sh-boom!

get in, loser!

I WON’T BOW OUT BRAVELY

ever thine, ever mine, ever ours

五二零

kingdom come

bury the hatchet

return to me

here we are in heaven

original sin

oops-a-daisy

LOVE HEART (the milo and sweetheart series)

SWEET TALK

SOUL MATE

ALL MINE

swings and roundabouts (imperium)

one more paradox

come into my parlour

stranglehold

five more minutes

blood sugar, baby!

wrapped up in clover

to the egress! (the barnum series)

hold on tight

a ring on the carousel

mad or sublime

motion capture (the elliott one)

motion capture

you’re the cat’s meow!

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕