to-the-moon-and-backxxx · 2 years ago
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Not me playing the show everyday at 1,5x speed thrice a day to secure that second season 🤡
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akans-dead-at-sea · 1 year ago
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It's alright
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dumplingsjinson · 1 year ago
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List of “pov: your friends call you out for your undeniable feelings towards this one particular person” prompts 
“You want them.” “…I do. Oh God, I fucking do.”
“So like… When are you gonna confess to them?”
“You’re folding so fucking hard for them and I’m here for it.”
“I didn’t know you were such a simp.” “I’m— what? I’m not a simp!”
“This idiot is so down bad, your honour.”
“Maybe it’s time you start asking what you guys are—” “Uh, yeah, no. Not right now, at least.”
“Damn, I’ve never seen you like someone that much.”
“The way you talk about them gives me the impression you want to eat them whole.” “That is not true—”
“You never talked about your ex-crush like this.”
“God, you’re so in love with them.”
“Someone’s in love—” “Oh my God, fuck off.”
“Remember to invite me to your wedding when you guys get married—” “Shut it!” 
“Not you calling them a three course meal plus dessert. You have never talked about anyone like that, not even [insert ex-crush’s name].” (I have no shame in admitting I did, in fact, call him that HAFJKEBJEFN Like, he’s fine as fuck and I ain’t gonna sit here and act like he isn’t)
“You’re literally head over heels for them.” “I am not. Okay, maybe just a little.”
“So—” “Oh, I’m not in love. You’re not fooling anyone. If I hear their name coming from your mouth again—” “…I guess I’ll just shut up.”  
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obsessive-jan · 3 months ago
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what in the magical girl is happening over at indycar...
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welcometogrouchland · 10 months ago
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I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry
#ramblings of a lunatic#dc comics#Jason Todd#batfamily#it's just a fun quirk! it's a fun lil detail and I simply cannot slight ppl for enjoying and incorporating it into works#like obviously jason isn't the only one. I'm a big believer in the batfam having over lapping interests they refuse to bond over#i know dick canonically used the robin hood stories (which are pretty flowery in their language far as i can tell) as inspo for Robin#and i know babs was a librarian and even tho her area of nerddom is characterized as more computery she probably knows quite a lot-#-about literature as well#duke is a hobbyist writer i believe? i saw a fan mention that- which if so is great and I hope he's also a nerd#(i mean he is canonically. i remember him being a puzzle nerd in his introduction. but i mean specifically a lit nerd)#damian called Shakespeare boring but also took acting classes so i think he's more of a theatre kid.#Tim's a dropout and i don't think he's ever shown distinct interest in english lit and i can't remember for Steph?#I'm ngl my brain hyperfocused on musician Steph i forget some of her other interests I'm sorry (minus softball and gymnastics!)#and then Cass had her whole (non linear but it's whatevs) arc about literacy and learning to read#went from struggling to read in batgirl 00 to memorizing Shakespeare in 'tec and is now an avid read in batgirls!#she's shown reading edgar allen poe but we don't know if it's his short stories or his poems#point to all of the above being: i know Jason's not the only lit nerd in the batfam#but also i do need him to be writing poetry in his spare time and reading and reviewing it#jason at the next dead robins society meeting: evening folks today I'll be assigning all of us poems based on laika the space dog#damian and steph who have been kidnapped and brought to jasons warehouse to hangout: LET US GO BITCH#speaking of^ random poem i think jason would like: space dog by alan shapiro#wake up one morning in an unfamiliar more mature body with a profound sense of abandonment. the last four lines. mmm tasty
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slime-crafters · 7 months ago
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Imagine you go to walmart and on one of the shelves, you find a portrait of your spouse being sold for $30000
That's what I imagine it's like to be married in sdv and visiting the travelling merchant
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coldshrugs · 23 days ago
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testing me, bad but sweet ✨
happy birthday pigeon (@ahollowgrave) !!
um. i know these are meant to be oc thirst shots but for io, feeling The Most means things are a bit more. involved. :> another (more explicit) one under the cut!
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rainofthetwilight · 3 months ago
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I'm sorry but are we really bringing up the 'why didn't geo and bonzle recognize the ninja" thing again, I thought it was already self-explanatory enough??????????
also how in the WORLD does it imply that in all those years, cole did not tell the finders shit abt the ninja...people CAN be told about others a million times and still not recognize them when they see them, ESPECIALLY if they haven't seen a photo of them, which is pretty much the finders' case here. I have been told about family members by my parents more than 100 times and I still don't recognize them when I see them until I'm told who they are, and that happens especially when I've never seen them before. scratch that, I sometimes don't even recognize family members I already KNOW, and why is that? because I haven't seen them in a while!! now just imagine the finders' situation!!!
and it actually makes alot of sense bonzle didn't recognize jay because he's literally on the enemies side, of course she wouldn't think that's the 'jay' cole would tell her and the finders about (AND before anyone goes 'erm actually' on the powers bit, one of our theories for s2pt2 is that nya wouldn't recognize jay under the mask and thinking he's a new person with his powers, why doesn't that logic also apply to bonzle w/ jay??)
and in such a stressing situation with ALOT to focus on, including her life that's literally in danger, of course bonzle didn't tell cole and zane about her seeing him at the mysterium monastery, it was the least of her worries lets be fr rn (plus, it was literally confirmed by doc himself that bonzle didn't recognize jay, so this whole discussion was over from the start)
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gxtzeizm · 2 months ago
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the fact that me, as a fan of both lando and oscar without any bias (maybe a bit on lando but not that much), is going to witness both "oscar fans, lando antis" and "lando fans, oscar antis" posts all in my one dash 🥲🥲
also the fact that atp i couldn't even bother enough with this same situation on both lewis and george. now it happens on lando and oscar as well which got me like....
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#landoscar#lando norris#oscar piastri#f1#maybe i need to admit atp rn that#this sport is just not built for a person like me istg 🙂🙂#like....i miss the moments 2 years ago where what i only care the most is only football and football only#and couldn't even give a fuck more about guys being in circles vroom vroom#i mean thank god that there's a bayern match just now right after the race ended#which really liften my mood up and distract myself a bit from intimidating discourse and whatsoever#hmmmm ngl maybe the fact that being a football football fan in general especially in this website really brings a comfort in me#meanwhile for f1...idk why but everything about it (especially during race and after race) really overwhelms me a lot seriously speaking#maybe the fact that football is more team oriented sport#meanwhile f1 is more individual oriented despite there are teams consists of 2 individuals#and the fact that me supporting multiple individuals in a one same team despite that f1 is individual oriented sport#kinda gets me digging my own grave atp tbh#i mean when i said individual oriented sport...it kinda means that in a perspective of most of the f1 fans#and now seeing all every kinds of discourse on my dash really makes me overwhelming a lot i'm ngl#that the fact that i couldn't able to curate my own preference for this f1blr space on my dash 🥲🥲🥲#goddddd srsly tho i just want to turn back time where i only cares about bayern frankfurt and germany nt only ffs 🫠🫠🫠🫠#but yeah who am i to turn around the past 🙃🙃...and plus that once i'm getting into one hyperfixation there's no turning back at all for me#so yeah#goddddd i'm so sorry but i'm just being so fucking messy rn#like all the things that i see on my dash really exhausts my brain and my thought process forreal i really need to throw up forreal srsly :(
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achillean-knight · 6 months ago
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FINALLY CAUGHT UP! - Mettaton May post! -
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I hope it's ok to skip some of the days, because 8, 9, 11 & 13 were just not coming to me BWEHH So I did the ones I thought I could do. I did em' digitally this time, bc I'm too lazy to open up my sketch book more often LOL Though, they're still doodles/sketches, bc I don't think I have it in me for a full piece every single day AAAA
Days: 6 - Merch (shout out to the Mettaton plushie I bought. My fam said he looks like Tetris) 7 - Ghost 10 - Phone 12 - Applause 14 - Fashion 15 - Love 16 - ....Leg (I'm so sorry for what I did with this day LMAOOO)
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baravaggio · 9 months ago
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okay definitely a weird question but I don't know of a better person to ask about this: do cis men and cis women smell noticeably different to you?
omg sorry I forgot this was sitting in my inbox, hope this wasn't a time sensitive query lol...anyway the answer is yes of course, a lot of it has to do with hormones (among other things) so it's to be expected
to me cis women have a greater variation in smell though even if the odor isn't as strong, although it could just be because I have a bigger sample set to pull from....like everything from fruity to cumin-ish to oniony to almost boozy. sweeter for sure, especially when they're younger. tbh I don't have anything to back this up (other than I've heard men say this too, although they usually have the sense to stfu about it) but you're really paying attention to scent, you can kind of tell where a familiar woman is in their cycle, not because you're smelling those odors specifically but because the body's scent changes more generally as hormones fluctuate
cis men smell more animalic to me, I feel like "musky" isn't a good enough descriptor because it's such a broad scent category (like women also have "musk" obviously it's just different)...men's is sharper & a bit more wild & pungent, more astringent (grapefruity?), slightly meaty even. caraway seeds & patchouli sometimes. the sensation of smelling it even hits my nose in a different way, especially depending on what phase of my cycle I'm in. fun stuff to notice lol! 🐽🍷
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bj-cuntycunt · 4 months ago
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Kirk/Spock + Mirrored heart (FKA twigs)
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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago
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Hi!! I’m your friendly neighborhood Swiftie BEGGING you for Eddie - Sparks Fly
sparks fly (eddie's version)
warnings: tooth-rotting fluff. mutual pining. the works. <3
wc: 2.1k+
a/n: this one got mad cheesy. maybe a little too cheesy. idc. i had fun with it.
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“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna have to talk to Ed,” the older bartender, Phil, muses as he wipes down the counter behind you. 
You hardly hear him over the current symphony of electric guitars, riveting bass, and crashing drums filling the Hideout. You had one focus tonight, just as you did every Tuesday and Friday night, and that was the band on the stage currently commanding an even larger audience than last week. 
You’d seen it coming. Building crowds, more buzzing conversations around town in hushed tones about the band that owned the stage of the hole in the wall. You’d stumbled upon them by accident, coming in and telling yourself you were just grabbing one drink after a particularly rough shift. But one drink immediately turned into four that night when the band had taken the stage, playing song after song, keeping you glued to that bar stool and completely enamored with one particular boy on stage.
Eddie Munson. 
Every time you watch him command that stage, wild hair and vibrant eyes, it’s like the first time all over again. You can’t get over his wicked grin, the way he puts his entire self into each performance, the rasp of his voice – you’re down bad for a man you’ve never even properly spoken to.
By some miracle, you tear your eyes from the stage, swiveling to face Phil, “Excuse me?” 
“Ed. You know, Eddie,” he repeats himself, leaning both palms on the bar, “He notices you, you know? Always asks me where you ran off to after their set’s done.” 
Your heart is suddenly in your throat, embarrassment red hot in the pit of your stomach, “H-He notices me? Why would he notice me?” 
“You’re at every show. Even before they started getting a proper crowd. The damn boy hasn’t shut up about you since that first night,” Phil pauses to hand off a beer to another patron wordlessly, “You’re lucky you pay with cash and not card, or I’m sure he would’ve tracked you down outside of here by now. Calls you his Cinderella.” 
Like a clock chiming midnight, the final tinny note of the set rings through the bar, and you can hear that rasp of Eddie’s voice booming through the speakers.
“We have been Corroded Coffin! Thank you very fucking much!” 
And just like clockwork, you’re rushing to dig into your purse, yanking a twenty from your wallet and smacking it onto the bar before grabbing your drink to down the last of it. 
“I’m not Cinderella,” you choke out over the residual burn of the alcohol, face still scrunched up as you glance over your shoulder to see the boys have already left the stage, “I just like the music.” 
“The music,” he hums, “Right. Well, your money’s no good here tonight, little miss Cindy,” he reaches out, and with a singular fingertip, pushes the cash back towards you over the sticky wood. When your mouth opens and closes in confusion, Phil’s eyes flicker up towards the side door beside the stage where a commotion has begun, signaling that the band is coming out, “It seems the music likes you, too. So much so that he demanded I add your drinks to his tab tonight.” 
The coals of embarrassment burn even brighter, igniting you from the inside out. Your hand flies out, grabbing back the twenty and shoving it aimlessly in your purse. You keep looking back at the crowd, catching glimpses of dark curls over the small sea of people singing their praises, watching your seconds run out in real time. It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to the man who has had you captivated for several months now; you were just mortified that he’d noticed you in that crowd, noticed the way you attended each show. 
One of these days you’d talk to him. But tonight, you had no bravery left for such boldness. 
“You’re gonna have to leave behind a glass slipper for the boy eventually,” Phil only chuckles, watching you fumble to clasp your purse before you shoot up from the stool, “Hey, hold on-”
“Another night, Phil!” you call out, not even looking back as you make a beeline for the bar’s exit. 
If you had, you would have seen your favorite ring that Phil was holding up, the one that you had taken off your finger to fiddle with endlessly before sitting it down at some point without thought, now left behind like some kind of glass slipper. 
You were late. It was Friday night, the day had been a nightmare, and you were fucking late to Corroded Coffin’s show. 
Your attendance had never faltered like this before. You were always right on time, sometimes five minutes early once the crowds doubled in size in order to secure one of your regular seats. 
The deviation from your routine has you reeling, amongst other things. Your Friday had simply been shit.  A nonstop rampant attack on your sanity, one thing after another testing what was left of your patience. You’d slept through your first two alarms this morning, you hadn’t realized you were out of coffee creamer until you’d grabbed the scarily light container of it this morning, you had to take a dreadfully cold shower rather than waste precious minutes letting the water warm, you’d worked through your lunch to clean up a mess made by your coworker – the list goes on and on. 
You burst through the entrance of the Hideout, probably looking a bit crazed, stopping dead in your tracks when you realize two things.
One, It’s fairly empty. And two, Corroded Coffin is not on the stage. 
“Look who decided to show!” Phil calls from his place behind the bar, waving dramatically to you, “Cinderella!”
“Phil, for the last time, I’m not-”
“Your favorite band canceled tonight, I’m afraid,” he bulldozes right over your retort as you approach one of your usual stools.
Your brows furrow, “Canceled? Is everything okay?” 
Phil’s mouth opens. But it’s not his voice that answers you. 
“Gareth’s sick.”
A voice you’d only heard on the stage, through crackling speakers and enthusiastic addresses to a crowd. A voice you had never heard one-on-one, and for good reason. 
Your breath escapes you as you turn slowly, facing the man you’d managed to elude for months now. 
“Pardon?” you squeak out, voice hardly audible. 
Eddie still grins shyly, hearing you loud and clear due to how uncharacteristically quiet the bar is tonight, “Our drummer, Gareth – he’s, uh, sick. Sorry to disappoint.” 
He’s just as captivating up close as he is on the stage. There’s still something wild in him, something electrifying that he seems completely unaware of. 
“Don’t apologize,” you’re still whispering, internally cursing yourself for it. You probably look ridiculous right now; you can only picture your starry eyes and parted lips, looking at him with palpable shock, hardly able to utter a word, “I- I’m not disappointed. There’ll be other shows!” you stammer your way through your words, and when Eddie only continues to look at you with gentle amusement, the softest ripple of possible nerves from the way his hands shoved into his pockets, you continue to over explain yourself, rambling on, “I just- I, uh, hope he feels better.”
“Yeah, me too,” he nods in agreement before he buries his hands even deeper. Suddenly, as if he’s found something in those pockets, his face lights up in delight, “Oh! Hey, I-” his left hand pulls out of his pocket at lightning speed, still curled into a fist as he thrusts it into your direction, “I think this might be yours.” 
Slowly, he unfurls his fingers, and in the center of his palm rests your ring. You had assumed it was lost to the fire, that it might have fallen off at work or outside your apartment, never to be found again. Just another thing to add to your checklist of things gone wrong. 
And yet there it was, like a perfect glass slipper, right in the palm of Eddie’s hand. 
Your nerves are all but forgotten as you get giddy, reaching out without thinking to take the ring from him. A gentle brush of your fingertips against this palm, and you swear you feel sparks flying from the minimal contact, “Oh! Oh my gosh! Thank you, I-” you slip it on easily, smiling widely before you look up at him gleefully, “I thought I’d lost it for good. Thank you.” 
Eddie turns bashful, tilting down his chin and letting stray curls fall in his face that half hide his own contained grin. If the lighting in the bar had been better, you would have caught the pink spreading across his cheeks. 
“And so the prince finally meets his Cinderella,” Phil mutters from behind the two of you before he suddenly smacks his palms on the countertop, “Alright! Well, if you two will excuse me, I have to…. Do some stock count in the back,” a blatant lie, “Don’t burn the place down, yeah?” 
Eddie snaps out of his daze to look up to the older man, mock saluting him in a way that has an involuntary giggle leaving your lips. In an instant, he’s looking back down to you, almost surprised at the sound. 
Cheap bar lighting can no longer hide his blush. Or your own adoration.
“The bar is yours! Make good decisions!” Phil continues to shout as he moves to the backroom, voice fading with each step.
Finally, you and Eddie are alone. 
“And then there were two,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you, finding something brave in him at the way you’re looking up at him in reverie. 
The rockstar that had been enchanting you for months from a distance. The man who had been occupying all your thoughts far too much for having been a stranger. 
This is your chance. No more hiding at the back of the bar, only admiring him with the safety of a crowd between you two. No more wondering, no more imagining, no more pining. Time stands still, not a single clock daring to strike midnight as the electric currents between you two come to a rise. 
“Say,” you say right when he looks to be preparing himself to speak first. It’s time to be bold, take a risk, no matter the costs. “Do you… Do you want to grab a drink?” 
His wicked grin is even better right in front of you, directed at you, “Well, he did say the bar is ours. What’s your poison?” 
“Jack and coke?”
He shrugs, still a vibrant fool, like a schoolgirl with a crush, “I’ve been known to have a heavy hand with the jack, but… I think I can manage that.” 
Electrifying, pulsing, the beginning of something new. You can see it now – the way you’re going to cling to his arm when he makes you laugh so hard you nearly fall off your chair, the way he’ll be able to charm you better over a jack and coke than he ever had been able to from behind a guitar, the way those eyes scream trouble. And yet at the end of the night, you know he’ll still walk you to your car through the empty parking lot. He’ll probably use the excuse of the bad weather looming overhead. When the sky finally breaks open and the first drops of rain fall, neither of you will be brave enough to admit what you both already know. Tonight’s not the night for kisses in the rain or talk of what-ifs. 
That’s fine. For tonight, the sparks of something new are enough. 
Eddie moves to walk behind the bar, but you throw out a reckless hand to catch him. Your first curls around his forearm for the first time tonight, and even with the layer of leather that separates skin, you can feel it. “Hey, did you really call me your Cinderella?” 
Flashes and arrays of what’s to come flood both of you. It’s only the first drink. It’s only the first night.
It won’t be the last. 
“I mean,” he nods subtly down to the hand holding him, where your ring glitters on your middle finger, snug on your knuckle, “If the ring fits, right?” 
He’s right. The ring fits. 
And a different ring fits years later, after all those kisses in the rain and many more jack and cokes that Eddie never quite perfects. And you’re still right where you belong, front row at every Corroded Coffin show, Eddie’s own personal Cinderella. When the clock strikes midnight, he’s no longer afraid – he knows you’ll be coming home to him now. 
Phil only laughs when he receives the invite, chuckling to himself at the chosen theme for the two idiots that once haunted his bar who now had moved onto bigger and better things.
A gothic fairytale wedding, on a Tuesday night. How fitting.
"you touch me once and it's really something. you find i'm even better than you imagined i would be."
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thecatfight2023 · 2 years ago
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mini-bracket 3, match 4 (round 2!)
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Norman (SolidarityGaming): the cat of SolidarityGaming (a youtuber), which the submitter said "big man. big baby man. I love him".
Jellie (GoodTimesWithScar): GoodTimesWithScar's (youtuber) cat, that got a minecraft cat skin after her.
shoutouts to @mcyt-cats for having a great tagging system! i had a great time looking through their tags to find new pictures for them :) -mod orange
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toxintouch · 13 days ago
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hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏
<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.
You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”
Heat Signature
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“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.
You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.
That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.
You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.
(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)
“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”
At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  
“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.
Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.
Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.
“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”
“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”
“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.
“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”
“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  
(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)
You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.
“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”
His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.
“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”
You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?
Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”
And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.
“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”
You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.
Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  
Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.
He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.
Then another one, playful, to your jaw.
When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.
What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.
He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 
It’s rhythmic–
purring.
And it’s…soothing, actually.
The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 
The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”
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coyoteclan · 9 months ago
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Big TW for pet loss
Hey, clangen tumblr and those who just enjoy the silly cats on this blog. I know it's been a little bit of time since my last update, but unfortunately during the past few months, I have been caring for my closest friend, Comet.
She's been my best friend for 15 whole years, and on February 9th of 2024, I'm sad to say that she has passed. I won't lie when I say that this is one of the hardest posts I've ever made, but I want to continue this blog in her honor. Normally, I have a terrible habit of just letting projects like this slip by me and gather dust; however Comet was meant to play an integral part within the blog to immortalize her, and I refuse to let something meant just for her to go to waste.
I want to thank you all first of all for being such an amazing community. I've genuinely had so much joy come of this blog, and it pains me that I let it go stagnant for as long as I have. There are 568 of you now, which is so extremely wild to me; but I hope that from now on, you can all love Comet as much as I did, even if as a memory.
I hope to return to posting content both here and on my main, @mxssacre , but for now I still need time to grieve and come to terms with the loss of someone that was so incredibly intertwined with everything I've done since I was 9 years old.
Thank you for everything Comet, my heart, my soul, my love.
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More of my favorite photos of her beneath the cut.
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It's hard to choose favorites out of the thousands of photos I've taken of her over the years, but I hope these do her justice to show what an amazing being she was. I hope you're hunting your toy mice in the stars, Comet.
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