#sap supports

[jar-of-maise]

"Lynette!" Lyney bursts into the living room with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Leaning against the door frame, Lyney looks like the perfect image of chaos. Little streamers erupt from his pockets and tiny fireworks explode, crackling from under hat and sleeve as he stumbles through the doorway. 

The ominous smell of smoke begins to taint the air. 

"Lyney, you know what the rules are about magic props inside the house," Lynette chides, blowing on her tea meticulously without looking at her brother. 

"Is something wrong...Lyney?" Freminet asks hesitantly, unsure of how to breach the topic. 

His older brother huffs dramatically, staggering over to the couch with comically elongated steps. Freminet has to remind himself that this is his older brother, Lyney the Magician, the responsible team leader they all look up to and admire. 

He takes another look at Lyney's frazzled expression and decides that now might not be one of those times. 

“Oh it’s horrid!” Lyney whines, “the show’s all falling to pieces now!” He exclaims, shoving his face into a cushion. Freminent glances at Lynette, who’s determinedly ignoring Lyney and eyeing a slice of cake on the table. 

“Leave him be,” she says when she notices Freminent’s silent cry of help, “he’s just being dramatic. Lyney pull yourself together,” she scolds, carefully slicing through the cake with a fork, “you’re making Freminent worry.” 

“Oh my dearest little brother! I had no idea, please forgive me for causing you grief!” Lyney monologues, in a manner not very different to how Lady Furina would deliver speeches, “but this is a matter of utmost importance, I’m really in a pickle.”

“Lynette, maybe…” Freminent begins, watching as his sister’s tail flicks, “hm? Oh alright,” she says in an exasperated voice, “Lyney, use your words. What. Is. It?” 

“I,” Lyney begins, delighted to have an audience, “have a problem!”

“I’m delighted to know that you have gained self-awareness,” Lynette replies dryly, reaching for another slice of cake, Freminent watches her and knows that a scolding from Lyney is imminent, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Oh Lynette, how could you be so cold to your dear brother?” Lyney continues to complain, he rests his cheek on the cushion and sighs. 

“Are you going to talk about your problem or not?” 

“All in due time, there’s no need to be impatient,” Lyney retorts, Freminent blinks, clutching Pers a little tighter as he gets comfortable.

“See, it goes a little like this,” Lyney begins wistfully, “I’ve been experiencing something quite phenomenal you see,” he says, eye turning round, “my hands have been sweating a lot, and it’s like my heart is about to go–” Lyney snaps his fingers and miraculously, a shower of blue coloured butterflies erupt from his fingertips. 

“Like that!” He waves his hands.

Freminet nods, “I see,” he says, absorbing himself in the storytelling. 

“Just get on with it,” Lynette says, delicately pouring herself another cup of tea, her ears pricked in a very satisfied manner. 

“Well!” Lyney continues unoffended, “my brain has also been going fuzzy and I’m finding it hard to focus…no matter what happens, I just keep thinking about the same thing. But sometimes I’m giddy and all mushy like–” 

“Please don’t,” Lynette interrupts, “it’ll be a hassle to clean up later.” 

“Oh just this once, please Lynette, please?” 

Lynette sighs, “fine.” She says, with unamused eyes. 

Lyney grins and melts himself onto the couch, “I’m melting like sugar, or one of those chocolates that dissolve in your mouth!” He proclaims, and throws a sweet at Freminet who catches it, “Caramel Melts; nothing like a melt to give you a little help,” he says slowly, reading the cursive print on the wrapper. 

“Where did you get this from?” Freminet asks curiously. 

“Unimportant,” Lyney says dismissively, “I’ll get you some more if you like them though, but anyways, all of the symptoms listed above,” Lyney unravels a scroll and unrolls it with a flourish. 

Freminet should be used to Lyney’s tricks by now, but he’s still amazed at the fountain pen that begins writing by itself, “sweaty hands, strange emotions; mushiness, unreasonable amounts of joy…” he stops reading. 

“All of these,” Lyney points at the scroll, “are what I believe are symptoms of…” he pauses for dramatic effect.

“That’s right! These are none other than…signs of heart stroke!” Lyney says proudly. 

There is a long, fat silence. 

The floor is very interesting, Freminet decides, and these shoes have a spectacular shine, I should really polish them some more, he thinks to himself.

“Lyney,” Lynette says, breaking the heavy silence, “you’re not going through heart stroke.” 

Thank archons, Lynette is here! Freminet doesn’t think he’d have the courage to say that to Lyney’s face, in a manner that wouldn’t make Lyney even more melodramatic. 

“What!? Then what is it?” Lyney asks, rising from the clutches of the plush couch for the first time. 

“My diagnosis is…” Lynette pauses for dramatic effect, and Freminet swears Pers is listening attentively too. 

They all hold their breaths. 

“You’re in love, Lyney.” Lynette announces, taking a long sip of her tea. Freminet’s eyes widen, but it doesn’t compare to the heavy thud he hears and the long, loud shriek of, “WHAT?!” That echoes well and truly wonderfully throughout Hotel Bouffes d'ete. From then on, the urban legends of Fontaine often speculated about a most inhuman ghoul or perhaps, troll that was being kept hidden in the Hotel basement. 

Not that such rumours could ever be proven. 

“Let them imagine,” Lynette would say, sipping her tea nonchalantly, “a little shock has never hurt anyone,” she glances at Lyney, who’s been sitting on his chair with a stunned expression on his face. Indeed, Lynette helps herself to a macaroon, perhaps the next step is to give Lyney a little push, after all, a gentle nudge has never hurt anyone either.

[puckarchives]

making it through july: l. hughes

blurb: moments in june, falling in love and getting put back together by luke.  / word count: 2.2k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader / tw: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks; general anxiety about getting older and change. part two to "moments in june"

“The movie is my mind is blue — / As June runs into warm July / I think of little else but you.” (Wendy Cope, From June to December.)

When the heat of June melted into the sticky sensation of July, the summer felt almost claustrophobic; the feeling of freedom you had tried to play off as being permanent, while the remainder of the month looming took center stage: a rush of anxiety, of worry, and of anger at the closing of summer. 

Now, as you stood at the kitchen island inside the lake house, Luke draped over the sofa with the fan pointed directly at him, you could see the toll the summer had taken on your boy, as well. The once pale skin he wore now a tan, the beauty marks dusted on his cheeks and neck now surrounded by smatterings of freckles — reminders of the kisses you had once laid on that same expanse of skin. 

Despite how much you hated to admit it — how much you hated to let the overwhelming feeling of wrongness take over your senses, you knew it was time; time for a conversation between the two of you of what July really meant. For you, July was a marker of anxiety; of homesickness for the boy who was merely six feet away from you, burdened by the same fear you were overcome with during the semester, when the nights of studying, of feeling overwhelmed and as if you would never finished, felt like they’d never truly stop. 

It was those nights that spiked the feeling of missing this version of Luke: of missing the way he’d grab your hand, entwining your fingers even if he didn’t mean it. Of the soft touch he’d leave at the back of your neck, his fingers ghosting over the trails of kisses he’d leave when no one else saw him, where the only salvation he ever claimed to know was the taste of your skin. Now, the only taste you could sense was the taste of disappointment; an ash-like memory of the anxiety of being away — a fear that you could feel weeks before you even had to leave. In a way, it was your body preparing you for the pain — the rush of discomfort, of lonely and cold nights, and of resentment in a way. 

Now, though, as you walked towards Luke’s lounging form, the boy looked up — opening his eyes and meeting yours as you laid the glass of water and plate of snacks on the coffee table in front of him, and as he sat up to make space for you on the couch — scooting his body away to let you soak up both the warmth of his own body, and the fresh air blowing straight at the both of you. He smiled softly, his curls sleep-addled and his muscles relaxed. In a way, for every single one of your worries, Luke combatted it with his own ability to remain calm — to soak up the same sun you stood by worrying would be gone much too soon. 

“Luke?” you asked quietly. He only cocked his head a bit — already being able to mark the tension your body held, and that you carried. As you sat next to him, he stopped you before you could fully reach the couch — instead, stretching out his own legs to they stretched the length of the couch, and where he maneuvered you to sit between his legs — pulling your back to his chest, and working his way fro your hands, to your forearms, to your shoulders with his hands, dragging the tips of his fingers, calloused and scarred from his job, to trail up your body. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he began, his voice cutting through your own stupor. Could he, though? Was he really able to tell that you felt like you were ripping at the seams, so caught up in your own fear of change? Of losing the moments you held on to so dearly? 

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he nodded, despite the fact that you couldn’t see him. “Yes, I’ve seen it, baby. The way you’ve decided you aren’t allowed to enjoy the rest of our time here because of the fear of what comes after this. Of what comes after June and July and August,” he said quietly. How was it that this boy could read you so well? How could he so easily peel apart the layers of yourself you had tried so hard to keep together? 

You could only nod, laying as close to him as you could, and not trying to quell the tears that dripped out. You couldn’t keep pretending like it was fine — like the toll your body was working with was okay anymore. Instead, you let Luke speak — let him drag your hair away from your face, running his fingers through the strands. 

“Look, pretty girl, this is what’s going to happen — and before you say anything, before you let the fear overtake every single thought in that pretty little head of yours, I need you to listen to me first, okay?” he asked. “When July is over, we have until August — until you’re so sick of me. When we leave, when I go back to Newark and you go back to Michigian, we’re going to be okay,” he continued. 

“We’re going to make it through the summer, and then we’re going to make it through fall and winter, and then spring again. You’re going to go back to school and work your ass off, but you’re going to set boundaries for yourself, we both are, because baby, I refuse to let you worry about this again. Y/N, I love you — since you laughed at my stupid jokes, and since you made my entire family love you, I knew you were mine, and I never want you to doubt that. But, when July ends, I want you to go back knowing that I am always going to be here. Me loving you doesn’t just stop because July comes around,” he finished. 

He wrapped his arms around your chest, enveloping your arms in his — he was right. Just because June had bled into July, just because your worry had transformed into a more immediate thing, did not mean that Luke was going to simply disappear; Luke, for all of your worries or your anxieties, was not the summer. He wasn’t simply a month that would come and go every year, but the man who had loved you since he saw you — the man who would put himself and his needs just to take care of you and yours first — something he had proved time and time again. The truth was that Luke was the boy you wanted to spend your Junes and Julys with, who you wanted to watch the summer bleed into the fall with, and who you wanted to continue loving; just because July was here didn’t mean the love between the two of you was as fluttering. 

For so long you had forced yourself to see the changing of months as markers for your relationships — for how those around you would treat you; how they would make your time feel almost limited when the summer was over, but with Luke, that changed. With Luke, whether it was June or July, you’d be loved. 

“It’s July and I have hope in who I am becoming.” (Charlotte Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself.)

For all of his quirks — his inability to cook, his bad habit of always leaving his dirty shirts on the rim of the hamper instead of inside, or always leaving his keys everywhere, Luke was truly the partner of your dreams — so you tried your best to ensure that you were just as supportive and assuring as he was when he needed the opportunity to breath — to calm the raging storm that you knew was constant in his head. Luke was always there for you — always a sure hand, always a solid companion, and the one individual who knew what you needed the moment you asked. 

Knowing this, you still felt your heart clench the moment you felt Luke creep out of your shared bed close to 3AM — unlatching himself from where his arms were encasing you, and where you heard his footsteps retreating from the bedroom, and dwindling down the stairs — hearing the give of the wood under his own large frame as he tried his best to be quiet, and not wake his sleeping brothers. 

You did your best to give him some space; despite the fact that you needed to be encased in comfort when you were anxious, Luke wasn’t like that — he needed space, and then he wanted to comfort — needing the reminder that he was solid, and that you were unmoving as well. Turning into the warmth that he left on his side of the bed, you counted from one to sixty ten times; giving him, at the very least, ten minutes to take what he needed before you helped him, as well. 

Once you finished counting, you sprang out of bed, sleep be damned. Your boy needed you, and you wouldn’t disappoint him. 

Making your way down the stairs — making sure to skip the bottom step so it wouldn’t creak, you walked out to the porch, where you could see Luke’s frame illuminated by the porch lights, small patio lights the two of you had put up at the beginning of the summer. You could see the wide expanse of his back — toned and fit from all of his hours training, almost caving in on himself. Luke, for all his glory, was as anxious as you were, but instead of isolation, he tried to make himself smaller — to fit into the rle he had played for so long as the youngest child. 

As you walked outside, you could hear his silent sobs; the shaking of his shoulders a dead giveaway. As you joined him, sitting next to him on the porch, you reached out and put a hand on his shoulder — shaking him up a bit, but ultimately feeling as he turned directly into you, and simply hugged you — enveloping the entirety of your body and dragging you up to your tip-toes as he hugged you, and as he sobbed into your shoulder. 

To offer him some sort of reprieve, you rubbed his back slowly — giving him the ability to take the time to let it all out, because as much as Luke knew you, you also knew him — and you knew he had been keeping this in for a while. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay, sweet boy,” you whispered, now running your hands through his hair. “Whatever it is, your brain is playing mean tricks on you. You’re so worthy, and smart, and I am so endlessly proud of you, hmm?” you said, trying to offer as much comfort to the boy as possible. 

As Luke’s cries subsided, he brought his face away from your shoulder quickly, and, through a tear-stricken voice, explained the toll that the months had on him, too. “It’s just — I see the toll that this takes on you; that I take on you, and I don’t want to keep hurting you, baby. I can’t keep hurting you,” he whispered, and at that moment, if you hadn’t been outside and the lake hadn’t been less than a hundred yards away, you would've thought you could hear the distinct sound of your own heart breaking into a million tiny pieces; fragments that Luke himself had put together, but that broke again hearing his say that. 

Yes, you were anxious, and it did tend to take a toll on you, but it wasn’t his fault — and neither was it something he could fix. You were so proud of Luke — of the fact that he was out there, chasing his dreams and making his own name because of his talent and skill. Did you miss him? Absolutely, but you didn’t want to be the reason he gave up his dreams — the reason he hated doing what he loved. 

“Luke, look at me, please,” you pleaded quietly, holding his face and cupping the right side of his face. “None of this is your fault, do you understand me? You have done nothing wrong but wait all summer for me to be myself, and because of you, I have. I’ve had the best weeks of my life here, with you, and I don’t give a fuck if its June or July or fucking December, because you taught me now to,” you started. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, I don’t care if it’s the middle of July or it’s January, you are mine, you hear me? You aren’t hurting me or causing me any pain; in fact, it’s the exact opposite — you’ve been the only reason I’ve smiled in so long, and I love you for that,” you whispered, still holding on to him, nodding and making sure he copied your actions — you’d drill this into his head even if it gave you vertigo. 

Luke could only look up at you — his face tear-stricken, his curls plastered to his head, and the echoes of pain in his eyes. He nodded, looking at you, before once again bringing you into a hug. You loved him, and fuck if it was July or August; the summer wouldn’t be a deadline or a reminder, but just a change of page. Because, right now, despite being the beginning of July, you still felt like you’d been in love with him for much more than a summer.

[sarcasticassian]

rockstar Eddie posts his Spotify Wrapped and his top five songs are all Corroded Coffin songs obviously, he is their number two fan (Steve won the argument of being their number one fan years ago) and his number one artist is Corroded Coffin too but then the other four top artists? there’s Metallica sure and Dio but the number three spot goes to ABBA and number 5 is Taylor Swift?

fans are in uproar because what is happening??? Eddie also posted it with no context to his instagram stories other than saying something like ‘another year of keeping up CC’s streaming numbers, my back hurts’, the Party don’t even bother to roast him anymore because this has been happening for way longer than Spotify Wrapped has been around

Eddie makes Steve do a live reveal of his own Wrapped on Eddie’s insta stories later that day after being completely silent since posting his own and he outright cackles when Steve’s most played song is one of Corroded Coffin’s only ballads and it’s been played over 700 times, Steve just glares at him because Eddie knows that Steve plays it on repeat to help him fall asleep when Eddie isn’t there

Steve’s top songs are all the Corroded Coffin power ballads because he’s a big sap and also still finds it flattering that they’re all about him so they make him feel good after a hard day but his top artists apart from CC? ABBA makes another appearance, Madonna, Doja Cat and Taylor Swift reign supreme for him as well and you can almost hear Eddie’s eye roll from behind the camera, ‘what do they have that I don’t, Stevie?’ ‘they don’t give me a headache if I listen to them all day’ ‘divorce, DIVORCE, you see how he speaks to me’ but you can hear the fondness and love they both have for each other

all Eddie says about his own when asked later is that ABBA actually has some great lyrics and the music is technically very intricate etc etc and Taylor Swift? well Steve likes her so of course he plays her music for him when they’re together 

(and if Eddie puts the song Lover on and thinks about Steve to the point of sometimes crying when he’s on tour or something despite having 40 years to get used to it, well that’s something for just him and Steve to know)

[cometblaster2070]

katara was unapologetically an ecoterrorist and i will forever love her so much for that

like look at her and her goofy bf i love them sm

[thissortofsorcery]

Steve is woken up by his own sharp intake of breath, choked halfway down his throat. Something’s— wrong, he knows. Something’s wrong. He was just running. Isn’t he supposed to be running? He flails a hand to his left, looking for something. There’s something there, something safe, he remembers, and his hand closes around— Billy. Billy’s wrist.

He’s in bed. He was asleep.

A second passes and it’s like his body thaws, all muscles relaxing at once, oxygen finally flowing into his lungs. He’s in bed. He was asleep. Billy’s right there.

“‘tevie?” A mumbled groan comes from his left, and Steve realizes he’s still holding tightly to Billy’s wrist. Billy’s waking up.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” He whispers, and lets go, running careful fingers where he was squeezing before. Billy’s skin is sleep-warm and soft, delicate on the inside of the wrist. Steve presses a kiss there. “Didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep.”

Billy’s pushing himself up on his elbows from where he was lying on his belly, hair rumpled and curls thrown everywhere over his face, eyes squinting at Steve like a cat.

“Why’re you up?”

“It’s nothing.”

Billy squints harder. “You had a nightmare.”

Steve doesn’t answer, and Billy’s already turning over, sitting halfway up.

“I’m up. I’m up,” He runs a broad hand down his face, rubs his eyes. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, seriously—” Steve tries to say, but Billy shoots him a look. “It’s the same shit as always,” he sighs.

“The running?” Billy asks. He doesn’t need to be more specific than that. Steve dreams about that often enough.

When Steve wakes up the feeling lingers. Twitching feet and bouncing knees, nervous energy directed nowhere in a comfortable bed with cozy blankets with a cozy boyfriend, when a blink ago he was being chased to exhaustion. He can’t go back to sleep when he’s supposed to be running.

“Yeah,” Steve says, not looking at Billy. He does hate that he woke him up. “I feel like I’m gonna vibrate out of my skin.”

Billy’s fingers find his on top of the blanket, threading them together. “C’mere,” he pulls on them gently, “c’mon.”

Billy tugs and pulls, rearranging both of them on the bed until Steve’s tucked into Billy’s chest, feeling his weight warm his back and anchor him down. Steve lets the air out of his lungs with a steady, deliberate breath, sinking into it with his eyes closed, like one sinks into a warm bath.

That’s one thing that Billy is, always. The ground under his feet. Steady. Present.

There’s a thick bicep under his head, an arm around his waist, kisses pressed into his shoulder over his shirt until they cross the barrier of the collar and reach the skin of his neck. A big toe strokes the outside of his calf, scratching at his leg hair, making his skin tingle.

“Feels good,” Steve mumbles, face mashed into Billy’s arm, and he presses his lips to the skin there. Billy smells clean, a little like the citrus soap he likes, a little like his deodorant, and like their bed, like their sheets.

With his eyes closed, Steve can hear every breath Billy puffs against his ear, ever smack of his lips against his skin, feels the tingle that travels up his neck and down his spine. Billy’s feet find Steve’s, and he rubs his soles along the top of them, toes making grabby motions at Steve’s toes that he playfully dodges from, until they’re caught and pleasantly cracked.

It gives Steve something else to focus on, something else to twitch towards, makes the shivers that feel like they come from inside his bones fade into the pleasant scratch of nails on his skin. It makes him huff a laugh at three in the morning where once he would’ve relocated to the couch and stared at the tv without seeing it.

And Billy just knows. Knows he’s awake, knows he had a nightmare, knows how to make it better. Knows Steve.

“I love you,” Steve’s voice is rough, both from being relaxed and from emotion, and he twists his head back, searching.

Billy’s right there, nose to nose, lips on his cheek then meeting his mouth. A simple press of lips that grows, languid and sweet, until Steve’s turned around in Billy’s arms and they’re lying face to face.

“I love you,” Steve says again, stroking Billy’s cheek with a thumb.

Billy’s looking at him with half-lidded eyes and a little smile, his private, sleepy one that’s a little smooshed on one cheek.

Steve can’t understand it sometimes, how he got here. How he got Billy.

“Love you too,” Billy says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. Still. Always. “You feel any better?”

Steve sighs, stretches, wiggles in place. He feels more settled now, body heavy and sinking into the bed, into Billy’s chest.

“A lot,” Steve says, with a lazy smile. “You always make it better.”

Billy hides his face in the pillow, but his lips are twitching. He mumbles a half-hearted shut up that goes ignored.

“I always feel safe with you," Steve says, thumb traveling down Billy's cheek to his chin. Billy won't meet his eyes, and his cheeks are turning pink. "Feel grounded. Feel good."

Billy's hand finds its way under his tshirt, spreads over the width of his lower back, and he scratches his nails lightly over Steve's side. His eyes finally meet Steve's. "Don't get used to it," He grumbles, voice barely above a croak.

Steve huffs a laugh, kisses him on the nose, on the mouth, and settles his head beside Billy's on the pillow so they can stare at each other like two idiots.

"I'm already used to it, dumbass," He says. He makes sure Billy's eyes are still on his. He needs Billy to hear it, to understand. "You're an amazing boyfriend, you know. I'm lucky to have you."

And Billy's giving him that wide-eyed, mouth parted look, the one he gets when he's been knocked over the head with a good thing he didn't expect. Steve can only lean over and kiss it off his face, hope his lips can seal the sentiment in his brain and he'll take it in once and for all. Steve loves him. Has for a long time, now.

every time anti bullshit shows up on my dash, I write Steve loving on Billy | IV

[cordeliawhohung]

PLEASEEEEE will there be any more bodyguard gaz i need him so bad

on that note im going back to bed

[petitsdieu]

☙ @𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒖 — 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 — an independent original character with some fandom-inspired alt verses (including: dune / star wars, hunger games, fallout). discord and tumblr. mature content warning. story centered. much love, melrose. ❧

( c )

[edsbacktattoo]

can’t believe i missed it. happy belated birthday to my first born!

they grow up so fast 🥹

[martyrbat]

the silent night of the batman — batman #219

(ID in alt!)

[icantrecallaskysoclear]

Me, every single time Raoul proposes to Christine:

💞

[todayisafridaynight]

I hope this isn't weird but earlier I was thinking about how much good artists do in the world, and so many artists don't recognize it. You bring a lot of joy to a lot of people. I've gotten a few commissions from you at this point, and every time I look at them I get so happy because, man, there was someone who took time to create something for me (I know I payed, but still!) Beyond that, I have seen when you draw little doodles just because people inspire you to eith their asks. You practiced your skill and you use it to make others happy and that's so valuable. You contribute a lot to this world just by bringing people's moods up, and I hope you recognize that. You're pretty awesome :)

t thank yuou ,....

[stnaf-vn]

That's A Wrap

Sorry for not answering and/or posting much. I've been focusing mainly on the demo. But, tonight is going to be the wrap-up for it, it'll be sent to my beta testers tonight as well. So, keep checking that game page! Thank you all for being so patient and understanding with me and allowing me more time to make this better. I'm not going to lie, I am EXTREMELY nervous. So nervous, in fact, I will probably not be online when it comes out because I'll be too scared to see what everyone is saying lmaooo. But, I'm also excited. I have dedicated so much time and attention to this project, and I know that this isn't going to be the perfect demo, and there are a few things I wish I did differently, but... I'm pretty happy with it. Thank you all again.

[dreamerlynx]

.

[sarcasticassian]

building off that rockstar Eddie Spotify Wrapped post I made last year here's a sequel because its that time of year again

Steve posts his Wrapped to Twitter under duress (Eddie makes him do it every year and Steve complains every year just because its a habit now) and he's of course in the top 0.001% of Corroded Coffin's listeners with a whopping 257,948 minutes of listening and some guy quote tweets him like "people who sleep listening to music and post crazy stats like this make being in the fandom feel like a competition and they just want clout"

Steve replies with a selfie of him and Eddie that he takes in the app because he's a tired old man and doesn't know how to work twitter, sorry X, and they're sat together on the couch so it was easy to do and he says "I'm not sure I need clout when I'm married to your idol"

Eddie and the guys lovingly refer to Steve as a clout chaser for a month and only stop once the Party try to join in and the joke immediately becomes unfunny to them

[tightjeansjavi]

Okay I just have to say I am OVERWHELMED with the amount of reblogs/comments I have gotten on my recent works and I’m just sitting here, in bed in disbelief of the amount of appreciation I have been receiving 😭

Y’all I am almost at 900 followers. NINE HUNDRED. I was just at 800+ 24 hours ago and now 😵‍💫

Hearing feedback on my stories, seeing the comments and LOVE pouring from y’all is just so—I don’t even know how to put it into words 😭

I feel so very incredibly loved by each and every one of you.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Writing has always been a passion of mine, but I never had the guts to put anything out there because I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough.

I have to thank @peterhollandkait for encouraging me to start this writing journey waaaay back in February. I love you so dearly Kaitlyn thank you friend 🩷

and I have to thank @chaotic-mystery Maddi, my sunshine, I love you so dearly 😭 thank you for encouraging me

This has truly been so fun and freeing for me.

I love you all so fucking much ♡ ♡ ♡

[oceandiagonale]

YOU MENTIONED THE HOENN PROTAG MEETING KK (and read my damn mind cus of it)

There he is! his name is sapphire, in my version- goes by Sap, most of the time. He’s got a bit of an exploratory streak to him, and just so happened to be in the woods on the island when KK began their Great Off-Roads Exploration(ft. Archie the Better.) He was taking his yearly “fuck i CANNOT deal with international issues” break, and met the living embodiment of chaotic little children.

Sapphire’s core pokemon are a mightyena and blazican, named Reign and Blaze, respectively.

He strongly considers the merits of taking the So Obviously Special Something Is Up Here child for mentorship, but ultimately Human Archie catches up. He and Sap have a very awkward conversation while KK plays with Reign. (The next pokemon they want for their team is DECIDED and they promptly begin harassing Human Archie to help them catch a poochyna.)

OH YEAH.... Fs IN THE CHAT FOR MOON THAT SUCKS FOR REAL.....😔😔😔🪦🪦🪦

(mega timeline!! :D)

also very "GET YOUR TODDLER" "they don't bite" "YES THEY DO GET --" vibes from Sap to Archie KFHDSKJF

(two teammates now I hope poochyena gets a good name 🥺🥺🥺

OR. a very bad name. like, Reign 2. that would be pretty in line with KK to be honest KJFHSDKF)

I care about them both I hope they'll be okay 😭😭😭