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#have this i guess
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they have their overdue heart to heart, getting their upsets and angers out, cards on the table yada yada BUT aziraphale tells crowley that he loves him, and crowley obviously feels the same way but struggles initially with saying something so vulnerable. and aziraphale immediately understands and just assures him he knows and even if the words never come he will still know, and crowley just goes, "ha, yeah... i s'pose love's rather ineffable like that, y'know?" and aziraphale just stares at him blankly for three seconds and then yanks him in by the slutty tie for a snog that somewhere births a brand new nebula and the bentley immediately gets don't stop me now playing on the aux
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harrowedsoup · 7 months
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I know I made a post about this before but I can’t find it so have it again: Modern AU Gideon and her wearing a collar-
Harrow suggested it (because she has jealousy issues) but didn’t really think Gideon would ever go for it. Her idea was for Gideon to wear a chain necklace with her initials. Simple and easily hidden if she needed/wanted. Just enough to satisfy Harrow’s possessive side.
It takes like… three conversations for Gideon to get what Harrow is really wanting because Harrow doesn’t really want a fight which is what she’s kinda expecting (and she’s just horrible at asking for stuff that she likes) because Gideon gets kinda snappy sometimes about Harrow trying to control her.
Once she gets it through? She’s into it. She’s SUPER into it.
Gideon agrees to the simple gold chain but pretty quickly wants something a bit bigger and noticeable and soon ends up with a leather collar. Harrow actually argues against it for a bit because she thinks it’s kinda tacky and Much but Gideon likes tacky.
People assume that’s it’s a whole pet play thing or bdsm but its not even a sexual thing like 90% of the time. Gideon rationalizes it being like more intense version of a wedding ring in her weird mind.
Harrow offered to wear a collar in return (because that seems fair) but Gideon’s possessiveness is different. Harrow gets possessive because the idea of anyone taking Gideon or Gideon leaving her for someone else makes her jealous while Gideon’s is the idea that someone could possibly take better care of Harrow or Harrow wanting that from them.
So Harrow wearing a collar wouldn’t really do for Gideon what it does for Harrow. Plus Gideon’s jealousy is wayyyy more sexually charged than Harrow’s so she just leaves a fuck ton of hickeys all over her neck. Like there’s always at least one.
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emmatheward · 2 years
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- Squiggly.
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mimidroolz · 5 months
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Remember when Luna girl and owlette switched voices?
Ya, I’m still normal about it
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imeminemp3 · 2 years
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the-local-oddity · 2 days
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Sly Cooper, age 7.
He loves his new shirt, because his dad IS alive and he DOES love him (he doesn't know) (tragedy awaits)
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qimindu · 2 years
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Happy birthday Mikami <3
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Werewolf AU is the best supernatural AU
Max: just absolutely massive when she’s transformed. Like one of the biggest wolves around. But she is really bad at transforming and can’t stop either, so if she’s transforming it’s all or nothing, and she tends to… lose her mind. A little bit. So she is very wolf like (real-wolf like not movie monster werewolf) For all those reasons she doesn’t use her powers all that much and most people are surprised at her actual being a werewolf.
Chloe: pretty small but has amazing control of transforming. Well, for the most part. It’s really hard for her to completely suppress her powers so some bit of wolf is always ‘hanging’ out ie her teeth are too sharp or her ears look wrong. Anger makes her control worse so if her full transformation is triggered it’s usually a bad time even though she rarely loses her human thoughts when transformed.
Steph: average size and decent control. Usually appears fully human but that’s because she hides her wolf ears under the beanie (she likes her wolf hearing sometimes but likes beanies lol) Has the common ‘bad wolf temperament’ like most werewolves but prides herself on being able to calm herself down without outside help. Rarely fully transforms as she finds it hard to do
Alex: one of the few wolves of similar size of Max, also has bad control and she finds it hard to suppress. Like Chloe she is almost always in a state of wolf transformation but until moving to Haven she often leaded more wolf than human. Has spent more time fully wolf than most and one of the rare ones that haven’t lost their mind completely after spending so much time on four legs. After re-meeting Gabe she no longer loses control of her human mind though transforming is still a issue.
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theblach-hole-son · 11 months
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She found some treasure.... :]
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osamusbigtits · 1 year
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atsumu likes things. stuff that kiyoomi would consider clutter and therefore unnecessary. but if atsumu wants to keep the volleyball he's had since he was a kid, and put glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceiling above their bed, and line the house with fairy lights, and keep little trinkets that his friends and family give him, then kiyoomi lets him. kiyoomi has grown to appreciate the clutter. the once clean, pristine apartment now full of small shows of love and sentimental value. there are even a few of kiyoomi's own trinkets as atsumu gifts him stuff and kiyoomi learns to see the value in the little things in life.
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kataari · 1 year
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Can Kat stare at their reflection in a car’s side view mirror?
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wizisbored · 2 years
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(bugebroph voice) its always 'why did you release a sandworm into the office, shoggoth' 'six people have been eaten, shoggoth' and never 'how was the worm dimention the worm dimention looked fun was it fun'
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jj-exe · 1 year
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locus-p0cus · 1 year
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//suicidal ideation, hallucinations, implied/referenced child neglect, Tommyinnit's Exile Arc In General, Major Character Death (?)
(A Character Study With Far Too Much Metaphor)
(Aka, Tommy becomes a Match Girl™)

It was snowing when Tommy died.
For someone who had been supposedly born in the Antarctic wastes of Earth SMP, he certainly wasn't used to the cold. Not like he was used to sunburns and blisters, from explosions or just exposure only Prime knows. Even what little of his memories left to comfort him blistered with heat, something closer to burning than anything safe.
Sometimes he wishes he could go back. Even if it sets him aflame, he wishes he could bask in that warm glow just a little longer. Just to know it was real.
He can't go back. Technoblade's house doesn't count, Techno isn't real warmth. He’s embers at best- burning to the touch, but drawing Tommy ever closer in hope of something gentle- at worst he’s raging, a forest fire raining hell down on anyone unlucky enough to stand in his path.
No, Techno didn't count. Even if on the day Tommy found his cabin, when the snow hadn't yet graced the surrounding wastes, his house had reminded him of the fire that used to be there. The hearth they all used to sit around, safe, protected, comforted.
The hearth is only embers now, and Tommy is running through frozen plains, ready to be burned picking them up.
He trudges through the snow, limbs aching and foot completely numb. He's used to a slight loss of feeling in his toes, nerves damaged from standing at the edge of the holes Dream made- standing too close to explosions must run in the family- but this was something new. Where the ball of his foot usually feels tingly, as if poked with a needle just enough to feel it, now it's his whole left foot, hollowed out and filled with static that penetrates the skin and sends the cold slithering deeper into his bones.
He remembers the first snow after the Antarctic Empire had disbanded, Wilbur struggling to fit a giants gloves on his tiny hands, frustration growing quickly as they fell off every time he looked away. Tommy would squirm, eager to play out in the fluff with no regard for the aftermath. Eventually he ran off, forgoing the gloves altogether, much to Wilbur's dismay.
'Now look what you've done,' Wilbur said, plucking Tommy out of a snow bank like a lost puppy to hold close to his chest. 'This is why we need the gloves, Tommy. I bet your hands burn, huh?'
Tommy, teary eyed and red in the face, nodded. 'Make it better!'
Wilbur snorted out his nose, fogging up his glasses. 'I can't just make it better Toms. I'm not magic. You have to wear the gloves to keep your hands from going all weird. If you had listened to me you'd be fine!'
Tommy whined, attempting to bury his face in Wilbur's neck as best he could around Wilbur's scarf. 'Sorry. It hurts.'
Wilbur just hummed sympathetically. 'Here, let's go inside. We can thaw you out in there, and then maybe we can come back out with gloves on this time.' Tommy was whisked away, back into the cabin, and sat in front of the fire where his hands protested the violent difference in temperature. He'd stayed there all the same, so eager to make Wilbur proud.
It was always like that with Wilbur, he mused as he felt the familiar burn in his fingertips spread to his ears and feet, dancing up his leg dangerously. Keeping him happy had been like trying to herd a cloud of smoke from one room to another without breathing it in. At least when he was young the smoke had been a sign of the cabin's hearth, a place to run to rather than from. It was only later, when Pogtopia turned the Hearth's smoke to an ugly blackened thing, one of paranoia and cigar ash and the hiss of a lit fuse, that Tommy noticed just how much had got into his lungs. Secondhand smoke was a serious issue, Niki had always reminded him when Wilbur was just within earshot, close enough to hear but far enough to feel unnoticed.
It never mattered. Pogtopia held smoke like a tank held water, letting it fester and seep into every breath, and Wilbur's bad habits never died. It made Tommy's job easy, just keep the smoke from smothering the fire, from putting out the last of the flame. Such a simple job, with such an overwhelming consequence. He'd thought, at the 16th, that maybe in L'manburg the air would clear up a bit, be drained of its rot and hate until it was just the call of the fire again.
And then Philza, summer breeze that he was, elusive and barely there, came and blew Wilbur away. He drifted in, unaware and unwelcome, and sent black smoke into the burning sky. And then Wilbur was gone.
Ghostbur is hardly a wisp of what the smoke used to be, safer to breath but thin as paper. Wilbur had been a promise, if a broken promise, of fire. Ghostbur is the drifting remains of a snuffed candle.
Tommy doesn't know if he will ever get the soot out of his lungs.
He's stopped shivering now. Something like Techno's voice, or maybe Phil's or even Niki's, tells him that's very bad. That if he doesn't get inside soon, he'll-
He'll what?
Tommy stares blankly at his hands through the whispered beginnings of a blizzard. The tips, normally grey from soot or dirt, are an elegant lavender-blue. He can't feel his nose, or his ears or his hands. Through his, soaked, stained, tattered excuse for trousers, he can see frost crawling up his leg like a magnificent frozen spiderweb.
If he makes it to Techno's cabin, maybe the man will share his potions, and maybe it'll save his final life, and then maybe he'll be allowed to stay and then maybe Dream won't find him and then- what?
He hides in a house of embers forever, until it inevitably burns down? He never sees his home, his nation, ever again? He leaves his disks, his only solid reminder of the early days of L'manburg, in the hands of his abuser? He lives being burned and burned, and burned, never finding a hearth to lie down next to?
He never sees Wilbur again, and just- accepts this fate?
He reaches the edges of a forest, spiraling aspen trees blending into the snow as it starts to fall. He puts one hand against the nearest trunk, and feels nothing but static.
His head is hazy, limbs weak. His skin is dotted with bruises and burns and frostbite, like someone took the prettiest shades of blue and raked them across their ugliest red canvas. What had seemed so hard, nearly inconceivable mere hours ago at the top of that tower, feels so easy now. And it is.
It is so easy to collapse against an aspen tree, slide to the ground and lean back against the bark. It is so easy to watch the snow build up around him, covering him in a fresh blanket like the storm is tucking him in. It is so easy, to let go, to finally, finally, give in. Give up. Let his spark dwindle and dim.
There are tears frozen to his cheeks. He would wipe them away if he had the energy, if he cared what some fox or wolf found while looking for a winter snack in these woods.
The burning is nearly gone now. He can't feel the aching scars left by so many ruined hearths, he can't feel the wind that bit at his cheeks and arms, he can't feel the blaze of hurt the snow and the world had pierced through his core, drowning out the last of his spark.
Tommy giggles deliriously. The snow has built past his elbows, now. After this blizzard, he won't be found til spring, if anyone ever bothers to look for his body. They would probably be searching around the tower, if they did, and it would be quite the mystery as to how he ended up here if they ever found him.
Maybe he'd be on one of those true crime shows. Maybe someone would finally investigate Dream, and he would be falsely accused for Tommy's murder, or for trying to frame it as suicide.
He croaks out a laugh. Wilbur used to be obsessed with those shows. He'd make up the wildest stories for how the killer did it, or got away with it, or whatever the mystery part was. This seemed like something he'd come up with.
'Tommy,' he'd say, smiling in that way he did when he was about to spout bullshit, 'I bet you the kid just really wanted to die. Didn't go through with it at the tower- most jumpers want to back out as soon as they leap, did you know - but couldn't make it to safety through the blizzard, and sort of gave up.'
"That's stupid," Tommy says, the wind whipping his words away from even his own ears, "It was clearly the green guy's fault. Killed him at the tower and tried to hide the body in the blizzard, huh? Rightfully put away, I'd say."
'It was definitely his fault,' Wilbur agrees, the smoke billowing off him, 'But he wasn't killed. He was abused, right? Driven near out of his mind? He goes up to the tower, takes the step off, and has that moment of 'ah fuck, I was wrong- I gotta live to spite this guy-' but once he's in the snowstorm, he's almost to the cabin but gets sad again and gives up. Lies down, leaves himself to become one with the snow.'
Tommy snickers, floating hazily just inside his body as the snow builds ever higher. "That's so fucked, man," He huffed, "You need professional help. Why would you put him right next to the cabin? You coulda said he was too far away to get help."
Wilbur's voice grows quieter. 'He was almost there,' the wind breathes, 'If he had screamed, they would have heard him. He could have made it.'
He sniffles. "Don’t say that. Please.”
“Tommy?”
Tommy turns his face away, neck creaking from the cold. “Say he couldn't have made it. Say it was too late. He was too far gone."
The smoke churns, the snow builds, and Wilbur just smiles. 'You were so close. You almost did it, Tommy.'
"Stop,"
"Tommy, please-"
"Leave me alone." He breathes, shutting his eyes. The snowflakes on his eyelashes don't melt against his skin. "Go away."
Something barely there, like a ghostly slime, presses urgently against his face. "Tommy I'm sorry, you have to wake up- please, please-"
The pleading fades to buzzing in his ears, only a few words picked up through the cotton in his ears. "Technoblade- friend- hold on- I'll get- stay- please-"
'Tommy? Did you forget your gloves again?' A voice beckons from somewhere in the white. "I bet your hands are burning, huh?'
Tommy blinks down at his hands. They're covered in unmelted snow, blue and grey and blazing through his nerves. He sobs. "Please," he breathes. "Make it better."
Wilbur's hands, smoky white and pleasantly cool, curl around his with a gentle squeeze. 'Of course, Toms. Let's go thaw you out, okay? We'll be careful, take our time with it.'
Tommy nods incoherently, and he's picked up out of the snowbank and held to a broad chest, trenchcoat dusted with snow instead of ash. 'I've got you, sunshine,' He says, and Tommy lets himself drift off in his arms, ready to be carried to the Hearth.

A wail rips through the forest, and the blizzard flurries onward, past the final spark it has snuffed out.
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sleepygaymerdisease · 2 months
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liquidstar · 6 months
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If my mom sees a significant amount of blood she gets lightheaded, and has fainted on some occasions. Once it happened when we were kids, I wasn't there to witness it but I heard the story from my dad. Basically my brothers, around 7 or 8 at the time, were playing outside while my mom was making their lunch, and she accidentally cut her finger. It wasn't anything serious, but it drew a fair bit of blood and she passed out. My dad saw this and rushed over, but he didn't really know what to do so he just sort of started slapping her to wake her up (not recommended, but he had no idea and panicked)
At that exact moment my brothers both came in from playing, and all they saw was our mom unconscious on the floor and our dad slapping her. So, like, without even saying a word to each other they both just INSTANTLY start whaling on him, like, full blown attack mode to defend our mom. Which obviously didn't help the situation, but she did wake up and everything was fine.
Now our dad says that he's actually really glad they attacked him over what they thought was going on, because it means he raised good boys. And I still think that's true, they're very good boys.
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