#reflexive poem about the life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jo-harrington · 7 months

Text

Magnificum et Horribillis (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Philosophical Themes, Allusion to Chronic Pain and Depression, Vague Smut, Life and Death as Abstract Themes, Suicidal Ideation, Big Feelings Ahead BEWARE

Note: This started as a poem for @somnambulic-thing but it evolved into fic. Because I kept writing more and of course it did. Will also give a little shout to @deathbecomesthem because they’re always here for my little sad girl writing.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

There are more bad days than good.

You are more bad than good.

A nidus of wicked thoughts and words and feelings that wrack through you, body and soul.

Pain.

Some ancient angel or large primordial bird put you together one brittle, misshapen twig at a time until, from the abstract, came you. And since then, you were a bitter pill that seemed to poison and infect those around you. It could have been the end for you time and again but the void spat you out, unable to stomach you.

Even Satan rejected you.

Or so it seemed.

The thoughts always weighed heavily on your mind, inescapable. But that's why you were where you were, staring somewhat unseeingly at the person across from you.

A stranger in a waiting room, fiddling with new patient paperwork.

“Edward?” The receptionist called.

“Eddie,” he insisted as he turned toward the little window. “It’s Eddie.”

"I forgot to give you Dr. Bishop's questionnaire."

He’d shot you a tight-lipped smile as he’d stood and you let it bounce off of you, not out of disinterest but from too-slow reflexes. Everything about you was too slow, layered in sludge, and corrupt. You blinked and watched him then, from your perch, waiting for your own name to be called. Watched the heavy way he carried himself. Legs slightly weak, whether his muscles couldn’t support his body or his troubles...you couldn’t be sure.

Possibly both.

Beautiful and broken.

You recognized that in him.

Beautiful because he was broken.

Just like you.

Dr. Crane opened the door and called your name now. You offered Eddie a similar smile as you walked past him.

Offer him a silent kindness.

You didn't know it yet, but this was the reason you were turned away from the gates of hell.

A second chance. For both of you.

It would be alright.

---

You held your hands out over the sticky table beside his. Comparing them. Size, shape, rings, and shakiness.

Yours worse because of your nerves, his because of his pills. Somehow he still can keep his still enough for his job at the sign shop. And you when you’re typing reports or writing up notes during meetings.

“It’s because they have a purpose,” he said sagely. “When we’re doing things they have a purpose so they know they can’t shake.”

“When did you get to be so smart?” You tease.

“Shut up.”

The waitress comes with your lunches and your hands try to retreat to your side of the booth but Eddie grabs one of them and runs his thumb over your knuckles as the plates get dropped and drinks refilled.

She comes with one more dish and begins the pomp and circumstance. You shoot a glare across the table at him; he always had to have some kind of spectacle about him, even now that he was, as he proclaimed, older and “mellowed out.”

You could only imagine how he was as a kid or in high school.

“I ordered flaming saganaki while you were in the bathroom,” he explained.

“I hate you.”

“You know you’ll have some.”

And you did.

These were special times. Cherished times between the two of you, where the dread of the world couldn’t reach you through the buffer of forks clacking on plates and ambient noise of people talking around you at other tables.

Late nights with Eddie at the Greek diner; holier than church.

“You know,” he said tentatively between mouthfuls of food. “You don’t have to have a purpose.”

“No?”

“I thought so for a while after…” he trailed off and you shifted in your seat.

“You don’t need to talk about it.” You told him. “We agreed that we were starting fresh. Together.”

“Yeah but I know how you are in there,” he grinned and tapped the side of his head. “Thinking of how you can be more purposeful, so maybe you’ll forget everything going on. I thought that way too, after everything. Keep busy. Play the guitar. Make the effort to see my friends. Otherwise they’d forget me. And all it did was…make me tired. Did too much, burned myself out.

“To rest is sometimes the greatest purpose you can have.”

Eddie shot a pointed look across the table.

“Ok,” you nodded. He was right. You had been thinking that. Fleetingly.

His brow got tighter.

“What? I said ok?!” You held your hands out. It was more than a fleeting thought. He grabbed fries off your plate and shoveled them into his mouth to distract from the awkward moment.

But he got his point across.

He knew you too well. Even after a few weeks. Two sides of the same coin.

Was it too early to say you loved him?

---

You’re so strong.

It echoes in your head as you lay there, too tired to scream and cry anymore, too much feeling, too much emotion.

You are simply too much for your body.

It was a bad day.

You told that to your mom on the phone and she came over anyway. "You're stronger than anyone realizes, even you." What a slap in the face. You didn’t need to be strong. You needed to be left alone to rot here for a little while. Broken body, broken mind, broken soul.

She didn't understand that, she never did.

And so you screamed it at her.

The culmination of how she could fix your life, you just needed to listen to her, when she refused to listen to you. You had always been this abstract concept. A doll for her to dress up and play pretend with, not a human.

Years of pain you didn't mean to reflect back at her, but you did anyway.

Because you were weak.

Because it was a bad day.

"Something's gotta change," she shook her head as she stormed out. "There's something seriously wrong with you."

You knew that.

But it still hurt.

And then she called Eddie.

"She's just worried about you," he laid down next to you.

"Can she stop?" you asked. "Her obligation to me is over. She's not a mother anymore. She's been released from her sentence."

"Wayne--"

"I don't want to hear about Wayne," you wrenched your eyes shut, squeezed them shut, because you could feel the poison building in you again and you knew that you couldn't control it if the beast deep inside you wanted to attack. You couldn't do that to him. "Wayne is great. And even if he wasn't, it's not the same. So please..."

"I just..."

You turn and stare at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Please Eddie."

He's never seen you like this; you wanted to hide this part of yourself from him. You wouldn't blame him if he ran away.

And as your body gave up on you again, you expected the bed to shift and the door to squeak open and slam shut.

But it never did.

"Alright," he whispered and shifted closer. Not touching. Just...closer. The heat of him brushing the length of your body. Enough for now. "I get it."

---

If the diner was holy, this was a place of insurmountable divinity.

Whispered words floating over skin and evaporating.

An orgasm secondary to a confession.

The closeness to one another, in body and in spirit, meant more than anything.

“I thought it was going to be over,” he muttered against your cheek. “I wanted it to be over. Finger on the trigger. A friend stopped me. And I hated him for it.”

You’re silent as he uses you, just as you’ve used him a hundred times. You open your mouths and swallow one another’s sorrows. It’s your own form of soothing and healing. Like licking a wound.

A doctor, a therapist, a friend could only hear so much. This was an act of consuming…becoming…

Was it healthy? Probably not.

But neither of you were.

“I’m exactly what they said I am.”

You feel his tears now. Or yours. They’re one in the same here. You are one in the same. Magnificent and horrible, the two of you.

“I’m nothing. I’m a freak. I’m a monster.”

“You’re my monster,” you whisper.

He spilled himself inside of you and all of his sorrow, expelled, warmed you from within.

---

You stared at the casket.

There was no hole in your chest.

No pain, no fear, no anger, no sorrow.

No numbness either.

Simply peace.

Death was peaceful. An old friend. Even if He wasn’t here for you this time.

You and Eddie had joked, the many times when you dragged him and the single time he dragged you to funerals like these, how yours would be.

Everyone mourned in their own way. You both liked to laugh.

“I want the full weekend at Bernie’s treatment,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Call my friends Gareth and Jeff and have them walk me around the room.”

“I want,” you upped the ante then, “you to make a life accurate paper mache model of me for the casket and halfway through the memorial, you beat me with a stick.”

“Can I put candy inside? Like a piñata?”

“You see the vision,” you kissed him proudly, happy that you found someone who found humor in your twisted ideas.

And you both liked to be unapologetically yourselves.

“You know those songs?” He started.

“The ones you think I don’t know about?” You rested your head on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Don’t throw em out or anything if I ever…” he shrugged. “Yeah. Make copies of them at the library or something.”

“Maybe I’ll get them published, like poems. The Unfinished Works of Edward J. Munson.”

“Like Mozarts Requiem.”

“So you do listen to my tapes.”

“When you aren’t home and I need to clear the ol’ nog, yeah.”

“Knew it,” you grinned triumphantly. There was a beat.

You wanted to ask him to look through your pictures, to remember you for who you were and not some idealized perfect thing like other people spoke of in a eulogy. You wanted him to remember you for the raw and wild thing that fought and spat and hissed and also loved and loved.

But you didn’t need to say it, because you knew he would.

You saw each other. Honored each other. The good and bad. The beautiful, broken, and incomplete.

He would make sure, if the time came, the world would know exactly who you were. Because he knew.

You took his shaky hand in yours and squeezed.

“You ok?” Eddie asked and pecked a kiss onto your head as you watched the casket be lowered into the ground.

“Yeah,” you smiled.

It was a good day.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson angst #tw: death #tw: suicide

139 notes · View notes

pedros-husband · 10 months

Text

You have a big ass

pedro pascal characters x male/gn! reader

characters included: Javier Pena, Joel miller, Javi Gutierrez, Marcus Moreno, Ezra, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, agent whiskey, Silva, Oberyn Martell

javier pena: he loves a juicy ass so his eyes are constantly on yours, especially if you wear any of his 70's style jeans. he has no shame so wether your in the office, in town, or at home he will slap your ass or squeeze it. he especially likes it if your bent over someones desk trying to speak to them, he loves picturing how you'd look bent over his desk whilst he fucks you.

Joel miller: hes not into PDA so he'll only ever stare at your ass if your in public, but he'll still do it shamelessly. sometimes he'll let you walk ahead with someone else on patrol or by yourself simply so he can stare at your ass and they way your jeans cling to it, or the way yoour hips move at each step, making your ass jut out.

when yoru at home though, hes completely different. he has absolutely no self restraint when your in the comfort of your house and no ones prying eyes are on you. he'll smack, slap, kneed your ass, at every chance he gets, in the morning or evening thoguh he loves smacking your ass in the morning whilst you make coffee, making you stand up straight and let out a surprised snort, snapping you awake.

Javi Gutierrez: he’s a sucker for you in anyway possible and he loves praising you in any shape or form so he loves commenting on how much he loves your body, especially your ass. When your cuddling his hands will subconsciously move to rest on your ass, sexually and non sexually. If he’s feeling more frisky he’ll squeeze and/or slap your ass. He’s also a sucker for making you feel good and he loves eating you out. (I totally see him as a power bottom)

Marcus Moreno: he’s super cheesy and I can totally see him as that chest single dad so he’ll mostly make cheeky comments and jokes about your ass (In a cute way though) he totally loves eating you out and holding your ass cheeks as he does so, because like javi he’s all for making you feel good and giving you the pleasure, because he gets pleasure from yours.

Ezra: he is a man of words and poems so he’ll go on long tangents about how much he just loves your ass or he’ll talk in great detail about what he wants to do to your ass/ with it. He also likes smacking your ass when you don’t expect it.

Din djarin: he’s not very touchy especially because he’s spent most of his life alone, but he’ll admire the way your armour/clothes cling to your ass. He loves watching you work or train in silence, he is so grateful of his helmet so you can’t tell that his gaze is almost permanently on your ass. When you do get more intimate or touchy he’ll mumble about how sexy your ass is and if he’s feeling particularly bold he’ll grab it and pick you up, punning you against the wall.

Frankie morales: he also is shameless in public so he’ll smack/slap your ass as a greeting or in passing. He smirks when you gasp and smack his arm, smiling at your angry blushing face. In bed/cuddling he’ll

Agent whiskey: he’s got no shame as well, in public, at work, or at home. He loves if you wear tight fitting jeans and if you do he looses all self restraint. If it’s in the office he’ll fully pick you up by your ass and onto his desk, he can and will take you at work, tequila and ginger are used to it by now and have earplugs for when you do it. He’s slap your ass as he walks by you as reflex, sometimes he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Silva: he’s so sweet and soft for you, but he worships you and your body so he’ll constantly mumble under his breath to you about how much he loves your ass, how it drives him wild. When cuddling on the bed/couch he’ll pull you into his chest by your ass cheeks and knees them softly.

Oberyn martell: everyone knows he’s a complete man whore with no shame at all. Hell fuck you all over the palace and in the garden. So sometimes he’ll slip out of meeting and duties just to watch you train, admiring the way your armour and underclothes excentuate your ass. Hell not necessarily slap your ass but he does like to knees it in his hands and watch as it goes redder with his touch. He also likes eating you out and holding your ass cheeks as he does so.

————————————————————————————

I didn’t include as many characters this time because this serves as more of a placeholder whilst I finish my main fic that hopefully should be finished soon. It’s already over 1.5k long and I’m not halfway finished yet 😅

191 notes · View notes

wanderingsorcerer · 1 year

Text

CELTIC FOLKLORE&MYTHOLOGY 101

The Celts have a rich and beautiful history but one that is filled with many sorrows as well. From the invasion of the Roman Armies , to the forced conversion to christianity. Many of what we know now about the pre-colonization of the celtic people are through the "surviving" stories written by the Romans which occupied the lands and later the christian scribes of the middle ages. Some myths have only survived as stories passed down through Oral Traditions. Or through adopting Christian Attributes.

But even then, what has survived is but a mere fraction of what used to be, most surviving Celtic mythology belongs to the Insular Celtic peoples (the Gaels of Ireland and Scotland; the Celtic Britons of western Britain and Brittany). When it comes to written folklore and mythologies of the celtic people, the Irish have the largest written myths in the region only seconded by the written Welsh mythologies.

Today we will be focusing mainly on the Irish and Welsh Folklore and Mythology

Below I will list some of the names of the deities and spirits found throughout the Irish Folklore and Mythos

Morrigan- Shape shifting Goddess Who Hovered over the battlefields as a crow or raven

Danu- Irish Mother Goddess

Dagda-Irish God Of Life and Death as well as Magick, Married to Morrigan

Brigid - Celtic Goddess of Fire, Poetry, Cattle and patroness of smiths

Arwan- God of the Celtic underworld

Taranis- God Of Thunder

Excerpt from wikipedia

IRISH MYTHOLOGY The myths are conventionally grouped into 'cycles'. The Mythological Cycle, or Cycle of the Gods, consists of tales and poems about the god-like Túatha Dé Danann and other mythical races.[6] Many of the Tuath Dé are thought to represent Irish deities. They are often depicted as kings, queens, druids, bards, warriors, heroes, healers and craftsmen who have supernatural powers. Prominent members of the Tuath Dé include The Dagda ("the great god"), who seems to have been the chief god; The Morrígan ("the great queen" or "phantom queen"), a triple goddess associated with war, fate and sovereignty; Lugh; Nuada; Aengus; Brigid; Manannán; Dian Cecht the healer; and Goibniu the smith, one of the Trí Dé Dána ("three gods of craft"). Their traditional rivals are the monstrous Fomorians (Fomoire), whom the Tuath Dé defeat in the Cath Maige Tuired ("Battle of Moytura"). Other important works in the cycle are the Lebor Gabála Érenn ("Book of Invasions"), a legendary history of Ireland, and the Aided Chlainne Lir ("Children of Lir"). WELSH FOLKLORE & MYTHOLOGY Important reflexes of British mythology appear in the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, especially in the names of several characters, such as Rhiannon, Teyrnon, and Brân the Blessed (Bendigeidfran, "Bran [Crow] the Blessed"). Other characters, in all likelihood, derive from mythological sources, and various episodes, such as the appearance of Arawn, a king of the Otherworld seeking the aid of a mortal in his own feuds, and the tale of the hero who cannot be killed except under seemingly contradictory circumstances, can be traced throughout Proto-Indo-European mythology. The children of Llŷr ("Sea" = Irish Ler) in the Second and Third Branches, and the children of Dôn (Danu in Irish and earlier Indo-European tradition) in the Fourth Branch are major figures, but the tales themselves are not primary mythology. While further mythological names and references appear elsewhere in Welsh narrative and tradition, especially in the tale of Culhwch and Olwen, where we find, for example, Mabon ap Modron ("Divine Son of the Divine Mother"), and in the collected Welsh Triads, not enough is known of the British mythological background to reconstruct either a narrative of creation or a coherent pantheon of British deities. Indeed, though there is much in common with Irish myth, there may have been no unified British mythological tradition per se. Whatever its ultimate origins, the surviving material has been put to good use in the service of literary masterpieces that address the cultural concerns of Wales in the early and later Middle Ages.

The celtic traditions and their pagan Practitioners in the modern age.

One example of the modern practitioners which have celtic roots as a basis for their religion would be the New Druidic Movement of the 21st Century.

Born from the need of many who wish to delve deeper into their roots they've taken the historical context of the original druids of the Iron Age and have matched it closer with new age spirituality.

Druid~

The Old Irish form was "drui", and in Modern Irish and Gaelic the word is "draoi" or "druadh" (magician, sorcerer).

These New Druids take inspiration from the mythologies from all around the celtic regions, Ireland , Scotland, wales , Britannia. And brings them together to create what is now the new Druidic Order.

They are primarily animistic , ( All things in nature hold a spirit) and the majority of druids in this new order are also polytheistic. They hold Great Reverence towards the spirits of the land and the magick of the land of their ancestral Homeland.

Antiquity Does not mean authenticity, things don't need to be ancient in order for them to feel powerful and tangible to the practitioner. Druids as a living practice is an extension of the culture of the celtic people.

And as such it is not claiming to be the druids of the past, (as we have very little information on their practices and how they lived.) But as a cultural movement they strive to be the stewards of Folklore and Folk practices for the coming generations.

If you would like to learn more on the Druidic Faith and the nuances of specifically WELSH Druidic Faith take this course into consideration from the Anglesey Druidic order

Welsh Celtic Witchcraft

This is honestly something which holds great value in learning more about as it pertains to the extension of knowledge outside Of the perceived Celtic Belief Systems,

In Welsh folk practices , Witches and Magickal practitioners were apart of daily life , Healer and wise woman whose power was said to come from Magickal Tomes which held spirits of demons and fairies inside.

Folk practices in Wales include the CURSING WELLS Ffynon Elian, Fairy Mounds .

A Great many different curses passed down from family to family, a famous Curse going around the internet is the One In Which a woman who is angered pulls out their TIT and Curses a man To Meet an Untimely Demise. Don't worry they usually deserved it.

There are so many beautiful and wonderful Folk Practices in Wales and Celtic practices in which I can't cover here but if you want to learn more and have a vested interest in the occult practices of other cultures give me a follow.

For more information on Wales Folklore in Video Format Visit The Below Youtube Channel :)

And if you would like to support the above Practitioner Mhara Starling I will link their book Here for Purchase. They go in depth on the folklore and occult practices of the Welsh people

131 notes · View notes

shinybearnerd · 1 year

Text

“You need some rest”

So, this is a little fluff Kratos x reader for all my fellows that are in love with the “god of few words” (god knows I loved Freya for that, lol).

This story is set after GOW Ragnarok, so it may contain spoilers.

Also, here Brok and Sindri made a body for Mimir. So he's able to walk. Idk, it felt right.

Anyway, hope you like it!

Pair: Kratos x reader

Words: 1,28k

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst

Story: After Ragnarok, you, your husband Kratos, Mimir, Freya and the Huldra brothers decide to help rebuild the realms. Kratos is the All-Father now [if you are interested in this, I recommend it to you @whittywhitty. They write beautiful headcanons about it!], so most of the work is up to him. So this means that his fantastic partner has to step up and remind him to get some sleep.

-Engish is not my first language. So I'm sorry if there are any mistakes-

With closed eyes, you turn to the other side of the bed. Your hand spread towards the other end, gently seeking your husband's presence. Only to find out the shits are still intact.

You sigh, trying to wake up so could stand up without falling miserably to the ground. Once you got up, you head to his study.

If he wasn't there in your bed, he surely was that gods damn study. You came to understand it.

You walk slowly, your tiredness still on your shoulders. You were able to get a half hour of sleep after helping Sindri and Brok out, but obviously, it wasn't enough.

You begin to climb the stair, a hand on the handrail. Once you arrived on the floor, you see a light reflex on it. It came from the study, just like you suspected.

After getting closer to it, you leaned against the door, trying your best not to make any sounds.

There it is, your husband. In all his godly glory.

He was sitting behind his desk, full of scrolls, books and notes from his and Atreus' journals of their diplomatic trips.

On his nose, a pair of glasses, which were definitely too small for his physique.

Even tho he was a god, he was starting to see objects in front of him a little blurry. When you pointed it out to him, all that Kratos did was grump about him not needing anything.

He was a god! He did not need glasses!

He kept replying like that every time you, Atreus or Mimir brought up the subject until he noticed that he wasn't able to read his notes or the poems, which he likes to read next to you in front of the fireplace. So he decided to wear them, with the condition of putting them only when they are home and alone.

He is incredibly hot with them on.

The ladies of the realms (at least the one that came into your home did) think that.

You think that.

Everybody thinks that, except Brok that doesn’t miss a bit and throws some jokes at him.

The lenses are oval, bound by a delicate, but at the same time resistant, sheet of iron. They are thin but still have a magnifying effect on his beautiful deep amber eyes.

By gods, if you love those eyes! Those were the first things you noticed about him. His gaze was so deep and calm but also full of sadness and anger. A cocktail of emotions that made him even more interesting in your eyes. But, every time you say something like that, people next to you (mostly your family and friends) make fun of you by saying that of all Kratos, it was impossible to notice his little eyes first.

Some seconds passed before your god noticed your presence. He raised his head in your direction. His expression softened.

That was the moment when you noticed he was exhausted.

In those months he made the impossible: travel from one realm to another without a break; read and fulfil some prayers; help rebuilt some temples and structures...

One night was on the verge of collapsing!

You two were at a gala, on Svartalfheim and you noticed that something was off about Kratos. You were able to convince him to end the night there and get some sleep.

The life of a diplomat wasn't easy. It was expected. You most of all knew that and you were worried for your husband. He had problems with his self-esteem. Always thinking that he was about to make the worst decision. Or that he wasn't helping enough. Even tho he was perfect

<<Have I ever told you how sexy you look with those glasses on?>>

He let out a chuckle.

Another thing that you loved about him was his chuckle. Every time it made you melt.

<<You mentioned it a couple of times>>

<<Ehm...>>

You hear someone clearing his throat next to you. You enter the room only to see Mimir in the corner on a chair.

How was it possible that you didn't notice him?

Your cheeks turn pink, a thing that amused the greek god.

<<Mimir! Are you trying to ambush me?>>

<<I'm sorry. I was trying only trying to persuade your husband to rest>>

<<Oh! Then we are here for the same quest, brother>>

Kratos looked up from the papers again, a quill pen in hand. He was observing his best friend and his lover looking at him incessantly. It was not a good sign.

<<What?>> he asked.

Mimir, smelling trouble, gets up and walks toward you, saying that he would leave you two alone.

<<Night, brother!>>

Kratos grunts and keeps writing on the scroll under his fingers.

<<Night, Mimir. Thank you>>

<<I don't know what I was expecting... Good night.>>

Once you hear the door of Mimir's room closing, you approach Kratos, observing with worry every little movement.

<<Should not you be sleeping? It's the middle of the night>> he asks you.

<<It's been so long that I can't fall asleep without you snoring in my ears>>

<<I snore?>>

You smile, getting behind him and hugging him.

<<Yes, my love. Like a bear!>>

You can feel him relaxing under your touch. Almost melting under it. Feeling also a hand caressing yours.

You two remain like this for a while. Hugging each other, calm and rocked by each other's heartbeat.

<<Do I really snore?>>

You laugh this time, kissing his cheek.

<<Yes, but I think it's the best part of the day>>

Kratos frowns, asking you what you meant by that. You blush again, trying to persuade him to talk about something else. He is curious, tho. So he keeps asking.

<<Ehm, well... You tend to snore when you are relaxed or when you are exhausted. In both cases, it means that you put your guard down... So it's like... Well, it's like you are telling me that you trust me>>

He smiles, breaks the hug and puts you in his lap, caressing your thighs.

<<I trust you.>>

<<I know! I know. It's just... I like it. That's all>>

He smiles again, caressing your cheek. You kiss him while taking off his glasses and you put them on the desk. With a deeper tone, he warns you by calling your name.

<<You need to sleep too. If you keep up with this routine you could really hurt yourself, my love.>>

<<I know that this is meaningful for you. And even if I was with you that day, I can't imagine how you felt when you saw that shrine... I'm very proud of you! I really am. I love the dedication you put into everything you do, how you try to maintain peace... But if you want to keep doing it, you need to sleep! I'm worried about you, Kratos. Everybody is. Last week you were about to collapse, and the one before that, you were about to have a nervous breakdown.

You see him passing a hand on his eyes, maybe trying to relieve his tiredness. You take his face in your hands so that your eyes can meet and start cares his cheeks with your thumb.

<<I'm not telling you to quit. I'm telling you to rest, my love. You are a god, true, but your body needs some rest. You can't keep stressing it like that!>>

The god remains silent. He grumps something and then nods.

<<All right>>

You smile at him and kiss him again, starting to stand up.

<<Come. Tomorrow morning I'll help you out. And no, I don't accept no as an answer.>>

Kratos grumps again with annoyance but smiles, letting the love of his life guide him to their bedroom.

#kratos #god of war kratos #god of war fanfiction #god of war #god of war ragnarok #kratos x reader #kratos x you #kratos fluff #fluff #kratos allfather #allfather!kratos

232 notes · View notes

the-travelling-witch · 11 months

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

summary: zhongli and his lover take a walk around liyue harbour

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

warnings: angst, no comfort?, mention of death

genshin impact masterlist

can be read as a continuation of a million miles away

The ocean air carried the scent of salt into the streets of Liyue Harbour as cries of seagulls mixed with the chatter of the people perusing the assortment of wares to be bought. Street vendors were enticing potential customers to try their delicious dishes and children were weaving through the crowds while their parents frantically called for them to slow down.

Your bright laughter, clear as a bell, filled his ears and warmed his heart, the turn of his head as welcome as it was reflexive. Even against the bright displays of the shops, you shone much more radiantly with the sun illuminating your skin, highlighting the curl of your lips and the crinkles forming around your eyes with your amusement. It was a sight Zhongli would never tire of.

And then you turned your head towards him, eyes finding his and speaking of a love a thousand poems could not put into words. The former archon was certain he would never grow accustomed to the way your gaze mirrored the affection he felt for you, not if the irregular beating of his heart was any indicator.

As you intertwined your hand with his, Zhongli could feel the pressure of your wedding ring through the material of his glove and it made him starkly aware of the metal resting against his left ring finger. The thought brought him a sense of comfort, reminding him of the day you swore your oaths to one another and the home you shared, how his existence on this mortal plane finally had a true purpose anchoring him there.

Passing by Bubu Pharmacy on your way to Yujin Terrace, the quiet whisper of the ponds enveloped you both in tranquillity as you left the bustle of Feiyun Slope behind you. Instead of street food, the scent of silk flowers and glaze lilies accompanied the slow descent of the sun, whereas Zhongli and you ascended the flight of stairs as if to meet it on its endless journey.

With his arms resting on the parapet overlooking the Harbour, he had a magnificent view of Chihu Rock being dipped into the amber colour of dusk as the vivid foliage of the sandbearer trees lining the streets seemed to glow from within. Even the vastness of the ocean didn’t go untouched as it stretched on endlessly and waves of liquid ruby crashed against the docks of the city.

Over his long life, Zhongli had seen great a many sunsets and sunrises, yet, ever since coming up here with you, he found himself far more fond of them than before. Instead of regarding nature’s artistry with Liyue as its canvas, he watched as the last rays of the day painted your face in golden light, speckling your eyes with bursts of colour one would only notice on closer inspection. A privilege only he had the honour of enjoying.

“Still coming here, I see?” A familiar voice broke the silence settling over Yujing Terrace. He needn’t even tear his eyes from the scenery to know who had stepped next to him.

“Habits are hard to break once they have formed. Especially for beings like us,” he mused. “Is it not so, Streetward Rambler?”

“I’m well aware, Rex Lapis,” the woman chuckled. The light-heartedness, however, was short-lived as his old friend sighed, clearly wanting to say something. “It has been quite a while though. As someone who has known you for much longer than most, I cannot help but worry.”

“I appreciate your genuine concern.” Finger slipping under the collar of his coat, Zhongli pulled out a delicate necklace which he cannot remember ever taking off. On it dangled the wedding band matching his, twinkling in the light of the evening. Gently taking hold of it, he pressed the metal against his lips; when he closed his eyes, he could trick himself into believing the warmth it radiated still came from you, not himself. “Yet there is nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Zhongli…”

“It is said that the God of Contracts had an impressive memory, able to recall the face of every person he met,” he began. “Though, I am not sure whether this is a blessing or a curse. From their laughter to the feel of their hand in mine… I can so vividly picture these scenes, the memories seem to take on a life of their own. This way, even from wherever they are now, they still manage to stir these emotions within me. On days such as this, it is easy to foolishly extend my hand into the golden sunlight as I see them return to me.”

Watching the former archon grasp the aureate ring within his palm, the adeptus next to him reached out to put her hand on his arm in a hopefully soothing gesture. “I am very sorry. Although farewells are never easy, losing the person you cherished most leaves us feeling more forlorn than anything.”

“Even if I tried, I do not think it possible for them to leave me. Not when birds sing the melody of their laughter and afternoon tea is the temperature of their embrace.” Slowly, the glow of the sun dimmed and dwindled from sight. “No, it is the nights devoid of this golden warmth which are the loneliest of them all.”

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin angst #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli genshin impact

126 notes · View notes

justforbooks · 1 month

Text

Paul Auster

Author of The New York Trilogy who conjured up a world of wonder and happenstance, miracle and catastrophe

The American writer Paul Auster, who has died aged 77 from complications of lung cancer, once described the novel as “the only place in the world where two strangers can meet on terms of absolute intimacy”. His own 18 works of fiction, along with a shelf of poems, translations, memoirs, essays and screenplays written over 50 years, often evoke eerie states of solitude and isolation. Yet they won him not just admirers but distant friends who felt that his peculiar domain of chance and mystery, wonder and happenstance, spoke to them alone. Frequently bizarre or uncanny, the world of Auster’s work aimed to present “things as they really happen, not as they’re supposed to happen”.

To the readers who loved it, his writing felt not like avant-garde experimentalism but truth-telling with a mesmerising force. He liked to quote the philosopher Pascal, who said that “it is not possible to have a reasonable belief against miracles”. Auster restored the realm of miracles – and its flip-side of fateful catastrophe – to American literature. Meanwhile, the “postmodern” sorcerer who conjured alternate or multiple selves in chiselled prose led (aptly enough) a double life as sociable pillar of the New York literary scene, a warm raconteur whose agile wit belied the brooding raptor-like image of his photoshoots. For four decades he lived in Brooklyn with his second wife, the writer Siri Hustvedt.

The fortune that drives his stories played a part in his own career. City of Glass (1985), the philosophical mystery that launched his New York Trilogy and his ascent to fame, appeared from a small imprint after 17 rejections. Though the novel helped build his misleading reputation as a cool cult author, a moody Parisian existentialist marooned in noir New York, it had a pseudonymous forerunner that shows another Auster face.

Squeeze Play, published under the pen-name “Paul Benjamin” in 1982, is a baseball-based crime caper. Its disconsolate gumshoe, Max Klein, muses that “I had come to the limit of myself, and there was nothing left.” If that plight sounds typically Auster-ish, then even more so was the baseball setting. Auster adored the sport and played it well: “I had quick reflexes and a strong arm – but my throws were often wild.” In a much-repeated tale, he failed aged eight to get an autograph from his idol Willie Mays, of the New York Giants, because he had not brought a pencil. Auster “cried all the way home”.

Auster’s work is more deeply embedded in the mid-century national culture that fuelled the novels of his elders, such as Philip Roth and John Updike, than some advocates appreciated. His fables of identity-loss and alienation have emotional roots in the mean, lonely city streets he knew when young. He once insisted, to fans and scoffers who labelled him an esoteric “French” or European coterie author, that “all of my books have been about America”.

He was born in Newark, New Jersey (also Roth’s hometown). His parents, Queenie (nee Bogat) and Samuel Auster, children of Jewish immigrants from eastern Europe, set him on a classic American path of upward mobility through education while remaining, to their son, opaque. The Invention of Solitude (1982) was Auster’s haunting attempt to imagine the life of his impenetrable father. Ghostly fathers would pervade his work. As would sudden calamity. When, aged 14, he witnessed a fellow summer-camper struck dead by lightning, the event became a paradigm for the savage contingency of life, “the bewildering instability of things”. His later novel 4321 (2017), which revisits this formative trauma, cites the composer John Cage: “The world is teeming: anything can happen.” In Auster’s work, it does.

At Columbia University in New York, he studied literature, and took part in the student protests of 1968, before moving to Paris to scrape a living as a translator of French poetry (a surrealist anthology was his first published work). He lived – literally in a garret – with the writer Lydia Davis, and returned in 1974 with nine dollars to his name. Back in New York, they married, but were divorced in 1978, a year after the birth of their son, Daniel. Poetry collections followed, but Auster’s thwarted efforts to secure a decent livelihood meant that he gave his ruefully funny 1997 memoir Hand to Mouth the subtitle “a chronicle of early failure”.

In 1982, he married the novelist and essayist Hustvedt (who recalled their courtship as “a really fast bit of business”). She became his first reader and trusted guide; they had a daughter, Sophie. Husband and wife would work during the day on different floors of their Park Slope brownstone, and watch classic movies together in the evening. Auster wrote first in longhand, then edited on his cherished Olympia typewriter.

The New York Trilogy (Ghosts and The Locked Room followed a year after City of Glass) made his stock soar, and attracted both celebrity and opportunity.

Auster wrote gnomic screenplays for arthouse films (Smoke, Blue in the Face, both 1995), even directed one (The Inner Life of Martin Frost, 2007). But it was the enigmatic, hallucinatory aura of his fiction – in 1990s novels such as The Music of Chance, Leviathan and Mr Vertigo – that defined his sensibility. Sometimes this trademark style could veer into whimsy or self-parody (as in Timbuktu, 1999, with its canine hero) although stronger novels – such as The Brooklyn Follies (2005) – always pay heed to the pulse, and voice, of contemporary America. Keenly engaged in current affairs, Auster held office in the writers’ body PEN, deplored the rise of Donald Trump, and spoke of his country’s core schism between ruthless individualism and “people who believe we’re responsible for one another”.

Auster the exacting aesthete was also a yarn-hungry storyteller. If he edited a centenary edition of Samuel Beckett – a literary touchstone, along with Hawthorne, Proust, Kafka and Joyce – he also compiled a selection of unlikely true tales submitted by National Public Radio listeners. They revealed the strange “unknowable forces” at work in everyday life. In his epic novel 4321, the formal spellbinder and social chronicler meet. It sends a boy born in New Jersey in 1947 down four separate paths in life: an Auster encyclopedia, ingenious but heartfelt too. Bulk and heart also characterised his mammoth 2021 biography of the Newark-born literary prodigy Stephen Crane, Burning Boy.

The ferocity of fate that scars his work gouged wounds into Auster’s life as well. Daniel succumbed to addiction, accidentally killed his infant daughter with drugs, and died of an overdose in 2022. Auster’s cancer diagnosis came in 2023. Prolific and versatile as ever, in that year he still published both an impassioned essay on America’s firearms fixation (Bloodbath Nation) and his farewell novel, Baumgartner. Its narrative hi-jinks dance smartly over a bass chord of grief.

Auster populated a literary planet all his own, where the strange music, and magic, of chance and contingency coexist with love, dream and wonder. In Burning Boy, he wonders why Crane’s output now goes largely unread, although “the prose still crackles, the eye still cuts, the work still stings”. After 34 books, so does his own.

Auster is survived by his wife and daughter, and a grandson, and by his sister, Janet.

🔔 Paul Benjamin Auster, writer, born 3 February 1947; died 30 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Paul Auster #in memoriam

18 notes · View notes

rudysdork · 1 year

Text

Advice - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, lil bit of Violence, Bad Ending, English isn't my first language! “Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note unsaid.” ― Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems

Once, you hated him. He looked down on you, always narking and remarking what was wrong with you. With your posture, how you held you weapons - hell, even how your back wasn't straight when you sat down to eat once.

Ghost seemed to always know what would piss you off the most. Always managed to annoy you on already bad days. Always the first one to see the bad in everything you did. Everything you achieved.

You didn't understand why. You also didn't really want to, to be honest. What was there to understand? You hated him and he - obviously didn't like you either.

But oh, how wrong you were - you realized, as you held his body in your arms. You saw people die on a regular basis. You killed people, too.

But this time, it was different. Completely different.

His breathing was shallow, almost not noticeable. But you could see small white huffs of air leave his - now unmasked - mouth, as it fled into the bittercold night.

It wasn't you fault, you knew that. You knew, yet it felt like it was. If you had been just a little faster. Maybe things would've ended differently. Maybe the fatal wound that the bullet ripped through his abdomen would not have been there. Wouldn't bleed unstoppable onto the floor. Wouldn't soke into your clothes, staining them with his blood.

Him. You hated him, once.

You hated how every single time he narked about how you were holding your gun wrong, you'd listen and found he was right - it was kinda weird.

How his advice was actually good.

You wished you could tell him that, even if it was annoying at times, that you were grateful. You were grateful for him, because even if he annoyed you - he cared.

He cared for you. He wanted you to live.

He and his stupid good reflexes wanted you to live. The same stupid good reflexes that pushed you to the side, before the bullet could pierce into your flesh.

Maybe you would lay here now. And maybe he would hold you in his arms. I'd prefer that outcome, you think. Maybe then, he'd bark at me to be more careful next time. If you were hit, you knew that he was competent enough to get you to safety, hell, he would've finished the mission on his own, too. He'd tell you that he told you to be more careful - would ask if you've learnt nothing in all the times he'd spar and train with you.

But that wasn't what happened.

He was laying in the dirt, bleeding out from a bullet that should've hit you.

You wanted to apologize. To assure him that, next time, you'd notice the guy sooner.

But you knew that even if you tried, your apology would fall on deaf ears.

Not because he didn't accept it, no - you could live with that.

But because it was too late - and he was dead.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod angst #gn!reader #ghost x gn! reader #ghost angst

48 notes · View notes

walkingmusical · 10 months

Text

willow

———

1970: their two year wedding anniversary.

since the burden of legal troubles overshadowed their first wedding anniversary, veronica and archie decided to make the day special. so veronica had the butler make them a picnic.

there was a field near lodge studios, with a willow tree in the centre - so the two sat beneath it while they enjoyed their food and the bright summer day.

“i’m so glad we can celebrate today.” veronica said, gently, as she intertwined her fingers with his.

“more than a look, i stole it all. this time it was the loudest call. my wife, my love, my life. now we share each day and night. still more beautiful than the cosmic sights.”

veronica could feel her smile grow as he recited his poem.

“not my best work.” he admitted. “but i wanted to call back to that first poem i wrote for you in high school. make it about what we are now that we’ve come back to each other.”

his words made her heart swell, and leaning forward to kiss him almost felt like a reflex.

when their lips touched, the image of them kissing under a very different tree at night flashed in her mind. she was poisoned, but he wasn’t going to let her die. they had broken up, but her heart ached for him, and he never stopped loving her.

“what’s the matter, ronnie?” archie asked, when she pulled away and placed her forehead against his.

she didn’t answer straight away, all she could think about was how that image somehow filled her with even more love and affection for the man.

“nothing’s wrong.” she assured her husband. “i just love you so much.”

“i love you, too, ronnie.” he said back.

———

varchie appreciation week, day three - favourite kiss.

honourable mention:

#varchie #varchie fanfiction #varchieaw2023 #my fanfiction #my drabbles

15 notes · View notes

from-nobody-to-nightmare · 1 month

Text

Chapter 5: Out of the Garden

“You cannot mourn the life you haven't lived yet, only one that has already gone. You will never know the meadows you could grow if you are fixated on the ashes of a garden you never had.” ― Nikita Gill, Where Hope Comes From: Poems of Resilience, Healing, and Light

“So, ummm…. Mr. Morde; how exactly do we go about fulfilling our deal? Is there like a magic spell or…..?” I pondered nervously while rotating my index fingers around each other.

“Ahem…” He cleared his throat. “ It would be more prudent to journey to more skilled hands to harvest the most out of your fleece. Come we have quite a jaunt ahead of us.” he gestured with a beckoning hand.

And so I followed close behind him while rubbing my left arm to steady my feelings of trepidation. Well, I tried to follow anyway. He moved through the foliage with little effort on his part and between the wool now covering most of my eyes and my nearsightedness he looked like a blurry smudge of liquid shadows the further he was away from me. It figures my vision problems would follow me here, I wonder what else has. “Hrmmm….” A low grumble left my mouth as I repeatedly brushed my overgrown bangs out of the way only to have them flop back into place the moment I let go. “This is getting annoying…..” I made a full stop as I searched my person for some loose thread or something to tie it back with. My gown was torn enough that I could feel the rough edges and tears the cloth accumulated in my short stint so far; I figured another rip wouldn’t matter anyway. It took me some effort to rip off a section to a decent size, but I finally managed to bunch my bangs back into my hair and tie it down. And then I rapidly undid it to try and fix the tugging sensation that followed soon afterward. “Argh!, I wish I had a hairbrush,” I mumbled to myself.

On my second attempt, I tried carding the wool on my head with my sharp-looking hoof fingers. “Ow….ow…..ow….ow” Well, they weren't sharp by the feel of it. If I had to guess they were actually kind of blunt, like a dog or a bear; in any case, I did a better job tying it back the second time around. I then looked up to see nothing but blurry greenery around me and no escort in sight. “…Uh-oh…” I scraped a rough arrow pointing forward on the ground with my newfound hoof so I wouldn’t get turned around, and made a general attempt to scan my surroundings. It…. was useless. I couldn’t see him even if I tried. Everything was nothing but blurry greens and shadows from the canopies. “ Well, this is just peachy,” I grumbled.

“I wonder if he’s noticed I’m not behind him anymore? I hope he comes back.” I casually crossed my arms and held my chin in one hand; my eyes squinting to try and focus on what little I could see. I felt a creeping shiver run through me as my ears stood at attention to some unexpected rustling in the foliage behind me. Feeling something graze my skin gave me the heebie-jeebies, which made my fist ball up tight as my mind flashed back to the junkyard I escaped from. Panicking in one swift motion I jumped and closed my eyes which were tearing up while I turned around and punched. “Yah!!!” I yelled as I felt the hit connected to something and opened my eyes to try and see what it was. Lo and behold it was the tall dark figure I was waiting for as he was slightly hunched over wincing while lightly clutching his abdomen. I covered my mouth and gasped as I tried to find the glowing green features that made up his face. Getting an even closer look at it was rather surreal. It was like having a grimacing black jack-o-lantern with a glowstick inside, though I probably would never tell him that, at least not now. I snapped back out of my head, “Oh my goodness gracious! Mr. Morde I am so, so, so sorry! It was a reflex! Are you alright? I didn’t know you were there.!” I gibbered out numerous apologies in rapid succession after that. My face was flushed with the embarrassment of accidentally hurting the one person so far in this realm who was trying to help me.

He held up one of his large hands towards me to stop talking and I froze. My eyes were still wide from shock and I felt my ears pin themselves back against my head. Zestial fixed his posture and stood up straight again. “Miss. Nellie, though I could commend thy quick action against perceived threats; might I remind thee that thou art in no position to contend with the denizens of this realm without proper knowledge.” My eyes started to water so I looked away at my feet and rubbed the back of my neck nervously avoiding his less-than-pleased gaze. “Once again I'm very sorry. It wasn’t quick thinking or anything it was a reflex.” I uttered sheepishly.

“Had I not lived so long I would have found that quite incredulous, little one.” he slowly walked past me and gazed back at me. “Come, and stay close this time.” I huddled my arms into my chest and hung my head low following behind him. We dipped back into the foliage to get back to the main path as my eyes tried to focus on the dark shape ahead of me; it wasn’t long until I got whip-smacked in the face by a low-hanging branch from one of the trees and knocked to the ground.

Wuh-PSSSH!

My eyes were watering in pain as I gingerly rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Ah jeeze that smarts!” Sitting back up with my eyes all closed and watery I called out to Zestial, “Mr. Morde are you there? I can’t see you anymore.” My ears picked up the rustling leaves nearby again small distance away. As embarrassed as I felt, I was elated that he responded this time. “ Oh my, It has naught been more than a few minutes and thou hast already been waylaid again. Pray tell is this some sort of jest on thou’s part? I tire of such amusement, child.” The agitation in his voice was evident and very disconcerting. “I’m sorry; I couldn’t see the branch coming at me. Everything looks kind of the same for me at the moment.”

I heard an irritated sigh, “ Tell me, lamb what do I appear as to thee? What can thou see encompassing thee? ”

I wiped my eyes on the edge of my torn gown and squinted, “ Well I see a lot of green, but it looks like someone smeared paint everywhere, and you look like….” I paused with uncertainty trying to find the least offensive way to say this, “ a thin long shadow? I can’t really see your face from here; even your hat just blends into you.”

“ Where are your spectacles lamb?”, he sounded less upset than before.

“I don’t know. I suppose my glasses didn’t make it down with me. Are they supposed to?” I tilted my head in questioning bewilderment.

“Such articles often do, but ‘tis only if you perished with them on your person. I suppose this was not the case,” he replied.

“Well they usually take everything off your person before surgery so I guess so.” I got up and dusted myself off. Trying to get my eyes focused I squinted at him. “ Umm…. may I please hold hands or something until we get out of here? I already feel bad about the impromptu delays.”

“I think that would be prudent, so very well.” I gave him a small smile at his reply. I stretched out my hoofed hand to grab his hand softly and we set off again.

The audible clack of my hooves on the pavement signaled our exit from the more woodsy part of the park. My thoughts began to stray again. Was it a park? A garden? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever been in one so big before. I wonder how many people got lost in there? Are there bands of feral demons deeper in? My spine shuddered as my mind swam in possibilities and probabilities. This was supposed to be hell after all. Who knows what else is out there beyond the path I so recklessly abandoned? I decided that it was best to forget about that now and just count my blessings, and try to make small talk. “Yay, we’re finally back on the path!” I tried to show mild enthusiasm. “It’s kind of nice to see another color besides green and fuzzy red polka dots.” I guess what I said wasn’t a particularly stimulating conversation with my travel companion, best to pick a different subject then. “So uh…. Mr. Morde, do you like….” come on Nadia think of a subject, think! “ Art? Do you like art?”

“I do. Frankly, I find very few that do not enjoy it in some capacity.” I felt a light smile crawl out of my soul when he replied. “I know I love enjoying art when I can. I always wanted to go to museums when I was alive, unfortunately, the best I could do at the time was to look through art books at the library. I mean it’s great to know what they look like but I never could get the sense of scale. Numbers on paper often fail to capture the immense size of some of them. Do you remember any art that you liked?”

“Many a work was oft kept within the halls of nobility and the church in my day. Though public viewings of said art were not common unless one was very lucky to be invited. Architecture has always been on display for all, and the sun shining through the cathedral windows was simply magnificent. However, I feel that the paintings and tapestries that I once knew have already ceased to be.” his wistful candor spoke volumes to me and jostled my memory of a screen reading Everything not saved will be lost. And even with our best efforts, they can still disappear.

All I could respond to him at that moment was, “I’m sorry I didn’t think the subject would be so depressing. I…in retrospect, I probably have seen more art than most people would in their entire lifetime, and I’ve died pretty young as it is.” I thought I saw him nod back so my ears perked up to hear him better.

“True. Generations long after me have had better access to information than I did, I envy them for that. But everything in the world of the living eventually trickles its way down. Perchance we will reencounter the very things we wish to experience, and if not make our own to rival the living.”, that came off almost hopeful even if it was a pipedream.

I barely noticed the change in our surroundings as our talks continued. Trees and bushes gradually made their way into buildings and street lamps. Unconsciously I squeezed his hand a little tighter for security. I looked without looking, but all I could see were long blurry dresses and what I assumed to be large hats. The place still had that eggy smell, but I occasionally smelled the myriad of perfumes and earth colognes that people wore when I walked by some of them were rather pleasant. We paused at a large building tinged in all shades of red like one of those monochrome watercolors. I heard the jingle of the shop bell as the door squeaked open as we stepped inside.

Character Banners By @rubra-wav

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #ace #constructive criticism welcome #existence is a nightmare #from nobody to nightmare #female oc #it's gonna be a long afterlife #my ocs #platonic #platonic x reader #platonic hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x platonic #platonic relationships

4 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 1 year

Note

Hi Finnie! I hope it's not too much to ask, but may I request a no. 9?

In real life, I'm quite shy, calm, patient, and introspective. I always have been. I spend most of my time in my own thoughts, but most of them are either quietly observing all the sights and sensations around me, trying to find joy and beauty in even the smallest of things, or daydreams about fiction! I love thinking about my favorite characters and putting them in fun little situations. I also love seeing what other people create, which is why I'm always checking out other people's OCs, hehe~....

I also enjoy video games! I have a wide range of different tastes, and I like playing all genres. But I think one of my favorite genres has got to be open world games, I love exploring and discovering hidden secrets. In both real life and in games, I like meandering about, all over the place, just to explore and let my mind wander as well.

And I love romantic things, like flowers, love letters, dates, cuddling, holding hands, gazing at lights, trying new things together...it's all so wonderful! Sharing the beauty of life with the one you love is a precious thing. Since I can be very shy and quiet, having someone that actively wants to reach out to me, and somehow finds me, of all people, fascinating despite my meekness, is a very special feeling. It gives me hope that I'm not completely forgettable. That even someone like me can be appreciated. And that there's still plenty of kindness in the world, despite all of the bad.

......Oh, and I give amazing head btw (or so i've been told). My gag reflex is slowly going away and I can go at it for as long as the recipient wants. I love doing it, so much.

🎀 No.9: Ever Fallen In Love With Someone 🎀

tell me a little bit about yourself and i'll give you a rogue pairing a/n: thank god you asked because i had been saving him for you lmao 1k milestone info! 🔞minors dni🔞 • kofi • tag: finnie1k

this eddie needs patience, he needs someone who will listen and be kind to him, and i think someone calm and shy would be better for him too (i feel like i'm writing a bio for a traumatised cat at a shelter lmao)

he's a daydreamer! or at least he is by default, since all of his plans amount to pretty much nothing! but he doesn't let it deter him, he can see the joy in fixing things for next time and finding the good in even the worst situations to keep his spirits up

he's a little nerd, so video games are his favourite hobby. i think maybe he would get on better in life if he wasn't constantly viewing himself as a video game protagonist. he's 100% the kind of goober to make a beautiful house for you in minecraft and take you there on a date

ok so he's clumsy and a little shy but that means he learned everything he knows about romance and love from movies and tv, which means he's so overly romantic. a walking romcom. you'll get constantly bombarded by gifts and letters (and he'll even write you a poem or two and serenade you if you keep that a secret)

and he would absolutely cherish you, regardless of how outgoing or loud you are, in fact he prefers a soft and quiet presence. it's calming, grounding and most important, means there's room for him in your life, because he would hate to have to compete to be seen by you

ok god damn snow i am impressed and proud of you lmao so uh yeah, you know who deserves someone who gives bomb head the most out of all the riddlers? this little idiot, because he really deserves the best

#finnie1k #finnie writes

23 notes · View notes

theold-ultraviolence · 2 years

Note

*running to request before the deadline*

ahh friend !! this prompt list is genuinely amazing, the variety and the vibes are impeccable !! 🎃💗 if the mood sways you, how about eddie and the song "this house is haunted" perhaps ?! 👀💗

FRIEND I adore this song and it has been in my halloween playlist since I was a teen! thank you for giving me the chance to write something inspired by it! Hope you like the direction this took - I feel like this reads more like a spooky poem. A/N: Kas!Eddie making an appearance here because we love to see him. This is inspired by the song "This House is Haunted" by Alice Cooper.

Spooky ficlet fest masterlist

That's How I Want It to Be 🎃 Eddie Munson x gn!reader

I was sitting in my room, dark and gray and crying

Someone in my life I fear was at the point of dying

It began with a carton of milk.

Sliding on the kitchen counter.

‘Till it nearly spilled onto the carpet – but you were quick enough to grab it.

It began with pain and loss, that transformed into fright when things started moving out of their own accord in your home.

But now over a year later, you've gotta say, your reflexes could put a cat to shame.

You never know when it’s gonna happen.

It’s usually at odd times, at certain periods of the year when the barrier between worlds is thinnest, and he has easier access to break through to you.

But when that first flower vase moves on the table.

When a ball of yarn rolls on the floor ‘till it becomes a sole string.

When a feather-light caress tickles your feet, you know you gotta be alert, wait for the signs.

Wait for the fuzzy signal of your radio turning on, so you can adjust the needle to sharpen up the sound – to offer him a lifeline for him to cross over. Sometimes he likes the randomness of the rock station.

Often he prefers an album, of Metallica, or Sabbath. Or something less known like Saxon, like Warlock.

Lately he’s been on an Alice Cooper kick, so you’ve been playing his old vinyls and newest tapes.

This house is haunted,

that's how I want it to be

This house is haunted,

You can always stay here with me.

Wait for the first encrypted taps against your wooden floors, that whisper in morse, “I’m coming.”

But tonight you’ve had a long, long shift at the diner, so the moment you settle down on the couch, intent on watching a Halloween special on your tv, with each sip of your hot tea, your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, guiding you to a dream world where there’s a man with eyes like too many chocolates after dinner, a smile like a string of pearls, and hands that make magic happen – that stop the world from turning, if only for a little bit.

You float through the living room, I watch my TV

I feel you sit down on the couch right here next to me

Then I feel you lips touch mine just like we used to do

I'm so happy all alone being here with you

You wake up as soon as you feel it. The coldness of his kiss that’s still so novel after having been so thoroughly acquainted with his warmth.

And when you open your eyes, he’s no longer a dream.

He’s here, solid and smiling.

If only a little bit changed. For there are sharp fangs where his canines used to be, and whereas his eyes used to be as brown and sweet as maple syrup, now they have all the edge and vibrancy of a tumbler of whiskey.

“Dreaming of me, babe?” Eddie whispers.

“Always,” you reply, clinging to his shoulders while tilting your head back, elongating your neck. “Thirsty?”

It didn’t matter which shape Eddie had turned, after having battled in the upside-down. As long as he kept making his way back to you.

He can keep haunting your house, it doesn't matter.

It means he’s still here. And that’s how you want it to be.

His piercing smile turns wicked, as his thumb soothes the enticing line of an artery, and replies, “Always.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #gender neutral reader #kas!eddie #stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #reader insert fanfiction #joseph quinn #my writing #spooky ficlet fest

44 notes · View notes

outlying-hyppocrate · 1 year

Text

life is meant to be romanticized. life is meant to be enjoyed. life is meant to be spent loving your friends, loving your family, loving those special people. i hope one day i'll find that special person. maybe they'll romanticize all the strangest things about me, write poems upon poems about my downturned lips and my strangely-shaped dark brown eyes, with eyebags and dark circles hidden under smudged eyeliner, tell me i look handsome when i stare off into space or fall asleep during movies or reflexively laugh at the end of each sentence. i'll regale them by saying how much i love the way the obsess over the little things, never learned how to dance properly, constantly get excited over how much they love fine french cheeses while i despise them with a passion, and we go on into the night, having conversations about pointless things like forgetting to buy conditioner, or sitting together, hands tangled in each other's hair, migraines ceasing in temples stroked by soft and gentle thumbs, or kisses stolen throughout the day that feel genuine, not like that awkward first kiss reminiscent of frenching a slab of meat. i think about the kind of love i could experience, and i wish i could pursue it, but for now, that special person is me. maybe it'll always be me, and in my opinion, that sounds just lovely.

#random thoughts #not crispin being loudly gay on the internet. in a more poetic way too #if you excuse my very american way of casually slipping the word 'frenching' in there. that wasn't very poetic of me and i resent that #AGH. after reading red white and royal blue i now have the intention of romanticizing so many things. i wish i had a gay lover ):#it would be cool if we were friends first though. friends to lovers is just. hng. in real life it sounds like a dream #anyway. if you enjoyed or related to this post. feel free to like / reblog at will

7 notes · View notes

italic-doing-random-shit · 6 months

Note

im too lazy to read all those questions so all of them

well fuck here we go

this took me three days-

1: Whats your biggest insecurity?

I've got three; my body(I feel too feminine), peoples true feelings in me, and my work ethic and effort

2: Biggest physical insecurity?

My chest/torso area

3: Do you like the person your becoming?

Yeah, I like the life I'm working towards is good and i can't wait to live in it

4: Whats the one thing that you thar everyone but you can do?

Actually get peoples attention irl, my voice isn't very loud

5: Do you suffer from anxiety/depression/ptsd/etc?

Yes, I used to, and I think so.

6: Where were you born?

Southern Texas, much more humid

7: What do you think people say behind your back

No good stuff, but that might be the anxiety

8: Do you look up to anyone?

Not really, most of my idols were shitty

9: What makes you feel guilty?

Do not get me started, I can start feeling guilty for someone's tone towards me

10: Boring hobby you enjoy?

Watching gaming videos

11: Do you like who you are around people

No, not really. I'm often forgotten and not included because I'm to anxious to start a conversation

12: Future plans?

Go to art school, start a comfy, domestic life

13: Tell a secret

I hate celery

14: Whats an embarrassing event your still really petty about?

I once got in trouble for involuntarily screamed during sex ed because there were pictures

15: Do you get wonderlust?

YES. EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME

16: Romantic prefernce

I prefer women/femenine people, but I am not closed to anything

17: How many parents do you have?

Four, two step and two bio

18: Do they get along?

No, not really. My dad and mom can never communicate and cause me to mediate since I was little. Plus, my step mom and dad often scream at eachother

19: Do you swear?

Fuck yeah

20: How many siblings? Relationship with them?

Four step siblings, two sisters, both older, two brothers, on older and one younger. I'm very close with my younger brother, Bold. I'm not very close with my older siblings, as they are on my dads side.

21: Ever hurt someone emotionally?

I really try not to unless they have hurt me badly enough, but I have had to turn people down.

22: Has someone hurt you emotionally?

Constantly

23: Do you believe in the afterlife?

Yeah! There's gotta be something after this!

24: What lies do you believe anyways

That my friend is straight, he sent a group chat that I was in a bunch of thirst traps

25: Do you consider yourself to be poor, average, or wealthy?

I'd consider my family to be better then average but not wealthy

26: tattoo meanings?

Id like a flower tattoo of something meaningfull, I'm not sure yet however

27: How many friend groups do you have? How do they vary?

I don't really have friend groups, but my irl friends vary so much

28: Do you work?

Not quite, I have a practicum do school however

29: do you want a partner for life?

Yes

30: Who have you never forgiven?

Nobody

31: What are you looking forward to now?

Long term: Meeting all of you and giving you all cupcakes

Short term: I'm going out of town soon

32: If there's anything you could've changed about your past, what would it be?

I wish I didn't show as much academic potential then what I truly have when I was younger. Less stress and maybe I could've been diagnosed sooner

33: favorite color

RED LOVE RED

34: Unpopular opinion

I don't like pizza, unless its hiiwain

35: Last good book you read

To kill a mocking bird, as boring as it was to read for school, it was still good

36: Favorite book

Wishtree

37: Favorite poem?

Don't have one

38: Favorite movie?

Luca

39: Favorite song?

This rotates very often, but currently, Partners in crime by Set it off

40: Favorite kind of food?

Sweet and chewy

41: What kind of food trigger your gag reflex?

No foods. But when I bone breaks and you can see the break, ill need a moment

42: What are you missing in your life

As fucking cheesy as it sounds, you guys. I don't like the majorit of people here and i need to hug you all

43:if you could chose your name—

I did, it’s Parker

44/45/46: earliest/recent/beautiful Dream you remember having?

I don’t dream

47: do you have a car?

nope! I’m not able to legally allowed to drive and I have hamaxophobia

48: are you scared of death?

nope, it happens to all of us. I just don’t want to speed up the process

50: Dream job?

I would love to create something like TADC, lackidasiy, or something like that. I’d love to create the story and work on the animation

51: are you religious?

Kinda, I grew up with a Christian belief, but I don’t affiliate with any specific religion. I believe there’s something out there, but not anything specifically.

52: how do you calm yourself?

distraction, if I get my mind off of what’s bothering me, then I’ll be fine

53: most annoying thing that happens daily

my bones popping and hurting

54: urban, suburban, or rural

Urban

55: one talent you wish you had?

I wanna play piano

56: do well or struggle in school?

depends on the class

57: speech impediment?

I have a bit of a stutter when I speak because I’m thinking to fast

58: most terrifying thing that ever happened to you?

getting outed without my consent

59: Happiest day of your life?

Meeting all of you, especially Zain

60: early, on time, or late?

yes

61: quirks?

None that I can think of, most that are visible is just me stimming

62: do you wish you could start tomorrow with a clean slate?

I mean, don’t I already do that every morning. In a sense of course

63: do you ever get paranoid?

yes quite often

64: do you believe in human souls?

kinda??? I mean, I think people are born with certain personality characteristics, but also I think it can be altered by environment

65: what’s a mistake you’ll never make again

making a chocolate pie and trusting certain people

66: what fandoms do you belong to?

utmv mainly, but I enjoy anything that you guys and gals bring me

67: Old urls

Used to be CallMeAdam, i was rotating through names I'd like to call myself, but I much prefer Parker and Italic now

68: How often do you lie?

A lot. Compulsively. Only to teachers and parents.

69: do you like the attention you get?

mostly, there’s some that I don’t like but that’s mostly irl attention

70: are you dating someone? What’s your favorite thing about them?

I am indeed! I love her confidence, but I adore everything about her

71: are you concerned about the environment?

yes

72: what stresses you out most?

Drama that gets blown out of proportion, school, going to my dads

73: credit, debit, EBT, or cash

cash. It’s much harder to track back to me

74: favorite historical figure?

I don’t know his name, but the dude who consumed his entire supply of pervirtin or however you spell it

75: what’s a movie you know is bad but enjoy anyways

Big, it’s awful but so funny

77: what’s your kink?

got a few; praise, dominance, and a few others I will only mention in private

78: what’s the on thing you don’t feel comfortable doing around friends?

there’s a lot of things, but talking is a big one

79: most prized possession?

heart necklace

80: are ever proud of yourself?

sometimes

81: do you ever tear yourself down?

yep

82: do you ever tell people how you feel?

maybe, depends

83: do you like it when people guess how you feel?

depends. If you’re wrong, im punching you(unless we’re joking around). If your right, then it make both of our lives so much easier

84: are you worried about someone close to you?

constantly, we’re all mentally I’ll and I’m way too empathetic for my own good

85: How many interview questions do you answer to yourself?

I don't exactly understand what this is asking, but I have done interviews before so just standard questions about my art work and life

86: if you could meet anyone living or dead, who would it be?

you already know who I’m going to say

87: if I had a clone of myself, and there’s not enough resources, would you get along?

most likely, im am very self sacrificing when it come to my mental and physical health

88: what kind of things confuse you

it can be anything if you try an describe it to me verbally

89: are to hot or too cold?

yes

90: What time period, other then the current one, would you like to be in

Well, probably somewhere in the 1500's,

91: what’s your sign? Does it match you?

Aquarius, and kinda

92: do you believe in astronomy?

no, but I still find it to be really interesting

93: do you like extreme activities?

some, im not very. Brave.

94: are you waiting for someone to save you?

not really, I want to save myself and bring others with me

95: can you remember the last time you had a deep connection with someone?

yeah, with panda on Sunday. It felt like talking to my future self/pos

96: do you like where you grew up?

nope! Terrible for my asthma, never felt accepted by people irl, plus a terrible problem with cis men being asshole and weird

97: favorite word

moonstruck; the incapability to be normal from being deeply enamored or in love with something or someone

98: do you think your interesting?

yeah!

99: what people do you wish knew me better?

my parents, all four of them. Maybe I’d be happier if they understood

100: are you okay?

not really, but I’m working towards being better

101: what’s been going on in your mind lately?

lotsa ideas for animations

#asks #tunny!! 🩷#Fucking christ

3 notes · View notes

nonchastin · 11 months

Text

Para-social, part 1

No but I often thought about that happening in my life. I was in a rush, frantically running on a foreign road, my hushed steps and my brain on its adrenaline peak. I would not get late for the train, I could not afford to, it was Paris. My dream destination, the aesthetic of the city ever too amusing along with how its normal citizens had Chanel on for their fast fashion. My childhood inferiority complex had somehow gone down the gutter when I was seventeen. It never returned, if anything then I found my outfit nothing less than casual and it pulled off in a way I liked. I had stopped running tho, it was making my side bangs go haywire and I wasn’t professional when it came to sporting in block heels. But I did continue to brisk walk, almost jog and then suddenly my shoulder crashed, their belongings fell as swiftly as I lost my balance. I became ready for the jerk which would go up my ass and travel its way through my spine, I could almost hear my tailbone crushing from the impact but then a death grip welcomed my upper arm. The nails dug in my skin, the skin of my arm would later bruise but I was saved from a potential fall.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered, ashamed and embarrassed, “it’s fine don’t worry.” But before he said that I was already kneeling and picking up his belongings. “I’m really very sorry.” His sling bag had come open, his phone on the ground as I looked at the signs of a screen crack but before my eyes could confirm it, he had already slid it inside his back pocket. His wallet was sprawled open; his identity visible from the clear plastic pocket, I took a glance at it. The earth crashed underneath my knees, the sky fell from above. As if on instinct, caught by surprise and the natural reflexes kicked in, I closed the wallet and handed it to him. I looked into his eyes, the browns I was so in love with, I felt the sensation of his hand brush against mine, I relished in that second, if i could then I would’ve stopped the time. My muse stood here before me, he was guarded by the camera, my naked eyes were kept imprisoned as if I wasn’t allowed to feel the freedom of his presence close to me. His gaze softened as he closed his sling bag and got up, he gave me a hand and I stared, at the sheer inevitability of the fact that I was going to take it. I held it, he pulled me up and despite wearing a mask I could see him smile. “Thanks for helping me.” Reality dawned, “I’m sorry again, I was in a bit of a rush.” The next moment I felt his hand on my shoulder, a slight pat and then, “It’s fine, I understand. Be well.”

He left. I walked, my footsteps calmer and despite the crowd all I could hear was him, all I could feel was his hand against mine. I wanted to tell him at that moment, that I write, I write poems and I write novels and they all are inspired by you, don’t you see it? You’re my muse. That my mind was clouded by ideas, and my blood often flooded with all the hormones which altered my body chemistry when I saw him smile. I boarded the train but the countryside was a blur, the alps I thought as the most terrifying mountain range with its steep slopes and pointed tops were now nothing as they failed to exist. My mother would call me but I would not be able to describe the greenery of the grass or the tranquil pulled out of a fairy tale blue sky. But I know that I would be able to describe the electricity I felt when I saw his identity card, when I looked in his eyes as he looked in mine. The meet, so brief that it would seem like a make believe, the moments so slow that if they were water then I would float. I met my muse today, I met the muse who was the artist and I met the person who poured me with such intensity of words that I would not stop writing until my brain fogged with tiredness. Until my hands gave up, until the word limit itself ceased to exist. So much for falling for him, so much for years, and in the next second every bone of mine cracked open, peaked from my skin, scarring the already scarred surface. But the pain was felt in my heart, the pain was absent and it felt insignificant physically although it drained my will power until I cried myself in front of the only god I knew, until I begged her to free me, to free me from this hopeless void, from this blind abyss of unrequited feelings and these drugs of receiving his love I was so high on. I felt it slip from my hands, I felt the love I had for him fading into the background as if it was a broken record ricocheting in the distance as I walked away from it. But then the music thrummed in my ears, this time I didn’t try to close my ears, I didn't place my hands on them to shield it from the frequencies because I knew it, it wasn’t in the surroundings, the music didn’t carry its notes in the air, it carried its way in my body itself, merging with my heartbeat. I didn’t combat it, I didn’t dodge the bullet, I let the bullet pierce through me. I didn’t stop it because somehow it felt unstoppable altogether. I got out, looked for someone else, failed so miserably that I broke but the next day I was as calm as the hurricane never came, as though I was never the sea, the sea which was known for its depth and its vastness, for its freedom to spill free and for its capability and capacity to bring disaster. I was as calm as the mountains, benevolent and unshakeable, a boundary and a wall built out of the most adamantine material as I guarded my feelings, locked them in a golden cage only he had the key to.

I was distracted and came back to life when the train retraced its steps to the station where everything happened. I had achieved many things in life, yet I had failed to feel happiness but at that moment I felt it rush in my veins that at least I got to see him. That even after I saw him my love stayed true to its roots, it was capable of letting him go. I go on, I go to the hotel to change my clothes, dress for none but me. I changed into a slip dress, I put glitter on my eyelids, a nude shade on my lips and perfume on my wrists. I go to a restaurant close to the Eiffel Tower, I lean on the balcony as I stare at the lights. Thinking about life and thinking about this day. How a casual shoulder bump became something I would remember. “Hey.” The voice was familiar, it had confusion looming in it and I turned around. Everything changed then.

#poetry #literature #reading #poem #bts #imagine #celebrity

2 notes · View notes

dax-enfinity · 2 years

Note

I'd love it if you just rambled about your godkill au. I love this au a lot. Just. Infodump.

Okay infodump time!

GodKill Toby first!

- The first time Connie ever started to suspect about her son would be when he first started coming home with multiple bruises

- Because in canon HOO / PJO lore the children of Ares have a natural aura that causes: anger, rage, fury, and pain like the angry kind.

- So thanks to that the Ares cabin often get into fights and have many rivalries, so Toby would naturally get into fights too

- Oh, and Toby would also have additional disorders such as:

- PTSD (Car crash and abusive dad)

- Dyslexia (Being a Demigod)

- ADHD (Also being a Demigod)

- C.I.P.A (Numbness to pain/injuries)

- Tourette’s Syndrome (His entire backstory)

- When Toby turned 11 his mother finally told him the truth and Connie got divorced (yay! :D)

- He got his personal weapon the Celestial Bronze Axe because he wanted to defend himself

- He sees Chiron like a dad to him (aww, but also daddy issues)

- He likes to play lots of pranks especially back in Camp Half-Blood but rarely does in the Mansion (since the whole edgy atmosphere thing)

- Unlike canon Toby, GodKill Toby doesn’t have the mouth scar

- Toby would be the one to wear simple yet fashionable clothes such as flannels, band t-shirts, ripped jeans, hoodies, and overalls with accessories such as necklaces, bracelets, sunglasses, beanies, and converse.

- He has a skateboard that’s all I have to say

- GodKill Toby is pretty much a normal teenager except for the Demigod abilities and reflexes

Now.. Onto GodKill Nico

- As I said in my other posts he’s an edgy serial killer

- His early life consisted of being happy until his parents and Bianca died

- Very sarcastic

- Emo

- Yet also like Metal

- He was put into the foster care system at a young age but there were many failed fostering attempts

- Each of the families stopped fostering him for different reasons such as:

- Killing small animals

- Trying to make mustard gas once

- Got suspended multiple times due to taunting bullies at school

- Stealing

- He managed to shoplift 3 times

- Scaring the neighbors

- Due to his multiple disorders and trauma

- He decided to kill his last foster family and run away which he did rather quickly since he had been planning their murder for a week and had already packed his bags

- He cleaned up the evidence for no trace of his DNA

- Nico got found by Slenderman at the age of 14, so he has been a proxy for about a year until he meets Toby

- Kills with one of those sharp hunting knifes

- Instead of aviator and bomber jackets GodKill Nico wears leather jackets and sweaters

- Nico listens to:

- My Chemical Romance

- Motörhead

- Black Sabbath

- Mötley Crüe

- He would be a bit more fashionable than Toby for example he would wear leather jackets, sweaters, chains, black military boots, fingerless gloves.

- His room in the Mansion is unexpectedly tidy since it’s filled with band posters, a bed with black bedsheets and red blankets, a large desk filled with a few plants a computer and markers/colors/pencils.

- His room in the Mansion also has a small bedside table with a framed picture of him and Bianca

(ha, angst)

- Along with a large bookshelf filled with mythology books, a few non-fiction books on pirates, and some poems by Edgar Allan Poe

- Spare knife in the bedside table

- Kind of an asshole at first meeting

- Swears a lot

- Has a weird thing for blood, like he likes to look at it

- average horror movie fan

- “Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time”

- edgy quote he probably says all the time

- “Whoops, My fingers slipped”

- Yes I took that from that one Nico fan art Viria made back in like 2013-2014 on tumblr

- also rolls his eyes often

whoah…

This is long…

#toby x nico #nicoby godkill #godkill au #reverse nicoby au #reverse nicoby #nico x toby #nico di angelo x ticci toby #nico di angelo x toby erin rogers #ticci toby x nico di angelo #nicoby #nicoby au #crossover ships #nico and the creepypastas

23 notes · View notes