#this is so off-prompt it's not even funny

[steveseddie]

hot stuff

@steddiemicrofic prompt: stuff, 483 words rated: t | cw: none | tags: pre-relationship, steve has a crush, he blurts it out while helping eddie pack to move to his new trailer

***

Steve shoves another DnD handbook into one of the boxes scattered around Eddie’s room. “Dude, why do you have so much stuff?”

Across the room, Eddie snorts. “Excuse me for wanting my bedroom to have some personality, Mr. Plaid-Wallpaper.”

Steve rolls his eyes, putting away some sketchbooks next. His eyes catch something else on Eddie’s desk. “This doesn’t match your personality. You hate sports,” Steve bitches, one hand on his hip, the other holding the basketball.

“Oh, that’s not mine.” Eddie smirks. “I stole it from some jocks.”

“You stole- a basketball?”

The smirk turns into a grin. “Assholes thought it’d be funny to hit the freak, so when they did, I grabbed it and ran like hell.”

A startled laugh leaves Steve’s lips when he pictures Eddie fleeing with a basketball in his arms, flipping off the assholes that he stole it from.

Then he frowns.

“I wasn’t one of them, right?” He doesn’t remember it, but he tries not to think about that time too much.

Eddie’s eyes soften. “No, Stevie. You were never a dick to me, we never really crossed paths.”

“I wish we had,” Steve says. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it. Since meeting Eddie, he often wishes it happened sooner.

“You really think we would’ve been friends? The King and the Freak?”

“We’re friends now,” Steve shrugs.

“After a damn apocalypse! Besides, you’re different now. King Steve wouldn’t be caught dead with me. I was a loser.”

Steve sniggers. “Was?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie squawks, throwing some socks at Steve’s head- and missing.

Steve throws them back, hitting him on the forehead. “You’re supposed to be packing those!”

Eddie sticks his tongue out. “What I meant is- I looked like a loser.”

Steve thinks of the photo he packed earlier while helping pack Wayne’s things- the one of Eddie with a buzz cut, drowning in Wayne’s hand-me-downs, no tattoos or rings. So different from the guy in front of him.

“Now though, I look cool,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows.

“Nah, man. Now you look hot,” Steve blurts out.

He panics when Eddie’s jaw drops and he gapes at Steve, but he doesn’t look upset, just shocked- and a little hopeful.

The door opens then and Robin pops her head in, glaring at the empty boxes. “You dinguses aren’t done yet? We finished packing all of Wayne’s mugs and there’s dozens of them! I’m getting Nance!” She huffs and leaves.

Steve grimaces. “We should get to work before Nancy comes. But, um, wanna ditch the girls after and hang out?”

When Eddie shakes his head, Steve backtracks. “Unless you don’t want-”

Eddie shakes his head even harder at that. “Like fuck if I don’t.” He grins. “Get to work, big boy, then you can tell me how hot you find me and we can kiss about it.”

They finish packing everything in record time after that.

#steddiemicrofic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #hello i am fighting tooth and nail to come back and write more of these two. these microfic is a start! #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

[cosmicpearlz]

my love is mine, all mine

summary: a glimpse into how wonderful your relationship with jude is and how you guys complete each other.

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

~one~

“i’m jude bellingham,” you attempt to mock his deep voice, while trying to contain your laugh. jude playfully glares at you with his arms crossed against his chest.

“you’re not funny.”

“i am so. you know you wanna laugh,” you replied, smiling brightly in his face. it instantly makes him crack a soft smile but he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of winning.

“no.”

“guys, he’s smiling! he knows i’m funny,” you poked his side while smiling even harder. the camera crew around you guys laugh at the way the two of you got distracted with poking each other and slapping the other person’s hand away.

“you guys have to stay on task. start asking the questions!”

“right right, sorry. i’m jude and that’s y/n,” you waved to the camera as jude introduced you.

“we’re here to see who loves the other person more.”

“no. try again.”

“we’re actually here to basically talk about our relationship. is that better?” jude looks at you with a smile and shakes his head.

“whatever you say m’love. do you wanna ask the first question?”

~two~

wining the match by a landslide had taken so much stress off of jude. he played the hardest he’s ever played. the fans from the opposite team giving him and his teammates an obnoxious amount of hate, only encouraged him harder. alas, he can breathe and loosen his shoulders.

jude looks across the pitch to find you with his family. his brother was the first to notice him looking and smiled at him. jude waves him over and jobe gets the hint, tapping everyone else to follow him across the pitch.

meeting in the middle, jude hugs jobe first. pulling him into a bear hug, causing the younger boy to laugh. moving on, he goes to hug his mom and dad. you stand over to the side giving them a little bit of privacy. you’ve never been the one to get in the way of his family, knowing how close they all were. not that they would’ve minded because they fully expected you and jude to get married, with how long you guys had been together. they seen you as a part of them.

“baby, why are you standing so far? c’mere,” jude pulls away from his mom and dad, immediately looking for you. he holds his arms out, prompting you to rush into his arms.

“congratulations my love. i’m so proud of you,” you whispered into his chest. jude wraps his arms tighter around you and lifts you up, loosen one arm to hook your legs around his waist. your arms find their place around his neck comfortably.

“thank you for being here.”

“i’d travel across the moon for you.”

“i’ll travel across the galaxy for you,” jude replies, while looking deeply into your eyes. you smiled and raised a hand to rest on his cheek. he leans his head further into your touch.

“must you always have to one up me?”

“yes. i would give you the world if i could.”

“luckily for you, you are my world and you’re already all mine,” your eyes gazing from his eyes to his lips. with one arm around your back and the other around one of your thighs that rested on his waist, he smirks.

“and you’re all mine,” jude leans his head closer to you, connecting your lips together. a sweet kiss that never fails to spark a burning desire within you. you pull away before the kiss can get too graphic with you guys still being in a public place.

“i love you so much.”

“i love you too darling,” jude places a quick kiss to your head and hugs your body close to him.

completely forgetting he absolutely still had the mic attached to his jersey. the private moment will be a trending topic for the next morning for sure.

~three~

“i’m ready to shake my ass on this yacht!” you jokingly said, causing jobe to make a face of disgust.

“ew i prefer you didn’t. don’t wanna see what you nasties do on your free time.”

“i prefer you do. actually, can i have a private dance?” everyone around jude groaned and walked away quickly to get on the boat. leaving the two of you to walk by yourselves.

“keep it in your pants bellingham,” you push his chest with a knowing smirk.

“i can’t. it literally has a mind of its own when it comes to you,” it was your turn to make a face mixed with disgust and disappointment.

“you are a perv. stop being nasty,” you pointed at him and walked away from him.

jude starts chasing you, knowing you wouldn’t even have the chance to go far because of his longer legs. he caught you in no time and picks you up, making you yelp in the process, along with nonstop laughter.

“you know you like my nastiness. stop pretending you don’t,” he whispered in your ear and placed a kiss on your neck.

“i do. just maybe not in front of your brother and friends,” you replied with, in between your constant giggles.

~four~

football season was finally over. real madrid winning the final cup had been a dream of jude’s and it came true. you guys took a trip back to england to visit his family and spend time with them. unfortunately, the time zone was messing with your sleep. finding yourself restless, you looked to your boyfriend and gaze over his sleeping figure.

“jude,” you poked his shoulder with a whisper. the sleeping boy didn’t move an inch.

“babe,” you shook his shoulder a little harder and jude hummed softly to you in acknowledgment. still he wasn’t fully awake.

“i can’t sleep.”

“darling it’s like three in the morning,” the roughness of his sleep voice stirred up something within you. curse your boyfriend for being so hot even when he’s half asleep.

“i know, i’m sorry. i just can’t sleep.”

jude sits up and rubs at his sleepy eyes. the moon light from the window shining on his face within the dark room.

“what do you want me to do exactly?”

“stay up with me until i fall asleep?”

the silence was loud as you guys studied each other’s faces in the dark. jude sends a small smile to you and gets fully out of bed. he holds his hand out for you to take and leads you to the kitchen. quiet footsteps pattering around the wood floors.

“let’s have some tea then.”

“okay.”

you sit on the stool by the countertop as you watched jude prepare two cups of tea. he knew exactly how you liked your tea. nothing in it but the tea bag and hot water. he thought it was weird but never mentioned it to you.

“here you go m’love,” sliding the hot tea cup to you and placing himself in the seat next to yours.

“thank you baby. i’m sorry i woke you.”

“it’s not a problem. is anything else wrong or you just really couldn’t sleep?”

“no, i just couldn’t sleep,” you pout, making the boy quietly laugh. he lifts one of your legs into his lap, rubbing the bare skin with his free hand before taking a sip of his own tea.

“well luckily i’m really good boyfriend.”

“oh really?”

“mmhm. who else would wake up at the ass crack of dawn?”

“you have a point bellingham,” you sip your tea to hide your incoming smile. “have i ever told you i love you?”

“hmm, you might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“once or twice? woah, you gotta give me more credit babe.”

“where’s the fun in that sweetheart?” you give him a dead straight look, while jude quietly laughs some more.

“i’m kidding. i love you more,” jude leans over and captures your lips in a kiss. moving to then place kisses all over your face, laughter now spreading out in you.

“not possible. i love you wayyy more.”

“ugh as if.”

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham

[leona-hawthorne]

Mattheo with a s/o who’s an experienced fighter. Like they literally flipped a student over a table type shir

MATTHEO’S GIRL / mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: lavender brown gives your man a love potion… what else can you do but fight her?

warnings: fighting/violence (not super explicit), swearing, fluff, suggestive ending (no smut), lavender brown slander (i’m sorry! i don’t even dislike her, i just didn’t know who else to use)

words: 1.2k

a/n: thank u for the request anon, i hope i did whatever you had in your head justice <3 also, i used that one prompt that was like “you’re cute when you’re mad” “ well i’m about to get real fucking adorable” i can’t remember where it was from so lmk if you do!!

masterlist

Sometimes, Lorenzo Berkshire wonders if he made the right choice by introducing you to Mattheo.

Sure, he loved that his friend was happy and in love, but Merlin, the two of you together was like pouring gasoline on a fire. A wildfire.

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t familiar with solving altercations using anything but his fists and unfortunately, you were the exact same way. At least you could say neither of you has ever lost a fight.

“Blaise, pass me the syrup.” You muttered, licking crumbs of waffles off your finger.

The Great Hall was abuzz with chattering students, the scent of bacon and eggs wafting in the air and the relaxing hum of rain outside illuminating the atmosphere.

“Y/N, I’m proud of you, to be honest,” Blaise, who sat across from you, mused as he handed you the small pitcher of syrup. Your brows furrowed, curiosity etching over your features.

“Why are you proud of me, may I ask?” You chuckled, drizzling the syrup over your waffles.

“Why? Because you didn’t rip that girl’s hair out.” He snorted, confused as to why Enzo was shaking his head at him beside you.

You looked up from your waffles, smile dropping. “What girl?”

“Um… The one who tried to give Mattheo a love potion?” He laughed nervously and Enzo shut his eyes and sighed in disappointment.

You ran your tongue over your teeth and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling storm of fury already bubbling in your chest. “Blaise. What girl?” Your voice was dangerously quiet and Blaise’s eyes widened as he licked his lips, clearly terrified that you’d hex him on the spot if he didn’t spill.

“Lavender Brown.” The words immediately rushed out of his mouth, making it evident that he’d much rather save himself. He just wished Mattheo hadn’t slept in this morning and was here to calm his girl down.

“Explain exactly what happened,” you demand.

The words spill out of Blaise’s mouth at a comically fast speed as he aggressively cuts his waffles up with his knife.

“She was talking to him after class because McGonagall asked her to tutor him in DADA and she offered him a cookie but Pansy had heard Lavender the other day in the library, telling Parvati about how she’d finally found a way to, and I quote, ‘steal Y/N’s man.’ So, we pulled him away before he could accept.” The sentences were almost indecipherable with the way Blaise was rushing them out but you caught every word, the glass in your hand almost shattering with the death grip you had on it.

“Okay,” You whispered, standing up. Just as you began walking to the Gryffindor table, your boyfriend brushed past you.

“Hey, baby, good morni—” He instantly shut up when he saw that crazed look in your eyes. “Oh, I take it, you found out.” He winced, his face scrunching up in worry and a little bit of amusement.

“Matt, I love you, babe, but get the fuck out of my way.” His arms grabbed at you, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/N, come on. I don’t wanna see you get hurt, baby.”

“Okay, many things are wrong with that statement. First, it’s funny hearing that come from you, Mister I Love Fighting. And second, you seriously think that bitch could hurt me? With her weak little arms?”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to caress your face, thumb brushing over your pouty lower lip before kissing it.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, you know?”

“Well, then I’m about to get real fucking adorable.” You shoved past him, making a beeline for the Gryffindor table, only to find that Lavender isn’t there. So, instead, you clutched Parvati’s shoulder in your hand and turned her around to look you in the eye as you leaned down to her level.

“Where’s your little friend?” You questioned, your angry eyes boring into her widened, fearful ones as she realizes Lavender’s been caught by, arguably, the scariest girl in school.

“Courtyard,” She squeaked, betraying her friend.

You nodded, eyes set on the exit as you let go of her, much to her relief as her tensed up shoulders relaxed again. Ignoring Mattheo and your friends trailing behind you, you bolted towards the courtyard and put your hair up in a ponytail as you prepared to throw hands at 9:30 in the fucking morning.

The second you spot that head of curly blonde hair, all you can see is red, rushing towards her and grabbing her by the back of the head, pulling her away from her friends. She squealed in pain as you pulled on the strands of her hair before pushing her forwards by the head.

“Ow! You psycho bitch!” Her whiny voice rang out, drawing the attention of everyone in the courtyard. Her words only fueled the anger you were harboring, steam practically coming out of your ears. With a red face, you muttered, “Oh, I’ll show you psycho.”

She attempted to tackle you but you easily dodged her predictable move and instead, waited for her to face you again before landing a punch directly on her jaw, drawing out a yelp.

Before she has the time to react, you snatch her shirt and drag her over to the picnic table nearby, your anger charging your strength as you hurl her body over the table, her back sliding across it before tumbling onto the floor, a pained groan escaping her lips.

Mattheo’s lips parted in shock, unknowing of whether to be concerned or proud of you.

“Merlin, she really is Mattheo’s girl.” Theo mutters, noting the similarities between you and your boyfriend.

You sighed and sauntered around over to her, as if this was just another Tuesday, and kneeled down to mutter in her ear, “A love potion? Are you really that desperate? Listen Lavender, you even look at what’s not yours again, and you’ll be sporting a damn body cast.”

A small smirk blossomed on your boyfriend's lips, his brows raising in amusement as you walked back over to him and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

Lavender, who’s standing now with the help of her friends, huffs exasperatedly. “He probably doesn't even want you!”

And it’s all red again. You lunged at her but your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around your waist before you could get a single punch in, securely holding you in place, your back pressed to his chest. “Let go!” You writhed around, trying to free yourself from his grasp

“It’s okay, baby.” He kissed your cheek. “I know you wanna make her bleed, but it's okay.” It’s almost laughable how sweet and soothing the words are, despite what they’re saying.

He eventually dragged you back to his dorm, deciding to skip your first classes so he could tend to your slightly bruised knuckles. You seemed to have acquired some cuts, splintered wood sticking out of your skin from when you threw Lavender over the table.

Sitting on his bed with a first aid kit beside him, he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the small cuts before cleaning and bandaging them up. “I’m not gonna lie, the possessiveness was kind of hot.” He told you with a suggestive smirk. “You’re insane, you know that?”

”Maybe we both are.” You giggled, leaning up to plant a kiss on his jawline.

“Maybe.” He murmured, his voice turning low and husky as he stared down at you. “You’re sexy when you fight.”

He smiled as his back hit the back, your pretty face hovering above him.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin #theodore nott #benjamin wadsworth #reader insert #theo nott #x reader #marcus lopez arguello #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut #lorenzo berkshire #blaise zabini #request #requests are open

[edgeray]

Hi child :]

What about arle cooking for reader?

I think she can’t cook it’s hilarious but I’d love to see what you come up with if you decide to write it<3

Onions Are Her Weakness

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi momma!!! I've been looking forward to this one, but I do my requests based on chronological order. Finally got to this one! Was waiting to write some crack :D Reader is gonna be gender neutral. I was so excited about writing about how arle can't cook, i forgot about the prompt and decided to have reader teach arle how to cook. hopefully this is okay  Content warnings / info - author attempts to be funny, author pretends that they know how to cook

Despite Arlecchino's best efforts, it had come to her beloved's attention that Arlecchino did not have much cooking experience. Like the loving partner that you are, you aim to correct that. After all, cooking is an essential life-skill that even children need to learn. How Arlecchino has yet to learn, you're not certain, but you suppose better now then never for Arlecchino. 

For your sanity, maybe never was better. 

Your husband is, archons bless her, talented in a number of fields. But archon, you will never allow her to set foot in the kitchen again.

It was clear that Arlecchino didn't just not have cooking experience, but she didn't have any experience, period. Neither did she have any cooking intuition, or the bare necessity, common sense. With how abysmal her skills are, you no longer find her fondness of raw meat all that surprising. 

For the day, you banned the kitchen from the rest of the House of the Hearth; it was reserved for you and Arlecchino only. 

You first started off with Fontainian Onion Soup. Easy enough, you naively thought. 

“Okay, Arlecchino. First step is to ‘peel and thinly slice onions from–” You begin reading out, but before you can finish the instructions, a flash of black and red flies past your sight and then a crisp, wet, crunch that makes you cringe. You glance up from the book and to your utter horror, a gruesome murder scene lies in front of you on the cutting board.

You couldn't fathom what the onions did to deserve such a fate. Instead of the thinly sliced peel you're supposed to see suggested by the book, there is the sick, disgusting scene of the maimed remains of the once fresh onions. It’s like the onions are crying for death after that assault. Arlecchino stands besides you, unaware of the atrocity she commited on your counter. The knife next to you remains untouched.

“Arlecchino,” you say, as composed as one can be, though you already feel like you're about to cry–and it's not because of the onions. “You're supposed to use the knife to cut.”

Arlecchino looks at her claws for a beat of silence. “Thank you for the clarification, my love.” 

She awkwardly picks up the knife, as if never having picked up a cooking tool before. Her entire fists grips around the handle, as if she continues to torture the already tormented onions. You set aside the mangled onions, and place the unharmed ones in front of her.

“Don't hold it like you're going to stab them,” you sigh, correcting her finger placement so that she was properly holding the knife. The poor onions had enough, you think to yourself. Your husband seems confused, but adjusts to the new position. 

You raise the book to her eye level, pointing at the picture. “Okay, it's supposed to look like this. Cut it like that, yeah?” 

Arlecchino nods, and attempts her best. Though not proportional, at least the cuts were straight. Improvement, right? The process is slow, her fingers keep returning to a stabbing position before you correct her again, reminding her that the onions do not feel pain. 

Finally, she has sliced the last one, as terrible looking as all the others, but you give her some slack. You glance up at her expression, wanting to see how she felt now that she had completed the first step of the recipe. 

Her face is wet. More specifically. She's crying.

“Arlecchino. You're crying.”

Arlecchino hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

“Crying is a display of weakness.”

“So onions are your weakness?”

You don't stop cackling for a good while, imagining how the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, being defeated by cut onions. Maybe the next time Arlecchino decides to have a duel with her children, you'll inform them to bring some onions and chuck them at her. 

“You speak of this to no one.”

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet would benefit from this information. No, even better, this can act as blackmail. Oh, you need to engrain this into your mind. “Of course.” 

You decide that you can't trust her enough to mince the garlic cloves. 

The next step was caramelizing the onions in the pan. 

“Arlecchino.”

“Yes?”

“What is the color of caramel?” 

“It is brown, why do you ask?” 

“Look at your onions, and tell me what color they are.”

Arlecchino looks down at the pan in her hand. She frowns. “They appear black.” 

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps they are cursed like I am.” 

“Arlecchino, no–”

You drag Arlecchino to the nearest market for more onions as a punishment for wasting your hard-earned money. Once you've returned, you impel her to cut and cook the onions again.

“Stir occasionally, okay? Don’t forget the oil and butter.” 

This time, the onions aren’t turned to ashes, and you think, maybe Arlecchino isn't so hopeless. The next few steps are just adding the rest of the ingredients for the soup, and you make sure that even she can't mess that up. Wine, then the stock and herbs, and you get something that vaguely reminds you of puke. 

Next comes the Fontainian bread. Nice crispy, cheesy bread is great with soap. This is the last step. Baking is easy. Just put things in the oven, and it'll be done.

“Take a pinch of the cheese and sprinkle it on the bread–no, Arlecchiono, that is not a pinch, that is a handful and a half. Put that back.” 

“But you like cheese.”

“I like my bread with cheese, not cheese with bread.” 

“They are the same thing.” 

“No, one is bread with cheese, and one is a mountain of cheese suffocating the bread as if it was demanding its money back. I like being able to taste bread.” 

Arlecchino pauses, likely confused by your comparison. “But you like cheese,” she repeats again, so sweet and so, oh confused. Archons, she's pouting. 

“Arlecchino. I don't need this much cheese,” you quietly confess. “Put it back.” 

“But–”

“Arlecchino, I love you, and I will always ask you to get me a fistful of shredded cheese when I want to. But it is not now. Put it back.” 

Sometimes, you wonder how this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman of your husband was a Snezynayan diplomat. This is one of those times.

“Why do we have to wait for this long, when I can just use my vision?” 

“Because you will burn them, now can you please set down the tray so we don't char our bread. The bakeries are already closed, and burnt bread does not taste good.”

Arlecchino sighs and places down the cheesy breads, sparing them from their painful fate.

“I'm sure charred bread tastes acceptable. Charred meat has excellent flavor.”

That explains so many things and it makes you want to cry.  

After the bread is toasted, without the assistance of Arlecchino, you serve her the homemade soup and bread, the creation taking from noon to evening. Although you're starving, watching your husband’s eyes light up upon eating her creation makes all the hair pulling and teeth gritting moments worth it. In these moments, you forget that this hopeless, loving husband was anything but just that; not the Knave, not the Fourth Harbinger, just yours. You can forgive her for the slaughtered onions and the nearly burnt bread if it meant more domestic moments like these. 

In the middle of her meal, however, she stops and comments something.

“This would benefit from raw beef.”

You don't have the strength in you to deny her otherwise.  

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #arlecchino

[new-revenant]

As a practical joke Danny, Tucker, and Sam make an eight bit video game about a circus of anthropomorphic animals they make it look old. It gets progressively creepy and disturbing as it goes on. They give the only copy to Dash to freak him out. Well things go wrong when Technus attacks and unleashes the monsters in the game with a universal remote. Team Phantom has their work cut out for them

Huh, this is a really interesting idea-WAIT A MOMENT

Omg it’s you, I’m so sorry I haven’t answered your previous ask haha. Well, I assume you’re the same asker, since the two prompts are very similar, so I’ll answer them both in this one.

This reads like Technus is releasing the monsters into the real world. If DP ever got a (good)modern day reboot, I could see this being an actual episode. Them making a kind crappy but still scary enough game for Dash sounds plausible, and then Technus decides he can take over the world with these creepy monsters. Team Phantom has to exploit their weaknesses and bugs in real life, using the crappy code to their advantage. Very good prompt, 10/10

Onto the old one lamo. First off, “Pooky Bear’s Three Ring Circus” is such a funny name. The game reminds me of “Sonic.EXE” and all the other crappy games like that. And even though Danny’s game is also kinda crap, but it’s better crap, and original! Technus actually fixes up most of the code before releasing it, and he later works with Danny to update the game and stuff. Technus also added himself to the credits, so now it’s a two person project. Red Robin noticed the game because Benard(his boyfriend) showed it off to him. Something seems off about the game, and not just because it’s a horror game. Something…unnatural is going on, and he wants to get to the bottom of it. First things first, he wants to look into who this “Danny Phantom” and “Nicolai Technus” are.

#danny phantom #dp technus #anon ask #revenant prompted #dp x dc #dpxdc #<-the second ask is this. the other ask is only dp #anon I am so sorry that it’s been a year I hope you understand the pains of burnout #also deleting the ask pictured so I can free up my inbox. So im really banking on the idea that you are the same person #it would be actually very unlikely for you to not be ngl

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 31. Sam (Dry humping & Phone Sex)

Pairing: Sam / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,602 Warnings: dry humping, phone sex, sub sam, masturbation, dirty talk, petname (pup), pillow humping Prompt(s): 09 — dry humping + 10 — phone sex Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: look. i couldn't pass up the sam opportunity, my absolute FAVOURITE boy. my NUMBER ONE. that, and this is the first phone sex prompt i've gotten, so i had to!!!! phone sex is so slept on as a trope but its one of my favs, so thank you for giving me this opportunity!! i also wrote sam a bit more subby than usual? idk i imagine him being very vers, but rather than just being happy to get his cock wet, i wrote him to be a bit more submissive. hope thats ok!

Tossing and turning in his thoroughly kicked sheets, he kicks at them with defeat once more before they fall completely to the ground below, a pitiful whine of frustration escaping him with a huff to match the distressed state of his bed. He's sure he looks no better, thoroughly exhausted and annoyed at the situation he's found himself in tonight.

Try as he might, he can't fucking get off properly without your help.

Turned useless by your skilful touch, he digs under his pillow dramatically— you know when you need something so bad that the act of attaining it seems impossibly difficult? A mess of a man just from searching, tension building in his body when he can't immediately find his phone, huffing and puffing and whining openly at the way his cock matches the stress he feels in his muscles, how it twitches and drools with every elongated second that passes until—

"Fuck, finally."

He finds it, turning the screen to face him only to squint at the blinding light that flashes him upon unlocking the phone. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he stares at the numbers that greet him with exasperation.

Two AM in the morning.

Idly palming away at his already exposed cock—pyjama bottoms and underwear already removed aaaages ago—he lets out a strained groan. In part because it feels good to be touching himself again, but also because it's not enough. Never enough nowadays. God, you've fucking ruined him, to be honest. Turned his efforts futile, sapped any hope for him finding anything other than your perfect touch acceptable. And it always strikes him this late at night, or early morning, fucking whatever— always at an ungodly hour where he knows that you're out of reach. Left in his lonely bed to writhe and tremble with almosts. Almost good enough, almost close enough, almost fucking there if only you were by his side.

Desperately, he tugs on his cock again. Strokes his length up and down so eagerly, because it's been so fucking long since he first got hard; all because he was looking at pictures of you again, of course. It's as if he's fucking obsessed with you or something, his cheeks heating up at the stark reminder of how pretty you were in the pictures. Just little pixels on his screen, forcefully squeezing his eyes shut to try and focus on the numb stimulation his overworked fingers offer his cock, but it's useless. His whole body feels hot under the mere reminder of your existence, yearning in vain for even your ghost touch, tongue poking out in sheer concentration to finally get off; he's pretending that it's you touching him again, and not his pitiful attempts to cum.

But, alas, he knows the outcome of such tried and true methods. Only because he's done this countless times before, struggled by himself for so many hours— you're gonna be the fucking death of him if he keeps this up. It'd be funny if he wasn't the one suffering, rolling his eyes instinctively at himself, his voice comes out all high pitched and fucked, because even without your presence you still manage to spoil him.

"Fuck sake—" He curses, complaining to no one but his own pointless efforts to jack off. What he needs right now is you, more than anything ever. A pained ball in his throat preventing further whimpering, how fucking embarrassing, right? That he can't even masturbate any more now that you've started dating him, pretty cunt, expert hands, and wanting mouth is all his cock wants for now. And can you blame him? You've spoiled him rotten, cause this temper tantrum to surface now that he's unable to obtain the sole thing he wants right now. S'all your fault, if you think about it.

Or maybe he's just making excuses for himself as his eyes shoot open, fraught with sheer need as he squeezes his cock absently. He knows it's late, knows that you're probably fast asleep by now, but fuck— he needs you. And you did tell him to call whenever he was needing, right?

Disregarding the fact that he intimately understands that you meant something more like perilous predicaments, and not just because he yearns to have his cock wet, he can't even hope to focus on how potentially rude he's being right now as he brings up your contact name on his phone, taking only a brief pause to roll his hips against his tight fist before pressing call.

And he waits. For what feels like for fucking ever, but in reality could only have been a few seconds. Doesn't even dare breathe down the phone when the call connects, merely squeezing at his cock some more as he awaits for you to break the silence, his vision glazed over when you let out a sleepy yawn.

God, he does feel bad about it, y'know? A little seed of quilt buried deep in his tummy, especially given how long and hard you yawn down the phone at him.

"Sammy?" You finally hum for him, and it's silly how much even just hearing you mumble his name gets him going. Has his tummy filling with butterflies to drown out the thrum of guilt, hips bucking once more into his slicked up fist to seek sweet stimulation. The amount of precum just drooling for you would be outrageous, if not for the fact that he's the only one privy to such degenerate details. "What's wrong? Are you ok? Is everything okay?"

Ah, he can hear the sleep just dripping from your voice. So soft and cute and for him, right? His fist automatically stroking up and down, a slow rhythm to idly play with himself while you wake.

"Sorry," He starts, immediately coughing to try and hide the whine in his tone. To mask the slick up and down of his fat cock as he strokes it to the sound of your voice. How fucking perverted, right? Downright dirty that all he needs is your sleepy sighs to get off to, repositioning more on his back to get comfortable now that you're aiding in his relief, even if unknowingly. "Just— uh, I just missed you s'all." He lies through gritted teeth, hoping to quell the lewd need in his tone from you.

"At... Two AM?"

Yeah, he thinks to himself. Two fucking AM, prime you up? texting time. A pout tugging on his lips despite no one being around to witness it, he knows the excuse is flimsy at best, sure that you can hear the amount of precum coating his cock with every squelch of his tightly wrapped fist up and down, because he can surely feel the way it collects on his balls. Gross, he audibly winces down the phone. But he can't just out himself, can he? Back arching up off his bed at the knowing tone of your voice, he's so close he can almost taste it now that you're with him in some capacity. It's all he needs, ever.

"What's up, pup?" You rightfully question him, the playful nickname doing wonders to his current sticky situation. An undignified whine escaping him at the unspoken context of such a title. Would you be mad at him for jerking it to your voice? Even if you're dating him, he hasn't exactly clued you in to the situation, biting down on his bottom lip in vain hope that you may have misheard his tell tale moan.

But you know him so well, and he can envision the smirk you must be wearing with your next words.

"Oh. Needy pup, aren't you?" You coo, and he can't help but to lean further into your teasing, placing the phone closer to his ear and also raising his hips up a little to hump into every stroke of his cock. Caught with his pants down, literally, he lets out a breathless shudder for you to mock.

"Yeah— I, um... Fuck— No use hiding it," He half laughs, a broken whine following his attempt at humour because he hears you simply hum in response. A plain sound by all accounts, but God he's so in love with you, you could say literally anything to him right now and he'd be hard pressed not to cum on the fucking spot. "Need you. Like, bad, babe. It's— I've been goin' fr'like an hour, an' the whole time I couldn't stop thinking' 'bout you."

"Yeah?" You taunt seamlessly, teasing lilt to your voice that goes straight to his cock that's currently getting choked by his iron grip; he can barely stand it any longer. Can barely stand you, and the way you so easily have him wrapped up around your little finger, toying with him despite being so far away on the farm. Fucking hates just how much he adores every fucking second of it, more so fucking his hand than he is stroking himself now, frustration still settled thickly in his bones when you giggle back at him. "Just wanna hear me talk?"

"Please—" He rushes to answer, imagining you're on top riding him right now, his voice low and throaty with the amount of effort he has to exert just to jack off. "Anything, babe. Jus'— Jus' talk t'me. S'all I need, promise I'll be quick."

He's gotta be, right? Been at it for so long already, fucking his fist with frantic thrusts now that you're down the line, humming and giggle and shit, you sound so fucking pretty, especially when you know that you hold all the control in this situation. Even just hearing you sigh before likely scolding him for such a pathetic reason of calling is hot to him, fat cock leaking all over himself as he huffs in pleasure.

"Sound so wet, Sammy," You say after a brief pause, adopting a sultry tone that causes him to heat up in stark embarrassment. The confirmation that, yes, you can hear how wet he is for you, tips him over the edge. Lust pooling in his tummy at how easily you seem to ruin him, his eyes rolling back at he instinctively places his shirt in his mouth to chew on. A gag as much as it is an attempt to show off for you, lost himself too much in your dulcet tones that he forgets you can't actually view his performance tonight. Just listen, though, to the way he whines so prettily, right? All feminine and fucked, muffled behind the fabric of his shirt that soon turns soppy with spit. "Does it feel good? Masturbating to my voice? Does it feel good to be so dirty, pup?"

Without realising, he nods his head frantically, pressing the phone closer to his ear with a choked whine. "Yeah— Fuck, feels so good, keep goin'—"

"Mm... I wish you were here tonight, Sammy. Been missing you too, y'know?"

God he fucking loves to hear that, so much so that he lets his body sit up straight, phone still attached to his ear as he grabs the pillow he was just resting on, situating it in front of him folded in half.

"Want you too." You sigh, and he swears he can hear some rustling on your end that only ignites the fire in his tummy. Forces him to thrust forward against the old pillow, the immediate rub of his soaked tip against the fabric of the case causing a moan of your name to sound down the phone. A plea, almost. Begging for more, seeking your care and attention because you're the only one who can give it to him.

Because truthfully, he could fuck his cock against his pillow all night long if he wanted to, but nothing would satisfy him quite like your voice does. Got him all sloppy and wet for you, yeah? Thrusting against his fucking pillow like some horny teen for God sake.

"Sound so pretty, Sammy—" yeah, fuck yeah. That's it, that's what he needs, humping himself stupid against his worn pillow like the pup you keep calling him; fitting the role so well as whines continue to spill for your words, panting down the phone with his head hanging low. One hand keeping the phone steady, the other squishing his cock between the folded pillow section. If he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can almost perfectly imagine that he's fucking you, listening closely to the gentle shuffle of your hand assumedly under your panties, given the subtle wet schlick of your perfect little hole he focuses in on— fuck he wants to be inside of you so bad.

Wants to shove his cock so deep into your angel cunt like how he's fucking his pillow right now, huffing and trembling above it, letting his precum smear and stain the fabric all sloppy because he can't fucking stop. Not when he hears a barely there whine escape your lips, muted behind the phone, but he fucking hears it. His head dizzy with desire, gasping openly into the night as his bed squeaks under his frantic thrusts.

Firmly pressing down on his cock, making the glide against the pillow as snug and tight as possible, he mewls so shamelessly for you. Too far gone in the pleasure of your voice, in every little gasp and groan from your end of the phone, a shiver rolling down his spine when you eagerly whimper his name too.

He's mid stroke when you decide to end him for tonight. So effortlessly too, rock hard cock throbbing thoughtlessly under the softness of the pillow, turned dumb under your voiceless direction. Getting off to your moans like this, a whimpering mess in his room. "Wanna— Wanna ride you right now, Sammy..." And he just fucking knows that you're pouting right when you admit that, the sight so clear in his mind that his hips stutter against the pillow with a broken moan, dropping his phone in favour of digging his nails into the fabric as if he was grabbing your ass, or tits. He can't decide in the moment, too busy milking himself into the softness of the pillowcase, getting it all gross and sticky with repeated humps to milk the fat load that's been building for so long outta him.

So fat, in fact, that even when he's sure that he's done and he can finally pick up the misplaced phone again, flopping over the pillow to still idly fuck against it, the squishy mess he's left behind keeps his cock all sore and throbbing for you. Heaving down the line a little, letting out a breathy chuckle at the state of himself, heart fit to burst at the sound of your equal enjoyment tonight.

"Sorry—" He starts, still a little out of breath from fucking himself so hard, and for so long too! But he's so thankful that you stopped by to save him, a cheesy grin on his face at the way he continues to hump lightly, fully satisfied thanks to your meagre words of encouragement. "I just, I really needed that. Thanks, really."

You yawn before responding, and once again that seed of guilt returns, prompting him to sputter for a second before recognising his faults. "Shit, I'm so sorry babe, I know it's late and—"

"Sammy, it's okay. Make it up to me tomorrow, okay?"

And he can't rightly turn that offer down, can he? Would be a fool not to return the favour, smiling away to himself with a tight chest full of love. He hopes you hold him to that promise.

"Yes ma'am."

#500 event! #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sam smut #stardew valley sam smut

[howlingday]

So a Knightfall prompt: Cinder can't stand children and babies. Her rough upbringing and their constant needing is pain for her to handle. But she is meeting Sarrfon,Terra and Jaune's favorite little guy Adrian. So she has to fake till she makes it. Or gets Baby fever after a disaster of watching Adrian and yet still loving him.

Cinder Fall was far from a good person. She'd done many an unsavory thing in her life. She'd lied, cheated, stole, and did anything and everything she could to survive, and even then some when her life wasn't already in danger. In the eyes of many, she was a monster. However, to her boyfriend, Jaune Arc, she was... Well, she was still awful, but she was making amends now.

Still, she didn't deserve such torture. She sat in the living room and watched as Jaune played with cars and trucks with his nephew, Adrian Cotta Arc. The young Arc scion was barely four years old and was already the most terrifying person in the room to Cinder. She couldn't explain it, but children made her feel more uncomfortable than any person or creature she'd encountered, and yes, that's including the Grimm, Neopolitan, and Tyrian Callows.

"Oh, I gotta take a call."

"No!" The child shouted. "You play!"

"It's work, buddy, I gotta." Those beautiful blue eyes fell on Cinder and filled her with dread. "Can you play with him?"

"M-Me?" Cinder felt chills over her body. "I don't think that's such a-"

"It's just for a couple minutes. Please, Cinder?"

"I..." She looked to the toddler, who was staring at her with wide eyes. "What are we playing?"

"Thank you, honey." Jaune then walked away, pulling free his scroll as he stepped out. "Hey, it's me."

"Are we... playing with trucks, or..."

KCHOO! Cinder flinched at the sudden sneeze from the youngling. Snot and drool dribbled from his face. He rubbed his face with his sleeve, smearing mucus all over himself. Suddenly, Cinder wasn't alone with a child, but with a biological weapon that threatened her immune system. He looked to her, as if he were expecting her to react some way.

Taking hold of the tissue box, if only to defend herself from the goo-covered child, she plucked a tissue from its contents. She then got closer and began wiping him. He started to giggle from it, even as she was wiping around his face. He was enjoying being cleaned after, the little monster. Tossing away the wipe, she looked to him once more.

"So... what are we playing?" She asked, silently hoping he didn't sneeze as a response again.

"Shoot!"

"Excuse me?"

"Shoot!"

Cinder looked outside, seeing Jaune still on his scroll. A few minutes he said. If it was only a few minutes, it was the longest she'd experienced. She then looked to Adrian, who'd gone to his toy chest and pulled free a toy gun. In one hand was a projectile with a suction cup. He handed them both to her, which she took as a sign to help him load the weapon. Off-handedly loading the toy, she handed it back, though cautious of him shooting something in the house and breaking-

POP!

"Ow!" Cinder rubbed her lips, having been shot by her traitorous, little charge. He handed them back to her, expecting her to be dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. This time, though, she held onto the gun and pointed it at the back of Jaune's head. This wouldn't kill him, of course, but it would be funny. After a few seconds, as he turned towards the window, she fired on him, making him jump. Adrian squealed with joy, partially from the scare and partially from the suction cup sticking to the mirror.

Suddenly, she felt Adrian tug at her dress. He wanted a turn to shoot his uncle. Giving a smirk, she handed plucked the "bullet" from the window, loaded it into the "gun," and handed it to him. Jaune, now fully aware of the events inside, stood at profile, occasionally eyeing the two. Another shot was fired, another scare for the uncle, and another laugh from the toddler.

--------------------------------------------------

"So, what did you think?" Jaune asked.

She could have asked for clarity, but she didn't because she didn't need any. She knew he was talking about Adrian. The child left an unquestionable impression on her, though it wasn't all good. And she wasn't one to lie to Jaune. Not anymore, anyways.

"He's cute." She said flatly, like it was a fact rather than an opinion. "But he's also disgusting."

"What, because he sneezed?"

"He didn't just sneeze." Cinder argued. "He exploded with snot then soaked himself with it." She shuddered.

"Never took you for a germaphobe." Jaune chuckled. "But yeah, kids can be gross."

"I wasn't." Cinder said.

"Well, we can't all be perfect, Cinder."

"Nobody can." Cinder replied, tossing her hair. "At least not as perfect as I am." Jaune rolled his eyes. "But he is cute."

"Have you ever thought about having kids?"

"I have." Cinder answered. "But don't get your hopes up, Jaune. I can't stand children, even if they were mine." Jaune gave a grunt in reply. "Although..." Jaune looked to Cinder, who was looking back to the Cotta-Arc residence. "I'm willing to make an exception for him."

#rwby #knightfall #arcfall #jaune arc #cinder fall #adrian cotta arc

[chukys-mouthguard]

for the prompt request #4 “I know I said you could call me anytime, but… It’s the middle of the night” with quinn hughes and a little bit of angst a lil bit of fluff 😁

thank you so much for this request, i love a little angsty/fluff with Quinn 🫶🏼 hope you like this!!

note: i literally never know how to end these and like i know they are meant to be quick little blurbs and nothing crazy but my brain starts going and i wanna end up writing so much 🫠 so sorry if my endings suck sometimes

“I’m gonna kill her…” 

Quinn groaned as he heard your ringtone coming from his phone, that he could’ve sworn he’d put on silent. Pulling it from his side table he grumpily answered, “y/n, i swear to god. I know I said you could call me anytime, but…it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Quintin Hughes, don’t be mad at me, please?” 

Immediately he knew you were drunk by the tone of his voice, and you only ever called him Quintin after one too many vodka lemonades.

“Send me the address, I’ll come and get you.” 

Rolling his eyes he hung up the phone, tossing back the covers before throwing on a hoodie and shoes to come pick you up. 

You knew Quinn was mad the second you sat down in passenger seat. His jaw clenched as he didn’t even look at you, eyes on the road waiting for the sound of the door closing and the click of your seatbelt signaling for him to drive. 

Once back to his place you slowly trailed behind him, Quinn still not saying a word as he disappeared into the kitchen, you heading to his room only to find he’d laid out a tshirt and some shorts for you already. Despite his silence and angered essence in the car, you knew it wasn’t directed at you. At least, not entirely. Quinn had been down since the Canucks playoff exit and his sleep schedule had been a mess. So a late night drunk call after he’d finally fallen asleep at a decent time was not something he was thrilled about. 

Quinn soon appeared in the doorway of the bathroom as you were taking off your makeup. A water bottle and some chips in hand. “I thought you might want these?” 

His voice soft, laced with exhaustion as you could see on his face just how tired he was. 

“Thank you…and I’m sorry.” 

He shrugged, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doors frame. Watching you finish up in the bathroom, the two of you making your way to his room and finding your places on his bed. 

“It’s my fault…I didn’t put my phone on silent. Or do not disturb. So I did it to myself.” 

Quinn slightly chuckling as he rested his head against the wall, eyes closing as you broke open the water and chips. “Well, I should’ve been more cognizant of the fact that it was so late. I could’ve called someone else.” 

He glanced at you with a smirk on his face. “We all know I’m the person you will always call. Drunk y/n loves calling Quintin Hughes to save the day.” Mocking your tone in which you call his name when you’re intoxicated, Quinn laughs while you just blush. 

“I can’t help it when you always have water and chips ready to go for me! And it’s the variety pack of chips so it’s always a surprise!” 

Quinn shook his head, the funny thing being is that you didn’t make that comment because you were drunk. You were just that much of a good to genuinely enjoy that he kept a variety pack of chips at his place. 

“Well, look,” setting the now empty bag of chips on one of his bedside tables you moved to sit more in front of him as you spoke. “I will try and not make these drunk calls a frequent thing. Especially with you’re sleep schedule being a mess right now. I’ll try and be more aware. I’m sorry.” 

“Y/n, it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t mind taking care of your drunk ass. But maybe just give me a heads up next time if you’re going out, so I’m at least aware that I might be on call.” 

“Oh my gosh, should we get pagers? Like doctors used to have back in the day? And I could page you when I need you?” 

Reaching behind him, Quinn grabbed a pillow, playfully smacking it across your face. “You’re done, take your drunk ass to bed right now.” 

Quinn placing the pillow back behind his head as he rolled over, pulling the covers over him. “Fucking pagers…you are something else y/n.” 

He chuckled into the pillow as you couldn’t control your drunken laughter. “Well, just kidding we can scrap that idea.”

“Why?” 

Quinn asked as he was trying to calm his laughter. “I don’t think they make pagers anymore. Google says they mostly use phones nowadays. So it looks like your stuck getting calls from my Quintin!” 

Rolling over you wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close to you as he groaned, “Not unless I block your number.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Quinn laughed at your offended tone, “trust me, Jack drunk called me like crazy once he turned 21 and he got his number blocked for a few weeks. Don’t try me y/n. And if you want to keep your endless supply of water and variety bag chips, I suggest you trust me.” 

“Aye aye captain!” 

Playfully saluting to him he just covered his face with a pillow as he laughed at you before rolling over. 

Smiling to himself he’d finally calmed down from all the laughter, drifting off to sleep. The fastest he’d been able to sleep in weeks, thanks to having you by his side. 

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #Quinn Hughes fluff #Quinn Hughes angst

[discretocincel]

Shores that cure

My fourth story for RadioApple Week 2024, for the prompt Drinking/Bonding! I haven't even proof read once so let's hope I didn't screw up too badly. If you see anything terrible please let me know!

It was a strange experience, having Lucifer sitting across from him on Rosie’s dining room while they enjoyed her famous roast goose. The man was impossibly tense, and it showed in his too straight back and his too tight grip on his fork. It would’ve been funny, under different circumstances. Alastor always enjoyed watching his good friend effortlessly intimidate others, and to have the King of Hell himself on the edge of his seat was a commendable feat. Too bad he didn’t feel tempted to congratulate her, with his heart in a fist as it currently was, his own nerves too fraught to allow for any amusement at his lover’s expense.

He didn’t even know why he was nervous at all. He always felt at ease within Rosie’s company, and the same could be said for the fallen angel he shared a room with. But the situation was one he had never found himself in before, and that was effectively maddening. He imagined it was similar for Lucifer, and potentially worse, given the monarch’s age, but his recently rediscovered empathy wasn’t helping him at the moment. It was precisely that, together with the smothering fondness he felt for the man, which had brought them to that situation.

Dinner at Rosie’s, just the three of them.

It all came to be after, over the course of few weeks, Alastor realized what had his roommate in and on and off melancholic mood. Things would be just fine, they would be enjoying each other and their time together, and then all of a sudden his expression would fall, his enthusiasm would dampen, and his hold on Alastor would briefly tighten, as if reluctant to let him go. Around the other residents of the hotel, and particularly around Charlie, Lucifer started getting jumpy and hypervigilant, putting more distance between them than necessary, and antagonizing him excessively.

Perhaps it had taken Alastor a little too long to realize what was happening. But a part of him had wanted to ignore it.

He wasn’t ready to have all of Hell find out, because he knew they would all believe he merely spread his legs for power. And while he didn’t want to care about what others believed of him, he still cared about his reputation.

He cared about what Rosie thought of him, too. He’d changed his mind a dozen times before even suggesting to her that there was someone he held affection for, out of fear. He hadn’t been afraid in a very long time. But he knew what people thought of him, what assumptions they had made, some that he himself believed for most of his life. He knew that such a development would irrevocably change her opinion of him, that it would make her think and question and reevaluate everything she knew about him. But she was still the better option. Out of the few alternatives, Rosie was the only one he trusted to give him the benefit of the doubt before jumping to conclusions, who would keep her speculations to herself until she had enough proof to make an educated guess and speak to him about it in private over some open tarts.

But before that conversation could come, a dinner with her and the object of his affections was necessary. A truly stressful ordeal. The wine Rosie offered with the meal only offered a small comfort, the actual relief coming after the dessert, in the form of rye. He tried pacing himself, but by the time Rosie finished her very first glass, Alastor was already pouring himself the last of the bottle.

“Alastor, dear, could you go fetch another bottle from the pantry?” she asked him, and while he knew that leaving Lucifer alone with the ruler of Cannibal Town would be a bit heartless, he jumped at the opportunity:

“Yes, of course!” He stood up hastily, the legs of his chair nearly getting caught in the rug and falling backwards. He only avoided the loud crash thanks to the quick response of his shadow, which was already sporting a relaxed smile that spoke of his intoxication. Maybe he was being a coward, but his lover was the King of Hell. Surely, he could stand his ground against Rosie.

And if he didn’t, then Alastor would have to make it up to him somehow. He already had some interesting ideas to get back on the King’s good side.

♪

As soon as Alastor stood up, ready to abandon him, Lucifer started thinking in all the different ways he would have to punish the sinner for such a betrayal. He had a wide imagination, and he quickly made the executive decision to leave that train of thought for later. He could be a charmer, but even he would have a hard time recovering his image if he were to suddenly pop up a boner and he was discovered by the host.

“Well, Your Majesty, now that we’re alone,” Rosie muttered quietly, as if to not be heard in case Alastor was still nearby. Her smile stretched beyond what could be considered friendly given the sharpness of her teeth. “Are you fully committed?”

“I am!”

“I’m not merely inquiring about faithfulness, Your Highness. While that is important, I would like to know the depth of your feelings. There is nothing wrong with wanting to have fun, I would know, I’ve been married five times only in the afterlife! However.” Her smile disappeared, her expression one of deadly seriousness. “If that is what you’re looking for, I would recommend you find someone else.”

Lucifer took a deep breath, not wanting to answer in a hurry without the sincerity and thoughtfulness that such a question required. While the sinner might have been overstepping, it was clear that it all came from a place of worry and care for Alastor, and Lucifer could understand that. He appreciated it, even. The stars knew his lovely deer didn’t have nearly enough people willing to risk their lives for him.

“I love him,” he said calmly. “I haven’t felt this kind of love for another being in a very, very long time, ma’am, if ever. It is… different, from what I felt when I first fell for my wife. I was young then, and naïve, and I felt for a person that grew into someone very different over time. I don’t think I was prepared for that then. But now… while I know that ten thousand years from now, Alastor will likely be very different, I believe I will still love whoever he becomes then. Because I want to spend the next ten thousand years by his side, hopefully even longer.”

“Oh my,” Rosie sighed, pressing one hand on her chest and recovering her smile, far less hostile than in the beginning.

If she was going to say anything else, Lucifer couldn’t know, for that was the exact moment in which Alastor returned to the dining room, two bottles of rye in hand.

“They were remarkably difficult to find, my dear,” Alastor commented as he took a seat again, opening a bottle and pouring all three of them another glass.

“My apologies, darling. I intended to leave them out for tonight, but it must have slipped my mind.”

“Oh, that’s alright! I hope you didn’t miss me too much?”

“Only a little,” Lucifer replied. “It’s hard not to miss you, love, but Rosie here makes wonderful company!”

“I should know,” Alastor agreed easily, then gulped down half of his glass a bit hastily.

“Careful Al, you know how you get when you have a little too much to drink,” Rosie said.

That immediately caught Lucifer’s interest. Alastor had seen him drunk more than once, but Lucifer had never seen the sinner in a similar state, even though Angel kept inviting him to join them on their drinking sessions every time he showed up—and he only showed up to remind Lucifer of the time, as subtly as he could. Still, based on the porn star’s smirks and giggles, Lucifer suspected the sinners suspected the real nature of their relationship, or at the very least, Alastor’s motivations.

“How does he get?” Lucifer asked, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Rosie met his gaze with a matching one, and Alastor must have already been quite drunk if he didn’t fear for his life while witnessing such an alliance.

“You’ll see,” she said.

“I’m a perfectly reasonable person even when I drink too much,” Alastor argued, but Lucifer was already witnessing a miracle, as the everlasting smile of his lover vanished into a pout. “And I’m not drunk.”

Rosie stifled a laugh behind a manicured hand.

“Well, if you keep drinking, we’re taking a portal back home. I’m not sure how travelling through the shadows even works, but maybe you shouldn’t risk getting lost there, or something.”

Alastor gasped, looking extremely offended, and Lucifer was desperate to kiss that mouth which so rarely displayed so many different gestures. It was difficult to feel any guilt when he was so giddy with the experience.

“I wouldn’t get lost, Luce, that’s ridiculous!”

Lucifer arched his eyebrows, a warmth spreading through his chest as he was pleasantly surprised by the brand-new nickname.

“Perhaps one of these days I should bring you along so you’ll see what it’s like.”

“That sounds fun,” Lucifer said instantly, excited already and only a little bit saddened that they wouldn’t be able to do it right away, as he feared the sinner wouldn’t remember or would try to go back in his word come morning.

Alastor hummed as Lucifer’s favorite crooked smile of his made an appearance. He surprised himself by not getting jealous—he tended to think of that one as his, and yet he wasn’t bothered that Rosie was witnessing it.

He was having fun, seeing his lover more open and genuine, the way he was when it was just the two of them, and sharing it with someone who also clearly cared for him, deeply. Lucifer didn’t want the night to end, but he also wanted to wrap his arms around his sinner and profess his love to him, as honest and unapologetic as he’d been when Rosie had questioned him. He didn’t get to do it often, Alastor tended to stop him. But he could be patient. If things went the way he wanted them to, he would have many years to cover his lover in kisses and loving words, as he would one day get the chance to reveal it all to the public. He would give Alastor all the time he needed, and if time wasn’t enough, if Alastor was never ready…

Then Lucifer would be okay with that. If he got to share his Alastor with their loved ones on occasion, to see him drop his everlasting smile and relax, before going to sleep next to him, then they would be okay for at least the next ten thousand years.

#fanfic #ao3 #hazbin hotel #writing #radioapple #appleradio #radioapple week #alastor #lucifer #rosie #Almondwrites

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

Not Blue, Black

Everyone always assumes that Danny's eyes are blue. He’s shown pictures of his family before and his dad’s eyes are blue, and so are his twin brother’s and his daughter’s, and his big sister’s. So his must be too! Well, his mom seemed to have this weird purple thing going on so no one was too sure. And no one seemed to care either way, especially not Danny. Besides, why would anyone care about eye color when they had such an amazing young man working alongside them?

Danny was the perfect intern. He’s always on time, never giving trouble, always giving helpful suggestions, and good at not only his job but everyone else’s too, making it handy to have him around the office. He was also the workplace hottie, with many guys and girls hovering around him, desperately trying to make him theirs despite him announcing himself happily married the first day he got here. (Everyone knew who his husband and wife were since he couldn’t help but show them off every chance he got. Everyone knows they’ve got no chance, but one can dream.)

He also seems to light up just about whatever room he happens to be in. Just his presence alone made even their shittiest days in the office seem like just tiny inconveniences in the eyes of the universe. Unless he himself was pissed, which didn’t happen too often. But when he was, everyone felt it and knew to avoid him like the plague. But, other than that, Danny was an all-around good guy and was for sure going to get the job after he graduated from Gotham U. 

You, on the other hand, weren’t too sure about your position in the company, as you were Danny’s antithesis, everything he was not. You were always late for reasons no one cared to understand. Just about every issue in the office was pinned on you whether you were involved or not. You couldn’t ever think about helpful suggestions and just rode off the backs of others. And compared to everyone else's good looks, you were the workplace monster. 

You had a scar on your face and body you got as a kid. You got it in an accident and it deformed your right side quite a bit. It was challenging to adjust to yes, but over time you learned to live with and accept it. Others not so much. The stares you got almost daily, from everyone in the office to school, even random strangers on the street. All of them made you feel scared and sick. Like you wanted to dig off your skin and rip off your flesh and replace it all with something newer, better, more normal. But you couldn’t and had to live like this for the rest of your life. You had to live with the stares for the rest of your life.

Your only saving grace was this job, the one you were assigned to when you first got the internship. You were awful at it at first, resulting in many scoldings from the manager. But throughout the year you were here at this company, you dedicated your time and effort to be good at at least this one thing. And now you were proud to say that you were damn good at it. The best even! So good in fact that everyone decided that they would drop their workload onto you and let you handle it even if it meant extremely late nights at the office.

And that’s how you got to be here, on the company roof at 1 a.m., debating whether or not going home to actually sleep and eat would be worth the scolding you would get from the manager when you arrive to work ‘late’ again..., among other things.

You know having these kinds of thoughts was bad for your mental health (your therapist grilled it into you every time you even mentioned them to her), but it was freeing in a sick sort of way every time you thought of each scenario that could play out if you just-

“Hey!”

Jumping back to your senses, you turned around and saw none other than Danny Fenton standing right behind you. You two were never all that close in proximity before now so you only knew that he was big. You weren’t expecting the absolute unit that was standing behind you. You knew you were short but having to crane your neck to look at his face only put shit into perspective.

“Another late night?”

You only nod dumbly as he moves from behind to stand next to you, looking down at the bustling city below. A deep sigh came from him as he pulled a candy from his back pocket and popped it into his mouth. He was always eating candy. Did he have low blood sugar or just a sweet tooth?

“Same. It’s like we can never go home, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Mr. Perfect’s suffering just a bit until you realized what he meant. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“Come on Fenton, just because you’ve done a few late nights doesn’t mean you ‘never get to go home’.”

You settled next to him, also looking down on the city as well. He was on his phone now, the blue light illuminating his features.

“She really never sleeps does she?”  He says laughing to himself.

You were kinda pissed off now. Who was he, Mr. Perfect Intern, Daniel Fenton, to compare his suffering to yours? You practically lived at this job now, once you weren’t busy with school or something else! You even bet that after this he’s gonna go home to his nice apartment and be met by a wrapped-up dinner on the table made by either his husband or wife. (HE HAS A FREAKING HUSBAND AND WIFE FOR FUCKS SAKE!) He was probably talking about his little girl just now, and how she’s up waiting for him. Maybe she was half asleep on the couch with the TV on since she was so determined to see her Dad come home. It’s Friday after all of course she’d get to stay up way past her bedtime. He’s gonna get a hot bath and wash off dirt and grim of work, and-

Danny’s laugh was low and deep, rumbling through the air, sending chills down your spine. He turned to you and smiled his pearly whites glimmer-  Wait were those fangs?

“Dude you know you mumble out loud… right?”

There was silence between you two until a bright red crept up your neck, and ever so slowly engulfed your face. Shame flooded your entire being as you cradled your face in your hands. You sighed, feeling like more air wanted to come out but your very human lungs were empty and in need of oxygen. So sucking in a breath, you looked him in the face (why can't you see his eyes?). He was still smiling, his fangs (he has freaking fangs how had you never noticed before!) poking his bottom lips making little dimples.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve been stuck here for three days doing everyone else's work. I haven’t slept or eaten or taken a shower. I-”

“I know, I know. You’ve been busting your ass for a while now so of course you’d be grumpy.”

You don’t think grumpy is the word you’d use but it was close enough. 

“So how long have you been here Fenton?”

“A week.” He replied cooly, popping yet another sweet in his mouth. (Okay he needed to stop, at this rate, diabetes would be the next one to put a ring on his finger) But you were surprised nonetheless.

You’re sure you would’ve noticed if he was here for the entire week. He must have been playing games with you.

“Am not.”

Okay, you needed to stop thinking out loud.

“Look, just trust and believe that if I didn’t want you to notice me, you wouldn’t have. But I did so…” He shrugged and looked off into the distance once more.

You think that what he said is impossible, everyone notices Danny Fenton. But the office was pretty small compared to bigger companies. And if he really was there for the entire week you should have noticed him at some point of the three days you were here. You didn’t hear him coming up behind you a few moments ago either. So maybe there is some merit to his words.

“What’s got you here for so long anyways Fenton?”

He sighed, his face looking more tired than before. 

“You know the project that my group has, the one we got two months ago?” You nod and he continues, 

“Well, it was fine at first. Everyone was pulling their weight, excited to get it done. But then it started, again, with ‘Hey Danny, I’ve got something important to do this afternoon, can you finish this for me?’. Then, ‘Danny I'm not coming in today, do this for me? Thanks!’. And ‘Hey, Danny’s good at this let him do it!’. ‘Danny I need help! Wait no…, I actually meant that I want you to do this for me.’ 

Danny’ll do this, Danny can do that, don’t worry Danny’s on it! Danny, you’ll finish the project… right?

That along with the other workloads that are trusted upon me by the managers and other employees, ON TOP OF MY OWN ASSINGED WORK!”

By the time he was done, you had already recognized that voice all too well. Danny was struggling, right on the edge of his line, using the shirt on his back the make just a little more. Danny was breaking and just barely holding it together, just like you were. You never realized it before, but you notice now that, Danny’s fucking tired. Just like you.

A wet laugh broke your train of thought. His face was a bit wet, his eyes (?) red from held-back tears.

“People think that I’ve got no flaws-” A pang of guilt shoots through you as you were one of those people, “- but I do. Metric shit ton in fact. One of them is that I can’t help but to help people, even if it’s detrimental to myself. And if my sister finds out about this she’s gonna slap me upside and force me to stay home for a month!”

Another laugh rang through the air, sounding just a bit too crazy for your liking. Even so, you couldn’t help but wonder, you just needed to ask-

“Why are you telling me this?”

His laughter stopped and he turned to look at you. Like really look at you. You realize that Danny’s eyes weren’t blue like you and everyone else were assuming. His eyes were black. So black. Blacker than the night sky and deeper than any ocean. And within those oceans swam thousands of bright lights, each burning 10x brighter than the earth’s own sun! Yet they could never shine through that great abyss. It was beautiful. Danny’s eyes were so beautiful. 

“Because I’m gonna quit.”

“What?” Well, you weren’t expecting that.

“Yeah, I’m going to quit. And as your good friend-” Good friend? Since when!? “-I’m going to advise you to quit as well! I predict that this shabby ass company is gonna collapse in a few months and I DO NOT want to be there for that shit show, doubt you want to be there either.”

You feel conflicted. This is the first time that you and Danny Fenton have actually spoken to each other and after basically trauma dumping on you he tells you to quit! This has to be a prank! Some sick twisted joke!

“It’s not.”

CURSE YOUR BLOODY LIPS!

Danny smiled. He looked noticeably less human now that you could see fangs and eyes, and were his ears always pointy? Dear lord is he a part of the Fae!?

“Close but not quite.” 

At this point, you were pretty sure you weren’t speaking out loud and he was just straight-up reading your mind. He handed you a piece of paper and clasped his hand over yours.

“Just think about it ok? The first one is my number, so just call when you need a friend to talk to. The second is my brother’s, he thinks you’re cute.”

“What?” You look up only to see him gone as if he was never there. Looking back down you expect to see the paper gone too. But it was still there, the flirtatious message next to the second number making the tips of your ears turn red. Once again you remember that, Danny if a fucking giant, one who was now gone without a trace…

“What have I gotten myself into?”

You decided to quit the next day.

Three months later the company ends up in a scandal so bad, that even the bats are investigating it.

You decide to give Danny a call.

All I wanted to do was write a prompt about Danny's eyes... The fuck!?!?!?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp dc crossover #kinda sorta #danny phantom #there's so much lore baked into this thing it isn't even funny #inspiration hit me like a truck and draged me off the rails #if i write you one more time i'll break my fingers #i kinda want to expand upon this #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #come on me tf is this train wreck TT

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

You ever read a fic where they describe the natural scents of people and it’s always either ‘sweet vanilla and toffee’ or ‘dew on fresh grass and cedar wood’ sort of scents that are described?

Has anyone ever actually smelt that on someone? Naturally that is? Cause I know I haven’t and I’m here to do my own take with my old friend, Ghoap. Which is still, such a dumb name for them 😂 also this is long so strap in lads.

Anyway! I reckon Johnny’s natural scent when he was a kid used to be grass, coffee and whatever random shampoo that was on sale at the time.

He was constantly outside and rolling around in the grass, coming home with grass stains down his legs and mud on his face.

Coffee was always in the pot in his house, his family consisting of more adults than kids at that point and all of them needing their beans to keep themselves going. Johnny’s positive he could’ve left his clothes outside for days on end and they’d still come back smelling like his family’s favourite brew.

And given he had to shower every single day ‘cause heaven forbid you get those stains on my fresh washed sheets John McTavish’ his hair just constantly smelt like the shampoo they had gotten for that month.

So yeah, when Johnny was a kid those were the natural scents that clung to him. It wasn’t necessarily a good scent, wasn’t anything that made people swoon at a mere passing by, but it was his.

Simon’s natural scent when he was a kid was something he always hated. He didn’t know it was how he smelt since he couldn’t smell it on himself, but it was how the house and his father smelt and he hated it with a burning passion.

Simon smelt of cigarettes, mildew and wet dirt. All the things he couldn’t fuckin stand for years on end. Still can’t stand when caught in a bad spot or on the wrong day.

His dad constantly smoked, enough so that the walls were yellowed and his clothes reeked no matter how many times they were washed. When all of their clothes were washed the scent rubbed off in theirs, which meant the smell of it would be following Simon no matter how far he ran.

Their house was old, definitely would’ve been considered derelict and abandoned if not for the constant screaming and crying coming from it. Mildew grew in every crack and corner of any surface in the house, there was just no escaping it.

And Tommy had a horrible habit of pushing Simon into the dirt when he was feeling particularly mean. Shoving his face deep enough to choke and make him squirm, tears welling in his eyes and wetting the soil beneath his face.

Simon didn’t know these scents clung to him but he hated any reminder of them. The first thing he had done when he ran was get rid of every single piece of clothing he owned, anything to get that stubborn tobacco smell away from him.

He would clean his rooms obsessively, unwilling to leave any sort of chance for mildew to grow and haunt him once more. When it rained he locked himself away from the outside. Unable to deal with even seeing the rain hit the ground because he knew exactly what it smelt like.

It took a long time for those scents to change to something else. Many years of being in the military and being surrounded by different things for their natural scents to morph and change into something new but still uniquely them.

Johnny smells like everything you’d expect of him now. Gunpowder, nitroglycerin and metal, everything you’d expect from a demolitions expert obsessed with exploding things.

Simon smells almost the same. Gunpowder, metal and the bitter chemical tang of the paint he uses around his eyes. Also what you’d expect from a soldier who hid his face from the world.

But there were little undertones to them that were uniquely them. Little hints that they’d breathe in when hugging one another in order to reassure themselves that yes, they’re still alive and together.

Simon’s got this face cream that he uses that smells of a very specific skincare shop - that Johnny can’t put his finger on - because the paint dries out his face and he doesn’t like it when his skin feels all tight and itchy.

There’s his favourite tea that clings stubbornly to his mask cause the man will take a sip and immediately pull his mask down sometimes, the drops stuck to his upper lip rubbing off on the fabric and staining it with its scent.

And then there’s the shampoo he shares with Johnny, because the latter had found out he doesn’t look after his hair much - doesn’t see the point in it when it’s covered all day, everyday - and the man had decided to make it a ritual of theirs after missions. He washes his own hair and then he’ll get Simon to lean down so he can wash his hair with the same shampoo he uses.

Johnnys own subtleties are a little more potent than Simon’s own, but they’re no less comforting. The mans got the scent of a welder stuck to him and his clothes cause sometimes, Johnny will weld bits and bobs together to make model bombs or whatever.

Johnny swears up and down that it’s just their usual metallic smell but there’s a certain heat to it that can only be achieved through welding, and Simon loves the scent more than he’d care to admit.

He smells of coffee as well, not the brew that his family loved and that he grew up surrounded by but it’s similar. It also clings to him just as badly as the scent from his childhood had.

And then there’s the odd mix of Simon’s paint and Johnny’s pencil lead and charcoal. The younger insists on helping Simon apply his face paint and the older man knows how much it stains but Johnny is adamant. Always was and always will be.

Their scents have changed over time. Morphed into something new and different but still them, and still unnoticeable to the ones who carry it.

But the other can smell it in everything they touch. Their clothes, the bedsheets and the kits they have especially made for them, their scents cling to everything and they both find comfort in it. They both love each other even more for it as well.

#fic prompt #ghost x soap #fuck off haters #i’m looking at you die hard cod players #johnny ‘soap’ mctavish #prompt #call of duty #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #fic #soap x ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #it’s been a while #Drabble #this is a long one #natural scents #not necessarily ABO but could be seen as one #they’re in love your honour #they’re so soft it’s not even funny

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i think the diamond dogs should play improv games just bc it would amuse me, an ex theater kid, specifically

#ted and beard ofc are reading each others minds #trent is shockingly good at it but only when he forgets to be self conscious #also see: he does both best and worst with ted (best when he's not being self conscious #worst when somehow the prompt gets too touchy or 'romantic' bc Crush Crush Crush Brain Panic) #(please the image of ted in character hugging him or something and trent just. red. brain crashed. no longer improving just frozen. barely #manages to recover and even then it was not subtle. unclear if ted is a) genuinely oblivious b) teasing him and thinks trent knows that #c) something else(??) ) #roy is too stiff most of the time but if he gets really into it he gets REALLY into it. #best way to get this result is to involve phoebe or another child #higgins did community theater at some point and is the one teaching them all the games. beard also seems to have done intense research #but higgins is the one with EXPERIENCE #not that i think beard and ted couldn't have done an improv duo in college or something but in this scenario they did not #nate surprisingly is pretty good at it once he gets into it like it takes him a second but #then he's like. really getting into it and he's very quick on his feet #new way to go mad with power (affectionate): the rush you get when you make the perfect snap back comedic line/acting choice #also while trent is so good paired with so many of them i think he and nate would be a hilarious duo. they're SO funny. #they complement each other well and are both quick & clever #esp if it's about a mutual interest (although one of them taking the lead on something else like nate and music while the other plays off t #em is also good) but like #please i just had the iamge of them basically doing a bit where they're like. those mean old gay muppets in the theater? #like trent and nate improv duoing as some bitchy reviewers just going back and forth and it's so FAST and SO funny #beard records it and posts it somewhere and it goes viral. #god don't even get me started on the idea of some sort of official richmond social media/the gang posting random clips on social media #bc the ideas i have are so funny. #also largely trent centric but what do you want from me okay i'm just a little slut.

[tears-of-boredom]

day 3: unnecessarily complex fit

ii gotta be honest, they were originally gonna have two feet but then i couldn't figure out the perspective of their right one so i decided to just not draw it

#im aware that its the 13th but i wanted to draw this prompt.. and im like real happy with how this turned out.. #could not make myself do shadows because what the fuck are light sources even.. #and and i made a silly brush specifically just to use for the texture in this because i thought it would be funny.. #yeah and um dont ask the logic behind the color scheme.. i honestly dont think about that shit ever #i just pick colors and go with the flow. you will NOT catch me practicing color theory.. #and um yeah.. #oh once again i made the smallest things too detailed. so they stand out much more than they're supposed to.. #the nose piercing i was able to dial back. but the choker just is like that. and it stands out way too much.. #also really appriciate that the shorts look alright because i had no fucking clue what was going on there.. #i put off figuring them out for so long that they only made sense once i put the texture on them. which was like one of the last things.. #art #my art #cringetober 2023 #um #digital art #oh and the background was a total accident.. i had filled the characters surroundings with white to make sure none of my notes and shit wer #visible. and id forgotten about it.. so then when i changed the background color. it basically looked like that already. #i just tweaked it a bit.. #tbh im quite glad it happened so because ii struggle with balancing the background between too distracting and a void.. #the colors are so fucked for everyone else probably because ive fucked with my monitors gamma levels a lot #basically overall saturation is supposed to be higher. and mainly the dark green is supposed to be a bit more blue-ish..

[pyrriax]

i love writing like 1.2k worth of a crack fic concept that isnt really a crack fic but it is just me running with my headcanons and disregarding canon entirely because sometimes you need to write the (canon) gays being extra flavors of queer and just. yeah.

#haunted ecosystem #anyways im holding this fic near and dear to my heart it is written like entirely based off my experience being queer. #like i just had both of them kind of play into different aspects. clown got hit with the “uses the same pronouns & name but in a trans way” #<- this is about the cubito. please. cubito. not cc. do not mistake. #im not gonna ever post this fic probably because its like. personal exploration of identity. but i love it a lot <3 #also just the blorbos are t4t always and forever. peace and love on planet minecraft they are also just very queer. #.... yeah this fic is also just based off the lovely world of poly relationships and finding joy in nonconformity.... #also it was written for the prompt “oversized sweater” which lead to so much and its so funny because that isnt even too central anymore #it just. i wanted to write about how i perceive love ^_^ #i talk about love so much for somebody who's aro but i think it's just like. i view love as a constant rather than something reserved #i dont really do the romantic attraction thing i just like people for being people and wish them joy and success and good things

[gayvampyr]

fan mail <3

#good one bro #lmao what do people think they’re accomplishing when they do this #proving they’re pathetic and have no life? bestie i knew that already <3 #what’s funnier is i don’t even know what prompted this #it’s a burden being so awesome and funny and sexy #and right about everything #i don’t even check my messages that often‚ this is a week old 💀 #i forgot to turn off my messages so that’s on me #it’s so flattering that people waste so much of their energy on me #you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid

[privateerstudies]

.

#Friendly reminder spoiling people really really isn't funny at all #Signed #A privateer who's been upset about getting spoiled for sth #For like 5 hours now #And I don't even want to finish the thing myself anymore #Like I was mad at the minor spoilers I'd gotten from the prompts #But full on spoiler when I'm almost done with it #I'm so tempted to put the book in a shredder and just fuck off about it #Like SO. Tempted. #I can't bc it's not mine and I want to be in the class. But now I'll have to finish it spoiled and I'm so so upset #Like I'd cry if I could upset #Hate that I'm too broke to cry #Okay that's all for the rant tonight thanks for listening