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obeymeluv · 3 years

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QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

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Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

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Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public.

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy.

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm.

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails.

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads.

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude!

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

#Blurb #Lead-up #Obey me! x reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Satan x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Beel x Reader #Belphegor x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader

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vateacancameos · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2263 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Autumn, Post-Canon, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, So much fluff your teeth will ache, Gen or Pre-Slash, we'll be getting into slash territory in the rest of this series, adorable Aziraphale, cranky crowley, but not really, he's too busy having heart eyes to put in the effort, Footnotes, gross overuse of footnotes, my footnotes have footnotes, buckle in people Series: Part 1 of Ineffable Seasons

Summary: Aziraphale coos all over autumn and Crowley tries to pretend he doesn't find it adorable.

Story:

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, a smile on his face, his whole being practically glowing. It’s disgusting. Crowley glances away so he can’t be pulled further into the entrancing vision in front of him. But he looks back as soon as his best friend begins speaking.

“Oh, isn’t it glorious? The crisp temperatures, the smell of falling leaves. Jumpers and cider. And pumpkins.” At this final word, Aziraphale breaks his beatific pose—hands clasped in front of his chest, the sun hitting behind him at just the right angle to give him a halo—Hela,[1] did this angel have no shame—to crouch down and pick up a pumpkin in front of him. He holds it under his arm and throws another smile at Crowley, which has Crowley sighing and rolling his eyes to once again protest this whole silly endeavor. How he’d let himself get roped into this inane activity, he’ll never know.[2]

[1] Crowley, tired of trying to figure out which entity to use when he experiences feelings, has recently started using made-up gods instead, starting with the gods of the underworlds. He hasn’t found one that works yet, but he’s willing to try them all if necessary.

[2] It certainly has nothing to do with the strategically sweet and pleading face that had greeted him when he’d entered the bookshop to pick up his favorite angel[3] for lunch.

[3] The only angel he even deigns to like, in point of fact.

“Seriously, angel?” Crowley asks, sliding his sunglasses down just far enough to allow Aziraphale to see the disbelief in his eyes. “Autumn is terrible. Now winter, that’s the best season. Everyone harried and worried about money. Slushy rain and wet socks. Furnaces that stall or overheat. People stuck in their houses wearing terrible jumpers, forced to interact with family members they hate. Shoveling snow, if you live in a place that has that. Yeah, winter is a good one …” He lets himself grow nostalgic, remembering his favorite winters past.

“Oh pish. I’ve seen you light up like a child when seeing Christmas light displays. The closest you get to Scrooge is as him on Christmas morning, buying up roasted meat for the poor children of this world,” Aziraphale argues with a fond eye roll.[4]

[4] Let the reader note that, in fact, the closest Crowley gets to Scrooge is when David Tennant voices Scrooge McDuck on the DuckTales revival, including a great Christmas episode that employs meta jokes that reference Doctor Who, another popular show David Tennant played a part in. This author suggests you check out both shows if you have not yet done so. She’ll wait for you to get back. Okay, back now? Good. That was fun, wasn’t it?

“That’s not– Ngh– I do n–. Stop it right now, or I’ll shove you into the back of the Bentley and take you right back to your bookshop, no cider and certainly no pumpkins.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open, and Hades help him, Crowley can’t tell how real or manufactured the look is. The angel often does an amazing impression of being completely innocent, but there are times that his naivety is real.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too–”

“Bless it,[5] angel, if you say nice–”

[5] Sometimes Crowley forgets and falls back on old curses and blesses. He’s been using them for millennia, after all.

[read the rest under the cut or over at ao3.]

Aziraphale shoots him an exasperated look. “Of course not. I was going to say you’re too invested in teasing me for my every autumnal exclamation today to back out now.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Dear Persephone, he’s right. From the moment Aziraphale had asked for a ride to the autumn festival/pumpkin patch monstrosity,[6] Crowley had been coming up with ways to tease him for his love of the season and all its trappings.[8]

[6] Complete with corn maze, cider, too many games involving gourds, and a—he can’t believe he’s even thinking of it—a hayride. Really, humans are far better than he is at inventing pure misery.[7]

[7] Let the author again note how amazing she thinks autumn is. That being said, hayrides are itchy, dusty, and bumpy, and you’re stuck sitting far too close to excitedly screeching children. She doesn’t blame Crowley for hating them.

[8] Just wait until Aziraphale turns the tables at Christmas.

Crowley acquiesces with a flop of his hand that he knows Aziraphale will read as both “Fine, fine, you caught me, I want to tease you,” and “Fine, let’s go look at these gourds you’re so interested in. Did you by any chance spend too much time in the New World back when it was still new?”[9]

[9] It was only new to the dumb, egotistical Europeans, though. It was plenty old to the native peoples of that continent by the time the Europeans showed up.

Aziraphale beams, gently placing the pumpkin back on the ground and dusting off his hands and jumper.

“Did you buy that jumper just for today?” Crowley asks as they begin strolling through the pumpkin patch/festival/field of torture. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one before.”

Aziraphale somehow smiles even more brightly. Crowley is glad he’s wearing his sunglasses.[10] The angel pats the fuzzy, cabled, oatmeal affair covering his upper body. “Do you like it? I saw it in a window display and it just called to me. And it was right after the weather began to turn, and I just had to try it on. And then it was so soft and warm, I couldn’t not buy it. It’s like being wrapped in a hug.[11] I thought today would be the perfect time to debut it. It might get regular rotation with my jacket this autumn and winter.”

[10] To shade his eyes from the terrible angelic brilliance, of course. It has nothing to do with hiding his reaction to said smile.

[11] Crowley would love to be wrapped in a– nope. Nope. That thought will not see the light of day.

“Mm hm,” Crowley responds, quite brilliantly. “Oh look, the cider booth.”

“Oh! Cider? That sounds lov–”

“I’ll just get one for you, shall I?”

He hopes Aziraphale will find another squash to coo over, but he feels his presence next to him as soon as he’s queued up, but he’s cheerfully quiet. They wait in comfortable silence for the people in front of them to get their ciders, Aziraphale’s wide eyes taking in every aspect of the event, and Crowley softens. He enjoys teasing his best friend—doesn’t think their friendship would have survived without it, and truthfully Aziraphale can give as good as he gets, so he doesn’t feel guilty for it[12]—but he also does genuinely enjoy seeing Aziraphale enjoying himself. That smile can have Crowley walking on air for days, even when it isn’t directed at him. It’s the reason he asks the angel out to lunch so often, despite himself being the type to drink his meal rather than eat it. There’s nothing better than watching Aziraphale eat. Or find a new book to fall in love with. Or … yes, even enjoy this absolutely awful season they currently find themselves living in.

[12] Not that demons ever feel guilty. Crowley makes a single exception for back in the beginning and the thing with the humans and the apple. But they don’t talk about that.

They finally make it to the front of the queue, where Crowley asks for one cider, extra cinnamon, for Aziraphale, and one mulled wine[13] for himself.

[13] Which the vendor is surprised to find she has, despite winter still being a good few months away.

They start strolling again, and Crowley lets the angel choose the direction, following along, like he always does, as he always will do.

“I don’t understand it.”

“No surprise there, angel. You may be smart, but sometimes daily life confuses you.”

“Oh hush, you,” Aziraphale admonishes with no heat, patting Crowley’s arm, which has unknowingly been tucked into by Aziraphale’s non-cider-holding hand. That’s been happening a lot lately, but Crowley’s not about to call attention to it, lest it stop. “What I meant was, you said mere months ago that—and I quote—‘I like spooky.’ At the old satanic hospital in Tadfield, if you remember.”

“If I remember? As if I could forget any part of that God-forsaken[14] week.”

[14] Yeah, he means that appellation there. Do you hear that, God?[15]

[15] Yes, She hears that. The author (and Crowley) would do well to remember that the game She plays is complicated and ineffable, thank you very much.

“Well, anyway. That’s beside the point. The point is, you like spooky.” Here, Aziraphale punctuates his words with more arm pats. “And autumn is when Samhain[16] occurs. You can’t have spooky without autumn.

[16] Pronounced saah-wn. Not Sam-hain, like they said on Supernatural that one time, which shows how little research TV writers sometimes do. This author is not stupidly obsessed with this fact. At. All.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Most spooky these days is over-manufactured swill sold to the masses for profit. It’s torture porn or silly ghosts. None of it frightens me.”[17]

[17] Except the current U.S. president. Now that shit’s scary.[18]

[18] Head office tried to give him a commendation for that whole debacle, but he noped right out of that one.

“Torture porn?” Aziraphale asks, a disgusted and confused wrinkle in his brow.

“Yeah, porn is a term current humans use to mean anything over-indulged in, but it has nothing to do with sexual acts. Well, most of it. Like, torture porn, food porn, space porn.” Aziraphale looks more disturbed the longer Crowley speaks, so he waves it away. “Never mind. I’m just saying, none of that manufactured spooky does anything for me.”

They come to a booth with caramel popcorn, and without even looking at his angel, Crowley signals for a bag, handing it over to Aziraphale as he counts out the correct number of coins. Aziraphale sighs happily and begins munching on it immediately.

“You’re just a stick-in-the-mud,” he says, going back to their conversation.

“Excuse me? I’m the stick-in-the-mud, Mr. I’ve-worn-the-same-jacket-for-one-hundred-and-eighty-years?”

“You’d do well to remember your car is ninety years old.”

“Practically new compared to your old smelly coat.”

Aziraphale’s jaw-drop this time is definitely not feigned. “You take that back. You said it looked good on me.”

“Yeah, in 1840.”

Aziraphale looks truly hurt. “It’s my favorite,” he says quietly, and Crowley relents. He can’t not, when he’s up against that face.

“It’s a nice coat, angel. But it’s good seeing you in something else for once.”

“Thank you, my dear. But the point is, you have no room to call me a stick-in-the-mud. Autumn is wonderful, and you can’t take that away from me.”

Crowley tries and fails to hide his smile. “How’s the popcorn?”

“Perfect!” Aziraphale says, the glow coming back to him. “This is all perfect. The weather could not be more beautiful or autumnal. I can smell spices and caramel and corn husks. The pumpkins look a particularly brilliant shade of orange this year. There are happy people all around. It’s lovely.”

Crowley looks around, seeing a particularly fiendish child twirling his unaware sister’s hair around a candied apple—who he silently cheers on—a small toddler screaming their head off when their parental figure offers them a pumpkin, a couple fighting near the corn maze. The stench of city and human beings is far too strong to be drowned by the sweets and spices, though it does fight for dominance with the moldering leaves blanketing the ground. And though the weather is nice now, he can see a storm building in the distance. They’d do well to hurry through the rest of the festival before they get caught in a chilly downpour.

But He won’t suggest this. He’ll follow his angel as he coos at the children posing for pictures with goofy scarecrows, as he bounces over to the candied apple vendor for a (non-twisted-in-hair) treat, as he begs with his soulful eyes for a hayride. He’ll follow his angel to the end of the world. He’s already done so, and he’d do it all over again if he had to. He’ll let them get caught in the freezing, miserable rain because Aziraphale is too taken with the pumpkin carving contest to notice the darkening clouds, though he will miracle them dry as soon as he’s able. He’ll follow his angel back into his shop, lugging the bag of things Aziraphale didn’t have enough arms to carry himself, and too big of eyes and stomach to not buy.

Aziraphale will light a fire, make two cups of whiskey-spiked chai, and wiggle his way into his favorite chair in the back room. Crowley will follow, landing on the sofa that has molded to his angles and long legs. They’ll talk about Poe and Mary Shelley. Crowley will talk Aziraphale into watching Young Frankenstein. Then Aziraphale will beg to be allowed to read aloud “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,”[19] and Crowley will concede it’s just a little spooky. Though only just a little.

And though he won’t say it out loud, Crowley will think that maybe, just maybe, autumn isn’t so bad, when you’ve got your favorite person by your side.

[19] Read it here.

#good omens #fanfic #autumn #autumn mood #ao3 #meagan writes

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britneyshakespeare · 5 years

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tagged by the lovely Tay @bohemian-brian :-) thank ya girly

1) Do you have any party tricks?

I can transform into a bat.

2) what’s your type?

I’m aromantic.

Ghost, or vampire. I’m pretty flexible between those two.

3) what do you like about your personality?

I never say a single thing I don’t mean!

No, I don’t know. I guess my strength of composure, my constitution. I been thru a lotta bs in my days.

4) what do you like about yourself physically?

I try not to fall prey to that kind of vanity; it fucks me up (don’t worry though, I’ve plenty other sources to humor my many other vanities). Other people like my hair, though, if that’s satiable for an answer.

5) what do you do when you're sad?

Depends what I’m sad about. I mostly just internalize that kind of stuff and try to move on with it.

6) what do you do when you're angry?

I don’t get angry, my dear; I get mad.

7) what flowers do you associate with your childhood?

Little baby wildflowers. I don’t know what any of them are called but there are a few different kinds that grow in my yard. Some are white, some are yellow, some purple. When I was a kid I used to pick those in clumps and bring them inside for my mother and call them a bouquet. Look, mommy, weeds!

8) what quirks do you have?

I’m mentally ill!

In all seriousness, I don’t know. I guess I am sort of a strange, eccentric mother fucker in general. Odd taste in everything. Desultory, anachronistic. I murmur to myself and never suspect anyone of being able to see me. And I overuse exclamation points!

9) fave fairytale?

I don’t know if A Midsummer Night’s Dream or the Tempest would count, but if they do, then, those.

10) aside from porn bots, do you block people on tumblr & why?

Uhhh. I don’t tend to block every person I see who I vehemently disagree with (like terfs for example) because that’d just be exhausting, to search everyone’s blogs to see if they’ve got one insidious opinion tucked in there somewhere. My strategy is to block popular blogs I see with a lot of traction and notes who make gross and vicious posts (especially discourse blogs) so they can’t interact with my shit; I’ve had those kinds of blogs reblog my original posts before, and they blow up, and for days my notes are filled with people of various toxic microcommunities that I don’t want to be associated with. Sometimes someone’ll send me an innocent little meme or something and it won’t go through because I have OP blocked for whatever reason.

And then, like, for obvious reasons. I’ll block someone if they’re being rude or a creep directly to me, in my messages or on my posts.

11) do you enjoy spending time alone?

It’s my life babe.

12) ringtone?

God, I never take my phone off of silent.

13) if you could be anywhere rn where would you be?

I don’t know! Where should I be?

14) fave drink?

Water really is that good shit.

15) do you collect anything?

Years on my lifespan & poems in my notebooks. Old diaries from childhood and my early teen years. I also have a shitton of comics and graphic novels from over the years. And regular books, of course, but I don’t have any organization, as I don’t have a bookshelf of any sorts and I just keep my comics in an old drawer. All of my books are either scattered throughout my bed, in my backpack, in other piles throughout my room (on my nightstand, on the floor). I think I’ve still got some in a suitcase I unpacked when I came back from Florida in March, but I just keep books in there too. Books, man. I’ve got too many books and my dumb ass still be out here wanting more.

Hm. I’ll tag @nospoonsgiven @doitforparamore @sneez @shecomesincolors @pavlovers @aliceic @jewishusnavi @david-watts @derricklogan2 @laurenthelyricist and @thatstupidgirlshow if y’guys are interested.

#tag

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