#I dunno what came over me with that design though

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

Weirdoposting compilation once again, featuring ideas that rotate in my head a lot

[keferon]

So the Mech AU is something and it's captured me too.

Set sometime after Prowl discovers Jazz is a pilot but before they go to Earth

———————————————————————

"Do they all look the same?"

Sat in a makeshift chair made from a tarp thrown over a spare tire, Jazz was in the middle of refueling from a small plastic baggie when Prowl broadly gestured to the inanimate body of his mech.

"The mechs? Naw, at least not the ones that last. I've had mine long enough that it's gotten all sorts of unique design changes and upgrades. There's no other mech that looks or moves just like mine."

The reassurance that Jazz's mech form was an individual creation was pleasing for some reason. Perhaps Prowl didn't like the idea of a dozen identical blank visors, the body of his friend replicated and filled with someone else.

"There's like. three or four classes of mech I think?" Jazz continued unaware of Prowl's secret anxiety.

"There's Rescue Class, those are the smallest, and they actually aren't built for fighting but for digging through rubble and cleaning up chunks of alien. Plus, sometimes those tentacle freaks have parasites that drop off when they die so the R-class kill 'em before they can become an invasive species."

"I thought you said they weren't designed for combat?"

Jazz finishes their fuel and shrugs.

"Its a war. Nobody gets out of fighting completely. Before I left I heard they were sticking a medic into- into fuckin' Vortex."

There were, many questions Prowl had concerning that last sentence. How desperate were the humans to be making their caregivers into soldiers? Why was this Vortex so infamous?

Why did Jazz sound angry at first, but by the time he got to saying "Vortex" the name came out as a rush of breath rather than a proper word?

What stopped him from pressing further on the topic was how Jazz seemed to shrink. And sink.

And stare at nothing at all.

It was so nauseatingly not Jazz that Prowl nudged the tire a bit and guided the conversation back to familiar territory.

"So what class are you?" Prowl said, while crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on them. It was, very off model posture for the Praxian, but without the ability to pick up EM fields, exaggerated body language seemed to be the best way to get through to his human.

On a hunch, Prowl lightly waved his door-wings as well. Jazz smiled at them, and at him and Prowl preened with a modest smile back.

"I happen, to-just-so-be-the-Top-of-my-class-a-thank-you-veeery-much!" Jazz said popping each syllable like a song, resting his chin on his knuckles to match Prowls gaze.

"In terms of mech?" He nodded in its direction.

"I'm Striker Class baby, we're the fastest, the most agile and in my personal opinion the the most effective fighters in the whole program."

"And you do not personally feel as though you are an outlier bringing up the average?"

Mouth agape in mock shock, Jazz placed a hand over his spark- Flesh? Flesh-spark? Prowl deleted the line of thought and focused on the performance.

“I assure you Prowler, there are plenty of other Striker class pilots out there that do good for our name. I mean, there’s Blur for one thing. The guys basically the poster child of the whole program. Ridiculously fast mech. There’s also Hot Rod. His mech had the funny little quirk of CONSTANTLY CATCHING ON FIRE, buuut he turned it from a bug into a feature and now that’s just his thing.”

“Just his thing?!”

“Yup.”

“Being on fire?”

Jazz sat up straighter and pointed a finger at Prowl, “Look. I don’t know the full story and I shouldn’t be the one to tell it either, but trust me when I tell you this guy earned it.”

Leaning back, Prowl processed the new layers of insanity humans would apparently subject themselves to before filing it under “Bizarre conversations with Jazz” in his processor and carrying on.

“So what’s your special quality?”

“Me? I’m freakishly good at syncing up with my mech. Like, Blur is faster, but I’m smoother. Like, like that really is me. It just, I dunno, feels right. Fits me.”

Jazz looked over to his mech for a long time. Frowning at the fuel packet in his hands and solemnly crushing it into a ball.

“In terms of mech?” Jazz looked looked over to Prowl, smile returning with ease.

“I think I might be the only one that’s built for the stars.”

Their conversation continued into the evening like a leisurely dance. Discussing Pool Time, the war, cultural differences , the quintessons, their homes, what remained of them, and all the people they know and once knew.

Prowl never brought up Vortex again, though perhaps he should have.

__________________________________________

"What," Prowl choked out, his voice more static than sound. "Is that?"

The sky was green. The quintessions were in chunks. A mech, matte black with a blank visor, caaaarved into the body of the last living invader. A blade that massive was too big to keep a clean cutting edge, so the mech made up for the lack of delicacy with brute force.

It. It wasn't killing the damn thing. It was vivisecting the aliens spinal column from its body, each rib snapping off with a supersonic POP that shook Ratchets hangar and barely carried over the fucking awful sound of the thing screaming in terror.

Prowl would have never thought a Quintession could be a Victim before that moment.

Spine and brain case finally extracted, the mech lifted its prize to its opening vi- mouth.

That is its mouth. It's head was the size of his entire chassis. Inside, a stranger. Over bright eyes, straining and shaking against restraints within to get a better look at what was being held up to him. The mech moved without any input, tilting its helm back and cracking the skull to fill its open maw with cerebral fluid.

A funnel cloud touched down in the distance.

"That.? Jazz said, leaning against Prowls good side. “Is Vortex.”

TH A T. IS VORTEX

Man……I think Cybertronians would consider themselves big and scary compared to primitive earth life. And then meet Vortex. And then see Vortex in their nightmares for the next five million business years

Previous Next

[bonbonly]

pairing: carlos sainz x f!reader ; tw: p in v, praise? maybe? dunno

prince!carlos sainz who's always lavishly surrounded by ladies no matter where he goes. old, young, it doesn't matter. the queens of various countries, old enough to be his grandmother, pinch his cheek and the little duchesses want nothing more than to hold his hand as he guides them back to their parents. as for the princesses? every night, there's another woman in his bed. another princess moaning, another princess screaming, another princess mewling about how handsome of a prince he is.

"that i know," his spanish accent floods their ears, as he'd give them a wink. having spent much of his life fed to him on a silver spoon, he figured his future bride would throw herself onto him, making his job much easier.

you weren't an ordinary princess, though. not because you weren't interested in him, or didn't believe in arranged marriages. you were far too prude for your own good, head always held high which gave you the advantage of looking down at others. you curtsied when asked, rarely ever let another man touch you unless it was your father, and reminded every young duchess what her duties were at a young age. prince!carlos sainz wanted to corrupt you so badly, his cock just ached at the sight of you dancing with a young prince from another country. you weren't betrothed to the gentleman, everyone in the ballroom knew that you belonged to prince!carlos, but he sometimes wondered if you knew. as in if you craved him as much as he craved you.

he sees you pick the ends of your ballgown, exiting the ballroom towards an empty hallway. he asks the butler of where you were headed, and is more than delighted to hear that you were heading to a bedroom upstairs to change into another dress for dinner. your parents wanted you to impress not only the Sainz family, but the other royal families as well. the promise was that when you became queen, everyone would know how grand and proper you were as a princess.

prince!carlos watches you walk into another room on accident and before you fumble out, he slips into your designated room and hides in the wardrobe. he glances at the display of the beautiful gown on the bed, and wonders how good it'll look on you... or off you in this case. he has to stop himself from being too excited, biting the skin on the edges of his fingernail as he watches you through the sliver of light in the wardrobe.

you didn't bother to call the servants to help you since the event downstairs was of more importance. you undid some of the lace strings on the outermost part of your dress, slipping it off easily before doing the same for the large skirt of the dress. and then came the tricky part, the part that made you hate ever being a princess which was a very rare occassion. the corset. it was a really pathetic scene in front of carlos, watching you struggle with the strings on your back. you had even gone as so far as to bend over on the bed, arms behind your back as you try in vain to free yourself from the material. the sight makes prince!carlos's breath hitch, and he can no longer control himself.

he exits the wardrobe as quietly as he can, and walks over to where you lay squirming in bed, panting at how hard it was to get this stupid corset off. he finally takes his opportunity and presses his chest against your back, pinning you to the bed as he whispers into your ear, "I can help you, princesa,"

you gasp at his words, hands now helping you push off the bed and you spin around to face him. his hands rest on your waist, searching your eyes with a very predatory look.

"Carlos," you begin but he raises an eyebrow, which causes you to mumble, "Your highness, forgive me for calling you the wrong title."

"i'm disappointed, cielo, you should know better than to call me by my first name. i thought that was part of your rules, no?" he teases, though you are unaware. you nod your head, admitting your lack of manners,

"m-my apologies, your highness. i just find this situation rather innapropriate, you see-"

"oh, i do see," he glances you up and down, stepping closer so that your knees hit the edge of the bed, "but we are to be married in a few weeks, i don't think there is a problem here."

"o-oh, but there is! if my father comes to see-"

he cuts you off once more, "you are a guest in my palace. you are going to be my wife in a few weeks. your father's words are useless here."

you gulp, trying to wrap your head around his words. usually, you had the knack to wittily respond, having garnered praise for being bold and formidable. but all words flew out the window, and all you could do was avert your eyes.

"you called me carlos on accident," prince!carlos mentions,

"and I apologized for it," you blurt out. he raises his eyebrows at how loud you just were, and he shakes his head,

"not enough for me, princesa, i'll find it hard to accept your apology," he crosses his arms, watching you nervously fidget with your fingers. the last thing you wanted was to incur your future husband's wrath for not following the guidelines like you always did! you were supposed to be better than him!

"then how can I have your forgiveness?" you ask. he grins at you,

"finally... finally, you ask the right questions, mi reina."

your moans echo through the hallways of the palace as he fervently gives open-mouthed kisses along your neck and tits, promising you that they would leave bruises so that everyone would see that you were his princess, his queen. and no other man in the world could have you. he makes you cum around his tongue, his fingers and his cock. you've never felt like this before, and you were never taught if you were supposed to be quiet or loud. prince!carlos enjoys seeing your body contorting like this, and he has you everywhere he can at the moment. who knew how long it would be before you returned for another ball? he'd have to wait for weeks until he'd finally be your husband, he needed to use every opportunity he had!

you're gushing around his cock for the 5th time that night, overstimulated beyond compare, each thrust of his hips has you whining out loud. he now has you against the window, tits pressed against the glass so that he could show the guards outside who he'd have every morning, afternoon and night once he marries you. his cock just can't seem to get enough, and he doesn't care that your juices are falling onto the rich velvet material of the daybed he has near the window. he wants to ruin you, make you ache for him even when you're alone in your bedroom back at your kingdom. your fingers should never be able to satisfy him now that you've had a taste of his cock. his hands find their way into your hair, and he yanks you back to his chest, a hand rubbing your sore puffy clit once more. you're crying furiously, begging him to have some mercy but at the same time you wanted to cum, you wanted to feel heaven again.

"anything you want, i give, princesa," he coos, kissing your neck and he's groaning as his thrusts become more erratic. you squeeze around him, back arching as you cum again and he does the same, resting his forehead against your shoulder, murmuring praises of how beautiful you'll look as the queen to his kingdom, how you'd look amazing being pregnant and carrying his royal children.

he's interrupted by the butler knocking on the door, asking for the presence of both of them, the guests had a few... noise complaints, to say the least.

[bochimochi]

“sorry to say... you've grown a bit predictable."

IM DONEEEEE. FINALLYYYYY!!

What started out as just a little fun, "quick" idea, turned into a full blown out arcane character design analyzation and trying to make the perfect painting of Caitlyn when she's older. I dunno what came over me to do it, thinking it would be a two or three day project- haha so funny.

Anyway, this is Caitlyn around 40's-50's in arcane. Did my best to replicate the style even though it's far from perfect, but I'm still pleased! She owns her mom's earrings and wears the kiramman crest proud on her eyepatch. You can't see it but she also has Vi's name tattooed behind her ear but that's a project for a different day. Anyway, I hope you guys like it, lot of hardwork and love was put into this! Will I do vi even though I planned to?..... uhhh...i’ll get back to you on that one.

[lowkeyrobin]

HII so I was reading your who you write for and saw you write for Charlie Bushnell, so I was wondering if I could get like reader and Charlie at like the an interview???

Thank you -🍄

hell yeah of course 🙏🙏 ; thank you 🍄anon, hope you enjoy 🫶🫶 ; i dunno how but this got a little off topic?? I apologize

CHARLIE BUSHNELL ; the interview

summary ; youre a journalist, he's an actor

warnings ; language, little cringe kissing scene (totally sfw dw)

disclaimers ; I said "scandalous ankles" because back in the olden days ankles and showing any skin was considered scandalous, for anyone who didn't know. reader is described to be not into fitness stuff, also don't mind me not knowing shit about fitness/weightlifting

word count ; 883

masterlist

"Hi, welc-hum inside." You smile, waving to Charlie as he enters the room. You then cringe at yourself in embarrassment. "Sorry, hi, welcome." You awkwardly chuckle, "I apologize, my words are all tangled today"

"You're good" He waves, a comforting smile on his face. He wears a black t-shirt with a logo in the corner and design on the back, paired with some jorts and sneakers like he just came from the gym. You didn't mind though, you urged your guests to come comfortable over casual.

Video interviews that weren't in front of a live crowd were the best for both of you, thank God. Meeting this Godsend of a man nearly gave you a heart attack. Just looking at his gorgeous eyes and his perfect features, nothing was wrong with him whatsoever. He was genuinely a 10/10.

He sits down in the guest chair across from yours, watching you sift through a desk a few feet away, looking for something. Your dress pants rise at the ankles every time you make a step, revealing more of your scandalous ankles, covered by socks.

You finally sit down, apologizing for taking so long to find your notebook where you held a few questions and conversation starters. The cameras begin rolling, and you introduce yourself and Charlie as per usual.

"So, what's it like being on set, with all the cameras, lights, props, and green screens? What are the action scenes like?"

Charlie lightly smiles as he gives you an answer, using his hands to talk a little bit. He seemed a little tense and nervous, but you didn't point it out or blame him, it took you years to be fully comfortable where you sat.

"What even are you? Cause like, you're an interviewer but also a journalist, what do you prefer being called?" The curly haired boy asks you.

You shrug, "Journalist, I guess. Interviewer could be put like, inside the circle of journalism, I'd say. I'm a journalist before I'm an interviewer"

He nods, giving you a gorgeous smile that you had to quickly look away for. You discreetly hide your flushed face, looking down at your notebook.

You write down some memorable quotes as you sit and chat with him, bringing up some interesting conversation and learning more about being on set and the production behind media.

After the cameras are off, you thank him and invite him to stay for some aftertalk and lunch. You came in with a large bowl of taco salad you needed to finish before it went bad and were offering it to anyone who wanted it. He accepts the offer, staying back in the break room with you to eat some of that salad you'd brought in. In his words, it was very much better than whatever fast food he was going to go get before returning home.

Your conversation quickly turns into one regarding music and working out, although you weren't too into fitness, the occasional jog here and there keeping you healthy, apparently.

You both stand up, setting your bowls and forks in the dishwasher to get them cleaned. You stand against the counter as he leans his hand against it a couple feet away.

He pulls up his t-shirt sleeve, flexing his arm to show off his muscles. He's trying to impress you, mostly, but you had asked how frequently he worked out. Not his fault.

"Usually lift about 145"

You nod, paying more attention to his face than his muscles. Not exactly your question, but you'd take it.

"You okay?" He asks, seeing you zoned out staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Am I that handsome to you?" He asks, lightly teasing you.

"Wh- I mean, hey now-"

He lightly giggles, stepping forward a bit.

You stare into his brown eyes, colored like a dark chocolate mocha. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, seeing your eyes almost glimmer as they stare into his.

He's just a guy, you're an interviewer, a journalist. This is weird, isn't it? Is it not?

"May I?..." He whispers, looking down at your lips, then up at your eyes.

Triangle Theory.

You nod, a soft smile painting your face.

He quickly embraces your lips with his, hands resting on your waist. You melt into his kiss, your bodies tied together. He picks you up, hands resting behind your thighs, placing you on the counter.

You quickly pull away, hands on his shoulders as he stands between your legs. "Okay, what the fuck? Do that again"

He smiles, looking up at you. His arms are now loosely wrapped around your hips and waist area, his curls falling into place like dominoes.

"You're an interesting one"

"Says you, actor guy"

"Don't try and play me at my own game"

You open your mouth to speak, but shut yourself up, seeing the smug look on his face.

He holds your left hand in his right, a slight panic running through both of your heads as he rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

You speak up now, finding your stomach filled with butterflies.

"You make me want to grab a dictionary and manually find the words I'm looking for to describe you and how attractive that was."

He lightly laughs, kissing your hand.

"Whatever you say, journalist"

[swee7dream]

hi vixy! i miss you sm 😞🫶 being here is just not the same when i'm not interacting w/ you (ノ_＜。) and im here in your inbox for a request!

remember when i always gush about your use of endearments? atm, im craving for a hc fic of 7dreamies using their favorite endearment/petname/nickname for reader >< i absolutely think that they have their own ways and the oddest yet the most endearing nicknames for their special ppl and i think about it everytime i read your fics bcuz there is that kind of spice of it in your works (*^-^) and i love it ^^

i hope you're doing well, love! have a great day (人´ｴ`*)♪

xoxo, wynnie.

7dream's nicknames for their partners nct dream x f!reader

genres fluff, established relationship warnings feminine pet names used, quasi-suggestive but not really ( renjun ) author's note omg not the love letter in my inbox !!! love u 5ever wynnie . sorry the bulletpoints are kinda short, i tried to make up for it in the mini-fics ! ty for the request + i hope u like it !

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a very simple, casual guy

babe, dude (romantically), my girl

he can’t even tease you when you tell him it gives you butterflies because he’s the exact same way, giggling into his hand and turning away to hide his silly grin from you

call him dude though? he’ll be sulky until the next day (as if, he melts into a puddle with just one kiss)

“dude,” mark calls out from the hallway, still unsure where everything is still, being your first sleepover. “have you seen my charger? i don’t know where i left it.” “i dunno, man. you should ask your girlfriend.” “wow…” he extends the word in between laughter. he shuffles in his slides back into the bedroom, doubling over your body laying comfortably under sheets. “you are my girlfriend.” “nuh-uh. i’m your dude. your bro. your homeslice.” you over-emphasize the last word, flicking your tongue like a snake. “more like my homewife.” he giggles, reaching up to peck your lips. “that was terrible.” “come on! that’s worth at least half a point.” “negative eight thousand points.”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

my love, darling, sweetheart

in my heart of hearts i view huang renjun as the definition of a romantic

maybe he won’t have diamond necklaces for you every date night, but he always makes sure to show his love in the small, important things

he has your favorite snack for when you get home, changes the bedsheets when you forget to, and refills the soap bottles in the bathroom before you even notice you’re running low

“you took care of the dishes.” renjun jumps in his seat, not even hearing when you came in. “i did.” he turns from his canvas to look at you, smiling as you’re already wrapping your arms around his waist. “how was your day, my love?” “exhausting. you are the sexiest man alive, you know that?” you mumble into his hair. “for washing dishes?” “so hot.” you nod, squeezing him tighter. “gee, thanks,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to scratch your head. “how about a bath? wash away all that exhaustion.” “join me?” you pout. “of course, darling.”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

doll, baby, babydoll

you are a living, breathing doll to him and everyone needs to know!!!!!

he forgets he’s literally mr. ferragamo sometimes and just stares at you with super heart eyes like:

wow (ෆ人��) that’s my baby

“what about this one?” you spin in to give jeno a 360. “i really liked it in the store but i’m not so sure about it now.” “you’re the prettiest girl ever, doll.” jeno sits with his legs spread, his hands in the middle holding the edge of the chair he sits on. “pretty, pretty, pretty.” “thank you, jen.” you look at him. “but i’m asking about the clothes. i don’t know if this shade suits me! or maybe it’s the texture of the clothes? actually, it might be the material.” “everything suits you. if it doesn’t, it’s because the designer was stupid. you’re the pinnacle of fashion, babydoll.” “you’re silly.” you giggle, walking toward him to dig your fingers into the back of his hair. “you don’t think i should return it?” “absolutely not. you look great in red, baby.” “this is white, jen.” “whatever. gimme a kiss.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

baby, sunshine, sweetheart (derogatory)

outsiders looking in eavesdropping on your conversations don’t know if you’re about to bite each other heads off or make out against the wall

what else could you expect from haechan ‘dating is so boring, let's be best friend and act like in a relationship’ lee

you feel a dark energy looming over your shoulder, as you often have since saying yes to your first date with hyuck. you continue to feel it as your card taps on the reader, beeping happily at the successful payment, unaware of the incoming chaos. “oh heck yeah! thanks for the food, sis!” haechan’s hand sneaks around to hold the back of your head, pulling you into a deep kiss. he only squeals like an anime girl as your hands slide up to push him away and turn to the cashier, apologizing profusely and failing to convince them that you’re not, in fact, related. “thanks for treating me, sweetheart.” “hey siri, search shooting ranges near me.” “wait, baby no-”

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

lovey, princess, my muse

fun fact: he loves being called prince. having matchy matchy names makes his heart full and gives his life purpose (his words)

i put those three down but honestly, it really depends on the day. he’s constantly making new ones every single hour

he sees you in the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalk (‘petal’), in the songs of the birds outside (‘birdy’), in that one painting he saw back in a museum in italy (‘angel’)

“oh wait, i like these!” you swipe through some candid photos jaemin took of you of a trip you two took a while back on his phone. “how come you didn’t send me these?” “if i sent you every picture i took of you you would think i’m a crazed stalker.” “i know you are and i still love you.” you smile at him before turning back to the phone screen. “urgh. you’re always changing my name in your contacts. what is it now?” “munchy.” “munchy?” you stare at him with your eyes furrowed, having turned in slow motion as if you heard him wrong. “that was the name of one of the tortoises we saw at the zoo. he was so cute. it reminded me of you when you eat pasta. so you’re munchy.” “…okay, jaem. thanks, i think.”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

babe, dollface, beautiful

surprisingly, not a big petname user. not at first at least

but one time he clocked you getting pouty and in your head and learned that you liked being called sweet things other than your name.

“what’s wrong with your name? i like your name, dollface.” you can see something switch inside of his mind. “mmm, okay. i’ll try.”

“i miss you…” even through the phone, chenle can’t help but smile at your voice. “please don’t die.” “i’m at the grocery store for ice cream you asked for, dollface. i’m not gonna die.” “what if you get hit by a car?” you sniffle, hormones overwhelming you. “i’ll survive.” “how do you know?” “i just do. you should know by now i’m superman, babe.” “fly home, le. wanna cuddle.” “don’t threaten me with a good time.” he chuckles, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he places your ice cream—and a couple other things he thought you might appreciate—on the counter to be rung up. “stay put, beautiful. i’m coming.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

babe, dude, pretty (used EXCLUSIVELY behind closed doors)

bro gets embarrassed just breathing air, you think he’s gonna have the guts to be cheesy with you in public?

even calling you babe in public has him with his voice lowered.

it’s really counteractive considering being so shy about things brings only more attention to him from his friends

“could you pass me my phone?” jisung’s request flies over your head as the group conversation is alive and well around you. “babe,” he mutters, finally getting your attention. “can you pass me my phone?” in good 7dream fashion, all the boys ‘ooh’ at him, haechan and mark fangirling obnoxiously. “baby darling sugarplum angelface!” donghyuck mocks, laughing at jisung holding his head in his hands, being consoled by your rubbing his back. “could you pass me my phone, my darling sweetheart pookiebear cupcake?”

author's note i fear i'm running out of themes for fic headers !!!!! why was i not blessed with the moodboard bone all my other lovely mutuals have D:

[delightfullyquirkydoodles]

Okay, buckle up, friends and neighbours, because it's time for:

THE DOOPLISS DISSERTATION

(Obviously, you should take all of this with a HUGE chunk of salt, since I'm not only an internet-poisoned fandom blogger, but also a former English major with a penchant for over-reading.

Still, I spent a long time writing this, so I'd appreciate it if you gave it a read.)

So before we talk about Doopliss himself, I feel like we should talk about Creepy Steeple, since a lot of the topics I'm going to be touching on relate to the actual building.

Neither the original Gamecube version nor the Switch remake really bothers to explain what Creepy Steeple actually is.

None of Goombella's tattles say anything about the building's intended purpose. The name vaguely implies that it's a church of some kind -- in Japanese, it's called Odoron Jiin, or "Astonishing Temple" -- but that's still not very helpful.

Still, for the purposes of this analysis, I'm going to assume that it's meant to be a church.

This brings me to the Steeple's stained glass window, which shows a scary-looking Doopliss standing over some piranha plants.

From a design standpoint, I'm guessing that this detail was added to give the location a spooky vibe, but from an in-universe perspective, the implications are wild.

Like, who designed this? How long ago? And why? What the heck is it supposed to represent?

Unsurprisingly, the game offers no real answers, but I have a couple of theories.

The first is that the people of Twilight Town (or their ancestors, or something) created the window in Doopliss's honor.

Stained glass windows often depict saints or angels, so maybe the Twilighters used to worship him? Like, maybe Creepy Steeple was once dedicated to him and then, for whatever reason, the worshippers decided to leave?

It's not super likely, but I didn't want to rule out any possibilities. This is a weird freaking temple. Literally anything is possible, as far as I'm concerned.

My second theory is that Doopliss designed the window himself. He seems like a guy with a lot of spare time, so it's not too much of a stretch to say that he came up with the idea and then spent weeks building it by hand.

He could have also bullied the Boos into constructing it for him. I dunno. I just have this mental image of him pulling pranks on them and generally being a nuisance until they caved.

The bottom line is someone wanted to Doopliss's face to be front and center. And if that someone is Doopliss himself, then hoo boy, there is a lot to unpack here.

Maybe I'm projecting, but it feels like Doopliss is wrestling with some major self-esteem issues.

Despite being an incredibly powerful shapeshifter who somehow cursed an entire town, he seems very childish. He spends all his time watching TV and coming up with new jokes. He throws tantrums when he loses. He wears a party hat, of all things.

Based on that, I'd say that he's probably starved for attention. He's probably pretty lonely living in Creepy Steeple all by himself (doubly so if my theory about the Twilighters is correct).

I'd even go so far as to say that his scheme to turn the Twilighters into pigs is motivated by this need for attention. I mean, what better way to get people to notice you than to cause a town-wide panic?

I feel like the disguises he uses over the course of the main story also support this theory.

Though Mario, Zip Toad and Professor Frankly are quite different from one another, they all have one important thing in common: they're famous. Mario's a world-renowned adventurer, Zip Toad is a well-known actor and Frankly is a tenured professor whose students love him.

Doopliss even alludes to this after stealing Mario's body, telling him, "You're so popular around here! I just love being you!"

By transforming into beloved figures, Doopliss can get the attention he craves.

I also think that this is why he joined the Shadow Sirens. Sure, Beldam abuses him almost as badly as she abused Vivian, but at least she notices him. That's better than nothing.

The most conclusive piece of textual evidence is found in the epilogue. In her letter to Mario, Goombella explains that Doopliss has joined Flurrie on-stage in her production of "Paper Mario".

Obviously his shapeshifting abilities make the play a lot more realistic, but why would he bother participating in it at all? This guy was a villain for most of the game. Why would he suddenly decide to join up with one of his enemies?

Because, as far as I can tell, he's not a villain. Just a guy who's sick of being ignored.

I dunno. Doopliss's motivations have never been super clear, but I feel like there's more to him than meets the eye.

If you have any thoughts or ideas of your own, feel free to comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Questions Questions

finnick odair x fem apprentice stylist reader summary: finnick skipping training to talk to you

masterlist

The sun beamed through the tall windows, the light making the ocean blue fabric shimmer. You were in the District 4 suite working on one of the many versions of an interview outfit that your mentor, Lucida, had conjured up for the male tribute of four.

Finnick Odair.

The boy that had been taking up all your thoughts.

Even though you'd only known him for about 2 days, he already was the only thing you could think about, but you had no idea why.

You adjusted the fabric, trying to focus on sewing, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him. His smile. His eyes. Everything about him.

You were lost in your thoughts til you heard the door creak open.

"Whatcha working on?"

Startled, your body jumps and your head whips around to see who was behind you.

It was him.

"Finnick! You scared me!"

He grins sheepishly, "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you" he says, walking over to your work table and perching himself on it.

"Shouldn't you be at training?" you say as you smooth the fabric out.

"I was, but it’s… well, it’s just...boring. So I thought I’d come see you instead"

You look up at him, awkwardness filling the room.

"I’m sure Mags won’t be happy about that"

"Probably not," Finnick mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s fidgeting now, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. "But I don’t really mind."

You glance at the floor, and then back at Finnick, unsure of what to say. Finnick breaks the silence by poking at a pile of fabric beside you.

"So, uh… what is all this for?" He picks up a sparkly swatch and twirls it between his fingers. "Something for me?"

You nod, "It's a concept for your interview outfit...Lucida wanted something that reflected what the ocean is like"

Finnick nods, "I, uh, I guess you must really like doing this stuff. Designing outfits and all," he says, "You, uh... you always look so focused when you draw"

You smile and nod, "I do..I love designing..."

Silence fills the room again, Finnick nervously plays with the fabric and you try threading some string through a needle.

You want to keep talking to him, but you just don't know what to say.

“So, if you could pick anything for me to wear... what would it be?” Finnick blurts out.

"Uh- I dunno...maybe just...something that you're comfortable in, so just something- simple. Cause you don't need anything fancy....you already stand out"

Finnick smiles and you hear him laugh, for some reason, it makes your heart race.

You both continued talking, the awkwardness slowly fading into something more natural, as if the two of you were finally settling into each other's presence. Each moment with him felt like it came naturally, and soon, you were laughing about some of the ridiculous things Lucida had insisted on for his outfits.

"Y'know she wanted to make you like this...huge fish tail for the parade" you say as you laugh.

"Really?"

You nod, "I had to convince her that some people wouldn't want to see a big fish on a chariot"

Finnick laughs, "Well...thank you for convincing her."

The conversation then lulled, Finnick’s voice took on a softer tone, as if he was thinking carefully about the next words.

“So... what’s it like?” he asked, his eyes catching yours, suddenly more serious.

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s what like?"

"Growing up here...in the Capitol. What's it like?"

"It’s kind of overwhelming, honestly, the people are loud and flashy, nothing ever stops. There's always something new to buy, always something new to see, but it feels kind of… fake sometimes. Like it’s all about impressing each other...but- I can't really complain..not when- well y'know."

Finnick nods and carefully fidgets with the fabric on the table again.

"What's district four like?"

Finnick looks up at you, his eyes lighting up. "It's a lot different from the Capitol. The ocean is so big it feels like it goes on forever. The water is salty and cold, but when the sun hits it, it sparkles like glass. And when you dive in… it’s like the rest of the world disappears.”

"I've never been to the ocean before...I've only pictures. I wish I could see it."

"You’d love it." he whispers, "Maybe I could take you there someday."

You look up at him, unsure of what to say.

Finnick abruptly stands up, "I should probably get back before Mags comes looking for me," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

You smile and nod, "Good idea."

As Finnick heads for the door, he pauses, turning back.

"I should skip training again," he says, his grin returning. "I like talking to you."

Before you can say anything, he leaves. Leaving you alone in the room, your heart pounding against your chest and your head spinning.

Why did you feel this way around him?

A/N: my cuties ☹️

[darlingshane]

Let it rip, Coach

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Searching for a new sponsor for the soccer team you coach leads you to meet and quickly fall in love with Michael.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Crack, Alcohol, Eating, Kissing.

Word Count: 3,2k

— You can read below or at AO3.

“Hey, Cousin!” Richie taps on the frame of Michael's office door. “There's a woman here to see you.”

“Oh? Is she a health inspector or something?” He swivels in his chair, putting a pen down on the desk.

“No. Though, if she’s looking to inspect something, I’d be the perfect specimen to study.”

“That hot?”

“Smokin’ hot. Total knockout. Banging body,” his track suited friend remarks frivolously. “But as usual, she didn't want to do anything with me, cause I'll never stand a chance against the great Mikey Bear.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Cousin. Girls love those baby blues. It's when you open your mouth what makes them run in the other direction,” Michael taunts. “What does she want? Did she ask for me specifically?”

“She didn’t mention your name exactly. She requested an audience with the proprietor of this fine establishment.”

“Wow, those are big words, Cousin.” Michael rises from his chair, adjusting the waistband of his jeans.

“Well, I'm a big guy… If you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do know what you mean.” Scoffing, Michael palms his friend's back and walks out of the office.

They both head out of the kitchen, and Richie points him to the table with the woman, you, who asked to talk to the owner of the sandwich joint.

As he rounds the counter, he counts four young girls sitting around the table with you, ready to dig into the food they just got served.

“Hi, I'm Michael, the owner of this place,” he gestures vaguely with one hand in the air. “What can I do for you, ladies?”

After introducing yourself and the four pre-teens that came with you, one of them being your niece, you explain to Michael that you're the coach of the girls' soccer team. The reason for your visit is that you’re searching for a new sponsor for the team after losing the one you had.

Michael listens closely as you add a little more information, telling him that grew up in this neighborhood, and thought of asking a few businesses of the North River area.

“I dunno, girls… I don't know the first thing about soccer,” he runs a palm over his beard and then pushes his hair back.

“That’s okay, you don't really need to. You'd only have to cover uniforms. Think about your name being on every jersey. And I promise to bring the whole team here after every game. Right girls?”

They all respond in unison positively with mouths full of food.

“See? They love your food already. Think about the publicity. The games are always packed, let me tell you. Women's leagues are booming right now.”

“I don’t doubt that. What's your team's name?”

“The comets,” one of the girls responds.

“That's a great name. Are you guys good?”

“The best,” your niece boasts.

They're actually pretty good. Most of them have been playing for a couple of years before you started coaching them, and the new additions are quickly catching up.

“Okay, let me think about it.”

Michael goes back into his office, crunches some numbers, and by the time you've finished your food he's made out his mind. He accepts your offer, and you exchange numbers to stay in contact.

Two days later, you return to the restaurant to finalize the details. You show him a handful of the designs the girls, and you came up with, and go over a list of print shops in the area to choose one that meets your needs. You type all the details in your phone and head up together to the shop.

It's surprising to see him so invested in just a few days. When you place the final order for the jerseys, he adds one more to the bulk in his size, so he can wear his own to support the team.

You text occasionally for updates, but in between you've found yourself texting back and forth casually talking about your day, the restaurant, your other job… Michael is easy to talk to and quite the charmer, you’ve realized. It has made you wonder at times if he’s hitting on you or not, especially face to face. He’s always flashing a smile, or an innocent wink when you leave, that utterly dismantles you in ways you never thought possible.

When the new jerseys arrive, you make sure Michael gets his. You deliver it personally to the restaurant one night after he’s closed shop.

Your new friendship is strangely familiar. Michael slips into your life as if he'd always belonged there. He has an open heart. A big, contagious laugh; and a sweet smile that could make what's left of the poles completely melt. He's easy on the eyes, too, regardless of what he says. Much as everyone else on the planet, he has his faults too and one of them is the self-deprecating jokes he makes about his appearance, which are completely unfounded. The sharp angles of his face might not be up to classic beauty standards, and that's what actually makes him stand out in the crowd.

You adore his passion about food and his business, and how much confidence oozes out of every pore of his body. It's really disarming. And despite the fact that he almost never shuts up, he's a great listener too when it’s your turn to share.

Quiet has settled after everyone has left the restaurant, all the lights are down except for the ones coming from the neon sign above the counter and the vending machine. He sits backwards on the chair across from yours and slides a beer along the table. You stay right there, swapping life stories, sap anecdotes, fun moments of your life, anything, and everything in between like two old friends hanging out.

A couple of hours go by like nothing, while the table collects empty bottles.

“Last one,” you pick up your third beer, hold it to your lips and take a long swig as the chef timidly nods at your statement.

“Can I ask you something?” his tone mellows from its usual volume.

“Shoot.”

“Would it be unprofessional to ask you out?”

“No, I don't think so,” the corners of your mouth curl up nervously as your nails try to remove the sticker on the glass of your beer. “We don't really work together.”

“That's right. Would you say yes if I asked you out, though?”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Don't give me — maybe. Yes or no only, sweetheart,” his head tilts to the side, trying to capture the truth behind your eyes in the faint neon lighting striking across your face.

“I guess I wouldn't mind if you did.”

“I guess — is not an answer either.”

You take a deep breath and let him hang for a second while you put a couple of thoughts together.

“Not everyone is as confident and decisive as you are, Berzatto. Some people need a little time to process things,” you pause to gather some insight. “And you already know that I like you and wouldn't be asking if I didn't. So yeah… If you asked, I'd say yes.”

“That's all I needed to hear,” a grin splits his face as he tilts his beer up to take a gulp.

“Sooo… are you going to ask me now?”

“Eh, not right now. I just needed to know,” he quips.

“Suit yourself, but don't wait too long,” you say casually, as if it didn’t care as much whether he asks you out or not. You do. And it’s a relief to find out that he likes you back and that he's open to pursue something more than a friendship. It's hard to click with people that fast, but with Michael, it has felt too easy. They say you find love in the most unexpected places. You definitely weren’t looking for it when you came into his joint just a few weeks ago, and now it’s hard to imagine your life without him.

When you pull your phone out of your pocket to look at the time, it's way later than you thought.

Michael walks you to the L, and before the train arrives, he asks you right on the platform if you'd like to have dinner with him sometime.

Obviously, you say yes.

As the train slips into the station, you lean in and kiss his cheek goodnight, letting your lips meet the edge of his beard. His mouth takes the form of a pleased grin, and as you step inside the car, he tucks his hands in his pockets and watches you occupy a seat by the window. You stare at him for a long moment behind the glass as the doors slide close until the train is set in motion.

Texting the next day, you set up your date for the following week on a day you’re both free.

Before that day comes, you have also a very important event on your schedule that is the first game of the season.

Though the chef initially wasn’t going to come, Michael decides to surprise you by showing up on that day.

“Hey, Coach,” you hear his lively voice from behind while the girls warm up on the field.

You turn your head to see him wearing his jersey, and a blue baseball cap set backwards that shows his hair sticking out behind his ears. It’s impossible to stop the corners of your mouth from pointing out automatically as he walks up to you.

“Hey, Chef. Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, it was last minute. You made it sound so good, I wanted to see you in action.”

“What about the shop?”

“Left Richie in charge for a couple of hours.”

“Are you sure that was a good idea?”

He balances his head from side to side, “as long as he doesn't burn it, I think it'll be fine.”

“Well, I'm glad you came. You should take a seat before it's too late,” you gesture at the bleachers, almost packed.

“Yeah, I’ll leave you to it. Let it rip, Coach,” he winks at you, and takes a seat in one of the middle rows on the bleachers.

You still have a dopey smile plastered on your face when the game starts. On occasion, you glance over your shoulder to see him cheer and root for the girls when they have the ball. His enthusiasm, and voice, increases during the second half when the team dominates the game, earning their first victory of the season.

As promised, you take the whole team to The Beef for a celebratory meal afterward.

During Michael's absence, Richie has set up a few tables together to fit the full team, and while they eat their food you park your butt on a stool at the counter, so you can chat with Michael.

“I need to run something by you,” he's on the other side of the counter, propped on his forearms.

“What?”

“It's about our date. I was thinking that I could make you dinner instead of going to a restaurant.”

“Here?”

“No, we already spent too much time here. I thought maybe you could come over to my place, or I could go to yours and just… chill.”

“Chill, huh?” you lift a french fry from your plate and take a bite.

“Yeah, but not like that,” he bashfully scratches his neck. “It’d be just dinner with no strings or expectations. Maybe it’s unusual for a first date, but just wanna spend a nice time alone with you and cook something you’d love. Have a couple of ideas that you’d… but if you wanna do something else…”

You stare at him while he rambles. It's refreshing to see him nervous for once.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

“What if I had some expectations other than dinner?” you playfully raise an eyebrow.

“I guess I wouldn't be opposed to that.”

“You guess? That's not an answer,” you echo back his own words from when you gave him a similar response.

He presses his teeth on his bottom lip for a beat, “no, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to take it farther.”

“Which it's what you wanted all along,” you tease.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Coach. My intentions are just making you dinner. That's it. Anything that happens after, it's really up to you.”

“Say, Richie,” you call for his friend's attention as he comes out of the kitchen. “What would you think if a guy invited you for dinner at his house on a first date?”

“I’d say he’d only be interested in wetting his whistle. Why? Are you going on a date with this puto?” Richie claps Michael’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, you must be special. He hardly ever invites anyone to his place. Last time he did, it was-”

“Shut up, Cousin,” Michael cuts him off, annoyed by the fact that's actually true. It's been a long time since he's wanted to actually bring someone home that felt right.

“Like I said, I never stood a chance against Mikey Berzzato,” Richie nods at you and circles outside the counter to check on the tables.

“Aww, am I that special?” you wonder once Richie is out of hearing range.

His gaze falls to look at his hands, as he tentatively extends one to caress your fingertips with his,“I think you are really, really special.”

You stare at those fingers, brushing softly the inside of your hand, making your stomach flutter.

“Did it bother you that I involved Richie in this?”

“No, sweetheart. It didn't. Well… Maybe a little.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's just… I love Richie, but he knows a lot of stuff about me that could change your opinion about me, and I don't want you to get the wrong impression, you know?”

“Michael, I already got a pretty good impression of you. Especially after showing up like you did today. There's nothing he can say that would ruin that.”

He lets out a small snort, “give him time.”

“You know what? I'd love to have dinner at your place.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

You don't have many rules when it comes to dating. Common sense and your gut are what guide you most of the time. When something feels muddy, you back up immediately. And when something feels good, nothing can stop you from pursuing that, you're off to the races. The latter hasn't happened that often, admittedly. Hopefully, this is one of those times.

In the short time you've known Michael, you've only gotten a deep sense of longing for him, growing eager every passing day. It's hard to ignore it anymore.

Following that desire, you dress up, do your hair, put some makeup on, and take the train to Michael's apartment with no hesitation. There is some natural anxiousness rumbling in your stomach, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from chasing that thrill.

When you knock on his door, Michael welcomes you with the most beautiful smile you've ever seen, splitting his freshly-groomed beard. He’s out of his usual work clothes and has chosen a casual outfit that consists of a dress black shirt, half unbuttoned, and a pair of jeans.

“Shall we?” he offers his hand, inviting you in. You take it and let him walk you inside.

As he closes the door, you take off your jacket, scanning every detail of the modest apartment. The lights are dimmed, and he's set up the dining table with two lit candles in red-tinted glasses, and a small centerpiece of flowers. There's light music playing on his phone that's hooked to a speaker system next to the TV. The delicious smell of the food incites your appetite as he moves your chair back, like a gentleman, so you can sit.

“Fancy,” you hum as you take your seat.

“Glad you like it, sweetheart.”

He then leaves for a moment to collect the food from the kitchen and returns with two plates filled with paella. As appetizing as it looks, it tastes vastly better. He really has absorbed a lot of information about you during those casual hang-outs. Not only knows how to please your stomach with Mediterranean food, but you're also granted the best conversationalist, as usual, he's a downright delight to be around.

For dessert, he keeps outdoing himself by bringing out a homemade tiramisu he made earlier. He serves one big serving on a plate, and lays it down in the middle of the table to share with you.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm, this is the best thing I've ever had in my mouth. You'll have to teach me how to make it someday,” you request, picking another spoonful. “Would you?”

“Sure.”

“I'm torn,” you say, enjoying the delectable alcohol-soaked bottom layer on your tongue.

“How so?”

“Because – I really want to kiss you right now for making all this, but I don’t think your mouth can’t top this.”

“You’ll have to try me,” he snorts, scooping his way through the other half of the tiramisu.

“Hm, we’ll see,” you grin. “You really outdid yourself here, Chef. You shouldn't have made something so delicious.”

“I'll take it down a notch next time.”

When dessert is over, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to empty your bladder while he puts the dishes away to wash later.

He has sat down on the couch when you come out, and you stop for a beat in the middle of the hallway before deciding to sit sideways right on his lap.

“Excuse me, Sir. Is this seat taken?” you ask right after plopping your ass on his thighs.

“It is, now,” scoffing, he links an arm around your waist. “Is it comfortable, ma'am?”

“Best seat in the house,” you can’t fight the smile taking over your lips.

“You're really something else, sweetheart,” he hushes oh so softly, as his free palm lands on your denim-clad leg.

“So are you,” your head leans forward, touching his forehead.

Biting your bottom lip, eyes locked, you both go silent for a long moment while you get used to feeling his hands on you, and vice versa. His thumb absentmindedly draws circles on your leg while you play with the hair of his beautiful beard.

“I think I wanna make out now,” you whisper.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Drawing a breath, he brings one hand to frame your jaw, letting a thumb swipe across your lip slowly. Then, his tongue juts out to wet his lips, his face leans an inch closer to capture your mouth. Your stomach flutters and your skin buzzes at the firm grip of his hand on your hip while you taste the waters without fully diving into the deep end. You let your mouths bounce together and get used to that little intimacy you’ve just created with him. When you’re ready to fully dip further, he opens his mouth wider, and so do you, and before you realize it, you're devouring each other's faces. Firmly but sweetly, your tongues play together with ease as the tight seal of your lips shuts every change for air to escape or intrude. You close your eyes and free yourself of any thought, so you can enjoy this right here, right now, with him.

[imtotallyokandnormal]

Hello!! May I request Sal Fisher x reader who is severely afraid of physical touch? Like to the point where it takes them a while to even touch someone with a piece of fabric in between their hand and the person. Also if the reader is seriously sarcastic, teasing and the type who laughs everything off but easily gets flustered at any sort of romance?

Maybe even the first time they touch Sal without some sort of fabric covering their hand.

Thank you!!

AH YAY MY FIRST SAL REQUEST!!! I'M SO EXCITED- okay so disclaimer first and foremost I am definitely not gonna pretend like I know what it's like to be afraid of physical touch, so I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. And if there's anything you'd want me to correct in this please let me know!

Reader: gn reader

Warnings: mentions of fears regarding touch (purposefully left vague), but don't worry it ends up in fluff, also sex joke I dunno if that counts for a warning

Image link: tell me about your guys' favorite holidays!

》☆Sal Fisher Dating a Touch Averse Reader☆《

- Sal hasn't ever seriously questioned why you didn't like to be touched. As far as he knew, whether it was a dislike or genuine fear or hatred, it wasn't his business and he didn't ever want to push you.

- One thing that drew him to you was your ability to take what you dish out. The way your sarcastic remarks could be met with the same intensity and it'd be laughed off and continued, an easy flow of lighthearted jabs. He liked that about you. There wasn't any malicious intent in the way you both joked, and you both understood.

- Though, this attitude you have always seemed to be a possible double-edged sword. You may be able to laugh things off, but he knew it could be a curtain for you, to hide how you really felt about certain things. Especially when it came to touch. He always had a feeling there was something more to it than you were expressing. He knew those feelings all too well.

- So, he worked around it. Whenever you came over to the house he made sure everyone else knew you were coming, just to be sure any possible touchiness would be kept to a minimum. He gave you your own designated spot on the couch, or even your own chair to yourself.

- One thing he learned was that doing things for you felt just as good as any touch that he could give you. Making you a nice cup of your favorite drink, giving you dumb things that reminded him of your inside jokes, small things to show he cares. And trust me, he thinks it's very cute when you get embarrassed about it (he teases you lightly about it).

- It'd be a surprise if one day you wanted to try physical affection with him. Whatever your reasoning might have been, Sal would ask if that's really alright with you and it's definitely what you want. The last thing he would want is to cross a boundary.

- He'd suggest starting out slow with touching hands, maybe getting a pair of gloves for you both to wear. He figures from what he's learned about you it might be easier if the contact wasn't direct and had sort of a shield. He'd also suggest a kind of safeword (not the sexual kind, but you should totally pick on him for that).

- Oh, don't you worry about any reactions you might have during this either. Strong reactions, subtle, whether you flinch away slightly or start having big physical reactions to it, he'd be patient. No matter what it was, he spoke to you softly and drew away if it was too much.

- If you were alright with it, he'd gradually let you get used to his touch. This is only during times where you're prepared and he makes sure you can back out any time. Eventually, if you felt good about it, he'd ask you if you wanted to try touching hands with the gloves off.

- It didn't matter how much time it took. It didn't matter if it took forever. In every way, at every step of the way, Sal was so deeply proud of you. As soon as both of your hands met for the first time he couldn't hold back his smile, knowing that he'd earned your trust enough to do this with him.

- No matter how much physical contact you can handle, Sal makes sure to work with you every step of the way.

[whitenoisefanfiction]

Let the Games Begin (I guess)

Ummm.... did I just write the start of a Squid Game fic? Seriously? I have only watched three episodes of this show so far but this hellsite got to me and now I am writing fics for the season which I haven't even seen! *shakes my head* I dunno anymore.

So here is the start of a 457 fic from the VIPs POV because why not?

I guess if anyone wants to see the start of whatever this is turning out to be, here you go. I wrote it in 30 minutes so its kinda bad. I will make it actually 457 if I continue it (with the VIPs having a vested interest in the ship, because that sounds fun. Plus, even though I haven't finished the show yet, I have theories about what happens to the winners after the games so thats added here. But that does mean a suggestion of human trafficking so be warned)

-----

The gilded rooms buzzed with speculation, the large groups converging around the screens, ready and waiting for the show to begin. 

It was an annual event for most of the people in the room, no one unfamiliar with what was about to happen and yet, the atmosphere was electric. Each member of the large crown milling around, wore an intricately designed and expensive gold mask, depicting some sort of animal. The masks were practical, as well as an opulent display of wealth. Most of these people did not know the identity of their fellows. In fact, a few of them had long term deadly feuds against each other. But the masks gave them all a measure of anonymity and freedom to mingle together without dispute. After all, regardless of where they had come from, they had all paid the same price to be in this room this day.

“A lot of people here. It's odd for so many to arrive so early.’’ A tall male dressed in a fitted suit said to his colleague, his dark eyes peering through his golden mask in the design of an Eagles head.  In his hand was clutched a glass of wine, the value of which would be enough to bankrupt an ordinary person. 

Beside him, a smaller male wearing a Snake head nodded enthusiastically. 

“You noticed that too?” He said, gripping a crystal glass containing spring water. “Normally most people don't show up until the second last game. No point in betting until you have better odds."

“Oh, haven't you heard?” A female patron walking past asked, stopping to stand with the two, her owl head mask complementing her gold dress. “There is a returning Champion this year. Didn't you see the invitation?’

She held up a small pamphlet she had been clutching in her hand as she moved past.

“A returning Champion?” A fourth figure in a Bear mask asked, approaching the forming group, a small figure trailing behind in a plain black mask, the mark of a personal translator to this group. The translator quickly asked his boss's question to the group. 

Owl nodded her head, waving the pamphlet in front of her face. Eagle reached over, palm up in a silent request for the paper which she wordlessly handed over. He scanned it through his mask, Snake peering over his arm at it. 

“Who owns him? And more to the point, who would be stupid enough to return their property to the game.” Eagle asked, looking up at Owl as Bear's translator muttered hurriedly in his ear. 

Owl shrugged. 

“No one, as far as I can tell. He came back on his own accord.” she said. 

Snake spluttered into his drink, the suddenly inhaled liquid causing a coughing fit. 

“How does that work?” Bear asked through his translator. “Isn't it a breach of contract?”

“It is. And I mean to tax the Game Master on it when we see him.” Owl said with a sharp nod. “How they could just let a survivor go free like that is mind blowing. He could have destroyed everything, had he gone to the authorities.”

“That is, if his mind even survived the first time.” Eagle stated. 

Owl turned, her eyes glaring through the mask. 

“We all know that it takes a special kind of mind to win these games. Psychopaths and nut jobs mainly. Not the sort of people who the authorities tend to believe. And from what I understand, they normally let the Champions go back to the world for a while, to allow their minds to fully break from the trauma before they bring them to the auction hall. Makes them more suggestible and easier to train. And I trust that the Game's Masters keep anyone who could do anything firmly in hand. Don't worry my dear. Out beloved sport is safe.” he continued, raising his wine glass in a mocking salute. 

Owl scowled, her mask unable to fully hide the actions as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“So why did no one purchase him?” Snake asked. He had managed to take the pamphlet from Eagle and was scanning it intently. “Usually when a Champion comes to auction, there is a massive fight for them. And it's not like he's not attractive. I would have bid on him, as a bed warmer if nothing else.”

“Champions can be used for more than just bed sports.” Eagle scoffed. 

“You should know. How many do you own now?” Snake snapped back, shifting his glass in his hand.

“Three. All properly broken in and trained.” Eagle said, a hind of pride in his voice. 

“Lord knows what you do with them if not use them for fun.” Snake muttered. 

Eagle shot him a look through the mask. 

“I use them to conduct business transactions. Nothing like a killer with a high body count and a broken mind to smooth over difficult clients.”

“But I still don't understand why he wasn't picked up after being released. Did he not break?” Bear stated, glancing at his fellows. 

Owl reached over and snatched the pamphlet back from Snake. 

“Check the year.” She said, thrusting the pamphlet to Bear who took it graciously and handed it to his translator. The translator read quickly, finding the required information before muttering in their boss's ear. 

“2021. I didn't attend that year. Did something happen?” Bear asked, glancing at his company. 

“That was the year the old man died, wasn't it?” Snake asked, glancing at Owl who nodded. 

“Old man? What's so special about that? A lot of old men die.” Bear said.

“Not an old man. The Old Man. The Old Game Master.” Owl explained, a hint of annoyance seeping into her voice. 

“Ah.” Bear replied in understanding once his translator had finished speaking. 

“Didn't he take the tourist position that year?” A new figure asked, walking up to the group. His mask was that of a Dragon, his accent, height and hint of deathly pale skin showing his foreign roots to the rest of the group. From his comment, it was clear he had been listening into the conversation for some time.

“I believe so. If I remember correctly, he picked the Champion.” Eagle stated. 

“I thought that was against the rules.” Snake said. 

“He didn't help him win. But I think he guessed who it would be. I know I didn't pick the winner that year. I thought it was gonna be the other one.” Eagle stated. “I lost a lot of money on that bet.”

“Did anyone win that bet?” Dragon asked.

“Not from what I remember. Just goes to show, don't discount the dark horse.” Eagle replied.

“So the dark horse won and then managed to slip out of the auction. Interesting.” Dragon muttered, peering at the paper Bear still had. On it was a photo and a brief description of the player they were discussing.

“I wonder who got the tourist position this year.” Dragon muttered, still reading. “I would have paid handsomely for that spot, had I seen it come up for sale.”

The rest of the group exchanged looks, all of them in silent agreement. The tourist position was a coveted position amongst the group. A single place in the games in question which, rather than be filled by any of the hundreds of desperate competitors, was reserved for the highest bidder. The coveted 001 position which would allow the watchers to test their skills without the dangers the other competitors faced. The only rules were, the tourist could not tell the competitors what was going on and could not proceed past the second last game. It would not be fair to the competitors and would rob them all of a Champion. 

“Maybe it's a dummy spot this year. Although I do not know why they would do that, after so heavily advertising the Champion’s return.” Bear said. 

Dummy spots were reserved for if no one wanted to join the game that year. An old photo would be used for the spot and ‘killed off’ at the start of the first game. With the large number of competitors at the start and the sheer shock they faced in the first game, no one ever realized that a player had been missing in the chaos. 

“Or maybe they are testing a game this year so one of the creators is in there.” Snake suggested. It did happen occasionally, when a new game was introduced, for a staff member to enter to run the game with the competitors, to see if it could yield the required outcomes in a live simulation. 

“A bit of bloody poor timing in that case.” Bear stated. “They could have made a decent amount if they auctioned off the spot after advertising a returning Champion. I am sure a lot of people would love to meet him.”

“I still don't get how this one didn't come up for auction. How did he manage to disappear? And if he did, how did they get him back?” Eagle said, reaching forward to tap his finger on the photograph, drawing the discussion back to the topic at hand. 

“He must have managed to slip away during the upheaval of the old man's death.” Owl stated. “Maybe the Old Man already put a claim on him but died before he could be broken and retrieved.”

Several members of the group nodded. It was well known that the Game Master had first dibs on the Champions and could claim them and stop an auction. But only once before, had he actually claimed a Champion for himself.

“I assume he is still alive.” Owl said, glancing at the paper. “Since he had the advantage this time.”

“I believe so.” Bear muttered, scanning the screens which were displaying the competitors' photographs and status.

No one tended to watch the first game. It was the game where the chaft was separated from the wheat and no one wanted to place a bet too early. Unless they were very interested in bloodshed, it tended to be a boring but necessary game. 

“Yes. There he is. Still alive.” He nodded to a small corner of the screen.

“So we have a returning Champion in the games. I wonder if that will affect anything.” Dragon said 

“And more to the point, could we possibly get a two time Champion?” Bear added.

“I doubt it.” Eagle snorted. “Even if he is a bloodthirsty psychopath, the odds of winning twice are insanely low.”

“A shame.” Snake said, a little wistful, glancing up at the screen and the picture of the topic of their conversation. “Give me a chance and I would definitely be willing to drop a lot of money to buy him. Even unbroken, just for the fun of doing it myself.”

“Maybe the Game Master will pull him out before the end. Or maybe they will all vote to leave. It has happened before and I bet, if the Champion walks, they will want to correct their mistake and place him up for auction.”

Snake seemed to brighten up at that comment. 

“I will live in hope then.” He said. A soft ding, like a dinner bell chimed, drawing all the rooms occupants to the screens. The second game was about to begin, the competitors being rounded up. All eyes were fixed on the screen, searching for the Dark Horse with the number ‘456’ on his flank in the mess of human suffering.

Raising his glass in the gesture of a toast, Snake took a last opportunity to speak before the entertainment began. 

“Well then gentlemen. And lady. To the Games.”

“To the Games.” The rest of the group muttered, returning the toast before their attention was inevitably drawn to the blood sports. 

------

TBC? Maybe? If so, it will turn into 457, pinky swear. Maybe I will add it to my AO3 page.

[h-didanart]

Bloodmoon in dresses collection, round 2!

You thought I was done? So did I, but! Inspiration came back! And so I will now kick off the second round of this blog’s Bloodmoon in dresses collection.

One thing to note is that there are new participants, Bloodmoons from other aus that I hadn’t thought of for a while until someone (*coughs* @achickennamedcheese) asked me how many Bloodmoons I have. They are all here though, and they look rather dashing.

Starting us off, Magical Bloodmoon; Harvest Moon and Sturgeon Moon.

They didn’t need to look too far to find their dress, they already had one! Sure it was a skirt and some cool clothes but it’d still work. On top of that they could flaunt their cool shape shifting powers and they cool shape shifting weapon, so why wouldn’t they go for it? Might as well upstage everyone else in this whole damn place

They are having a lot of fun with this.

Next up, someone who you guys might not recognize on account of me not drawing or talking about them in so long. God of Doom Bloodmoon; Adaptation.

Adaptation himself has absolutely zero control over how Morpho decides to present them, so they didn’t particularly care when the butterfly put them in a dress. He did care when the winged death bringer pushed him to the front and basically let them run around and do whatever. He might be a bit self conscious now, but who is he to deny some time to hangout with their twin and the many other versions of themselves that are in that place?

There’s not enough red in his opinion

Last newcomer! I present to you, the amnesiac twins; Ruby and Vermillion.

Unlike around 99.8% of Bloodmoons, Ruby and Vermillion aren’t very close. Waking up so suddenly with no knowledge of anything or anyone and then learning that there’s someone else in their head was a very bad first impression for one another about each other. They both differ on tastes and likes greatly and don’t have much to bond over besides their dislike for the old them. It comes as no surprise then that they’d have trouble choosing something to wear for this event. On one hand Ruby just grabbed whatever he could and called it a day, making Vermillion feel very bad at the asymmetry of it all; on the other Vermillion chose stuff that makes sense and forms a cohesive color palette on top of being comfy, but Ruby absolutely hates the textures.

We can only hope those two come to an understanding at some point.

And finally, to wrap up this post we have the second design for one of the swap Bloodmoons; Fang.

Fang didn’t know what to do for the second round. Fang could steal from the Sun-man again, but didn’t want to, Fang wanted to stay with the other Others. So Fang had to think about what to do that wouldn’t require to go outside. Fang remembered that together with Scythe they usually had a combination of clothes that had a skirt, so Fang decided to wear the clothes the twins would wear together.

Sadly Fang cannot put the hood on

And that’s all for today! Dunno when I’ll be back, but thanks for dropping by, bye!

[serial-killers-hope]

Waiter one café owner reader X Ronin please

Ah, but of course. I’ll deliver. ~ DP

You and The Devil.

On your seventh shot of espresso, that’s when he worries.

He’s been watching for awhile now… after all, you’re Angel’s favorite cafe owner.

SPOILERS TO LOOK OUT FOR :

- Character names

Enjoy.

Post Mortem Deprivation.

You open up shop for the day, yawning as you let your employees in and consult them for the day. Hands holding a clipboard with a strict sense of urgency. Nothing important today, just how you usually acted. Always helping your coworkers / employees at the sake of your own health. It wasn’t much, but you tried your best after all.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

You threw a thumbs up and tied on your apron, nodding as you made your way to the front and inhaled the soft aroma of coffee and baked goods fresh from the bakery in the back that now sat in their respective places. You nod, counting everything and making sure everything was in place.

Ding!

The front door bell rang as it was prompted to, regulars coming in at their usual times and you served with the utmost duty and respect. Of course, there was an odd complaint here and there but they were all fixable and had no problems being fixed for the person who asked.

Your hands worked diligently as you poured cream into a cappuccino, the design making its form on top with your smile obvious with the beautifully done quickness of it all. Then the bell rang again.

“Welcome to Yaoguai!” You called out.

“Demon huh…? Not opposed.” The man who came in whistled slightly, hands in his pockets as he approached the counter.

You placed the drink down, dusting off your hands to smooth out your apron and turned to fully face him. Your steps soft and methodical as you approached the cashier and flashed your usual smile.

“What can I get for you today?”

The man chuckled, his hair plum in color with a beanie that held two faux devil horns. How ironic with your cafe’s name…

“Get me…” he eyed the menu for a bit. “… A London fog.”

You blink for a second, the edginess of the man didn’t seem to exude someone who would like something as smooth and gentle as that drink.

“Alright…” you typed in the order. “Anything else?”

“And a slice of your apple tart. They look absolutely ravishing.”

His voice was like molasses to you, making you shiver somewhat as you nodded and typed in the order. “Name for the order?”

“Ronin.”

You mentally chuckle, thinking about typing his name as Roman for a bit.

The more you looked at him though, you mentally placed him as someone who would like JD from Heathers. It made you want to laugh a bit as you typed in the name.

“Great, that’ll be $20.57.”

Ronin smiles a bit, nodding as he takes out cash and pays with a hum.

“So, what made the owner name the place Demon out of all things?”

“Dunno. I guess it just seemed fitting considering we’re more specialized in dark roasted coffee and such. Plus, the owner loves learning demon theology.”

You didn’t admit you were the owner at first, especially since you didn’t know the man. But he seemed trustworthy… at least for now.

“Ah, no wonder. You know, Maria told me I should come here. Should’ve come here sooner hah.” Ronin laughed slightly. “But hey, worth it.”

You chuckle at his response, moving to pull out a slice of the tart for him and slide it into a box that was dark brown in color with golden motifs and the name of the cafe written in a smooth font.

“You know her? She’s a loyal customer.” You hum. “She’s raves about us on her socials, never have been more proud.”

“She compliments your work a lot.” He grinned, leaning against the counter. You normally would have complained, though it was a rather slow day and hardly anyone was here. “I can see why. You obviously love your job. And you’re cute.” Ronin winks.

“Oh?… Thanks, I guess.” You chuckled awkwardly, taking the drink that had been ordered from one of the employees. Sliding the two items over to him. “Here you go!”

Ronin nodded, turning to take the drink and box.

“Well, thanks for the food.” He sips his drink, shuddering at the warmth as he smiled at you. “And the great drink. Nice meeting ya…” he examined you for a bit. “… Hydrangea.”

You blush at the nickname, watching as the devilish stranger leave with his items and into a beat up car that he seemed to have pride in. It amuses you how nice the man was and how flirty he seemed to be. Maybe it was just how he acted… but it was endearing…

The passing days were a blur for the most part, working as always. Busy and bustling, seeing some regulars and whatnot. Ronin though had been coming often during the low points of the day to order and flirt a bit. It was always nice to see him…

It was a slow day today, your exhaustion heavy as you worked effortlessly to manage the day. No mistakes, perfection.

You were on your eighth cup of coffee today, gulping down the dark liquid and moving as fast as you can to clean up. Hearing the titular ding as per usual.

“Welcome to-“

“Save it Hydrangea. C’mon. Maria told me to force you home.”

Your head immediately snaps over to look at Ronin, your brows furrowed in confusion as you shake your head.

“No, the day isn’t over. I have t-“

“You can have a manager work. You look exhausted hah…”

He wasn’t wrong. You were exhausted, more than ever. Stress had been hitting and it was only a matter of time before you keeled over in deep sleep. You wanted to resist but rest sounded so good at the moment…

“Fine fine.” You roll your eyes, telling Ronin to wait for you there and go to tell the manager who seemed pleased that their boss was going to finally get rest.

You hung up your apron, leaving the room to finally go with Ronin who seemed all too pleased to finally get you to rest.

“Let’s go.” He winked and walked out with you, sliding into the cars drivers seat with you scrambling to get into the passengers seat.

“Now, c’mon. Where do you live?”

[crazychaoticizzy]

TRACK 1: Pilot/Heart Attack

Heart Attack: the greatest rock band in history. Decades after the nasty breakup that followed their final performance in Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, the six band members finally agree to separate interviews that reveal how they came together and their rise to fame.

And what led to their sudden downfall.

EREN X READER X JEAN

CONTENT: multipart fic, rock band au, love triangle, slow burn, angst

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

Series Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

DODGER STADIUM, LOS ANGELES After their highly anticipated performance at Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, Jean Kirschtein tore off the neck of his bass on stage and ripped a hole in the drums. After announcing his resignation from the famous band, Heart Attack, Eren Jäger punched him.

Following Jean Kirschtein's resignation, Heart Attack fell apart. The performance in Dodger Stadium was their last, and the six band members have not been seen together since.

This biography is made up of a series of interviews compiled over the years by Olivia Russo. This is the first time the band and others involved have spoken on their scandals since they broke up.

JEAN KIRSTEIN, bassist for Heart Attack: Just sit here?  Alright. Yeah, of course. Sure you don’t want anything to drink? Okay. [smiling] Hi.

EREN JÄGER, main male vocalist for Heart Attack: We’re gonna make this quick, ‘kay? I don’t wanna talk about this shit. Ask your questions, get a snack or something, and leave.

ARMIN ARLERT, guitarist for Heart Attack: Do I look okay? I dunno, I just feel nervous, I guess. I haven’t really talked about this in years, especially on camera.

SASHA BRAUS, keyboardist for Heart Attack: Oh, I’m so excited for this. Did my hair curl weird? No? Okay. What do you want me to do? Introduce myself? I don’t know, everything’s changed so much since the last time I did a one on one interview like this. Hi, my name is Sasha Braus. I was the former keyboardist and supporting female vocalist for Heart Attack.

CONNIE SPRINGER, drummer for Heart Attack: Ready, kid? You’re in for a ride. I hope you brought snack or something to hold you by, this is a long story.

MIKASA ACKERMAN, photographer and costume designer for Heart Attack: This is for a documentary, right? Or a novel? Oh, okay. Either way, I’ll try to remember everything as best I can.

Y/N L/N, main female vocalist for Heart Attack: Hey. Yeah, of course. Mess with whatever. Maybe you can hide the circles under my eyes. [laughs]

What did you think of Heart Attack?

MIKASA: Well, it was Eren’s dream, so I just kind of went with it. It was fun, though. I really liked everyone we worked with. Most of them were really nice.

EREN: We were on top of the fucking world. The biggest band of the century. Everyone knew our name and we were making millions. I don’t know why Jean wanted to throw that shit away.

JEAN: You want honesty? I fucking hated it. Every single second.

CONNIE: Ooo, getting into the deep shit already? Well, I personally thought it was so fun. More so after we got famous, but it was great even back when we were just teenagers in Mrs. Yeager’s basement.

ARMIN: I kind of felt… indifferent? I mean, yeah I liked it. I was spending time with my best friends. But I would have preferred something quieter, maybe? Something that didn’t have us at each other’s throats all the time, at least.

SASHA: Well, it was definitely stressful. God, especially when I was pregnant. I was so worried about what we were going to do then. I mean, I couldn’t be up on stage at almost nine months. Are you crazy? But then for half of our songs the keyboard is a really big part so it’s not like I just couldn’t be there.

Y/N: I really enjoyed it. Yeah, there were a couple times I maybe wanted to kill someone, but it was fun. Lifelong friends, some of them. All of them, actually, but . . .

SASHA: Oh, well. We figured it out in the end. [smiles]

Y/N: It didn’t end well, as I’m sure you know.

JEAN: What were we? A rock band, according to Google, but what we were doing wasn’t rock.

CONNIE: It’s kind of funny, actually. Before Sasha we were all so uncreative and couldn’t come up with song titles. With good reason, too, that shit is hard. Trying to sum up your song in a couple words? Pfft. We were all useless, especially Eren.

ARMIN: Only the super old fans know this, but our very first song ever, track one on our debut album, was originally called “Pilot.”

EREN: Yes, like the fucking first episode of a show that doesn’t know if it’s gonna do well or some shit. It was not my idea.

JEAN: It was Eren’s idea.

MIKASA: I tried convincing them to name it something else, but they wouldn’t budge. I suggested just their band name and they said, “No, that’s too basic. We need something unique.” They didn’t change it until Scout Records told them to. And guess what they changed it to.

CONNIE: We changed the first song to “Heart Attack” in… let’s see, 2018 or somewhere close to that. 2019, maybe?

JEAN: Naming our first album “Debut” was Eren’s dumb ass idea, too. Uncreative prick.

EREN: No one else had any better ideas, so we just went with what I said by default. It’s not like anyone cared, anyway.

What can you tell me about Marco Bodt?

SASHA: Sorry, darling. I don’t know much about him other than he was the band’s first keyboardist.

Y/N: Just what Annie and everyone else told me way back when. I don't remember much.

MIKASA: Oh, I wasn’t around them enough at the beginning to know him. That was around the same time my mom had started getting me ready to take over the store, so I spent almost all of my free time with her.

ARMIN: I don’t really remember him. I had him in my Chemistry class before I dropped out. He was my table partner, I think. He was nice, though. We tutored each other sometimes. And, of course, he was over at Eren’s with us a lot.

CONNIE: I loved Marco, man. If you met him, you knew you had just met the sun. He always had such a bright outlook on everything. He was like Switzerland when we started arguing. And he always came up with the best compromises.

EREN: Marco was amazing. I felt bad all the time because he was always breaking up arguments. I have no clue why he was friends with us.

ARMIN: We were definitely annoying. It took a special kind of patience to deal with us, especially at that age. Marco always handled it so well, though. I think he and I would’ve ended up being much better friends if we were given the chance.

JEAN: Someone did their homework. You know about Marco? Course you do, you’re fucking [incoherent]. Uhm, Marco… God, I haven’t talked about him since he died. I don’t even think the really old fans know about him, to be honest. Well, Marco was . . . I think he was the first boy I ever loved.

i'm so excited for this series you guys don't even know. i have so much planned and i hope you guys have as much fun reading it as i had writing it

TAGLIST: @arlerts-angel if you'd like to join the taglist please comment to let me know!

next part >>

[ghosttoastx]

Hi yes I know I’m late but

I would absolutely love to hear more about your isat x hollow knight idea (< has been looking at isat stuff for days + is listening to Broken Vessel 1 hour long Man on the Internet cover)

Hello hi!!! Sorry it took me a bit to get your ask I’ve been a little busy, but I would love to babble hehehe :3

For the Isat Hollow Knight au thingy I’m still note sure if I want to still have the Isat party as. Well. A party, or if I wanna do it the way Hollow Knight does with with the NPCs and have them Isat characters just be other bugs you meet on your journey.

Still working on the designs of the other characters, but I’m had the idea of having Mirabelle be some sort of butterfly. Though, I’ve also had the idea of Mirabelle taking over Hornet’s role floating around too.

For Odile I’ve been thinking maybe she’s based either on a mantis or possibly a jellyfish type thingy, but I’m still not sure yet.

For Isabeau, I thought maybe he could be based on one of those really big, really annoying guard type bugs in the City of Tears. You know the ones. It fits pretty well considering his role as a defender in Isat.

I am. Still struggling with where to put Bonnie. Believe it or not, it’s kinda hard to fit a child into the world of Hollow Knight due to the. Uh. Horrors. Ya know?

Another idea I had was to have Euphrasie take the role of the White Lady. Don’t have much of an idea here yet.

Same with the King. I’ve thought about just having him be the Pale King soooooo. I dunno.

I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about the Dreamers, still working that out.

For Loop, I’ve thought about having them be THK but also the possibility of them being just a charm you have but can never remove and just kinda floats around like some of the other charms that give you babies and stuff.

Okokok, lots of words. I would love to answer more stuff about this au. Also, was thinking about calling the au the ‘Hollowed Stars au’ <-(literally just came up with that right now). Like I said, I’d love to answer stuff about this au as well as hear any ideas anyone may have :3

[livwritesstuff]

You are such a creative person. I have almost finished all of "plant a seed" and the way you've written the characters and their thoughts and manurism is just *chef's kiss* dreamy.

Also, your droplets from the Steddie dad life brightens my day.

THANK YOU!!! Holy moly you are too sweet.

This series and this community have definitely been a bright spot in my life and I'm always so happy to hear that it's doing the same for other folks too <3

Have a double post today for being such a lovely soul

(in the form of a deleted flashback from plant a seed)

In retrospect, signing Robbie up for karate classes might have been a mistake.

Perhaps the bigger mistake, though, was signing the five-year-old up for karate classes a month before Robin and Nancy came over for their annual ironic watch of WWE’s Wrestlemania, or so Steve ponders as he watches Robbie swing her fists in Moe’s direction.

Moe, their ever-unshakable seven-year-old, is unfazed.

“Robbie,” Steve warns her. Robbie ignores him and aims several more punches at Moe, “Amelia Robin, we talked about this.”

“I wanna wrestle!” Robbie whines, crossing her arms and stomping a sneaker-clad foot so her shoe lit up.

“You can’t just start swinging at people and call it wrestling.”

Robbie glares at him for a moment, clearly weighing her desire to exercise whatever she’s learning in karate with the consequences it would come with. She uncrosses her arms and closes her fists, looking at them thoughtfully. As Robbie fidgets with her fingers, Steve knows what’s coming, and when she eventually unfolds one of the middle ones, he just stares at her, eyebrows raised.

“Stairs,” he finally says, tipping his head in the direction of the designated ‘time-out’ spot at the bottom of the stairs.

As Robbie is trudging over to the stairs and plopping herself down on the bottom step, Eddie walks into the living room. He gets one look at his daughter pouting in time-out and says, “How? We’ve been home for five minutes?”

“She flipped Papa the bird,” Moe supplies.

“Which I blame you for, by the way,” Steve adds, giving his husband a pointed look, “Since you’re the one with the bright idea to teach that shit to them.”

Eddie feigns a bow, then points at Robbie.

“Not cool, girlie. We had a deal, did we not? No more making me look bad in front of Papa?”

Robbie shrugs, but behind the wall of curls she let fall in front of her face, Steve could just barely see the way her pout was turning into a smile, even against her will.

Eddie turned to face Steve again.

“Moe was sent to the principal’s office today,” he said.

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Well, according to her teacher, she shared her crackers with her friend during snack time, which apparently means she has to share with the whole class.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I dunno,” Eddie shook his head, “But according to her, Moe said ‘no, I’m seven, and this is the real world, not Communist Russia.’”

“And her teacher didn’t like that?” Steve asked sarcastically.

“No, she did not,” he replied, “And she really didn’t like when I said that I don’t think she’s wrong.”

“Another banner day for the Harrington family."