#he existed and you cannot convince me otherwise

[sometimeslwish]

Dark In My Imagination

(aka sex with the boys headcannons)

I'm writing a kitty Xav one shot and it inspired me into writing this headcannon. It's gonna be bellow the cut cause it does get explicit. Now, I see them being quite versatile, so if this doesn't float your boat, don't read.

Edit: Caleb has been added.

Xavier

— Lots of praise, that man does not shut up with his praise. Can sometimes ask for praise too, he'll go from "You're such a good girl for me" to "Does it feel good, angel? You like how I fuck you?"

— Doesn’t make much noise beside gasping, but his dirty talk? The best out there.

— Possessive, this one is one we can all agree on.

— Would fuck you in public, the only thing stopping him from doing that is you. Unless you give an inkling of being into that, then nothing is stopping him from doing it.

— Overstimulation and multiple orgasms. Doesn't matter who cums how many times, it's happening, although he does prefer it when it's you who is overstimulated.

— Pussy jobs, he likes those, and also likes fucking your thighs. Yes, there's lots of cum to clean up afterwards.

— Will mark you up, you're gonna look like you got mauled by the time he's done with you.

— There's no favorite position, he's gonna do most of– if not all of them.

— Mostly a pillow prince when you peg him, and you know what's even worse? The fact that he cries while you do it. No, I will not allow any questions on this.

— Likes his bj's wet and messy. Honestly, he just likes making a mess out of you.

Zayne

— Prefers the bed but is not averse to fucking you in: the couch, his office, his car, the kitchen and the kitchen floor or the dinner table.

— One time he came in his pants while kissing you and still does it when you decide to be mean and tease him relentlessly.

— Gets pussy drunk and teary eyed when you ride him, yessiiir.

— Can get vocal, but not necessarily loud. He looks like he'll try to be quiet but a few grunts and gasps will still escape through. Also, his facial expressions? *chef's kiss* he will look at you like you hung the moon, the starts and created everything that exists.

— Bondage, goes both ways but he especially enjoys when you're the one that's tied up.

— Enjoys when you leave hickeys on his collarbones. Neck is not allowed because ✨️ privacy ✨️ but oh, does he love knowing that they're there.

— Plays with your boobs like there's no tomorrow.

— Lots of fingering just because. He'll give you two orgasms with just his fingers before fucking you.

— Secretly likes it when you manhandle him a little.

— Has a Sir or daddy kink for sure, one of both.

Rafayel

— Bite marks your nape every chance he gets.

— Loves fucking your tits.

— He is vocal, you cannot fuck him in public cause he'll get you guys caught. I'm talking: whines, moans, gasps, grunts. Dirty talk? More like babbles, just a string of words that never fully connect.

— Beach sex, uh-huh, specially at night. Matter of fact, loves fucking you while being in the water, doesn't matter if it's a river, lake, beach, pool or bathtub.

— Has asked for you to be his nude model so many times and 8/10 he says "fuck it" and fucks you right then and there.

— Edging and overstimulation, especially when you do it to him, he's addicted.

— You pegged him once and now it happens every once in a while. Also, he totally has a sensitive prostate, he'll cum from just the stimulation alone.

— Remember how quick he was to call mc "master"? And how into being collared he was? Yeaaah, those are going in the kink list.

— ROLEPLAY, ROLEPLAY IS ALSO GOING IN THERE.

— Likes it when you put your hand around his neck and simply hold it there.

Sylus

— Loves taking his time with you and making you beg for him.

— Lots of whispering in your ear, lots of praise and teasing.

— Pain and biting kink and you cannot convince me otherwise. Loves it when you bite him and leave scratches on his back.

— Not really a fan of doing it in public, likes being the only one that sees you in that vulnerable state.

— Collars and chains. Sometimes he gets rough when you collar him up and put him on a leash because he knows that's what you want and other times he just worships you even more.

— Spanks you from time to time.

— Miiiirrrooooooors. If he's going to fuck you from behind, there has to be a mirror in front of you. Hell, sometimes he'll put you on his lap and put a mirror in front of you so you see yourself while he fingers you senseless.

— Remember that about taking his time? Yeah, he'll edge you while doing that. And when you do get to cum, he'll overstimulate you for a little bit.

— Loves it when you pull his hair, idk why, don't ask me no questions.

— Chokes you only when you ask him to. The first time he double and tripple checked your were okay with it, and even them, it still took him a while to be as rough as you wanted him to be.

Caleb

— Vocal, but unlike Rafayel, he can keep quiet. Nights of jacking off in the shower at grandma's house have trained him for that.

— Will make it hard for you to stay quiet, likes it when you're loud.

— Switchy Mcswitch, loves when you dominate him just as much as he loves dominating you.

— Free use kink, he wants you to use him whenever and wherever.

— An absolute tease, he will use your weaknesses against you. Whichever it is, hands, arms, back, thighs, uniform; he will rile you up just to rile you up.

— Gives you what you want: Rough and hard? Coming right up. Slow and gentle? Sure thing. Whether it's degradation or praise, he shall deliver, the motto is “Ask and you shall receive.”

— The choking goes both ways, but he likes it more when you do it to him. Something about you matching his freak makes him nuts.

— There's no such thing as quickies for him. Depending on the day and the mood, he'll either edge or overstimulate you. You either get a bunch of orgasms before he has his first one or you only get to cum after he does, and he doesn't make it easy for you to obey.

— I don't think this would turn him on all the time but: likes dressing you up. If it's a date, he'll pick your outfit, sometimes do your hair and even your make up. But when it's a random day, he'll come with bags of clothes for you to model.

— He's a little surprised when you ask to peg him, but is on board otherwise. He teases you like a brat, but the moment you're inside he's going a little quiet and when you move, it's game over for him. At the end he'd be like “Damn, okay.”

[siriusblackdevotee]

unashamed to be the n1 Black family dickrider😔 whoever you ship any of the Blacks with, they must be completely obsessed, otherwise you're just wrong💔

Rodolophus is the man of the family, that's how he was raised and bred to believe and act, he should have all the power except the moment Bellatrix prettily demands (because she doesn't ask) something, he goes weak in the knees and goes to fulfill her demands, no questions asked. He behaves like all patriarchal heads of the family but he has never successfully been able to say no to her.

Ted Tonks, without meaning to, became Andromeda's stalker because he didn't have the guts as an average man to go up to a beautiful woman like her and even talk to her. It took him about three years of just pining quietly and admiring her beauty secretly for him to gather the courage and just, greet her, and that was before he managed to even look her in the eyes.

Lucius has his masters degree or whatever the equivalent is in the wizarding world, he earned business deals that grew his already existing wealth, he has influence that can shake the ministry but none of those achievements compare to getting Narcissa to accept his marriage proposal. Their marriage certificate is literally hung on their main walls in expensive silver frames and protection charms all over it.

Sirius mostly keeps to himself and his small circle of friends, constantly has a resting bitch face, is clipped and rude to anyone he doesn't have patience for, has a well known dark history of being in fights and assaults and yet, he's still considered a beloved sweetheart, the most sought out bachelor. Whoever is shipped with him, honestly good luck because they'd have to fight against literally everyone just for 5 seconds of his attention. And then once they do have his attention, nothing would give them that same high.

Regulus is slightly more reachable compared to the rest of his family but his introverted self is even worse than Sirius. Despite never being known to have close friends or rarely seen in public, basically nothing of him being public knowledge, he still has heads turning whenever he enters a room, like he has influence and power even though he really shouldn't. Whoever is shipped with him, again good luck trying to seduce a guy that can easily become the main attraction just from entering a room.

Could go back a generation. You cannot convince me that Lucretia, Walburga, Orion, Alphard and Cygnus did not have the wizarding world on a chokehold because of their beauty, power, influence or all three. It's just a fact that Walburga and Cygnus get away with their awful personality, like Sirius, simply because they're that powerful or beautiful.

[muletia]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡 ✧˖°

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: optimus is uncertain about touch, fearing that he might hurt you, but with your help, he learns that touch does not have to be associated with fear

cw: mild angst, a sprinkle of fluff, soft!optimus <3

word count: 1400

Cyan optics flicker between you and the report on the datapad. Optimus reads a few sentences without distraction, absorbing the information about the amount of energon acquired and consumed this month with ease, fully capable of focusing for those few nanokliks. But a few sentences are his limit when you are nearby. His thoughts drift elsewhere, into soft, organic realms where they linger, tempting his optics to join them, to make daydreams a reality. And so they do, when the report becomes a dull memory, irritating him with its obligation, and reality becomes you — lying on your stomach on his desk, utterly engrossed in what must be a far more interesting book.

He wants to join you. To set the report aside and return to it later, once your presence is no longer a sweet distraction from his duties. Knows he has let himself slip. Once again, he wants to push work aside at the price of spending time with you, though he cannot afford indulgence. He has put it off for too long; must focus and win this battle against his own addiction. Duty — this is his current priority.

But he cannot look away, still captivated by the smallest movements of your body and its beauty. That is all he can do. Watch. That is enough. He allows himself to look for a few nanokliks, to temporarily satisfy the craving, and then return to what he must do, though he knows full well it is not enough. Optimus knows his own body, knows what it demands, pleading for physical contact with you. But reason advises otherwise, and reason prevails.

Too many dangers, too many unknowns. A fraction too much force, a single gram over the limit, and you cease to exist. You cannot die by his servo. He does not need to witness your death to know that his spark would extinguish at the very same moment. Must be cautious with you. Has learned that he may touch you when he must, but not when he wants, reducing the probability of catastrophe to a minimum. It will never be enough for him; will never be satisfied by necessity alone. But eons of being Prime have stripped him of whims and impulses and have taught him the meaning of true sacrifice. He only hoped that you understood.

Indirect touch is acceptable; that does not frighten him as much. His free servo moves above you, then lowers, forming a kind of shelter over you. It protects, it reminds, telling you that Optimus is with you and thinking of you constantly, yet it does not touch. That must be enough, he convinces himself, though it will never be. You will understand. Perhaps you will appreciate it if you wish to make him happy. But you will grasp that he cannot allow himself more, not out of lack of desire, but out of fear, though he longs unimaginably to feel your beauty, not only with his optics but beneath his own digits.

He does not deny himself the lightest graze against the edge of your foot or calf, but that is all. It is only about sending a signal: I am here. I am watching over you. Anything beyond that terrifies him because he does not know how much he can allow himself. How much force to apply before he breaks you. Yes, a mere brush is enough. He convinces himself. And he does not deserve more.

You lift your gaze from your book and meet Optimus’s optics. He offers you a subtle, endearing smile, an unspoken declaration that you have his full and undivided attention, even if you soon return to your reading.

But you do not. You warm his stoic spark instead, giving him an excellent reason to forget about the report.

"You can touch me if you want to," you break the silence.

You shift onto your side to look at him without straining your neck and place your open book to the side, marking the page with a bookmark. Propping your elbow on Optimus’s desk, you rest your head on your outstretched hand, settling into a comfortable position for the conversation you had been meaning to have with him—because, knowingly or not, he had touched upon a subject that had been weighing on your mind. And his, even more so.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to distract you."

"It’s okay, you didn’t distract me. And you can touch me. If you want to," you repeat, sending a smile his way that melts part of his spark.

He wants to. Longs to. Needs to.

But cannot.

"I fear harming you," he admits, incapable of lying when you look him straight in the optics.

"Is that why you hold back?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I have concerns that I may not be able to properly gauge my own strength. I do hope you understand my restraint regarding physical contact. I assure you, it is not your fault, my dearest."

"I understand. But you won’t hurt me," you reassure him. Yet he does not seem convinced, his optical ridges creasing slightly, uncertainty still visible in optics. "Okay, let me put it another way. Remember when I dropped my phone once? You picked it up between your fin— digits and there wasn’t a single crack. Not even a scratch! I know that from my perspective, you are unimaginably strong, but you can control your strength. You have precision. So I know that you won’t hurt me."

He processes your words in silence.

"I trust you, Optimus. More than anyone else."

That seems to break something in him. Not completely — not yet — but enough to try.

"Very well. If you truly grant me permission…"

"You may. Please." Just to emphasize that you desire this too.

You roll back onto your stomach, and his massive servo hovers above you, fighting hesitation. For a moment, you fear that you have pressured him into physical contact, pulling him out of a comfort zone he was not yet ready to leave, but your worries vanish when Optimus chooses to lower his servo, leaving the restraint on the surface.

His large digits envelop your back and remain there, servo holding still in one place. His touch is incredibly subtle and measured, but the hesitation remains. The fear he cannot yet overcome, even when faced with the exceptional softness of human skin, tempting to sink deeper, to explore everything you have to offer as a human. But he refuses to be enslaved by temptation when he is still on edge. Cannot harm you. He must be careful. That is enough; he dares not ask for more.

Optimus does not tremble with stress, no visible signs of anxiety appear on his frame, but the title of Prime binds him to outward composure in tense situations. Inside, chaos reigns. He sees no sign of discomfort on you, no grimace of pain, nor do you make any sounds that might suggest suffering, which should reassure him. But he cannot be at ease when worries churn in his processor. Am I pressing too hard? Pinning them down? He is grateful for your trust, but he cannot trust himself. Needs certainty that he is not about to kill you by accident.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Better than alright," you murmur. "Like someone wrapped me in a warm, giant weighted blanket."

"That is… a pleasant sensation?"

"Wonderful." You reach up, stroking the nearest digit. "It’s alright, Opti. You’re not hurting me."

"I trust you," he says, and you gift him a smile he cannot help but return.

"So? Do I feel nice to the touch?"

"You always do. Thank you for placing your trust in me." Because even though his fears still gnaw at him, for the first time, he does not ache for touch. Finally, he can stop wondering, stop dreaming about what he once thought were unattainable desires, and instead focus on the here and now. He reaches for the datapad and resumes reading the report, discovering how clear his processor has become now that his longing has found its grounding in your presence.

"Thank you for allowing yourself something nice for once," you reply and return to your book, wrapped in safety and warmth unmatched by any other source.

[purplepixel]

As a parent, Big mama would be mother gothel on steroids. I dont think she's has ever shown an ounce of care for anyone she couldnt use later

idc if people write rise Splinter as a neglectful parent even if I don't totally agree with it (like you do you) but acting as if Big Mama would be the better parent you cannot be serious did we see the same character on screen or have you been away from canon for so long you've forgotten that she's the cruelest bitch on the show.

[issues4him]

𐙚 bf!draco headcanons

- he LOVES being a boyfriend you cannot convince me otherwise

- he loves making his girl feel special

- his favorite pet name for you is 'princess'

- he lovessss buying you things

- you couldn't care less about how much money he has, but he likes to show it off to you

- you're like the only person who he can open up to

- you're the only person who's seen him cry

- he knows how much you love stuffed animals, so be prepared for having a stuffie of basically every animal to ever exist

- he really came out of his 'bad boy' persona when you two started dating

- he is such a touchy guy i swear

- literally during dinner one time he just pulled you right onto his lap

- like sir this is a hogwarts dining hall

- this might be controversial but i think his parents would actually love you

- like yes, especially if you were a pure-blood slytherin, but even if you were a half-blood hufflepuff!

- your personality won them over for sure

- draco won't ever say it, but he LOVES when you call him 'dray'

- he is a big baby

- just such a sweetheart, really

- he's also veryyyy jealous

- like, one time you got paired up with a random guy in potions instead of draco and oh boy... you thought he was going to burn eye holes into the back of that guys head

- if he thinks you're talking to another guy for too long, or he seems too interested in you, draco will come up and hug you from behind

- also the way he'd unfortunately love to tickle you...

- he thought it was funny to watch you laugh and cry until the one day when you ended up kicking him in the jaw on accident

- he was done with tickles for a while after that

- i feel like he'd compliment you like 20x a day.

- even if it was just, 'you smell good' or 'you make me happy'

- anyway he's just a big teddy bear and i will die on this hill!

[hallucinatinghalos]

It's interesting to me that the show writers have decided to make the monastery be the moment Lestat is brought home violently, and at (I would assume) such a young age. In TVL he's still taken from the monastery against his will and denied an education (devastating enough) but it's not until he's older and runs away to join the theatre troupe that they drag him home violently. His eventual response to the assault and yet again being denied control of his life, and some other major events I'll skip over, is to move to Paris and become an actor anyway. But by making the physical abuse happen so young, and be so brutal, they're creating a flashpoint of extreme helplessness and harm without hope of escape that will parallel his turning by Magnus (who also now imprisons him for a week which is longer than the books' shorter but still horrific turning)

The repercussions of the abuse at the hands of his father and brother as it occurs in the show would be a little death, a transformation. The child that left for the monastery is lost, the Lestat that walks out of his room with his prayers silenced and saints forgotten cannot be the same person and survive. That will certainly mirror his mortal/human death and turning by Magnus. He is struck down, altered so cruelly by both his father and by his maker.

And don't even get me started on the ramifications of his relationship with the divine. That he wanted to be a priest. That his prayers repeatedly go unanswered in the face of such horrors. The ocean between himself and God.

The part of the apology/reconciliation scene that I think strikes best at the heart of his abandonment issues as it pertains to the divine is when he gently scoffs at himself for calling out to God during his turning. Despite previous experience, he again tried to survive the wrath of a larger, stronger being by praying. The situation so extreme he was made utterly powerless. And yet, again, there was no intervention. Again, he was abandoned to this awful fate and now there he sits a monster. Worst of all though he's his family's monster asking for forgiveness that he does not feel he deserves. You know he recognizes the anger in Claudia's eyes, the harm he's done. His smile a sad defense against Louis' pity. It's crushing.

"I didn't want this." he tells them as if to apologize for his very existence, his being.

He has become the thing he hates most.

He is so vulnerable here. My god.

I can't even allow my mind to delve into his psychological state in the garbage dump, post-murder. Can you imagine one of your greatest fears being abandoned and your family, knowing this, throw you out with the trash. And that he knows he pushed Claudia and Louis to such desperation. It's no wonder he breaks down during the trial when recalling Louis putting him in his coffin, that Louis saved him despite what he was, what he'd done. His one consolation being that Louis still loved him enough. I will never be convinced, until we see otherwise, that he was at the trial for retribution, and I do not trust the tower scene as we saw it at all. He would mentally be in tatters. He would've arrived in Paris already in such a state. Then the events of the trial, whatever his involvement ultimately was, of seeing Louis in that situation and watching Claudia murdered...there are no words for what he would be going through (and that's without knowing what the full context of the trial was for him) we can only assume from what remains years later...

A broken creature.

Louis leaving him was truly a push to destruction equal to Armand pushing his weakened body off the tower in the book, as near a fatal blow as Louis could strike in that moment. Lestat is alone and defeated. A fate he maybe feels he deserves, that he should've never survived to this point anyway. His existence only seeming to harm those he's loved most (can't forget Nicki here.) There is something about him choosing to sit in that ruined house and starve that calls back to his bedroom prison post-monastery. I can see why Rolin allowed the level of emotion to remain in the reunion scene. Because Lestat is as emotionally broken here as he is physically broken in the book. There is next to nothing left in him to rally against the flood of his feelings. He's that kid starving in his room, the man trapped with a monster, and a being that's hated his mind & body for lifetimes. It's unbearably sad and it should be gut-wrenching.

I'm guessing these changes (maybe more a shuffling) are just for more efficient storytelling. A way to get the viewer from point A to point B of his messy backstory more quickly with the same trauma of bookLestat still intact. What is my point? I don't know. I don't really have one. Mostly I'm just rambling, appreciating the show writers, and I really need new content.

Added a cut because below is a short S3 speculation that may contain spoilers.

Not that anyone asked but I'm leaning toward the idea that they'll have it be when he runs away with the theatre troupe (or just leaves for Paris) as a young adult he never comes home again. That the wolves will happen at some point before that but remain the life-changing catalyst and that the reunion with Nicki will be in Paris. That he will have a longer acting career before Magnus finds him. If that is the way it goes I hope Gabrielle still has a hand in his flight from Auvergne, but we'll see.

[cannibalhellhound]

I-

This makes actually so much sense that I'm mad I forgot about it

But also Ice's hair is too light, those look like a brunette got frosted tips

This is how I see Ice

But I'm also missing wings for other Flyboys so I'm claiming that one for Hollywood thank you very much ✌🏼

Wings AU character bits

Hi this is me trying to get a grip on writing again and getting the characters while also adding the wing bits.

Ice Harpy Eagle

Likes having long nails (harpy eagles have fuckin huge talons), keeps them shaped and neatly painted if he's in the mood when on leave

Likes to keep his nest cool and clean (comfy but practical)

Tall nesting! He always claims the top bunk! 

His childhood bedroom had one of those tall beds with a desk under them because he kept piling stuff up to sleep atop of them and it could fit multiple people 

Sad because Navy bunk beds are small :(

Strong as fuck (he's smaller than Sli but can bench press almost as much) (harpy eagles grab animals as big as them like sloths and carry them) (can carry others while flying if needed just not for lengthy flights)

Very keen eyesight so sunglasses for light sensitivity (maybe reading glasses for near sight focus? I like him with glasses)

Very good hearing (don't shit talk near him he'll definitely hear it)

Hair moves very slightly, similar to feathers (kinda like their facial disk and feather crest) 

*Baby feathers are almost all white with some light gray. They molt usually once a year (sometimes twice) and it takes 5 years to get the adult coloring 

Ice's stayed in a middle coloring and he got insecure. His mom suggested matching his hair and that's how the frosted tips came to exist :D

He's a provider by nature but his little sisters have made him very nurturing and affectionate too (Slider knows this firsthand and thinks it's hilarious how fussy Ice can get)(the others learn with time but first baby goose)

Leaves feathers around the house (perfectly placed thank you very much)

Slider Bearded Vulture

Lämmergeier means “Lamb vulture” (wrong because they don't prey on sheep but shhhhh).  Slider calls Maverick “Little lamb” as a joke because he loves annoying him and wants to eat him up

CAN ACTUALLY EAT BONES!!! (Bone soup is a thing!) Will chew on them till it's painful to watch and will take anyone's bones off their plates to pick the marrow off them

The bone dropping shows a lot in him just throwing stuff. He does it. A LOT.

He also likes to have a tennis ball around to fidget dropping it and catching it when it bounces

Has an actual nest bed. The mattress is on the harder side but it has a shit ton of blankets and pillows (to the point you can't feel the mattress)

There are old feathers around the nest tucked in between pillows (don't tell Ice!!) ⁠(⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠)

Very involved into the life of the ones he loves (helpful, affectionate, etc) (this includes parenting looks at baby goose)

His feathers only dye red when visiting his family or on vacation with family because they frequent iron rich waters (his mom loves her red feathers and looking at her baby look like her makes her teary eyed)

Maverick Peregrine Falcon

Very lightweight!!!

He's beauty, he's grace, he'll dive down and kick you in the face (literally, peregrine falcons kill prey by punching them with their closed talons when dividing)

Very keen reflexes (both at ground and on air), will grab anything you throw at him even if distracted

Very! Good! At courting!!!! (Looking at the beginning bar scene)

Small but comfy nest. Very soft and also bunk bed! is perfect

Has a favorite blanket that he will ALWAYS take everywhere, even on deployment 

Cracking his head fuckin open more than once as a kid because he's a menace and small and tried to dive from places he climbed (not his best idea)

crying because he's so small he can't carry goose after the accident and can just grab at him until they get rescued

Now this would be for trans! Mav

To everyone's surprise Mav is as big as he can get (Female birds of prey are bigger than males= bigger wingspan, human height is genetic so for avians is a bit mixed)

Wings don't allow binding (for obvious reasons) but kinesiology tape exists! 

He already used KTape before joining the navy and top surgery so he's used to just strutting around shirtless (we stan a short confident king! It's honestly so freeing to tape and be shirtless I might just leave him pre surgery for next fanart pieces)

Goose Emden Goose

Literally a Mother Goose™

Has learned to deal with Maverick and not only does he not get surprised by his antics, he can predict them and is already prepared for them (aka get ready to scoop tiny ass Mav if he gets in trouble or hurts himself)

The good part is that it has made him baby proof. He can deal with a child he's been dealing with Mav!

Terrified. Absolutely terrified. Because his beautiful baby gosling is as much a little shit as his wife and best friend. If his wings weren't already white they'd for sure be by now ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

I need to think more about Mav and Goose but that involves looking for Peregrine Falcon and Geese facts

Edit to take out the divider because I don't like it

[callsign-rogueone]

harvest day - l.m.

secret admirer!Liam x Luceran!reader. part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 words: 932 🏷: reader is feminine and has longish hair (can be tied), but no pronouns used. I am once again making random stuff up about Navarrian cultures. featuring my farm-boy Sawyer headcanon lmao (Luceras doesn’t have one major city on the map in the book. It’s all farmland, and you cannot convince me otherwise.)

You nearly crush it under your boot in your hurry to get to class, stepping back at the last second to pick it up.

A tiny dragon carved from wood -- your dragon, complete with his horns and a tiny spiked tail. You run your fingers over the wood — it’s been sanded, perfectly smooth against your skin. The level of detail is incredible. This must have taken hours.

“You’re going to be late, humble one.”

Right. You tuck it into the pocket of your jacket, locking your door behind you and jogging down the hall. 

You make it just in time, apologizing your way down the row, stepping around people’s feet carefully until you’ve made it to your friends. You settle between Rhiannon and Sawyer, thanking them for saving you a seat. “Overslept,” you explain, digging in your bag for your notebook, which you had nearly forgotten to pack.

You remove your flight jacket, taking the tiny dragon from your pocket and setting it on the desk beside your pen.

“Whoa, sick! Who made that?” Sawyer asks.

“I don’t know. I just found it outside my door. It looks just like him, though. Even got the horns right.”

“It is a very good representation of me,” Cruith appraises. “Though I have never once been that small.”

“That's awesome. Maybe they’re like, a wood-wielder or something,” Ridoc suggests, leaning over to examine it.

“I’m pretty sure that signet doesn’t exist,” Rhiannon says dryly.

“If he can do all that with metal, then it's entirely possible someone could do it with wood,” Ridoc defends.

“That’s what she said,” Sawyer says quietly, trying not to laugh.

Ridoc grins. “I’m rubbing off on you, man.”

You snort. “Now that's what she said.”

“Focus,” Rhiannon scolds lightly, ever the responsible squad leader, her eyes not having left the chalkboard this whole time.

��Yes, mom,” the three of you chorus softly, turning your attention back to the professor. 

Violet looks like she has something to say, but she remains quiet.

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

“Mail call,” Rhiannon announces, distributing opened letters to each of you.

Your heart drops as soon as you start to read yours.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t realize the date. It’s Harvest Day on Wednesday. Last year I was just too busy trying to stay alive to think about it, but…”

Sawyer winces, understanding. “I wish I could be there too. I swear when I graduate, I’m gonna use all my leave every year to help them.”

“I’m so lost,” Ridoc says, looking between you.

You laugh, explaining. “Everyone spends the day — the week, really — helping their neighbors harvest their crops, and there’s always a feast at the end with what we’ve grown.”

“Gods, the food. My family doesn’t come from much, but that was always the one day a year I felt like we were rich,” Sawyer admits.

You sigh in agreement. “It’s gonna be so weird wearing black all day instead of fall colors.” 

“That is the most Luceran thing I’ve ever heard,” Ridoc says. “Sometimes I forget you guys are all farmers.”

“It’s only our single most important holiday,” you laugh. “And we’re not all farmers. Two of us are dragon riders.” 

Sawyer grins at you, putting a hand up for a high five. “Damn right we are.”

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

Everyone’s eyes widen at the silky orange ribbon tying your hair back. You beam, turning your head to show it off. “Courtesy of the wood-wielder. I have no idea where they got it.”

Your joy is short-lived.

“Precisely what is that, cadet?” Dain asks sharply, and your face falls. There’s only one thing he can be taking issue with, the only spot of color in the sea of black making up your formation.

“It’s a Luceran tradition,” someone says for you — but not Sawyer or any of your friends. “Today is Harvest Day.”

You turn toward the voice, seeing Liam behind you, his eyes locked with Dain’s as if he’s daring the wingleader to argue with him. How does he know about the holiday? Had he overheard your conversation with your squad earlier?

“I expect it to be gone tomorrow,” Dain concedes. “You’re all dismissed.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as everyone files out of the hall.

“Liam?” You ask softly, and he stops, turning toward you. “Thank you.”

Then you see the small block of wood in his hand, the rough shape of another dragon etched into it. “It was you,” you whisper, stunned.

He laughs. “What?”

You reach into your pocket, producing the carving of Cruith. “You made this, right? Were you the one who wrote those physics notes for me when I was in the infirmary, too?” 

He smiles. “Yeah. That was all me.”

Your heart flutters with hope. “Why?”

“Because I was too nervous to say it, but I really like you.”

You blink. Liam, the one who isn’t scared of anything, was nervous to talk to you? And he has a crush on you? You’ve always found him attractive, but you had never thought this a possibility.

“Say something,” Cruith prods, sounding amused.

You finally form words. “Do you want to go into town with me this weekend?”

He blushes, scratching the back of his neck. “I would really like that.”

“Hey, lovebirds, are you coming to breakfast, or what?” Ridoc calls. “Some of us are starving over here!”

You laugh, a sound Liam will never tire of. “Just a minute!” You yell back.

You touch your fingertips to the soft silk, looking up at him. “Thank you, Liam. It really means a lot to me.”

He smiles. “Of course, sweetheart.”

[spitdrunken]

notes: yandere, g/t (giant/tiny)

Sunday, who convinces you to touch the miniature town in the middle of Dewlight Pavilion. He's been acting… A bit strange, lately. Absentminded. Even more prone to philosophical-esque ramblings than usual, ones of which you fail to make heads or tails of. (Especially his tangents on 'self-worth'.) So, when he seems fully engaged with you for a chance, you decide to humour him.

When the world around you seems to grow bigger and bigger and bigger, you call out to him in a panic. It's only then that you realise that the world around you is not growing bigger: you've simply grown much, much smaller. You only have a few moments to look around the confines of the miniature Golden Hour, fear melting to awe and pleasure at the dreamscape's ingenuity, that your mood forcefully shifts once again.

Sunday leans over, reaching out to you. His hand, lowering and lowering, seems to move in slow motion. (Now, you know what it feels like to be a fly.) You've never been afraid of Sunday, but there's… A big difference between your sizes, now. Everything has the potential to be deadly. When he puts his hand down in front of you, you hesitate only a moment, before stepping on. When you do, he presses his thumb against the side of your body, lightly, gently petting the side of your head and hair. His hand is warm. Though he is careful when he lifts his hand up, the force of momentum is still strong enough to have you fall backwards, right on your ass.

Sunday smiles down at you. "My apologies," he tells you. "It is difficult to estimate my strength like this." When he speaks, you can feel the vibrations travelling through the air. "It's okay!” You yell out, unsure whether he can hear you with ease or not, when you're like this. "Um, I'll admit this was really interesting, but do you mind turning me back soon…? It's a little scary being this smal." Instead of providing an answer, Sunday grabs you by the back of your clothes, lifting you up. A scream gets caught in your throat as you catch a glimpse of the dizzying distance to the floor. Death doesn't exist in the dreamscape, but your body's instincts sure do! Before you know it, you're tucked away inside of Sunday's breast pocket, warmed by the heat of his body. “…I'm sorry about this, too.” When he speaks, this time, a light tremor shakes your entire body. “But you have no idea what, for the sake of your happy dream, I have neglected to tell you. Now, though… It is too dangerous. I cannot allow you to be taken from me, too. The best, the safest option— Is for you to stay right here.” ”You're… Joking, right?” You can't help but say, despite knowing Sunday is hardly the type for pranks. The reality staring you in the eye is so bizarre you cannot make sense of it otherwise. “Due to the circumstances, I wish I was,” Sunday says, the sound of a sigh reaching your ears. “But, no. You will stay right here. If… Your behaviour renders it impossible, I have an alternative..." He presses his hand to his chest, rubbing a finger along the outline of your body. "Though I do not think you would much prefer staying in a cage, would you?”

[fatcatlittlebox]

I had an ask about my analysis of Galadriel’s mindset during the season finale and I’ve been avoiding it because I f*cking hated the dialogue they gave her. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense to me. Galadriel doesn’t want to believe that any of what she shared with Halbrand was real. She doesn’t want to allow that possibility. As others have said, she didn’t just want what he offered. She wanted him. If “he” doesn’t exist, it makes it easier to “shut the door.” She may go her whole life convincing herself that it was a farce to him. Even if that’s how she comes to terms with it, is that really being healed?

From the beginning of their reunion, you could see Galadriel avoids facing Sauron. She doesn’t turn around when he approaches her from behind. She’s frozen. It’s because she doesn’t trust how she will react when she sees his face. Especially if he has the form of Halbrand. She’s terrified of him and she’s terrified of herself. Her mistrust is well placed as we see later. Then, it is only when Sauron faces away from her that she tries to strike him down. Because in confronting him this way, she won’t actually have to face him.

But of course, it doesn’t work. They both knew it wouldn’t. She won’t get off that easily. It’s also an attempt on her part to keep him at a distance. It’s her way of telling him, she’s not here to talk. Sauron flips it on her though. Because Galadriel isn’t a talker anyways. She’s a fighter and violence is a language he is fluent in. He turns their duel into a physical and symbolic conversation. And Galadriel hates it. She hates that he can singularly access her this way and the way no one else can. So she keeps pushing him back and shutting him down. The rest of their confrontation Galadriel volleys a series of sarcastic replies whenever Sauron tries to be sincere with her. She sneeringly asks if he wants to heal her. He says he wants “to heal…” and pauses.

The truth is in that silence. He wishes to heal. Sadly, now it’s established that they’re both going to be lying to themselves so why be honest and open with each other going forward? I think that’s for a multitude of reasons. One, if she deflects his entreaties with sarcasm, she’s not letting his words hit their mark. He can’t worm his way into her mind again. And after having heard Adar describe his own relationship and feelings with Sauron, then watching him get brutally murdured, she feels entirely justified in cosigning that Sauron is an insidious manipulator. That she is no different and would end up exactly as the fallen elf.

Sauron, she tells herself, is the embodiment of evil. She’s not wrong. However, evil can love. It can be twisted and fucked up but no less real. However, that kind of gray area would spell the collapse of her defenses. So she makes him to be this generic evil and responds to him with generic platitudes. It’s impersonal, detached. Business as usual. It’s survival. She has declared in her mind that Sauron is not Halbrand. Ignoring the fact that her mind is not where he slithered his way in. He found his way through her heart.

And Sauron, for his part does a shitty job of convincing her otherwise. There are moments of earnest vulnerability sprinkled in there but in the heat of her anger and outrage, she cannot see it. Their fight tells a story in itself and he toys with her. She knows it too. What’s more, the fight becomes a microcosm of their relationship. She pursues him and he bats her away. He nicks her in precise places on her body - her shoulder, where he saw Valandil pierce her with his sword and then her left flank, where Halbrand was injured - like he means to recall their shared history. But instead of a caress, it’s a cut.

Then he morphs into Halbrand, then Galadriel, then Celebrimbor. He’s telling her that he sees and remembers everything. What she feels is ridiculed and used like a puppet. Finally, the last place he cuts her is over her heart. An unhealing scar will be left. Still he sees and remembers everything. That wound is for the both of them.

By the end of their fight, Sauron has unintentionally reinforced what Galadriel had set out to prove in her mind, if not in her heart. Halbrand never existed. She feels triumphant over Sauron and over the darkness that haunts her. She believes she is “healed.” It’s a parallel of her leap from the ship bound for the Undying Lands. Instead of turning it away, she’s embracing her death and her closure. At the same time, Sauron reaches an epiphany that is similar to her own but fundamentally different: Halbrand is no more. As I had stated before, Sauron likely associates Halbrand as the most vulnerable version of himself even if it is the closest to the truth. It is the version of himself he saw ruling with Galadriel. But he sees this as a failed effort, so it wouldn’t serve a practical purpose to be Halbrand anymore. It was a risk he would rather avoid and he probably wants him gone as badly as she does.

However both of those premises are faulty. Because we, the viewers know what they deny: Halbrand is Sauron. He always will be. They are both lying to themselves. Which begs the question: Was Galadriel healed and reborn in light? Or was she rejected by death because her sacrifice was built on a half-truth? Had she been sent back because she had not completed her mission? She had said her task was to remove the stain of his evil from Middle Earth. Halbrand is Sauron. Even though the door to her mind is shut, the door to her heart is a different story. And his stain is still there.

[dilys-min]

Kalopsia

Pairing: Yandere!Blade × Reader

Warnings: Yandere, Unhealthy relationship, Imprisionment, etc.

Word counts: ~ 800 words

You’ve always loved Blade’s swordsmanship.

Whenever he wields the sword, each strike and swing is done in ways which could only be sharpened by years if not centuries of experience, as though the art of combat is deeply engraved in the essence of his soul. Watching him fight has never failed to leave you in awe. Glints of gold and red from the cracked sword would fly disorientedly, painting a granter picture of the dark haired man, captivating those who come across it. You struggle to hold a sword upright, let alone trying to swing it, while Blade, being more evidently effortless to do it, is patient enough to be your mentor (after a lot of consistent begging on your part and blunt rejections from his side, of course). However, your apprenticeship ended when you somehow managed to injure yourself under his supervision. It felt surreal to watch him fight, facile but meticulous nonetheless. 

You have always loved Blade’s swordsmanship, just until you see yourself at the receiving end of it.

For someone who has such a sharp sense in fighting, Blade can be surprisingly dense in other matters, especially when it comes to technology or romance. How could a person fully aware of the sharpness of his sword while remaining painfully oblivious to how lethal his love can get? This remains as a conundrum to you as you find yourself becoming the focus of Blade’s orbit. And like a star, his presence never leaves your eyesight, and yet, he never makes an attempt to draw close to you. 

“Bladie might seem crude but he is actually far softer than he would like to admit. Don’t worry, dear. Everything will be in fate’s favor”

Kafka had said that with a tone nonchalant enough to make you doubt the genuity of which.

Now, looking back at it, you cannot help but wonder if she had foreseen this turn of event. Being a devoted follower of Yaoshi, like many others, you had prayed and was granted the ability to heal others, to relieve their pain. Still, how could you fix someone who have already been disintegrated and rebuilded far too many times? Blade is someone who has got used to being broken down and he knows that when you are broken into pieces, you would never recover fully, some small parts of you will be forever lost to the raging mara insides, for better or worse. Therefore, he latches onto you, hoping that some pieces of you would suffice for what he lost. Maybe that is what Kafka has seen. And yet, you convince yourself to believe otherwise but for whose sake, you wonder.

 You cannot fathom how much you have come to hate Blade’s swordsmanship.

.

.

Captivity could do so much to one’s mind and you could already feel its claws at the back of your mind. Days after days spent cooped up in the four walls of your room, staring through the glass panel that separated you from the universe. How long had you been on this ship? Weeks… or months? Which star out of thousands if not endless of star systems out there is your home? The past few hours had been you screaming and crying with Blade standing at the doorway. 

“Why can’t you just let me go, Blade? What quality do I have that make you deem it fair to pluck me out of my life?”

“I cannot guarantee that my answer will satisfy you.” His expression changed for a moment, fleeting but not go unnoticed

“In my wrenching existence, you are the one that makes everything more worthwhile. This is what I could do in order to prevent you from getting hurt.”. Both of you know that was a lie. Everything has always been more to his whims than yours, though he refused to believe it. Had it not been for his self restraint, his mara might have devoured you whole.

“So you think it is better to let me rot in the dark than to lead a normal life?”. Your voice was filled with bitterness; tears were rolling down your cheeks and your eyes were puffy. You couldn’t even imagine what you must have looked like anymore. 

“I can give you anything else but what you truly desire… I cannot give”. 

As you looked into the eyes that you once did with such loving intent, there was only sorrow, but never regret for what he had done. You would claw those scarlet irises out of his socket if it meant that he would feel a modicum of your affliction. Nevertheless, knowing Blade, he would gladly let you do just that.

At that, you could only sob in response.

.

.

After everything, you have realized Blade’s swordsmanship was never glamorous nor scrupulous as you elucidate it to be, you have just been at his mercy from the start, spared from the sharp end of his sword; and that was truly the cruelest atrocity Blade is capable of.

[ghouldtime]

Ghost'ed

Been thinking about literal Ghost! Ghost. Maybe it's playing too many ghost hunting games or watching too many shows but I cannot stop thinking about it. You also cannot convince me this man wouldn't be a restless spirit. His entire life is troubled and I don't see him going down in a peaceful way or leaving until he feels the job is done - and likely ending up trapped as a result

I wrote this at work so sorry in advance for any typos or slip ups!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly what most people would list in "Top ten relaxing hobbies" - but it's not like you were most people. You were simply you. The same you who thought spending your time speculating about spooky specters was one of the best ways to pass by those few stretches of free time that could be all too fleeting in the hellscape known as adulthood.

The stares that followed you when you announced paranormal investigation as a hobby was something you knew all too well. After all, telling someone you’re a ghost hunter only stood as a slightly more socially acceptable version of telling them you believed in bigfoot (you did, but that’s beside the point). The dozens of cheesy TV shows certainly popularized it but they did little to help with the perception of it.

When the face of popular ghost hunting media was full of grown men who screamed like a squirrel high on helium at every little thump of a house settling, it did little to help what people automatically thought of when they heard of your unique hobby. Plenty still turned their noses up, scoffed slightly as they rolled their eyes and sneered, “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?” 

Or worse. They gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and crinkled their eyes as they said, "Oh, interesting." While the tension in their body told of holding back laughter or wanting to bolt right on out of there, far far away from you.

Quite frankly, you didn't care what they said anymore as it was your life to live, not theirs. You’d seen enough to know without a fraction of a doubt that there was more beyond the veil of life itself, hiding just out of sight. The hundreds of hours you spent wandering dark hallways and dilapidated ruins with nothing but your flashlight and ghost box proved otherwise. At least it proved it to you.

Proving it to others was a horse of another color. Skeptics who spit their criticism loud enough to deafen even the most positive prevalent of voices in the community were a dime a dozen. Unfortunately, their existence was as certain as the sky is blue. Skepticism was apart of human nature, after all. They would always exist as long as the day and night kept up their eternal dance.

Convincing them was a fruitless effort. You'd sooner be able to convince hippos to fly than you'd convince them of the truth you knew. Trying to get everyone to agree, to acknowledge the paranormal, was hopeless and something you certainly weren't going to waste your life on no matter what they called your or what they said.

As far as you were concerned, being paid to sit in the dark alone and find evidence of life beyond the grimy waters of death itself was a pretty sweet gig. The naysayers could seethe in their own jealousy all they wanted because at the end of the day, you’re getting paid to do what you love. That they never could take away from you.

They'd never be able to have the same thrill that you did as you took on another case, ready to see even more of what the phantasmal realm had to offer.

Anticipation, nervousness, and excitement rolled together in a palpable energy you hid beneath a calmer exterior every time you took a job. There always would be that wonder there, the question of what exactly you might find dangling just out of reach, the hope that maybe, just maybe you might see even more than you already have. Another chance to investigate meant yet another night spent lurking in the shadows, tirelessly trying to find more evidence of the great world beyond the grave and its inhabitants. Tonight certainly would be no different.

An older couple quite reluctantly booked an appointment for a standard investigation after mysterious things that they really could not explain, no matter how they went about it, happened time and time again. They'd tried to ignore it, they said, but it only got worse.

Footsteps that echoed through the house at first in a gentle patter had become confident strides. When they went to look, no one was there. Doors that used to slowly creak open, as if blown by the wind, instead started to rattle the frame with force as they opened or slammed in the middle of the night. The husband looked particularly miffed when he groused about the TV going on at odd hours of the night, while his wife seemed more concerned about the possibility of someone having broken in and the fact that it kept doubling in intensity as time went on. The list went on and on about their complaints ranging from things being moved around to always finding a light turned on in a room in the middle of the night. There most certainly was something going on if all of what they were saying was true.

The glaring parade of red flags that easily would send others running for the hills lured you in. Like a dog with a scent, you weren't going to drop the trail, oh no. You were there to sink your teeth and claws in and not let go. Come hell, heaven, or high water - nothing would stopping you.

True to your title, you were a paranormal investigator which warranted a lot more work and professionalism than the standard ghost hunters you saw on TV who couldn't tell the difference between a gust of wind and a ghost. Your job was to research, conduct a proper paranormal investigation, and provide your evidence - or lack of, if it was truly devoid of haunting. But here hardly sounded like it.

Taking your time and reassuring them that you were, indeed, a professional, you went over all the usual questions with them: when did this start, how old is your house, any history of deaths in it, have you acquired any new items recently, do you have any items that were second hand or antique, any family heirlooms in the house, was it in any particular location, etc etc.

Every angle had to be considered, especially the mundane. Plenty of times, people just had a poorly constructed house, deeply held superstitions, and a touch of paranoia to make for a perfect combination of nothing happening at all. That didn’t seem to be the case here, however. While none of their answers pointed in a clear direction of what it might be, it still all pointed to signs of something unworldly happening. But that's what you were there for. To determine if there actually was a ghost, why it was there, and maybe who it was (if things went well and it felt like cooperating). 

You bid them a good night as they headed off with family friends in a beat up convertible, chattering away without a care in the world as if they didn’t have a paranormal parasite problem. At least they were going to go enjoy their night by having an evening out instead of breathing down your neck like some of those who hired you. Locking the door, you trudged in with your gear and began the initial inspection with practiced ease.

A haunting in a house as young and modern as theirs was quite unusual. Open, airy rooms completed with white, sleek, almost eye-hurtingly clean interiors made up the entirety of the house. Even as night crawled higher and higher into the sky, pulling its dark cloak over the land, the house stayed bright. Nothing about it said haunted or caught your eye. The scariest thing there was likely the heating bill. 

As far as your research showed, there hadn't been a death in it or on the land. The owners also seemed quite appalled at the idea of antiques (go figure) so that went right out the window, too. Normally there might be some stashed somewhere that they weren't thinking about, like the attic, but this house didn’t even have that. No basement, no attic, no creepy graveyard in the back; it was a normal, suburban house that shouldn’t have anything going on.

Perusing the house at a leisurely pace, you browsed each and every room with a thorough consciousness of finding something, anything, that could possibly have started it. Yet you turned up empty handed. Everything was as pure and alabaster as the marble countertops and the expensive sleek metal furniture. 

Oh well, not every job would be easy. And not every haunted house was obligated to look run-down and rustic. Some ghosts just had more upper class tastes - or were unfortunate enough to be stuck in an eyesore like this. Maybe a ghost would add some actual personality to their home...

Seeing as they'd said there wasn't exactly a rhyme or reason as to where things would happen, you decided a central room was your best bet. The living room was open enough for everything and an easy place any spirits could find. It had plenty of room for your equipment and the open layout meant you had a great vantage point for the whole house.

Preparing your gear came as naturally as breathing to you, the tasks you've done dozens of times over were a matter of habit. Moving through the motions was your second nature as you worked, not batting an eye as you checked batteries and strategically stationed your gear. It only took a matter of minutes to have your cameras, light system, motion activated interactable objects, ghost box, and the rest of your fancy gadgets set up all around the room.

Placed on the coffee table was your heaviest piece of equipment - your modified spirit box that you had made some special adjustments to just to make sure your results were as accurate as possible. The broken antenna and attached amp weren't standard, nor were the noise reducers, but they stood as a testament to why you were a professional and why you kept getting called out to different places. You knew how to get results and tuned every tiny thing to your needs. There was no room for error or doubt alike in an already uncertain field.

Double checking everything was ready to go once more once more, you plunged the room into somewhat true darkness as you drew the curtains shut and pressed the button on the spirit box, causing it to crackle to life. Speeding through the static of radio stations, it scanned the many frequencies in a blur, far too fast for any natural noise to come through. The whirring of it evened out into a constant, muffled background noise that you’d spent countless hours listening to. Its familiar hum lulled you into a relaxed state, your heart as steady as your calm breaths despite the slight buzz of familiar adrenaline you always felt when you first started. A small beep signaled the successful activation of the digital thermometer as you walked around in a slow, even pace, checking all around. 

Taking a deep breath, you began as you always had. In a confident, but even tone you called out, “Is there anyone with me right now?”

....

........

Silence.

The static of the spirit box continued to filter through in its usual constant churning hum of white noise. Typical. Many supernatural beings wouldn't want to interact, especially not at first. You don't blame them. If a stranger barged into your house and demanded if you were there, pestering you with questions as threw their belongings around, you'd not want to answer them either. That wasn’t even considering that many were so unused to people hearing them or trying to talk to them, not at them. They didn't exactly register on the same frequency that humans did most of the time.

Walking around the room, your boots echoed on the tile flooring. Your footsteps ricocheted off of the high ceilings, amplified by the lofty ceiling and wonderful acoustics this house apparently had. Keeping your attention ever shifting, you kept alert for signs of anything happening. Looking too long in the dark and expecting things to happen would only yield false results and cause paranoia. You knew far better than to do that. 

Nothing lit up, nothing beeped, nothing changed. There was conclusively nothing happening for the first few, long minutes as everything kept at an unwavering constant. Visiting each room, you rechecked their temperatures and tried to find anything amiss or out of place. Yet all seemed well, still, and normal.

Only when you crossed the hallway back into the living room after a quick visit to the bedrooms did your hair stand on end. A chill ran down your spine, the once warm air now holding the barest bite of cold on the edge. Holding up the thermometer, you narrowed your eyes at the steady decrease. While it wasn't quite freezing, it kept dropping and dropping. Numbers ticked lower and lower, your hair stood further on end as a small shiver ran through you as the chill dipped lower and lower. Bingo. First sign of activity of the night. It wasn’t much but it was plenty to know that something was happening here.

Despite the crisp chill, nothing else shifted in the room. Silence prevailed behind the distant drone of your equipment; mainly the comforting, steady typical static of the spirit box. Even the appliances seemed to have gone quiet, exchanging their usual low thrumming rhythm for a break that suspended them in a noiseless limbo.

Your shifting movements echoed far louder than you would have liked as you paced around the room, looking for something new, anything. An actual tangible reaction you could record would be just what you needed but so far, the haunt was holding out.  “What is your name?” You asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can as you tried to switch it up. 

Continual feedback from the spirit box sounded as steady as can be. Still, there was no voice trying to get through it. The fabricated noise reigned supreme as it did its job, whirring away. Pressing your lips into a thin line, the smallest hint of a frown tugged at your lips as disappointment flickered through you. Okay, that's fine. It usually took a few tries anyways. 

A faint, sparkling crackle escaped from it as you heard one, tiny word in a rumbling timbre. One, single word that halted you mid step, your head snapping towards the machine. 

“Ghost.”

Doing a double take, a grin split across your face as your heart jumped with joy. A response! A true, actual response. Not that it exactly answered your question but it meant something was listening.

There was something here!

Nearly tripping over your own feet, you scampered over to your beloved machine. Your eyes fixated on the glowing orange screen, gleaming with glee. 

“W-what’s your name?” You repeat a bit louder unable to hide the excited tremble in your voice or hands, figuring the ghost likely didn't hear you right. 

Static white noise continued for a few seconds, the little x in the corner flashed once, twice, before it lit up solidly. 

“Ghost.”

The smile you held dropped only for a fraction of a second before you cleared your throat. Well, maybe your slight stutter and excitement got in the way. You did talk fast when excited, after all. Taking a deep breath, undeterred as can be, you repeated in a far steadier voice, “What is your name?”

This time you made sure to enunciate every single syllable, speaking clear and confidently into the air. 

One flashing X glowed in the corner of the screen. Another flash. A third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yet again, the deep voice came a bit louder and rougher this time. A thick Mancunian accent that barely picked up through the filter didn't dull the single word you were trying to avoid, “Ghost.”

Okay. Your brows furrowed deeper, your nose wrinkling slightly as your heart sank. The minor disappointment couldn't be kept off of your face as you really had hoped to hear something else. Approach one clearly isn't working. 

Maybe he didn't speak English. Or maybe he wasn't sure that he was dead. Whatever. There was a ghost and he was answering, that's what mattered, you reminded yourself forcefully until the smile came back to your face and the smallest bit of a headache dissipated. Focus on that. Not on the slight annoyance you felt and the agitated twitch of your fingers.

Exhaling, you pursed your lips. Your grip retightened on your flashlight as you racked through questions in your mind, trying to find something that it would have to answer differently too. 

“Can you do something?”

Hopeful, your eyes trailed around the room, praying that maybe the ghost would do something like interact with the many objects scattered about, or even the motion sensors. 

Nothing happened for a few long moments, silence once again prevailing in the otherwise empty house.

Orange light flashed from the spirit box as the X lit up again, only for a second before the dreaded word repeated itself. 

“Ghost.”

Before you could ask what that even meant, or curse it out for that matter, the spirit box and your flashlight shut off, plunging you into true darkness. The flashlight nearly flew from your hands in surprise as you flinched instinctually, your heart leaping into your throat. Frantically flickering the button of your trusty tool did nothing as you desperately tried to turn on your one source of light with the only way you knew how - only to be met with the continual sight of empty, non-shining bulbs. 

Curses spilled from your lips in all the languages you knew as you fumbled for a battery pack, only to find them missing. What? But you swore that they were right there -- ugh, nevermind. This just wasn't going to be your night.

The initial panic subsided as the chill left the air, the residual regular warmth of the house sinking into the room as if blown in by a lazy breeze. Your hair still stood on end as you walked around with cautious, hesitant steps, having given up on the flashlight. There wasn't coming back from that.

It's only when you approached the spirit box, trying to turn it on to no avail, that you realized what he meant. You asked him to do something and he obliged.

He ghosted you. 

God fucking damn it. 

As you glared at the air in frustration, threw your hands up and personally cursed the fiend, you could've sworn you heard a resonating chuckle behind you as breath brushed against the nape of your neck in a way that sent shivers down your spine for a whole new reason.

Part Two

[teleit]

show!Rhaenyra is oatmeal with water and tears of book readers

My best friend was there when I wrote my opinion on Rhaenyra the Mother of Tastelessness, and she told me that I sounded like a mean bitch. I thanked her for the compliment, but realized I hadn't been specific enough.

So let me explain with examples why adult Rhaenyra kneels before young Rhaenyra's throne of supremacy, but remember that this is my opinion, which you may not agree with, but you can't convince me otherwise, so don't waste your time, okay?

Let's take two episodes of season one with adult Rhaenyra, one in which she was a morally good, boring piece of cardboard, and the other in which she gained some taste while being a disgusting person.

Episode 6 is dedicated to the suffering of noble and gentle Rhaenyra, a weak but good-natured princess who is mercilessly bullied by her evil stepmother. She meekly accepts every insult Alicent throws at her, and suffers from the weight of her obligations and duties. When Alicent demands to see baby Joffrey, Rhaenyra doesn't tell her to fuck off or to come herself if she wants to see the newborn so much. She gets up with a tragic face and crawls through the castle, leaving rivers of blood in her wake, even though no one asked her to do so. Yes, she may not want to part with the baby, and be afraid of what Alicent might do, but let's be serious, Alicent was standing in a room with the king and several guards, what would she do to Joffrey, even if she wanted to, in front of others? Accidentally-intentionally swing him like a tennis racket and slam his head into the wall?

In the books, Joffrey's birth was a joyous occasion, with everyone adoring mother and child and celebrating the arrival of the new Targaryen-Velaryon. Book Rhaenyra would never allow Alicent to treat her like that. She is the heir to the throne, not a powerless servant, and she does everything to make sure everyone remembers it.

And so it is throughout the episode. Rhaenyra is constantly humiliated, belittled, insulted - and she suffers with the face of the Virgin Mary from the icon. She has no right to snap, to protest, to complain to her father - all this is unworthy of Saint Rhaenyra, whose morality cannot be questioned, otherwise the audience will remember the end of Daenerys' arc and how the prophecy is the second most useless thing in Game of Thrones after the White Walkers themselves.

And then there is episode 7. Rhaenyra, who almost came close to my favorite version of her. She does one stupid thing after another, and become most terrible person in the room every minute of her existence, but she is AMAZING and i'm adore her.

Sleep with her own uncle while her husband tries to drown himself, grieving the loss of his sister, who, by the way, was also the wife of that same uncle? Rhaenyra, what kind of scum are you, did your crotch itch that much? Couldn't you hold it for a couple of days? Your uncle follows you around like a hound in heat, he won't go anywhere until he gets what he wants, but you, not respecting either your husband or your dead sister-in-law, abandoned your own children for a long-awaited dick. Ew.

Demanding to torture your own ten-year-old half-brother, whose eye your son gouged out, and then being a sassy bitch and thanking your father for indifference to his son's injury? Wow, even Emma theirself said that they cannot find an excuse for this level of gaslighting, you have sunk lower than ever, Rhaenyra.

Sucking on a new husband's tonsils while children who have lost three parents in a week or sum stand by and look at you two with disgust? Bottom has been reached, we are in a special circle of hell made just for you, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

But here's the interesting thing, each of these actions has a flip side. The disgusting lust? Yes, but also the yearning love that Daemon and Rhaenyra have cherished for many years, the passion and desperation that burns brighter than dragonfire within them. The indifference and agression to the crippled Aemond? Yes, but also the fierce protection of her own children, the desperation and fear of accusations that could lead to the loss of her rights and freedoms (let's not lie to ourselves, Viserys would never touch a hair on his girl's head, even if she said "well yeah, they're Strong, so what?", their lives and health were safe). The greed and stupidity of a hasty marriage? Yeah, but also the joy of connection, the awe of having your destined mate.

Just like young Rhaenyra. Troubled, ambiguous, morally gray, and existing not just to be pitied and admired, but also as a character with more than two or three personality traits, and not all of them from a list of kids' cartoon episodes about kindness, love, and caterpillars learning to wash their hands or some other dumb shit.

Writers, you need to stop praising and extolling Rhaenyra, please. This is becoming a parody of Game of Thrones, not a prequel. Give the woman a break, let her be vengeful, grieving, wrong, angry - give her something that turns a piece of narrative into someone to empathize with, rather than relying on those who read the book to automatically attribute the book character's qualities to the show!Rhaenyra. Pretend the source material doesn't exist - you'll be fine, you ignore book with the grace of a buffalo in a glassware store.

I've been pissed off for months on end about a dumb show just because the writers think I'm an idiot, my fragile ego can't handle it.

Ps. Still not native speaker and dgaf about mistakes, english can suck my imaginary dick

[musicalmoritz]

What are your thoughts on the chapter 118? MitsuKou fans are eating GOOD I can say that much

My thoughts on the best chapter thus far of the current arc? I’m glad you asked

I must say this chapter launched me into a full blown Mitsukou/Soukou brainrot. I have like a million fic ideas for both of them now and there’s no way I can possibly write all of them AND complete my requests so I just have to be sad. But omg, what a chapter!! I’m still stuck on the “smothered him with attention” line, that sounds like some shit I’d write. And ofc Kou being “captivated by that loser.” Ugh they’re so in love. I am now fully convinced that Sousuke had a crush on Kou in the former timeline when he was alive, you literally cannot convince me otherwise

The fact that if Kou’s mother hadn’t died and his father wasn’t neglectful, he would’ve used his free time to befriend Sousuke…and him being the one to save Sousuke’s life in the new timeline…oh I’m ill. The finger scene. Kou’s little blush. MITSUBA TEACHING KOU HOW TO USE A CAMERA BY STANDING BEHIND HIM AND GUIDING HIS HANDS. This was their cheesy romcom moment. The dead wife montage in an action movie

I love how their former selves are trying to reach out to them. No.3 was so unhappy with his existence to the point of wanting to die, and he wanted Sousuke’s life so badly but now that he’s lost it all he wants it back. Kou learned during the Red House arc that it’s okay if life is complicated, it’s okay if he’s stressed and doesn’t have everything he wants, and now he has to see a version of himself live in blissful ignorance. I don’t understand how people can say this timeline is better unless they’re fluff addicts, them staying in this timeline would do nothing for their character arcs and the overall narrative themes of growing up and facing reality. This life may be easier, but it robs each of them of their natural growth. I understand people are gonna have different preferences but the conflict of the old timeline MADE the story, do ppl rly want all of that to be thrown away for some “and then it never happened” ending?? Do you genuinely think it would be better writing if we never saw No.3 Mitsuba again and his arc ended with another shock value death???

Sorry for the rant lol, I couldn’t help myself. Absolutely no offense to anyone who prefers this timeline, it’s not like the fans are writing the story anyways so these opinions are harmless

I love how every version of Mitsuba wants to be someone else, they each perceive themselves as the “fake one” (excluding OG Sousuke) and feel disconnected from their existence. When I get around to writing my character analyses for TBHK I WILL talk abt all the queer allegories that go along with Mitsuba’s character but for now I’ll hold my tongue. All ik is this chapter made me love Sousuke sm more

Oh, and adult Amane…jump scare of the century. I can’t wait to see what his role is in this new timeline, I have a feeling it may be similar to Baby Tsukasa in the previous one. I love whenever the Yugi twins interact with Mitsuba (yes even the angst with Tsukasa) so that scene made me cheer. Also Kou saved his boyfriend!! Yippee!!

Sousuke and Kou wanting to run away together gave me major Picture Perfect Amanene vibes. Also HKOTO vibes, pls bring back the yaoi kidnapping🙏🏻

I think that’s all I have to say, Mitsukou fans were well fed this chapter. I’m eager to see the next one, still manifesting that Kou villain arc

[gears-twisting-and-turning]

Hello, you’re writing is very cool!

I wanted to ask, if you could write Bochum GB and Electra reacting to falling for a steam engine? I think it would be funny!

Im sorry for any mistakes/lf it is not understandable, English isn’t my first language,,

This one was so juicy! Oh I love it thank you for requesting and I hope you love your request :D

---

Greaseball

This man would be so conflicted with himself, what do you mean he’s into a steam engine?! Like on one hand you’re super cute and pretty and handsome and cute and he wants to make you his so badly. On the other hand you’re the one thing he swore some kind of weird war against

Like Rusty is one thing, but now he actually is into one of these rusty engines? Yes he would call you rusted even though you’re kept in perfect conditions

He would have random anger outbursts where he just punches a wall or something else. Just because he doesn’t know how else to regulate his emotions properly especially not about something as conflicting as this to him

Let’s just say it’ll take a very long time before he comes to terms with it and after that he’ll most likely chase after you (which is shocking, because people usually chase after him. It’s rather awkward, but it’s cute :])

Electra 

Throws an absolute temper tantrum. You cannot convince me otherwise. They’d stomp around and ramble to themself about how he should be ‘better than this’ and ‘how could I love someone so far in the fucking past?!’

Your existence makes her question what she's ever stood for. Congrats :D 

First that stupid rust bucket being better than him in the races and now this beautiful engine coming along and throwing a metaphorical wrench (the tool not the repair truck) into her plans?! What has the world come to?!

Also takes a long time to terms with the fact he’s in love with you. A lot longer even than Greaseball because whenever they think to give in because of an interaction with you, she goes back to her stubborn electric engine self and refuses it all over again

You eventually get them to properly fall for you with your amazing charm and they’ll finally be fine with it. Be prepared to be showered with gifts though, because they’re rich and you’re going to get the best of the best. Only if they would get rejected would they stop, but let’s face it, would they ever get rejected? 

[belit0]

helloo!!! im so happy you’re back and Indra content is back!! Hope all is well :))

could you do one where the uchihas gain interest in a senju? would they shut out their feelings or go for it?

it’s completely up to you! buh-bye!!

Hi!!! And thank you!!! Always here to bring Indra some attention!!!

Let's set this scenario during a time of peace for Madara and Izuna, otherwise, it would be quite complicated. Indra cannot be included at all, as that would require linking him to someone from Asura’s clan and… yeah, I just don’t see that ever happening.

As for Shisui and Itachi, let’s imagine that the Senju are still a dominant clan; otherwise, we would have to replace Senju! (Y/N) with an Uzumaki! (Y/N).

Madara

Madara denies it. Completely.

A Senju? The idea alone is offensive. Unthinkable. He has spent a lifetime carving hatred into his bones—his bloodline demands it. To feel anything else? Unforgivable.

And yet, when (Y/N) laughs—something quick and effortless—his hands clench involuntarily. His chest tightens in a way he refuses to name.

He avoids her. Or, at least, he tries.

But fate is cruel. Again and again, she appears. A rival, a presence, a storm with a heartbeat.

One night, after another long negotiation meeting, she smirks at him. -You look at me like you want to kill me, Uchiha. Or maybe it’s something else?-

Madara sneers, sharp and dangerous. -Don’t flatter yourself.-

She laughs again. He hates it.

Because for the first time in his life, Madara is not sure if he wants to destroy something—or devour it.

Izuna

Izuna does not shut out feelings. He drowns them. Destroys them. Kills them before they can take root.

So when (Y/N) makes his pulse stutter, he hates it.

He doubles down. Insults her. Challenges her. Flirts just to see if she flinches. And yet, nothing works. (Y/N) doesn’t waver.

Then one day, after a particularly heated argument, she turns to leave. And that—that is when something dark and possessive snaps inside him.

Before he can stop himself, his fingers are around her wrist, yanking her back.

-Where do you think you’re going, Senju?- His voice is low, gravelly, something close to desperate but hidden beneath arrogance.

(Y/N) raises a brow, unimpressed. -Away from you.-

He should let her.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he smirks, tilting his head. -I don’t think I’ll let you.-

And just like that, the ancient war of blood, the one that is no more, has transformed, mutated.

Now, it’s about them.

Obito

Obito doesn’t handle it well. At all.

At first, he convinces himself it’s nothing. He’s just curious, that’s all. Nothing strange about that. Nothing concerning.

Then one day, (Y/N) smiles at him.

And his brain just… stops working.

-Hhff— He chokes on his own spit. Literally.

(Y/N) blinks. -Are you okay?-

-Yeah, no, totally!- He squeaks. Too quickly. Too high-pitched. "Totally fine girl! I- totally! Ha ha!-

He spends the next three days avoiding her. It does not work.

The worst part? He starts overthinking. What if she finds out? What if she laughs at him? What if she doesn’t laugh at him?

By the time he admits it to himself, it’s too late.

Because he’s already in deep.

Shisui

Shisui leans into it.

It’s dangerous. Reckless. Absolutely stupid. But damn if it isn’t fun.

The moment he realizes he’s interested, he doesn’t hesitate. He flirts. Shamelessly. Every chance he gets.

-What do you think, (Y/N)? Wouldn’t we look good together?- His voice is smooth, teasing, as he leans in too close.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes. -I think you’re pathetic.-

He grins. -You think I’m handsome.-

She doesn’t deny it.

And that? That’s enough to keep him chasing.

But what starts as a game shifts into something real. Because one day, when she nearly dies on the battlefield, he realizes—

He never wanted to win her over.

He already had.

Itachi

Itachi does not allow himself to want.

Desire is weakness. Emotion is liability. He cannot afford such things. Not in this life.

But...

(Y/N) exists.

She speaks, and he listens. She moves, and his eyes follow. He does not mean to, does not want to. But she lingers in his thoughts like an unsolvable equation, an anomaly he cannot ignore.

One night, she finds him alone beneath the stars.

-You always seem so far away, Uchiha.- Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. -What are you so afraid of?-

He exhales slowly. Everything.

But he does not say that.

Instead, he looks at her—really looks at her. And for the first time, he wonders:

Would it be so terrible to reach?