#its just a really difficult time for everyone and i have to remember that

[bloobydabloob]

Do you think being aware of the different elements in art or just ordinary objects can make the process of actually making art difficult? I get that it's about balance and unity of it all, but being introduced to so many concepts early on feels like too much. Almost feels like learning to make art digitally for the first time -> introduced to all these neat gadgets but no idea how to use them or where

This is a crazy good point anon & very important. YES I think it makes it exponentially harder

It’s just like everything else though where learning to pick your battles is pertinent - knowledge is a foundational aspect of your beliefs and your art is based on your beliefs regardless of how you frame it. Accruing relevant (and irrelevant tbh) info is always going to help you navigate more complex & unique themes. Obviously not everyone is going to get anywhere with it but I think the whole thing is pretty rewarding it motivates everything I do in my entire life so I think it’s worth it. Definitely doesn’t even just apply in theme as well it sounds like you’re talking here about practical technique too which you’re 100% right about again. I think things that I find helpful to remember are

1 - Identifying a comprehensive goal in my action helps me to slow my roll & stop trying to pull from too many sources at once

2 - On the contrary it’s also good to remember that difficult, arduous & thought provoking task is important to art. It doesn’t have to be important to you but don’t be afraid of it

But the good thing about knowing things is knowing things helps you to know more things and knowing more things helps you to make better decisions. These kinds of worries about art are just smaller picture effigies of bigger problems about growing up, it is hard & it’s exceedingly normal to feel lost especially if you’re young. If art is at its core a representation of the life behind the creator then it’s just that. All things are present even incidentally through every single thing you create, which is also why being informed is important ! If you have something to say about something then then your art will. Your art exclusively exists through the people who view it & their tastes. “What kind of people would you want to discuss your work? Whose admiration would flatter you? What figures do you admire? What occupies most of your thoughts?” Are what I’d consider pretty big standard starting points they might give you on a sheet if you were to ask someone about beginning a series of focused work.

Also the thing about purposeful art compared to direct description (e.g. in this context art discussion) is that visual art exceeds writing in a lot of areas including ease of ambiguity. It really is hard to talk about the place obscurity has in art especially factoring in where people might differ on it. But it’s easy to let its importance bypass you, especially as a figurative artist. It’s also easy to make ambiguity sound like an area of study, when really it is like the antilabel of artistic components, ambiguity is black ! It defines itself as a lack of presence & not as its own entity, which in my opinion makes it a lot easier to approach lol. It finds itself comfortably where you apply nothing else

There are one million things that could be / have been said on this subject. I’m sure you would probably get more solid ideas on how to approach an issue like this from someone who has taken a different approach to art themselves, I’ve never read any book approaching art performing from a seminary perspective just as I’ve never been taught or schooled. I’m still going through the throes of asking myself these same things & I think I will be for my entire life. It’s easy to believe that consensus is a trophy gained for putting enough time into something when the truth is that there is no guaranteed finality to art. Be afraid of stagnancy, not ephemerality. There is a lot to be said even for oblivion in character & impulse, so really just make art regardless. Even if it never gets good at least you were doing something

I think you’re already on the right track if this is something you’re thinking about though if you ask me or at least you’re doing something similar to me lol. The amount of “things there are” is genuinely intimidating & especially as such an uninformed, sheltered person as I am making any real decisions for something as longterm as an artistic identity without any real connections to a qualified community seems impossible. Keep thinking like this & hunting yourself down I like to do everything I can that makes something happen about this. It’s not easy ! I don’t think it needs to be

[marsixm]

ive been feeling guilty about being politically disengaged and then i realized im quite literally not lol

[trainingdummyrabbit]

Never heard of these guys before, but just got Lark on the uquiz... I've gotta know who this Lark character is

oh shit hey!! welcome to the My Bugs!! theyre my lobcorp/pm ocs ive been tossing around for um.. almost two years now! good lordt. so um, were pretty much rockin with that being the baseline understanding :] check it out if you havent, this has!! SUPER spoilers. it started as just wanting to make some little guys but then it turned into a series of "yknow whatd be really funny"s and now theyre Doing Things.

essentially, as it is now, the concept at its core is "what if there was a really fucked up lcorp branch in which things just went Comically sideways." aka local lcorp facility does such a shit job trying to get itself together that it Completely misses the fact that its entire wing exploded overnight. And Also People Are Turning Into Creatures Now. fucked up little petri dish of a facility.

lark is theeeeee third? character? ive made for their little group. and ive spoken about him exactly Once. in the quiz, yeah; that was the only time. but hes been here the whole time basically. hes intended to be the first 'pov' of the entire narrative thread, some newbie whos trying his damn best. aaaand hes also the first one to die! yippy 🎉

the actual context of where he comes from is still undefined (ithink i was considering making him an Index guy way back then?) but the main pin in his character is the unshakable belief that something specifically is Out To Get You. They Said Your Name Exactly, Yeah. the inherent expectation of cruelty. that someone is watching you, waiting for any misstep to make your life absolute hell. its.

hes hard to describe. because 'paranoia' is the easiest description, but thats not quite It. invisible lines you cant (and shouldnt) cross; the fear of perception crossed with the fear of solitude, because if someone isnt watching and directing you then something Will go catastrophically wrong. teeth pointed inward, an "i need to do this Myself because someone else will get it wrong, will mess it up." like he has something to prove. Just Do It Right.

and on the one hand, its mostly something he developed in order to cope with pressure he cannot change. bbbbbut on the other hand, he happened to be dropped into a situation in which 'someone is out to get You Specifically in an act of uncaring cruelty' is 100% true and real and he cant really do anything about it. and nobody really believes him. Because Nobody Knows Yet. which means he gets astronomically worse.

his corrosion stems from the snap decision that he doesnt just want to sit around and fawn and grovel for someone- something- that is just going to kill him anyway. if they want something to watch-- some big Show, some Game-- he was going to give it to them. to inflict as much carnage as was saddled onto Him. as Much collateral as physically possible. he'd pull this entire place down with him if he had to. he doesnt get the chance to, of course, but its the thought that counts little buddy.

so um, yeah, hes doing great 👍

[defness]

→ drawing the same pose over and over again and feels cringe

→ realizes that these drawings are simply pre-ref drawings to figure out one's design so I can Draw Them

→ no longer feels cringe

[truckstoptigers]

i remember i'd hear about how my state is one of the most dangerous places in terms of sex trafficking and i would think, what an awful thing. how terrible is it that my state has such an issue with trafficking that it's enough for it to be a well-known, well-documented serious danger/risk area.

and i still didn't think it would ever happen to me.

[burinazar]

I was thinking “haha it’s so weird and silly i got soOOO into this one very specific part/arc/related minor-ish character group of a franchise, i haven’t done that before have i? this is a new weirdness for me isn’t it?”

and then suddenly vividly remembered my inconvenient and untenable and frankly quite extreme obsession with the romulan star empire all throughout middle school, with such force and clarity that i had to put a hand to my face

[desideriumwriter]

Metamorphosis | F.W. x Reader

Summary: Fred has been acting differently since he got hurt during the War. You're not sure how many more of his outbursts you can handle.

CW: established relationship, mentions of a head injury, TBIs, migraines, blood, being cut from broken glass, yelling, arguing, crying, not proofread

WC: 4.3k

A/N: now this one is a rollercoaster

based off this request! | f.w. masterlist | navi

Things had been difficult since May.

Voldemort was dead and the war was over. But everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

Things were quiet for a while, people were quiet. Distant but united at the same time. It took a few months for everyone to try and go back to normal.

Now it was November, and Fred was still dealing with the aftermath.

Of course, a head injury from being hit with a spell and a literal stone wall falling on him would have its long-term effects. You’d already read the list over who knows how many times.

Memory loss, light sensitivity, aggression, problems with multitasking, communication issues, irritability, mood swings, forgetfulness, etc. The list went on and on, you hated how long it was. 

You did research on it, listening to his doctors and picking up as many books you could find on head injuries or TBIs.

You even got your hands on some textbooks that muggle medical students used.

George and you took care of Fred after he came back to your shared space above the shop. He spent his first week after being discharged from the hospital at his mums, due to Mollys demands.

Things slowly went back to normal after a few months. Most things.

Shops reopened all along Diagon Alley, including the twins, people felt safe to go out and chat with each other again. 

Life went back to how it was before the war began.

The cold weather was getting harsher and so was Fred. 

You knew that the irritability and mood swings would come along with the injury. You just weren’t expecting it to be so constant.

Fred had his bad days and he had his better days. Today was one of those bad days.

You could tell he was really struggling remembering what was in stock and what needed to be made more of. You sat with him at the counter as he wrote down on a notepad what was needed. Taking notes was one of the things that helped him nowadays.

You saw him look up, the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

��Peruvian Darkness Powder.” You said softly, it was the next thing that needed to be restocked.

“Right. That. Thanks.” He muttered out, crouching over to write it down, his hand shaky and handwriting a bit wobbled.

Frustrated with his shaky hands, he threw the pen down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard. I feel like I can’t properly do anything.” He groaned, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Fred, it's what the symptoms of a-”

“I know it’s a fucking brain injury. I’ve heard it enough goddamn times. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Fred spat out, ripping his hand from yours and walking past you. That was the fourth time he snapped at you today.

After closing that night, you sat on the bench right outside the shop. Elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands.

You were really trying here. Trying your best not to get mad at him, to yell and spit at him as he did you.

He was still your Fred that you loved. He was just a bit different now, and that was okay, he was still your Fred.

The door to the shop opened, the silly tune of the charmed bell playing as a tall figure stepped out. Fred stood to the side of you now, his frame blocked out the light shining on you from the street lamps. The only light now being from the inside of the shop, illuminating his and your face once you looked up.

You breathed in deep, closing your eyes for a second, trying to keep any tears from falling. The cold wind wasn’t helping.

“Hi.” He gave you a shamefaced smile.

George had definitely scolded him and told him to apologize once you went outside. It’s not the first time he’s made him do it in recent times.

“Hi.” You sighed.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to snap at you when you were trying to help me with what needed to be restocked, or when you offered to sort the mail.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling small. The feeling had become constant for him now.

“And before both of those, when you snapped at me in your office. Then in front of one of the cashiers.”

“I did?” He said softly, genuinely shocked. You nodded, brows knit together.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize. I don’t even remember that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so harsh.” Fred looked down, having the same expression as a kicked puppy.

“It’s okay, Fred. I know you don’t mean to.” You slowly nodded.

“I’m trying to not be so rude. I’m trying to be better, I promise.”

“I know, Fred. I know.” You sniffled.

The doctors said practicing patterns would help with cognitive ability. Patterning. So stocking the purple and orange mystery boxes in a pattern would be Fred’s practice.

He began to practice different patterns:

Purple. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

Then moved onto a bit more strange ones:

Purple. Purple. Orange. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat. 

He was struggling a bit more than usual today, you watched as he did, and it broke your heart.

You sighed as you put your notepad away, pausing writing down the grocery list for now and making your way over to Fred.

You reached out, putting the next correctly colored box on the shelf for him. He grumbled out a ‘thanks’.

“I can do the rest for you. Go give your brain a break.” You breathed out a laugh, trying to be lighthearted as you picked up the large box filled with the remaining mystery boxes to be put away.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”  Fred mumbled out, paying you barely any mind.

“Fred, I can tell your stressed enough just let me-“

“Will you piss off? I said I've got it!” Fred didn’t mean to yell, especially in the middle of a busy store, he was just frustrated. 

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and anger due to all the staring eyes of confused customers looking at the both of you.

“Fine, fucking do it yourself then.” You shoved the box into his hands. Walking off, pissed off as you threw off your hat onto the counter.

George murmured your name as you walked by, trying to put a hand on your shoulder, you shoved out his grasp.

You hid away in the back stockroom. George followed, entering a tiny bit after you.

You sat on a wooden box, leaned over with your head in your hands. 

“You know he doesn’t mean it. He got blasted pretty hard, it’s just one of the side effects.” George sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You were so tired of those two words. Side effects. Yes, of course you knew what the side effects and symptoms were, that they wouldn’t be pretty or easy. But you were just so sick of hearing it.

You shrugged, lifting your head up.

“He's frustrated. With himself.” George sat down next to you, intertwining his hands into a ball. “He always feels bad after he gets angry.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to help him out but it’s like he never fucking wants it. He refuses.”

“He’s never liked help, always wanting to be so damn independent and stubborn.” George let out a weak chuckle and shook his head. “It took him five minutes to accept the money Harry gave us. Even after that he tried to tell Harry he’d give it back if he changed his mind.”

“I remember, I was there.” You smiled a bit to yourself at the memory, Fred was so adamant about Harry keeping the money, or at least most of it.

“Chocolate?” He pulled a small bar off one of the shelves, you shook your head. “It’ll make you feel better.” You persuaded, you let out an amused sigh and took it.

“You stole that line from Lupin.” Unwrapping it and biting off a small chunk.

“Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?” You let out a defeated nod and smile in response, taking another bite.

“He’s not gonna be like this forever. You know that. He’s gotten a lot better since May. Just, his moodiness will stick around for a little bit.”

“I know. I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

George was at Angelinas for the night. It took him ten minutes to stop worrying and finally go, constantly reminding you if you needed his help with Fred, if Fred starts getting mean, to send him an owl and he’d come back immediately. You shooed him off and assured him Fred and you would be fine, that he should go have a worry-free night with Angelina.

It was going well, you watched a short movie and shared some snacks and cuddles on the couch. It was all going so nicely until you both decided to get changed and go to bed.

You slipped on a night shirt talking to Fred about the movie as he opened the top drawer on the wooden dresser. The one that creaked and occasionally jammed from time to time. 

Tonight was one of those times.

He pulled out a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, his eyebrows knitting together when he pushed the drawer and it barely moved. You looked over and frowned disappointedly.

“It’s stuck again.” You sighed, thinking out loud. 

“I know.” Fred muttered out under his breath, you didn’t catch it.

You watched as he repeatedly tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just old, maybe tomorrow we could go window shopping for a new one?” You suggested sweetly as he didn’t respond, he just clenched his jaw as he continued trying to close it.

He used a terrifying amount of force as he slammed the drawer shut with one last push, causing the whole thing to ratter. The sudden movement and sound made you jump. You took a step back, Fred noticed. His expression faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned your body language.

“What, are you scared of me or something now?” He muttered, an attitude in his voice.

“No, I never said I was scared of you. You just…”

 “What? I’ve just what?” 

You were so sick of his attitude. You took in a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ve been acting up, you’ve been slamming doors, throwing things down when you’re frustrated, you yell more. At George and I especially. You’re unpredictable.” You let out quickly.

“Unpredictable? I have not been that bad. You’re dramatic.” Fred shot back, he was a bit hurt by your words, yet deep down he knew you were right. His actions had become surprising. But he was too damn stubborn and he was in the middle of a beginning argument, so he wouldn’t admit to it now.

“I’m not, you’re proving your point with how you’re being now. You’re being stubborn and defensive. You get angry and you yell at me. When I’m just trying to help! The doctors said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctors told you! Or those stupid books you’ve been wasting your time on!” All this yelling hurt his head. But the words were spilling out his mouth like a waterfall of poison. 

“Have you considered your not being any help? If you really wanted to help you’d let me do shit myself instead of acting like I’m fucking stupid! You wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around me! You’d let me be instead of being a pounding in my head!” His chest heaved, his face slowly being filled with regret as he saw you. Taking a step back with the most painful stare at him, astonishment and hurt written all over your face.

He watched as you brought your arms up around you, holding yourself as if it was a way of shielding yourself from his words.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Your voice went soft. A small crack in your delivery of words as you rubbed your upper arm.

“No! Absolutely not! I just- I’m-” Here comes the sputtered out apologies, the regret filling him up immediately, you just shook your head.

“Forget it, I’m done with this conversation.” You barged out the room. That look never leaving your face, it will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed?” He called out as you went down the hallway.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” You shouted back, more of a loud mutter really. Fred said your name disappointedly, leaning against the bedroom door frame. You didn’t respond, you didn’t turn around, you made your way to the couch.

He didn’t run after and stop you. Knowing you’d give him the silent treatment and refuse to get in the same bed as him. For tonight only. Hopefully.

Though you tried to muffle and hide your sobs behind your hands, Fred could still hear it all the way from the bedroom. Those pained sharp breaths in that turned into wheezes, the little hiccups and whimpers of sadness you made when you breathed out were far too loud to be hidden.

You cried for two hours until you finally got a grip of yourself. Getting up and going down the hallway, not to get back in bed, but to see if Fred was.

You peeked your head in just enough to see his side of the bed, he was laying on his back peacefully, his eyes puffy. Had he been crying also?

He was relaxed now though, resting. At least he was getting some sleep. You quietly sneaked back to the living room. Lying back down on the couch and using a throw pillow for your head. 

You couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t keep your eyes shut, couldn’t stop thinking, you couldn’t sleep. You missed him, you really just wanted to be next to him.

By the time the clock ticked to 2AM, you got up, tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Sneaking to your side of the bed, so carefully pulling back the sheets. You moved so carefully, so lightly, so gently as if everything was made of fine china. 

You debated if you should snuggle up to Fred, not wanting to wake him. What if he got annoyed again? You really didn’t want to deal with another conflict.

You carefully scooted over to him anyways, testing your luck. You slowly wrapped your arm around his torso, ever so lightly laying your head on his chest. He began to move and your body immediately tensed up.

His arm hooked around you, circling your waist, the other arm reaching over, his hand softly placed on the side of your head. Your body went limp in happiness. You could start crying again from all the joy you felt in this moment.

This is how you knew Fred hadn’t become a whole other person than the one you knew before the accident. His hands on you, holding onto you so sweetly, just like he used to. There were still those little remnants of his true self hanging around. He was still Fred. He was still your Fred.

You woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight shining down on Freds side of the mattress.

You changed into more presentable clothes, hearing the chatter from downstairs and knowing the shop was open. 

Going downstairs, Fred was nowhere to be seen while George was moving around helping customers and constantly casting spells to organize things.

Owning a joke shop was absolutely not a one man job.

“Where’s Fred?” You asked, looking around as you approached the counter. George was stacking cards. 

“In his office. Another migraine.” He tucked in his lips, seemingly annoyed.

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna go out, probably window shop. Do you need anything?”

“Could you get some cabbage? And a few more quills and ink? We’re running low.” He said, swiveling his way out from behind the counter.

You may have stayed out longer than you meant to.

Thinking you’d be back before five, you got home at nearly eight instead.

You did some looking around in local furniture shops, and you picked up what George asked for. You mostly just walked around the quieter streets, needing to get away from all the noise.

By the time you got back it was a bit dark outside and there was a closed sign on the shop door. You unlocked and locked it quickly, moving upstairs tiredly.

The living room light was turned off, the moonlight from outside being the only thing that made the room somewhat visible. Fred was sitting on the couch.

“Hey.” You spoke softly. 

“Hi.”

“Where’d George go?”

“He stopped by Angelina’s for dinner.” He said blankly. Everything felt so awkward.

“Oh. Have you eaten?” You asked as you set down the bags of supplies.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what’re you doing in the dark? Get some light in here.” You giggled as you flipped up the light switch, overhead light brightening up the room.

Fred quickly scrunched his eyes closed with a pained expression, he put a hand up to shadow his face.

Fuck. Light sensitivity. He was already dealing with a migraine, that’s why he was in the dark, and you turning on the light made it much more intense.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You blurted out as you hit the switch down, the room going darker again.

“Here, I’ll- I’ll get you a glass of water.” You sputtered out, running over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a glass, filling it up with cold water from the tap.

“No, you don’t have to.” Fred muttered out.

“Please, it’ll help. Just let me help.” You pleaded as you ran back over to the couch, sitting down and holding the glass towards him. He denied it again.

“Fred, just drink-“

“I told you! No!” He shouted, pushing your hand away.

The glass slipped out of your grasp. Hitting the floor and cracked into pieces, somewhere in the impact a small shard hit your lower leg. Nothing serious, it could be quickly closed up with a spell, but it was bleeding heavily already.

Fred realized what had happened once you felt the stung and winced, holding a hand over your small injury, crimson staining your hand and dripping onto your sock.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He panicked as he straightened up, patting his sides for his wand, he had left it in his office. He saw yours on the coffee table.

“Here, let me fix-” He reached one hand towards your wand, the other laying on your shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You said as you reached across, grabbing your wand and leaned your shoulder away from his touch.

His stomach twisted, the guilt was eating him up. He fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing what to do with his hands now that you refused his touch and his help.

You said a quick spell, the cut swiftly closing, skin looking unharmed and the only evidence of what happened being the remnants of drying blood on your leg and hand.

“I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” You said so quietly, almost a whisper. Fred stayed silent as he watched you get up and walk away, he wanted to cry.

You returned to the living room with a packed suitcase, quickly walking past Fred on the couch and to the chimney. His eyes stayed glued on you the entire time. You didn’t look at him.

“You’re leaving?” Freds brows knit together in a sad way, he sat up straight from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Not for long. I’ll be back.” You spoke, back facing him as you put down your small suitcase.

“Where?”

“A friends place. For a few days.” You didn’t tell him who, he would most likely send letters apologizing.

George was the one who suggested it surprisingly. Once he came home as you were washing off the blood, he told you to go take a few days to yourself.

“No offense to you, you’ve been doing great. But I’ve lived with him for nearly twenty-six years. I know how to deal with him when he’s mad.” He held your shoulders.

“I know how to deal with him too, you know.” 

“Of course I do. But I know you’re worn out as well. You need to take some care of yourself. Focus on you for a few days.” You really didn’t want to agree with George on that, it felt rude to do it. There was really no good way of saying he was wearing you down.

“I’m sorry.” Fred spoke out.

“I know, Fred.” You let out a heavy breath. “I’m not mad at you. I think we should take a break from each other.” You tried not to let your voice wobble.

“You don’t mean a break up, right?” He stood up from the couch.

“No. Of course not.” You finally turned around, looking at his gloomy face. “We just need to spend some time apart, just for a day or so. Okay?” You kept your voice soft and nurturing, hoping it would hide the way your own words were breaking your heart.

"Can I just get a hug before you leave? Please?" Fred took a few steps closer, his steps cautious. You closed your eyes and nodded.

You didn’t want to look at him for too long, both of your faces were threatening to deteriorate into tears, and you couldn’t stand to see it.

He pulled you into him nicely, hands slowly and carefully wrapping around you like you would crack if he moved the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you.” He said softly, sounding like it was a plea for you to stay.

“I know.” You mumbled into his chest.

Fred’s injury didn’t bother you. The forgetfulness of struggles with certain things didn’t bother you, you didn’t care if he struggled to keep track with things. 

It was just his anger. His outbursts. His shouting. That’s what bothered you, it was nothing like him. Sure, he’s definitely gotten moody or stubborn or annoyed before like during Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts or when a much needed shipment arrived late at the shop.

But you’ve rarely seen him truly mad, yell like he does now, the only time you can remember him like that is when he had to be held back from helping George and Harry beat up Malfoy after a match in his seventh year.

“I still love him, of fucking course I do. But he’s changed so much. it’s like,” You stopped, clenching your jaw and trying your best trying to keep tears from returning. “It’s like sometimes I look at him, and he’s a ghost, he’s a completely different man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“You’ve changed too.” Alicia commented, “You’re not as much of a hermit as you used to be.” She joked, poking you.

“Oh piss off.” You let out a breathy chuckle, face falling soon after. “I’m scared. What if he stays like this forever?” You whispered out, a small crack in your voice.

“He won’t. You told me already, there’s still that cheeky little Fred that you’ve always know still in him. He’s getting better day by day.” She tilted her head. “And fuck it. Even if he doesn’t, even if it takes a while, you gotta grow with him.” You looked at her, puzzled expression on your face.

“If you don’t grow with him, if you aren’t willing to go through that, then what in the hell are you doing?” She shrugged, laying back in her chair. “You’ve gone through these shitty times with him before, right? And you both made it through. What makes you worried you won’t be able to do it again?” 

Alicia was right. You’ve gone through rough patches with him and made it out just fine. Casual disagreements, arguments and fights, yet you always made up. Leaving those arguments in the past and loving each other in the present.

“You staying another night?” Alicia asked you, taking a sip from her glass.

“No, I think I’ll go back. I’ll send an owl and tell them before I go.”

Once the green flames subsided and you stepped out of the chimney, dusting off your clothes. Fred came running into the room, a bouquet of all the flowers in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling alright today?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

God, you hated the awkward tension in the air. It felt like this every time you had a conversation.

“That’s good. Uh, these are for you.” He stuck out the bouquet nervously, hand trembling. You put down your suitcase and stepped closer. A small noise of adoration left as you looked at the flowers, it was all your favorites.

“I may not be able to remember much. But I remembered these were always your favorite.” He let out an awkward laugh.

The last time you told him what flowers you liked was in year five. You took the bouquet from him with hesitant hands, surprised by the gift. Fred swallowed his anxiety before he began to speak again.

“I didn’t mean to be so rude. I just get so frustrated with myself, I don’t want to act like that anymore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you, you didn’t deserve it.” He moved to cup his hands around your face, bringing your teary eyes to meet his.

“I promise you I’m going to be better. I swear on everything. I will be better.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead, then pulled you into a hug. 

You held on tightly to his torso, turning the flowers away to keep them from being crushed.

“I love you.” You said into his sweater, tears beginning to fall.

“I love you too. So much.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[foxtrology]

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

series

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 3

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 3973

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I am so glad everyone is enjoying this fic! Now we get to see who's guesses from Part 2 were correct...

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Things with Wanda have become increasingly difficult lately. Your temper inches shorter and shorter with every argument the two of you have, which seem to be almost every conversation now. After your night out with Natasha, which felt dangerously normal, you realized what you were missing with your own wife. But the two of you had been together for nearly a decade–surely there were bound to be rough patches, right?

“I have to work late tomorrow night,” you say as the two of you get ready for bed, and as soon as the words come out of your mouth you regret it.

“Late again? Really, Y/N?” Wanda shoots back. “I already made the reservation for our dinner. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Reschedule it?” you suggest, trying to hide your frustration. How many dozens of dinners (and anniversaries) had she stood you up?

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that,” Wanda says, angrily climbing into bed and turning away from you. “If you can’t put the effort in to remember when we have dinner dates, then we’re not going to one.”

“You literally forgot our anniversary,” you respond, finally losing control of your temper.

“I did not forget,” she argues. “I had other plans that you forgot. And don’t use that tone with me. You’re not the one who should be annoyed right now.” Anger flares up inside you, but you hold your tongue. Arguing further with her would be pointless. You crawl onto your side of the bed and look over at your wife, balled up and small-looking under the covers.

You loved her. That was never a lie. But sometimes you wonder why you allowed her to cause you so much pain. Was it just to further prove your love to her? And how much more of it could you take?

***********************************************************************

After Natasha returns from picking up Wanda’s dry cleaning, she neatly hangs up the half-dozen dresses in the closet and begins dusting the house from top to bottom. It’s not an exciting chore, but due to the vastness of your home and the few people living in it, a lot of dust has accumulated and even she knows Wanda’s not exaggerating when she complains about her allergies acting up.

Natasha starts in your bedroom, carrying around a small stool to help her reach high places. She gently pats the dust off a plush teddy bear sitting on your dresser. She gets on her knees to brush the floorboards running along the perimeter of the room. Although the work is painfully dull, she finds satisfaction in the way her duster fibers turn grayer and grayer. She cleans the glass doors of the china cabinet with a special wipe, smiling at a little ceramic turtle perched on a shelf at eye level. She waltzes through the kitchen, which needs the least cleaning because she spends the most time there, but pauses to give special care to the rainbow-colored plastic cow looking out the window.

In the living room is a massive bookshelf that takes up an entire wall’s worth of space.Natasha doesn’t even know where to start, but she hops onto her stool and begins dusting the spines in every row. When she gets to the end of the fourth row, a title catches her eye: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. She had read the book for the first time in its native Russian, and while it may not have been a child-friendly novel, it did bring back more fondful memories of her childhood.

She takes it off the shelf, surprised at its weight. It’s over 500 pages, but much heavier than she remembers. The front cover swings open and something big and metal falls out, nearly landing on her foot. Natasha gasps in surprise as she pulls her leg back, her eyes widening as she stares at the revolver on the floor.

She opens the book, finding a huge rectangle cut out of the center of the pages to house the weapon. Whose gun was this? Neither you nor Wanda struck her as physically violent people. Maybe it was for protection? 

The garage door rumbles open.

Natasha scoops up the gun with shaking hands and puts it back in the book, shoving it onto the shelf again. She grabs her duster and continues to dust the shelf.

“Natasha? Are you here?” Wanda’s voice rings out.

“In the living room! Good afternoon, Mrs. L/N!” Natasha responds, not turning around and staring at Crime and Punishment as if the gun will go off on its own.

“Why are you dusting our bookshelf?” Wanda asks. 

“I’m dusting the whole house,” Natasha answers. “Just want to make sure every area is clean–”

“You read?” Wanda interrupts.

“I can, yes.” Natasha has no idea where the conversation is going and her stomach twists in knots.

“I mean, do you read for fun?”

“Yes,” Natasha lies.

“You ever read Crime and Punishment?” 

Natasha just wants Wanda to leave her alone. “Yes.”

“A little advanced for you, don’t you think?” she says, and Natasha doesn’t even feel the need to defend herself from the cruel comment. She still hasn’t faced Wanda and wonders if she’s holding another revolver pointed at her back.

But Wanda is still waiting for an answer, so Natasha draws herself taller and says, “I’m Russian. I read it in high school.”

“Of course.” Wanda shifts her weight and the floor creaks. Natasha tenses and closes her eyes. “Well, I pay you to clean my house, not read my books. So keep your hands off my copy. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Footsteps indicate Wanda is going to another room.

Natasha has never been genuinely scared of Wanda until now.

***********************************************************************

It’s laundry day in your household, another chore Natasha completely despises due to the sheer amount of bedding you and Wanda seem to accumulate. Wanda insists that she wash the sheets in every guest room, despite the fact that you and her only sleep in the master bedroom. While Natasha is certain she knows the real reason, she overheard her telling you it was to prevent bed bugs. 

Still, Natasha knows better than to question your wife and falls into the routine of stripping every bed, washing one load at a time, and redoing all the beds. The laundry machine is so noisy, she doesn’t hear the garage door open, nor the footsteps down the foyer. She doesn’t listen to music while she works, afraid Wanda will accuse her of being distracted, so she hums the soundtrack to Mamma Mia. 

When the next load finishes, Natasha gathers up the bedding in her arms, almost smothered by the heat from its tumble in the dryer. She precariously walks up the stairs, trying to remember which bedroom the sheets are from, when she hears a thump from the master bedroom.

Natasha freezes. She thought she was alone in the house. Maybe you had snuck by while she was in the laundry room, and clearly she didn’t learn her lesson from the last time she walked in on you and Wanda to stay away. Heart pounding against her chest in anticipation, Natasha inches towards the door and peers through the crack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me,” Wanda moans, followed by the repetitive banging of the headboard against the wall. Natasha shifts around to get a better view of the room, straining to see what’s going on. She catches a glimpse of Wanda on her knees, moving in and out of her view, someone holding onto her waist from behind. 

“I want you to put a baby in me,” Wanda pants, and her partner grunts in response.

While the two of you had no children that Natasha was aware of, she wonders if that was an intentional decision or perhaps you two were waiting for a better moment. Kids would certainly give you a reason to stay with Wanda, and maybe that was exactly what she was planning. 

Natasha hates the way she keeps watching, wanting more material to fuel her never-ending fantasy of being betrothed to you.    

“Honey? Are you here? I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs!” Natasha calls. She hears you tramp up the steps as she patiently waits for you in the bedroom. You poke your head through the door first, the top few buttons of your shirt undone, and although the exhaustion from work is evident on your face, you perk up when you see her.

Especially with what she’s wearing, or lack of it.

“I hope you had a good day at work, baby,” Natasha says, turning around to face you. She’s wearing the red lingerie set you bought her for her birthday. It hardly leaves her assets to the imagination and she can feel your gaze lingering on her body. She’s never felt so appreciated or wanted before.

“It was a good day that’s only getting better.” You step into the bedroom, hastening to take off your clothes. Natasha comes over to help you and you easily scoop her up in your strong arms, and she wraps her legs tightly around your hips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whisper, your mouth hot on her neck as you nip at her skin.  

You walk forward until Natasha feels her back bump into the vanity. You rest her on the edge and spread your legs to jerk yourself to full hardness. Natasha struggles against the impatience in her core, wanting nothing more than for you to fill her to the brim. She watches the veins in your muscular arm pop out as you move your hand back and forth faster, your cock swelling to its large size.

Finally, Natasha cannot wait any longer. “I need you,” she begs, swatting your hand away and sliding forward, ready to practically fall on your dick. 

“Careful, baby,” you warn with a chuckle, gripping onto her thighs and stepping forward to find the right angle to insert yourself. 

Natasha sighs in relief when you enter her, holding onto your shoulders in case you get any ideas of pulling out too far. Her walls clench around you tightly, drawing a moan from you and you press your hips forward until your whole cock stretches her out. Natasha loves how much you fill her, how you soothe the empty throbbing in her. She must be the luckiest woman in the world to have you like this.

The vanity bumps against the wall with every thrust. Natasha squeezes her thighs tighter around your waist, trying to hold you in as long as possible. She runs her hands up and down your broad back, digging her nails into your shoulder blades when your thighs meet hers.

“When are you gonna put a baby in me?” she asks, her lips crashing heatedly onto yours.

You grunt with another deep thrust.

“You would look so beautiful carrying my child.”

Natasha’s blood goes cold when she hears Wanda’s partner. Because it’s not your voice.

It’s Vision’s.

She angles herself to see better and feels sick to see her stomach when she sees your wife and Vision tangled on the bed together. She can’t bear to watch another second and flees down the stairs, the bedsheets still in her arms, not even caring if they hear her. 

She has to find a way to tell you. That was the least you deserved.

***********************************************************************

You stand in the dim hallway, watching as Wanda whips around, grabbing her coat and Louis Vuitton purse. “Where do you think you’re going?” you ask.

“I’m not allowed to leave the house now?” she bites back, not even looking at you.

“It’s Friday night,” you point out.

“So?” 

“Friday nights are our nights,” you stress, and Wanda finally looks at you when you raise your voice. “It’s been that way for years, unless you’ve been so bored of me you haven’t noticed.”

“You can survive without me for one night,” she shoots back. “I have a dinner night with the girls–”

“Don’t go,” you say, your tone changing from anger to pleading. “Please. We hardly spend any time together since I started the new job here and–”

“That’s not my fault,” Wanda clips. “That was your decision. Moving here was also your decision, in case you forgot.” You don’t miss the way she stresses the blame on you. “You thought it would be better for your business, and you’re still in the red. I gave up my old friends and relationships to be here with you, and then you have the audacity to act like this is my fault.”

“I asked if you wanted to stay, and you said you were fine with moving,” you remind her, although you are uncomfortable at the truth of her words.

“I said I was fine moving because I thought it’d make you happy,” Wanda says. “But it looks like out of the two of us, I’m the only happy one here.”

You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help but be frustratingly jealous of your wife. Even waking up every day is now a struggle for you. You’re buckling under the pressure of work, unable to meet the deadlines or find the capital to pay your mounting debts. The only person you have to support you is Wanda, but she’s always off partying with her new friends or going to some made-up meeting meant to give her a false sense of significance. You’ve never felt lonelier, and it scares you that the only person you have may be slipping away.

“I’ll be back tonight.” Wanda whips out to the garage and clearly doesn’t want to hear any more protest from you. You stagger back and collapse onto a sofa, holding your head in your hands and feeling a burning sensation in your eyes.

Natasha peeks around the corner of the kitchen, wondering if you remember that she’s still here. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” she asks.

“No,” you say, forcing yourself to laugh. “I’m sorry if you heard any of that. That was very unprofessional of us.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha inches out so you can see her. You’re rubbing your eyes and she’s startled to realize you’re crying. Not knowing what to do, she retreats into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of rambutans from the bottom drawer of the fridge and a box of tissues and brings them to you.

You laugh when you see her offerings. You pat the sofa cushion next to her to indicate she is welcome to join you. “Have you had one of these before? I can show you how to eat them.” You peel off the furry red exterior, revealing a pearl-colored center. “You just eat this part. It tastes like a grape.”

Natasha takes one and follows your example. When she bites into the center, the taste is not as exotic as she expected but quite mild, reminding her of an oversized, fleshy grape. “It’s pretty good,” she says.

“My favorite.” You peel open another one, leaving the exterior on a pile on the table.

Natasha has another one and anxiously looks around the room, as if Wanda is still in the house. “Y/N, I need to tell you something,” she finally has the courage to say, heart pounding in her chest.

“Yes?” There’s a soft crunch as you bite through your rambutan. 

“Wanda’s cheating on you with Vision,” Natasha blurts out, with no build-up whatsoever.

You are completely silent, chewing the fruit as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever eat. 

“I saw them together in bed yesterday.” Natasha now realizes how foolish she sounds. What if you didn’t believe her? What if you thought she was lying in order to get you for herself? She could’ve taken a picture (as weird as that would’ve been) to provide actual proof. 

“I know,” you say, to Natasha’s shock. “I know she’s cheating on me with Vision.”

“You do?” Natasha is stunned. She wonders how long you’ve known, and why you’ve never acted out on it.

“She’s cheating on me with half the fucking neighborhood.”

***********************************************************************

One month earlier…

“Need a hand?”

“No, I think I’m good, thanks!” You roll out from under your car, your arms and face covered in grease and oil. A skinny man stands on the sidewalk, surveying your propped-up car on the driveway.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Not sure,” you respond, reaching for a rag in your tool bag and wiping off your face. “It won’t start though, so I’ll probably have to get it towed to the shop.” 

“Need a lift?”

“Uh…” You glance back at your empty house. Wanda was out until nightfall, although you wouldn’t put it past her to be gone until tomorrow. Despite the brand-new house the two of you had just moved into, she didn’t seem to want to spend much time in it.

“It’s no trouble,” the man insists. “I live over at the end of the street. You can call me Vision.” He comes forward to shake your hand. 

“Y/N,” you introduce. “Well, I’d really appreciate it. We just moved here and my wife’s out of town right now, so I don’t have many friends I can call on here yet.”

Vision waves off your comment. “You have neighbors! That’s what we’re for, right?”

You call a tow truck and join Vision in his purple Camaro with a yellow racing stripe along the center of its hood to tail your vehicle to the shop.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, genuinely impressed with his sports car. He didn’t seem like the type to own one.

“Oh, I’m retired,” he says, effortlessly shifting the gears and the vehicle purrs in response.

“Really?” He hardly looked a few years older than you.

“Corporate life just wasn’t for me,” he says. “It paid very well though, so I retired early and bought the house out here. It’s just me though, never found the right person to settle down with.”

“It’s not for everyone,” you admit, because sometimes you wonder if you even found the right person.

***********************************************************************

After the mechanics determine your car needs an overnight stay to repair, Vision drives you back home. He drops you off and speeds down the street to his own. You find him to be a little quirky, but harmless. You head inside for a much-needed shower. When you’re done, you wrap a towel around your waist and step into the bedroom to find some clothes. You pause when the front door creaks open. 

Excited to greet your wife, you rush out to say hello from the top of the stairs, but stop in your tracks when you realize she’s brought someone in.

“Oh, Y/N isn’t home,” Wanda says, her voice carrying through the foyer.

“This house is huge!” It’s Steve. Your heart bangs against your chest and you retreat to the bedroom, unsure where to hide. The closet seems like a decent spot, and you nestle in between your hanging jackets as you hear Wanda and Steve stomp up the stairs together. You peek out through the crack in the door.

“Ours was built first, but it looks like this one has a lot of improvements that we could’ve used,” Steve goes on.

“Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” Wanda says. They walk into your bedroom, Wanda behind him with a mischievous glint in her eye you recognize all too well. “I wish Y/N could be around more,” she continues, and you fight the urge to burst out of the closet. “Like you said, it’s such a big house and it feels so lonely in it without another body to keep it warm.”

You see Steve’s gaze travel along the walls and over your furniture. To his credit, he does seem genuinely impressed with your home. He always struck you as a simple man, maybe even a little bit ignorant at times. But now you were about to see if his ignorance was true or an act.

Wanda approaches him so closely you’re sure her body is rubbing against his. 

“Y/N isn’t here, but maybe you can keep me company for a while?”

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve jerks away from Wanda when she puts her hands on his hips. 

“We can be quick,” Wanda insists, taking off her jacket. “No one has to know–”

“Wanda, stop it,” Steve says, sounding angry. “I have a wife and kids at home and you’re married to Y/N–”

“So?” Wanda replies, and it makes your stomach clench with how dismissive she is. “I’ve been married to Y/N for four years and I’ve been cheating since day one.” She shrugs. “Honestly, the only reason I settled down is for the thrill of it.” She holds her hand up, the wedding ring you gifted her with three months’ salary glinting in the light. “It’s much more exciting to get what you’re not supposed to have, right?”

“You’re disgusting,” Steve says. “Stay away from me and my family.”

He hurries out of the bedroom, but Wanda doesn’t go after him at first. She puts her jacket back on and admires her reflection in the mirror, clearly a little frazzled by Steve’s rejection. How many people hadn’t rejected her? You always had a hunch, but had never heard Wanda admit it outloud before. How could you be so stupid this whole time?

Your body starts to vibrate with rage and you accidentally knock a jacket off its hook. While the jacket falls soundlessly to the floor, you can’t see well enough to catch the hanger and it lands with a quiet thump on the carpet. You look through the crack, holding your breath as Wanda’s head whips towards the closet. 

The next few seconds are so tense you want to vomit.

But then Wanda turns back to her reflection, fluffing out her hair, and leaves the bedroom.

***********************************************************************

Your paranoia kicks in like a drug that won’t let you rest. You buy cameras and sprinkle them all around the house, in the trinkets and knick knacks Wanda insisted on showcasing in every room. The teddy bear on your dresser in the bedroom. The ceramic turtle in the china cabinet in the living room. The plastic cow on the windowsill of the kitchen window. You monitor them religiously, but it doesn’t take long for more evidence to show up.

Vision is the most frequent offender, visiting during your long nights at work or sometimes in the middle of the day. Steve never sets foot on your property again, although sometimes the camera in the potted plant by the front door picks up the conversation of Wanda trying to convince him to come over. As nice as Steve was to turn down your wife’s advances, he never came to tell you what she had tried to do with him either.

There are some visitors you don’t even recognize. And Wanda isn’t a stranger to women either. She brings over Agatha, her supposed HOA nemesis, and many of the ladies who would greet you so kindly and fawn over you every time they saw you working in the front yard. You would bet money that she was also fucking some of her girlfriends on their trips away.

And now you have it all on camera, your wife fucking multiple strangers in your own home. The proof didn’t make you feel better; in fact, it made you feel worse. All that time, effort, and money you had spent trying to cultivate the perfect relationship with her when she would turn around and fuck the first thing that looked at her. 

It made you so angry you couldn’t see straight. But you knew you couldn’t act hastily. You would formulate the perfect plan to get out of the marriage and leave Wanda behind, even if it meant leaving her for dead.

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

AN: Whomp whomp. So...was it who you expected? Or worse? 🤭And I think we collectively owe Steve an apology.

Next part is here!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[wizardpink]

@iamanoccasionaldoodler

Okay so,

There seems to be this negative reaction to the finale from a lot of Devil's Minion fans and I don't understand it for a lot of reasons, but one of them is ... I don't get why people are upset that, when read at it's worst, Armand and Daniel are seemingly not on good terms after Daniel is turned. I keep seeing this belief that Armand "abandoned" him, which I think is fully pulled from y'alls collective ass, and a disappointment that Daniel would call Armand a "fucking asshole."

But the thing about Armand/Daniel everyone seems to be forgetting is that even in the source material, they first had to tear each other down to their bare bones before they could see each other well enough to love one another -- REALLY love one another. Because Armand is a russian nesting doll of lies, masks, and emotional walls, and with Daniel, idek if I can explain it properly, but I think its some combination of Armand needing to break him a bit to get him on his level of broken freakitude, and also Armand not being able to relate to the 20th Century Human period and needing to drill down into Daniel's core, straight down into the monkey brain that every homo sapien has shared for eons, before he can find something he understands.

If we were to ever get a proper Devil's Minion storyline on this show (and we will), they've laid the perfect groundwork by having Daniel EVISCERATE Armand right to his face, slicing his Gorgon's knot of lies and schemes in half and leaving it lay on that table. And Armand's face! HIS FACE! He can't believe it! Seventy-seven years with Louis who never could unravel all the strings, or simply didn't care to even bother. And THIS guy who seemingly hates him found Armand fascinating enough to try. AND succeed!

And why wouldn't he? Daniel may not have remembered until they were nearing the end of the interview, but Armand SHOWED Daniel what was beneath the mask years ago, the very first time they met. The jealous, insecure, desperate creature that was hiding under there, that IS Armand to Daniel.

I'm getting off track here, but what I'm trying to say is that as much as Armand turning Daniel in the books is SUCH a flawless scene, ultimately, if you believe in the infinite and eternal nature of their love story, it doesn't matter whether Armand turned Daniel before they fell for each other, afterward, during a break-up or at the climax of their most romantic streak. Like Lestat said, "We'll be together ten thousand nights, a hundred thousand. What we're doing is hard."

So maybe Armand turned Daniel shortly after Daniel stripped him bare in front of Louis, and Louis was so disgusted by what he saw, he threw him into a stone wall. Daniel could have run, too. For some reason, he didnt. Armand could have killed him in an instant, sitting at that table or after Louis left. He didn't. Armand made a conscious decision to tie himself to this man who just exposed him for ETERNITY. Because as horrific an experience as it was, as devastating and life-altering, he was seen.

"It is difficult to explain how his words disarmed me, how efficiently succinct and impenetrable his argument was. All my conceptions, even my guilt and my wish to die, seemed utterly unimportant, and I completely forgot myself and the barbaric scene that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, I was seen."

Louis said those words about Lestat as he described being made a vampire, when he kissed Lestat on the altar.

That feeling, of someone cutting to the core of you and telling you exactly what you are as no one else has ever been able to understand, made Louis accept the Dark Gift from Lestat.

And it made Armand give that Gift to Daniel.

[dystopyx-blog]

Hi hi hun! Hope I’m not bugging you but I’d love to hear your opinion on the yandere Twst boys and who is willing to share darling/me/Yuu. I see so much sentiment about yanderes never sharing/teaming up but I just don’t get it. Some characters have such tight friendships, or fill what the other lacks, that I see them working together so well! Like sure you could divide them by dorm, kinda obvious, but then there are other less thought of team ups that could be fun. I’ve seen on here what’s dubbed as the number 2 squad (Leona, Jamil, and Vil) and I think that could be a relatively healthy (maybe a little competitive) team up. Others that come to mind, Jack and Vil, music club, and the four house husbands (Trey, Ruggie, Jamil, and Jade). Like teaming up means darling always has SOMEONE watching them. One may be better at comforting/calming darling, while another is more sly and can manipulate them better. There’s just so many fun combos you could play with! I’d love to hear what you think!

Remember to take care of yourself. Drink water, eat a snack, and stretch! Have a great day! 😊

Ty for the lovely ask, darl’ 🥺

Okay! Let's start with the team ups within each house!

HEARTSLABYUL

Ace and Deuce -- obviously. They're your first friends in the school (aside from Grim, but he doesn't count), the only people they hang out with aside from you is each other. They bicker, but they also understand that it's more advantageous for them to work together. Ace still teases Deuce and I think both of them still Daydream of getting you to themselves, but you've taught them the magic of teamwork and, unfortunately, you taught them well.

Riddle and Trey -- Childhood friends. Like with what we know of their story, I feel that Trey in particular would be willing to share with Riddle. And they're pretty well balanced as a yandere team. With them there is no cut "good cop/bad cop." Yes, Riddle is strict, but he's also so very baby, yknow? With his raging mommy issues, I imagine he's the type who would love to be coddled by his darling. Trey is that older brother type, so of course he knows when and how to put his foot down, but he's also so so so sweet and gentle. Riddle is definitely more likely to dole out punishments, though.

Cater -- he doesn't need to teamup to have the power of numbers on his side.

All 5 -- Riddle doesn't just watch over you, but also the others lol. He creates a schedule and rules for the members of this yandere team to follow so they can work as a well oiled machine to care for and share you. Ace is the most likely to see you even when its not his scheduled time. Deuce is a suck up who always tries to earn your favor, VERY easy to manipulate and get favors from. Trey is very sweet, but incredibly difficult to manipulate. Cater is a schemer who would probably plan an escape with you to keep you to himself. And as I already said, Riddle is the one who keeps everyone in check.

SAVANNACLAW

Ruggie and Leona -- again, a fairly obvious one. Ruggie already works under Leona for table scraps, of course he'll work with him for you. Leona acts top dog in the relationship, and gets first dibs with you, but what that really means is that any time you're not with Leona, Ruggie is making up for lost time. Like in the Heartslabyul team up, Riddle makes sure to schedule breaks/alone time for you. You don't get that here, you are always with one of them. Your "alone time" is when Leona sleeps.

All 3 -- basically just Leona and Ruggie throwing Jack a bone (heheh). In this one you can technically get some sort of alone time, cuz if you talk it over with Jack, he'd be willing to give up some of his time with you to make sure you can rest up.

OCTAVINELLE

Octotrio -- or as I prefer, the seafood polycule. I already did a whole separate post just talking about them lol, but you got twins and childhood besties and they're also business partners, like these boys know how to work together and share.

SCARABIA

HA fuckin unlikely. Even if Jamil does have the patience to share a darling with Kalim, I just -- like I'd feel too bad to write it. Like let him have this one thing, I am not going to make Jamil share his darling with Kalim, ESPECIALLY because darling would probably cozy up to Kalim more because delusional sunshine yanderes are the easiest to manipulate.

POMEFIORE

Rook and Vil -- these two barely even need to verbally communicate, when it comes to their darling they are on the same wavelength, which makes them a formidable team up. Like they got systems in place that just happen naturally, no need to discuss. For example, if you run away, Rook hunts you, Vil punishes you. They just work.

ALL 3 -- Vil lets Epel join in so long as he behaves. Epel would be the easiest to manipulate, but Vil keeps the both of you in check. Despite Epel's negative feelings towards Vil, Vil and Rook can turn Epel on you just as you turn Epel on them. Epel isn't completely stupid, if he finds out you're taking advantage of him, it will not be pretty or cute.

IGNIHYDE

Ortho would definitely platonically help out. You make his big brother so happy, and you make the perfect older sister for him!!

DIASOMNIA

Silver and Sebek -- calm n loud. Basically their relationship with Malleus but transferred into yanderes + darling.

A part of me can see Lilia teaming up with Silver but I don't like thinking about it for too long

All 4 -- The situation in the Diasomnia group is basically understood as you are with Malleus, but you are allowed to also see the other 3. Like the other three are side pieces. Malleus is sharing with his boys. You gotta share with your boys.

MIX N MATCH

The Freshies -- Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek -- freshies gotta look out for each other, right? And that's what they're doing. Looking out for you.

The Discord Mods -- Azul and Idia. If Idia were to team up with any one person, I think it'd be Azul. Like in Azul's lab wear vignette, Azul was the only one Idia felt comfortable enough to ask for help from. I can imagine them scheming together in their club teehee.

The Overblotters -- they all realized they share one thing in common... no, not overblot, you! They all share you! They swear that you are their cure, the only thing to keep them stable. So you kinda have to stay with them, for safety reasons.

The House Wardens -- it's the overblotters but switch out Jamil with Kalim. And it makes all the difference, having the sunshine boy involved, istg. The housewardens deserve something nice, right? That something being you ofc.

The vice house wardens -- including Ruggie. A lot of them are very tired and just want quiet darling time, and the ones that aren't tired make darling feel tired enough to be quiet for quiet darling time.

Leona and Rook -- Leona did not consent to this, but there's not much he can do. Especially since Rook is happy not only to do most of the physical labor involved in caring for a darling, but also to stand by as Leona gets Darling time. It's weird and uncomfortable for everyone involved.

The light music club -- they spend most of their club time talking about you tbh. Also please don't listen to closely to any lyrics of the songs they write...

Basketball boys -- imagine going to their practice to support Ace. Ace brags to them about how close he is with you. But then now when Floyd isn't in the mood to ball, he'll chat it up with you. One day Floyd just asks "you what if we took them." And then they do.

These are just the basics, but I'd be happy to go into more detail on a group/pairing if asked to!

[meglosthegreat]

So... everyone pretty much hated Veilguard's "secret ending", right? Beyond speculation about the Executors themselves, I haven't exactly seen anyone excited about its presence, and for that matter, haven't seen many people talking about it at all.

The closest way I can describe my initial reaction to it was an immediate, visceral disgust. I think I remember uttering at my screen something along the lines of "Fuck off! What the fuck?! Are you fucking kidding me???" and ever since then I've wanted to put into words exactly why it made me feel that way.

For the 88% of you (according to Steam achievement statistics) who didn't see this ending due to not picking up three very specific codex entries by complete chance, you can watch it here. In short, the clip depicts a mysterious voice who sounds suspiciously like Matt Mercer talking about how a group of shadowy figures has "balanced, guided, and whispered" over scenes of villains from the previous DA games, implying that these shadowy figures have been at least partially responsible for all of the bad things happening in Thedas, towards some unknown nefarious purpose.

Now obviously, this sucks. This is hamfisted, unimaginative writing that simultaneously retcons and re-contextualizes elements from DA's past that absolutely no one thought needed further explanation, as well as being exactly the kind of irritating sequel-bait tactics that people have largely grown tired of these days. But why does it suck so much? Why did I feel such palpable distaste for this scene?

For starters, it simply reeks of entitlement, and a lack of respect towards Bioware's own past games. Remember those villains you loved and thought were compelling? Well, their own personal, very complex and thought-out motivations were really just the Executors whispering in their ears the whole time! Loghain making a difficult and calculated decision at great personal cost for a greater good he truly believed in? Executors. Bartrand succumbing to his own greed to the point that he betrays his only family and devolves into a tragic husk of himself? Executors. Corypheus and the Magisters breaching the Golden fucking City??? Executors.

Ignore the infuriating lore ramifications for a second and consider: what do all of these things have in common? They're all instances of complex character motivation; of people in this world doing things for their own reasons that ended up having massive ramifications. In short, they're not events that can be explained easily in terms of black and white morality. And from what we've seen in Veilguard, the current dev team has a serious inability to work with any story elements that do not have absolute moral clarity: the Venatori and the Antaam are Evil. The Shadow Dragons and the Crows are Good. Any nuance; any potential questioning of this duality is quickly explained away or snuffed out.

And that's exactly what they're trying to do, retroactively, with the rest of the series. Having a hard time deciding whether Loghain was right or wrong? Well, worry not, the Executors are Evil and if they were guiding him the whole time, then what he did must have been Evil too! Grappling with how the plot of DA2 was about the inevitable tragedy of a series of oppressive systems reaching their natural breaking point? Well, wrestle no further, for if the Executors were involved then Meredith and Bartrand must've been Evil, no question! What the Magisters did was definitely Not Great, and what do you know, there were consequences for it that they and the whole world very much did pay for. But if the Executors were behind it all, then it was someone else's fault, some Evil power reaching in and making them do what they did, rather than their actions being the result of a horrific series of power abuses done by actual people.

Which leads me to where my initial disgust comes in. Because in a world which has always had core themes of power and its many abuses, actions that have consequences, and the idea that there are no true higher beings; every horrible thing that has ever been done was done by people, the simple act of putting shadowy figures behind key moments in history completely debases and neuters all of those themes. The whole point of Dragon Age as a series up until this point has been to illustrate the complex relationships people and societies have with power, choice, and morality. To remove that link - to place an external force between those characters and their choices - is to rob the series of any meaning whatsoever.

There is a staggering difference between the messaging of a game that tells you ordinary people are to blame for society's wrongs and a game that tells you a secret shadowy faction of evil forces are to blame for them. The former invites thought about one's own society; it has the potential to be uncomfortable and difficult to reconcile with. The latter assures its audience of the fantasy it is couched in. It gives the audience a boogeyman to be angry at, and in so doing deflects any potential for introspection. And that, I think, is the real point of the scene in question.

In a time where our media has become inundated with bland, unchallenging liberal politics, the idea of "cozy" stories have become a growing trend. These types of stories often sport a broad rejection of complicated themes, painful emotions, and nuance, preferring instead to provide a "safe" place to escape to. And with that "safe" space comes a directive not to engage in critical thinking about a work, and not to draw any message from that work and apply it to the real world. Yet this is exactly where Bioware seems to be heading nowadays.

Veilguard has already been faced with heavy criticism about playing things overly safe; removing anything that might be potentially uncomfortable for the player. And the end credits scene is no different. Don't think about things too hard, it whispers to you seductively, in Matt Mercer's soothingly Evil voice. See? The Bad Guys were behind everything, all along.

[windixie]

feels like apple cider | frat boy! gojo x reader

🎞️ pairing . academic rivals college au. frat boy! gojo x reader

ch . 1/ 🌱

summary . ever since you could remember, gojo was always significantly better than you in anything and everything. given that you have gone throughout grade school to high school, and to eventually college with him. competing through test scores and letter grades, you find yourself hating the white haired man even more. after your friend convinces you to let loose for once and enjoy a frat party, you wind up in the bed of none other than gojo. the bigger problem? you can't remember anything before that but he does. and he's not letting you go anytime soon.

warnings ⓘ 18+, fem! reader, enemies to lovers, academic rivals, smut, fluff, angst, gojo is really mean, sort of slow burn?

taglist . @aldebrana @hyori2 @hanakotateyama

masterlist . link

playlist .

wc : 1.3 k

authors note ! welcome all to the premiere of stuck by you (sby) i really hope you all enjoy this story as much as i will enjoy creating it. have fun reading .

if anyone were to ask you, ‘what is your favorite season ?’ you’d be quick to respond with ‘fall’. you loved everything about it. the pretty vibrant colors the leaves would turn into as the temperature changed , rewatching your favorite shows especially gilmore girls which helped you romanticize school life and get you into that rory gilmore mindset. but most importantly , you adored having apple cider. it’s around this time where the town center in your small and cozy hometown would host its annual fair. there would always be this sweet family that would have their stand next to the other food vendors, selling the best apple cider you could ever have.

that’s what you were looking forward for today. the apple cider that just made your mouth water. only thing holding you back was your human geography class. it seemed as if the universe was just testing your patience, with time moving unbelievably slow.

“you’re in deep thought, baby” you heard a familiar voice behind you. although, you wish it weren’t that familiar. you turned to look up at him — satoru gojo. the tall and muscular man grinned taking his glasses off and placing them on the table before sitting down next to you.

you grimaced at the endearment similarly to when apple cider goes bad making it more sour, like vinegar. “thought i told you not to call me that” satoru chuckled at the way your nose scrunched up. “right. anyways, you prepared for tomorrow? heard the test was thirty questions. not a lot but that means it’s going to be difficult. im sure I won’t have any problems with it” he said, his usual cocky demeanor in full swing.

“wow im sure.” you said, barely able to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at the boy. you looked back down at your study guide highlighting key points to put in your cheat sheet that was allowed by your professor. an 8 x 11 sheet of paper, limited to one side, and handwritten as always. satoru didn’t need one. he never did. he was so full of himself that he was certain that he’d pass any test without the assistance of a cheat sheet.

satoru was always a popular man. effortlessly stealing anyone’s attention with just his looks. you can’t deny that he is attractive, but you would never admit it. not to mention his unshakable personality that makes everyone around him want to be his friend, be him, or be with him. so you weren’t surprised at the quiet whispers. you glanced over taking notice of the group of girls ogling at the boy sitting next to you staring at you in jealousy and judgement that you were the one to sit next to him. satoru noticed as well giving them a smile that made them immediately fangirl.

but as satoru turned to look at you once more, you were already packing your things. ready to head out to the town center to get ahold of the, oh so delicious, apple cider. you were honestly an addict. you even dreamt about it once, tasting the most precious thing to you in the world just to get awoken by your friend who so happened to also be your roommate loudly moaning after bringing in a new boy from whatever party she had just come back from. you cried that night.

“you going somewhere?” satoru asked not looking at you but at the tits of one of the girls that had just walked by. he’d definitely hit that tonight at his party.

“town center” you replied in that sweet voice you had. oh wait no. no sorry not with satoru. you replied with a dull voice as you zipped up your messenger bag and slung it across your body. “alright, I’ll see you at the party tonight? oh that’s right.. you never come out of that cave hm? sorry I forgot !” he teased as you left the classroom.

the fresh breeze of air welcomed you as you stepped outside. the fair wasn’t far from your college. it was actually very close just a ten minute walk that you were taking right now. maybe after grabbing your apple cider, you could head to your dorm and finish season three of gilmore girls as well. you were excited at the thought that you couldn’t help but smile.

you made it safely to the town center watching as people enjoy the rides and spent time with loved ones. your beloved stand wasn’t put up yet so you decided to pass the time by browsing the shops. your eyes scanned around the clothing displayed on the window and they eventually landed onto a mini skirt. the pretty piano design on it immediately caught your eye. you needed that.

you walked in, greeted by a worker before making your way deeper into the store in search of that skirt. as you were searching, your eyes caught a certain brunette . “mari” you called out. the figure turned around to reveal your friend — and your horny roommate. “hey girl! not a surprise to see you here.. let me guess. apple cider?” you chuckled still looking around for that damn skirt. “obviously, you know how much I’ve been craving it? human geography is the lamest class it made so hungry” you whined receiving a giggle from mari.

there it was. the last piano skirt and it was in your size. thank god. you knew the universe couldn’t hate you that much. “ooh that’s cute, you gonna wear it to the party later?” she asked you as she also searched through the racks. you scoffed. “as if I’d ever step foot in one of gojo’s parties.” there was no way through heaven and earth, that you would willingly ever walk into a sweaty fraternity party where people were making out in the couch, pool, or in the rooms. big ew.

“cmon haven’t you known satoru since you were kids?” she asked tilting her head. “doesn’t mean I like him.” you mumbled making your way to the check out. “y/n seriously, you gotta go out more. this is a great opportunity. look ill even promise you that I’ll stick with you the whole time we’re there” you? go to satoru gojo’s party? the same boy you’ve been competing since diapers over toys, clothes, grades, relationships — which you lost because to this day you’ve never had a boyfriend — grades, friendships, and did I mention grades?

you thanked the lady as she handed your skirt in a bag after placing the receipt in there as well. “I dunno mari..” you said which only received a sigh from her. “just go this once. if you don’t like it, you won’t have to come again, promise” you thought about it. you were a sophomore in college and you haven’t been to a party till now, might as well enjoy your time here. but gilmore girls…

“fine. I’ll go.” you gave in. “yes ! okay this is so exciting. im gonna go now to start getting ready, you should to” she squealed as she held onto your arm. “i will, after getting my apple cider” you reminded her . “okay okay hurry ! ill see you back at the dorms !”

you watched her walk away before looking down at your watch. 6:30. shit wait what time does the stand get put up? you rushed to where the food was glancing up at the posters before you saw the familiar apple sign. you made your way over before getting your heart absolutely broken. there was none left.

the lady that was in charge took notice of you. “oh sweetheart you’re late, I just sold my last one.” seriously? you’ve been looking forward to this all day ! you can’t blame the woman though, she’s just doing her job. as you let out a sigh you glanced to see him. satoru. with the same girl who gave you a dirty look earlier. apple ciders in both their hands.

gojo smirked seeing the wheels turn in your head. “sorry, looks like I got the last one” the universe really does hate you.

a/n : I hope you all enjoyed it ahh this is my first time writing such a long fic :,p I hope to be able to write ch 2 soon !

[mytherapyisreading14]

hii i was wondering if you would write a fluff with spencer and maybe he and his girlfriend have a pregnancy scare so they end up talking about kids and the future, all for the pregnancy to be non existant and her period to come the next day (this might be slightlyyyy inspired by my life right now 😭) but he still reassures her everything they talked about was true and it ends with them talking about trying for a kid...

if you cant write this thats fine its just an idea that popped into my head!! love your work 🩷🩷

False Alarm

Summary: You thought you were pregnant because you were overdue. That has led to you talking to Spencer about your future and a family.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Fluff, some Angst

Warnings: Nausea, Vomiting, Pregnancy Scare

Word Count: 2,7k

Author’s Note: Hey, I really enjoyed writing this one! I hope you like it <3

You’re laying on Spencer's chest, snuggled up in a blanket that keeps both of you warm. It’s already dark outside and the TV is on, you decided to rewatch Star Trek again. It's a cozy evening, the moment feels calm, and you are happy about the normality of everyday life after a stressful week at work.

Hotch has given everyone a couple of days off to relax properly after a particularly difficult case. You are looking forward to spend them at home with Spencer and not in some hotel while you have to worry about another serial killer. You really love your job, but sometimes it still sucks.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere, you still feel this restlessness within you. You've had this strange feeling in your stomach all day long, and even though it subsides every now and then, it doesn't completely leave you. You wonder if you have a problem with some food you ate today but you can't remember eating something your stomach doesn’t tolerate well.

The ache becomes stronger again and your face contorts. Spencer immediately notices that something is wrong with you. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at you worriedly. You're about to tell him it's just a stomach ache, but suddenly you realize you're really feeling sick. Your stomach tightens and you feel the room spinning around you.

Before you can say anything, you jump up, throw the blanket aside and run to the bathroom. You lean over the toilet just in time. It all happens so quickly, the nausea overwhelms you and you throw up. The waves of nausea wash over you again and again, you really hate that feeling. But you know afterwards there is at least some sort of relief.

“What’s going on?” you hear Spencer’s voice behind you, a little panicked. He comes over to you and looks at you worriedly. “Shhh, stay calm. Take a deep breath in and out, okay?” His hand gently touches your back as he kneels next to you and pushes your hair out of your face. You feel his closeness, how he accompanies you with a tender calm and you can relax a little more. You are not alone, he is with you.

You hold on to the toilet with one hand and lean on to him with the other. He carefully takes you in his arms and holds you tight. “I’m here with you, things will get better soon,“ he says as he strokes your hair gently. The nausea slowly fades, but you are exhausted and sink into his arms. “I’m sorry,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” he says. “Don’t worry. Tonight we're just going to take care of you, okay? No stress, no obligations. I am here." You close your eyes, feel the warmth of his embrace and let the world around you disappear for a moment. Everything feels just a little bit better in his arms. It always does.

Spencer watches you worriedly as you sink into his arms. “Would you like me to get you something? Water? Tea? Medication?” You open your mouth to answer him, but then you stop. A strange feeling spreads through you, a sudden, cold feeling that you just can't place. Spencer looks at you, raising an eyebrow, immediately realizing something is off.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gentle but concerned. Thoughts race through your head. And then, all of a sudden, you realize something - something that maybe you didn't even really want to acknowledge until now. Your heart beats faster, your throat feels dry. “Spence, I… I think I’m overdue,” you stammer, your voice sounding uncertain, almost like a whisper.

You suddenly feel very pale and panic sets in. You don't want to say it, but it's there, like a heavy weight in the air. Spencer is quiet, but he immediately understands what you mean. “The last time you had your period was when we flew to New York, right?” He looks at you as he does the math. "That means you're... four days overdue."

The sentence hits you like a blow, and suddenly the whole weight of the possibility that you didn't want to admit to yourself for so long comes over you. What if it's true? What if that means you're really pregnant? Your thoughts are racing and you feel the panic rising within you. How does he feel about this?

Spencer notices your change in behaviour. Without hesitation, he takes your hands in his, pulling you a little closer to him. “Hey, hey, take it easy please,” he says, his voice soothing, almost gentle. “Take a deep breath first, okay? We don’t know anything for sure yet.” You close your eyes and try to organize your thoughts, but the uncertainty remains.

Spencer squeezes your hands tighter, as if to tell you that you’re not alone. “It could be anything, we just have to wait and see. Don't panic, we'll buy a pregnancy test tomorrow, okay? And then we’ll know more.” He speaks with a calmness that you barely feel in yourself at the moment, but being this close to him helps. He’s making sure you know that he's just going to hold you in this moment, in this situation, no matter what.

But even if his words are reassuring, there remains this uncertainty that hangs over your thoughts like a shadow. “I know you’re thinking a lot right now,” he continues. “But I’m here, we’re doing this together.” He looks at you like he wants to make sure you hear him, that you trust him. You nod weakly, trying to let go of the panic and focus on his calm breathing.

“It’s also normal for your period to come later sometimes. Stress can affect your hormonal balance and disrupt your cycle. When the body is under pressure, this can cause periods to start later because the body has different priorities in stressful situations. Traveling, changing time zones or even changes in sleep patterns can also disrupt the body's natural rhythm and lead to a delay in your period. You've had a lot of both in the last few weeks, so that could be the reason,“ he adds.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Spencer's words are like a little support that brings you back down to earth. You are so grateful to have him by your side. There are no answers yet, just uncertainty and a lot of questions, but you are not alone in this moment. And that feels at least a little bit better.

You feel how your thoughts continue to revolve around the topic. You imagine thousands of possible scenarios. “And what if I’m really pregnant?” you ask hesitantly, letting the thought hang in the silence between you. “What if we have a baby now, Spence?” The question feels heavy, almost too big for this moment.

You look at him, realizing that in this moment you not only feel the uncertainty about your body, but also the burden of responsibility that suddenly lies on both of you. The two of you haven't really talked about what things will look like for you in the future and whether you want to have kids.

“No matter what, I'll stay with you. I want you to know that,“ he says and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling your closer against him. “The first thing we're going to do tomorrow is get a pregnancy test. If it’s positive, you can still think about what you want to do. Don’t worry about it too much now. We don't know anything for sure yet.”

“Thank you, Spence,” you finally whisper, your voice a little calmer even as the thoughts continue to swirl inside you. Suddenly there’s a moment of silence between you. You slowly turn to him and look up into his eyes. “Do you want to have kids?” The question comes quietly, almost a little unsure, as if you were looking for the answer within yourself as much as you were looking for his.

Spencer smiles at you, and it's a warm, genuine smile. “Yes, I want to have kids,” he says, and you can see that he’s really speaking from his heart. “I want us to have kids, I want us to start our own family.” A smile spreads across your face as he continues. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew I was in love with you. I imagined what it would be like to build a life with you - a house, getting married, having kids, growing old together. I want everything with you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes as he continues. “And if you are pregnant, please remember, I will always stay by your side, no matter what.” It's like the bond between you two is tightening even more and suddenly it breaks out of you. The tears stream down your cheeks and you throw yourself into his arms, pressing against him as if you never want to let go again.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I want that too, Spencer.” He holds you close, his hand rubbing soothingly over your back, and you safer in his arms. He places a gentle kiss on your head as he continues to stroke your hair. “Let’s go get you to bed now,” he says. “Tomorrow we’ll get you a pregnancy test and then you can think about what happens next. Do you want me to make you some tea?”

You nod weakly and whisper, “Yes, please.” You expect him to just go into the kitchen but to your surprise he picks you up. “Spence, you don’t have to do this,” you say, laughing as he gently carries you in his arms. You wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his soft, brown curls. “But I want to,” he says with a grin as he goes to your bedroom and lays you down gently on the bed.

Then he goes into the kitchen to make your tea. When he returns, he sits down on the bed with a cup in his hand, and you accept it gratefully. “Thank you,” you say, your eyes meeting his, and you feel incredibly comfortable just being here with him. You snuggle up to him, the warmth of his body making you feel safe and secure. In that moment, it feels like you can do anything as long as you're together.

The rest may be uncertain tonight, but know that you are not alone. “Goodnight,” Spencer says quietly and leans down to kiss your forehead. You close your eyes, the calming feeling of his closeness envelops you, and for a moment you let everything go. Tomorrow will be a new day, but tonight you can just rest in his arms, safe in the knowledge that no matter what, everything will be okay.

-

When you slowly open your eyes the next morning, you can still feel the warmth of Spencer lying next to you. His arm is around you and your legs are intertwined. A smile spreads across your face. It's such a simple moment, but it's full of love and security. You feel incredibly lucky to have him by your side, especially after all the uncertainty of last night.

But as you lie in his arms, you still feel the tightening in your stomach. It’s the same pain that accompanied you all day yesterday. But then you notice something else, something that confuses you. A light, damp feeling in your underwear. You furrow your eyebrows and carefully pull away from Spencer's embrace so you don’t wake him up.

You slowly walk to the bathroom to go to the toilet and when you look, your eyes widen. You've got your period this night. You breathe out deeply and feel a hint of disappointment run through your body. You sit back and stare at the floor. In the last few hours, after the conversation with Spencer and all the thoughts, you felt so safe. And now it's just... not like that.

You got your period, but not the life you imagined since last night. A quiet, almost imperceptible sigh escapes you. It‘s is simply over before it even really begins. Suddenly the thought of having a baby doesn't seem so strange anymore. There is a slight pain in your chest, you're not pregnant. Maybe you wanted it, more than you thought.

When you come back into the bedroom, Spencer is just sitting up sleepily, his eyes still half closed. “Are you okay?” he asks in a soft, concerned voice. You snuggle back to him. “Yes. No. I… I don’t know,” you say quietly, “I got my period, Spence. I’m not pregnant,” you say.

“Then it was because of all the stress in the last few weeks that you got it later this time…,” he says and pauses for a moment. “Are you… are you feeling okay? You sound kind of sad,” he slowly adds and runs his fingers over your hand. He knows how much you like this gesture, you told him it feels somehow soothing to you.

You stay silent for a moment. "I... it's just like that earlier, when I noticed that I wasn't pregnant after all... it felt kind of strange. Like something was missing. I prepared for it after last night and now that I know that we're not expecting a baby, it… it makes me kind of sad,” you tell him and take his hand to intertwine your fingers.

“Do you feel ready for this? For a baby?” His voice is calm, but you see him trying to grasp your uncertainty. He's searching for an answer, just like you. It feels like you're both in uncharted territory. You hesitate for a moment, the room becomes quieter, and then you speak slowly, almost carefully.

“Yes, I do. Yesterday I was so overwhelmed because it was so unexpected and we never really talked about it before. But now that I know I'm not pregnant it makes me sad. I've imagined what it would be like to have baby with you, Spence. And I realized that I really want that,” you say and shift closer to him.

Spencer smiles at you. "I would also like to have a baby with you. I had to think about it last night too. I would be ready to finally start my own family, with you by my side. That would be my biggest dream come true. If you want we can start trying,” he says as he holds in his arms.

The warmth of his body like a little refuge in this moment and you close your eyes. “Yes Spence, I would like that,” you say and give him a kiss before you continue. “I’m really the luckiest woman in the world. I can’t believe you’re my mine,” you whisper, almost in awe as you wrap his arm even tighter around you. “You’re just perfect.”

Spencer laughs. “I’m far from perfect,” he says with a smile, but you can tell he takes it with humor. You look at him, your eyes widening as you give him a soft kiss on the cheek and reply. "You're perfect in my eyes." He looks at you, a smile spreading across his face as he pulls you closer.

“This means everything to me. I love you so much." You give him a kiss. "I love you too." It's a moment full of warmth and you feel your heart become even more attached to him. In this moment, it's just the two of you and the world around you feels like a perfect little bubble, calm and full of love.

[lunaroracleofvenus]

What manifestation technique is best designed for you? PAC

Left to Right

Pile one

This is my pile of witches and warlocks. The best way you manifest is through spells, and rituals. You have magic in your blooddddd hunnyy.  You might be highly mythical, intuitive, and just divine. Use this divine nature in a creative way, and all you desire shall manifest… this could be through glamour magic, love spells, abundance spells..

Pile two

These are my divine feminines. This pile best manifests by setting intentions and going with the flow. Working with the feminine via moon rituals, water element or just that shakti power will draw all you desire to you… there is a huge theme of co-creation and just feminine energy. This pile might need to release what doesn’t work emotionally and truly tap into their feminine wisdom when it comes to manifesting… what works for you, might not work for everyone else and that is okay… you might be alone in this power…

Pile three

This pile best manifest by mastering the earth element. This pile might be able to use scripting to manifest or just using the natural element to manifest. Could use some earthy/elemental witchcraft….

 But what i am hearing most is having self compassion and really devoting yourself to what you are trying to manifest = fruition of the desire. This might look like manifesting one thing at a time, and while you are manifesting it, you sleep, breath, and dream it. You continuously tap into the desire, and deeply ground yourself into the feeling consistently. Though remember balance, and leave a bit of space for life and your mental health. The whole saying, let it go and detachment for manifesting, DOES NOT apply to you. Your attachment to it really creates it…. This might be my obsessive manifestors… do you guys have any strong pluto in your charts btw???

Pile four

So there’s a lot of overdoing in this pile, and anxiety. There might be a lot of freezing and overthinking when it comes to choosing and sticking to what you are attempting to create. Rest assured it’s okay to feel how you feel at this moment. Rest assured that things will and can get better. Spirit is saying just remember to be ambitious, flexible but also grounded. Listen to where your intuition is guiding you. Manifesting isn’t supposed to add MORE problems to life. Like life can be difficult enough… stop taking it so seriously tbh. Like yes you can create change, but you create change in little and big practical ways everyday. From the moment you choose to brush your teeth, to the moment you decide on studying. Didn’t get much of a method for this pile! You might need to give manifesting a break and come back to it…

Pile five 

This pile might manifest best through chaos, and destruction. You seem to create great things from dark places. Where people see destruction, you see a moment to create. You might be really good at seeing people’s potential, and helping them shift into that.. How you can effectively use this power for yourself to manifest, I think is by doing shadow work, emotionally releasing rituals, and working with darker goddesses/gods. 

For example, let’s say you wanted to manifest a home, maybe journal about blockages you might have.. Do you feel undeserving? Do you feel its unattainable? Or maybe there is a childhood wound? Once you understand your depth, choose a ritual to release it, and then maybe channel those same feelings into getting what u want or set your desired intentions after you have released what doesn’t serve you?

Also,  I don’t know how to properly describe but channeling anger, fear and etc might work really well for you… being put through trials and tribulations might also work well for you… hopefully y’all get what im trying to put down <3

This pile gives me the vibe of the type of people that go through the most horrible break up and 6 months later, they look good asf and they make 5x times what they used to make…

Pile six

this is a very Venusian pile. This pile manifests best through instruments, dance, and music. Also having a communion with god as well… speaking to god, letting god/goddess know what you want.. Keeping that relationship with spirit will really help you..

Also, gratitude practices might really help you manifest your desired things. and, general affirmations might really work for you. Everything is as it should be. Everything is working out. I feel great.. those type of affirmations!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay wait! We need more fae farm Sans please! that was too good! What would it look like when Sans's secret is revealed?

HFKDSJ okay, here's some more.

I really don't think he'd be too worried about it, when you discover his otherworldly nature. Because neither would you. Everyone already knows he's kind of strange, rumours of him not being 'normal' are abound. At that point, you would've already spent many moons getting to know him, being vulnerable without even realising - and you'd be living in a world where fae aren't uncommon at all. He's already proven himself a trustworthy friend. Why would you be scared of him?

... Especially since you have no reason to believe he's anything other than normal fae.

What you (a human) might forget is that the fair folk are not a homogeneous group. Some fae even other fae fear. He's one such entity.

It's difficult to tell if he's more powerful than Dream or Nightmare, considering he spends all his time... well, farming. It's also difficult to compare them because while all three are very ancient, they trace back to very different lineages. Dream and Nightmare are fae of butterflies, flowers, mushrooms, trees, seasons. Farmer is of ferns - of bogs, of gingkos, pine and moss.

Yall remember my Forest God AU? He's like if a Forest God got its act together, and just decided to settle down in a humanoid form. He's lived long enough to know what really matters... things like soft socks, a place to call home, the eyes and lips of a human you love.

He calls you "chickadee". It's his favourite bird.

People from the nearby village will giddily ask if you and Farmer are 'courting'. The delightful but mysterious bachelor finally has someone he likes? Everyone's rooting for him!

You have a very important role, on his farm. Very very important. You're his preserves tester. How is he supposed to know his jams and chutneys are any good, without someone of refined palate to assist him?

He has a really wonderful singing voice.

Old habits die hard; he still likes to trade. But the trades are silly, and often just an excuse for him to play. You want to hear him sing again? Better 'trade' by agreeing to cuddle up by the fire with him. You want another song, because the last sounded so ancient and beautiful and unlike anything you've ever heard? Try his spiced rice pudding, then he'll think about it.

His favourite food is roasted chestnuts.

His farm rests on the boundary between the fae and human worlds. You can enter from either side - and if you're not careful, leave on the wrong side. Farmer always walks you the right way, but if someone he doesn't like decides to make their leave, he might not be so attentive to where they're going.

You can stay at his farm without turning into fae. Alternatively, if you enter his property from the fae side, your transformation into fae is paused.

Wouldn't be surprised if he can reverse an incomplete transformation.

He talks fondly, but in the past tense, about a brother.