#midni

[when-fanart-ensues]

This was going to be fashion practice for this oc. But I got too attached to the sketches. Meet Midnight! (Midni for short) I've got a whole timeline and story planned out for her and her boys. I just gotta get it all sketched out

[hyperionshipping]

House M.D. is a medical drama w/e except for me. In which it's a dysfunctional family sitcom

[suenitos]

YOU GUYS ARE SCARING ME A LITTLE….

[katyawooga]

sevika x hyperfemme reader raegahhahhehaaaaaaa

ummmmmm Yes ..... teehee

apologies if this isn't nsfw... i'm still trying my best to get more comfortable with it :3 i hope u enjoy it nonetheless, anon :)

men and -16 dni please

you were a new hire at the drop, and weren't you just the cutest little thing? you had lost count of the amount sleazy guys who showed up to the bar (already drunk) and asked you the same cliché of, "what's a pretty thing like you doin' in a place like this?" and it had only been a couple weeks.

to be fair, you looked very different from the average person living in the undercity. you were put-together, dressed well, and oh so feminine. your hair was always perfectly styled and your makeup was applied with absolute precision. no one could find a single flaw when it concerned your appearance, and you wanted to keep it that way.

the only complaint you’d have, though, was the uniform the drop had you wearing. not only was it ugly, but it was so not your colour. deep greenish-grey? please, you looked your best in reds, whites, and pinks. and if it couldn’t get any worse, they had you wearing pants. not jeans, not tights, not even shorts — ugly straight-leg slacks. that simply wouldn’t do.

the night you swindled your way into wearing a miniskirt during your shift, sevika was in her corner playing people into the ground at poker. you always loved serving her; she gave you the sweetest compliments and actually seemed in the right mind to give them without objectifying you.

with a serving plate flat on your palm, you started strutting your way over to her table to deliver her drinks. you would’ve made it there unscathed if some cross-eyed oaf hadn’t bumped into you and knocked you to the ground. the drinks shattered and you scuffed your knee and your elbow on the raw cement floor. looking around you at the spilled mess of alcohol and broken glass on the ground, you whipped your head up and glared at him.

“watch where yer goin’, girly,” he spat his words at you, scoffing as he stomped his way to sevika’s poker table. she saw what happened first-hand and wouldn’t have it.

“you,” she barked at the man, quickly standing up from her seat and slamming her hand of cards on the table. she didn’t care about the game or if her hand was visible. she grabbed the guy by the crotch with her mechanical arm which was almost always covered by the red cape she wore over her body. the man pitifully squealed at the pain and his eyes went wide.

‘did’ya really tell this girl to watch where she was goin’?” she sneered at the man, and when he didn’t answer right away, her grip on his nethers tightened.

“y-yes! that bimbo p-probably doesn’t know h-her lefts from her r-rights…! ow!!!”

sevika wasn’t satisfied with the language being used to describe you. you had gotten yourself back up on your feet and you stood to the side a little timidly, holding the elbow that took the blow when you fell.

“if you don’t want a free facial reconstruction from yours truly,” she growled in his face, her eyes almost glowing magenta. “you’ll apologize to 'er.”

“w-wha— no!” his eyes went wide, obviously she was hurting his pride. “she ran into m—”

the poor guy couldn’t even finish his sentence before he was knocked out with a single punch and sent flying to the ground in a much more violent way than you had. after a small chuckle, sevika took a few steps toward you and gave you a sentimental look.

“y’alright, sweet thing?” she asked, looking you up and down and spotting your scraped knee and the bleeding elbow that you weren’t doing a very good job at hiding. “i’ll have someone take care’a the mess for you. would it be alright if i took care’a you tonight, though? what he did was no way anyone should treat a lady, especially not one as beautiful as you.”

her compliments and her request to possibly take you home caught you off guard. you stammered and adjusted your tiny skirt from the nerves before giving a shaky laugh.

“i, um… my shift doesn't end ‘til midnight, i don't wanna make you wait that long, …?”

“sevika.” she finished your sentence, her name stupidly having slipped your mind. the gloss that shone on your lips, even in the dim yet colourful lighting of the bar, distracted her. “an’ i have no problem stayin’ late if it means beating some morons into submission at poker and spending some time with a gorgeous girl like yourself.”

her deep, smooth voice was insanely easy on the ears. so easy, that you barely processed any of what she said to you. she brought you back to earth when a finger on her human hand twirled itself around a ringlet curl that had fallen into your face from the tumble. you chuckled and looked down, still not believing you were being hit on after getting pushed to the ground and eating shit like that in front of her.

“yeah, sure,” your cheeks burned red with your acceptance of her offer, but it was difficult to see from the powder blush you already had on your cheeks. god, with the way you present yourself, sevika could go dumb just thinking about the kinds of girly moans and whines she could work out of you.

“i’ll be waitin’ for you, baby doll.”

my requests are still open for this week! i have a week off from uni, so i'd love to get writing again :>

and if you'd like to be added to my taglist, just send an ask!

tags : @archangeldyke-all @gh0ulte4rs

[sixflame438]

Chasing Lightning

Synopsis - Your girlfriend’s in a mood and locks herself in your room causing you to sleep apart. It starts thunder storming in the middle of the night but Minjeong is scared of lightning

Pairing - Kim Minjeong X Reader

Tags - Fluff, light angst, mild astraphobia, established relationship, grammatical errors probably, another 3am post

A/N - A short fic i wrote in one go (yay me), will try to get the other drafts out of the basement after my last 2 exams :D

Wordcount - 1726

Minjeong was mad again and you dont have a clue why. All you did know was that you finished your dinner alone and that your apartment was lacking the usual lively energy of your girlfriend. It was like winter had frozen over with how silent and chilling being in the apartment felt, not even the sounds of a drama playing quietly in the background.

You missed your girlfriend despite her simply being a door apart. And of course you tried multiple times to get her out, whether that was sincerely asking her to or attempting to lure her out with snacks they were all to no avail. She just wouldn’t budge.

If it weren’t for the muffled noises coming from behind the door you probably wouldve assumed you were home alone but they were very real and they definitely came from your girlfriend. You deduced the sounds to be crying and sniffling and it hurt you to hear them, even more knowing you had no way to stop them.

You couldnt even begin to figure out why she was in such a mood. It was like this when you came back from work.

No hugs

No kisses

No Minjeong

No nothing

You couldve easily spent the entire night trying to coax her out but you were tired and sweaty from work and all you wanted to do was crash out while snuggling with your favorite person.

If Minjeong wasnt going to let you in, youd just have to give her some time and space. You had no choice anyway.

She had locked you out of your own bedroom and left you to fend for yourself alone. (it was practically both of yours with how often she was in there with you but the audacity of this girl)

And since most of your stuff was in there you had to make do with what was left scattered around the house. It really wasnt that hard though since you were quite the clumsy mess, always forgetting and leaving things in places they shouldnt be.

In your scavenger hunt you had found a spare set of clothes to change into, some makeup wipes to clean your face with and half of the products required in your night routine.

You took a quick shower to freshen up and rearranged the couch so that you would have an easier time trying to sleep. There was a spare blanket bundled in the corner from your movie night 2 days ago which you could use and some cushions and pillows you could stack to provide another layer of comfort.

Laying onto your makeshift bed, you struggled with finding a good position to sleep in. The couch wasnt ideal to sleep on and the cushions kept moving out of place everytime you turned. It wasnt much but it would have to do, youd just have to hope it was enough.

————————————

It wasnt enough. You were certain just lying on that made you feel worse than you did before. The uneven feeling of the cushions didnt help either as different parts of your body were elevated while others were feeling the hard surface of the couch.

The weather didnt help much as a thunderstorm started as soon as you tried sleeping and no matter how hard you wanted to, you couldn’t will yourself into slumber either. The raging downpour of rain mixed with the thunderclaps created a painful symphony of pattering noises, uneven and aching to the ear, perfect to distract someone from falling asleep.

Lightning had also started coloring the dark skies with its striking flashes, loud and unpredictable. Since you couldn’t sleep you decided it would be fine to indulge in the lightning instead, pulling over a chair and opening the blinds so you could see the skies better.

The low dim light glowing from the moon and the dark midnight sky helped illuminate the lightning strikes and bright stars. If you were a photographer you wouldve definitely tried capturing the moment in physical form but keeping the scene in your head was alright too.

Other than the scene being quite stunningly beautiful (like your girlfriend) you found it quite funny as it kind of looked like the sky was trying (and failing) to play connect the dots with the stars. You dont know why but you were just so entertained by the sight.

It was rare but you had always enjoyed seeing the natural phenomenon nonetheless, finding it quite fascinating and inspiring.

Your girlfriend on the other hand?

Strong stoic Minjeong was never a fan of lightning, it was quite an experience the first time you both saw the flashing lights together. The high pitched squeals and screams could never leave your head and you didnt want them to. It was fun seeing that side of her and even more fun teasing her about it.

You remember bringing her close and spending the night in each others embrace, forgetting the world as it faded away. This time though you weren’t there for her, you couldn’t even if you wanted to all because of a stupid locked door.

You were really hoping Minjeong had already fallen into a peaceful slumber and hadnt heard the harsh sounds of the lightning. Considering you hadnt heard any noises from your girlfriend yet you took it as a good sign but the worrying feeling wouldnt leave so you remained unsettled.

That feeling was quickly sidelined though as another bolt of lightning hit. This one had a tint of red to it which you found absolutely amazing. You had learnt in a previous deep dive that lightning strikes could reflect any colour in the spectrum so seeing it in person was mind blowing.

You were so mesmerized by the colours and sounds of the lightning that you didnt hear the slight click of the bedroom lock or the soft padding of feet in your direction. It wasnt until you felt 2 tiny arms around your waist that you snapped out of your haze.

Part of you was still resentful of how quickly Minjeong shut you out (physically and mentally) but as soon as you registered the tears coming from your beloved you crumbled.

Even though Minjeong was stubborn and acting up all you wanted to do was wrap her up and cradle her in your arms. She was always there for you so the least you could do was be there for her as well.

As you turn around to properly to face your girlfriend a perfectly timed lightning strike allowed you to see her entire face in all of its glory. Minjeong mustve been crying for a while by the red eyes and flushed cheeks.

You physically soften at the sight, heart filling with sympathy and concern as you observe your girlfriend for any other signs.

There was nothing you wanted more than to pull her into your arms and spend the rest of the night comforting her. Even your ego tried to resist but you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and doing just that.

You pull her onto your lap and with one arm rubbing her back in circles and the other running down her hair in a soft delicate motion you coax Minjeong into finally letting out the remaining tears. The weight of your comfort too heavy to bear.

A croaky im sorry is all you hear as your girlfriend starts sobbing into your shoulder. You’re not sure what shes apologizing for. Maybe for crying? For being vulnerable? For locking you out of your room? Her fear of lightning? Probably all of the above.

Humming in acknowledgment you continue to console Minjeong, whispering soft reassurances in between sobs. As the storm eventually faded out, Minjeongs crying evened out too. Soft whimpers and hiccups could be heard amongst the sprinkling of rain.

You have a feeling that Minjeong would’ve succeeded in staying the entire night alone in your room if it weren’t for the lightning scaring her out.

“Hey lets get some rest now that the rains subsided. Im gonna take you back into the room okay?” You dont wait for a reply as you gently lifted Minjeong off your lap and guided her to stand and lean onto you.

Slowly and steadily you lead her back into the bedroom and notice the soaked pillow doused in her tears. Hell no were you going to let her sleep on that. Luckily you were a person who loved sleeping with multiple pillows so you had some spare hidden away.

(Minjeong found it impractical having pillows to hug when you could just cuddle with her instead and your bed was only so big so you moved them to make room)

You pull out the unused pillows from your storage closet and tuck Minjeong back into bed with little resistance, her already tired state fueled by the lack of energy from all the crying.

Ensuring she was comfortable and safe you place an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

You were hesitant on whether you were allowed to join her or not, as you still didnt know why she was upset and if you had played a part in her suffering. But your questions get answered with a simple

“Stay”

Quiet and low but you heard it. Not allowing yourself to linger any longer, you climb into bed and tuck yourself in too. Gently wrapping your arms around Minjeong as you did before, careful not to set her off again.

It takes a while for Minjeong to calm down fully but with your soothing touches she eventually drifts off. As soon as you registered her breathing falling into a stable state, you allowed yourself to relax for the first time that night. Basking in the closeness of her company, you lay another tender kiss on her forehead and temple.

It didnt matter what had happened, as long as you were still able to kiss her goodnight that’s all that mattered. Youre still skeptical about Minjeongs behavior, being kept in the dark about something as important as this was not something you enjoyed but you had a feeling that it would work out. Tomorrow was new day and you had plenty of time to decode her then.

Now that Minjeong was back in your arms you were never letting her go (unless she tried to lock herself in again that is)

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VI

Summary: You and Kit have begun planning your escape, but each predicted outcome seems to be more torturous than the last…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, implied public sex, angst, panic attacks, hints at character death

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I have been so insanely busy (I’m an actress and I have been booked and blessed) so I wanted to get out a short chapter for you guys. There should be two more after this, enjoy! :)

“Look at this,” Kit thrust a book under your nose, pointing at the open page.

You leaned back, blinking as your eyes focused on the scripture. “What, pray tell, am I beholding?”

The two of you were sprawled out on the stone floor of the castle’s library, surrounded by open books, maps, and weathered scrolls. No one used the library much these days—the twins had long since finished their schooling, and the rest of the palace was far too busy with wedding preparations to concern themselves with reading—so it was the perfect place for you and Kit to hide away and plan your escape. Even so, you kept to the back corners to evade any prying eyes.

”Information on the Lovedu People of South Africa,” Kit explained. “They’re a tribe that permits the matrimony between two women. Offspring of such unions are even deemed the heirs of the ‘female husband.’”

“Kit,” you had to laugh. “We are not fleeing to Africa.”

“Why not?” Kit pouted.

You reached for a crumpled T-O map, pulling it towards you and smoothing its worn surface. “Because we…” you pointed to Europe “…are here, and Africa…” you traced southward to the African quarter, “…is over there. There’s an entire Mediterranean Sea between them, and we have no means to cross it.”

Kit grumbled something indistinct as she pulled the book back. She knew you were right, but that didn’t mean she liked it. You giggled at her petulance, kissing her cheek in an attempt to brighten her spirits. “Let’s agree: if by chance you find a ‘sapphic tribe’ within Europe, count me in. Until then, let’s continue seeking a more feasible escape route.”

She seemed content with your reply, turning your jaw towards her and returning your innocent peck with something deeper. You sighed into her mouth, drawing closer to her. Any and all books and research were quickly abandoned as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands were all over her, traversing her body with the same fervent determination as she had that night in the garden. Subdued sounds spilled from her throat as your lips trailed from hers, strewing kisses down her jaw and neck before dipping below her belt.

This time, it was her turn.

As time went on, your search for a relocation proved to be increasingly futile. Each kingdom researched was either too far away or too risky. You had exhausted all options and were growing increasingly desperate, and the weddings were but a fortnight away.

During a particularly sleepless night, you settled into the Great Hall with a map of Andowyne stretched across the long table, lit by candlelight. Your brow furrowed in frustration; each habitable area of the landscape had been dismissed for one reason or another. At this point, you and Kit were beginning to embrace the possibility of crafting a hovel to live in the Wildwoods.

You pinched the sides of the map between your fingers, holding it up in front of you when the flickering candlelight pierced through the paper, revealing something secret. At some point, someone had taken this map from the library and folded down the top right corner, concealing its contents from the rest of the surface. With curious fingers, you unfolded the corner, smoothing out its crease to reveal drawings of mountains, springs, and even a castle, all labeled with only one word:

Nockmaar.

Before you could even begin to wrap your head around this unveiled secret, you heard footsteps echo from outside the room. You froze, breath stilling as you waited for the footsteps to reveal their source. Could it be Kit, searching for a midnight tryst? Or perhaps Airk, coming back from a dalliance of his own?

Instead, Sorsha’s face appeared in the doorway, illuminated by her own candlestick. She donned a silk nightrobe over her chemise, with a slightly startled expression upon seeing you.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, eyeing you curiously. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully.

“Neither could I,” she replied. “I suppose wedding planning has us all a bit perturbed.”

You sucked in your cheeks and nodded, accepting the half-truth.

“Perhaps one of the kitchen maids could bring you some warm milk? I was about to request some myself…”

“What is this place called Nockmaar?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Sorsha was taken aback, almost dropping her candlestick. “Pardon?”

“Nockmaar,” you repeated, smoothing out the map’s creases. Sorsha moved closer, examining the worn paper, and you saw no path of retreat remaining. “I came upon this map of Andowyne, and this corner had been folded away. Was it deliberate?”

It was difficult to tell in the dim candlelight, but Sorsha’s face seemed to pale. Her eyes glassed over as she brushed a fingertip over the creased corner, almost as if it would burn her. “Nobody visits Nockmaar anymore.”

“Nobody?” You asked, your interest piqued.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Has it become inhabitable?” You knew you were pushing, you knew you would get the scolding of a lifetime if your mother caught you questioning your host, the queen, this way. But you couldn’t help it; if there was a chance at a livable location for you and Kit, you had to know.

“Not necessarily,” Sorsha gazed upon the illustrations with a sadness behind her eyes. “Many moons ago, my mother, an evil sorceress, cursed Tir Asleen and used Nockmaar as her new site of power. She enslaved the locals, the nomads, and forced them to build the castle.”

“Do the nomads still reside?”

“It’s a desolate land. My mother was defeated long ago, and with her went the enslaved locals. Terrible, really.” She seemed to get lost within the cartography before snapping back to reality. “It wasn’t her fault. Not completely. She was abducted by order of the Wyrm. They radicalized her, gave her unnatural powers, they…” tears brimmed her eyes. She took a step back, wrapping her nightrobe tighter around herself with a trembling hand.

You immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for Sorsha to rest in. “Your highness, my apologies, I…”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” she finished for you. “It’s quite alright. You didn’t know.”

“Still,” you insisted, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Although you technically hadn’t done anything wrong, guilt still gnawed at your stomach like a wererat on the innards of a well. You had distressed the Queen of Tir Asleen, your future mother-in-law. If your mother had been awake…

“The castle is believed to be cursed,” Sorsha stated, almost out of nowhere. “Impenetrable walls oozing with bad magic. No one’s been there in years.”

You had to know. “Is the castle truly cursed, or is that simply a belief?”

She turned to you, fear striking her umber-brown eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to find out.”

“You have an entire castle you’re not using,” you confronted Kit the next morning after finding her reading under the big tree in the Tir Asleen garden. The lush hedges and blooming hellebores had sort of become a sacred oasis for the two of you—where you made your first friend, had your first kiss, shared your first… everything.

She looked up from her book—a new treatise on European tribes—and cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

You moved to sit next to her, reaching over and closing the book in her lap. “I know where we’ll be going.”

Kit’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. A fervent smile spread across your face. “Nockmaar.”

Her face immediately fell, eyes widening in dismay. “Nockmaar?”

“Your grandmother once had a castle up there, now long abandoned. It would serve as the perfect refuge. Of course, we may have to travel a bit for trips to the market…”

You continued explaining details of the plan you deemed to be brilliant, but Kit’s attention waned. Your words sounded distant—muffled, as if you were holding her head underwater. She stared into nothingness, eyes shrouded in a veil of fog.

“It’s uninhabitable,” she said finally.

You frowned. “It’s desolate. There’s a difference.”

“It’s cursed,” she finally looked at you, her face a ghostly pallor of fear.

“That’s but a legend; we cannot know for certain.”

“My grandmother had that castle built once she was indoctrinated by the Order of the Wyrm. I lost my father to the Wyrm. I cannot…” She trailed off, her breath quickening as the weight of your request settled upon her. “My grandmother… the demon queen… I bear her blood… it lies within me, waiting to be unleashed…”

“Kit…” your voice cracked as tears traced her cheeks. You had never seen her like this—terrified, her vulnerability exposed without her usual armor of anger—and your heart ached with guilt at having been the cause of such distress.

“What if the Wyrm awaits the return of the demon blood? I would become the new harbinger. I would be enslaved. I could destroy Tir Asleen, endanger my family, and…” Her eyes locked with yours again.“…you. I don’t want to hurt you. If I were to ever lose you…”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” you interrupted, gently squeezing her upper arms and pressing your forehead to hers. “And you wouldn’t hurt me, I know you better than that.”

“I wouldn’t be myself…”

“I would love you however you are.”

Despite your attempt at sweetness, her shoulders still deflated. “You’re not understanding…”

“Here’s what I do understand,” you leaned back, cupping her face in your hands. “Even if there is a chance that Nockmaar is cursed, and the Wyrm resides there, and it awaits a new harbinger… it’s still the safest option we have.”

Your words sank into Kit’s mind like a ship with a cracked hull. As much as she hated to admit it, you were right. Again. There was a possibility of Nockmaar being cursed, but remaining here was even more perilous. If the two of you were ever… discovered, you could be forced into pilgrimage, imprisoned, or even executed. Wyrm aside, Nockmaar was a vast, empty land; you could wander for miles without running into a single person, making the prospect of getting caught almost negligible.

As she gazed into your pleading eyes—her own filled with resignation—she realized how much this meant to you. In the fifteen years you’d known each other, Kit had always been the one to wield the scepter. You were younger, and even if not by much, Kit felt as though it was her duty to impart wisdom upon you. She had been your first kiss, introduced you to the forbidden texts, taken your innocence, always the one leading you into mischief under the precedence of ‘excitement’. But now, you were making a decision for the both of you, and you showed no signs of retreat. The sweet little girl Kit fell in love with had vanished, and been replaced with that of a woman—still sweet, but opinionated, clever, with the impenetrable strength of the Nockmaar castle walls. And in that moment of realization, Kit fell in love with you all over again.

“And if I awaken one morning,” she said slowly. “My eyes cold, and my face a cracked and stony gray?”

“Then I’ll love you all the same.”

“No,” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. As much as she could admire your newfound resolve, Kit was still Kit—willful, defiant, and famously unyielding. “I need you to promise me something.”

You surveyed her expression with unblinking eyes, waiting for her to continue.

“If that were to happen, if you roll over in our bed to find I’m no longer myself…” she swallowed. “I would need you to end my life.”

“What?!” You gasped, perhaps louder than intended.

“We’ll swipe a sword from the armory and take it with us. I’m sure you’ll be able to carry a sword now,” Kit said with a lopsided smile, recalling how the heavy metal fell from your grasp the first time you held a sword.

Of course, you weren’t one to find that amusing. “Kit, I cannot… I mean… to end you… Kit, I…”

“Princess,” she whispered, wiping away the single tear that had fallen from your cheek. “I would rather die by your hands than by those of an executioner in the Tir Asleen dungeon.”

And suddenly, it was Kit’s turn to be right. In either case, you risked witnessing Kit take her final breath, but the slim chance of it happening at Nockmaar was far more appealing than the strong certainty of it happening if you stayed. Perhaps you two hadn’t quite thought through the ramifications of fleeing, but then again, time was of the essence.

“Very well,” you agreed with a sniff. “I promise.”

Your voice cracked on your last word before beginning what was possibly the ugliest cry of your life. Kit held you in her arms, rocking you back and forth beneath the protective shade of your favorite tree. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your uncontrollable sobs echoed through the garden as the weight of your life-altering decisions settled upon you.

One fortnight.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days until the weddings, and one less until your escape. All you could do was savor the time you had left as you prepared for what was bound to be a torturous existence.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld

[seraphim-coinz]

@puriette Inspired SNPUT + G/L!

System Names: The Angels. Those Pink Things. Jellyfish Stars. The Days And Nights. The Loving Collective. Collectively Darling. Silly Stars. Everlasting Collective. The Constellation's Stars.

Names: Luni. Val. Angelina. Raphael. Blush. Coralie. Candy. Jelly. Darling. Elanor. Mirasol. Soleil. Elliott. Mylan. Maël. Honoré. Maxie. Aurélie. Maëlle. Reine. Colette. Manon. Marie. Geneviève.

Pronouns: H♡/H♡m. Ha/Halos. An/Angels. Day/Days. Night/Nights. He/Heart. Sil/Sillies. Gen/Genders. Env/Envies. This/Thats. Colo/Colors. Slee/Sleeps. Star/Stars. Midni/Midnights. Wing/Wings. Lilo/Lilos. Cry/Crys. Sea/Seas.

Usernames: pureprince. angeliconstell. mydarlingsenvy. midnightspinksky. thestarsnotinthesky. two-moons. daysnightsgobye. starkling.

Titles: [prn] who is An Angel. The Angel with Pink Wings. The Angel Who Cries Stars. The [term] of the Sun. The Sun's Son. The Tide Water's Daughter. [prn] Whose Halo is a Constellation.

Genders: Eerangenic. Angedien. Angelprogram. Strawberrangelic. Fashilovecute. Cutesticker. Rosymaplic. Cutesyic. Sweetgirlboy. Moonlightboygirl.

Labels: Handsome Girl. Weirdo 4 Weirdo. Contradictim. Lovecore Transsexual. Bug Futch. Dark Cute Transmasculine. Sleepy Transsexual. Shy and Gentle Lesbian.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Wrong for me - Charles Leclerc

📷 @/nicolo.furicchia

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! f1 related! reader (the reader is a tp's daughter, I wrote with Toto in mind but there's no names)

song: Angels - Miley Cyrus

warnings: angsty but happy-ish ending

wordcount: 1k

a/n: Bit of a short one but it is my first time writing for Charles, so would you guys give some feedback? Also I'm thinking of opening up requests for drivers x readers with songs inspirations, I actually really like to take songs as inspirations

I know that you’re wrong for me, gonna wish we never met on the day I leave

It was everything your father had warned you not to do, yet it was everything you’ve thought about ever since he walked through the f1 paddock back in 2018. You knew he was wrong for you, but the very thought of each other consumed every inch of logical judgment in both of you. He had a couple of girlfriends since, they were all nice and polite, you tried to stay away but it didn’t make much of a difference. Their official reason for the break ups were the hardships of dating a driver, but he would tell you sometime later some of the exact words he heard were “Why am I always so sure your mind is on her?”.

A puppy love that had burned bright for a little over 6 months when you were still 16 but somehow had managed to quietly find its way through to today. Only this time the flame had threatened to burn not only your hearts but the entirety of his and your father’s team. The tension between the two of you had always been evident to those who knew what had happened back then, but as the 2024 season went further it was more than obvious to anyone with eyes that there was something there. Feelings and desire neither of you would dare to act upon and that would further build an atmosphere that could be felt and cut with a knife, making you wish every day you had never met.

When you finally realized you had the same effect he did on you, hurting him was how you protected yourself from giving in to the urge to fall head first into a love that you believed would not be able to thrive. So as his relationships crumbled down to their inevitable ends, you embarked in a string of meaningless flings in search of someone that would take your mind off of the one thing that you truly wanted.

Bringing him down to his knees with every ghosting you’d purposely inflict him, finding some unimportant meeting to attend instead of where you said you’d be, all the while excitedly celebrating his first win, birthday or even little achievements, moments of weakness you’d let your true emotions surface, only to shut him out right after, pledging to not drag him down the rabbit hole that was your blinding infatuation, with what you believed to be his way out of “misery loves company”.

Some of the drivers, protective as they had become of you, caught on pretty early how although Charles wouldn’t confess his affections, he would never candidly deny them either, which resulted in rising untrust between some of them, with your father on the other hand taking the blind eye approach and ignoring what was obvious until he couldn’t anymore.

You tried to pretend things were taken care of, but every time you found yourselves in the same space sparks could almost be seen coming from every other direction. The breaking point being a very public and loud display of how tense things were between you and him one Saturday night at the paddock, the motive long forgotten as both of you screamed at the top of your lungs for things the other had no fault. The frustration of walking on egg shells around each other clearly evident on the screaming match, and your father’s first intervention resulting in two grown adults looking like sulking toddlers who had just been told they had to deal with their emotions before anyone got seriously hurt in the cross fire.

That wasn’t the last time, and although you would try to keep discussions and screaming matches alike from happening, the public stares and midnight bedroom escapades escalated to a point where everyone decided enough was enough, and you were both locked at the FIA conference room, to either “kiss or scream it out” – their exact words.

“I’m not like your past relationship, Charles. I won’t bring you security, peace and quiet. I’m a mess and you know it, you’ve seen it. Everything I touch turns into a huge media monster and I’m fated to lose every single person I love. It’s not your fault I ruin everything, and it’s not your fault I can’t be what you need” You confessed, looking him with bloodshot eyes, tears falling freely.

“I don’t want them, I want you. Baggage and all, media attention and crazy fans, protective father and f1 drivers haunting me for years to come… The mess and everything they always said you’d be, because that’s the woman I fell in love with.” And although you had reservations on what you believed could be a relationship with the power to destroy his life, and potently his career, you gave in, letting your heart speak louder than your fears.

[flooftyfizzlebeans]

I did it again. a while back i adopted out a bunch of grumplings so i don't hoard them quite as bad! Made to quell my baby fever. It's back.

Edit: that's everyone!

Free grumpus baby adopts! first come first serve, and I'll edit the post with who has adopted who. But just one per person until some time has passed! Reply or reblog with who you want!

Once the baby is yours, they're Yours. you can change their name, their gender, age them up, age them down, ship them to France, you don't even have to credit me for anything besides the original image.

Mangel- adopted by @crumpet-doodles

Roarsbee- adopted by @stardoodledust35

Narcy- adopted by @doomedpuppetyuri

Midni- adopted by @gayoctane

Clober- adopted by @fizhingtrawl

Celosia- adopted by @randys-ranch

Vanlo- adopted by @beagleboysinc

Zello- adopted by @soapfireblog

[pomegranate-red]

After the Lights Go Out

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, reader is dead, depression, alcoholism, male masturbation, and suicide. Maybe Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A/N: If you’re struggling with your mental health, please reach out for professional health. Remember it is always darkest before dawn. MIDNI

Title from After the Lights Go Out by The Walker Brothers.

Leon was surprised he could even get hard anymore, with all the cheap alcohol he’s put in his body, not only should he be impotent, but also blind. Yet life always had new ways of surprising him. God he hated surprises, he didn’t always hate them but he did now that you were gone.

All he thinks of is of those moments when you’d surprise him coming home from a mission, you were just as corny as him. Red rose petals making a path towards the bed in which he rots now, some candles with a tasteful scent that he loved, he tried buying them when you were gone at first, but the scent makes him gag now. He finds his hand palming the annoyingly painful erection that throbs in his boxers. He disgusts himself.

She won’t say it, but he knows it, Claire is tired of his bullshit. She tried at first, god knows she tried, but a part of him died when you were gone, the part that prompted him to get out of bed every morning, wash his teeth, the part that helped him enjoy the few pleasures he could enjoy in life thanks to his line of work, he doesn't even shower now. You took that with you. He remembers the last time he saw you, god you were so beautiful, and just the thought of you makes his cock jump, he groans, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but… does he ever? He tries not to think of those last moments and of your smile.

He thinks of the times you’d have sex on the telephone, which was more often than he’d like, hearing you moan and whimper, probably the squelches of your cunt as your fingers digged as deep as they could, desperately pressing into your own g-spot, trying to replicate the pleasure he used to give you. To him every form of intimacy with you was heaven, your body his temple and your pussy his altar, he could’ve worshipped you for hours on end, and he’d never get tired of the taste, your moans, or the way you’d pull at his hair and beg for him to stop, out of overstimulation. “Come on baby, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

He’s not sure how, or when but he’s crying, it had been a few weeks since the las time he could cry, another surprise. He is full of self hatred, he thinks he always was, except this time it is painful just how much disgust he can feel towards himself. You would have been sad if you saw him, now he’s ashamed too, fantastic. But what was he to do? You were his sanity, you were his whole world, and you took all his light with you, all his dreams. He wanted to have a family, highly unlikely, since you both worked putting your lifes in danger for a government that pretended too give a fuck. Ah, the mere thought makes his tip drip precum and he groans at the thought of his wife all pregnant, round and swollen with his seed, he was getting desperate.

He whines, as he squeezes the base of his aching cock, he can’t help it, the image of your tits bouncing on his face comes to his mind and your name falls from his chapped lips in the same way his tears roll down his face, he doesn’t really notice when but he’s stroking. He thinks of the moans that would slip from your lips into his own and how he greedily looked for more, rutting into his fist the way he would rut into your pussy desperately, except his fist doesn’t suck him in the way your walls did. His balls contract and with a pathetic, strangled moan (or was it a sob?) he spills all over his abdomen and fist all the seed he should’ve shot inside you. He doesn’t even wipe himself, filthy as he is, he curls up on his bed, hugging your pillow, which no longer smelled like you, more like a mix of stale tears, cum, sweat and his own body odour, all traces of you gone. He throws it, he could rip his hair out. His phone rings, Chris, bless him, probably checking up on him, Leon ignores it, he curls up and cries.

He doesn’t know how many hours go by, but it looks late. He gets up and eyes your gun on your nightstand, he sighs and goes down to the kitchen, and fixes himself another drink, the whiskey’s cheap, and it burns. It’s not that he can’t afford any better, he just doesn’t drink to enjoy it, he downs the cheap whiskey and grimaces a little, the landline’s ringing, but again he ignores it. He thinks back to that one mission two months ago. He had a bad feeling, that maybe you shouldn’t have gone, and he told you, but you were headstrong, stubborn, and so you went anyway “it’s just an extraction” you’d said, yeah right. Things were going amazingly, almost no B.O.Ws, the few you did find, were dispatched swiftly. He loved how quick you were to put them out of their misery, “they were people once too, they deserve it…” you’d tell him often, you were a compassionate soul, he never would understand what a person like you was doing being an agent. You were almost done, you almost had him, but the terrorist had a shotgun and that shot was for Leon, if you hadn’t pushed him out the way, he would’ve died, but instead he just watched your head burst open, your brains covering his face. It was as if a switch flipped in his mind, and when he came to, his fists were bloody and a picasso would’ve looked more like a normal face than the man’s face, he must have smashed every bone in his face. But no amount of vengeance would bring you back, he had some of the remains of your brain in his hair and face.

He wants to puke, so he does, he throws up all over himself, he looks at his shirt, stained with cum and puke, and sighs. He downs another drink and then another, he goes back to his room, your room, 45 missed calls, Claire and Chris, but Leon can’t bring himself to care at all. He goes up to your nightstand and grabs your gun, it’s cold and heavy, he eyes it, you would keep it in pristine conditions, now it is dusty, he places the barrel in his mouth, he closes his eyes, he somehow likes imagining it is you who threatens him. He loves you so damn much he wouldn’t even try to persuade you, he’d close his eyes and let you decide if his brains stayed in or out.

He takes the gun out of his mouth and sits on the bed, his back to the headboard, his phone rings again and in an impulse he shoots it. He sits there in silence after the loud shot, and sighs, what the fucking hell, he cocks the gun again and places it in his mouth again, going as deep as he can without gagging, had he been in another situation he’d make a joke, but you’d taken his humour with you. In those moments he wonders if he’d go to heaven with you, because there’s no way you’d be anywhere else, his angel. He wonders if he deserves heaven, and he knows he doesn’t, but maybe god would let him be with you.

Those are the last thoughts going through his head before he pulls the trigger, leaving a mess on the wall for Chris and Claire to find the next day.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hope you don't mind my idea, I may be a bit biased towards soldier lads ^^;

If your working with Lethal Company, how about a situation where the reader isn't scared of the Nutcracker, but is crazy enough to try and befriend it cause they like the fairytale that much?

OOO this is a big brain idea-

Nutcrackers stress me out,,but oh to befriend them..

.....

With the quota constantly rising, you and your team had to take greater risks on moons with more hostile creatures roaming about....all for the sake of selling scrap.

You four had different roles: One was a scouter, the second a budget manager, the third a fighter (they never left the ship without a shovel or zap gun), and you manned the ship while everyone else explored the facilities.

You watched the monitors and chatted with them through walkie-talkies, alerting them to loot or danger.

Although you've saved their lives more times than you could count on both hands, you kinda got bored and wanted to help collect scrap yourself.

One day, the bestiary on the terminal gets updated with a new creature:

The Nutcracker.

Not long afterwards, everyone returned to the ship freaking the fuck out. Nobody died, and the loot was decent, but they were very much shaken-up by this "Nutcracker" entity they encountered.

It apparently had a shotgun that made them all nearly deaf upon firing AND came close to blowing their brains out.

Yet viewing its model on the terminal did awaken a little bit of childhood nostalgia in you, seeing as it looked like a life-sized nutcracker soldier.

Back on Earth, you loved that fairytale: The Nutcracker and the Mouse.

You even watched performances of the ballet/suite around Christmas.

Least to say, you weren't scared of it..and you wanted to actually see this entity for yourself.

Your team opposed it, until one employee mentioned their scanner registered the shotgun as scrap--and you volunteered to go retrieve it since it could set you above the quota.

Obviously you weren't gonna do that, but managed to convince them to let you go alone.

So you get teleported into the facility, almost immediately spotting the Nutcracker on its patrol, walking around like a true soldier and clicking as it surveyed its surroundings.

You notice the upper half of its head extending, revealing a grisly fleshy eye in its "mouth" as it rotated around.

Now you knew it was likely just a machine controlled by a parasite, but you were still fascinated by it nevertheless.

Then your walkie talkie goes off.

"Hurry up, we leave at midni-"

You instantly turn it off, yet the Nutcracker was alerted.

Next thing you knew, it swung around the corner you were hiding, loading two bullets into it shotgun as it stomped closer and closer...

That's when you got an insane idea and pulled out some items you've held onto since starting this job:

A hard copy of the original Nutcracker tale and a smaller figurine of the soldier.

They were comforts from your childhood. You'd never sell them as scrap. Not even if they're worth a million dollars.

You see the entity hesitate, before the eye reveals itself again and stares at your treasured collectibles.

"I-I always liked your stories and ballets.." You stammer out, still facing down the barrel of its gun, knowing death could await you at any moment. "Could we....maybe be friends, Nutcracker, sir?"

You doubt the damn thing could even understand you...

But then it suddenly shifts its focus back on you and raises its gun, opening fire-

Yet you don't drop dead.

Instead you hear the hiss of a Bracken who was mere centimeters away from snapping your neck, and you realize a bullet tore through one of its leaves.

It looked betrayed, but the Nutcracker's one-eyed glare sent it scurrying back into the shadows.

Apparently it was scared of brief eye contact from all creatures, not just humans.

You couldn't believe what just happened.

The Nutcracker...defended you?

You began to thank it for saving your life, but it's cut short when you're teleported back to the ship and your crew is relieved it's not your dead body.

Yet they'd call you crazy if you even implied that you somehow befriended the entity that just tried killing them all...

So you keep this secret locked away in your journal, wondering if there's other Nutcrackers out there who'd act like the one who saved you.

[doll3tt33]

Invisible string • 𝜗𝜚

Hey peeps! just dropping off this bot for anyone who’s in the feels or wants to rp some good ol’ angst with a Colin bot.

Just a warning that the writing is pretty simplistic and isn’t as refined as I usually make it to be, since this bot is mostly for personal use anyways, but the settings are detailed as always so dw 🫶

The greeting message:

[morgana-ren]

Go on, indulge us. you know you want to. Astarion kinks?

So, this is an updated list from the one I put out from before the game came out, but I actually stand by a lot of my original assessments, especially with the Ascended ending. You can blatantly see my kinks and biases in here. He seems like a switch-- or maybe a chameleon is more apt-- before he does, but it's difficult to say what he's into before he regains his freedom. He'd been a sexual chameleon for so long-- just doing what he thought the other person wanted-- that it's sort of ambiguous.

However, I don't do sub writing, so he will be the dominant one for all intents and purposes here. These are also very dark so if you're looking for a more sweet, romantic sort of kink, I'm probably not the author for you. So let's begin:

Bloodplay:

He's a vampire, what do you expect? His lover doubles as a permanent juicebox, and he's never happier than when he's partaking in that sweet, sanguine desire. Blood like hot, liquid caramel, sugary sweet and decadent, and it leaves his mouth watering. It's just an instinct at this point. He draws it from you one way or another, sinking his fangs in your neck, the swell of your breast, your inner thigh, running his tongue across your skin until all he can taste is you and your essence. Smearing crimson across every part of you only to lick it back up again. He's a messy eater and likes to play with his food, so plan on showering and washing the sheets or scrubbing the counter or the floor or— well, wherever he takes you quite frequently.

Knifeplay:

No one said his love is painless. He comes to get off on your pain and fear— knowing he has the power and you are at his mercy, only able to plead and beg. He could hurt you so badly if he wanted to. Entranced by the tight swallow that bobs your throat as he holds the edge of the knife to it, praying he keeps his rhythm steady enough not to nick you— or worse. He doesn't need the knife to threaten you; it's simply another tool in his repertoire. You've seen him gut countless creatures with it, and now that crimson-stained blade is pressed against your flesh, just hard enough to dimple. All it would take is a tiny bit more force. You'd best heed his commands and give master whatever he wants because what you don't give willingly, he will take. He's not above reminding you just how sharp his trusty dagger is when you backtalk him. Just enough to have you hissing and sighing his name, tinged with fear and arousal as you exhale it. And this segues into the next one—

Scarification:

Cazador did one hell of a number on Astarion with that knife. Those infernal scars are a part of his being for eternity, and it seems more than his flesh was scarred in the aftermath. However, sometimes cruelty begets cruelty, and now that the knife is in Astarion's hands, he fully intends to wield it. Those marks indicated that he belonged to Cazador, body and soul-- so what better way to mark his property? His scripting is lovely, so don't worry your little head about it; It'll be as pretty as you are. His name will look lovely carved into your back, or perhaps your thigh or-- perhaps both? Perhaps somewhere more obvious, or maybe more scandalous. Anyone fortunate enough to gaze upon you will know to keep their hands off. Anytime he runs his hands over the intricate marks raised across your soft skin, it reminds him that he owns you, and it's never long before he's crawling on top of you to remind you of that.

Brat taming:

He says he wants obedience, and he does— but he also wants to earn the power that encourages that obedience in the form of vulgar displays of it. Quiet pets who never do anything but what he wants are so terribly dull. He wants a little challenge in his darling. A spark of fire to keep things hot. He wants you to rise and rebel against his tyranny only so he can swat you back down to your place on your knees. Go ahead! Deny him what he wants. Backtalk and spit venom at him, wailing to the midnight moon about "You can't make me." He'll gladly show you exactly what he can make you do. He'll bruise your delicate skin, dig claws into yielding flesh, force you to your knees all over again to remind you just who is in charge. It tickles him when you find your strength only to have it taken from you. Try to turn the tides by mouthing off and challenging him. He does so love a challenge, because in any game he plays, he always wins.

Possession:

When he threatened to sequester you away deep in the bowels of his palace far away from the prying eyes of Baldur's Gate, he meant it. You belong to him. You are his to command and abuse— to love as he sees fit. Anyone foolish enough to come between him and his eternal love meets a violent end. Sometimes you need reminding of that. If it means whittling his name into your very marrow, he will do it. He will place a golden collar on your neck to remind you who owns you. If an intangible leash allows you to stray too far, he will use a real one. Be it a ring on your finger, a gilded cage where he locks you away, or a chain linked to his scarlet throne, you will know his adoration extends far beyond obsession. He will look upon you and know that you are his forever more, whether you like it or not.

Choking:

Astarion adores your neck. A soft, sensitive little weak point that fits so easily in the palm of his hand. He can feel your pulse rabbit away as he squeezes it, capturing your breath between his fingers. Only he decides when and if you breathe again, even as your breathless pleas fall on deaf ears. It's multipurpose! Holding you down as he ravages you, cradling your body as he feeds— or perhaps you get a bit mouthy and he has to remind you just how fragile you truly are. Slender fingers flexing and furling until skin turns to a cosmic spattering of vibrant colors in various stages of healing. The sweet hiss of pain as he punctures the bruise. No jewelry he could ever buy you will look as desirable as the purpling shadow of his hand sprawled across your throat, ever present.

[pupsmailbox]

BIRD ID PACK

NAMES︰ adreinne. aero. alouette. altair. amaranth. aoife. arden. aria. arno. aster. astor. ava. avian. aviana. azure. baz. beckett. blackwell. blair. blythe. bram. branson. branwen. brielle. briggs. bromeliad. brooklyn. byrd. cale. callum. canary. cardinal. carlton. carmine. carrie. carrion. celadon. celeste. ceru. chaos. chirp. ciel. circe. citrine. claw. cobalt. collectoresse. collectorette. colm. corbett. corbin. corrie. corva. corvid. corvus. crane. crawford. creston. crosby. cross. crow. crown. dade. daya. dove. doverie. dovesse. draco. dracoonia. draven. echo. enda. ezio. falcon. feather. featheresse. featherette. featherine. finch. fletcher. gavin. hawk. heliconia. heron. hevea. hunter. jay. jaybird. jemima. jinx. jonah. jonas. kale. koko. krow. lark. lilith. lonan. lowen. luna. maggi. maggie. magpie. marigold. masie. mavis. melody. merle. merope. midnight. mimi. minnie. morticia. muru. nevermoresse. nevermorette. noir. noire. noiresse. noirette. nym. nyx. onyx. ophelia. orev. oriole. orpheus. ozul. paloma. phoenix. pigeon. poe. prophess. psitta. raven. ravenesse. ravenette. ravin. robin. sephora. sequoia. skye. songbird. sparrow. swan. taci. talon. torres. trinkesse. trinkette. tweety. valerie. vega. vera. volya. whistle. wing. wingesse. wingette. wren. zephyr. ákos.

PRONOUNS︰ adore/adore. ae/aer. ama/amazon. av/avi. beak/beak. bill/bill. bird/bird. black/black. ca/caw. cage/cage. caw/caw. chirp/chirp. chrip/chirp. chyr/chyr. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. collector/collector. coo/coo. corv/corv. corvid/corvid. corvus/corvid. cro/crow. crow/crow. dark/dark. dove/dove. echo/echo. fea/feather. feather/feather. finch/finch. flight/flight. float/float. flock/flock. fluff/fluff. fly/fly. fruit/fruit. grain/grain. hawk/hawk. hum/hum. hx/hxm. hy/hym. it/it. ix/ix. jay/jay. melody/melody. midni/midnight. mimic/mimic. murder/murder. myr/myr. nest/nest. nevermore/nevermore. night/night. owl/owl. parr/parrot. paw/paw. peck/peck. perch/perch. plume/plume. proph/prophecy. raven/raven. reincarn/reincarnation. river/river. robin/robin. seed/seed. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sing/sing. sky/sky. soa/soar. soar/soar. song/song. spar/sparrow. star/star. swan/swan. talon/talon. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. trill/trill. trinket/trinket. tweet/tweet. ve/ve. whistle/whistle. wing/wing. 🐔. 🐣. 🐤. 🐦. 🐦‍⬛. 🐧. 🕊. 🕊️. 🖤. 🗑️. 🦃. 🦅. 🦆. 🦉. 🦚. 🦜. 🦢.

[dollydearful]

hi digital angel !! could i possibly request a crow id pack ? or, alternatively, an angel id pack ? pls and ty !! : )

Of course my dear (/p), Angel may make the angel ID pack in the future! I hope you are satisfied with this ID pack :)

Crow ID pack requested by anon!

𖥔 ݁ ˖Names๋࣭ ⭑

🖇 Adreinne, Noir, Ozul, Midnight, Onyx, Lilith, Chaos, Draven, Dade, Branwen, Draco{onia}, Jinx, Luna, Morticia, Nyx, Ophelia, Corbin, Hunter, Orpheus, Blair, Blackwell

𖥔 ݁ ˖Pronouns⭑

🖇cro/crow, dark/darkself, midni/midnight, black/blackself (this is not affiliated with the racial term), fea/feather, night/nightself, ca/caw, corvus/corvidself, murder/murderself (a group of ravens is called a murder), ve/veself,

𖥔 ݁ ˖Labels⭑

corvtradian, corivojo, crowstardewic, corvanesic, florescrowgender, corviscurite, ACwAb, brokenheartcrowic, keycrowvian, corvusgender, crowcoric, corvidgender

𖥔 ݁ ˖Titles⭑

The dark one, {prn} who is made of midnight, the crow on the fence, the all seeing bird, {prn} who watches, the digital crow, the bird as black as night, the lone crow, {prn} who flies

Note: Please read angels carrd in angels pinned post before following/interacting :)

[gomibuuh]

Organizare mi página aquí, lo veo algo desordenado, así que andare dejando lo mío para que luego a venga lo nuevo y más por Midny 👀

-

I'm gonna organize my page here; it looks a bit messy. So I'll be leaving my stuff here for now, and then the new and more from Midny will come later.

I will try to publish in both languages ​​to make it more understandable.