#on the other hand. people I don’t know. expecting things of me

[rosenclaws]

Hi love, I hope you’re doing well! I’ve been a fan of (stalking but let’s not talk about it) your blog for a little while, but this is the first time I’ve sent in a request for you! Your writing for Leopold is literally the sweetest ever and you’re the only writer I know of that actively writes for him, it’s so dry out here!! I was wondering if I could request something fluffy with Leopold x fem!reader where is like the most tooth-rotting fluff you can think of. I’m talking him trying to court the reader even though it’s the modern day and that’s not really a thing anymore and shes a bit confused but loves it, a super touchy reader that loves to shower Leo with her affection, literally anything. Those are just ideas, feel free to be as creative as you’d like (and don’t be shy if you wanna make it a longer fic, I’ll take what I can get). This fandom (if I can even call it that) is such a barren wasteland for fanfics and you are such an amazing writer for him and just in general!!

Much love 💕

Courting || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

a/n: Hi!! Okay I kinda took this in a slightly different direction so if its not what you wanted then plz feel free to send in another request (ik they're closed but I will make an exception) ALSO FUCK HES SO HANDSOME IM GONNA SCREAM

wc: 1.2k

warning: reader wears lipstick

The last thing you expected was to find a neatly written letter waiting for you when you got home. Pinned neatly to the door with a small rose attached to it. You recognized Leopold's handwriting immediately, no one else you know has such beautiful penmanship.

There’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach as you open the letter. You and Leopold have gotten very close to each other. He’s unbelievably charming and so sweet and he’s just everything. The way he looks at you, it makes you feel like the only one in the world.

Hello my love,

I am writing to ask if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner and a show this Friday night. I have found myself completely captured by your beauty, you live in my every thought. Every breath I breathe for you and every beat of my heart calls your name. I wish to court you and have the honor of calling you mine.

Your dearest Leopold

You read the letter once, and then again and again. Your fingers trace each letter. Never have you had anyone say something so precious to you before. The rose smells fresh and sweet, he must have gotten it this morning. You hurry to write him a reply, accepting his offer with great enthusiasm.

Folding the letter you press your lips the corner of the paper leaving a lipstick mark. Leopold lives just down the hall so you walk over. Just as you’re about to slip the letter under the door it swings open.

“Leo!” You squeak out as stand back up, almost knocking your head into his chest.

"Hello darling." He's dressed in casual clothes and my god you need to thank whoever introduced him to sweatpants. Anyways.

"I see you received my letter." You bite your lip as you hand over your letter. His name written as fancy as you can.

"Yeah, it was really sweet Leo." He takes the letter and you swear he blushes a little when he sees the lipstick mark. He stares at you for a while, with that perfect smile and gorgeous eyes.

"I uh, I'll see you Friday." His eyes light up at your words.

"I'll see you Friday my love." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

You manage to keep it together as he shuts the door but once you make it back to your apartment you're melting. A giddy feeling you haven't felt in years. You have to wonder how he will attempt to court you in modern day. People don't really court anymore but all you care about is that you have a date with Leopold. Friday couldn't come fast enough.

You had never felt this nervous before. Spending way too long getting ready just to be done an hour early. It's just Leopold, you know Leopold. There's no reason to be nervous but you can't stop the tornado of worry brewing inside of you.

What if something goes wrong? Or the date goes horrible? What if he decides he doesn't like you anymore? What if this ruins your friendship. You shake your head and try to dispel any bad thoughts.

Tonight was going to be great. It has to be. There's a knock at the door and you quickly double check everything before opening it. Any worry still residing in your mind disappears. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is handed to you as Leopold is dressed to the nines. A crisp white shirt and black pants.

"They're beautiful." You say admiring the flowers. Fresh and absolutely gorgeous.

"Not as beautiful as you." Leopold says, barely at a whisper. Like he can't believe that you've even agreed to a date with him. He can't help but admire everything about you. To your smile, your beauty, your laugh, your voice. You're perfect.

You place the flowers in a vase and then the two of you are off. He rests his hand on your back as you walk through the city. His thumb draws circles in your back as you approach the restaurant. He's planned everything himself and he can't help but hope it's enough for you.

Dinner is lovely and the conversation flows without any awkwardness. You're talking to your friend Leopold but you know there's something more as you slowly get closer to each other as the night goes on. Hidden away in the corner booth you are free to get lost in each others eyes. Though you wish you could stay here all night he promised a show. Leopold loved the theater and he promised one day to take you and tonight was the night.

"How did you get such good seats?" You ask as he waits for you to sit before he does.

"I have my ways darling." You're hyper aware of just how close the two of you had gotten at dinner and how close you are now.

The show is interesting yes but Leopold was a very distracting man. Your hands inch closer together. Glancing over at Leopold you find him already looking at you. He waits for your silent approval, not wanting to cross an boundaries. So you take the leap. Intertwining your hands together.

A faint blush on his face and a big smile on yours. His hands are so warm and they fit so perfectly with your hand. When the show ends you reluctantly head back home. You don't want this night to end. Your hands swing together as you gush about the play.

"I had a wonderful night Leopold," You're leaning against your door, wanting so badly to keep the night going. His hair swoops perfectly in front of his forehead and he's got this pretty smile that you can't stop staring at.

"So did I, Thank you for accompanying me tonight." His eyes drift to your lips.

It's adorable seeing just how old school he really is. You know he's from 1876 but still. Modern boys pale in comparison to Leopold.

"You know you don't have to be so nervous Leo, I want to kiss you too." You say boldly.

He chuckles, ducking his head as bites his lip softly. He cups your face gently and you close eyes as he gently captures your lips in a kiss. He's gentle and sweet and you crave more. Still he pulls away much too soon. You pout slightly and he laughs.

"I know I'm much more traditional than you're used to." He traces your lips with his thumb. Admiring every little detail of your face.

"But someone as wonderful as you deserves to be treated with the upmost respect." He kisses your forehead gently.

"You deserve to be loved," Another kiss.

"To be cherished," Another.

"And to be worshiped." Words fail you completely. Leopold has rendered you utterly speechless.

"Did I overstep?" He asks, worried about you silence.

You shake your head. practically jumping into him as you kiss him. Passionately running your hands through his hair. He groans slightly as you tug on his hair. He pushes you against the wall, bracing your head with his hand as he kisses back.

"I'm falling in love with you." He whispers. A hopeful glint in his eyes.

"I'm already in love with you." You admit.

You become lost in his lips as he kisses you again. He just can't get enough. You blindly reach for the door handle and without argument pull him inside of your apartment.

Soft kisses and laughter are shared quietly between the two of you. Time ticks by but you have lost all sense of care in the world. All that matters to you is this moment. Your fairytale come to life. And it was just perfect.

[solxamber]

request idea, (sry u have another idia one); idia adopts a cat (somehow), yuu brings grim over bc adeuce cant watch him at that time and whille yuu games with idia, the cats fight eachother over who is the better cat (kinda like how lucius and grim get into fights/the lilo and stitch event) and yuu and idia have to somehow break up the fight 😭😭

Grim vs Cat (Idia x reader)

hi! thanks for the request, i love it, and had so much fun writing it. and I always welcome idia requests!

Idia wasn’t really a “people person.” But cats? That was a whole different story. He had always wanted a cat, and now, somehow, despite the chaotic nature of his life, he finally had one. A sleek, intelligent little creature that glared at you with calculating eyes from its perch on his desk. It was the ultimate dream for Idia—now if only he could get his cat to stop starting turf wars.

Grim, as expected, was not thrilled.

Ace and Deuce were unavailable for Grim-sitting duties, which is how you ended up in Idia’s room, controller in hand, while Grim sulked on one side of you and Idia’s cat, smug as anything, lounged on the other. The air between the two was thick with tension, like a battle waiting to happen.

Idia, meanwhile, was all too happy. “Isn’t he the best?” he gushed for the 50th time, scratching the cat behind its ears. “I’m telling you, cats are, like, the ultimate companions—super chill but totally awesome. And, uh, I might’ve installed a motion tracker in his collar, just in case.”

Grim’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Ultimate companions? Excuse me? I’m the ultimate companion, thank you very much. That furball couldn’t fight a dust bunny.”

Idia’s cat, clearly picking up on the vibe, casually hopped off the desk and rubbed against your legs. Grim’s fur bristled, his whole body tensing as if ready to pounce.

You sighed, already seeing where this was going. “Grim, don’t start.”

Grim ignored you, his eyes locked on the smug feline. “I’m not starting anything. But if he wants a challenge, I’ll gladly show him who’s boss!”

The cat, as if sensing the growing tension, decided to up the ante. It rubbed against your leg once more, then hopped into your lap, purring loudly. Grim’s outrage reached new heights.

“YOU TRAITOR! HOW COULD YOU LET THAT THING SIT ON YOU?”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” you said, gently petting the cat, which only seemed to make Grim angrier. “It’s just a cat, Grim.”

Idia, who had been watching with wide-eyed fascination, was practically vibrating with joy. “Look at that! He’s making himself at home! This is amazing!” He leaned forward, practically giddy as he watched his cat settle comfortably. “He’s so smart. It’s like he knows how to get to Grim.”

Grim growled, puffing up like a furious little balloon. “Oh, he knows all right! He’s trying to make me look bad!”

Before you could respond, Grim lunged, claws out, ready to defend his honor. And just like that, chaos erupted. The two were a blur of fur, hisses, and screeches, rolling across the floor in what could only be described as an epic showdown.

“Hey! Break it up!” you shouted, scrambling to separate them. But they were too quick—Grim yowling like a demon, and the cat swatting at him with a smug look on its face, like it was bored with the entire ordeal.

Idia was frozen, controller still in hand. “Um... do we... like, call an adult or something?”

You grabbed Grim by the scruff and hoisted him into the air, glaring at him while he squirmed. “Stop picking fights with a cat, Grim. This is embarrassing for all of us.”

“That cat... is mocking me! Mocking me, I tell you!”

You held him up to eye level, exasperated. “Grim, it’s a cat. It’s not plotting your downfall.”

Grim bared his teeth. “Oh, it’s plotting. I can see it in his beady little eyes. He thinks he’s better than me. No one is better than me!”

Idia’s cat, now lounging on the bed like nothing had happened, gave a slow blink and yawned. It might as well have been a victory lap.

Idia, clutching his controller in defeat, sighed. “Maybe the cat’s, like... asserting dominance? I’ve read about this. It’s like a... mini-boss battle for cats, right?”

You rolled your eyes, still holding Grim as he simmered in your arms. “It’s not a dungeon raid, Idia.”

By the time the dust settled and Grim begrudgingly agreed to stop trying to “end” the cat, you found yourself back in the world of gaming, though Grim kept casting dark, suspicious glances toward Idia’s cat, who was now curled up in your lap, purring like it had won some grand prize.

Idia, still petting the cat every few minutes, was over the moon. “I think this went pretty well, all things considered. Cats are, like, totally zen, right? So peaceful... when they’re not... you know... fighting.”

Grim huffed from the corner, clearly not over it. “Yeah, zen. Right.”

Hours later, back in the relative safety of Ramshackle, Grim was still sulking. “You betrayed me, you know. Petting that stupid cat like it’s some sort of prince. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

You crouched down to his level, giving him a fond scratch behind the ears. “You’re my best friend, Grim. Always have been. No cat could ever replace you.”

Grim puffed out his chest a little, the sulk fading ever so slightly. “Well... good. Just don’t go getting any ideas. Cats... ugh.”

You smiled, ruffling his fur. “No worries, buddy. You’re irreplaceable.”

And that seemed to be enough—for now.

Masterlist

[judesmoonbeauty]

The Robin’s Unaware of Ultimate Evil Behind The Scenes: Jude Jazza Epilogue

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for your support! ☾.

And thanks to @.kurishiri for tl feedback! CW: Fluffy hand holding & forehead flicking Please note: The epilogue is from Kate's POV.

(Jude seems to be in a somewhat good mood….)

Perhaps because I had been running after drinking, but the night breeze that hit my buzzed body felt good.

I asked Jude jokingly but—

(I thought he’d say not to get carried away, or play it off, but I never expected him to hold my hand.)

The warmth that comes from his much larger hand feels comforting to me,

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t let go, so I hide my gaze, and savor this unusual joy.

(A lots happened today….)

The instant I saw that man buy those drugs, I felt a sense of duty to stop it, so I asked the others for help.

To ensure his arrest, I had the others in hiding…..

(Still, I felt very anxious.)

Courage is required to fight a problem that’s usually handled by Crown —

(That’s why I was truly relieved that Jude helped me.)

I was startled when the glass broke, but when I looked up it was him.

(I’m really glad he was there.)

When I think about it, he always shows up and helps me when I'm in a pinch.

(He’s got a foul mouth, a foul attitude, and he enjoys tormenting people but…..)

He’s also a very kind and compassionate person.

I’ve come to understand that during our time we’ve spent together.

I suddenly look up at the brightly shining moon, and I recall the first time we met.

(I was so scared at the time that I couldn’t even properly look at Jude.)

Kate: Jude.

Jude: ….What is it.

There had been something that had bothered me for a long time, but I had  held back.

Kate: What did you think of me when we first met?

Jude: Hah?

He stops in his tracks while I take a step forward, our hands connecting us like a thread.

He looked at our hands with a troubled expression and opened his mouth —

Jude: Thatcha were an unlucky woman.

Kate: Huh?

Jude: ‘N a trespasser.

Jude: Is it normal for someone who’s deliverin’ letters to enter a home without permission.

Kate: Well….

(I can't say anything back because it's true that I entered….)

When I entered the mansion it was like I was being guided somewhere, perhaps my fate was decided from that moment on.

Jude: Whatcha askin’ for, ya feelin’ drowned in sentimentality.

Kate: No….maybe it’s just because I met up with someone I knew for the first time in a while,

Kate: But I suddenly remembered that moment, and I was so scared that I couldn’t bear it. I really thought I was going to die.

A corpse lay before me, and Crown was surrounding me.

All of them were terrifying.

Kate: But oddly enough, I don’t have any regrets about being here.

Kate: Otherwise, I’d still be in the dark about things.

Nowadays, it’s become commonplace to see corpses lying in front of me or to be surrounded by Crown.

Kate: Besides, I’m glad I met you Jude.

His eyes widened as he gripped my hand unsually tightly, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Kate: I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(Every time I experience his kindness, I feel like I’m glad I know him.)

It’s a bit embarrassing to say something I normally wouldn’t.

Maybe it’s because I’m slightly buzzed it’s easier to say.

I heard a large sigh as I smiled.

Kate: Why do you look so exasperated.

Jude: ‘Cause yer optimism’s annoyin’.

Jude: It’s nice bein’ a princess, ya don’t hafta think ‘bout anythin’, ‘n everyday’s peaceful.

Jude: You’ve seen so many shitty things ‘n yet ya can say that.

Kate: That’s harsh, I do so think about lots of things.

Jude: Yeah, yeah, I agree.

Jude: Ya smell like alcohol, ya drunk.

Just as I was a bit huffed from letting my feelings get the better of me, he suddenly stepped forward, side by side while holding hands.

(That…?)

Surprised that we were walking at the same pace, I looked at his profile.

However, he seemed to be acting the same as always, and when I noticed his small kindness, I became happy again and gripped his hand.

Kate: Hehe…

Jude: Why ya makin’ so many faces.

He flicked me in the forehead with his free hand’s finger.

Kate: OUCH! That’s mean!

Jude: It’s ‘cause I’m angry.

Kate: I’ll do it to you too!

Jude: Do it if ya can.

I tried to fight back with one hand, but it was quickly caught,

Jude: Look, it’s all over.

Kate: ! I’m absolutely going to do it one day.

When I uttered my sharp line, he let go of my hand —

(Ah…..)

Perhaps it looked like I felt lonely because he took my hand again interlacing our fingers, and smiled crookedly.

Jude: Idiot.

(As I thought, I’m glad we met.)

My heart pounded as I saw him illuminated by the moonlight.

Jude: What's with all the faces Me: Bro, you've got no room to talk. Have you seen your sprite expressions? Seems like Jude's Kate is not only a bad ass, but a mood just like him.

[Master List] Dividers: @.natimiles

Tag list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka

Please comment or DM me if you'd like to be added to my translations tag list.

[theodorenmyth]

*flys into your mail*

Heart mail delivery! I would like to request Enzo with a shy m! Reader who literally hate eye contact. For example, every time someone talks to Enzo tries to talk to reader he is always looking away or avoiding eye contact. But maybe a little twist where reader could like make eye contact towards the other Slytherin boys, but when it comes to Enzo he can’t look at his face and it makes Enzo slightly jealous and want answers.

-💌

Too Shy To Say

Pairings ; Lorenzo Berkshire x M!Reader

Summary ; Lorenzo notices you avoid eye contact with him, though you can look at others like Theo and Blaise. Curious and a bit jealous, he confronts you, and you admit you get nervous because you like him. Lorenzo reassures you and encourages you to look at him. When your eyes finally meet, the tension fades, leaving a quiet understanding between you two.

A/N ; IM BAAACKKKKK 🥹🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️ WHO MISSED ME???? anyways.. ENJOY MY LOVES!

Warnings ; None

Word count ; 1.1K

Lorenzo Berkshire was used to attention. It came naturally, like the breeze flowing through the dungeons of Hogwarts. His charm was undeniable, his smile a constant source of flustered stares and half-hidden blushes. But for you? Things were a little different.

You’d never been particularly fond of eye contact. It wasn’t shyness as much as it was discomfort — eyes always held too much, revealed too much. So, naturally, you avoided it. When people spoke to you, your gaze drifted elsewhere: over their shoulders, to the floor, or anywhere but their eyes. It wasn’t a problem, not really, because everyone had come to expect it from you.

Except with Lorenzo, it was…different.

You didn’t just avoid his eyes — you couldn’t even look at him. Not even for a second. Every time his deep brown gaze turned to you, a wave of heat washed over you, leaving you frozen, fumbling, and searching for any safe spot to rest your gaze that wasn’t his face.

And Lorenzo? He noticed. How could he not?

It wasn’t unusual for you to talk to Theodore Nott, making light eye contact when necessary, or even Blaise Zabini, though fleeting. But the moment it came to Lorenzo, your eyes would flicker elsewhere like you were avoiding him for some unspeakable reason. At first, he brushed it off, but now? Now it was starting to gnaw at him, his curiosity turning into something like jealousy.

Today, Lorenzo was determined to get some answers.

You were sitting by the lake, your gaze focused on the water as it rippled in the sunlight. Your hands fidgeted with the edge of your robe, a familiar habit you resorted to when you were feeling uneasy.

Lorenzo approached, his footsteps light but purposeful. “Hey,” he greeted, the warmth in his voice causing your heart to stutter.

“Hey,” you mumbled back, keeping your gaze trained on the lake, watching the tiny waves lap against the shore. His presence was close — too close — but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

He sat down beside you, a comfortable distance apart, but the silence that stretched between you was heavy. It wasn’t like your usual silences, where you both existed in a bubble of mutual understanding. No, this one was…tense.

“So,” Lorenzo started after a long moment, his voice casual but tinged with something deeper, “why won’t you look at me?”

You stiffened, fingers halting their restless movements. Your heart jumped into your throat, pulse quickening as his question lingered in the air. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, still refusing to meet his gaze. You stared harder at the lake, as if willing it to swallow you whole.

Lorenzo let out a soft huff, not buying it for a second. “Come on, don’t play dumb. I’ve noticed it, you know? You can look at Theo, Blaise, even bloody Draco when he’s being a prat. But me?” He leaned in slightly, his voice lower, closer. “You won’t even glance my way.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as panic began to creep in. “It’s not… I just don’t like making eye contact,” you said lamely, knowing full well that it wasn’t the whole truth.

Lorenzo let out a low chuckle, though it lacked humor. “Yeah? Then why can you look at everyone else?”

Your heart pounded, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You were trapped, caught in a web of your own creation. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to look at Lorenzo — quite the opposite. He was…well, Lorenzo. Charming, effortlessly handsome, and always exuding that calm, confident aura that drew people in. And you? You felt like a tangled mess whenever he was around, too self-conscious, too aware of everything. Especially of how much you liked him.

“I—It’s complicated,” you mumbled, still refusing to turn your head in his direction. The lake had become your lifeline, a visual anchor in this awkward, nerve-wracking conversation.

Lorenzo shifted, and you felt the space between you decrease ever so slightly. His knee brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Complicated?” he echoed, his voice softening, but there was an edge of vulnerability in it. “What’s so complicated about looking at me?”

You clenched your fists in your lap, debating whether to finally admit the truth or keep dodging. But the way his voice softened made your defenses falter. “I… I just get nervous,” you finally confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “When it’s you, I mean.”

He didn’t say anything right away, and the silence that followed felt suffocating. You risked a glance — a quick, fleeting one — and saw that his expression had shifted, from curiosity to something more tender, more understanding.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone no longer teasing. “Why?”

You swallowed again, feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. “I—I don’t know, Lorenzo. You’re just…different. It’s hard to explain.”

There was a long pause, and then Lorenzo sighed, though it wasn’t out of frustration. It was more like he was finally understanding something that had been puzzling him for a while. “You like me, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched, and your entire body tensed at his words. It wasn’t a question — it was a statement. One that you had no idea how to respond to.

“I—” you started, but your voice failed you.

Lorenzo, however, didn’t wait for a verbal confirmation. He shifted even closer, his fingers brushing yours in a gesture so gentle it made your heart ache. “You know, you could’ve just told me,” he murmured, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I would’ve saved us both a lot of confusion.”

Your eyes were glued to your hands now, the space where your skin touched, your heart thundering in your chest. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know how to say it.”

Lorenzo hummed, his voice soothing in its warmth. “Well, now you don’t have to say anything,” he replied softly. “You just have to look at me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you hesitated for a moment longer before finally lifting your gaze. The moment your eyes met his, the world seemed to slow down. His brown eyes, warm and sincere, locked onto yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel the urge to look away.

“There,” Lorenzo said, his voice low and almost teasing, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You felt your lips twitch into a small, embarrassed smile, and for the first time, you didn’t need the lake to distract you. Because looking at Lorenzo? It felt right.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with something more—relief, maybe even hope. “It wasn’t so hard after all.”

[revelboo]

Found your blog by chance last night and I gotta say I love the way you write, especially for Starscream. You’ve found yourself another eager follower ❤️

Thanks! I mostly started this as a place to dump the silly, little scenes that pop into my head. I was honestly a bit surprised that people seemed to actually like my nonsense ramblings.

Lose Control

Starscream x reader- fear

• As the silence sinks in, you realize it’s over and the other two are gone. The servos carefully pinning you to his chassis are trembling as badly as you are. An uncontrollable, teeth chattering shaking. Because this Starscream is a stranger. You’d thought you’d figured him out. That you knew him, but how can you? You don’t know him and you have no idea what to expect. And you’re scared.

• The red haze of rage slowly ebbs, leaving him only exhausted. He’d always prided himself on thinking things through. Having a plan. Seeing your tiny form helpless in Skywarp’s hand had shattered his careful indifference. It shouldn’t have. Skywarp was right, he shouldn’t care because you are just a human.

• How long has it been since he’s had anything that was truly his? Moving from battlefront to battlefront, the only permanent thing was how impermanent everything was. The harder he’d tried to hold onto anything, the faster it had slipped through his servos. But he still hadn’t been able to let Skywarp destroy the one good thing he has.

• Shifting you in his hold, he carefully uses the tip of a servo to tilt your chin up. Trying to tell if you’re hurt or not just reinforces how little he knows about humans. About you. All the things he’d never asked or cared about. One of your little hands lifts to touch his servo and he can see the fear in your eyes. Fear of him?

• It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Guilt is right on its heels as he runs a servo over you wondering if any of your tiny bones are broken and if he’d be able to tell if they were. Yes, he’d stopped Skywarp this time, but he can’t watch you all the time. Can’t keep you safe all the time.

• But he can’t let you go, either, because then he’s alone again. And he can’t stand the thought of going back to that lonely isolation. Sinking to sit on his berth, his wings droop slightly as you offer him an uncertain smile as if to comfort him. “Scrap,” he growls, head falling back to stare at the ceiling because he knows he won’t do the right thing and let you go to protect you. He’s far too greedy for that.

• Holding your fragile body, he thinks of the tiny, little birds of this world. Delicate, impossibly beautiful things that seem like they shouldn’t exist as they fly. He’d tried to catch one once. Tried to cage that beauty in his servos and its little heart had gave out as it battered itself against his hands. He’d only wanted to better see it, not kill it. But the outcome was the same. Are you doomed to that same fate, to struggle to be freed until you can’t?

• “Do you despise me?” He doesn’t mean to ask and he can’t look at you while he waits on your answer, because even if you do, he won’t let you go.

• You’re silent staring up at his face turned away from you. Sometimes you do despise him, but others you pity him. Ache for that loneliness you hear layered in his words, badly buried in sneering condescension. “No,” you say finally, not really the truth or a lie. Both. Neither.

[yerimbrit]

[flufftober day 4, wc: 896] - costume party : n. rei

“WE LOOK STUPID,” you finally laugh, after scrutinizing you and rei’s reflections wearing matching halloween costumes. you’re flashily dressed in a dazzling inflatable banana costume, the ends so ridiculously long they make you taller than rei, who’s posing like a 2011 tumblr girl and making kissy faces and v-signs in her absurd blueberry costume.

“we look like we’re gonna steal the show,” she retorts, attempting to direct her kissy face straight to your cheek. it doesn’t make it halfway through because of how wide the blueberry costume is. you snort.

yujin’s costume party doesn’t have a specific theme, it never does. there’s many upsides to this—for one, you don’t have to stress about fitting in. but it also means the voting that occurs near the end of the party isn’t the most fair, because everyone has their own distinguishing tastes. last year, wonyoung captured everyone’s hearts with a rerun of her witch costume with some added tweaks and whatnot, beating even yunjin’s rendition of puss in boots, who was also accompanied by hanni whom she forced into a humpty dumpty costume.

you shudder at the thought of having to leave your house in a banana costume. you weren’t lying when you said that the two of you look stupid. but hey, on the bright side? you’re finally taller than rei! haha. ha. “can we go already?”

rei bumps into you, making you stagger to the side, and giggles out an “oops” before she dashes towards the front door. except she doesn’t even fit through the doorframe with her blueberry costume, so she ends up falling on her back. 

“karma’s a bitch,” you covered your mouth with your hand to hide your shit-eating grin, “you should’ve known better~”

the blueberry glares at you, flailing her arms and legs in an attempt to hit you. “you will never be jojo siwa. now help me up, please.”

“rei, y/n! welcome i—you can’t fit through the fence like that, can you,” gaeul laughs in disbelief, letting you in first (you had to duck because of the archway) before crossing her arms at rei. it’s a struggle at first, but she quite literally pops out on the other side. comedy gold, if you do say so yourself.

the annual halloween party is always at yujin’s house, at the huge backyard that has a small stage set up by yujin and jiwon every year. there’s a small hole in the center of the wooden stage from two years ago when haewon stabbed her excalibur into the ground, and burn marks in the front from someone’s bowser fire breath (a flamethrower), but the host refuses to retire the poor frazzled stage.

because of how long it took you two to get into the costume and out of the house, and to walk to yujin’s without dying of laughter every few seconds, you’re actually very late… which means everyone is looking at you upon your arrival. your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment but whatever, it was to be expected when you agreed to match with rei this year.

“when i said you two were fruity with each other, i didn’t mean it literally,” hyunseo giggles, clad in an oversized tiger onesie. the ends are bunching up over her sneakers, and she steps on herself a few times before regaining her balance. “the walkup is about to start!”

someone in a hulk suit bumps into rei, who bumps into you, and you stumble slightly. you smirk unabashedly. “who said we weren’t fruity?”

the younger girl shrugs and gestures towards the stage, and the next thing you know, you and rei are strutting down the wooden stage with poise and confidence. the crowd (filled with fellow people shamelessly dressed in almost as laughable costumes) erupts in cheers and laughter, many taking out their cellular devices to capture the moment. rei, again, makes kissy faces and v-signs, this time reaching for you so her kiss actually lands on your cheek. the area where her lips landed burns a seal on your heart, effectively speeding it up. 

you also forgot that there was a hole in the stage, so when you start heading to the stairs on the other side, you slip and almost fall over. phew, that would’ve been so embarrassing. ’let’s just hope rei doesn’t do the sa—why is the floor getting closer?’

a collective “oh…” spreads throughout the lively backyard, and you feel the dumb inflatable blueberry against your back. she mumbles an “ow” that is barely audible through the fabric of your banana suit. 

a microphone screeches, and the strong voice of ahn yujin booms in your ears and possibly the whole neighborhood. you wonder just how many noise complaints she gets by the next day; yujin’s party is always full of people that she probably doesn’t even know, her original guests inviting others, and so on. (your) banana-blueberry duo are still stacked on each other, neither making a move to get off of the stage and instead stay laying down. yujin taps the mic, and you turn your head slightly to see her adjust her tin foil hat. 

“that was something,” she glances at you with slight sympathy, “all in favor of voting rei and y/n for tonight’s winners?”

the crowd cheers. you groan at your body pain.

rei giggles. “we won!

happy halloween, you suppose.

a/n : tall and small! except it's reversed bc rei is the tall one

[copaline]

It's WIP Wednesday, my good dudes!

WIP Wednesday is here! Tagging the peeps that made the mistake of telling me they had writing in the works!

@i-prefer-base-twelve

@punedrr

@journalnumberthree

No pressure to share but I'd love to see what you have! And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

Anyway, here's a little preview of Chapter 9 of Horror Vacui:

Fiddleford’s hand suddenly grabbed Ford by the wrist. His friend’s face looked startled as though he’d just witnessed something disturbing, and it was then that Ford realized he could see the damage. The old engineer’s brow furrowed as he rolled up Ford’s coat and sweater sleeve to reveal the violet pattern that made his skin look like fractured porcelain. “This is where it latched on, wasn’t it? That thing… that Neverwere creature.” It was such a simple and earnest question it took Ford a moment to properly formulate a response. It felt self-serving to focus on something so insignificant as his collection of scars (and quickly fading scars at that). His first instinct was to ignore the attention, but the look on his friend’s face made it impossible to sidestep the question. “Yeah, it, uh, its grip on this dimension was fading so it fed on me to stabilize his presence. But that’s not important right now-” “Jesus, Stanford, you nearly died! I’d say that’s pretty flippin’ important!” Fiddleford frowned, tightening his grip on Ford’s wrist for a moment before reluctantly letting go. “Does it hurt?” Ford blinked owlishly in confusion. Clearly his own discomfort or lack thereof had never crossed his mind. As far as his list of priorities went, his own physical ailments were somewhere near the bottom if included at all. A part of him wanted to snidely point out that almost dying was not dying and there was no need to make a fuss. Another part of him looked at his friend’s expression and felt something akin to shame. “No. It doesn’t hurt. I got patched up so it’s fine,” he reassured him. “Does your family know you got hurt?” Ford sighed as he pulled off his goggles and made a show of checking something in his satchel. Somehow he knew it was all going to loop back around to this. “Stanford, have you told them?” “And why would I do that?” he asked, irritation bleeding into his voice, “What would it do other than raise Stan’s blood pressure and make the kids worry? And all for nothing! I didn’t die! I’m not in any pain! I’m perfectly fine!” “Are you?” He flinched as though Fiddleford had jabbed him in the eye.  There was no reason for him not to be fine. Everything had worked out perfectly! Sure, he had about a million unanswered questions and the entire ordeal had been too terrifying to mull over for longer than ten seconds, but of course he was fine! He had to be fine! Like Stan had said, people depended on him, he couldn’t afford to fall to pieces over things that almost happened! Nevermind that his family was expecting answers from him and he was still no closer to explaining what had happened other than “Space Botulism”. Nevermind that he felt as though a door had been thrown open and Bill's corpse was clawing its way out of his grave. Nevermind that there were great cosmic forces at play all around him and his response to that was to have his friend make quaint little eyeglasses so they could see the colors of their impending doom… Don’t think about that.

[dee-writes-anime]

I don’t know if you watched the Disney movie “Haunted Mansion” (the one with Eddie Murphy) since Halloween is just around the corner I thought this one would make you laugh? Imagine the League Of Villains are staying with reader at reader’s families haunted mansion that reader inherited (from a family member) BUUUUUUT……. Reader forgot to tell the league that their family mansion is haunted🤭😅

Just take your time on this one, i understand that college is a pain in the ass but I thought this one would brighten up your day!😃 so take care and remember to eat, drink water, rest and relax you’ll get through it😁👍

Haunted Mansions Aren't for the Weak

FEATURING League Of Villians x Reader (platonic)

SUMMARY Haunted Mansion shenanigans

CONTENT WARNINGS creepy mansions, ghosts, crack

AUTHORS NOTE this idea had me cackling, hope you don't mind the different format :)

Oh my GOD, I can just imagine after a particularly messy job, the League of Villains finds themselves in need of a new hideout. That's when you casually suggest your family mansion. It's huge, tucked away in the middle of nowhere, and basically perfect for keeping a low profile. Without thinking twice, the League agrees.

Upon arrival, the mansion looms before them, towering and intimidating, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and gargoyles perched on the corners of the roof. The overgrown garden whispers in the breeze, and the massive iron gates groan as they swing open. Spinner glances uneasily at the place, muttering, "Great. Of course, it's a creepy mansion in the middle of nowhere."

The inside is even more imposing. Dusty chandeliers, creaky wooden floors, dark tapestries—everything you’d expect in a haunted mansion. But the League doesn't mind; they’ve seen worse. Besides, they're here to lay low, and it's not like anything can scare the most feared villains in the country... or so they think.

You lead them through the darkened corridors and give them a brief tour. “Oh, the rooms upstairs are bigger. Some of them have their own fireplaces. There’s a library down the hall, and the kitchen’s fully stocked. Feel free to explore, make yourselves at home. Oh, and about the ghosts…”

Shigaraki interrupts, scratching at his neck in irritation. “Ghosts? You’re not serious.”

You give a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, well, the place is a little haunted… by my ancestors. But they’re harmless. Nothing to worry about, I swear.”

Dabi, arms crossed, leans against the wall, smirking. “Right. Ghosts. Sure. What are we, five years old?” His tone oozes disbelief, but the moment his arm touches the wall, it groans, and the portrait next to him tilts on its own. He glances at it, then back at you. “You’re messing with us.”

You shake your head, trying to be casual. “Nope. Just, uh, don’t mind them.”

And so, the League settles in, trying to ignore the faint, unsettling noises that seem to echo through the hallways.

The First Night:

That’s when things start to get weird. As night falls, Shigaraki is the first to notice the peculiar happenings. His irritation grows as he hears soft, persistent scratching—from inside the walls. “Who the hell is scratching the walls? Is someone trying to be funny?” His voice cuts through the dark as he storms out of his room, hands twitching with the urge to disintegrate something.

No one answers. It only gets worse as he stalks down the hall, the sounds following him, scratching just out of reach. When he slams a hand on the wall in frustration, the wall scratches back.

“Okay. That’s new,” he mutters, backing away, suspicious now. For once, he isn’t the one scaring people—he’s the one being scared.

Meanwhile, Dabi...

Dabi has always been a skeptic, never one to believe in ghosts or any supernatural nonsense. He scoffs at the others’ complaints and locks himself in one of the rooms, claiming it as his own. He’s dead tired, and all he wants is to sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come easy.

No matter how many flames he conjures, the room stays cold. Icy, in fact. His breath puffs out in clouds as if he were in a freezer. He scowls, huddling under his jacket, muttering, “This is ridiculous.”

Just as he’s about to doze off, something knocks at his door. He groans. “What now?” When he opens it, there’s no one there. He’s about to close it when suddenly, a gust of cold air blows through, extinguishing the fire he had set in the fireplace. The door slams shut behind him, and he grumbles, “Fine. You win, mansion. This place is cursed.”

Despite his bravado, Dabi doesn’t get much sleep that night.

Toga, on the other hand, is thriving.

She’s completely unbothered by the eerie atmosphere. In fact, she’s excited. “Ghosts?” she grins, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I wanna meet them!” She skips down the hallways, gleefully chasing after strange noises and shadowy figures, trying to coax them into playing with her.

At one point, she catches sight of a ghostly figure floating through the walls. “Wait!” she calls out, sprinting after it. She rounds a corner only to find herself face-to-face with a portrait of a stern-looking old woman. The figure from earlier is gone, but the eyes in the painting follow her. Toga laughs. “Aww, you’re shy! Don’t be shy, I just wanna see you!”

The ghost doesn’t answer, but the painting tilts slightly, as if amused by her antics. Toga claps her hands, delighted. “Oh, I like this place!”

Twice’s internal debate hits its peak.

At first, he’s thrilled by the idea of staying in a mansion—it’s way better than the dingy places they’ve hidden in before. But as the ghostly occurrences start piling up, his personalities clash.

“Ghosts aren’t real!” he insists, pacing around his room. “But what if they are?” he counters himself, wringing his hands nervously. “Nah, no such thing as ghosts. I’m not scared of them anyway! Wait, yes I am!”

The lights flicker, and a faint whisper floats through the air. Twice freezes, eyes wide. “Okay, maybe I am scared! No, I’m not! But I am!”

He spends the rest of the night going back and forth with himself, unable to make up his mind if he should be terrified or excited. Every time something creaks or a shadow passes by, he jumps, muttering under his breath about how he’s definitely not scared… except when he is.

Spinner tries to be the voice of reason, but he’s just as shaken.

At first, he brushes off the strange occurrences, chalking them up to the age of the house. “Old houses make noise,” he tells himself, clutching his sword. But when the furniture in his room starts moving on its own, he’s not so sure anymore.

He wakes up to find his bed shifted three feet from the wall. His eyes widen, and he nervously pushes it back, only to find it moved again when he turns around. “Okay… nope. Nope. I hate this.”

Mr. Compress tries to stay composed, but even his patience is tested.

He watches as his finely tuned sleight-of-hand tricks start to malfunction. His carefully hidden compartments seem to open on their own, and the objects inside—his tools of the trade—disappear, only to reappear in random places around the mansion.

At one point, his mask is knocked off his face by an invisible hand. “Well, that’s just rude,” he huffs, hurriedly putting it back on, unnerved but trying to play it off.

Kurogiri, the last bastion of calm, begins to waver.

He usually keeps his cool no matter the situation, but when he appears to check on the others, he looks a bit… frazzled. “There are several spirits in this mansion,” he informs you. “And they are not particularly pleased with our presence.”

You, still oblivious to how badly the League is handling the situation, just wave it off with a laugh. “They’re just bored. They like to play little tricks, but they won’t hurt anyone. Probably.”

The Grand Reveal:

By the end of the night, the League is exhausted, either from chasing ghosts or avoiding them. Dabi is muttering about burning the whole place down. Shigaraki is plotting how to kill the ghosts (if that’s even possible), and Twice is still arguing with himself. Spinner is crouched in a corner, sword in hand, ready to strike at any moving furniture.

Finally, you gather them all in the main hall, completely nonchalant. “I guess I should’ve warned you guys… the house has always been like this. My family made peace with the ghosts ages ago.”

The League stares at you, utterly deadpan. No one is amused.

“Well,” you add with a smile, “at least it’s free rent?”

The rest of their stay is spent with the League trying to avoid the ghosts as much as possible. Dabi never leaves his room without a flame in hand. Shigaraki spends the days glaring at the walls. Toga, meanwhile, continues to gleefully chase after the spirits, making the whole situation even more chaotic.

By the time they leave, no one can deny it—villains or not, haunted mansions are not their thing.

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday from “The Redemption and Subsequent Death of Bill Cipher”

“I— I tripped,” Bill lies swallowing back the bile in his throat. Whether Stan believes him or not is another story. He squints at him and then at where Bill’s managed to knock over the fire poker stand in his fall. Bill swallows thickly, his pulse heavy in his throat

Hours pass in the time that they stand there before Stan shakes himself off, grunting.

“Barging around here in the middle of the night, you’ll wake everyone up.”

And to Bill’s surprise, Stan holds a hand out. Bill is still shaking as he takes it and stands, brushing himself off.

“Thanks,” he grits out, pointedly not looking at Stan. They hover there for a moment before there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder.

“You usually sleep through the night. You, uh, have a, uh, bad dream?”

Bill can’t help the way he’s staring at Stan like he’s got three heads (that might even be normal than this given everything that Bill has seen in his time outside of this realm).

“What’s it to you?” Bill snaps only for Stan’s nose to wrinkle. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Stan shakes off, letting go of Bill. “But if you’re gonna go running around here causing a ruckus and waking everyone up, then that’s a problem!”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything, I tripped!”

“Well, I—“ Stan cuts himself off, eyes closed and a vein throbbing in his forehead. He forces a breath out through his mouth and Bill feels like he’s standing on eggshells without trying to break them.

“Look,” Stan begins, more gathered. “I’m just trying to— We’re gonna have to be around each other for the summer, until this… this,” and he gestures to Bill, “gets figured out. I don’t know if you usually have nightmares in your normal dorito shaped version of you. They’re pretty normal for humans though.”

The fact that Stan, Stanley Pines, is being nice to him is enough to get Bill to shut up and keep from snapping at him that Bill knows what a nightmare is. Hells, what is happening?

“Just— If you had a nightmare, tea helps, you know?”

Bill realizes after a moment that he’s nodding, not sure what else to do.

“Do you—“ Stan looks like he’s bracing himself. “Do you want— tea?”

He winces and then Bill winces and then they are both pointedly looking away from each other.

“Tea. Tea would be nice,” Bill finally responds in spite of the nausea.

It’s how they end up in the kitchen, Bill sitting at the dining table and staring at said table like he’s trying to see through it. Stan is facing the stove, poking at the kettle and fussing with the knobs. Neither of them speak for the longest time and Bill’s almost convinced he’s going to get to get away with this silence as Stan sets down a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Look. This thing with my brother—“

“There’s nothing going on with—!” Bill immediately rushes to cut him off, something almost desperate in the words.

“Dear god, Bill, let me finish!” Stan winces at the way his voice carries, clears his throat, and then continues. “Whatever this thing you have going on with my brother, just… keep it away from the kids, alright?”

Bill blinks rather stupidly at Stan. On the short list of things he expects Stan to say to him, which isn’t a lot considering they decidedly do not talk to each other, giving some kind of permission for this thing that definitely doesn’t exist between him and Ford is not it.

“…you’re okay with it?”

Stan scoffs.

“Not even a little. If it were up to me, I’d keep you a billion miles away from my whole family. But,” and he sighs, “Ford’s a… stubborn asshole. And I’ve never seen him so much as look at another human being, let alone have whatever happened a few nights ago happen. And it’s a little less distressing that you’re not, you know.” He makes a face.

“A triangle?” Bill offers up.

“Yeah. That.” Stan mutters something about “damn nerd loving geometry” before continuing. “He’s never shown interest in people except for you. I’d tell him to get taste, but apparently he’s not interested in that and if I try and tell him off, he’s just going to double down.”

“First of all, I am an incredible catch and literally anyone would be lucky to be into me,” Bill defends without an ounce of irony. “So take that into consideration.”

When he looks up from the table, Stan is just staring at him.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got nothing constructive to say there considering the fact that you tried to kill me, my family, and destroy the entire world.”

Bill can only kind of shrug in response, what can he honestly say to that?

“I guess you’re trying to make amends for that or something, right? Soos said something about a lizard—“

“Axolotl.”

“Yeah, that. And I guess you’re… cleaning the shack to do that?”

“Eh, close enough.” Bill honestly can’t say that he has a better answer than that. Something, something, learning human compassion, something, something community service.

“How’s that going?”

Bill taps his nails on the table and shrugs his shoulders after a second. Honestly, it’s not working, he tells himself. They’re all insufferable and he hates them all and he looks forward to when he’ll have them all under his subjugation. That’s the plan, after all.

“Fine enough. I guess,” he says instead. “I guess I’m cleaning my soul by wiping counters down.”

“Eh, maybe one day when you learn how to not miss spots, they’ll let you go home.”

Bill glares at Stan and Stan only laughs in response.

“The kids like you, which is weird after, well, you know.”

“Everything?”

Stan grimaces. “Yeah. Everything.”

They lapse into quiet again, Bill drinking his tea and Stan staring out the window at the darkened forest.

“It’s only because of them and Ford that I’m playing nice. After everything in the mindscape, I can’t say that I didn’t like the feeling of punching you in the face.”

Bill can’t help but rub at his face a little, mind flashing with the pain that’d come from the memory.

“We really thought you’d be gone after that. Gave a lot up to get rid of you.”

“For what it’s worth, so did I.”

When he’d called out to the Axolotl, he hadn’t expected an answer. To wake up in the void, in front of the great salamander of judgment had been… shocking. Relieving, but shocking.

“I’ll try not to be in your hair long.”

Stan makes a noncommittal noise.

“Stay for a bit. I guess if you’re bothering us, you’re not planning world domination.”

Bill tries to swallow past the bile that rises up in his throat again, not sure why that’s bothering him so.

“Besides, I ain’t seen Ford like this, again, ever. Maybe you’re good for him. Or maybe you’ll help it get out of his system.”

Bill snorts.

“Maybe don’t interrupt us next time.”

“Maybe don’t try to give my brother a handy in the bathroom everyone uses next time.”

And in spite of himself, Bill smiles, even laughs and he’s surprised when Stan laughs with him.

AN: If you liked that and you’re like “what’s going on? Why is Bill on the floor? What happened between him and Ford?” Well, do I have a treat for you! This is from my ongoing project, The Redemption and Subsequent Death of Bill Cipher! It’s a nice Billford fic taking place in the handyman au universe where Bill gets turned into a human and then figures out that humans have things called feelings and guilt. I’ve got one chapter posted, the second one is written and to be edited, and the third one is in progress! It’s my first undertaking of a multi-chapter fic since high school and so I’m very excited to share it.

If you’d like to check it out, link is below. I’ve also got fics for a bunch of different fandoms on there (including a one-shot smut fic including Bill and Ford ;)) from various different fandoms across the last several years. Please check me out! Otherwise, thanks for reading! <3

[azelmawrites]

ive missed you!! :(( I’m so glad you’re thinking abt hange again— might I suggest cowboy/horse rancher hange

I missed the blog and writing and most importantly everyone who was helping me develop the concepts or giving me new ideas to talk about, I missed y’all even more!!! ALSO Hange as a cowboy has my heart. Y’all know what cowboys do to me but HANGE as a cowboy???!!! I remember before I talked about farmhand Hange and rich daughter which was a great concept but this time I wanna lean more into a slightly cliche concept. City girl with the sweet and kind cowboy.

You’re a modern city girl, you’re a fresh university graduate and still clutching onto your hot degree. Your aunt is in need of company and you’re in a desperate need of a break after the hectic life of the city. At least that’s what Hange’s been told by your aunt on one fine Saturday afternoon.

Your aunt’s been very ecstatic about having you around, Hange couldn’t hear the end of it—not like they were complaining or anything, your aunt is a lovely woman and they were glad that the lonely woman would finally have company and someone to look after her when needed, especially after the night your aunt fell on the way back from the bathroom.

Hange didn’t really have any expectations of you, just that you were some fancy city girl with your cool university degree and your cool city life. It’s not like Hange had any hatred for city folk, but they didn’t particularly have the best experiences with them.

They’re all obnoxious and stuck up. With no manners whatsoever.

It was on a hot Tuesday afternoon that your aunt picked up your call, and she drowned you with questions of worry at you being very late to your supposed arrival time. Hange’s mild curiosity is quenched when your aunt says, “Sweet suffering jesus! You stay right there sweetie, don’t you worry! I will send Hange to fetch you right now!”

Then the woman turns to look at Hange and explains, “her car broke down on the way to town, thankfully she is right by the highway leading here—but bad news is that she barely has signal and no one ever comes to this god forsaken town so no one would be able to rescue her—” she’s hyperventilating and Hange places their two hands on her shoulder and calm her down.

“It’s okay, I will find her and go get her fast.” Hange doesn’t even wait for one more second to hear your aunt crying words of gratitude.

When Hange reaches you in their red beat up ford truck, they were taken back at the sight of you.

You were outside your car, leaning against the hood in your tiny jean shorts and equally tiny white tank top, sunglasses on your eyes and your feet clad in brown cowboy boots. It looked like a textbook outfit that you would find if you looked up what to wear in the countryside.

Except people in town don’t actually wear that, none of the women in town wear things like that.

You push yourself away from your car when you Hange exits their car. They can’t see your eyes, but you smile and introduce yourself. Hange shakes your hand, slightly surprised that someone from the city was actually polite to smile and shake hands and introduce themselves.

This had to be the first time it ever happened to them.

“Thank you for coming all this way to get me,” you say and head to open the driver’s door to pop open the hood as you explain, “I think it just needs water honestly, because it overheated and the ac wasn’t working that well before it stopped.”

When Hange took a quick look, your words were true. It was an issue with the coolant water, and it could’ve been solved in five minutes but they doubt a pretty thing like you knew how a car even works.

They wanted to affirm your theory, but it would mean that they could solve it in less than five minutes and you would drive yourself back to your aunt’s house and some other man would lay their eyes on you and want you immediately, and what’s worse you might want them back too.

So, Hange lied, and they didn’t really feel bad about it. “No, the wire for the radiator is pretty messed up too, we need to tow your car.”

Your face blanched, “really?”

“Really.” Hange affirmed, shutting the hood and seeing the luggage on your back seats, “I’ll just drive you to your aunt myself.”

As you stood by your car, Hange strolled over to your backseat without a word and started grabbing your luggage. You opened your mouth to protest but quickly realized there was no point—they were already stacking your bags into their truck with surprising ease.

“I can help with that, you know,” you said, watching as they lifted your heaviest suitcase like it weighed nothing.

Hange shot you a quick grin, wiping their hands on their jeans. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.” They hoisted the last bag into the truck and shut the door with a thud, brushing their hands off like it was the easiest thing in the world.

You stood there, a little stunned by how effortlessly they’d handled everything. “Well, thanks,” you said, trying not to sound too surprised.

“Not a problem,” Hange replied, sliding into the driver’s seat again. You followed suit, glancing over at them as they started the engine.

As the truck bounced along the uneven road, you adjusted yourself in the seat, trying to get comfortable. “Do you always rescue stranded city girls, or am I just special?” you asked with a smirk, your eyes flicking over to Hange.

Hange shot you a sidelong glance, a grin tugging at the corner of their mouth. “You’re definitely special. Not every day someone shows up in boots that look fresh out of a country music video.”

You laughed, playfully nudging your boot against the dashboard. “Hey, don’t knock the boots. Thought I’d try to blend in, you know, get that whole ‘small town’ vibe going.”

Hange raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re blending in real well, I’ll give you that.” There was a teasing glint in their eyes. “But just so you know, no one here actually wears that unless they’re going line dancing. Maybe if you stick around, we can test how well you can hold your own on the dance floor.”

“Line dancing? I think I’ve only done that with auntie when I was like…four or something?” you answered, unsure. You glance at Hange, catching their own eyes set on you.

“Four? How long ago was that?”

“You’re asking for my age? You never ask a lady her age, I thought you country people knew the basics of manners…” you tsk and roll your eyes playfully.

Hange laughs heartily, the sound filling the truck. “Touché. Guess I walked right into that one.” They glance at you again, still grinning. “But if I had to guess, I’d say… twenty-four? You’ve got that ‘fresh grad but still figuring it all out’ look.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the seat with a playful grin. “Alright, now it’s my turn. Let me guess… thirty-five?”

Hange nearly choked on their laughter, eyes widening in mock offense. “Thirty-five? Thirty-five?! You’re killing me here.”

You stifled a laugh, holding up your hands. “What? It’s not that bad. Thirty-five is prime, right?”

“Yeah, sure, if you’ve lived in dog years,” Hange shot back, shaking their head, still amused but clearly not letting it go. “I’m thirty four.”

You stifled a laugh, eyes wide. “Wait, is that offensive? It’s not that much older—just a decade or so.”

They huffed dramatically. “I’m thirty-four, not thirty-five, and yes, it kind of is when you’re still technically in your prime.”

You bit your lip, holding back a grin. “Oh, come on! Thirty-four, thirty-five… it’s practically the same thing.”

Hange gave you a side-eye, clearly trying not to laugh. “Not to us thirty-four-year-olds, it isn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in a bit. “Well, you’re not exactly ancient. Plus, with all that wisdom, I’d say it suits you.”

Hange’s playful scowl broke into a grin. “Nice save.”

“Wasn’t trying to save anything,” you teased, “just stating facts.”

They shook their head, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me not to invite you to my birthday party though. Next thing I know, you’ll have me hitting forty.”

The car rolls over the pebbles leading to your aunt’s entry, then it stops right before. Hange kills the engine and you just feel the need to say, “thirty five, forty…doesn’t matter, I think you’re sexy anyways.”

Hange’s eyes widened, and they let out a surprised laugh, their cheeks tinged with a faint blush. You smirk, then push the passenger door open and hopping down as your boots let out a satisfying sound as they crush against the stones.

You know Hange’s looking, so you walk with a sway on your hips.

[hornkerling]

(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.  

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend.  I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter. 

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need. 

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour. 

“Well observed.” 

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question. 

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face. 

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim. 

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible. 

(“You always assume that, sweet.” 

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports. 

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense. 

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.  

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone.   “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else. 

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.” 

“You’re teasing me.” 

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it. 

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought. 

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.  

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.) 

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear. 

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address, 

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.” 

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.  

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour. 

“Can you teach me how to spit?” 

“I’m sorry, kitten?” 

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“You love me, Hawke.” 

“Always true.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft. 

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.” 

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says. 

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch. 

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.” 

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.” 

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past. 

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists. 

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away. 

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.   

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while. 

“I know.” 

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark. 

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.” 

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace. 

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.” 

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his. 

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath. 

“You love them very much, don’t you?” 

Fenris squirms, 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.” 

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat. 

“Yes,” Isabela says. 

“No,” says Fenris. 

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob. 

“It’s her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs. 

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.” 

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”  

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.” 

“No,” Isabela says. 

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world. 

[sh4wty18]

girl of your dreams - chapter four.

one. | two. | three. | four.

pairing: hockeyplayer!chris x figureskater!reader

summary: chris contemplates the events of the party, and when coach beck makes an odd request of the two team captains, something goes down between the two rivals that neither of them see coming.

cw: rivals to lovers, angst, first person POV, language

word count: 1.2k + not edited (oops)

tags: @joeshiestyslover @chrissbluehat @h3arts4harry @wompwomp-1 @cassluvsturn @cl1tlover3000 (if you want to be tagged, comment!)

dividers from @plutism

---

Chris’s POV

“What do you mean, you ‘almost’ kissed her?” my best friend Nate asks as we all get changed for practice in the locker room. It’s Monday, and we’re about to have our first game of the season. 

“I mean, she pulled me in so fuckin’ hard our mouths touched. I was lowkey flirting with her but I didn’t expect all that!” I laugh at the memory from the other night.

Truthfully, I’d gone upstairs after seeing Y/n dancing with her friend. I’d already thought she looked hot as fuck when she walked in, and in my stupid drunken haze I wrapped my arm around her–that was my first mistake. Then seeing her dance with her friend all sexy? Yeah, I was done for. I had to get out of there. I knew if I spent one more minute watching, I’d be pushing through the crowd to get my hands on her. I always knew I was attracted to her, since the very first day we met. But the other night confirmed just how badly I want her. It’s pathetic, really. When she came into my room I couldn’t help myself, it was too perfect. The opportunity presented itself to me and I had to do something. So I flirted. What I wasn’t expecting was for her to reciprocate. In all our three years of knowing each other and having our dumb rivalry, I never thought she saw me in that way. Then again, she was drunk. I don’t know how she would feel about me sober. It could’ve just been a drunken mistake. No, it was a drunken mistake. We’re from two different worlds, we just don’t work. She hates me and I “hate” her. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always will be. Right?

“Sturniolo, what the fuck is wrong with you this week?” Coach Carter shouts. “Get on the rink…and don’t fuck this up! We need you.” He claps me on the shoulder and guides me out of the locker room.

When I get onto the rink, the crowd cheers for me. I’m still not used to it, and I’m a senior. Being a D1 ice hockey player has its perks, like being broadcasted on TV. People love me, especially the girls. I see edits of myself on tiktok and laugh. What did I ever do to deserve all this?

It’s a good game. We win 3-0, and I score all three goals. 

– 

The next day after practice, when I’m collecting my things from the bleachers and preparing to go home, I see a figure approach out of my peripheral vision. I turn and am met with Y/n standing close next to me.

“Hi?” I ask, not sure what else to say.

She stares down at her feet awkwardly, as if searching for the words she wants to say. I don’t care how awkward she is, she’s still beautiful.

“Hey. Um, I wanted to say…” she hesitates. Oh God, I think, Is she going to bring up the other night? I can feel the sweat beading on the back of my neck from nerves, and her breath catches as if she could read my thoughts, “I just wanted to say I watched your game last night. You played well. Congrats.” She smiles, a real, genuine smile–one I could look at forever.

I smile back, feeling my cheeks flush as I do. I scratch the back of my neck and tilt my head slightly, “Was that a compliment, Y/n/LN?” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she rolls her eyes, but I can see a hint of a smile peeking through. 

Behind us, a woman’s voice cuts through our tender moment. “Y/n, Chris. Would you two mind staying back for a minute?” Coach Beck asks.

“Of course we can!” Y/n answers immediately, for the both of us. Because… of course she does. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I’m reminded of why we have a rivalry in the first place. No matter how gorgeous she is, she’s still insufferable. 

“So,” Coach Beck starts. “Coach Carter and I have been thinking, and we feel that there’s still some… tension between the two teams. The ice hockey and figure skating teams have been performing worse in practices, getting easily distracted,” her eyes flick between me and Y/n, and I feel my cheeks burn again. “And all around, there have been a few verbal altercations between some of the teammates on both sides. For these reasons, Coach Carter and I have decided that as the team captains, you two should be responsible for holding a team building event for the two teams!” She smiles big, as if trying to hype up the assignment. 

Unsurprisingly, Y/n immediately perks up. Anything to boost leadership for her med school applications, right? 

“We’d be happy to! Let’s say, this Friday? After practice?” she asks. 

“Sounds good! You two will be responsible for the planning, we’ll just be facilitating. I’ll send an email out tonight to the figure skaters and I’ll have Coach Carter do the same for the hockey team. See you two tomorrow!”

“Have a great night, Coach Beck!” Y/n waves as Beck walks away. As soon as she’s out of earshot I turn to face Y/n with annoyance plastered on my face.

“Really? Would we be ‘happy to’?” I mock her in a high-pitched, whiny tone. “You can have fun planning that shit because I’m not doing it.” I roll my eyes.

She glares at me, “Chris. We have to.”

I look at her, “Maybe you do, but I didn’t sign up for this bullshit. Last I checked, you’re the one who volunteered both of us without consulting me!”

“‘Consulting you’? How could I consult you first? It was an on-the-spot decision! Do you think I could just say “no” to my own coach?!” she’s getting angrier now, running her hand through her hair and shaking her head. I love seeing her like this, getting all worked up for me. It makes me want her even more. I know it’s fucked up, purposely annoying her just to see her mad, but I don’t care. Everything about her turns me on, especially when she’s angry. 

“I mean seriously, Chris,” she continues. “It’s not that big of a fucking deal. I mean, shit! Take some responsibility for once and just–” She’s swearing. I’ve never heard her swear sober before. I like it. Everything’s more attractive when she does it. 

Suddenly my feet are moving forward, and my hands are reaching out to cup her cheeks. And it’s fast, and I don’t know how it happens, but my lips are on hers. And her hands are traveling up my chest and around my neck. And she’s not pulling away. And it’s just how I always pictured it, her lips are soft and sweet and she tastes like mint and vanilla, and I want to have her right now in the rink. I need all of her. 

The kiss isn’t soft, it isn’t slow or shy. It’s angry and rough and eventually I’m pulling her head back by her hair to suck on her neck. She gasps at my touch–my mouth. I want to mark her. I want her to know she’s mine, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. 

“Chris, we need to stop.” she says breathlessly, and I pull away in an instant. 

I take one step away from her, gazing down at her now disheveled hair and messy lip gloss that’s no doubt smeared onto my own mouth. “Let’s meet tomorrow night after practice. My house. We’ll get this stupid team building shit planned.”

“Okay. Tomorrow. Sounds good.” She grabs her things and walks past me. She doesn’t even bother to say goodbye. 

Oh shit, I fucked up big time.

---

eeeee finally a kiss!! lmk what you think of this chapter :)

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

My curse is the fact I keep saying ‘oh yeah I’ll open art commissions soon!’ And then never do because I’m secretly terrified of having to speak to people and be entrusted with their visions.

[quietwingsinthesky]

i have been thinking about that ‘give your oc a kink’ post for days. because i think even would have a thing for hypnosis. yes, yes, for character reasons of overwhelming feelings of impending failure that make the idea of having the ability to choose anything at all be taken out of their hands look extremely appealing. but also because it would be so fucking funny in the worse timeline. imagine you get stuck in time hell with a guy whose whole thing is hypnotizing people, and u hate him. u hate him so. so much.

[lokidokeyartichoki]

Not me folding my dumb little black handkerchief and gently pinning it to the back left pocket of my Eddie costume

[fuzzyunicorn]

Since there’s a huge debate over religion vs spirituality let me, an Arch Angel who guards god and sits in on his every Judgement (meaning I know him very well), weigh in: all of you fuckers touting religion are in the wrong. Full stop & period because god never wanted religions to exist and they are a) incorrect and b) weaponized to harm all. Make no mistake this includes Christianity. To make this as short as possible (a longer explanation to come on my future podcast) let me tell you what was actually going on when god incarnated as Jesus Christ; he promoted SPIRITUALITY & PRACTICING (WHITE) MAGICK NOT RELIGION during his lifetime as I’ll say it again Jesus Christ! What makes me laugh is god does not approve of the Bible or what many Christians promote & do in his name. Did you know the Iron Pentacle (the five pointed star you all are so afraid of) was something he, god, heavily promoted in his lifetime of being Jesus Christ? So what does that mean? It means god, when he was Jesus Christ, actually was encouraging people to practice magick (specifically White Magick)— why do you think Satanists put in every religious book that magick & divinination (card reading being one method of divination) is illegal? So no one would or COULD use White Magick to heal people, animals, plants & this earth. Your Bible is a crock of shit & your religion is harmful & god does not approve. My last point I will be sharing today is Christians realize this fast as fuck— every single Christian Church (for this example I am EXCLUDING Satanists masquerading as clergymen) clergymen and parishioner PRACTICES WITCHCRAFT EACH AND EVERY SINGLE SUNDAY! Let me prove my point: what is an alter? A place to cast magick spells so witchcraft. What is the act of lighting a candle on an alter & praying? Candle magick (so witchcraft). What does burning sage or resin (tree sap like frankincense and myrrh which was gifted to baby Jesus) do (the gold thing they swing around & smoke comes out during church services)? Brings in Angels and Saints. That is witchcraft (working with spirits). Praying to deities for supernatural help is witchcraft so praying to god is witchcraft. What is a synonym for Jesus Christ practicing miracles (like to heal people)? Witchcraft (White magick). So Christians who say magick and especially witchcraft (witchcraft is defined by using your own energy to create magick like spells) are the devil & for Satan, why are you all actively practicing witchcraft? Why are you using witchcraft during every Church service while putting in your Holy Book any and all magick is outlawed? If you’re actively practicing witchcraft then why are you hypocritically attacking spiritualist for using witchcraft to help themselves and others ascend & become better people & souls? What are you doing to make this world a better place by attacking those who follow in god’s actual footsteps? Make it make sense, hypocrites. Magick is NOT good (white) or bad (black) BUT what is good or evil is the magick practitioner themselves & their intention(s). If you heal someone of cancer through the means of magick, does that make you evil? Fuck no. If you use magick to give someone cancer that does in fact make you evil.

As a tarot reader I get a lot of Christians who accuse me of being a Satanist (ironic af for multiple reasons— mainly practicing Christianity which was invented and is ran by literal Satanists) and tell me I need to return to god n he doesn’t speak to me but instead to them (he tells me in the moment he does not in fact speak to them (them being who is wrongfully accusing me)) & spaz out when I calmly tell them I’m doing what god wants and commands of me by being a tarot reader. So Christians who attack me— who are you actually defending and promoting? Satan himself & Satanism. Is the irony hitting you in the face yet? Why are you accusing me of practicing witchcraft (Christians DENY the existence of white magick & exclusively act like there is only black magick) by helping people by reading their cards who Angels and Gods help me interpret when you, as a Christian, actively practice witchcraft designed by Satanists and harm innocents especially spiritualist who follow the TRUE path of god? So to everyone who thinks spirituality is evil, I’m gonna laugh so fuckin’ hard at you on your Judgment Day.