#or perhaps choose whatever is opposite of my friends

[zelda7999]

Behold! The Artfight teams reveal

https://youtu.be/poDWhh73uxA

Oh god it's Twilight all over again-- Team Jacob LMAOOO

Tho in seriousness, yes I would genuinely choose Werewolf over Vampire.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season Two

Chapter Twenty Two - The races

As the races were in the afternoon, you had accepted Violet's invitation to join her at her home. As she had sworn to look after you, you were sure she would be eager to hear of your caller.

She greets you with a smile as you enter the drawing room, calling for tea and ushering you to come sit down with her. She starts the conversation by telling you that Eloise was still being rather difficult and that Anthony had gone to call upon Miss Edwina.

You just hoped Edwina could handle Anthony. Though, from what you heard in Lady Whistledown, it was the sister he would have to worry about.

When Benedict steps into the drawing room, he is surprised to see you. He had not expected to see you, unaware his mother had invited you. Not that he should be surprised. Violet Bridgerton was fond of you. That much he did know.

"Good morning."

You look up and see him pass you with his sketchbook.

"Good morning."

Benedict slumps down in a chair opposite you and opens his book, sketching away. He doesn't look at you much. You choose to ignore his brief greeting and share your news with Violet.

"I had a caller this morning."

Violet sits up with excitement and reaches for your hand. "Who?"

"Lord Baxtor."

You don't notice the way Benedict stops his sketching to secretly listen. Violet looks beyond pleaded.

"I hear he has quite a fortune." Violet hums softly. "I believe he is quite studious, too."

"He will be escorting me at the races this afternoon. I am to meet him there." You smile brightly. Violet can tell you're excited.

"That is wonderful news, dear. Do you need anything?"

"Will you perhaps chaperone? Racing is not quite my mother's interest, and it would bring me great comfort to know someone I trust is near."

"Of course."

Benedict continues his sketching. He's not sure why it irked him so much to know you have a gentleman escorting you to the races. Why shouldn't you have a caller? It's what you wanted all along.

Penelope arrives in a cheerful yellow dress, as usual. It certainly brightens up the room. She offers you a smile before joining Eloise at the table. In Eloise's hands is the latest Whistledown paper.

"Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?" Pen asks Eloise, pretending not to realise right away.

"It is."

"I thought we were done with her."

"Do not discourage her, Penelope," Violet chimes in. "If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she's interested in what she had to say about the season's available gentlemen too."

"I cannot think of a cleverer way to say this, but no." Eloise sighs. "Her latest is not exactly the philosophical treatise on the rights of the fairer sex u was hoping for, but--"

"Come now, I do not think Lady Whistledown has changed her entire style of writing wince her last issue," Penelope says.

"Perhpad not. But perhaps she still can."

"Perhaps she does not want to. Perhaps she is quite content. And if she's even sparked your renewed interest, El, then perhaps whatever she is doing is working."

You smile at Penelope's passion.

"Yes, but she could do so much more," Eloise says. "I know I could convince her of it. If I were to find her this time."

"What you must find, my dear, is happiness," Violet chimes in. "Penelope, assist me here. Eloise could find that with someone, could she not?"

I believe she could. And not Lady Whistledown, but someone more like-- Colin."

"My brother?" Eloise looks at her friend confused.

"No, not Coli-- Colin!" Penelope stands up. You turned around to see Colin Bridgerton entering the room. You stand up, also.

"Glad to see things have not changed," he says.

You get up to greet him. "Hello!"

"Brother!"

"Colin!"

Benedict and Violet do the same as you.

"Could you set aside the latest family squabble and embrace me?" Colin teases. Eloise hugs her brother with a happy chuckle. Violet hugs him next. He then pulls you into a hug, too. You chuckle softly.

"I did not expect you to return so soon, dearest," Violet says to him, taking in the sight of her son.

"Well, I missed you all. What can I say?" He grins. You step back as he hugs his brother. As Benedict steps back, Colin looks at Penelope. She smiles at him.

Hyacinth and Gregory then enter the room and hug their brother, having missed him dearly.

"I must get you to the doctor post haste," Benedict says. "This strange, fizzy growth on your chin is no doubt some kind of disease."

You chuckle softly. Benedict smiles proudly. He likes it when you laugh.

"And you seem to have taken to the sun toom how peculiar," Francesca comments, coming up beside her brother.

"I think he looks distinguished," Penelope comments.

"And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?" Colin asks.

"He is..."

Anthony appears right at that moment. You're surprised to see him.

"...back from courting already," Violet says, also surprised to see him.

"Colin! You are returned. Even better." Anthony greets his brother. "Family, I should like you all to ready yourselves for the races today. We will be attending, united as one."

Violet once again seems surprised, yet happily so.

You chuckle softly. "I best get home and change then. I shall see you all there, I hope." You look around. Anthony nods. Penelope does, too. You smile at her and pat her shoulder gently as you pass her.

You don't even glance at Benedict.

You arrive at the races and find Lord Baxtor waiting for you. He smiles as he offers you his arm, and you both head off to place bets on horses.

It's a beautiful sunny afternoon, and you were very much looking forward to your day out. Your mother trails behind you a ways as you walk with Baxtor.

Once the bets are placed, you walk through the crowds. It was certainly a busy day.

"I am hoping you're my lucky charm today," he says, smiling brightly.

"Oh? I'm honoured," you chuckle.

He looks at you with a grin. "It was certainly be a good sign for the future, no?"

"If we win?"

"Absolutely."

You chuckle again. "It's a lot of pressure relying on the horse."

"I think he shall pull through."

You find his confidence in the animal rather charming. If the horse were to be the deciding factor of this courtship, then you hoped it would pull through. Jonathan Baxtor certainly thought so.

As you stroll, you spot the Sharma sisters. Edwina is attached at the arm with a fine gentleman. Lumley, you believe his name to be. Kate catches your eye and you smile at her, she returns the gesture.

Kate is beautiful. She is wearing a dark blue dress with matching accessories in her hair and blue netted gloves on her hands.

Edwina is in all pink. She looks very pretty, too. Gentle.

"Friends of yours?" Baxtor asks.

"Not quite yet. I met them at Lady Danbury's soiree. I'm keen to know them, however. They seem like good people to know."

"Miss Edwina Sharma looks very pretty today."

"She does.

"Though my eye is still drawn to you," Baxtor smiles. You find yourself looking away with a blush. This man certainly knew what to say.

"Shall we find our seats?"

"A splendid idea."

You chuckle softly as he guides you along toward the track.

You're far too occupied to see Benedict watching from a distance. He was standing with his brothers. His blue eyes follow you until you're out of sight. Anthony nudges him, and Benedict snaps out of it.

"You're staring."

"No, I wasn't."

Anthony gives him a look, and Benedict sighs. He turns his eyes away and spots Mondrich approaching. He decides to greet him quickly to stop his brother from mentioning anything else.

You sit with Baxtor and talk quietly as people gather to find their seats. You watch the horses walk along the fence with their riders.

"Beautiful, are they not?"

"Yes, very."

"Do you ride?" He asks.

"Not very well. We don't have any horses." You admit that rather shyly.

"Fear not. I would be glad to teach you one day," he smiles. "That is, if you are interested."

"Very much."

As the Bridgerton family take their seats, Benedict's attention is drawn to a choice nearby. His eyes find you sitting a row below him off to the right. You're talking closely with Lord Baxtor.

Anthony has left their side to go meddle with the Sharma's, hoping to get close to Miss Edwina, and Colin does not care enough for his brother's brooding to shake him from it.

Benedict watches you from his seat in a slight huff. He should have asked you to come with him, but he hadn't even thought about it until it was too late.

Why should it matter so much who you come with? No. He can't deny it. He misses you. He misses your company. He wants his friend back by his side.

You laugh at something Baxtor says and Benedict has to look away. He can't stand watching any longer.

It isn't much longer until the bell tolls and the horses are off. You and Baxtor watch with excitement and eagerness as the horses run. You both cheer along with the crowd. He is amused by your excitement.

High Flyer crosses the finish line first and you cheer.

Benedict watches the way you grab onto Baxtor's arm in excitement. He immediately has to look away. Luckily, Eloise, who was beside him, is a fine distraction as she cheers in excitement, too.

If only he could feel as thrilled.

"She is pompous and arrogant and quite sure she knows best in every situation."

Benedict was fencing with his brothers when Anthony decided to moan about the eldest Sharma sister.

"She sounds like a terrible nuisance," Colin comments, having just spared with his brother. He gets into a stance to parry again with Anthony.

"Especially since you are the one who knows best in every situation," Benedict says, watching his brothers.

Anthony disarms Colin.

"And the victor of every match today," Colin points out.

"Less talking, more fencing, Brother."

Colin picks up the sword and gives it to Benedict, who gets into position. "Good luck," he sighs.

"Ready?" Benedict asks.

Anthony raises the sword, and they begin.

"Do you know why I win every time?" Anthont asks.

"Because every time you lose, you claim we cheated."

Anthony wins.

"Because I know my duties. What my purposes are and how to obtain them. Which I will do when I make Miss Edwina my viscountess."

Benedict loses again.

Not even his anger at the image of you and Baxtor was enough to fuel his duel with Anthony.

"Miss Edwina and I are well-suited. She is a lovely young lady. She wishes for children. She'll make a perfectly agreeable wife."

"What he means to say is that he has already dismissed every other young lady in town," Benedict states.

"You are one to talk."

"Whatever do you mean?" Benedict asks.

"The one woman in all of London you hold so dear, and yet you are not courting her."

Benedict swings his sword. "She is not mine to court."

"Is that jealousy, I sense?" Anthony teases.

"No."

Benedict swings, but Anthony outsmarts him. "Is she not of interest to you? Or perhaps you are simply not ready."

"Hush, Brother. It is not of your concern."

Benedict loses again.

"You take too much upon yourself, brother." Colin says, watching Anthony. "Perhaps your life might be easier if you persued someone with a less disagreeable sister."

"Why should I be the one to admit defeat?" Anthony asks him, getting rather worked up. "Regardless of which young lady I have chosen to pursue, there would have always been some obstinate father or meddlesome aunt into the picture. I shall certainly not let some sister, especially one younger than me, keep me from getting what it is I want."

"Whom you want, you mean?" Benedict swings again getting Anthony on the arm.

"Is this still a friendly match, or do we need to find armor?" Colin asks.

"That is what you don't understand, Brother. Benedict honours me by holding nothing back. As I now honour him."

They get into position again and then fence once more. Anthony knocks Benedict onto his backside.

"What honour."

Anthony helps Benedict up onto his feet. He gives him a knowing look, but Benedict shakes his head. Anthony simply chuckles.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for the bracing exertion. Now, it is time for me to secure my final victory for the day. Wish me luck."

Anthony walks off. The two brothers watch him go.

They spar between themselves.

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

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[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 1

[chap two] | [all chapters here]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | Was I the only one who turned 18 a month into their senior year and then proceeded to spiral and become The Worst version of themself possible?? Well, this fic is semi-inspired by that shitty part of my life lmao. Reader figure skates though. I can’t figure skate, hurts my feet lol. I never expected to write a fake dating story, but Eddie Munson has had me bewitched for nearly 2 years now, so here we go.

(if you'd like to be added to a tag list, pls let me know!)

WC | 3.9k

Chapter One

The idea came to you during a student council meeting as the class president was droning on about the ‘85 homecoming preparations: you needed to do something crazy, something completely and utterly out of character.

Maybe it was because of your ex breaking up with you just weeks before school started. Maybe it was that senior year itch. Maybe it was the realization that you were turning 18 next week. Hell, maybe you just woke up that morning with a strong sense that the things in your life were no longer satisfying you.

Whatever the cause, since the start of your senior year, you’ve just felt so off.

Your ex, Duncan, breaking up with you right before school started was a low blow, and an absolutely shitty feeling - you didn’t date much, but when you did, it was never the guy that ended things. It wasn’t shitty because you were in love and oh so heartbreak, it wasn’t shitty because you saw a future with him. It was shitty because of how goddamn embarrassing it was.

To your peers, you were a couple that made sense, and in fact people had been urging you to go out for a while. And, obviously, you had grown to like him, considering that you were in a relationship for six months - you never would have put up with him for that long if you didn’t actually like him. But the fact that he broke up with you, and not the other way around, left a sour, spiteful taste in your mouth.

So, perhaps it was that break-up that made you feel different this entire month. Or maybe it was your impending 18th birthday, which made you realize just how close you were to legal adulthood. Whatever the cause, every single aspect of your life up to this point suddenly came under your deep scrutiny. You just weren’t… happy?

That made it sound bad, but what were you enjoying right now? What got you excited every day? As you sat in the student council meeting, zoning out since the very start, you came to think that maybe you had nothing going on right now that you genuinely wanted in your life.

Hell, you weren’t even on the student council because you enjoyed it, Janet just dragged you into it back in your sophomore year. You figured she loved the sense of importance it gave her. She and everyone else in the council probably got off on how important they felt, the dictators of Hawkins High School.

You always ran in this crowd, and before you never questioned it. The popular kids, the rich kids, the successful kids. You don’t remember ever choosing these friends and acquaintances - if anything, it seemed that these peers were all a constant, as if they’d always been there from the very start. You figured it was the natural state of the world - as the daughter of one of the richest men in town, you were predestined to end up here. Not here as in the student council, surrounded by other spoiled rich kids debating the difference between turquoise and cyan. But here in an even broader sense - in a finely curated life, in all the “right” circles, on the path to either greatness or becoming the trophy wife of greatness.

Up until now, you’d never questioned it. Yes, mom and dad, you were a popular kid whose free time was fully booked between college prep, figure skating, student council, dates with a cookie-cutter boyfriend, and everything else under the sun. Yes, mom and dad, you were doing everything they all told you too because it would look great on your college applications, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, because that’s how things have always been done.

It started to dawn on you maybe a week or so into the school year just how mundane you were - you never questioned your time spent skating or on extracurriculars, you never went against the order of things as dictated by only the most popular of your peers. That’s just what was done, what was always done. But after your ex dared to break up with you, you came to realize recently that maybe all of this wasn’t what you wanted - maybe it was time to start making some choices for yourself instead of worrying what your parents told you or what your peers thought or what to do to keep your boyfriend semi-happy.

So, you started to consider what exactly it was that you wanted. And that proved to be more challenging than you anticipated, which probably would have sounded extremely pathetic if you had said it to any of the people sitting next to you.

Did you like figure skating? Of course, it was your idea after all. What you didn’t like was the pressure from your mother to train and become an Olympian, a feat that was never your intention when you took up the sport at six years old. Besides, you told her, you were way past the age for trials, you’d never get in (or, at least, that’s what you told her, because how the hell would you know whether or not there was a cut off age).

Did you like your friends? You thought so - you’d known them virtually your entire life, so you never questioned your relationship with them. But proximity didn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand with likeability. Maybe some of them you actually liked, but the rest? No, they were just around because they always had been.

Did you like your relationship before Duncan broke up with you? No, probably not. Of course, your opinion of him and that entire relationship was soured now, but even at the time, you were probably just going through the motions, doing things that couples do without any real heart in it.

So… What did you want? What did you actually like?

It was jarring to realize that your entire life had been dictated and finely tuned for you from the moment you were born, that even the things you wanted had been molded into new shapes by your parents or your peers or your teachers.

Once you realized how little of your life was in your own hands, you couldn’t get it out of your head. You always saw yourself as someone who was in control, as someone who couldn’t be told shit. And yet, you came to realize that that was far from the truth. It was as if suddenly everything about your life was something you hated. You hated your classes, you hated your friends, you hated running in the same circle as your ex, you hated all your obligations. Through the first few weeks of senior year, all you felt was frustration, disinterest, and absolute boredom with everything around you. Something had to change. And during the bullshit student council meeting, you became determined to make it happen.

So, over the course of that boring as all hell meeting, you tried to figure out what you wanted, and how you were going to get it. You set a goal for yourself, silly but helpful considering the structure you were so accustomed to: you’d set your plan in motion on your birthday. New year, new you, right?

Once you gave yourself that deadline, you then had to think about what exactly you were trying to accomplish - yes, you wanted to make some major changes, you wanted to, in a way, become a new person, but how were you going to do that?

You settled on four key things to keep in mind:

You wanted to piss off your parents big time - your dad barely acknowledged your existence and your mom coddled you, so actually upsetting them would be a feat unto itself. You had to become so awful that even your mother would stop making excuses for you.

You needed to drop your friends - the more you thought about all the people you grew up alongside, the more you realized that you weren’t particularly interested  in relationships with any of them. Whether you made new friends or not wasn’t a priority, in fact you kind of liked the idea of just being left alone.

You had to figure out what you actually enjoyed - outside of skating, you had no idea what really interested you, what you would like to do with your life and your free time. You figured it was time to do some self reflection and focus on finding things that you’d actually enjoy.

And, most importantly, you had to get back at your ex. Yeah, it was stupid to be motivated by a boy, but nothing would make you happier than seeing him worked up and frustrated. Your focus wasn’t on trying to win him back or anything like that - you wanted to piss him off, to exact some kind of revenge for making you look like an idiot when he broke up with you at a party that all your friends had attended.

How you were going to accomplish these, however, was yet to be determined. But they were a damn good starting point, and they got you motivated to become an absolute nuisance to everyone around.

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The Friday following the student council meeting, you decided to first experiment with a little something, satiate a mild curiosity. To anyone else, it was probably the most mundane thing in the world, but to a high schooler who thought graduation was life or death, doing anything out of the ordinary felt nail-biting.

You were going to sit at a new lunch table.

You had just two days left until your birthday, until you’d officially set your plan in motion, so you still had a little more time to come up with something. So far, you couldn’t think of shit. You were already someone who was blunt and commanding and mean, whose thoughts and feelings were always on your face, so people were used to you being bossy and a little miserable - you couldn’t start being meaner or blunter, you just knew that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you could start skipping class, maybe you could start flaking on friends, but somehow none of that felt like enough, like it wouldn’t make a statement. You had to really make an impression, to really set yourself up for a total ruination of your social status, you just hadn’t figured out how.

But a new lunch table was as good a starting point as any, right?

You chose a table at the far end of the lunchroom; customarily your group of friends, acquaintances, and ex sat centrally, surrounded by the jocks on one side and the academics on the other. The new table you chose was only occupied by two other people, a dorky little couple who looked at you funny when you sat as far from them as possible. In turn, you gave them an icy cold glare, prompting them to look away quickly, like you were a Medusa who could turn them to stone.

Your stupid little lunchroom plan was a bust, though. Five minutes into your peaceful lunch, your two closest friends, Amelia and Janet found you, each looking perplexed and put-off by your seat of choice. They looked around before lowering into the seats around you, their expression full of something akin to disgust, as if sitting at a different table was that offensive.

“What are we doing over here?” Amelia asked judgmentally, eyeing the couple at the opposite end of the table. Across the lunchroom, a few people (including Duncan) from your usual lunch table looked at you funny, “It’s like we’re exiled or something.”

So dramatic, you thought while staring harshly at her.

“Change of scenery.” You answered plainly, stabbing at the food in front of you. Amelia hummed in acknowledgement, but still made it quite clear that she didn’t agree with the decision.

“What, does this have something to do with Duncan?” She jabbed, receiving another nasty look from you, “So, he’s a jerk? Get over it.”

You should’ve known this idea was too simple to work. Of course they’d just follow you like the lemmings that they were, just as unable to make their own decisions as you were. Yeah, you definitely needed to try something bigger to scare them off.

Briefly, you thought that you could maybe tell them, just say point blank, “Amelia, Janet, I hate being around you and this friendship is done.” But, again, you figured that wouldn’t be good enough, that they’d laugh at your mean sense of humor even if you reiterated yourself. In this crowd, being mean was never enough to make your point, because all of you were nasty, not only to each other but to virtually everyone you met.

And despite your well-known attitude problem, you still cared about Amelia and Janet, flaws and all. These were the girls that you’d known since you were five years old, of course you worried about their feelings at least a little bit - nearly 13 years of friendship would do that to anyone. Guess you had more of a heart than you gave yourself credit for.

You definitely needed a foolproof plan to get out of this friendship, this social circle, this popular bubble that you’d always been trapped in. The friendship had to end without you saying so. You had to push them out until they finally gave up on you. Make it seem like it was their idea, that would definitely work on them.

As you schemed, Amelia and Janet chatted around you. Various acquaintances stopped by the table, all with the same question: what the hell were you guys doing sitting all the way out here? Even Duncan was amongst those that asked, trying to ignore the way you glared daggers at him. Amelia and Janet gave various responses, all of which put blame on you as if this simple little decision meant their utter ruination.

As Duncan was preparing to walk back to your usual lunch table, a commotion rose out in the hallway, the echo of rapid footfall drifting in through the doors. Multiple heads turned to face the cafeteria doors with curiosity, some people peeked out into the hall to check what the yelling was about, scurrying back to their friends to report what they’d seen. You, Amelia, Janet, and Duncan all waited silently, sharing raised brows and curious looks.

Not even a minute later, Eddie freaking Munson came crashing into the lunchroom, a look of total glee on his face as he cackled, not even remotely fazed by all the eyes on him. As he tumbled through the cafeteria doors, you jumped a little at the burst of sound. Eddie’s disruption turned everyone’s heads now, the lunchroom silent in shock and loathing as the resident outcast ran between tables, heading for the set of doors at the opposite end of the room. Your gaze was locked on the shit disturber as he blew past your table, carelessly running into Duncan in the process, but even that collision didn’t slow him down. Duncan yelled at him, but Eddie was focused on one goal, and if this were a cartoon you definitely would have seen dust kick up behind him from how quickly he was moving.

Not too far behind was Coach Miller, a look of absolute rage marring his puffy red face as he pursued Eddie. It didn’t even seem to cross his mind that he was making a fool of himself in front of the entire student body - his only focus was stopping the offender of whatever shenanigans currently pissed him off.

Your gaze turned back to the excited Eddie, an undeniable curiosity rising in you - what the hell did he do to piss off Coach Miller this bad? Sure, the coach was always pretty damn temperamental, but you couldn’t recall ever seeing him look quite this upset before.

Eddie paused at the cafeteria doors to turn and pull a mocking face at the coach before darting from the room, as if nothing in the world could touch him and he was unstoppable.

As Coach Miller disappeared after Eddie and students returned to their usual conversations, albeit with an air of awkwardness, you stared at the cafeteria doors thoughtfully.

That’s when an idea began to form.

You needed to take a page out of Eddie Munson’s book. If anyone in this school knew how to be a thorn in everyone’s side, it was him. So, you spent the remainder of your lunch brainstorming, trying to figure out how to channel even a sliver of Eddie’s energy; you only chimed into the conversation when someone spoke to you directly.

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In the middle of fifth period, you still weren’t quite sure what your game plan was, but you at least had a vague starting point. While your history teacher rambled on about some significant European war that you couldn’t begin to care about, you tapped your pencil as you thought about Eddie Munson (a sentence that very nearly grossed you out).

You’ve known about him since your freshman year - at the time, he was a year ahead of you, but since then he’d been held back. People always sneered when talking about him, as if Eddie was the most offensive thing they’d ever encountered, as if he was some kind of plague. He went against all social norms you’d learned up to that point, he was contradictory to everything you’d ever been taught about social conduct and likeability - he wore ratty clothes, listened to scary music, acted out in the most theatrical ways possible, and never seemed to give a shit what anyone thought.

You had never spoken to Eddie personally. Through the years you’d had a few classes together, including your math class this year, so you’ve witnessed some of his antics. But really, you knew nothing about the guy. Just the things that everyone else told you, and those things were nothing good. Whether or not Eddie was as bad as people said didn’t matter to you. His reputation was shit, and in this instance that’s exactly what you needed.

So, how were you going to ruin your senior year with the help of Eddie Munson? Well, at the very least, maybe you first had to have a conversation with him. It would be pretty stupid to walk up to him and go “hey, Munson, I know everyone here hates you, how about we chat and you make them hate me, too!”

Maybe you needed to find a way to hang out with him? Pretend to be friends long enough that the rest of the student body begins to ostracize you? With a little amused huff, an even worse thought crossed you: maybe you needed to pretend you were interested in Eddie Munson for a while, that was sure to piss just about everyone off. Especially Duncan.

But then the idea gave you pause.

You could not pretend to flirt with, or even date, Eddie fucking Munson. No chance in hell that would work. No way he would go for it, and no way you’d be able to tolerate him long enough to convince anyone that you were even remotely into him.

But… maybe?

Shit, what a stupid idea.

Or maybe it was a brilliant one.

You mulled it over a few minutes longer - if you were going to, somehow, convince Eddie Munson to pretend to date you, you needed to offer him something in exchange, that was obvious. You needed to give him a good reason to help you out, or this plan was never going to work. Its chances of success already seemed slim to none.

You had one idea, though you weren’t entirely certain if he’d go for it.

Your Uncle Tom was a cop, had been with the force your entire life - and you’d bet he’s probably had at least one run-in with Eddie. Maybe you’d tell Eddie that you could get cops to leave him alone, to stop watching him wearily whenever they were around. You couldn’t promise him too much, of course, but you knew at the very least that you could get your uncle to leave him alone. Or you could even take the fall here and there for whatever trouble Eddie inevitably lands himself in - what cop was stupid enough to arrest the niece of a cop and the daughter of a man who owned half of Hawkins?

It wasn’t foolproof, and you knew there were flaws to be found, but it just might work.

So, with your mind made up, you rip a scrap of paper from your notebook and scribble out a quick message:

Let’s make a deal. Sunday. You pick the time and place. Locker #436

You’d hoped that Eddie would be smart enough to realize that you wanted him to write you back, to drop his own stupid note in your locker so you could meet up and tell him your stupid, crazy idea. God, this better work.

You swiftly raise your hand in the air, giving a small impatient wave when your teacher didn’t acknowledge you right away, instead trying to focus on his lecture.

He rolled his eyes when he spotted your hand in the air, pointing at you and saying in an annoyed monotone, “What’s so important that you’re interrupting?”

Without any hesitation, you state bluntly, “Lady troubles.”

The teacher looks shocked by how plainly you stated it. But because it was you that said it and not someone else, your peers didn’t dare laugh, although a couple boys seemed to choke in surprise or amusement.

“Go, go…” Your teacher waved you off before continuing his lecture, wanting to forget the small interaction entirely.

You exited the room and roamed the halls confidently. Eddie’s locker wasn’t hard to miss - he was one of the students that decorated the metal with crude permanent marker sketches, and the school was too cheap to care about replacing or painting over it. As you approached Eddie’s locker, you checked around to make sure no one spotted you; it wasn’t as if you were committing a crime, but you didn’t need anyone wondering what you were up to in case this plan didn’t work.

So, you slipped the note into his locker, returned to class, and waited impatiently for the final bell of the day to ring, hoping that Eddie would actually stop by his locker and not just leave school without ever seeing your note.

When the end of the day came, it took everything in your power not to rush back to your own locker - just in case, you didn’t want him spotting you there. Why all the secrecy, you sure as hell didn’t know, but you nonetheless continued it.

So, you waited, stopping into the bathroom to check your makeup, walking with Amelia and Janet as they stopped at their own lockers. As the three of you exited the building and walked into the parking lot, you pretended to remember something, telling them that you needed to run back inside. You said your quick goodbyes and went back to wandering the halls, finally opening up your own locker.

It was stupid that your heart leapt when you saw a crudely torn piece of paper resting on top of some of your belongings.

You opened it quickly, eagerly reading the metalhead’s response:

Picnic table behind the football field, 4.

God, what were you getting yourself into.

[dfortrafalgar]

Hiii! I'm so happy you are taking requests! I love the way you write, everything feels so real! I'm loving ILY and it's a bittersweet feeling now that it is ending (I'm the anon that commented early on saying that it was so relatable because I also had a miscarriage at 6 weeks). Thank you for that fic 🥰🤗

Now, my requests, if you choose to take it! I would love a jealous/protective Law X fem reader. I was thinking, no established relationship but some flirting going on, perhaps. Could be SFW or NSFW, it's up to you! I would just really loooooove some protective Law! I'm also obsessed with his hands so you can do whatever with that 😂

Did I mention that I love your writting? I did? I'll do it again. Thank you for sharing your gift! ❤️

I'm in annon but you can call me R.J. 😋😎

AAA HELLO R.J im so happy to hear from you again!!!!! no lie ive been thinking about you every day, your first message during my story was so amazingly sweet and touching and i havent been able to stop thinking about it, im so happy that you loved the end of the fic and to hear that you're doing well!!! <333

i ended up projecting a bit in this fic... and it ended up being a bit more Protective Law rather than Jealous Law, but i hope you like it all the same! i also juggled on nsfw, but decided that sfw worked better for this specific plot, so i hope that's alright!!!

thank you so much for requesting!!!! 💗❤️💓💕

Decontaminate the Heart

Law x Fem Reader

Your feelings toward Law had gone from a reasonable level of respect to a deep infatuation that you were readily keeping hidden. An unfortunate encounter with a predatory shopkeep might be what unravels your feelings... and the feelings of your captain.

Warnings: some descriptions of gross behavior from a stranger, light fluff, pre-relationship vibes, protective law but also struggling-to-accept-his-feelings awkward law

Law wasn’t fond of the word ‘jealous.’  After all, he was a seasoned veteran in the long game of Keeping All Human Emotions Bottled Up Inside So That You Don’t Show Weakness To Those Who Might Be Out To Hurt You.  He had become a pro at it, too.  After all, putting a word to an undefined emotion only validated that feeling, which was exactly the opposite of what Law needed.  Mouth constantly downturned in a pensive frown, steely, cold eyes shutting down all encounters with those he deemed unfamiliar or even the slightest bit threatening, holding even his closest friends at arm’s length on good days.  If he wasn’t the strong-willed, feared captain of the Heart Pirates, a man with a three billion beri bounty on his head, then who was he?

The answer is: a loser.  He was a loser.  Especially after he brought you on board his crew as a boatswain.  That day, he unwillingly began the downward spiral that would transform into his emotional demise.  A psychic catastrophe.  An inner turmoil of the highest degree.

Ikkaku called it infatuation.  Bepo called it love.  The rest of his raunchy, stifled male crew called it being horny.

Whatever it was, it had Law in a steel trap, never letting go.

And on a particularly warm, sunny day, docked cliffside on an island with idyllic spring weather, his steel trap was donned in a flowy sundress that complimented her entire outward appearance in a way he didn’t think was humanly possible.  When she first greeted Law before they departed the Polar Tang, she had bent down slightly, holding her hands together in front of her and pushing her biceps together just enough that her cleavage was on center stage for just a brief moment.  She had giggled at the way Law’s face flushed with a crimson hue.  Unprovoked… but not necessarily unappreciated.

Days for leisure were hard to come by as a pirate, so the crew was sure to take full advantage of the opportunities that crossed your path.  The pirates were given the freedom to roam to their heart’s content, so long as they didn’t cause trouble.  “Stress-free activities are crucial to maintaining good cardiac health,” Law would say.  But everyone knew he enjoyed some sparring days off just as much as any average bloke.

Especially when those days off were spent in your company.

“Thank you for coming with me, Captain!” you quipped, your voice cheerful as you walked beside him, a small paper bag clutched in your hand, containing a small product you had just purchased from one of the local shops.  The entire crew had shed their usual boiler suits for the day in exchange for more casual attire, you taking the opportunity to don the sundress that you had purchased a few months ago with Ikkaku.  “I’m always happy when you take days off to get out of that stuffy office of your’s.”

Law fought tooth and nail to keep the pleased smirk that twitched his lips from showing on his face.  He already needed to duel with his wandering eyes which kept itching to gaze at the way your breasts fit into the bodice of your light, flowy gown.  “Of course, it’s nice to get out sometimes.”  ‘With you,’ he added in his head before quickly balling up the thought into a crumpled mess and chucking it into a garbage pail.  The worst part about all of this, unrelated to walking side-by-side with you (which was the complete opposite of a bad thing), was the fact that he was pressured to leave Kikoku behind on the Polar Tang.  He felt naked without his sword perched on his right shoulder.

Your eyes were eagerly glancing between the storefronts that surrounded you on both sides, happy townspeople window shopping with their families and loved ones, partaking in the outdoor food markets, and spending quality time in the sun.  The domestic bliss of days like this always made your soul feel lighter, your footsteps almost floating off the ground.  A few couples passed by, their hands intertwined and souls combining with bliss, a sight that made Law’s own fingers twitch with the deep-seeded need to grasp your hand.  Every once in a while, your own fingers would tingle with the desire to reach out for him as well.

He wouldn’t hold your hand because of affection, Law told himself.  It was just to make sure other people knew you were off limits.

Was that because of affection?  Was he even entitled to such a thought?  

He stifled a frustrated groan.  “Are you looking for something?” he asked curiously, picking up on the way your gleaming eyes darted to and fro.

“There was a shop I read about in the latest paper that I could have sworn was on this island…” you muttered, bringing your free hand up to nervously stroke the skin of your cheek.  After a few more moments, your face lit up as your eyes landed on a shop tucked away between two larger markets, almost completely hidden from public view.  “Found it!”

Law’s heart almost leapt out of his throat when you subconsciously snatched his hand, yanking him out of the flow of people on the street and towards the storefront.  His stern golden eyes flashed up towards the sign above the front door.

‘WILD BILL’S PAWN SHOP’

“You read about this somewhere?” he asked, his voice revealing a level of skepticism as you stopped in front of the front door.  A dingy, beat-up ‘OPEN’ sign carved into a plank of birch wood and hanging from a rusty chain was flipped outward toward the street, beckoning townsfolk inside to peruse whatever wares were contained within the unassuming wooden shack.

You excitedly nodded.  “Yup, I was looking for places that might sell rare coins.”

Law’s breath caught in his throat.  “But you don’t collect coins.”

“I was looking for you!” you called out, flashing him a smile that could have easily put him in an early grave.  So much for being conscious of his heart health.  With the way his organ was hammering behind his sternum, he had half a mind to be worried about spontaneous cardiac arrest.

Instead of responding, all he could muster was a quiet, pensive, “Hmm.”

You finally released his hand (his palm felt so cold now), and pushed open the thin wooden door to enter the shop.  An obnoxious, ear-piercing bell chimed above the hinges, alerting any other shoppers or employees of your entrance.  Law always hated gimmicks like that, they were a pirate’s worst nightmare.  Instantly, the smell of centuries old dust and mildew flooded Law’s nose, making him suppress a sneeze into the collar of his shirt.  He was about to make a snide remark about being susceptible to allergens, but kept his lips sealed when an amused giggle emitted from your lips at the way his face contorted with mild disgust.

He blindly followed you to the back of the store, past dusty shelves containing books from all walks of life, old technology that Law had never even seen before, and antiques from across the globe.  Your expression remained one of wonder as you passed by each new item, gazing fondly at some of the more sentimental goods- boxes of old postcards, old newspapers from decades prior, wanted posters for pirates long deceased.�� For such a ratty-looking establishment, the variety of wares this ‘Wild Bill’ had on hand was quite impressive.  In the very back of the store, a long glass case spanning almost the entire length of the wall was situated, separating a back room from the rest of the establishment.  There was a small space to walk around behind the case in between the wall, where small sliding doors were built in to allow someone to remove the wares kept safe inside.

Law’s eyes finally lit up in wonder.

A plethora of fine metalwork was kept in the special enclosure, jewelry with the finest minerals and perfectly sculpted details in precious velvet boxes, metal treasures surely passed down through generations of wealth, and in the nearest corner, an assortment of collectable, commemorative coins from across the world.  You smiled to yourself as Law drifted toward the coins, crouching down on his calves to more closely inspect what the shop had to offer.

He was so adorable.

“Can I help you folks with anything?” a voice from behind you asked, startling you from your affectionate daze.

A larger, older man emerged from behind one of the tall bookshelves, his hands in his pockets.  He was dressed surprisingly gaudy, a bright purple overcoat that traveled past his rump covering a sky-blue button-up shirt and a polka dot bowtie.  His belly was quite large, a curled handlebar mustache perched atop his upper lip.  He looked wildly out of place in such a modest, dusty shop.  Must be Wild Bill.

You flashed a cordial smile.  “Just looking around!”

The sound of your talking alerted Law, who stayed crouched in front of the coin collection but tossed accusatory glares over his shoulder, assessing the man’s interactions with you under an analytical gaze.  Out of instinct, as a pirate.  As a captain.  Nothing more… probably.

“Well, let me know if you need help finding anything!” the man hollered, his receding hairline making the dim light of the nearby lamps reflect off his oily skin.  He stepped behind the glass containers with a small huff and disappeared into the back room, a curtain swooping closed behind him.

With the outrageous stranger gone, Law resumed looking over the fine details of each coin housed within their own individual boxes, while you approached the other end of the glass case and examined the jewelry.

Your eyes darted excitedly between pieces.  Delicate rings with rare gemstones sat perfectly in their boxes, some dated as old as centuries ago.  A bracelet that was assembled with the finest minerals, gleaming brightly through the dim atmosphere of the shop.  As your eyes continued to dart from one object to the next, you finally found yourself entranced by one thing in particular.  It was a necklace, more of a choker than a longer-hanging piece, with a small purple amethyst mounted elegantly in the center of a silver pendant.  The complimentary silver chain seemed to be fairly heavy duty just as it was delicate enough to still be an elegant accessory.  You felt a smile pull at your lips.  You doubted you had enough beri to afford it, but you’d be damned if you couldn’t at least try it on.

Wild Bill once again appeared from behind the curtain after a few moments, placing a few items on top of the counter to be placed inside the glass enclosure.  Law watched as the old man’s gaze turned to you as you bent over, tucking your dress behind your knees to crouch down and get a closer look at the amethyst necklace.

“Anything caught your eye, missy?” Bill asked, his voice far too loud for such a small shop as he leaned over the top of the counter and gazed through the transparent surface at the pieces you were admiring.  A seemingly friendly smile adorned his pudgy face.

You enthusiastically nodded.  “Yes, actually, can I try on this necklace?”  Your finger pointed through the protective barrier toward your interest.  “The one with the small amethyst pendant.”

Law kept watching your interaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course, of course!” boomed Bill, bending over and sliding the door of the case open to remove the necklace, holding it by the chain in his large, burly hand.  

Without being asked, he stepped out from behind the counter and approached you from behind, unclasping the chain and looping it around your neck.  Law watched, his leg muscles tensing as you visibly stiffened at the proximity of the man as he clasped the chain together around your neck.  He pulled over a small standing mirror to have you admire the piece that sat elegantly between your collarbones.  Your fingers ghosted over the gemstone embedded in the fine silver, a small smile ghosting over your lips.

“It looks absolutely beautiful,” you whispered.

Bill stepped closer, almost pinning you from behind against the counter.  His large hands rested against the glass case, caging you in.  “It does… fitting for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

The air went ice cold as Law watched the man’s hand wander upward, trailing across your forearm and up toward your bicep, across your shoulder and to your neck.  Your face had quickly contorted into an expression of terror, having been caged against the counter all of a sudden against your will, being caressed by this stranger.  Law felt frozen.  His brain was screaming at him to move, to do something, to get you out of this shop as soon as possible.  But he couldn’t move.  Why couldn’t he move?

“I’m sorry, I think I’m going to pass, actually,” you uttered, trying to push yourself away from him.  Your voice had quickly grown shaky, apprehensive.

“No, no, it really does suit you!” Bill murmured, his head angling downward, predatory eyes gazing over the soft skin of your neck.  The way he kept you pinned against the counter prevented you from moving away from him.  His belly was almost pushed flush against your back, making your hands tremble in fear.

“ROOM.”

A flash of blue light engulfed the surrounding area.  You immediately breathed a sigh of mild relief.  A static sensation permeated the space around you, making goosebumps rise across your skin and the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.  Just as soon as the bubble surrounded you, the predatory man was replaced with your captain standing protectively behind you, his lean hand on your shoulder to keep you steady.

Now he’d done it.

“You’re…” Bill stammered, his own hands shaking with realization.  “I’ve seen that ability, you’re… you’re…!”

Law didn’t give him time to fully realize who’s identity he was dealing with before his hand was in yours, forcefully dragging you out of the shop, harshly pushing between narrow shelves of delicate antiques until the two of you burst back out into the sunlight.  Law didn’t let up his pace, your feet barely keeping you steady as you ran.  Onlookers stepped back, shocked gasps and wide eyes following the two of you in your mad scramble back to the cliff where the submarine was kept concealed.  He just needed to get you some place secure.  Somewhere where you could wash away the phantom grime of the hands that had just touched you.

What a bad day to leave his sword behind.

The two of you had just barely made it past the outskirts of the port town when you tripped, slamming into Law’s backside and falling to your knees with a pained grunt.  The shoes you were wearing definitely weren’t built for mad sprints through a town.

“Shit…” Law grumbled, crouching down in front of you.  “Are you alright?”

Your hands were still shaking, anxiously palming the dirt and grass beneath your fingers as your lungs heaved, desperate to catch up on the oxygen you lost in your frantic sprint.  Small tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes, but you were quick to blink them away.  Your heart was pounding madly in your chest, your brain a fuzzy mess of scrambled, panicked thoughts that couldn’t make sense in any order.  Law was so close to you, so close you could almost smell the mild soap he used in the shower.  Something woody.  Mellow.  So very him.  You wanted to hug him.  The stress of the sudden incident was rapidly catching up to you.

Instead, the only thing you managed to do was blurt out an awkward, weary, “Thank you.”

Law wordlessly helped you to your feet, walking you back to the Polar Tang.  His mouth was drawn in that pensive line once more.

—

It took a few hours for you to register the fact that you had sprinted out of the pawn shop with the necklace still clasped around your neck.  When you took it off, you held it gently in your hands, gazing at the way the brilliant purple gem was nestled perfectly in the metal sculpted around it.  But the fingerprints around the chain from the predatory man who groped you left a phantom burning pain on your skin.  You still loved the piece, you truly did, and you wished you could wear it, but you felt violated.  There was no denying it.

You needed to scrub it clean.  You needed to scrub your own body clean, it seemed.

Law was in the medical bay when you carefully knocked on the door, hoping that no one was in there with him.  The tired sounding, ‘Come in,’ granted you permission to gently push the heavy hatch door open, stepping into the dim lighting and closing the entrance behind you.

Your captain was in the midst of re-organizing the entire medicine cabinet, floor to ceiling.  He did it when he was stressed.

“Yeah?” was all he asked when you entered, barely looking away from his obsessive work while you stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding your necklace in your cupped hands like it was a suspicious specimen to be brought to a lab.

“I know this is a weird request, but can you disinfect this?” you asked.

You held up the necklace by the very end of the chain, dangling it in the air away from you.  Law finally turned his attention toward you, an eyebrow raised.

“Why?”  He sounded genuinely oblivious to why you would ask for such a favor.

You rocked back and forth on your heels.  “It still feels like it has the fingerprints of that guy.  From the shop,” you clarified.  When you said it out loud, you grimaced at how childish you sounded, but at the same time, you felt your concerns, your insecurities over what had transpired, were justified.

You were violated.  Case closed.

It seemed Law picked up on that as well.  As much as he struggled to put himself in other peoples’ shoes, he could see the anxious look in your eyes that told him everything he needed to know- you wanted to wash away all traces of the man who burst your personal bubble in one of the worst ways imaginable.

Law felt a searing jealousy in his chest, the sudden reminder of the way your face contorted in utter horror as you were touched.

Your captain wordlessly stepped forward and gently took the chain from your fingers.  You watched him silently as he stepped back toward the counter, rummaging through the supplies he had laid out mid-organizing before procuring an opaque bottle of rubbing alcohol and filling a small container about halfway with the solution before submerging your necklace inside.  He capped the bottle and placed it back where he found it, amongst his other disinfectant chemicals.

“We’ll let that sit for a few minutes,” he suggested.  “In the meantime, I have these wet napkins you can use to clean your neck, if you want.”

He took the words right out of your head, as if he could read your mind.  You gratefully accepted the small container of alcohol wipes, starting with your neck and rubbing the cold solution down your collarbones, chest, and arms.  You didn’t care if it would dry out your skin later, the feeling of wiping away that man’s fingerprints in some capacity was more freeing than anything else in the world.

Law simply watched, glancing away from you every once in a while when you turned at an angle that would let you see him staring wanton daggers in your direction.  He shouldn’t be watching you scrub yourself down while fully clothed, if anything that could also be a violation of your unspoken privacy.

After what felt like hours, you finally disposed of the wipes in the nearby waste receptacle while Law fished out your necklace with a gloved hand, placing it on a dry cloth and carefully removing all the liquid from the surface of the metal.

He started speaking without thinking.  “Silver and amethyst are sturdy materials that can be placed in rubbing alcohol for disinfecting,” he stated.  “If this was some other weaker gem, like an emerald, it wouldn’t be so easy.”

You grinned, stepping closer as he polished the chain.  His hand that wasn’t gloved carefully moved along the cloth, outlining the shape of the necklace folded under it in precise, delicate motions.

Goodness, you loved his hands.

“So you’re as good with rocks and minerals as you are with health science?” you asked, a small, playful smirk on your lips.

Law’s own mouth twitched upward.  “I suppose so.”  He gently unfolded the cloth and removed the necklace.  “There, all clean.”

You grinned appreciatively, turning around and brushing away any obstacles in the way of your neck.

He stared at you from behind your back.  “... What are you doing?” he asked dumbly.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder.  “Waiting for you to put it on.”

Law chewed on the inside of his cheek.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you confirmed.  “I trust you.”

What you didn’t say was just how much you trusted him.  You would willingly lay down your life for your captain, the love for him, both as a person and as a pirate, greatly surpassing that of a captain and his subordinate.  Sometimes, well, most of the time, you desperately hoped that he felt the same way.

After understanding your request, Law stepped toward you slightly, one hand still gloved as he looped the necklace around the front of your neck, bringing both ends of the chain around the back to clasp at the base of your spine.  His deft, inked fingers left scorching hot trails in their wake, your skin craving his touch.  The complete opposite of your counter in the pawn shop.

Once secured, you turned around to face him, a pleased smile on your face as your fingers once again ghosted over the delicate, purple mineral embedded into the pendant.  “How does it look?”

Law prayed that the blush on his cheeks wasn’t noticeable through the dim lighting on the medical bay.  He would put necklaces on your soft skin every day if you’d let him.

Oh, how he wished you’d let him.

“It looks great…” he mumbled, his voice soft and apprehensive.  “It suits you.”

His voice, the anxious tilt of his eyebrows, spoke volumes to you as your smile grew wider.  “Hey, Law?”

He turned his attention back to you, his lips pressed firmly together.

“Thank you for protecting me back there,” you sighed.  Your voice had gone quiet, but the look on your face was indebted.

“Of course,” he whispered back.  His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, his brain clearly struggling to say the words he so desperately wanted to say.

The sight had you suppressing a giggle as you stepped forward, fighting back your reservations as you wrapped your arms around his torso in a hug, dropping your head into the crook of his shoulder and inhaling that scent that was oh-so familiar to you.  Disinfectant and oil, so clearly from living life on the Polar Tang, but also so distinctly him.

You loved it.

You were starting to come to the conclusion that you really loved him.

And with the way Law’s arms slowly wrapped around your own body, the hands you loved so much resting between your shoulder blades and the lowest point of your back, you started to wonder if he secretly, deep down in that weary heart of his, felt the same way about you.

[psychicreadsgirl]

Pick a Kpop Album Cover: How Others Will Perceive You and Your Next S/O

Pick the cover that draws you the most. If you can't choose between 2, then take a look at both of the readings. This is a general reading, so it might not resonate with everyone. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't behind.

#1

They will see you two as a power couple. You two seem to have it all and everything seems to be picture perfect, even though it might not always feel like that deep down.

You do have some people supporting you two as a couple.

There'll be a lot of jealousy from others. Many will try to lure your s/o away from you or they will try to lure you away from your s/o. These situations can perhaps cause tension between you and your s/o.

#2

People will feel like there's something sketchy or odd about your relationship. Some can't really pinpoint what's off, but somehow this pairing makes people wonder why you two are together. You two might perhaps be polar opposites or just don't seem like you'd be the type to be together (i.e. maybe you're the nerd and they're the jock etc.)

I don't feel like you have a lot of people rooting for you two to have long union. It seems like most people feel like you two are destined to break up and if you do break up, there'll be people coming to you going like oh I knew that would happen etc.

#3

People don't really feel much about your relationship. You two seem sort of like wall flowers in people's lives. They don't care about you two being together, which isn't a bad thing. People won't particularly judge you two. They will just see you two as a couple and that's it.

I don't see people particularly hating, loving, or caring about you two. You two will probably have quite a bit of privacy from others and probably will not have many friend groups. It's possible that you two both have very small families too or perhaps no family (i.e. parents have passed away and no siblings etc.)

#4

All eyes are somehow on you two. You two are the "gossip" that people are constantly talking about behind your backs. Somehow the way you two get together or perhaps the fact that you two are together just makes people chit chat. It's possible that one of you is either quite well known/rich/powerful within the community, area, city, town, province, state, country or perhaps one of you just knows a lot of people. For some reason you two will become "gossip" and your relationship may perhaps land in online forums, newspapers, articles, social media, etc. If not, you two will certainly be talked about behind both of your backs like people texting/calling each other to discuss you two.

You have a mixed set of people rooting for you two, hating you two, wanting you two to break up etc. You'll definitely have some haters and some supporters. It's really a mixed bag.

My advice to you is just to not let the "Gossip" get to you or your relationship. Your friends or colleagues or family may come to you with stories or news or articles or whatever that they heard or learned about your s/o, but you should take those things with a heavy grain of salt. Much of it, if not all are false; you should trust your gut. Your s/o's circle of people might also do the same to them.

The key is to trust your s/o and trust youself. Don't let others get to you.

#5

I feel like a lot of people are expecting you to run away from this relationship. They feel like your s/o is toxic or is not good for you. They want you to leave your s/o. In some cases, these people are right, but in other cases, they are wrong about your s/o. It will be up to you to make that call.

I do sense that people don't particularly like your s/o. They feel like your s/o doesn't match you and that you should break up with them. They feel like your s/o is like a leech? At least that's what I'm getting.

I just feel like people are generally concerned that you're dating this person. Perhaps this person has a bad reputation previously (like maybe they were a player and now people feel like you're just getting played or perhaps they have a criminal record and so people don't think you are safe wtih them etc). In these situations it's really up to you to decide whether you should continue your relationship with your s/o.

#6

I see that your family or their family (more so like parents/grandparents/elders) really support this relationship. They feel like this a match in heaven. They really like your s/o and hope you two will be together for the long run.

Generally people feel like you two are quite cute together and admire your relationship with your s/o. You two give off like those cute couples on IG that make a couple's IG account.

You may, however, have someone, perhaps a friend, who wants to break you two apart. It might come from your end or theirs, or maybe it's one of their siblings that really dislikes you.

[fleetingcalypso]

I am very sorry to bother you, but a very sweet prompt fleeted into my mind as I prepared myself to come out to my parents, and I'd thought I'd share it in the sheer hope you'd read it, enjoy the thought and perhaps write something based on it, if you're comfortable.

Just imagine, you're very close to Sirius Black (you can choose to which degree, platonically, romantically, interested but not together yet, preferably the last because hehe). You've known for a while you were transgender (FtM) but never had the strength to come out, fearing rejection and alienation from the friend group. Just a sweet little comfort fic because I'm anxious as fuck.

≋ What you're doing is extremely brave, I'm so very proud of you. I wish you the best, friend. Know that whatever goes down, you'll never be judged or rejected here. I'll pray your coming out will be met with love and affection.

≋ Sirius Black x TransMasc!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2285 words.

≋TW: Dysphoria, Misgendering (not done by Sirius)

Hogwarts seemed intimidating, more than anything. Eleven year old me, sitting in that train, chewing my nails and staring out at the moving scenery, had not the slightest idea that finding friends would be as easy as breathing. At least it is when four troublemakers decide to adopt you into their friend group, barely a week after classes started.

‘The marauders’ they’d call themselves, not so slowly becoming every professor’s nightmare.

They each had something that made them so intriguing. The four of them were attached at the hip, and with me being dragged into their pranks and escapades things only got more entertaining. Even as my house was far away from the castle we studied at, every day I got to spend with them made it feel like I was home, with their jokes and their being able to light up a dull moment with only a couple of words. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter welcomed me in, as one of them.

In the midst of my lowest moments I wondered, would they still accept me if I let my walls down? I sprinkled seeds of the truth here and there: I cut my hair short, I opted for pants instead of the usual skirt, I was at my happiest during winter - when finally I could show off the baggiest of sweaters to conceal the appendages on my chest. It’s not purely a physical discomfort, though. It’s in the little things, small seemingly meaningless moments that no one appears to notice but me. 

People perceive me differently based on how I move even the tiniest of muscles, it is painfully obvious. The boys have never done it, not once, they’ve always treated me as one of them. Never has one of them implied me being weaker, more delicate or called me ‘sweetheart’ in that obnoxious way lots of people do when they’re trying to put me back in my place.

 My head constantly feels underwater with the knowledge that if I were to sit wrong I’d be labeled as a girl, if I walk in a specific way it’ll put attention on my hips, even just standing, unmoving, gives me anxiety. The most insignificant of movements could shoot down the image of me that I want people to see whenever they lay eyes on me.

I feared the worst each time I let my mind tug me into a daydream. Deep down I knew, they’d never turn their back on a friend, but fear nipped at my heels every day. Not only was I hiding who I was from them, but I was lying to their faces about it as well. What hurt me the most, though, was not being able to admit my identity to Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black, he’s been the one that made sure I felt safe around him and the lads. More than once I caught myself being entranced by his words as he let the rest of us know what a nightmare his family life was. He was the total opposite of what his mother wanted him to be, yet that didn’t stop him from being his pure unfiltered self, if anything he enhanced each trait she found disgusting. Sirius wasn’t scared to be his true self, even if it meant going against his blood.

It sparked something in me. My heart has been his, for a long time now.

Sirius, with his raven locks, smooth skin and ever present smirk on his face is the one and only subject of all my dreams. He constantly looks as though he knows everyone’s secrets. The thought makes my stomach twist. When I awake, with the moon still high up in the sky, I almost turn to the pillow beside me, to take a peek at him, they’re that realistic. 

At any rate, if there’s someone that I feel should be the one to know the true me, it is him. I contemplated asking all four of them to meet me, but I don’t think I could rip the bandaid that easily. I want to talk to the one who knows -somewhat- how it feels to have expectations placed on oneself, the one who knows that being someone you’re not is more painful than the Crucio curse itself. Of course our situations are oceans apart: he doesn’t deal with having the need to hide certain parts of my body, or with the numerous wailing moments caused by being born in the wrong body, but I think he'd be the first one to accept me.

I had a whole speech prepared, a letter pages and pages long that I was going to give him, so he could read it without my presence, but as I hear his footsteps approaching me, I can imagine him already. His wand resting behind his ear and tie loosened, hands comfortably and nonchalantly situated in the pockets of his jeans with his luscious hair possibly styled into a bun.

“You’ve been rather gloomy lately, mate.” His foot taps my leg, before he lowers himself to sit next to me. We’ve always enjoyed sitting in the astronomy tower together, in the short span of time between a prank or two. Here, we don’t have to worry about being something else, we’re just humans admiring the stars. In hindsight, I should have figured out he knew I’d be hiding out here, as for my ‘being gloomy’, well, I thought I’d done a good job pretending. Apparently not. It makes me wonder if he’s seen through all of my white lies.

“You know how it is, life is hard.” I turn to him, expecting a silly joke like ‘Life is hard, but I’m harder’, something stupid to cheer me up as he usually does, but said joke never makes it into reality. He’s not even smiling, his lip is caught between his teeth in a clearly troubled look, it doesn’t suit him. No trace of a bun holding his luscious hair in place, what a shame.

“Are you okay though?” He whispers, even if we are the only beating hearts in the room and the sincerity in his voice almost brings me to tears. “I mean it when I say you haven’t been yourself lately.” I haven’t fully been myself for ages, but he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve been everything but myself. Oh, how many times have I hoped I could just rip my chest apart and rid myself of this body that doesn’t belong to me, before emerging from the depth of it as the man I know I am.

My tongue is threatening me to run faster than my mind. ‘I’m a man’ I want to shout, ‘I have always been a man, from the moment I was born, and I hope you can accept me for what I am.’ It sounds so easy in my head, which is why I hate it more than anything when my throat dries up as soon as I part my lips. His gaze falls to them, but it comes back up to meet my eyes when only a sigh escapes from them.

In being faced with my hesitation he speaks again, a subtle comforting smile on his face, “Hey, I’m not holding you hostage. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t feel like it.” His elbow meeting my side in a gentle shove sends my heart ablaze, it is just a simple touch, not even skin on skin, yet it makes my entire body warm up.

“If one day you woke up and saw that you were trapped in a cage, what would you do?” I tentatively ask, testing the waters of the ocean I know I am going to dive in today. My question causes a corner of his lips to tilt upwards, “I’d pick the lock,” He says, as if the solution would be that easy. I foolishly hope it was.

“What if there is no lock to pick? What if you could escape it, but you’d have to face one of the biggest fears in your life in order to do so?” 

His answer, before I can even finish the last syllable, “I’d do it. If it means freedom, I’d do anything. You know it.” His hand rests on my shoulder, I can feel his thumb pressing into my muscles, more than anything I want to hug him and confess my reality with my face hidden in his neck. But I don’t. I’m tired of hiding. My life has turned into a twisted version of hide and seek, where I’m both the seeker and the one hiding. I seek a day where I won’t have to hold back anymore, a day where I’ll be able to use a masculine pronoun without expecting weird looks towards me, yet I hide away in the darkness, afraid of the future, afraid of losing everything I’ve built so far. 

I’ve built mansions, cathedrals, palaces with precarious foundations and I think the time has come to fix that. 

“What’s with all the philosophical talk today? Cages and fears and whatnot. Is it a new idea for a prank? Because if it is you need to hear one James had just a while ago-”

“I’ve been lying to you, Sirius.” I confess with the taste of bile in the back of my throat. The letter I had prepared and read so many times I’d memorized it sits deep in the pockets of my pants, I’m running on no script and no idea of where this conversation will bring us. I have no patience to hear what he might say, so I don’t even stop to breathe before I speak again.

“I’ve been lying to all of you, even to myself at times. I want to preface this by saying that I understand if this is confusing to you, or if you don’t understand where this is coming from but I am not the girl you boys befriended all those years ago. I’ve never been a girl, not once, but this doesn’t mean I’ve been faking to be your friend. I’m still the friend that helped you get out of detention, I’m still the friend that sent professors down the wrong hallway when they would ask for you mid prank preparation, I’m still the friend that would do your essays for you in exchange for part of your food at lunch. I’m still your friend, just not the friend you thought you had.” The words flow out like a river overflowing, it is only as I say the last word that I notice the tears rolling down my cheeks, “I’m not a girl,” I say again, my voice cracking in a sob, “I’m a guy.” 

The grip he had on my shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets out the loudest sigh of relief I’ve ever heard, “By Merlin’s beard, you scared me half to death there.” His other hand rests on his chest, most likely trying to relax his beating heart that, if it’s pounding half the speed of mine, then it must be fighting tooth and nail to escape his ribcage. Something halfway through another sigh and a chuckle comes from him as his head shakes, “So, you’re a bloke, huh? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I nod, swallowing the gulp stuck in my throat, I can’t force myself to make a sound. The arm wrapping itself around my shoulder and pulling me into Sirius takes me by surprise, “You were always one of the lads, mate.” He says, grinning ear to ear, “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine this was easy for you…” The weight on my back does not abandon me completely, it is only the tiniest amount lighter. The first step is taken, there is no going back, little by little he’ll be able to uncover all of me. One small step at a time. Now it is no time to let him know how the only things I smelled while brewing amortentia was his cologne, butterbeer and the occasional cigarette. 

I don’t know what else to say, it feels like I just lept from a flying broom awaiting contact with the ground, but the crash never comes, my bones never break and no absurd pain breaks through me. “Thank you for still being here.” I choke out. His thumb runs over the corners of my eyes, the silver rings on his fingers graze my hot skin, “Thank you for telling me.” He repeats, dragging my body closer to his in a warm hug, “I want you to know, telling the others, that’s your choice. I won’t say a word. There’s no rush. I’ll even hold your hand while you do it.”

I melt in his arms. His last remark, as teasing as it was, is enough to pull a smile out of me. “I’ll make sure to let you know whenever I’m ready so you can wash your hands first. Who knows what you’ve touched.”

“Wow, rude much.” Sirius holds me for what feels like a lifetime. They say Hogwarts is the safest place there is, but I think I’ve found a worthy adversary to that claim. We don’t say anything, I said my piece and he listened. That’s all that was important. One day I’m going to have to tell James, Remus and Peter as well, but that can wait for now. The worst is done. 

“Do you feel a little more free now?” He murmurs in my ear, “Has that cage began to feel like something you could escape from?”

“Yes.” And I mean it when I say it. The future looks brighter than it ever has.

[tng-imagines]

I am so excited that you are taking requests. If it strikes you could you do a drabble where Geordi and Data get to give each other the classic side eye because of someone else (could be in a meeting, working in engineering or while out exploring). I just love when they give each other that look of 'can you believe what is happening here?'

"Hey, Data. You alright?"

"Emotionally, I am not experiencing anything that could be deemed the opposite, however also not what might fall into the category of-"

Geordi interrupted him with a loud sigh. "Just say you're fine."

Data nodded. "Then I am fine."

The Engineer shook his head in exasperation. He certainly wasn't annoyed by it - he'd been dealing with his friend's shenanigans for too long for that by now - but it absolutely could become a means for raised eyebrows every now and then. He never really seemed to be able to grasp the concept of what that sort of question was actually looking for in a response.

"Alright, you got that report?"

"Yes, I have completed it as you requested."

"Thank you..."

"The Turbolift doors opened just beside them, exited by 2 ensigns before they closed once again as the lift travelled elsewhere.

For whatever reason, they chose to hang around nearby, talking quietly amongst themselves. Geordi couldn't necessarily berate them for dawdling, as he was aware that their shifts didn't start for another twenty minutes or so, however he would rather they stood a little farther out of the way.

"...yeah, and then he told me to piss off."

"Well, did you?"

Choosing to try to focus on the task at hand, he attempted to white noise their conversation. He couldn't tell whether or not Data was interested, although the android tilted his head ever so slightly.

"No! I told him that if I found out he was messing around with her I'd take the ring back and leave. That thing's been in my family for years."

"Well, why'd you give it to him in the first place?"

"I thought he was the one, you know? Stupid daydreams like that..."

Ignoring the precarious topic of conversation right behind him, Geordi placed the PADD down and bit his lip.

He turned to Data with a frustrated groan. "Man, it's gonna take days to fix that. I mean, it won't affect the power too badly, but..."

Data's gaze lost focus on him, staring over his shoulder instead with interest. Geordi turned around.

"You did what?"

"I kicked his cat. She was a little bastard, anyway. I mean, look at this scratch-"

He twisted slowly back round, meeting Data's equally bewildered look, as if to ask the other what the hell they each just heard. Shaking his head for perhaps the second time that day, Geordi diverted his attention back to the task at hand.

"So uhm...that report..."

"I have given you the report already, Geordi," Data said, a concerned expression upon his face.

"Right."

[ispeacetoomuchtoaskfor]

On the Subject of Susan

I'm going to be a little blunt and my words may seem antagonistic here. But no hate, please. I'm just trying to analyze and provide my analysis based on the very simple facts. Now.

I've never quite understood the anger at C. S. Lewis for how he ended Susan's tale. Mainly, I suppose, because I had the whole story.

Everyone gets angry that Susan is "banned from Narnia" because she likes lipstick and nylon stockings and being a teenage girl in the 1940s, but no one seems to understand that that's not quite how it went, much less that Susan still has a chance.

Let me work backwards a moment and explain the latter. You see, to quote Lewis himself, in a letter to a girl called Marcela in 1955,

"...Haven’t you noticed in the two you have read that she is rather fond of being too grownup? I am sorry to say that side of her got stronger and she forgot about Narnia... ...She is left alive in this world at the end, having been turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way. I think that whatever she had seen in Narnia she could (if she was the sort that wanted to) persuade herself, as she grew up, that it was ‘all nonsense’”

Now, there's a lot to unpack here, but first and foremost, my point is quite simple. "Perhaps she will get to Aslan's country in the end-in her own way." It was always meant to be open ended, for Susan. Narnia is not forever closed to her, unless you and she choose so.

"But Peace!" I can hear you saying, "There's that whole 'too fond of being grownup' phrase!" Why yes, yes there is, how clever of you to notice. The whole point of the latter portion of Susan's arc is that she chose that- lipstick and nylons and "being grownup"- over Narnia. She grew and she chose to forget Narnia.

After all, what sort of modern teenage girl (in England, during WW2) would be so interested in medieval times and what they probably explained to their friends to be a good old game of pretend? No, no, she can't remember Narnia right now - she's going to the cinema with a few girl friends, she's going to a party, she's focusing on everything but there and inevitably, after pushing it away for so long, Narnia let her be.

You see, C. S. Lewis was a very Arminian (and yes, I spelled it correctly) Christian theologian. And while I'm sure most of you here on this hellsite would like to ignore that, it is relevant to how Lewis wrote his fiction. After all, it's at the core of his basic beliefs, despite his being a staunch atheist in college and into his adulthood, and despite what you may like to think, it crept into his writing even when he did not intend it. For example, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is called an allegory for the story of the Resurrection, despite Lewis' arguments to the contrary. He insisted that it be seen as what it is, very heavy symbolism. Very heavily used Christian symbolism, that is all over the Chronicles whether you like it or not.

Let me explain why this is relevant to Susan, what Arminianism even is, and how that term applies here. Susan is, so to speak, a symbol of an atheist left behind, after all of the Christians she called family died. In a situation where you regard Christianity as true, she is left on Earth while they have gone on to heaven. And this doesn't mean that the gates of heaven are closed to her, quite to the contrary! They would be closed on the day she died insisting that Jesus Christ was not Lord, plain and simple. She has a choice to make, so long as she is alive.

Now, to Calvinist theologians and Christians, Susan never had a choice. Either Aslan, the God symbol here, chose to bring her in, or he didn't. Calvinists believe in a thing called predestination, the concept that every believer that would ever be brought to heaven is chosen specifically by God. Arminianism declares the opposite. It's a whole thing in Christian theological circles, but that's irrelevant to this discussion. In any case, the core of Arminianism is that you and I have a choice in whether or not we believe in God, and in whether or not we go to heaven.

To an Arminian theologian, God, or Aslan in this symbolic case, can influence our choice, Susan's choice, up to a point. Once we reach that point, once Susan forgets, God, or Aslan, steps back. He accepts our choice, allows Susan to forget. It's up to us, up to Susan after that.

Lewis was an Arminian theologian. He made the point, repeatedly, in his theological works, about people having a choice.

He repeats that point with Susan.

One last thing, before you go. You see, there was another letter about Susan, after The Last Battle was released. He'd been asked if he ever intended to finish Susan's story.

This was his answer.

“I could not write that story myself. Not that I have no hope of Susan’s ever getting to Aslan’s country; but because I have a feeling that the story of her journey would be longer and more like a grown-up novel than I wanted to write. But I may be mistaken. Why not try it yourself?”

Well, my people? Now that you've heard what I had to say (and say through quite the essay, my apologies), why not? Go, do what you do and tell her story for yourself. The author has encouraged fanfiction, so go on! And don't worry about Christianity and symbolism too much. It may help you understand how and why Lewis wrote what he did, but unless you're determined to have your tale in his style and overlapping seamlessly with canon, it's unnecessary. Unless you choose to make it a part of your life, you don't have to be concerned about it.

Feel free to ask questions, and I'll answer to the best of my ability, with Google by my side!

Also, I nearly forgot. There are absolutely other problems with Susan being the last of her family, left alone in the aftermath of WW2. This is not the place to talk about those, however, merely to help you understand why she "is no longer a friend of Narnia" and to remind you that there's always hope.

Oh, and besides that, don't forget that I'm talking about the books and not the movies thank you very much, while The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was absolutely perfect to canon the other two were not and I'm not going to consider them in this post. I do appreciate them, but when dealing with book canon they're both nos.

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

Welcome, traveller

Seraph-Chim's the name; being only vaguely strange is my game.

At first, I didn't think there was really much else to know before looking through my blog. I'm generally an open book; I figured my posts and reblogs would speak for themselves about who I am.

However, after a few months of really being active on this site, it seems that I was wrong.

Here are the most crucial parts about myself:

Sexuality: it has come to my attention that I am a gray ace!

Gender identity: This is a complicated one. I've had a bit of a journey reaching this conclusion, which you can check out in my #about gender posts (as of now, there may be a couple missing! am currently in the painstakingly slow process of organizing this blog ;v;), but the long and short of it is that I'm simultaneously every gender and nothing at all. As such, anyone is free to use any gendered or non-gendered terms which feel the most accurate at the time (or are the funniest in context >:}). I do use it/its as well, often in the first person; regarding neos, my favorite ones are ci/cim/cir or ki/kem/ker, but again, just say whatever feels accurate.

Kintypes: I'm an angel and a stormkin! This is also complicated. Being an angel is easy to explain: humans, like angels, are spiritual creatures which take a variety of forms and have a variety of strengths, who may or may not choose to devote themselves to a higher being or goal. It's a little bit difficult for me to summarize for someone who doesn't already have some kind of framework for it, but basically you can think of my soul as being a different shape from other humans', which is why I describe myself as an angel. I've been an angel for my whole life. Being stormkin is a little different for me; it's less that I am a storm and more that storms and wind are my family. I was adopted, or perhaps adopted myself to them, a few years ago, but we've always been good friends.

Fandoms: This and that, but lately? Mostly Gravity Falls and Sonic. Most of the Sonic stuff you'll see here is Sonadow; I'm also a Billford shipper. This doesn't mean that I think Bill and Ford's relationship is or ever was healthy or ideal. It means that I recognize the spark, the passion, the compatibility, and I love seeing them interact in any context.

And now, the scary part.

I'm a Christian. I love being a Christian, more than I love any of the things I've mentioned about myself, because I love my god. I love Him more than anyone or anything else. He saved my life over and over despite who I was and am, because He's just that kinda guy and He's powerful enough to do it.

However, I know that saying all of that doesn't mean much in this world; certainly, on tumblr dot com, it's more likely to get me blocked or ignored than much else. I'm incredibly fortunate that my first mutual here, now a much beloved friend, was someone who understood me as myself without jumping to any conclusions because of my faith.

So here's a brief summary of where I stand, morally and philosophically, about all of the above statements.

Sexuality: Love is love, affection is affection, attraction is attraction. God gave us feelings in order to make sense of and make the most of this world He's made; all the good He's put into it, and all the bad that's come into it. Feelings are not only a proof of who we are, but also an instrument by which we thrive. Feelings are a morally good thing. I am of the belief that they don't have to define or control us. In much the same way we must train ourselves not to lose our tempers, the life I have chosen also begs me not to lose my head over any individual, regardless of sex. I can love whomever I choose, and I can spend my life with whomever I choose, but because of my faith I will not allow myself to have sex with anyone I'm not married to, and I will not allow myself to marry more than one person of the opposite sex from myself. As for my sex-repulsion, that is a byproduct of past trauma, which I will not go into detail about here. It's something I live with, and which causes me to hate myself, so of course it's not ideal; on the other hand, feelings are a handy tool, yes? I've chosen to hold onto it, and together, God and I are slowly molding it into something healthier and less self-destructive.

Gender identity: Really, I'm just me. God made me who I am, and if that means a soul that doesn't look like the body it's tied to, so what? He loves variety, sue Him. For the sake of the people around me, I've talked with Him at length, and we've come to a deal: I'll get gender-affirming surgery when I'm 50. Till then, I can express my gender in any way I please, so long as this precious vessel goes relatively undamaged as a result. If this is how I view myself, who am I to tell anyone else what their soul looks like? I do believe in practicing discernment, of course–someone who's grown up in a home heavily biased against a certain gender, for instance, is likely to lean away from expression of that gender for emotional survival, given the choice; and a repeated sex offender is, of course, going to tell any lie that may keep them out of trouble–but generally? Until you can prove yourself wrong, I'll take your words at face value. (In this vein, I do think that our society has lost hold of what being a Man or a Woman means, aside from the false dichotomy of gender itself. Perhaps all this genderfuckery is our way of searching for it? Certainly, I hope to someday understand it.)

Kintypes: Similar to gender, who cares if my soul doesn't look like other human souls? Being an angel in the way that I am isn't so uncommon amongst Christians as one might think, and being close with the wind and rain just means God has given me yet another way to listen to His voice and worship Him. Believing in God, and believing that He's good, of course I believe in an Enemy, a demonic source of evil; but unless a demon talks to me, what can I know of its nature? Being otherkin, alterhuman, non-human, or therian doesn't automatically point to demonization, in my opinion. I have seen a great number of angels who believe that this life is a punishment or proof of abandonment from God, and that is a lie, but the being is not necessarily. As for godkins, I have no reason not to believe you, either. My god already calls humans "little gods," and all spiritual creatures, god or not, are called "elohim." If you say your soul is more elohim-shaped in a godly way than mine or other humans, why should I not believe you? If you have old memories, or muted abilities and affinities, what difference does it make to me? We're cousins, you and I, in a way we can never be with other kintypes.

Fandoms: Fantasy, obviously, is a fiction. Humans share stories that mean something to us, it's what we were made to do, so there's nothing wrong with it.

Religion: I have placed my belief in one God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible; and in one Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, the only-begotten, born of the Father before all ages. Light from light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in essence with the Father; through Him all things were made. For us and for our salvation, He came down from heaven and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became man. He was crucified by Pontius Pilate, and suffered and was buried. He rose on the third day according to the scriptures. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, and He is coming again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and His kingdom will have no end. And I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Creator of Life, who proceeds from the Father. Together with the Father and the Son, He is worshipped and glorified; He spoke through the prophets. I believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church. I have been baptized by the Holy Spirit for the remission of sin, and as a public sacrament for the denouncing of it. I wait here, eagerly and expectantly, for the resurrection of the dead among you and of those of my brethren who have passed on, and for the life of the world to come. This does not mean that I dismiss other gods nor the various magics as fairy tales; only that, by nature, I am opposed to those powers which would keep us all from the one God with enough love and power to anoint Himself with His own wrath in order to defeat the spiritual death into which we are born by inheritance, and someday soon, to kill death altogether.

If you've read this far, thank you for your time! Know that I love you, and that I'm able to because my god decided that we each were worth something more than mere dust.

🥔

[fluentmoviequoter]

I'm a tiny lil bit struggling rn, do you have any random Victor thoughts to share to cheer me up? Could be anything, headcanon, random thoughts, does he insist on wearing only black socks so they fit his aesthetic? Also no worries if you don't have anything to say or don't feel like it, no pressure!

So sorry to hear that! Hope everything gets better quickly and talking Vic can help you!! There’s a bunch of my random, borderline incoherent thoughts and rambles below the cut!!🩶

I’ll start with the black sock idea! I feel like the answer is probably yes; every detail of Vic’s look (no matter how small) fits his aesthetic. Playing off of that, his style seems to be very sophisticated and dark, sort of dark academia-esque, so it all begins with the base and for Vic that means having one solid color, head to toe, to build his Parisian debonair look!!

Alternatively though, I think if Vic was going to wear something a little more colorful or wild (likely after persistent teasing and prodding from Syd) that he’d limit the colorful expression to his socks or some other piece that’s not visible to others!

One thing that I almost always think about when talking/writing/reading about Vic is that he has trust issues but he’s also an incredibly good judge of character. He trusted Mitch and Syd relatively quickly despite the number of people who have hurt him, so those two aspects of being hesitant to trust but understanding people so deeply allows Vic to choose both his allies and enemies quickly and with almost frightening accuracy.

Building off of something we’ve talked about with Vic’s sophisticated tastes, if he was a car he’d be an Aston Martin DB4GT Zagato!! It’s sleek, classy, and dangerously beautiful.

I also think that Vic is numbed to the emotions of others. Not necessarily lacking empathy, just unable or unwilling to read people’s feelings as easily as their personalities. (Like he figured Eli out really quickly but seemed to struggle with determining what Eli was thinking or feeling.) However, I think the opposite is true for Mitch and Sydney. He’s so attuned to their needs, because he is their first line of defense, their protector, their safe space, that he can look at them and know what they need to hear or receive based on what they seem to be feeling.

This one is probably wrong but in my mind Vic laughs when he reads his parents’ books in private! Especially if they happen to mention anything about parenting or being good/kind to the people around you.

Along with reading and editing his parents’ books, I think Victor has lots of poetry in his mind!! Whether it’s poems he’s read or come up with himself, he has a poetic reference for everything. Sometimes he just thinks them, other times he says them under his breath, but he has a deep understanding of how life’s beauty and ugliness blend together to create reality! His thoughts are formed poetically too; he can’t just think “that looks cool” it’s something deep and melodic, relating it to whatever he considers to be the most beautiful or interesting part of life.

(This is getting long. I’m sort of sorry.)

Victor is a human cat!!!! You of all people know this for sure, but it needed to be included. He likes having his head rubbed or hair played with (he’d never admit it and figuratively bite someone he doesn’t know well for trying), he 100% knocks things off tables on random impulse, and… it’s perhaps my strangest headcanon, but Victor purrs!! When he’s really happy or likes something a lot, he can’t show it because he has an image to maintain, so he purrs instead.

If Vicious came out in 2012, and we’re assuming that Lockland era scenes were ~2002, and he was approximately 22… then Vic would have been born in/around 1980 right? Even if he wasn’t! Vic likes 80s movies!! (I’m projecting.) He surprisingly likes The Goonies because it’s about a group of friends (which he didn’t have) who go on an adventure to save their town. All of the kids also think about their parents and their wellbeing (which Vic couldn’t understand but could appreciate the beauty of). He also likes Real Genius because of course he does, he’s like a more stoic version of Chris Knight!! (It’s one of my favorite movies and I’m still projecting.)

I think if/when Vic listens to music it’s probably alternative and moody/meaningful. He chooses songs and artists with poetic lyrics and then draws even deeper connections and ideas from them.

I’m not accepting any questions about this one (LIE) but Vic would look incredible in the outfit Pedro Pascal wore to the SAG Awards. Victor looks good in everything, but that disheveled pirate look would… I can’t even put it into words, just trust me.

Last one for now! Victor obviously has a soft spot for strays, so I think if he could go back to school, start over, whatever, he may consider vet school! It still plays into his traits of needing to be in control and have an incredibly meaningful and impactful job, but he’d get to help animals too.

Okay I lied one more. Victor Vale makes people work to see his smile! He smiled when Sydney brought him back to life but that’s one of the only times we get to see it. However, I wholly believe that after that, he sometimes just smiles at Sydney. More so when she isn’t looking, but he needs to do something to let all of the words he can’t say to her get out. But also! He has one of those smiles that is so pretty it will make you fall to your knees but you can also tell that there’s more behind it, that he’s not smiling just to smile but to communicate (or in some cases, foreshadow something that will happen to you).

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

You know, back when I wasn't really sure what to do with Frisk, trying to define them in opposition to Chara helped a lot.

If Chara is serious, then Frisk is silly

If Chara's a bit of an edgelord then Frisk is bubbly and cheerful. (Remember Frisk making a smiley face with the punchcards and Chara saying “happiness is fleeting” when you take them out.)

If Chara is impatient and tries to be as efficient as possible, then Frisk is more willing to "waste time", having fun and hanging out with their new underground friends.

(It's easy to imagine some of what Frisk can do as almost deliberate antagonism, the Narrator is harsh and cold and snobby so Frisk starts having fun trying to rile them up. I mean why else would they start checking literally everything in sight when they know the Narrator’s so impatient lol)

If Chara is strict and bossy, Frisk is perhaps a little rebellious, a little contrarian, and employs the philosophy of "you can do whatever you want forever" even if it annoys spoilsports like Chara...especially if it annoys spoilsports like Chara.

If Chara tries to be formal and polite, calm and distant, perhaps has internalised the idea that "children should be seen and not heard" from the surface, then Frisk is more rowdy, teasing and loud, but undeniably warm and friendly.

If Chara is hypervigilant and perhaps a little cowardly (with the running away text), then Frisk is the stupidly fearless one.

If I’m right about Chara not really wanting to forgive him, then that means forgiving Asriel was always Frisk’s preferred choice.

If Chara is the academically gifted one and the teacher's pet(because of the wordiness), then Frisk struggles with school and is easily bored by it and thus spends schooltime goofing off and making trouble with Flowey (or coming up with ways to skip…with Flowey).

Chara’s a voracious reader but Frisk can’t read very well at all, and they certainly don’t enjoy it, they see anything longer than a paragraph or two and check out.

Since I think that Chara is both pretty proud of both their role in the prophecy and their status as royalty (but keeping up their high self esteem is incredibly dependent on others validation lest they crash down to nothing), to me that means Frisk is much more naturally and stably self confident.

...If Chara is easily embarrassed, and cares far too much about everyone seeing them as perfect then it's Frisk who is shameless, and doesn't care what others really think... which is why they can dance in public, and flirt with strangers, and dress like a human rainbow.

And we know that Chara apparently hated the power of determination and wanted to get rid of it "that power... that's the power you were trying to stop, isn't it?" and had a save file they never used, which probably means they could have reset after the buttercup plan and saved both themselves and Asriel and just…chose not to… But Frisk, on the other hand is the most determined child in the Underground and the only one not to eventually willingly give up against Asgore (since every human could reset)

It’s because of this that I can pretend those few moments of Frisk seemingly showing annoyance with our actions is actually Chara being annoyed with Frisk. Because Frisk chooses the soda they describe as “sickly” and CHARA scrunches up their nose or Chara making Frisk drag their feet when Frisk WANTS to look at stuff in the creepy lab. It's probably Frisk telling Chara not to be such a scaredy cat in that moment. 

So yeah…defined in opposition, it helps with characterization, and works as an alternative to player theory (even if that's canon now)

(I am so sorry I sent you this lol, It's yet another text wall and it's not even Friskriel but…I like to hear your thoughts and I was talking about Kris and Red in opposition and it got me thinking)

Interesting, this is mostly how I imagined their personalities when I started writing my fanfics! I took a lot of what I got from the Pacifist route and applied it to Frisk, and took the things that Chara says around the end of the Genocide route, there a lot of clashing personality differences between them.

Although, I always thought it was Frisk digging their heels when they went through True Labs, it kinda added to my thought process of them being a softie like Papyrus and being put off by the creepy atmosphere and amalgamates, they hadn't really been in an area quite like that one before. But I can also see Chara being put off by it too at some points, and being set off by the old recordings... either way, no matter how creepy it is, I'm not sure either of them can deny their curiosities.

Unrelated, but there's also the funny thing you can do at the dump where you just keep looking at the garbage, and the Narration (Chara) gets kind of annoyed (if I remember right?) and it gave me the headcannon that Frisk (or at least my version) enjoys looking through piles of stuff/junk and thrift shopping, if they could go visit a dump on the surface, they would, it's their Weird Kid Thing.

I'm not sure if you're interested in this, but I've considered the player theory as a continuing concept in fanfiction (or specifically my fanfiction??)

Technically the player/me(the writer) becoming a watcher of the world (instead of controlling) who narrates the story as it happens... combined with the main character's POV. Like, for example, when the character drops into a panic attack- the narration will start to freak out with them.

(Alternatively, I've definitely also considered the narrator of the story also being Chara (instead of me) but without really flat out admitting it)

And I say 'watcher' specifically because I've never liked the idea of controlling the characters as if 'I'm possessing' them like a ghost, or as if they have no free will in the story, and it's why I'll never be completely comfortable with the Player theory, canon or not. (Pretty sure it's a side effect of becoming emotionally attached to the characters, oops.)

But other than that, I've tried my best to combine the game with the world I created for it my fanfics and it's become an AU that I've found myself preferring to think it about more.

I have also long ago considered, that when Asriel became Flowey, he went through many noticeable personality changes, and I realized that he likely adopted a lot of Chara's personality traits because he was trying to be strong like them. (There could also be an argument that this also happened naturally due to them sharing his body when Asriel died, Chara left a mark on him)

[all-we-know-is-falling]

I can’t believe I’ve NEVER posted this before. What the flip. Anyway. This is from Agustín’s point of view, since he’s the main character and I find it easiest to write in first person. This is pretty old now and I’m not sure exactly how much of it is true to their story now, but I can tell you for sure that every single bit of Agustín’s confused and timid feelings towards Mateo and the idea of being alone with him are very real. That’s kind of the whole point LOL.

Solo, Juntos

I find myself in Mateo’s living room, with him of course. It’s cozy at his place. There is just stuff everywhere so it always feels more comfortable than it feels at mine.

Maybe that’s because there’s never really a quiet moment where I get to be home alone, and Mateo’s parents often have days when they’re both out at work until late, like right now.

Mateo says that when his parents are out, he’ll sometimes take advantage and invite his friends over. Apparently, he’s got a secret ‘stash’ hidden somewhere in his room. I don’t doubt him. “Don’t worry, it’s never too crazy.” He assures me.

Instead of inviting his long-time friend group round, he chose to invite me, I think to myself. We’ve been friends for a while now, but it still makes me feel a little… honoured, if that’s the word. I’m not entirely sure what we are right now, though, and I’m not sure if friends is the right term.

Mateo offers me a glass of water, and I accept it gratefully. The humid heat outside had me sweating on the way here, and my throat is feeling dry.

Bright warm light lights up sections of the tiled floor as the sun is placed high in the sky. It’s the middle of the day which explains why some of my hair is practically plastered to my forehead.

I take a seat on Mateo’s plush couch. It’s the kind that makes you feel like you’re sinking into it, and the quirky looking cushions sport different textures and shapes and colours.

He comes through with two glasses of clear, cool water and sets them down on the coffee table in front of the couch, among the random clutter which covers the surface.

The interior of his house is really busy and there’s a lot to take in, but it isn’t messy. Everything matches up and works together in its own way. Perhaps his parents are secretly insane interior designers…

This is the first time we’ve truly been alone together. Like, absolutely alone, no one else in the building, or anywhere near us. I don’t know how he’s feeling right now, but for me, I feel like I’m floating. Like falling, the kind of butterflies you get on a steep fair ride. Maybe I’m nervous, but I’m not sure what for. I take sips of my water, soothing my throat.

Mateo’s voice interrupts my thoughts, “If you were a stray cat outside, where would you choose to sunbathe?”

My eyes flick up at him and I furrow my brow, confused. He always asks the most random questions.

“Why would you ask that?” I pause for a second. “I’d probably find a flat warm stone… or pavement.”

Mateo grins when I give an answer, then he makes one up too. “I would go to the beach.”

He completely ignored my question.

Whatever.

“I’ve never imagined you to be a cat person.” I tell him.

“Yeah, I like them. They have cute faces and they’re calm, and reserved. They’re kind of the opposite of me!” He explains, then adds, “Minus the cute face, of course.”

I let out a small chuckle and try not to smile too hard, it’s as if I physically can’t straighten out my mouth. It’s no secret that I find Mateo hilarious, he always catches me laughing to myself about something he said way too long ago for it to still be funny. It’s a little embarrassing, but I can’t help it.

His almost-green eyes sparkle as he watches me laugh, which brings back the butterflies from earlier. “Oh yeah?” I say. “Well I like dogs.”

I don’t know why I prefer dogs.

“And I never expected you to be a dog person.” Mateo smiles at me. I break eye contact, my face feels flushed.

“No but seriously, what’s with your weird questions?” I ask him again. Hopefully he will give me the response I want this time.

“Weird questions can tell you a lot about a person, based on how they answer them.” He tells me, his voice authentic. “Even just finding out whether someone will answer them at all can be telling. For example, you. You’re one of the only people who genuinely gives me a real answer, like just now.”

“Right…” I can kind of see where he’s coming from. “Is that a good or bad thing?” He pouts as if he’s thinking.

“Yeah, it’s definitely a good thing. Also your answers are always super cute.”

I’m sure my eyes must have widened at that last part. I hope not but knowing my luck there’ll have been something which completely gave away how I feel about Mateo Ramírez calling something I do ‘cute’.

He’s always so genuine and real in the way he speaks, which is great because then I get to hear him say things like that to me, and I’ll never not get flustered when he does, but that also means that he might not mean it in any significant way, if you know what I mean. He talks like that to everyone, so I can’t ever get my hopes up. Things between us are complicated and I don’t really want to think about it.

Anyway, we continue to chat together, showing each other stuff we find funny on our phones, and listening to music in the back for an hour or two.

It doesn’t take long before we’re both in hysterics at something ridiculous which had been brought up in one of our many conversations. Mateo practically keels over laughing and lands his head on my shoulder as he grabs me, one hand at my arm and one at my chest. He’s the type to laugh with his whole body and it’s so funny.

Once we had both stopped gasping for breath, we settled finally. We were sitting very close to each other now, though. I think my palms started sweating.

*

I don’t know what to do. Everything in me is screaming at me to get up and run away, it’s too much. This is what I’ve wanted, though, isn’t it? Mateo has come too close, his face, his lips, only inches from my own. I’m not sure where to put my hands. Definitely nowhere near him, they’re sweaty and, anyways, I feel as if both of them are glued firmly to the sofa behind my back.

I try not to lean backwards even further, the closer Mateo gets. I don’t want it to look like I don’t want to do this, whatever this is. Do I want to do this? I’m unsure but I don’t have time to wonder, my thoughts are going ten to the dozen and I’m sure Mateo can probably hear my heartbeat racing. Yet my head feels as if it’s full of thick clouds, so I can’t actually decipher anything that I’m thinking. Even my breathing starts to pick up pace, I feel frozen in place, I feel like everything is going to go wrong and I’m going to mess this up somehow, and then-

My breath hitches when I feel Mateo’s mouth pressed softly against my own. Before I can fully react, he’s kissing me. Properly kissing me. He moves his lips and I do the same back, after my initial shock. Neither of us stops to say anything.

I can’t seem to relax, I’m aware of how tense I am, and Mateo seems to be as well. This must be why he pauses to ask me, “Is this alright?”

Now I feel bad because he looks nervous too. Or maybe he was always nervous but I was too caught up in my own head to notice. I don’t think that I can actually comprehend anything that’s going on right now, though.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I’ve never said something more awkwardly in my entire life. I can’t believe I really just responded like that.

I smile and try to relax a little. I also free my hands from behind my back, but this sends me sinking further into the sofa. Oof.

Now I feel like Mateo is above me. He’s looking down and smiling back at me. I simultaneously wish the sofa would swallow me whole, and that this moment would never end. He lets out a little laugh, presumably at me falling into the mass of cushions beneath me.

We don’t say anything else, but there seems to be a shared understanding that we both want this. I take in his gaze for a second before he leans down again to kiss me more. Mateo uses one arm to hold himself up, then I feel his free hand touch my face. The extra contact of his palm against my cheek and his fingers reaching my hair makes my head cloud up again with millions of new, undecipherable thoughts.

Instead, I decide to let it be; I want to live in the moment rather than in my head. I reach my hands to Mateo’s shoulders, broad and firm, then to near his neck. I pull him closer as he uses his supporting arm to lower himself. He hovers over me, the kiss only getting deeper, and runs his fingers through my dark, thick hair. The butterflies that have been living inside of me the whole time, since being invited into his house, evaporate; I’m in the moment now. Everything finally feels right.

[youatemylollipop]

A/N: A small fragment from one of my other stories. I just thought it was cute and wanted to share it with you guys separately.🥰 You know, since not everyone might have the patience to read a 12.4K word fic.😅

Synopsis: Just you and Mikey being a pair of goofballs.

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Characters: Sano Manjirō X Reader

⚠️ WARNING: None, maybe just a tiny bit of angst at the end.

Word Count: 1.6K

Tag List: @mytaiyakeylover

“Come on Manjirō, try something new for a change!” You whine, tugging at the blond’s sleeve childishly while sending him a pleading look. “We’ve been eating so much dorayaki and taiyaki recently that I’ve started having nightmares about them!” Mikey pouts at your insistence, but finds himself relenting as you are far too adorable to ignore.

You beam, feeling pleased with your accomplishment. Not too far away, you can hear your dearest friend—and perhaps older brother figure—Ryūguji Ken letting out a painful groan. This urges you to giggle as you are fully aware whose wallet will be left empty at the end of the day.

The dragon tattooed boy gives you a dirty look, knowing that whatever it is that you have in mind, will most definitely be more expensive than a few packages of your boyfriend’s favorite snacks. Mikey, however, lets out a laugh as he instantly recognizes the look on his tall friend’s face. Frankly, it is a look that screams agony.

It is a rather cold day in the month of December. The three of you are equally oblivious to the upcoming changes that will soon come in the span of a few months. You intertwine your hands, squeezing each other teasingly as you occasionally tug one another in the opposite direction, waiting to see who will be the first to lose balance.

Draken rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, but there is a barely noticeable lift at the corner of his mouth. You and Mikey, however, are too immersed within each other to take notice of the slight softness that can be spotted in the tattooed boy's dark eyes.

The snowflakes are dancing in the air, like an endless waltz. But unlike the two of you, each of them looks lonely, cold, breathtakingly beautiful, and yet pain strikingly lifeless. Like a small piece of something grandiose, however, still separated from the mass.

You walk over to Draken, your steps feeling light and weightless as you lightly jump with each one, the snow crunching softly beneath your feet. You send him the sweetest smile you can muster, but he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, his exhaustion deepening with a sense of foreboding. You let out a snicker like the spawn of Satan that you are.

“Ken-chan,” you say in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I want some of those.” The male quirks an eyebrow, his gaze following the direction of your index finger as you speak. Sighing, he nods at you, but not without mouthing some very peculiar words that would probably make any mother give a look of disappointment.

“You just had to choose the most complicated dish on the menu?” His reply is snarky and biting as he mentally prepares himself for the next thirty minutes he’d probably have to wait before your order would finally be ready. It’s not the food in itself, just the awfully long queue that he now has no other choice but to wait through.

“Now, now, Ken-chin," your boyfriend says, crossing his arms as he shakes his head disapprovingly. "That's not how you're supposed to treat a girl." The tall blond groans in frustration, struggling to hold back his urge to kill the Toman commander. Mikey, on the other hand, is sporting a cheshire grin, looking pretty much like the cat from Alice in Wonderland.

“Exactly, exactly,” you add, nodding your head in approval of his statement. “And you keep asking yourself why Emma doesn’t believe me when I tell her how much you like her.”

It takes a moment for Draken to finally register what you had said. However, before he has a chance to commit a double homicide, you feel someone’s fingers snake around your wrist. Seconds later you and your boyfriend are running down the streets, laughing like a pair of goofballs—which you probably are at this point.

Cold air brushes your face as you both continue the pointless war of tugging. At some point, you slip over the snow, making the both of you fall. Luckily, the river that Mikey loves visiting so much is completely frozen, saving you from a potential disaster. It's already too damn cold; you doubt you'll be able to survive walking wet around the city until you reach home.

You are rolling down the thick layers of pale, white snow. Mikey’s muscular arms are tightly wrapped around your waist, while yours find home around his neck. Snickers leaving your lips as you reach the frozen water.

You pull your face away from his chest, pools of [e/c] color meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes filled with childish glee. One of your hands trails up his neck before settling on his cold, pale cheek. There is a faint pink hue dusting them from the cold, biting air.

He’s smiling up at you. The expression is so contagious that you can’t help but mirror it with one yourself. His arms pull you slightly closer to him as your gaze fixates itself on his lips. His plush and pink lips that seem to be oh so kissable. You brush your own against his softly, before withdrawing from him slightly.

Before you have the chance to repeat the motion, Mikey quickly changes your position. You are now lying down on the cold, but surprisingly smooth surface. The blond leans in closer, so close that your noses are brushing and your hot breaths are mixing together. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, feeling your heartbeat accelerate in response to how intensely he is looking at you.

However, instead of being met by a long and sensual kiss as you were expecting, only a light peck grazes your lips. A pregnant pause soon follows, and suddenly you are attacked by a dozen kisses. Giggles escape your lips as his thin nimble fingers run along your clothed body to tickle you. You gasp as you try to fill your lungs with much needed air, but Mikey is having none of it.

“W—Wait, Manji-,” you try to speak up as tears continuously stream down your cheeks from all the uncontrollable laughter. “Hmm? What was that?” The male teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Stah—stop!" You manage to choke out, sighing in relief as the male finally gets off of you. He lays himself beside you, his coal-black eyes filled with adoration, making you flush red. You love the way he gazes at you, his expression portraying nothing but pure bewitchment, looking absolutely smitten.

You lie like this for a while, the cold breeze pushing past the both of you. The temperature seems to have gone a few degrees lower, causing you to shiver. You start blowing into your palms, which you have cupped and placed in front of your face. It doesn’t help much, however, and you are about to ask Mikey if he wants to go back.

You sit up, but stop yourself from voicing your question as you feel something soft and fluffy wrap around your neck. Peering down, you are met by strikingly vibrant red. You didn’t even notice at what point your boyfriend had gotten up. A pair of ecstatic giggles escape your lips as the familiar sensation of long ash blonde strands soon fall over your shoulder.

Mikey is hugging you tightly from behind, face tucked into his red scarf that is now securely wrapped around your neck. Half lidded eyes peering up at you from the soft, ticklish fabric, blonde locks falling down his face, making it slightly obscured. He looks surprisingly snuggly like this, pliant even.

“Feeling warm now?” His voice is slightly muffled, but you still somehow manage to catch onto what he’s saying. A small smile grazes your lips at the thought of how cute he is right now. He arches an eyebrow at how suspicious you’re looking, but doesn’t question it further.

It takes a few more minutes until Mikey’s phone begins to ring. Draken’s gruff voice, appearing from the other side. There is a smile on your boyfriend’s face, as he tells you that Ken-chin was nice enough to still buy him some dorayaki. The aforementioned sounds annoyed, but you both are aware that it’s just an act and that he doesn’t actually mean it.

Then Mikey gets up and stretches his sore limbs before lending you his hand. When you reach out, your stomach rumbles, urging the both of you to giggle in sync. You hear some distant sounds of barking dogs and furrow your eyebrows as you don’t seem to find any nearby, despite how close the sounds are.

Mikey watches you with concern, his mouth moving, but his voice sounding too far away for you to understand. You close your eyes briefly and try to concentrate on his words, but they only become less coherent for you to understand.

Suddenly the noises around you became clearer, but it wasn’t his voice. It was the barks of the dogs that you could not find beforehand. It was the sound of rushing water from the ocean. It was the rustling leaves that had fallen on the ground, following the whims of the winds.

You swallowed thickly, a heavy feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Eyes stinging as tears, once again, threatened to spill. This time, however, cheeks and lashes remained completely dry, as you refused to shed any more.

[ewanmitchelll]

• “Check yes, Y/N...” (II)

Imagine you are the youngest daughter of Lord Stark and Aemond Targaryen falls in love with you right before civil war starts. What then?

Warnings: smut mention/fluff.

***

"So it is my understanding that the Lord Velaryon is of your liking", you hear a husky voice out of nowhere, getting you goosebumps.

Two days have passed since the feast to celebrate the king's nameday. His health had been deteriorating and those attentive to details could tell he would not last long and that Otto Hightower, recently reinstated to the position of Hand of the King, was behind some wicked plot to place Aegon on the throne in opposition to Rhaenyra.

But you are oblivious to politics--they are not of your liking anyway. You are now friends with Lady Baela Velaryon and Lord Jacaerys Velaryon, which annoys Prince Aemond--who does not wish to share you at all.

So you are holding a book, walking with it around, when he comes out of nowhere.

"What?", you frown, thinking to be your brother before seeing it's Aemond. The prince's face goes slightly red when he sees the change in your demeanor because you beam at him. "My prince! Lord Aemond, why'd you think so?"

"You've been hard to find", he says simply.

You close your book and hold it against your chest, that is until he takes it from your arms.

“Lord!”, you protest, but Aemond ignores you as he investigates the book that has been distracting your mind off him—and it is only now it occurs you that he is taller than you. “Lord Aemond! Would you kindly consider give it back to me?”

He chuckles at how adorable you sound, trying to get the book back, very conscious at how you are surprisingly smaller than him.

“Nay, lady Y/N. Why would a book like this hold your mind instead of me? Or perhaps is it a way to prevent your thoughts going to Lord Jacaerys Velaryon?”

It is then you stop chasing after him because a strange thought occurs you.

“Wait… This is only the second time you bring his name. Is it because we danced and became friends? And… Wait again! Why should I explain myself to you? My prince, are you jealous?”

To realize it, makes you laugh. Aemond rolls his eyes, but because his back is now at you, you don’t see a shade of pink coloring his cheeks.

“Of course not”, he scoffs at you. “But why on earth would you choose him to be friends with goes beyond my intelligence.”

You are still giggling at his nonsense.

“Do you realize how foolish you sound, my prince? For a man who presented himself with considerable brain, you cannot serious entertain arrogance as a plausible argument to prevent my friendship with the aforementioned lord. Unless this means you are jealous. But why would you be if we are not yet intimate enough to form such a bond? And I thought you were engaged to Lady Rivers?”

Aemond sighs heavily, shooting you a disdainful glance. But you remain where you are, eyebrows raised and staring at him with amused eyes.

“Frankly, my dear, why do you think I care? To the seven hells with Lord Velaryon and yourself.”

Your smile is wiped off your lips when you notice how serious is the antagonism he feels for the said lord. Which is a pity, because Jacaerys isn’t someone prompted to be disliked. And you do have a strong intuition for matters like these—you’d not dare to voice it, of course, but you never liked Otto Hightower very much.

Perhaps it is the wolf in me that is always alert to such people.

“So you are reading about ancient love stories such as the honorable knight who left all that was in his power to be with his damsel?”, Aemond asks you casually in order to appease whatever tension that the mere name of Jacaerys Velaryon caused.

“Well”, you relax your shoulders in response to the swift of his demeanor, though Aemond can tell you still cannot be sure how to play with him. “Yes. I fancy such stories even though I particularly don’t find them to be true.”

“Really? How so?”, asks the silver haired prince, now leading you two to outdoors.

“Because honor is the death of love. It is known”, you tell him, sounding more melancholic than you’d like to admit.

Aemond considers such a thought, unsure how to interpret it.

“Do you not think possible that they can coexist?”, asks him, intrigued. “Towards the end of this novel, the said knight fulfills his duty to his sovereign and his lady, redeemed from his sins by proving his loyalty to them both. And his union is blessed.”

You smile at him. Before you realize, your hand is on the prince’s arm. But he notices it, and despite feeling subtly shy, he does not move away. On the contrary, he shortens the distance.

“So you are familiar with the story”, you remark. “I wouldn’t take you as romantic, lord.”

Aemond chuckles under his breath, avoiding your curious gaze.

“Never judge a book by its cover”, he says. “I read a lot, that is all.”

You remember hearing from your brother that lord Aemond is as rogue as lord Aegon. (“He may not behave like his whoring brother, but his association with Lady Rivers of Harrenhal shows is what we ought to think of such a prince. I believe you’d do better in becoming friends with Lord Jacaerys, a far more decent company to surround with”, so he said, echoing the words of carefulness of your father.) but you cannot distance yourself from the prince. Your heart knows he is too magnetic to be pulled far from his grasp, your body seems to melt by the fire his presence ignites.

“Yet, here you are. What secrets are there behind your heart, lord Aemond?”

“Maybe it should be up to you to figure this out”, Aemond responds, seeing in your y/c eyes an unposed challenge.

“A secretive prince with an endless path of knowledge”, you tell, smiling gently. “Pray tell me, dragon lord, what else is there to know? I hear your heart has been taken.”

It slips your tongue before you know. But you don’t want to waste your time, to be made a fool. Aemond is surprised by how it comes too, the unspoken truth that has reached you. He sort of hoped you’d not know it.

I underestimated the fierceness of the she-wolf.

The prince studies you quietly. He watches as you untangle your arm of his and start going around the gardens, free in every movement, despite the tightness of your gown—and he sighs quietly when noticing the silk of it slipping in your curves, reinforcing them.

Oh if the dragon let the fire consume… He could picture you under his touch, mewling as he explored your body. He’d die to see your hair loose, a complete mess as his tongue dived against yours, his famine fingers holding each freed nipple possessively as he claimed you, your pleasure, your flesh.

The mere thought arouses him and Aemond must be careful not let it evident. He swallows hard and represses it. But there is something more… so much more than the mere needs of his flesh could content with.

When you turn around and you see he’s stopped, Aemond sees innocence stamped in your delicate features.

Oh the guilt for desiring you, Lady Stark. For fuck sake, how could you be gifted with handsomeness and a pure heart so unfit of any living men?

“Why are you standing there?”

“I’m merely…watching you.”

Aemond’s lips twist into a small smirk when seeing you going red at his unexpected bluntness.

“What for? There is nothing to watch”, you protest.

He sees you are about to say something, he can tell you are indecisive about doing so. Aemond wonders if it’s about lady Alys and the idea wipes out his smirk off his face.

“What are you thinking about?”, he asks you, rather anxiously, going after you.

“There are many things I am thinking about”, you divert away nervously, as he stands now far closer than you’d like to admit.

Aemond holds your wrist, going as bold as pulling you closer. Your eyes go wide at his posture, so domineering. And yet…

Yet…

You like it. You feel it in your legs. But in your heart too. Like the prince of your stories, he is ready to reclaim you.

Until you remember he belongs to somebody else. Aemond sees the conflict in you.

“Lady Y/N, why are you playing with me?”

“This is a question I should ask yourself.”

Aemond sighs heavily, not the most patient of the men.

“Then ask away.”

But he meets your pride instead. You raise your chin and say:

“I will not.”

“Lady Y/N, I am not here for games.”

“Neither am I. Who do you take me for, prince?”

“I take you for many things.” He softens, bent to his heart’s desires. “You have a mind of your own. Your wit is impressive. But underneath your pride, you are not a loner as you like to present yourself. I read you, Y/N Stark. Your heart is not different than mine. You don’t feel your worth is seen, perceived, appreciated mostly due to your sex, or, what I believe to be more plausible, because no one sees who you really are.”

You stare at him baffled. The few times you spent together and yet he makes a far more accurate reading of your essence than even Lord Jacaerys could ever do.

Your silent is meaningful, you are clearly disconcerted. Aemond gently places a hand around your cheek and strokes it as you eventually give in to his touch—so warm and cozy, in contrast to your skin naturally cold.

“Let me be the prince you need”, he whispers. “You are the true muse I’ve been in secretive pursuit. Whatever my soul is made of, it is made of the same material yours is. Are we this different, Y/N? Are we?”

“I’d never think you to possess a sensitive soul”, you whisper, enjoying the proximity of your bodies. “I hate how easily you steal the tranquility of myself.”

“You’ve never been at ease”, his arms now rest around your waist. “We are still looking for our place in this world, Y/N. So let us make it.”

You do not wish to part the spell, but your ever suspicious and distrustful heart speaks out without your control, slipping through your tongue words that betray the state of your heart, constantly under arrest as perceived by Lord Aemond.

“You cannot say these words when lady Rivers is still out there. I cannot give you who I am if you are still attached to her. Love maybe sweet, my prince, but it does not change any man’s nature.”

He is not expecting to hear what he heard. Yet before Aemond could have the chance to explain himself, princess Helaena comes out of nowhere with her typical gentleness:

“Oh there you are, lady Y/N! My mother asked me to search for you. It appears the king wishes to talk to you.”

The next events would change significantly the lives of you and Lord Aemond, who is definitely not ready to let go of you…

(To be continue)

[sorrelchestnut]

working title: jailbird pt 3

Previously on: He nodded, and turned back to the chained tyrant, and said, “What do you want?”

What do you want.  Gone gods, what a fucking question!  What do you want - as if the likes of Enver Gortash had even once wanted anything less than absolutely everything.

The Dark Urge had known that, once.  Had shared in those ambitions, in point of fact, one of Gortash's very favorite things about his favorite assassin.  Had worked with him, day after day and year after patient year, to achieve every lofty goal, every bloody whim, the one soul in all the world worthy to stand beside him.  And now for him to stand there and ask, so bluntly it was nearly painful, what he wanted-

No matter.  Of all of the many and myriad things Gortash wanted, the most urgent of them was within his grasp, if he could but focus his mind on the moment before him instead of battles long-since lost.

"Release me," he said, leaning forward as far as his chains would allow.  The Dark Urge's eyes went slightly wider at the corners, perhaps unprepared for his blunt question to be answered in kind, but Gortash had never known him to favor delicate speech when plain would serve.  Of all the things that had changed, that seemed the least likely.  "Get me out of this festering hellhole and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

The Dark Urge went very still, but beyond him there was a brief ripple of movement, as the little vampire rocked forward on the toes of his very expensive boots.  "Ha!" he said explosively, though he looked abashed when the Dark Urge turned to pin him with a questioning look.  "Sorry, sorry.  Decorative, I know."

"You wish," the Dark Urge said, ruined voice gone soft around the edges.  When he turned back to Gortash, however, his pale eyes were shrewd.  "Although my friend here does have a point.  I know the trick of bargaining is to ask high, but that's pushing it, even for you."

"I'm not the one who decided to embark on yet another legendary quest without so much as a map," Gortash countered, choosing to ignore that my friend.  Not that either of them had ever been overt - not where any of his eyes were on them, anyway - but Gortash prided himself on reading the kind of secrets bodies told when tongues stayed stubbornly silent.  "There are very few things I want that you're actually able to give me.  If you're not willing to do so, we don't have much further to discuss."

The Dark Urge snorted, making himself comfortable against the filthy wall.  "I realize we're a bit beyond niceties at this point, but you could at least try to pretend you don't think I'm an idiot."

"I think I've been the very soul of courtesy, actually," Gortash said automatically, though his mind was reeling.  An idiot?  Him?  The Dark Urge had been one of the finest minds Gortash had ever encountered, a century of travel and learning alloyed to a cruel pragmatism that drew straight lines through all Gortash's labyrinthine turns.  Whatever desecration Orin had enacted on the edifice of his prodigious memory, Gortash couldn't imagine she'd managed to destroy such as that.

"I notice you didn't comment on my idiocy," the Dark Urge commented dryly.

Fuck.  If he didn't get his head in the game, Gortash was going to lose it entirely.  "I promise you, whatever my feelings regarding our last meeting, I don't find you a fool of any kind."  The Dark Urge's eyes widened faintly, possibly at Gortash's unwarranted emphasis, so he reeled his tone back to something lighter, less invested.  "Quite the opposite, in fact.  If I didn't think you could give me what I wanted, I wouldn't be wasting my breath."

"Flatterer," the Dark Urge accused, a half-smile lingering at the corner of his fanged mouth.  "But I'd be a fool to take you at your word and we both know it.  Even if I were to agree to your release-"

The spawn made a faint noise of protest.

"-you'd only take it as a weakness and double-cross me at the first opportunity," the Dark Urge concluded, ignoring him.  "No thank you.  Try again."

Gortash couldn't help smiling at that, the familiar disapproving frown and faintly contemptuous tilt of that horned head.  If he ignored the surroundings - and the company - he could very nearly pretend it was still a year ago, the Dark Urge pacing before his desk, ruthlessly poking holes in Gortash's plans as fast as Gortash could come up with them.

"Now you're starting to sound like yourself," he said approvingly.  "Fine, keep me in irons if you wish, I shan't quibble the details.  But I should like to remind you that there are two of you and only one of me, and I'm not the one still under a god's favor.  While my ego certainly appreciates the pretense, you and I both know I'm little risk to you at the present, chains or otherwise."

The Dark Urge snorted.  "You'll always be a risk, Gortash," he said, very nearly fond.  Gortash caught his breath, but he only continued, "I may be brain damaged, but I'm not that brain damaged.  Try again."

"And they called me a tyrant." Gortash couldn't entirely conceal the answering affection in his voice, but who could blame him?  There were so very few who would stand up to him - even now, beaten and broken as he was, they were afraid. "Very well, you've caught me, et cetera et cetera.  Would it help if I swore a vow?  I'll stake my soul on any god you like - even your new master, if that's what it takes to soothe your fretful heart."

"I don't need your oath," the Dark Urge said, ignoring the editorializing.  "It wouldn't mean anything from you anyway."

That stung, likely more than he'd meant it to.  "You may not have the faculty to remember, but I take my promises quite seriously, old friend, which is why I make very few."  He tipped up his chin and bared his teeth in a savage smile neither one of them would mistake for anything but a challenge.  "My choices might not measure up to your impeccable standards, but at least I've never broken an oath."

Beyond him the spawn sucked in a breath noisily between his teeth, but Gortash had eyes only for the Dark Urge, who was studying him back with an unreadable expression.  "I wouldn't complain of my oathbreaking, if I were you," he said, after a moment.  The very mildness of his tone was a warning, like frogs falling silent at a pond.  "Seeing as you owe your very life to it."

"You expect I should thank you for abandoning me to the headsman's axe?  Don't be absurd."  If Gortash was the sort of man who heeded warning signs, he wouldn't have taken up with a Bhaalspawn in the first place.  "You know, it was quite the disappointment, really.  I'd never before been given cause to complain of your follow-through.  Say what you like about your former conduct, but at least then you had the courage of your convictions."

The Dark Urge went very still at that, even the restless lash of his tail trailing to an uneasy stop.  There was a sense of gathering potential around him, a whispered promise of violence exuding from his motionless form like heat from a forge.  The gods' perfect predator, standing before Gortash like a lighting strike waiting to happen.

Gods, but he had missed this.

Lowly, the Dark Urge said, "Is that what you think?"

And there it was.  The challenge.  There always came a point, in this dance, where the final gauntlet was thrown down, a bloody borderline beyond which lay only death and disrepute for the interloper.  Few had the will to enforce their little boundaries - but the Dark Urge was one of them.  It was what made it such a pleasure to push past them anyway, into realms where only the gods dared to tread.

"It's the truth!" Gortash said with relish.  "You can call it justice if you wish, but we both know there's no such thing.  Not in life, not in death, and certainly not in this miserable pisspot of a city.  All you spared me was the dignity of dying to a worthy opponent - and all you spared yourself was the satisfaction of a job well done."

The Dark Urge didn't say anything for a long moment after Gortash finished speaking, but Gortash felt no need to press him.  They both knew how this was going to go.  Maybe the Dark Urge didn't remember him, not properly, but his mark was still there nonetheless, down in the bones and gristle of him.  Gortash had just mishandled things before, at his coronation, but this proved that his old partner was in there somewhere, that this could still be salvaged-

"This was a mistake."

[lockedtowers]

my muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / canon inspired

is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK

is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK

were they relevant to the main story?  YES / NO

were they relevant to the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG

are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO / IDK

how’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

how strictly do you follow canon?

so like pmuch everything that happens in s/yfy al/ice happens but i expand on it more and recognize jack as more evil, and also i make my own canon inspired by that canon (For this blog). if we're talking abt my book version of cassie tho i make the canon.

SELL YOUR MUSE! aka try to list everything which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals

the ever present curse of a life you didn't choose, a basis never chosen. the broken (cat) who had to escape, a preconceived notion on what you are based on who you're related to, the monster's daughter, a lost heir, the discovery of who and what someone is and how those around them can shape them into either good, evil, or the undetermined inbetween. also she's a cat

now the OPPOSITE. list everything why your muse might not be so interesting (even if you don’t agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?)

i tone it down a lot tbh but she does use a lot of 'big' and 'annoying' words, she tends to be a little bit of an asshole, and ofc... she's a girl (usually). genderfluid chars usually arent preferred by fandom, fantasy isn't as big as it was back in the day, people don't really love adaptions anymore, and in a lot of ways i base things around 'is this something someone would find interesting in a cis male muse' and if the answer is yes, i love it and fandom hates it. also magic. also, like, 'oh too powerful waaaaa' which is another reason why i nerf her in rp quite a lot. also i tend to make a lot of things abt her, bc i love her.

what inspired you to rp your muse?

so back when she was still a dormouse and part of an open group i co ran it was bc of the fc my then friend picked out but as i've adapted her made her my own changed her animal and everything its pure unadultered love

what keeps your inspiration going?

she's my babygirl and even if nobody else loves her i DO and want to find others who also love her and maybe me

some more personal questions for the mun. give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

do you think you give your character justice?   YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO

are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES

are you a sensitive person?   YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

if i ask for it, but she's my character, and i have rejection sensitivity dysphoria, so i simply don't ask for it.

do you like questions which help you explore your character?

yes

if someone disagrees with a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

i will hear out whatever but like if it's a headcanon. abt my character. then thats my character. but if it involves another char like obviously we should build it together lol

if someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

this is my cat

if someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

well, she's my char, and it's my blog, so idc

are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

i'm dyslexic feel FREE to let me know.

do you think you are easy going as a mun?

prolly yea

my muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / canon inspired

is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK / unfortunately

is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK

were they relevant to the main story?  YES / NO

were they relevant to the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG

are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO / IDK

how’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

how strictly do you follow canon?

honestly i don't even think scott knew what canon was, most of it is fanon, and i don't like most of the fanon. i really just do what i want w him and my only real inspiration is what was shone in the first 6 games, a dash of the newer ones, the film a teeny bit, and the silver eyes trilogy. but it's mostly my own canon as well. i'd say canon inspired but also i'm more or less writing him as an oc.

SELL YOUR MUSE! aka try to list everything which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals

i don't want to sell him he's evil and more than half the fandom wants to fuck him he's an evil genius, master manipulator, at one point he loved his fam and kids. at one point.

now the OPPOSITE. list everything why your muse might not be so interesting (even if you don’t agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?)

if i start i wont stop. he's literally a child killer, he literally created things to kill children. would he have done that if his son hadn't died? probably not! but he is unforgivable imo, h8 him, like from a psych standpoint its interesting to dissect his brain but like yknow

what inspired you to rp your muse?

i already wanted to from game one but when he finally got a name i was like welp this is mine now

what keeps your inspiration going?

i dont rly write him often bc the fandom wants to believe he's even worse than he already is and everytime sb messages me wanting to have their muse aged down and obsessed w him and them to do things i get grossed out and can't deal w it please never ever do that again anyone ever he's horrible but he isn't that

some more personal questions for the mun. give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

do you think you give your character justice?   YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO / SOMETIMES

are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO

are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES

are you a sensitive person?   YES / NO / SOMETIMES

do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

in his case, no, because most criticism i receive is either 'how could anyone write someone who isnt at least morally grey whats wrong with you???' (people sexualize and romanticize him too much and just wanna fuck him and its like there's a line where you can explore the man he was but still respect the horrible person he becomes and not romanticize who he becomes, which a lot of ppl... can't handle. when it was sb who had an entire blog of serial killer characters tho a few years back that was just ironic) or mad at me for refusing to make him a p3d0 so like, absolutely not. i won't accept any criticism on him from anyone. ppl are too annoying.

do you like questions which help you explore your character?

yes

if someone disagrees with a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

it depends. bc if its abt either of the things above, no.

if someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

idk, i don't really care when it comes to him lol

if someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

GOOD

tagged  by  :  stole from max

tagging  :  u