#otherwise you will sew on your soul

[hekuuu]

#idk how common this superstition is #but my mom always tells me that you can’t talk when you’re sewing on yourself #otherwise you will sew on your soul #or memory #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bloodweave #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #baldurs gate 3

[peeweekey]

i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!

part i, part ii, part iii

synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.

tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing ; miscommunication

Valentine’s day comes rolling around the next year, and you are sadly not present to witness Alhaitham lengthen his trail of broken hearts. A shame, really. This year, you were looking forward to bringing popcorn for the occasion—just to see him squirm.

You’ve been cooped up in the homeroom lab for the better part of the week, sewing and snipping away at one of the costumes for the school’s fair. Unlike last year, you don’t have your seniors to help you pin fabrics right or to assist in hand stitching plastic beads, as the newly appointed tailor's club head you have a lot more duties to take on.

It’s exhausting, you feel the deep creases underneath your eye—dreading to head to the bathroom and accidentally look into the mirror to face your own haggard appearance—and the dull ache in your hands and back is blocking any sense you could have.

The club room is otherwise quiet if not for the lo-fi beat playing from your phone’s speaker and the rhythmic snips of scissors gliding over fabric. You focus all your brain power on the task—fabric is not cheap and you don’t have enough mora in your wallet if you lose focus and mess up—and remain blissfully unaware of any potential distraction.

To be honest, it hadn’t even registered in your head that you weren’t alone in the room anymore, until the gentlest tap on your shoulder has you snapping your focus away from the brocade.

The sight of just who has you unconsciously gaping your mouth like a blubbering fish in shock—Alhaitham.

He stares at you blankly, his gaze is so intense it’s a little unnerving, you freeze up before him, and probably make yourself look like an idiot in the process.

Suddenly, the state of your appearance becomes a presiding worry. Having skipped lunch in favor of patterning tulle perfectly on the dummy mannequin. Your uniform is crumpled, creased with the lack of motion, stray threads and fabric fibers cover you head to toe similar to lint. It’s almost humiliating to be seen so disheveled by Alhaitham—when he himself looks like the epitome of put-together flawlessness.

“Haitham,” you start, smoothing out the fabric laid out on the table, it’s soft and smooth under your fingertips. “Need something?”

He spares a glance to whatever you’re fidgeting with behind you then to your face, which in turn makes you fist the work-in-progress fabric tighter in your hand.

Alhaitham seems to search for something in your expression, his gaze feels like it’s poking and prodding in your soul. Your hands itch to cover up whatever’s he’s fixated on, but you settle on the second best option; staring back just as hard and ten times more intensely.

“The second button of my shirt,” he says, Alhaitham points at his stark white button up, right where a button lay missing. You arch a brow at that, he’s most definitely only here to ask you to mend his shirt. No other reason.

And you are definitely not disappointed right now too.

Swallowing hard, your eyes drift to his face. “Do you need a replacement button?”

A crease forms between his brows. “No.”

Well.

“O-kay,” that stumps you, “What about it then?” you shoot him a puzzled look, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

That makes him pause. “I wanted to check if you wanted it.”

“…your button?”

“Yes, that’s why I came over here.”

He must be kidding. The two of you are standing in the homeroom lab, there’s a surplus of small white buttons, you’d rather pick from there than have him ruin a perfectly good shirt.

“Uh no thanks,” you scratch at the back of your neck, extremely confused. “I have a lot more buttons in the drawer, there’s no need to take one off your back.”

Once you said that and saw the expression on his face, you knew immediately that it was the wrong choice—even if it wasn’t a test question. Alhaitham does not pout, but that’s something he would say. If you were asked, the way his lips twitch downward slightly is pouting.

“I understand,” he says shortly and starts to turn back and reach for the door. You cannot hide your bewildered expression, pinching your brows in confusion.

“Wait—hold it right there,” you call, stepping a step or two following him. You, not wanting your conversation to end on such an unusually awkward note. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and you practically hear the sulky edge to his voice—something you swore he left back in middle school—still, he turns back to face you. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you.”

Sighing, you step even closer to close some of the distance, holding your palm out impatiently to him. “Come over here, grumpy. I’ll take the button.”

He eases up slightly. “Don’t force yourself.”

Why you ought to wring this man by the neck. You place your free hand to rest on your waist. “You’re not forcing me, now hand it over.”

Alhaitham stands his ground, but eventually cracks, offering a compromise. “...I’ll leave it on the table.”

“Okay,” your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion and slight irritation—confusion more than anything. “See you, Haitham.”

He bids you goodbye, calling your name softly.

You hear the door slide open, then shut.

When you open your eyes, a singular translucent white button sits on your working table—along with a box of fine confectioners chocolate.

What a loser, you think. Though your smile betrays that thought.

You skip back to your work and suddenly, you aren’t so exhausted anymore.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham #genshin impact #x reader #fanfic #key's-vault

[hana-no-seiiki]

we have yandere! tsundere, yandere! kamidere and yandere! himbo

i now present to you

yandere! deredere eldritch horror (based off of chikn nuggit’s characters) who pretends to be cutesy, lovey-dovey dumbass in front of you.

only to imprison the souls and bodies of those dare gaze at your holy being. tearing them to pieces, bit by bit, slowly and surely so that they pain prolongs only to sew them back up again for future stress relief. although it is tempting, l’ly of the interdimensional valleys never consumes them! that special kind of opportunity is saved for you.

you see, they were bored with the universe when they so you, an anomaly. a person so stupid and dense that you literally are a void of chaos and destruction to celestial beings and what not. l’ly is the only one who can kill you but decides otherwise cause you’re just too fucking hot.

deredere eldritch horror who loves to use the third person when speaking. you’re the only other person they allow to utter their name and it’s super cute when you picked it up from them sometimes. it’s just their favorite character to play when romancing you. a cute little thing that totally needs your attention or they’ll die.

sometimes they changed reality so it could act out different ‘dates’ and ‘activities’ with you before they wipe everything else from existence and restart.

it does often panic when you change too much, and it had to reset a few thousand times just to get a version of you that’s similar to the old one so they decided against doing that too often. instead they just let you reincarnate since that would only change your appearance more than the soul and personality you carry.

in any case, everything and anything that isn’t you does not amount to much at all. they are completely devoted — whipped — and would even use their powers to prolong that infatuation they feel so that it’ll never fade. they’re deathly afraid of losing the feeling you provide into their immortal life.

they don’t really care if you dont love them. just as you stay by their side.

for the rest of eternity and beyond.

#hns.l’ly #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere x you #yandere core #yandere eldritch horror #yandere eldritch god #yandere god #yandere oc x reader #yandere headcannons #yandere self insert #yandere concept #yandere idea #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #yandere x reader imagine #yandere drabble #yandere headcannon

[deblklesb]

[Happy Christmas Eve! — Abby × Reader]

[fem!reader, christmas theme, fluff/soft with some sexual content (not enough to be a smut), established relationship]

Summary: Reader makes Abby a stocking and gives her a gift

a/n: don't mind me, I'm just making something to feed my soul with Abby fluff and fulfill Abby's wish of someone making her a stocking

cw: little sexual content by the end

! Reblogs are extremely appreciated !

"Can I open it now?" Abby asked from the living room, her voice reaching you through the apartment.

"No! Just one second!"

"Come on!" Her voice had a grumble tone, you almost could see her pouting. "That's not good girl behavior"

"You'd know", you snorted, finally finishing the adjustment on your garments. You hid the things behind your back, walking back in the living room patiently. "If you were Santa, where in this house you'd find good to see a stocking?"

"What?"

"We don't have a fireplace", standing in front of the blonde woman, you saw her frowning her eyebrows, absolutely lost on the subject. "You can open now"

Abby did it, and took her some seconds to absorb the view. You had a Christmas cap and a green big shirt covering your body until the middle of your thighs, underneath just a red lacey panties that she couldn't see yet. A grin on your lips denounced how you're up to no good, but she decided to focus on how cuddly that day was slowly becoming with you.

Christmas were always a weird holiday after her father's death. As much as the people on WFL away made get-togethers on that period too, it wasn't the same. She would usually hang out with her friends and sometimes even play with the dogs on the snow, but apart from that there wasn't some type of Christmas spirit.

You too didn't had the habit of celebrating that holiday, simply because it never seemed attractive. The world was chaotic and a bunch of people died, and during the most part of your childhood you and your parents spent too much time running and surviving. It wasn't exactly fun. Then you found the WFL quarter and decided to settle. That was somewhere four years ago, and after two Christmas you started to anticipate de holiday with excitement. On the third year you were already planning you own traditions. This year you had Abby, and as much as she didn't had the same anticipation she also didn't said otherwise.

So there you were all smiles, a bubble of happiness coming from the single thought of watching the movies and eating the Christmas food the cafeteria had that time of the year.

"This is cute", her grin got bigger as she pulled you from your legs to stand between hers, and then you finally revealed what was hidden. "What..."

Abby analyzed the two stockings in front of her now, red and white fabric, her initial letter in one and yours on the other, in yellow. Small stars, mistletoe and snow flakes around. "What is this?"

"Stockings!" She grabbed hers, fingers tracing the details while she sit in silence. The difference on her demeanor made you stand still, waiting. What if she didn't like it? "I... I didn't knew where to hang them, so I decided to wait to surprise you..." Still not a word from her. That sunk a weird feeling in your chest, the doubt of making something that could upset her creeping you mind. "Is there something wrong? I mean, I know the sewing isn't perfect, but my mom taught me me just last week in a rush, and I also had a run, so it can be a little bit hurried..."

Abby finally looked up at you and her blue eyes were watering a little. She sniffed briefly, looking away and then to you again. "Yeah, the sewing is pretty shitty to be honest"

You stopped deadpaned, watching as a small grin came on her beautiful lips and she pushed away the tears. Then she startled as you punched her arm. "You idiot!"

Abby laughed pulling you on her lap and hugging your waist, feeling your arms wrapping around her broad shoulders as she kissed your neck over and over.

"I thought you hated it"

"I love it, baby", the few honey-blonde hair strands falling around her face made her even prettier, cute freckles and small scars adorning her features too. "Thank you", she bumped her lips on yours, accepting your pecks.

"I have other present for you."

"I'm starting to feel really bad because i just got one thing for you", the woman countered.

"You got me something?!"

"Of course! What kind of girlfriend do you think I am?!"

"The type to sexually torture me in bed", you said, leaning over the arm of the couch to grab a package hidden behind the corner table. The shirt went up a little with your movement added to Abby's hold, and that made her see the tip of your lacey panties covering the upper thigh.

"Dressing up all cute for me I might as well do it again", she smirked while pulling the green fabric up to better see the piece of clothing underneath.

"I thought good girls were well rewarded", you pouted, giving her the package even tho that meant having her warm hands away from your skin. "Maybe this can help you decide what to do."

Abby looked at you all suspicious, tearing up the wrappings just to see a box with the product image in the front. That immediately made her blush, glancing your grin. "How did you find this?"

"That last minute run I went last week with Nora... We kinda found a sex shop some weeks ago and decided to keep it to ourselves to explore and get some things before reporting"

"You call that good girl behavior?", you caressed her shoulders while she opened the box, seeing the dildo and the small textured gadget next to it. "What's this?"

"You put it on the inside part of the strap", she gulped, imagining what would happen. You lean on her to whisper in her ear "It's for you to use while fucking me senseless"

The woman threw the box away before grabbing you by the waist again, crashing her lips on yours in a heated kiss. You smiled between it, heart fluttering as the thought of a destabilized Abby on top of you flooded your mind. She would look so fucking hot moaning and trembling while railing you; your pussy throbbed just with the anticipation.

"Wanna try it before the party tonight?" She muttered as kissing your neck, hands gripping your thighs and ass and getting another smile from you, her voice was so fucking sexy.

"Please be gentle, I don't wanna look like I just had sex when seeing my parents tonight", you both chuckled.

"So why did you dress this, uh?"

"Y'know... Christmas tradition?"

"Oh, yeah, right", she grabbed the box again and handed it to you, getting up from the couch carrying your weight like it was nothing as you wrapped your legs around her torso.

"Showing off like that it'll be hard not to beg you to fuck me untill I can't stand." Abby making use of her muscles were always an arousing thing and on top of that you were the biggest simp.

"Well, you discovered my trick", she smirked, walking towards the bedroom. "Now let's get this to a test drive and after the party you can show me how much a good girl you are."

[dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader fluff #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou2 #abby tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson tlou #tlou #tlou2 #tlou2 fanfic #tlou2 oneshot #oneshot #fanfic #soft #fluff #writing #fanfic writing #christmas theme #holiday season #the last of us #the last of us 2 #I'm just a lesbian writing #sapphic #fem reader #lgbtqia

[theflirtmeister]

Domestic hoffheight :( need some cocaine inducing fluff of the guys ever :( some chicken noodle soup for the soul

On the third day, Adam demanded his bed back.

Mark refused to move from his cocoon of bloodstained pillows and sheets, because fuck whatever Adam said. His entire body ached, one moment cold, the next burning hot, and the new stitches up the side of his face prevented him from eating anything more challenging than soup. He had spent the last three days drifting in and out of sleep, pretending not to notice when Adam checked his forehead for a temperature, or tucked the blankets around him.

Now Adam was standing there with his hands on his hips, glaring. His apartment was exactly the kind of shithole that Mark had been expecting when he dragged himself up the flights of stairs, dripping blood onto the concrete steps. There were band posters and club flyers stuck to the walls, clothes strewn on the floor and on the backs of chairs. It felt like student living, but Adam was too old to be a student, and was now just pathetic.

“Get up,” Adam said. “I’m sick of sleeping on the couch.”

“Didn’t ask you to sleep there.” Mark rasped. His throat hurt from screaming, everything raw and tender.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” Adam said. “I had nowhere else to put you.”

Mark shuffled a little to the right-hand side of the bed, but didn’t otherwise evacuate. He was comfy, and the idea of sleeping on the sofa whilst trying to keep his face from falling apart didn’t sound ideal. Adam had sewn him up with the same thread he used to patch his jeans – Mark was surprised he didn’t complete the look with a safety pin.

“Good enough,” Adam muttered, and climbed onto the bed. “You’re a real dick, you know that Hoffman?”

Mark didn’t reply. Adam lay beside him like a corpse, staring up at the ceiling, hands by his sides. He was wearing his version of pyjamas, an old band shirt and a pair of boxers that slipped down his hips. His skin was goose-pimpled, and Mark started to tug at the covers, because watching Adam freeze for the sake of martyrdom was pathetic.

“What are you doing you weirdo-” Adam started, and Mark managed to pull him underneath the thin sheets, before Adam could protest further.

Adam went very still and quiet as Mark arranged the two of them, until Adam’s back was pressed up against Mark’s stomach. He was cold to the touch, and Mark wrapped one arm around Adam’s waist, burying his nose in Adam’s hair. He smelt like cigarettes and laundry detergent, unlike the horrible rot he had stunk of when Mark had gone to collect his corpse from Kramer’s bathroom.

“You’re going to get blood on me.” Adam muttered as Mark rubbed his face against Adam.

“You wanted the bed back,” Mark replied hoarsely. “Shut up and be happy.”

“Thrilled,” Adam said sarcastically. “I love having you snorting in my ear like the fucking pig you are.”

Mark shoved his nose into Adam’s ear and inhaled loudly, causing Adam to squirm away from him in disgust. Mark gave a wheeze of a laugh as Adam furiously rubbed at the side of his face – annoying him was so easy.

“You’re the worst.” Adam snapped. “I take you into my home, and you bleed all over my things and cry all the time and slobber on me.”

“I didn’t cry.” Mark prodded Adam’s back.

“Did cry.” Adam muttered. “When you were delirious and throwing up over yourself. It was real fucking pathetic.”

“You’re pathetic.” Mark replied lamely.

He didn’t want to know what he had said when his body was going through shock – whose names he’d called out, what secrets he’d spilt to Adam. He can barely remember the first day, but has a faint memory of being held on the floor, Adam’s fingers digging into his wrist as he screamed in pain. He thinks he may have begged for Angelina.

“Great comeback,” Adam said. “Ever considered a career in comedy Hoffman, instead of serial killing?”

“Fuck you,” Mark said, resisting the urge to prod him again. “I should have left you chained up.”

“Who else would sew your ugly face back together?” Adam asked. “Everyone else is dead.”

“Shut up,” Mark grunted and dragged Adam back towards him, tangling their legs together.

Adam, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fuss, allowing Mark to hold him. He must have felt some sympathy for Mark, or else was nervous that Mark would bite his throat open if he kicked him away. Mark hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since he was a child; one-night stands rarely stayed the night, and it was strange yet familiar to listen to Adam’s quickened breathing.

“I’m making you get out of bed tomorrow,” Adam said, his voice quiet. “Even if it’s just to sit on my fucking couch. No more feeling sorry for yourself.”

Mark could have protested. He could have screamed and shouted and threatened Adam, hidden under the covers like a child. Instead, he nodded his head, tightening his grip around Adam’s skinny waist. If he slipped his hand underneath Adam’s shirt, he could have counted every rib. Mark wondered if Adam had as many as his original namesake.

“Okay,” Mark said. “I’ll leave the bed.”

“Good,” Adam said, and reached across to turn out the light, the room cast into an ominous level of darkness. At least there was still a strip of light underneath the doorframe leading to the outside hall, and Mark stared at it until his vision blurred. “You better not snore.”

“No promises.” Mark grunted, and closed his eyes.

He listened to the sound of Adam settling down for sleep, arranging his arms in several positions before he was comfortable. He was warm as he pressed himself against Mark’s stomach, hair tickling Mark’s nose. Mark’s jaw throbbed, and he chewed the other side of his cheek to try and distract himself from the pain.

“Goodnight.” Adam said suddenly, and Mark gave him another squeeze.

“Night.” He said, and let sleep swallow him up.

#ANSWERED #Nice Anon #hoffheight #pipeshipping #this is as fluffy as i can go for this ship I'm SORRY #please schedule correctly tumblr #also should i bother to put this + my other long anon ask fic on ao3?? #sound off in the comments #ANYWAY thought about mark going to adam for help and had to have a lie down x #what are they!! what's the relationship!! adam's going to wake up to mark dry humping him as a sign of romance <3

[pictureinme]

Can I get a kitten x reader where the reader is taller and plus sized and quite insecure about it?

Thanks so much I love your work and I’m so glad someone is writing for Kitten ❤️

thank you so much for your rq love, i hope this is exactly what u needed ;) thank u for ur kind words <3 i had to start the kitten renaissance at some point !!! >:)

smile again

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!reader word count: ~1.1k tags: established relationship, self-image issues, suggestive dialogue, girlies out on the town yet again, kitten's underutilized sewing skills

(ao3)

The two of you walk down the quiet town streets, the early morning traffic not yet coming to pass. You always preferred shopping when the stores just open– you can get in and out with minimal issues. Kitten never minded this, she enjoyed waking early to see the sunrise and the birds sing. Her humming eases your mind, the typical anxiety of shopping for new clothes is something fierce.

“Did you want to stop in Lottie’s first? I saw you eyeing their new collection…,” Kitten squeezes your hand, smiling all the while.

“Maybe, I’m a bit nervous whether or not their clothes have gals like me in mind, you know?”

She pouts, understanding the sentiment, “You doubt my skills, love. I can alter anything to fit your perfect body, you know that!”

You exhale gently, smiling. She was a sweetheart to no end, even with the insecurity eating away at you, the warmth of her words enveloped you. Kitten walks with you to the clothing shop, a gem in your otherwise stagnant Irish town. The cashier greets you both with a kind and wrinkly smile, “Hello, girls! Anything you need, let me know, hm?”

Kitten nods sweetly at her as you both begin to traverse the aisles. You gaze upon the delicate fabrics, allowing yourself the pleasure of imagining yourself in such things. Making the mistake of actually picking an item to hold up against yourself in a mirror, you cringe at what you see. The shift dress seemed like it would be bodycon on you, and it didn’t even come close to your knees– let alone cover your behind.

The sigh you let out does not go unnoticed by your dear companion, and she quickly comes up behind to attempt to remedy the situation, “You okay, (Y/N)? If you’ve ‘accidentally’ nicked something, I won’t tell a soul.”

You giggle somewhat at her questioning, but eventually drop your shoulders, “I don’t know why I came out to the shops today, nothing’s gonna fit me. I think I might head back to our flat if that’s alright with you.”

“That isn’t alright with me in the slightest, love,” Kitten huffs, spinning you around to face her. “We haven’t even looked at the patterns! If they haven’t anything meant for your gorgeous figure, then I’m making it my responsibility to dress you in the finest of linens.”

Before you can protest, she drags you away towards the section filled with all the clothing patterns a seamstress could ever want. Kitten’s neverending enthusiasm for the world of fashion causes a grin to creep upon your face in the midst of self-consciousness. She scans the wall for the type of pattern she has in mind, and almost immediately spots it: a vintage McCall’s pattern for a shift dress, just like you were eyeing.

“Perfect! I can adjust the sizing just fine, and it’s only 10p!”

You look at the beautiful women depicted on the pattern’s label in all of their 60s styling, and hum, “You reckon I could look like that, Kitten dear?”

She turns to you, her posture straightening up, “Even better, my love.”

The image of Kitten sitting at her sticker-covered sewing machine with piles of various fabrics next to her was something out of a dream to you. Betwixt her lips were many a sewing pin, the dots of color complimenting her focused expression. You’re sat on the chaise lounge, peeking at her over your latest romance novel indulgence. She doesn’t notice your staring, she’s far too involved in the making of your dream dress.

“Kitten, may I ask you something?”

She perks up, and quickly removes the pins from her mouth before responding, “What is it, (Y/N) dear? Did you want to choose the fabric?”

You shake your head slightly, “I trust your judgment. Was just wondering if this was asking a lot of you, is all.”

Kitten sighs, smiling all the while, and puts the pins down on the table before approaching you, “Love, I’m the one who suggested this. I want you to feel good about yourself, and if I can help that with my sewing machine, I will.”

She leans down to kiss your forehead, and you lean into the gentle touch, “I know, I know. I just can’t help but worry.”

“I understand, doll. Trust me, I wouldn’t trade your body for any of those wans on the tabloids, you know that.”

You smile warmly, giggling, “I know, I know, but sometimes a gal wants to hear it from her own gorgeous wan…”

The two of you smile into each other’s embrace, and you quickly pull her down by the sleeve to kiss her on the lips. Kitten’s surprise is muffled by the plush feeling, and she quickly succumbs to your enthusiasm.

Before you can sneak your tongue inside, she pulls away, tutting, “Tryna distract me from my work, aren’t you? Naughty girl.”

You shrug coyly, “Can’t my pretty one take a break?”

Kitten doesn’t hesitate diving back in for more.

“Now, spin around for me, lovely!”

“Haven’t I spun enough, Kitten?”

Despite your protest, you spin at her command, the shift dress falling perfectly on your figure. Her prowess when it comes to making clothing was on full display with the way she elegantly adjusted the pattern to your specifications. It wasn’t too short or long and had enough give that you didn’t feel as though the cotton blend was trying to choke you to death.

The fabric Kitten had chosen in the end was an orange and white gingham pattern, and she added pockets per your request– a lady doesn’t always have a purse on her, as you explained. The mock neck hugged you just right, you truly felt like the 60s bombshell on the label.

You had done yourself up, Kitten practically forcing you to go out dancing with her once the dress was finished. The two of you really leaned into the 60s aesthetic, with gaudy jewelry, big hair, and, of course, kitten heels.

As she dabs the lip pencil on you, she grins, “D’ya like the dress, (Y/N) love?”

“I love it more than anything, darling,” you gaze at her delicate smile, “You treat me so well… thank you.”

“No need to thank me whatsoever,” Kitten smooths down your dress, taking in her handiwork, “I just want you to feel as good as you look, love.”

She pecks you on the cheek before applying her own lipstick, and you blush at the action, “Gonna make me jump your bones before we even head out the door, are you?”

Shrugging, Kitten giggles, “I wouldn’t mind being late…”

(if ur interested, this is the pattern kitten bought)

#kitten braden x reader #patricia braden x reader #cillian murphy x reader

[pysoch]

Gonna get straight to the point I've got Medic headcanons.

Enjoy.

====================

- His doves have had several chances to be released, but he's genuinely such a good caregiver that they stay willingly.

- Sometimes when he sleeps, he starts quoting his own words he said the day prior. This is partially because he has paranoia, and another because of anxiety of the idea he isn't heard nor cared about by his team.

- The medigun took exactly two years, two months, fourteen days, and six hours to perfect. It had some, but not much help from engineer. In the early stages it used to put limbs on the wrong way or gave horrific and cancerous tumors to specifically the lungs.

- Medic loves experimenting on Pyro the most due to their physique being a (quote) "canvas" to work with due to his inability to see them as human. It drives out the small humanity he has.

- One time, he sewed Scout's mouth shut until they were forced to cut their mouth open manually using Spy's knife.

- Out of all of the team, Medic is the second oldest!

- He charges the mercs money if he has to work on Saturdays. He will also be grumpy the entire time unless you pay a little extra.

- Archimedes has three hearts implanted in them because Medic considers one for life, one for love, and one for comradery.

- Despite the fact he's a "medical professional", he finds himself strongly disliking touching things without having his gloves on. This rule doesn't stand for blood or guts, for what/whichever reason.

- He's dated women before, but said he's never really found them preferable in company, and didn't feel much to anything. In fact, the only woman he really finds good charm in is Pauling, and it's purely platonic.

- He's found no help with caffeine, and seems nearly immune to it. Instead, he uses defibrillators to shock his chest awake whenever he's having a rough time.

- Aside from Spy and Demo, he has one of the most versatile and arranged wardrobes. Takes a lot of pride in his appearance, and even if he's just woke up, he'll present himself best he can.

- Sometimes he steals the base's radio and enacts little scenarios out in his room to music.

- The underside of the medigun hooked to his ceiling in the lab has stickers because otherwise Pyro won't stay still when he's on the operating table.

- He prefers picture books over solid words.

- As a child, he actually excelled in literature and mathematics over science. Actually, most of his science classes were spent far away from any teaching and stuck more or less in a corner.

- He hates pet names no I do not care if he's bbg, he would not call you anything but your name or a shortened version of it. Smh my head.

- Every single thing he does is loud and over the top. Sometimes even when he doesn't mean to be. The other alternative is absolute dead and radio silence with nothing but a stern face. There's no in between or medium.

- He spends every single one of his holidays travelling. The second they're released for whatever reason, he is OUTTA there.

- He's a decent driver, but worse than spy, and better than heavy.

- When he's drunk or high he'll eat his own skin if left alone. Aye, giving your soul to Satan has its downsides.

- He's read several religious texts and cannot bring himself to believe anything, but sometimes quotes verses to make himself look like the bigger person.

- He knows (very limited amount but some) french! However, he's mostly focused on using it when he wants Spy to sneak into a merc's room and get something for him to pry into.

- He knows all their sizes. Will not elaborate. ❤️

- Can absolutely obliterate a dance floor in the zestiest way possible

===================

Bleeegh

:3

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #teamfortress #tf2 #headcanons #tf2 comics #tf2 memes #tf2 medic #am i projecting with some of these? #yes #cant stop me though

[bas-writes]

a/n: so, decided to dip my toes in something new, took part in @onepiece-reader-exchange and scribbled this little thing :3 got 3 prompts to choose from, but they were so vague that I decided to play a barista and blended them together. thank you so much, @mysticaltigersorceress for beta reading and @heyitsdoe for romantic level check!

The Edge of Vision

Character: Mihawk Reader: female (suitable for trans readers) CW: mature reader (implied similar age to Mihawk), reader is a pirate captain, long-distance relationship, long-term relationship, reunion, longing, power couple, Mihawk's pov Word Count: 2112 Synopsis: He can sense your aura, color of observation polished to impossibly sharp edges could never deceive him. But will he find you familiar, will the last puzzle of vivid memories click in its place, filling the heart he oh so unaware kept empty for all those months he didn’t care to—he feared to—count? Afterglow of your face dances in his eyes, the more clear the stronger the pull of the vivre card grows. Lines blurry, colors blank, the image slowly fills with your presence, droplet by droplet, until you turn to him and your eyes meet, and everything finally comes home. Written for: @ilibili

Vibrations in his pocket have become significantly palpable once Mihawk marched out of the docks. He expected if and, frankly, would have lied, if that said hope was not blowing his soul apart. He’s been following the vivre card for weeks now; not all intentionally, it happened to follow the path he chose—but once he felt its characteristic little pulling sewed in the brim of his coat, he’s been nothing but tense anticipation, stubbornly keeping eye on its slightest flicker. Island by island, town by town, he’s become sure your roads are going to cross again, for the first time since— 

He’s never been keen to count useless days, but he knows it’s been long. Way too long.

The island is widely known, especially among the pirates and all outlaws, but it’s the first time he’s here, as far as he can be certain within meanders of his sanity. Yet, each step feels like carved into Mihawk’s mind, non-existent memories vivid between badly-lit streets. He remembers that day better than the last hours spent together. He remembers so well that a glimpse of his reflection gives him a little startle: facial hair, bigger muscle mass and all the little wrinkles suddenly so unfamiliar. Only the sword remains the same; the world might be turning upside down around him, but Yoru is eternal, towering over him with the whole power and glory of a black blade. Except he’s not slouching under its weight anymore, his back and shoulders straight and strong as his will. He trained hard for this, pretending even harder it was not to dull your teasing, pricking his pride with needles more painful than cuts, bruises and exertion.

How insignificant they feel now, he realizes with a faint smile, all those rough advances he still remembers, together with strain in muscles and burning in blushing ears. Words a man would easily shrug off ground into a lanky teen who barely could call himself a swordsman, even if bent under a sword as long as him. If only he wasn’t followed by a half-wild sea child, that female pirate he had run into the docks and couldn’t get lost between narrow streets of the town.

What a blessing he couldn’t. Otherwise, he would have never sewn your vivre card into his coat.

Its pulse leads him to the more presentable district. A smirk plasters itself to his stoic face at the sight, the feeling of frozen time even more palpable and eerie now. Not the pirate land anymore but townsfolk domain, the streets are busier and thicker, early evening crowd even pressing on him as he squelches through dreams and reality towards the signboard that has filled his heart with merry nostalgia. 

Such coincidences can happen only on Grandline.

Mihawk pushes the door, its heavy wood groans, chimes in the frame click, announcing his presence. The inside is not so far brighter than the streets, dusty lamps unable to uncover corners and vennels between shelves. Ignoring the vendor with mutual disinterest, he squeezes himself in, ungainly, between bags of tea, herbs and plants. It’s hard to breathe, with the spiced scent dancing in his nostrils, with chest clenched in excitement. He’s a boy and a man all at once; steps simmer under him, leading him in unwitting cooperation with the vivre card, shelf by shelf engulfing him with mixed feelings nearly tearing him apart.

Will he recognize you?

He can sense your aura, color of observation polished to impossibly sharp edges could never deceive him. But will he find you familiar, will the last puzzle of vivid memories click in its place, filling the heart he oh so unaware kept empty for all those months he didn’t care to—he feared to—count? Afterglow of your face dances in his eyes, the more clear the stronger the pull of the vivre card grows. Lines blurry, colors blank, the image slowly fills with your presence, droplet by droplet, until you turn to him and your eyes meet, and everything finally comes home.

You look at him from the same angle he remembered, all the so known and loved quirks blooming on your face, voice barely louder than a whisper yet rumbling in his ears, “So you found me.”

“I found you.”

“Took you long enough.” A bag of tea rustles in your hands as you approach, all confident and relaxed—but tense in his eyes. The closer you get, the harder it is to breathe for Mihawk, pulse of rushing blood nearly blocking his vision and hearing. “A day or two longer and I’d pack the boys back and sail…gods-of-sea-know-where. Always fashionably late, aren’t ya, Hawk Eyes?”

“Always fashionably right where and when I should be.” Mihawk’s hand doesn’t even budge when touching you, but the feel of your shirt has him nearly burning. He can, see and sense, the time that has treated you, but regardless, everything is still the same as he left it, ages ago, behind the door of the cabin of your ship he closed behind his back early in the morning. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“I wish I could say: you haven’t changed at all. But you have. You have grown old and boring.” There’s a fold on the collar of his coat and you immediately spot it, resmoothing scolding and tender—and as playful as light in your eyes. “A government’s dog? Where did they find a collar tight enough to keep you on a leash?”

“If we’re already talking of growing old—” he can’t resist an eyeroll and a displeased scowl— “aren’t we both too old for such childish needling?”

“Always so responsive to teasing, hm?” Your smile…Mihawk has no memory of missing it even for a split second, but yearning hits him with such force he feels lightheaded for the moment it blooms on your face. “Maybe after all something hasn’t changed in you.”

The clicking of your shoes is nearly hypnotizing as you carry your chosen tea to the counter. Gaze piercing your back, all stoic and motionless, Mihawk forces all of his nerves to stay calm and yet, his soul and mind are being pulled together with the little piece of paper vibrating on his chest. Twenty years ago he would, simply as that, kidnap you into his arms, right here, in front of merchandise, dust and the half-asleep vendor. The present him still doesn’t care for the world around—but he has learnt his patience and your nonverbal whims. You keep your distance, for some reason, so he respects it, despite longing, and pain, and a desperate thirst for your scent, for your breath, for your body, for you. Heels grounded, he stands, stares and waits, like a dog indeed, on a leash far more powerful than any government could ever hold.

“You smell of sea,” you coo as he opens the door for you. With grace and elegance one could never expect from a pirate you link arm with his, entrusting him with the lead, but leaving no doubt where you want to head. “You came to the tea shop straight out of the docks? Still sailing that coffin of yours?”

“It’s practical.” He can’t help rolling eyes a little, the tips of his ears burning in the familiar but nearly forgotten way. 

“Not when you want to make out in it.” The weight of your body on the inner side of his elbow shakes with laughter. “Remember, how many times have we ended up in water?”

“There’s a reason why I prefer your ship for that.”

“It’s been less than fifteen minutes and you’re already dragging me to the cabin? You brute…”

Yes, he’s been yearning for it, for the banter and the warmth of your body pressed to his. How could he live and sail so long without it? He was asking himself this question every time you parted for longer—and he knows he’s going to ask it once your paths untangle again. But now, right now and right here, you’re his again, shattered pieces have become one, pulled together by magnetic force. Old friends and old lovers, strolling aimlessly through the pirate paradise, on the thin line between no-law’s-land and calm town, on the even thinner line between day and dusk. 

You smell of tea, of a long day in the port, of yourself, above all, and Mihawk wants no other air than one full of all of that.

“Was sure you’re going to catch me in Nanohana?” As if the sight of ships dragged your attention back to the abandoned topic, you break your restless teasing once the both of you enter the boardwalk. “But vivre card pulled to the west—”

“Turning east.” He says, simply as that, eyes fixed on the horizon, to not look at you, to not cave the temptation to claim you his right as you’re standing. 

“Sniffing at the entrance of Paradise? That’s new… Thought you’re not interested in hunting rookies.”

“Times change, ain’t they? I would never suspect I’d find you that far west.”

The weight of your gaze forces Mihawk to cross eyes with yours, warmth in your faces taking him aback.

“Have some business on Sabaody, old crap to solve,” you confess, nearly playfully. “And then…why not, I’ll try again.”

Concern and pride are such similar feelings, he realizes as his heart clenches, “Again with the New World?”

“The third time’s the charm. If not now, then when?” The softness of your fingers threading through his sideburns has him melting, only sheer force of will keeping him together now. “Last time I was still too inexperienced. A few years more and my body won’t keep with the power I gathered.” 

A loud horn of the docking ship forces you to take a break, seriousness melting away to give place to the smile he loves so much, “We’re in the perfect age to go crazy, Mihawk, and I ain’t wasting that golden moment.”

You’ve never been one to waste anything, he thinks, screams internally, eyes following the curve of your lips. Its softness, taste… Does he remember it right? Does he remember it at all?

“You’re still that innocent, shy boy under all those layers of refinement and distance, ain’t ya?”

“Well, you’re still that troublesome brat under all those layers of teasing and maturity.”

He can’t control himself any longer, not with the glimpse of your toothy grin, not with the welcoming tilt of head, not with the sleeve of shirt rolling up, revealing the same tattoo he carries on his wrist. Your hand in his is so soft, surprisingly fragile with its craft and experience of a pirate. Electric shock runs through his body, slightly salty taste of your skin driving him crazy as he skims it with lips, patiently crawling towards the inked place. Your smell is stronger there, he pulls your wrist close and inhales, gets drunk with it, trembles under the weight of yearning and anticipation.

Your lips are next and he’s simply drowning.

He remembered, remembered it all and right—and still, is not ready, he could have never been. If not for a strong hold on your waist, he would fall on his knees; it’s so intense and sweet, and intoxicating, the way you lead and allow, the taste he dreamed of without, the softness he cried for without tears. You cling to him, desperate and overwhelmed the same way, vivre card in his coat goes crazy when your hands clench and pull, seeking more. 

You belong here, in his arms. And no time spent apart can change it.

Breathing against your lips, not pulling away yet, Mihawk realizes he’s laughing, a little, relief and amusement showing in his eyes, breaking the distanced, well-balanced cover he keeps on aside from the rare moments with you, the love of his life.

“I swear, you’re getting better with this every time we meet again,” you nudge him and smirk. “With whom you’re training, hm?”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Y/N,” he lets the teasing timbre show in his voice as well, your mood wrapping him all around your finger. 

“I intend to be very jealous throughout the whole stay—” Your fingers smooth the crumpled front of his coat— “unless you will properly apologize and make up for the lost time.”

Your laughter attracts gazes as he kidnaps you in his arms, as he wanted from the very beginning, with little care for everything around, your pretended outrage included, “After all this time, still flustered when I’m doing this? Y/N, we’re not fifteen…”

“And that’s why I’ll break up with you if you even think about taking me to that edgy dinghy of yours.”

“How would I dare.”

#onepiecereaderexchange #mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x yn #mihawk imagine #mihawk scenario #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x yn #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x yn #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece reader insert #bas writes #dracule mihawk #female reader

[asianbutnotjapanese]

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

For: @feast-of-horns

Day 5: New alliances | New companions

Warings: none

Summary: Melkor reaps what he sows

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

"I do not understand how chasing someone is fun"

"Fun is not the right word queen Miriel thrill is what you must use"

Melkor's facial expression gave a malicious look Miriel could see a glimpse of longing in his eyes.

"Doing whatever you want to do with your prey is thrilling-....I am sure your face being flattened on the mud by Tulkas was a thrill too"

Mandos' whisper reached the ears of Miriel and Melkor.

Melkor eyed him with distaste and turned his face away from him.

"He was not following the rules"

Melkor gently pulled on the chains that bound him.

"You should not be the one talking about not following the rules"

Miriel, who saw Namo and Melkor quarrelling before never got tired of it, you learn new things when you witness angry people biting eachother.

"I want to participate in this hunt"

Miriel had to interrupt before their quarrel grew bigger and Mandos's maiar sent Melkor to one of the corners of the hall "to preserve what remains of his dignity" as one maia said before.

“The dead do not play with the living, Therinde”

The chains that were choking Melkor loosened as Mandos looked away from him to Miriel.

“But I did “play” with the living before and you allowed it”

“Curufinwe will be weaken-"

"My Feanaro is strong”

Taking a few steps closer to the throne Miriel interrupted him before he could finish.

“He will live until I say otherwise and you know this so you better not forget about it”

Her words sparked astonishment in Melkor's heart.

“Maybe you should let her out for this time Namo, I'm sure Miriel will be a good girl and won't wander away from the forest”

Melkor's eyes shone brighter than aule’s fire.

"And you can use part of me this time"

He raised his hand a thin thread emerged from his palm.

“This way neither Varie nor Manwe will suspect anything and you should remember they can feel when there is something wrong"

Miriel gave Melkor a dark look but didn't say anything.

"If you try anything, I will make sure your miserable existence becomes even more unbearable”

Namo warned Melkor.

Melkor's face contorted into a disparaging smile, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"You wound me, lord of the dead"

He bowed his head in mock submission.

"You have my word,”

"And who will you hunt down your majesty?"

Melkor turned his face to Miriel who already started sewing her divided spirit together with Melkor's soul

"My sister-wife"

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

#feastofhorns #Melkor #Namo #Miriel #zabiba writes

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Oh thank goodness and a quick explain on her character in a timeline where she got pregnant

Kianna komori

Ended up getting pregnant as a teenager

Without a doubt horrified and scared

But decided to keep the child

Since she wanted to be there for her child

Unlike her horrible stepfather

But managed to hide her pregnancy before killing off the sakamaki brothers

This is an alternate timeline of mine where is she end up getting pregnant

I don't know why but I have a thing messing what timelines with my characters and imagining what ifs and what scenarios might happen

Yeah I'm sorry if this may come off as weird I really like experimenting with my characters

Since it gets boring writing the same thing sometimes

And I have a thing for dark backstories and scenarios

But I will say she would make for a good parent even as a teenager

Since she doesn't want to be like her stepfather

My future and your doom

Shu Sakamaki x oc Kianna Komori

warning : pregnancy, angst, hurt alomst no comfort, dark theme, killing

Info : So another one for your oc my dear @nunezs-stuff eventho it's a dark scene I enjoyed writing it and hope you and your oc enjoyers have fun reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your life should be good free from sin together with your beloved sister. They both had everything. A home, a family and a father too. There was everything they needed from the mornings when they made pancakes together, to lunch when they baked cakes and waffles together, studying for school together and Yui's loving words when she sewed a dress for her sister Kianna Komori.

It was a time full of light-heartedness and carefree, she had banished her stepfather from her mind, banishing everything negative from her life. But then it was the first time in the "new" school, her new life, the life in which she no longer had Yui, in which she no longer had any happiness except for him.

The blond blue-eyed vampire, the eldest son of the family and the head of the family if you looked at it that way. Shu Sakamaki. The vampire who had lived a life she would not survive a life, an obsession with her.

A love, a mistake in one night, something that made the young brown-haired girl vomit one night at school. The sour smell in the bathroom wavered as her trembling hands lay on her stomach until now it didn't show, it hadn't been a few months since she had given in.

She just wanted some human closeness, some touch, some love. One night he had always given her to Shu would not have gotten her pregnant.

,,Fuck fuck no...that-that can't be-" she broke off her wild mumbling as tears gathered in her eyes she knew no she was one hundred percent sure he would give her the guilt that he didn't want to have a child.

Not half a being a bastard. But in her knowing she knew that if he wasn't the father...she would be the good parent better than her stepfather. She would create her own happiness because she couldn't have any other choice.

,,Everything will be all right," she murmured to the being inside her, the trembling of her hands, though much less as her body slowly relaxed, slowly found its way back to her. Slowly she realized that this mistake of his obession and her closeness could become something that helped her. She returned from the limosine to her room to relax.

She took the diary, her sister's beloved diary, and wrote in it, writing her nagts and pains from her soul and feeling something like hope for the first time. She knew there was only one way when she put down her pen and knew that if she was going to have a future for herself and her baby, she had to do what she should have done long ago.

She had to kill them one by one she had to kill the six...including the father of her unborn child otherwise he would kill her in a way she knew she wished she had never been born. Her yellow golden eyes went to her nightstand knowing that Subaru's dagger was there, that the youngest had given it to her as protection.

And she would use that protection. One bloody night when the full moon was high in the sky, she lured one after the other into her room. Knowing that the vampires were slaves to their own lust for blood.

Her blood was a small price to pay for the death of the vampires, the death of her penigers and her own freedom. All but one remained and she knew that he had long known she would go.

That he had read her diary, no, Yui's diary. She found him in the living room taking the big one with his voice. ,,So you did it... and all because of this thing," he said, knowing that his gaze was filled with hatred as he pointed to her diary, the bulge soon to be clearly visible in a few weeks.

She gripped the dagger harder, ,,This thing Shu it's your child and I've earned this peace...you have nothing but doom" she replied slowly walking backwards not letting his words and gazes sway her decision.

,,Maybe...maybe you all deserve to die...but believe me Kianna one day...when you feel safe I'll be there...so run" he said and the next moment he reached for one of the candles with a shriek in her eyes she saw for a moment the madness the blue-eyed man had.

The madness that must have been in the whole Sakamaki family and from which she escaped out of the castle, out into her freedom as the flames behind her took the scent with them and made the vampire disappear. But she knew everything would only be for a time, but in that time she would be happy, she knew that for sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers shu #shu sakamaki #shu sakamaki x oc #character x oc

[pumpkinrootbeer]

I am DYING to talk about Alastor. He’s absolutely my favorite, I love sassy little shits, especially when they’re otherwise the picture of manners.

I do think he made a deal with Lilith. They were gone for the same amount of time, he clearly isn’t at full power (wings clipped! Mouth sewn!!) and he at first didn’t seem to like Charlie at all. Sure, she’s powerful, but nobody knew that, especially not her. She annoyed him, but grew on him for sure and how he wants to protect her but can’t since he’s not able to summon his full power yet. Charlie may be able to get him out of his deal, or maybe he thinks she can use her relationship with her mom to convince her to let him go. Hence the favor!

My theory is Lilith asked him to watch over the hotel and possibly to kill Lucifer. She had to get into heaven somehow, and what better way than to betray the man she left Adam for? She sewed his mouth shut so that he couldn’t tell anyone and sent him to help build her daughter’s dream. Possibly also to sabotage it? Although we don’t see him doing this beyond the first episode. Husk clearly knows something, because when he comes back Al specifically turns to Husk in warning before turning to Charlie’s hug.

ANYWAY would love to hear your thoughts!!

I LOVE ALASTOR genuinely its really fun to see an ace character who isn't a robot, or emotionless, or comically innocent. super fun time for me specifically. also quick sidebar, how they went about showing his depth by him literally loosing it was so satisfying and works so well for his character. hazbin baby im so sorry i doubted your writing so onto the theories! i do 100% think lilith and alastor are connected, and i dont think it would be stretch to say she's the one who owns his soul. the reinforced detail of 7 years obviously is a big piece of evidence, along with his hate of lucifer, but her being in heaven reinforces it more for me honestly because of Zestial's line in episode 3 "Some hath spun wild tales of you falling to... holy arms?". imo its either lilith or a character we havent meant yet. (ive seen people throw eve's name around 🤔) now weather or not she wants him to protect charlie and/or the hotel is another matter. its gonna be pretty hard to predict what exactly the terms are and what she wants from him (if anything!) until we get more content. i dont think its really much of a stretch to come to that conclusion and im not not saying i believe it, but im not really sold on it. if it turns out canon i woudnt be surprised tho lol

him hanging around charlie could be her mom wants him to protect her, hence the annoyance he holds towards her at first, or it could be she has status! sure they dont know how strong she is but shes the princess of hell, and everyone respects that to some degree. her side is the winning side! (another side bar alastor actually truly believing in her makes me so so emotionally ill 😭 like he didnt doubt shed be able to rally people. and he lowkey encouraged her with his little shit talk pep talk. mi amor... babito....)

the stitches across his mouth, the way he dances around his 7 year absence, the way he completely switches up with husk when his deal is mentioned could all be unrelated but hazbin doesn't exactly do coincidences. the details are all very purposeful, ever since the pilot, so i do think he cant talk about it.

i also am inclined to believe that he didnt make the deal for his power and the deal is actively restricting it. for one, its more interesting imo. two, the line "once i figure out how to unclip my wings, then i'll be pulling all the strings" he clearly thinks he'll be stronger out of the deal, which sure, could be his arrogance. or the reason why hes so arrogant is because he used to be able to back up his talk 100%. i mean the kind of sheer confidence he has is absurd, he wasnt scared of adam, he wasnt scared of lucifer. he acts like someone who is just not used to being weaker than anyone. part of the reason hed be so desperate for freedom is because the deal is literally a threat on his life. he almost died for them!

tbh not sure if husk knows the specifics of the deal or not, because that scene in the finale could just be alastor being alastor. "haha bitch u thought" type beat. either way!! im pretty pumped for s2 and seeing alastors inevitable downward spiral. beat him up again. also maybe he makes some more friends pretty please

#:v #ask #alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel

[floof-writes]

i love when tragedies are like “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

-Starpeace, tumblr

This isn't my normal type of post, but I just closed my high school's production of 'Puffs, Or: Seven Increasingly Eventful Years at a Certain School of Magic and Magic', and I can't stop thinking about it. This show broke me and put me back together and I don't know what to fucking do about it.

I played the role of Megan Jones, and she taught me how to be a person again. Skip straight to the next heading if you just want to know what the hell I'm talking about, otherwise, here's my Love Letter to Puffs: you deserve the world and the world doesn't deserve you, but every person reading this deserves to see this show at least once in their life.

First of all, this show is hilarious. Like, 'laugh until your stomach hurts and you can't breath and you start coughing up your sanity' hilarious. Your abs will hurt after seeing this show and your tear ducts will struggle to keep up with demand. But, despite that, or maybe because of that, it is also heartbreaking. Maybe the best kind, I think. The kind that rips your heart into pieces but then sews it back together, tells you that you have to carry on, but somehow that's worse, because hope hurts more than anything else.

And to see Puffs is one thing, but to be in it?

I don't know what to do or how to feel. For the rest of my life I will have carry this grief nestled next to my soul. The characters have the faces of people I know, and goddamn that makes it so hard to think about but just as hard not to.

I am changed, for this show. I am a different person at the other end of this nine week love-stained, obsessive hell. It found me when I was in a very vulnerable place, only halfway to healing, and picked me up and straight up told me to my Megan's face that I "shouldn't have to be alone"! Told me safety is love and loneliness is a lie we tell ourselves when we hate ourselves too much to see reason. That justice is the only pursuit that brings both self-love and heartache.

Live theatre is a powerful, powerful thing and yes, a professional recording of Puffs is available on Amazon Video and some pretty good bootlegs are up on YouTube, but if this show is open anywhere near you at a local high school, college, or community theatre, then I'm begging you to go see it in person. High school-age actors are uniquely suited to this show so don't let that make you wary!

If anyone, ever, wants to talk about Puffs, I'm more than available. PM me, ask me, tag me in your post. I don't care if you're seeing this post 2 months or 2 years or 10 years from now, if I am still on this hellsite, I will respond.

Go see Puffs. If everyone on this planet did, I think the world would be just a slightly better place.

Okay, hold on, what's Puffs?

Puffs tells us the story of a certain badger-aligned house during the seven years a certain orphan boy wizard attends a certain school of magic, plus ✨it was the 90's✨. If you can't tell, Puffs is technically a Harry Potter parody, and it very intentionally gives JKR no money and is not licensed with Warner Bros. Maybe that's a small part of why it spoke to me so much, because in the simplest terms: Puffs won custody of me in the great JKR/Fandom divorce. I really felt betrayed by JKR's transphobia and treatment of representation issues and this show was a bandaid and a kiss better for my aching, eleven year-old heart.

The story follows the Puff Wayne Hopkins, a young British orphan who was raised by his uncle in New Mexico. Wayne is the nerdiest, 90's-est kid you've ever met and well, as a fan of Star Wars and Dungeons & Dragons and Lord of the Rings, when he gets his school letter he gets this idea in his head that his life is about to become as awesome as that of the average fantasy protagonist. That he's gonna be a hero! Of course, he isn't. That's Harry. It's Harry at every single turn and Wayne and his friends are constantly being screwed over as unmentioned side characters in Harry's world-shattering and school-wrecking life, not to mention that the Puffs are the laughingstock of the school anyway, constantly failing classes and being bullied by the Snakes.

The Puffs work hard to become better but it rarely turns out. I mean, just look at Cedric, who plays a huge role in mentoring Wayne and his classmates the first act. Yikes. As the Puffs grow into their teen-hood it even gets a little spicy (in the hilariously awkward, teenage way), and eventually, they each come to understand that Puffs matter, Puffs are the best, in fact, Puffs are the "Mighty Ducks of wizards. No. The Mighty Ducks 2 of Wizards!"

#I attempted the ADHD easy reading formatting btw #that's why the colors and italics are so overboard #puffs or: seven increasingly eventful years at a certain school of magic and magic #live theatre #theatre #acting #high school theatre #character work #puffs the play #puffs #megan jones #wayne hopkins #cedric diggory #harry potter

[jomiddlemarch]

christmas prompt #6, anne/gilbert!

“I’m sorry, Anne, truly,” Gilbert said, his arm warm around her waist, the words dropping as softly as the snow that had begun to fall. 

“I’m not,” Anne replied. She didn’t dare glance up at him. He was tall and sturdily built and it was taking a great deal of determination to serve as his crutch, which she could hardly let him see. He’d be sure to insist she go to fetch someone to help him back, as if she’d leave him sitting beside the frozen pond with only his great-coat and scarlet muffler to keep him from becoming a block of ice. She could also feel her nose turning an unbecoming red in the cold and was vain enough not to want Gilbert to notice.

“You ought to be,” he said, wincing as he made an entirely unsuccessful attempt to bear some of his own weight. Like every doctor she’d ever heard of, he made a poor patient, a fact she intended to share with him just as soon as they were settled safely back at Ingleside, Susan whipping up a delicious pot of her famous vegetable soup, “known to keep body and soul together, Mrs. Doctor, a tonic far tastier than anything the Doctor ever prescribed.”

“Let’s not have any oughts or shoulds,” Anne said. “It was a wonderful idea, an afternoon of skating, just you and I, the way we never did back in Avonlea. I had a lovely time, you thought of everything, the flask of hot tea and those lemon biscuits—”

“And then I nearly crushed you, falling like the greatest oaf, as if I’d never worn a pair of skates before,” Gilbert interrupted. “If you weren’t so quick and graceful, I’d have hurt you badly.”

“That’s quite enough,” Anne said, letting her voice hold the faintest hint of Marilla’s regular asperity. “You didn’t come close to toppling me and the only consequence is your poor sprained ankle. If you’re quite sure it isn’t broken, you’re limping terribly.”

“I’m sure I can diagnose a broken ankle, whether I’m the patient or yet another one of the infinite McPherson clan,” Gilbert said. “It’s just a sprain—”

“A bad one,” Anne said. “I saw how you looked when you tried to stand up, don’t try to convince me otherwise. You shan’t and it will be a waste of your strength.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gilbert said, which she knew was as far as he would go in allowing he was in pain. She made a quick mental inventory of the pillows in the sitting room and decided which ones she’d use to prop up his foot. The squashy green velvet one she sewed just before Walter was born, the one he said made her look like a most industrious nymph, would at the top of the pile. “Why aren’t you sorry, though, Anne-girl? If you’re not sorry the skating ended early, it sounds rather heartless and that’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”

“I’m not sorry because I loved skating with you, Gil,” she said. “It felt like heaven, flying about the ice, and though I’d never want you to be injured, now you’ll have to rest for a few days. You can’t drive the carriage with your bad ankle. I’ll have you all to myself at Ingleside, Dr. Blythe unable to attend clinic or conduct any house-calls. I can’t think of the last time you had to stay at home and let yourself be tended to. You’ll have to let me be the one who takes care of you.”

“It sounds like work,” Gilbert said. “Me, a useless lump stuck on the sofa, Jem and Walter running you ragged—"

“I shan’t tell Susan you said that,” Anne replied. “She’ll reproach you so long and thoroughly you’ll wish you’d sprained both ankles or knocked yourself insensible. The boys will be delighted that Papa is home and happy to read them stories and Susan will be overjoyed to make us all twice as many of her little snacks as usual and when Jem and Walter are napping and Susan is in the kitchen, I’ll have you all to myself—”

“And what will you do with me?” Gilbert asked, his voice low, a little husky, startling to hear outside of their moonlit bedroom.

“That’s quite a good question,” Anne said. She risked a look at his face, the gleam in his hazel eyes obscuring any distress from his ankle or the growing cold. “You’ll be at my mercy, won’t you?”

“I will indeed,” he said. “I’m curious to see what form it will take.”

Nine months later, the form was apparent: twins, Di her mother’s image and Nan just as fair, with his own dark curls and eyes. He’d laughingly suggested they name Diana Mercy, but Anne, tired but indomitable, had only shaken her head and cuddled the swaddled babies a little closer.

#anne of green gables #anne/gilbert #shirbert #ice skating #romance #prompt fill #ingleside era #susan cooking #fluff #anne shirley #gilbert blythe #married life

[desthebolt]

HIIIII! Hope you are doing well! I saw art of your characters, and I want to hear about them! I am specifically talking about the autistic vampire, because I saw that in the reference art and got so excited!!! You don’t have to reply, but as an autistic vampire enthusiast and lover of monsters in general, I would LOVE to hear more!

Sincerely, your local lurker

I AM SO SORRY im answering this like, um (checks calendar)… almost 7 months later… but hey!!! I am SO TOUCHED you wanna hear about my ocs :,) i will proceed to info dump and not shut up about them! I actually have multiple autistic vampire ocs, but im gonna assume you’re talking about Bhala! (Her ref is the only one i think that actually says she’s autistic) Anyway, ramble under read more :3c

I have a graphic novel im working on behind the scenes, and Bhala is one of the two main protagonists. She’s a cosmic witch that was freshly turned into a vetaala vampire. (Vetaal/Vetaala are a possessive ghost in indian folklore, they are restless spirits that can manifest as blood sucking ghosts or possess dead bodies). For the story, i made a pseudo hybrid between vetaal and regular flavor vampire. Bhala’s body is actually a shell/physical ghost form of what her body looked like (only now with fangs). Her real physical body is dead and buried. In folklore, the only way to banish/kill a vetaala creature is by taking the original body and performing a ritual to put the restless soul/spirit at ease. This is the same for my story, so vetaala vampires are almost completely un-killable. Most in the story hide their bodies in different countries to almost guarantee eternal life. They still need to feed off blood and souls to keep up their vitality, otherwise they become ravenous and beastly.

Bhala literally doesn’t care about any of that, she didn’t want to be this way. She tries her best to not feed off people, but she has to. She gets used to it further and further into the story, and a lot of that is thanks to her gf that she meets in the beginning of the story; Fiona (thats another ramble if anyone cares /j)

Anyway a lil more about Bhala- She’s a ray of sunshine and very sweet and compassionate, with a lil layer of sass and cleverness. She loves to tease Fiona (affectionately) and isn’t afraid to speak her mind (and throw hands if necessary). Her hyper fixation is woodland animals, specifically skunks. She owns a skunk plush that her mother made for her when she was a toddler. It is her snuggle buddy when she’s not snuggling Fiona. She even learned how to sew specifically to keep her plush, named Flower, together. If you ask her what her favorite animal is, she will talk about skunks for hours (Fiona will do this sometimes just to hear her talk)

Bhala loves jewelry and always has it on (she doesn’t really feel pain, so why not?). She also grew up playing the cello and acoustic bass. Normally, she resents most activities she had to take a part of growing up with her father, but she genuinely loves music. It helps her calm down and focus.

She fidgets A LOT, mostly with her claws, but sometimes with her jewelry and even her magical cosmic hair (which leads into a baby astral plane… which she uses as storage instead of a backpack). She does have real hair, it’s just hidden underneath the cosmic magic (she has long thick black box-braids :3)

Her powers at the start of the story aren’t that great, her father was keeping her from learning real cosmic magic. After leaving and moving in with Fiona, they find Bhala’s mother, who properly trains her in magic. By the end of the story, she’s not a master, but she’s still extremely powerful (cosmic magic is some powerful shit in this story)

She is unapologetically black/punjabi/kashmiri and a powerful trans woman, and oh boy she is a BIG lesbian. she likes them short

I think thats it for the ramble, feel free to ask me anything else! I am more than happy to info dump about my ocs :3 !!!!

#des’ art #ask box #my ocs #bwb #bhala my fucking beloved #im SO HAPPY. i made these ocs for me but its always nice to see ppl are interested in learning more #(ugly crying) im so emotional i love my ocs and i appreciate the kind ask #sorry it took me forever to respond i legit forgot to

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Children of the Dark: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: So sorry I keep forgetting to post. I’ve been so busy at work, I try to keep up with the schedule I’ve outlined. I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"In the city, crime is taken as emblematic of class and race. In the suburbs though it's intimate and psychological; resistant to generalization; a mystery of the individual's soul." - Barbara Ehrenreich

"Sorry I'm late," you pant as you rush into the briefing room. Everyone is already there, waiting on you to start. You're only five minutes late, but late nonetheless. "The hotel I'm staying at is getting sick and tired of me being there all the time. They claim they are a hotel, not a home."

"Let's get started," Hotch nods, looking to JJ to start.

You catch Spencer's eyes as you get settled into your seat, but he looks away as soon as you look at him. You don't have time to analyze him, so you focus on JJ right now.

"The Halbert family. They were murdered in their home last night in the Denver suburb of Cherry Creek. It's the third home invasion like this in the last month. They kill everyone in the household--parents, kids, and pets if they have them. Always families in nice neighborhoods."

"What do they take?" you wonder.

"Nothing they can't fit in their pockets. Cash and some jewelry."

"Hundreds of ways to get cash and jewels without killing entire families. That's why home invasions are so hard to profile. They have multiple motives."

"National statistics show an uptick in home invasions over the last few years with 18% being in Colorado," Spencer says.

"You know it's bad if they're inviting us back."

"Back?"

"Well, things went bad after the JonBenet Ramsey case when a couple of agents publicly criticized local detectives."

"Well, they didn't need us to make them look bad," Derek scoffs, "and that was in Boulder."

"Yeah, but the statewide media ran with it, and it took on a life of its own."

"Well, I talked to Lieutenant Nellis. Trust me. They want our help," JJ says. "They need it. The first two invasions were twenty days apart. This last one was just nine days later."

"They're killing faster, which means they're getting better at it every time."

"Home invasions typically involve the elderly and single females. The fact that entire families are being targeted suggests multiple unsubs. Could mean gang-related, revenge motive, or even personal business," Spencer says.

"I don't think any of these victims are running in gang circles."

"Sewing circles, more like it," Emily jokes. "PTA moms and gray-flannel dads... These guys are killing the cleavers."

Spencer holds up the case file to take a closer look at something, frowning when he sees it.

"Strange."

"What is?"

"The cleavers. Of all the names for a 1950s idyllic tv family, it's rife with violent implication. Kind of makes you wonder how the writers really felt about suburbia, huh?"

"Focus, please."

"Uh, okay, what about, um, class-based uprising? Helter skelter?" Emily theorizes.

"There's no graffiti and no messages, at least not visible ones. There's no rituals. Manson's aim was to start a race war. There's no proof of any hate crime here."

"The parent murders are brutal and messy. The instruments vary from a golf club to a kitchen knife to even an iron. Household implements symbols of family. The kids were different. They died by injection--pentobarbital," you say.

"It's a barbiturate sometimes used as an anticonvulsant for epileptics, anxiety disorders, and state executions," Spencer explains for those who don't know.

"The invasions are well planned. Phone lines are cut. Ligature marks show the parents were bound and gagged. Looks like these guys had some robbery experience," Derek says.

"And then found their true calling," Emily sighs.

You stand outside the most recent crime scene with hints of tears in your eyes. Everyone else has gone inside with the exception of Spencer who is outside talking to the neighbors. Children were killed in this house, and you know that if you go inside, you're going to see the spirits of them running throughout the house. Just by being outside, it's enough to let the trauma wash over you.

How you ever got into this field is beyond you.

This is part of the job, and you have to not let shit affect you after a certain point. It will, but you can't let it show that it will. You take a deep breath and head inside the house, trying to keep yourself objective about things. There is a whole color mess of energy here ranging from red to blue to yellow to even green. The energy takes form of the people who used to live here.

The children laugh as they run around the house chasing each other and getting in the way of the mother who is working hard. The father is cooking in the kitchen where he can provide his family with full bellies. This must be their final moments as a family because you don't see the destruction... yet.

However, you do see the two energies of both unsubs here, calling out for you to pay attention to them.

"Are you okay?" Hotch asks you.

"There's a lot of trauma here, Hotch. Especially with children. It's just a lot to take in all at once."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," you nod.

"There is no sign of forced entry," Lieutenant Nellis says.

"It's the same as the other two houses, right?"

"Yeah."

"Y/N, can you paint a picture for us?" Hotch asks you.

You turn to the front door and focus on the past. When you open your eyes, you're brought back to the night of the murder. The house is dark, but the parents are watching TV together while the children are in their beds sleeping. There is a knock at the door, and the father gets up to answer it while the mother stays on the couch.

He flips on the light switch, but the porch light doesn't turn on. There must be a shortage or the unsubs made it so that the light wouldn't turn on. Regardless, the father opens the large peephole cover to look outside. You're unable to see who is outside, but the father must know who they are because he opens the door.

He invited them inside because he knew them--that's your theory anyway. The two men in the form of black shadows walk inside. Almost immediately, they start threatening and attacking the parents. One of them goes to the kids while the other stays with the parents.

"Y/N?" Hotch asks, putting a hand on your shoulder.

Your entire environment changes from last night to today, and you squint from the light shining into the house.

"The father answered the door, but the porch light wasn't on. He looked through the peephole and determined that the two unsubs were safe enough to invite inside, or they knew them. That's when they started attacking the family."

"Take a break. Why don't you join Reid outside?"

You didn't know that your cheeks were wet until he told you to leave. It sucks that you behaved this way in front of the person who asked you to be here, but there are some crime scenes that are just too powerful for you to be emotionless about.

With this much overkill, there's usually some kind of history. If it was just about eliminating witnesses, it never would have been as vicious as it was. This was rage upon the family. There's no way the unsubs don't know who these families are. However, while the parents suffered overkill, the kids went quietly. They were tucked into their beds, orderly, and controlled.

Two unsubs. One unstable and the other a submissive.

To take a break from all this, you join Spencer who is talking to one of the neighbors.

"I came by about 9:00 to return the pyrex. No one answered when I rang the bell, but the lights were on inside."

"Did you happen to look in the windows?" Spencer asks, looking at you when you join his side.

"Not then, no. I had my cell phone. I was gonna call, but I... I couldn't get a signal, which was strange."

"Why was that strange?"

"You always get a signal here. There's a tower on the next block. Uh, I left the dish. This morning, it was still here so I came over. Th-that's when I looked inside."

"And you called the police on your cell?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you." She walks off and Spencer turns to you with a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

"I will be the further I get from here."

"Luckily, you don't have to stay here long. Hotch wants us back."

You turn to see Hotch, Derek, and Emily head to the government issued car, and you sigh in relief. You and Spencer head to the car, and the entire team head to the police station using Nellis' directions. JJ is already at the office, and she greets everyone with a smile.

While you were at the crime scnee, she was setting up here, so the conference room is already good to go with every bit of evidence on display.

"These guys don't lack confidence. Targeting entire families is a high-risk endeavor," Hotch sighs.

"It's possible they're minimizing that risk by jamming cell phones inside the house. No one can call out."

"Doesn't that narrow the profile? With it being high tech?" Nellis asks.

"Not really. You can buy a hand-held jammer on Amazon for a hundred bucks."

"I could use one of those next time I go to the movies," Nellis chuckles.

The desk phone rings, and Derek answers it. You have a feeling it's Penelope because who else would call?

"Hey, girl. You're on speaker. Behave," Derek answers.

"Or what, you'll spank me?" You actually burst out laughing at her comment, but when you see the look on Hotch's face, you clear your throat and shake your head. "So, I've been searching the area for unsolved robberies. I found four with similar elements... Phone lines cut and the only thing stolen were small valuables."

"Were the occupants tied up?"

"Yes, but no homicides."

"Okay. Thanks, dollface. I'll call you back." He hangs up. "Well, if this is our guys, something made them graduate to murder. If we can figure out what that trigger was, it might tell us how they choose their victims. I've been looking into victimology, and so far, there's really nothing to connect the families. Different political affiliations, different careers, and different school systems. At this point, it simply appears the unsubs are targeting their victims at random."

"Nellis, can you gather everyone? It's time to give the profile."

"You got it boss."

You get up and approach Hotch before he has a chance to leave.

"Sir, I just want to apologize for laughing earlier."

"It was kind of funny," Hotch smirks slightly.

You gasp with a smile but let him leave your side. The entire team gathers into the main room where Nellis has gathered all of his men and women on the force. Hotch steps forward with the intent of beginning this meeting.

"We're looking for two men, probably white--given the neighborhoods that they hit--mid to late twenties, intelligent, and organized. These are career criminals. One or both has done hard time, but neither presents as a convict. They would appear clean-shaven, well dressed, and neighborly. This helps them talk their way into the homes. They may also be using a ruse."

"What kind of ruse?" Nellis asks.

"Given that the invasions have taken place in the evening, it could be anything. Could be door-to-door sales, people in distress, or car trouble."

"Uh, Derrick Todd Lee used a tape of a baby crying to get women to open their doors in Baton Rouge. Never underestimate their creativity," Spencer explains.

"These men share a very tight bond and a mutual compulsion to kill, but their signatures reveal two very distinct personalities," you state. "One brutalizes the parents. This is the dominant one--sadistic, remorseless, and extremely volatile. The other prefers a needle. His injections are consistent with an angel of death. He's more withdrawn, sensitive, and he has a warped sense of mercy."

"Agent Morgan is passing out a list of places where he might have access to the drug he uses. It's long, but it's all we have at this point," Hotch says while Derek passes out the information.

"Hotch," JJ interrupts, speaking close to Hotch, but you can hear. "There's been another one, and they're sending an ambulance."

"Ambulance?" Emily asks having heard her too.

"There's a survivor?"

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#children of the dark #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fiction #cm fanfiction #cm fan fiction #cm fanfic #cm fan fic #cm fluff

[miqojak]

Gold 1: Does your OC have a long-term goal or ambition to which they are constantly working? Or do they tend to bounce chaotically from situation to situation, with no clear plan or sense of what the future may bring?

OC Questions on the Seven Colours of Medieval Heraldry

This is a tough one because it feels like both a 'yes' and a 'no'. I prefer for my OCs to have longterm goals, because otherwise it feels like...why am I out here? Why are they doing XYZ? What's the point? What are they doing it all for? With Jak, the specter of Garlemald hung over her shoulder, so she worked hard to become more physically fit, and to establish a name for herself among the underworld, and still is - but now the specter of Garlemald is gone! There's very little reason to push her body to its limits so she's "ready next time"...because now there will never be another 'next time' for Garlemald, hooray!

That, however, leaves a big hole in her life. She's like a tree that grew around a foreign object...and now that object has been cut out. What's left? Where does all the anger go? Where does she put it all? What's left for her, as a relic of Garlemald - as a now-forgotten creation of theirs? What does she channel herself into? In part, she still would like to become a fearsome and respected member of the crime community - renowned, admired, feared, respected... any combination of those things works for her. However... she needs something to sink her claws into besides the doldrum of Yakuza paperwork, and she and I are both looking for that at present... where does life go now? What does she apply that laser-focus to?

She has a chip on her shoulder regarding how the people of Ul'dah treated her and her twin brother when they arrived as refugees, so she's contemplating taking it out on the people of Ul'dah who deserve it most - primarily the wealthy elite and the law enforcers who were the worst about treating refugees/those in need like they were trash. I've always had a sort of 'dark justice' thing in mind in regards to her DRK soul crystal - like...what if Batman kept acting out of vengeance, instead of making it about the people he's trying to help? What if it was about making the wrong people pay, more than it was about helping anyone? She's a nihilist - and believes that breaking the wheel would just mean making a new one, where someone elseis on the top, and someone new is on the bottom... so why bother, if it's all just the same shit? Eat the rich, fuck the man, do what you want. (That all said, I have been seriously contemplating Jak stirring the pot in Ul'dah, so if anyone is interested in plotting...)

She's also spent plenty of time since Garlemald's fall hunting their refugees for sport, but as aid only continues to increase for them, she's backed off. It's not worth being caught, and isn't technically a longterm goal, I suppose? - she just hates that her people are being enlisted to sew tents, etc. for the people of the nation that caused her people to be refugees in the first place. Her tribe is utterly wiped out because of Garlemald, so she sees it as only fair if she exterminates the last of Garlemald - she's playing by the rules that Garlemald taught her, after all! (To her it's a longterm goal. But not one that'll ever happen, naturally - she's not going to single-handedly wipe out Garlemald's remaining populace, as much as she wishes she could.)

#thanks for asking #ffxiv rp #lfrp ffxiv #lfc ffxiv #ffxiv #miqo'te #garlemald #ul'dah #she's trying on this Ul'dah thing for size really #as a new sort of goal #she hates it in a way bc she's not trying to be some symbol of hope #she's not trying to be a hero #she just so happens to be doing things that people associate with that type of figure #anywho I don't have concrete ideas for ul'dah plotting - it's all proto-concepts rn #but I'd love to involve more people and meet folks and even have people try to help or hinder her #even in regards to Garlemald stuff #I am always open to plots and ideas #anywho she's in a transitionary period of her life and is trying on new hats - new goals - who knows where she'll end up next