#i should stop writing these late at night

[wandaslittlebird]

Professor!Wanda Headcanons

I typically don’t write professor/student, but you’ll have to forgive me, I’m experiencing a moment of weakness.

Professor Maximoff was, by no means a well liked professor. Her class was infamously difficult, and most of her students found her cold.

You, however, grasp the subject matter surprisingly well. That never stopped you from coming by her office to “further your studies.”

She liked it when you came by, she told you. “It feels like I’m in here all the time. And no one comes to my office hours anyway. It gets a little dull in here with just me.”

Her office was simply decorated with only a single chair in the corner for students to sit, but as it started to become a regular hang out for you, a nice loveseat mysteriously appeared.

It got to the point where you were talking to her almost every day. You came in in between all your classes, lounging on her loveseat and getting some work done.

Whenever you complained of being hungry, or simply wanting a nice treat for yourself, she handed you her phone, open with DoorDash and her credit card information already loaded in.

She’s started to get very possessive of you. She sees how the other students and professors look at you. She just wants to keep you safe, she tells herself.

But whenever you have a one on one with another professor, she can’t help the way her body tenses and her blood pressure spikes. She’s always sure to stop by to inform you that after your meeting is over, she’s bought you your favorite lunch in her office. Better not wait too long. It’ll get cold.

She starts making comments when your clothes when your shirt collars hit too low and your jeans had too many rips. “I should dress code you, you know. You’re lucky I like you.” Over time, you amass a decent collection of very expensive blazers from the days you come in in something she deems too revealing.

In her office, however, you’re allowed to wear as little as you wish. Which is convenient because it’s starting to get very hot in there for some reason. She can stand the heat if it means getting to watch you do your work in an undershirt.

When she asks what you’re doing for the Thanksgiving holiday and you shrug and tell her nothing, she’s all too quick to jump on the opportunity. “You can come over to my place. It’ll just be me. We can make a turkey. Come on it’ll be fun.”

Thanksgiving break bleeds into Christmas break as well. And her guest room bleeds into her bedroom. Her bed is just so much more comfortable. And it’s a California king. The two of you are practically sleeping in different time zones.

Late one night, you hear her whisper “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“Will you still come to my office? Next semester? Even though you won’t be in my class anymore?” She asks, almost anxiously.

“Of course,” you respond. “I really enjoy being around you. Even outside of you… being my professor and everything.”

She smiles, but you couldn’t see it so well in the dark. “Good,” she said. “That’s good. I like being around you as well.”

She inches towards you nervously, but you reassure her when you start to move towards her as well. She wraps her arms around you while you curl into her chest. And you fall asleep in her arms, for the first time.

[lady-of-endless]

"Always Been You"

Summary: The Marine vice admiral misses his enemy.

Tags: fem reader; whipped Smoker; enemies to lovers; you fell first, he fell harder;

Author's Note: I have had some One Piece feels lately and wanted to write my favorite dynamic with Smoker, our beloved. Let me know if you'd be interested in a second part.

..........................................................................................

Smoker could never tell when you were close but you always knew when he was.

You walked through his heavy smoke many times, feeling it cling to your clothes and hair and seeing it float around you when he was after you as an obvious and thrilling warning.

Now, smoke only floated towards the ceiling of his bedroom, from his cigar while his eyes were fixed on the empty spot of his bed.

Smoker lit up the second cigar and narrowed his eyes, remembering how you would always steal one of the two cigars he always had between his teeth, just to tease him.

You.

Where the hell were you?

The secret rendez-vous have come to an end for a few days, abruptly. You were not showing your face anymore around town, staying hidden God knows where and why, and the Marine couldn't decide if he only missed the touch of your warm breath on his skin and the pleasurable tension or everything that made you the pirate he fell for against his will.

He took another long drag, getting up from his bed and walking to the opened window of his bedroom. He looked at the Loguetown night sky. Even if you worked from the smallest and hidden corners of the town, he would still somehow stumble across you. It was like you wanted to be found by him on purpose, but not anymore lately.

Smoker took a deep breath, taking in both the taste of his cigars and the crispness of the cool night air, feeling his thoughts slowly drift off again. He tried to concentrate only on his work and his duties as a Vice Admiral, but his focus kept wavering as he felt himself being pulled back to the thought of you.

So much time passed since your last encounter that Smoker felt he could remember your face only from the wanted poster and not the flashbacks that get him distracted more frequently lately. He didn't want to think about how long you've been missing, how long he couldn't try to capture and arrest you or wrap his arms around you.

Smoker groaned, disgusted by his vulnerability. To be in such a high position and to have such a weakness for the enemy's affection was something that had to be kept secret.

He hated having to hide those affairs from the Marines. He despised lies but he had to be a liar to them for you. He had to lie about why he arrived later than usual in the morning, about why he looked disheveled before meetings, about the lipstick stains from his uniform jacket.

But you made it all so damn worth it and thrilling. Now, Smoker didn't know what to look forward to besides the moment when he'll chase you again. If you'll ever get back. Pirates are always unpredictable, after all, and he should have been grateful for your absence, not feel bitter about it.

"Damn it..." He muttered to himself, annoyed at his weakness. It was strange and revolting to long for the enemy's affection and not for arresting you once and for all.

As a vice admiral and commander of the Marines, he had a duty to uphold and a reputation to maintain. What would his peers think if they knew he was connected to a woman who actively defied and undermined the World Government as a pirate? His only safe space was his mind, where he could think about you without restrictions even when he tried so hard not to, stopping himself so many times.

He wished he could do his job without interfering feelings. He tried so hard to respond to your teasing by telling you he despises your kind without pulling you against him, in his arms.

His transponder snail rang suddenly, at that late night hour.

Smoker didn't flinch and reached for the transporder without even looking at who it was, almost like a reflex.

"Yeah?" He answered, his voice rough. It was Tashigi, of course. "Tashigi speak, what is it?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, frowning. He was immediately alert, not liking her concerned tone and the time of the call.

"It's her again. She has been seen in town." His subordinate reported sighing at the issue.

Smoker's cigars fell from his lips onto the floor.

"Captain?" Tashigi asked at the lack of response.

"I will inform the rest of the team to go out and search for her right now. I'll even track her down myself alone if I have to." Smoker responded, sounding more than just authoritative and furious, ending the call but knowing too well that he won't follow the plan and will go after you alone without the others. He groaned at the thought that he lied to his subordinates once again, just for your sake.

If there was one thing he didn't need to hide in this complicated affair was that he couldn't deny the thrill of being able to hunt you once again. He was the White Hunter, after all.

The thought of seeing you again filled him with an intoxicating rush of excitement and tension. In his troublesome imagination, Smoker could already see himself standing in front of you, looking down into your eyes, your lips a few inches away from his as you teased and riled each other until he kissed you roughly enough so that his stubble left your soft skin rosy and sensitive.

He got up from his bed and began to get dressed, his movements fueled by anticipation.

Smoker put on his boots and scoffed as he remembered each of your successful getaways and your incredible ability to get out of the Marine's grasp every time. It was annoying and also fascinating to watch you play nice, charming, and fool every Marine that tried to capture you. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder if he was just another victim of your act too, a plaything. It was time to get you and the answer to this.

[butteronabun]

note: feel free to read the prequel first!

If there is something you are most proud of – it is your courageous spirit.

As the Lady of the House, it’s expected of you to be timid, soft–spoken, and docile, but unfortunately, much to the elder nobles’ dismay, you are the opposite of that. You do not have those traits.

You’re like a volcano. You explode and terrify what’s close to you due to your powerful outbursts.

Well, that’s not the only thing that’s really special – you know how to control your emotions. You know how to read the mood. You know how to fight for yourself. And if there’s anything that causes you great trouble or to the Winery, of course, you’ll boom. Especially when you have something to protect, and especially when you are Diluc Ragnvindr’s wife, who seriously has been through a lot.

You had to strengthen your will. You had to toughen up.

( And perhaps. . . that’s one of the reasons why Diluc is so enamored with you in the first place. You and your fiery personality; you and your passions; you and — ah. Everything about you. )

So. . . you’re not really scared of anything. Abyssal creatures? Nah, you’ll just scowl at these fellas and wield your weapon. Heights? You’re an adrenaline junkie. The dark? Wow. It makes you sleepy.

Ghosts? Well.

Recently, there have been rumors spreading amongst the maids. Of course, since you’re close with the girls – nothing bypasses you. And as the Lady Ragnvindr, you have the right to know what’s going on.

According to Hillie and Moco, the manor is haunted. Maybe it’s because of how old it has been, or maybe because of the previous ancestors who have resided here before. They claim that they have been seeing sightings.

So yeah, more or less, they do believe it’s haunted.

You, however, beg to differ. You are a skeptic at heart, and you definitely do not give a fuck on the paranormal — you respect the spirits, though, and only wish that they’re all resting in peace.

( Also, as an act of revenge after the Windsor Knot incident, you have been playing pranks on the maids. One of which was you playfully shaking the chairs they’ve been sitting on from behind. The ladies screamed. You laughed in mirth. Adelinde smiled amusingly at the background. )

Then one random night, while you are reading one of the novels you bought earlier from the city, you heard something.

That typical knock.

Of course, there are multiple sources for that knock. It could be anyone because there are also people inside the manor. But it’s goddamn late, and you know that you’re the only one who’s awake at this hour, because you’re waiting for Diluc.

Unlike the maids who will simply ignore and close their eyes to pretend that nothing happened, you rise from the bed, and put on a robe. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. As you saunter towards the door, you grab the nearest object - a bat - and said bat is from another nation. Diluc acquired it for you because you’d gotten interested in it, but it’ll be a story for another time.

The door creaks ominously when you pull it open. Again. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. It’s dark now, since Adelinde has mostly turned the lights off, and you rely with the orange glow coming from the bedroom. This doesn’t scare you at all. More than anything, you’re annoyed - because really, who dares to mess with you during this time?

Is there a fool who managed to get inside the manor? They’re seriously just asking for a death wish! Just because the Master is not here yet doesn’t mean his wife can not fight.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you swear you saw a shadow down the hallway. Again. This really doesn’t scare you.

It angers you. Infuriates you. Because. Really? Seriously?

You sigh, and walk in that direction casually with your weapon. Let’s just get this over with, you think, Jude and Cardan’s waiting.

With narrowed eyes, you prepare yourself. If it’s a thief, or a ghost, whatever – it is unfortunate for them to face your wrath. Trespassing inside the manor? Interrupting your reading time? Absolutely unacceptable!

So when you turn, you aim and whack at the shadow without any hesitation – not until said shadow predicts your moves first, and fights back.

You blink in surprise, “Wha—“

There’s a loud thud.

The bat falls on the ground. You are also on the ground. And the shadow, the ghost—

— is pinning you down.

You feel your blood boil. You are brave. You are courageous. You are skeptical. This doesn’t really scare you, at all! You demand, “WHO the hell are— mmmph!!?”

A hand covers your mouth from speaking. You’re about to bite the hand due to the audacity, until a familiar scent floods your nostrils — grapes and firewood — and an even familiar color of hair reveals itself from the shadow figure’s cloak. Familiar red hair hangs over the sides of their head. Oh.

Oh.

The shadow figure seems to realize that you’ve calmed down, and elicits a quiet, incredibly charming chuckle. He removes his hand from your mouth, and you exhale in relief.

“This is scandalous. What would my husband say, letting a ghost pin me down?” You ask, and reach up to caress his cheek. You can’t see him behind the mask, but you know he’s being endearing as always.

“Hm? I am not a ghost,” Your beloved Darknight Hero replies. “I am your husband.”

You snicker. “You look like a ghost. Humor me, will you?”

“But I really am not? I am your husband.” He insists, and you feel his smile on your fingers. He takes ahold of your hand and kisses your palm.

Diluc says tenderly, “I’m home.”

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

Making decisions after 2 am is a great idea *posts all of my oc art with no context*

[flowercrowngods]

in which eddie is semi-nonverbal and steve notices despite eddie’s best efforts. cuddles ensue | 1.8k

They’re hanging out at Eddie’s, just the two of them, when Steve notices it for the first time. He’s not known as the most perceptive guy ever, but he’s actually rather good at these things. And he’s starting to get good at getting a feel for Eddie, too, even though it’s made harder by his dramatics and his flourishes and all those exaggerated gestures, mimics and mood swings. Eddie is fluent in all things sarcasm and drama, both of which Steve had issues reading in the beginning but is now pretty good with.

After fighting an interdimensional monster wizard creep, nearly dying a few times and spending time together almost every day because we stick together now, Steve knows Eddie.

He’s not sure if they’re friends, exactly, but that doesn’t really stop him from knowing all of his tones, his moods, and even most of his music these days. Steve just watches. Listens. Remembers. He’s shit at talking about himself much around anyone but Robin, but he always makes a point of knowing as much as he can about his friends. And Eddie.

Which is why the sudden strain in Eddie’s voice catches him off guard. It’s not the I didn’t get any sleep last night because all I can think of is how I almost died kinda strain. Nor is it the It’s 5pm and I haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want you to find out kind. Steve still makes sure to make them sandwiches as he listens to Eddie rambling off about something or other.

And that’s the thing. Steve listens. He always does, but Eddie is rambling. And he sounds almost miserable about it. The words don’t make sense, they lack their usual enthusiasm when Eddie talks DnD or music — which, he’s doing both? There’s no connection. And when Steve turns around, sandwiches secondary to that fucking strain in Eddie’s voice, he sees that his eyes are dull. The smile forced. And he keeps talking even though his tone indicates that he’s done.

Steve frowns slightly and watches Eddie, who’s walking mindlessly, aimlessly, pacing and stopping every few seconds, looking a little lost every time he does.

The thing is, there is no reason for Eddie to talk. No point to his words. No calculation in his movement, no burning off of excess energy, no kick in his step, no stomp for emphasis.

Steve notices. He sees. He listens. And thinking back, Eddie’s reaction time to just about anything Steve said today was either close to nothing, or very delayed.

It dawns on him then, as he looks Eddie up and down, noticing the fidgeting hands, the tense shoulders, the stiff grimace of a smile. It dawns on him because he knows this look, this behaviour. Not exactly like this, but close.

He has a hunch and hopes that whatever they have built over the past weeks is strong enough for Eddie not to freak out on him over this.

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him, and it shouldn’t be this easy. It wouldn’t be, normally, but today Eddie just shuts up immediately, mouth closed, eyes on Steve.

“Yeah?” Four seconds. That’s how long that word took.

Steve hopes the expression on his face is kind, not patronising. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Eddie blinks. Swallows. Two, three, four. “Do what, Steve?” And immediately he is defensive, taking on an act because maybe that’s makes this easier for him, but even his performance is strained.

“You don’t have to talk all the time,” he says, and only realises once the words have left his mouth that they sound wrong, like he’s annoyed with Eddie’s constant babbling and needs some silence. Which he doesn’t.

Eddie scoffs before he can take it back. He scoffs, spins in a circle and sighs deeply, expertly bridging the four seconds it takes him once again to open his mouth and speak.

“Oh, that’s new! That’s new, Harrington, I’ve never heard that one before. What’s next, you gonna call me a Freak? Maybe tell me the bands I listen to aren’t music? Really sorry, man, and I hate to break it to you, but if you wanna hang out with someone who doesn’t ‘have to talk all the time’, I’m not your man!”

Even the anger seems dull, the little speech far from what it could have been, like Eddie’s brain isn’t quite there, like it doesn’t work today, like the words just won’t come and decide to leave him hanging with his failed dramatics.

Still, Steve approaches him slowly, his hands raised in a placating motion. “That’s not what I meant, and I’m sorry it came out wrong, Eds. I don’t mind your talking, you gotta believe me. But…”

How does he say this next part, this next assumption, without accidentally insulting Eddie again? Without sounding like a complete and total jackass?

“You know El, right? The one with the superpowers?”

Eddie nods.

“Well, when she came to us, she could, like, barely talk. Her vocabulary wasn’t there yet, sure, but that’s not the only reason. And now she’s made wonderful progress and her vocabulary is pretty decent, but still she gets those days where she just… She can’t talk. Or won’t. Maybe both. Sometimes both, yeah. And on some days she will, like, force herself. But I can tell when she does because she’s miserable about it and it sounds like hard labour and she’s always on the verge of tears about it. And… I don’t know, Eds, but you kinda look a lot like her now, and even if you don’t, which is fine, sorry for bringing that up, but even if you don’t have days like that, just know that you don’t always have to talk, yeah? One way or another, there’s not a price you have to pay in stories or running commentary just to be part of the group. You could never talk ever again and we’d still stick together, yeah? That’s what I meant. Sorry if that’s a jackass kinda thing to say.”

Steve hates how he’s always out there fumbling for words and can never get them to sound right. Especially now, when he needs Eddie to understand. He always needs Eddie to understand. It’s a bit of an urge lately. He just wants him to feel safe.

It’s more than four seconds now, and Steve stops counting at ten, acutely aware of the silence this time. He lets Eddie have his silence, though, leaves him room inside it.

“That’s not a jackass kinda thing to say, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, and Steve swears he has never heard his voice in such a quiet, vulnerable tone. The quiet always helps El, too. Make all those words she can’t say a little less loud and imposing, make it all a little more okay. Not so scary.

“Good,” Steve whispers, and maybe that’s one step too far, but Eddie sags a little bit and for a moment Steve fears that he’s about to sway forward. Not that he wouldn’t catch Eddie.

“What do… How. Do you help El through it?” Small, vulnerable, confused, and Steve heart breaks a little for him.

“I do,” he says, equally quiet, smile on his face. “We always lie down somewhere because you only have to talk when you sit or stand, right? Lying down, no one can make you talk. So we lie down, she’s usually resting on top of me, and either I talk to her about, well… Anything, really. Or I shut up. Sometimes there’s music. Really, there’s many ways to get through it, but the main two things are lying down and not talking on her part, y’know?”

And the way Eddie looks at him makes Steve think that maybe they are friends, because you don’t let just anyone see you this vulnerable. You don’t look at just anyone with your big brown doe eyes like they’re opening a whole new world for you.

“Sounds great,” he croaks and that tension is back in his shoulders, so obvious that Steve wants to reach out and massage it away.

He smiles and searches Eddie’s eyes, absolutely sure of the situation now, and maybe having a cure for it. “Eddie Munson, would you like to go lie down and not talk for a while?”

Eddie stares at him as though he’s calculating the risk, as though he’s weighing his options. He could still tell Steve to go and he’d be out of here in a heartbeat if being alone is what Eddie really needs. But then he nods.

“I think maybe I do, yeah.”

“With El, I only ask her yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head. Okay? Don’t know if that works for you but, well, we can find out I guess. Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles. He goes to the kitchen area to grab the sandwiches he made earlier and then lands back right before Eddie, smile still in place.

“Not to be weird or anything, but I think this might work best on your bed. Is that okay for you? If that’s not okay, we can just lie down on the couch.”

Eddie looks back to his room, then back at Steve. He nods.

“Your bed?” Steve asks again just to make sure, and Eddie nods again.

And this is how they find themselves lying on Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s head resting on Steve’s chest. His fingers find their way into the metalhead’s locks at some point and Eddie purrs, which makes Steve laugh for a moment. He doesn’t take his hand away, though.

Steve doesn’t talk like he does with El sometimes. With Eddie, he just basks in the silence and lets the other boy soak up as much of it as he needs. There’s a smile on his lips the whole time, and he didn’t think he could smile so much around Eddie Munson, especially on one of his bad days.

But he does.

They even fall asleep like that, Eddie lying on top of Steve, cuddling into him. Steve lets him. Even the next morning when they’re both awake but not willing to break the silence yet even though Eddie looks much better already, he doesn’t make any moves to get away from Steve. He stays there, head on his chest as they both just bask in the moment.

Bask in the company.

Bask on the threshold of something just to the right of friendship. Something more.

[trlblzd]

coughing tf out but i need to go out tmrw ermmm (also you guys should totes kiss stelle oooo ooo oooooo)

[luscinai]

What does it feel like to die?

Cold, Lucille would say. Sterile. Death is white walls and whiter sheets and lights too bright they’re blinding because she’s been staring at them for too long.

She supposes everybody would feel cold when they die. They should—whether it’s from their blood pooling around them or a slow death from poison like her, it’s the active, rapid loss of heat. What she didn’t anticipate is exactly how bone-chilling it could be.

"Leave me. Turn off the lights, would you?" She croaks, voice heavy with exhaustion.

The doctors look at each other before looking back at her. "But—"

"I said leave. Let me have my moment in peace."

Lucille releases an exhale she didn’t know she was holding as the door clicks behind them, snuffing out the last of the light for the much more comfortable darkness.

The sheets shuffle as she sits up in her bed.

It’s hard not to feel odd about her current state of helplessness. She’s all too aware of her rate of deterioration—in spite of her powers’ best efforts to heal whatever damage there is, her body’s getting worse every passing day. She could only be grateful for her relatively pristine appearance despite everything.

Her eyes look up towards what she could assume is another wall. Guilt lingers somewhere at the back of her mind amongst all the thinking. She hopes her family will forgive her for leaving without notice like this, every passing breath one nearer to the last, but it’s a necessary choice.

Another exhale.

Mom told her she wanted to put her into the Lazarus Pit. That was the plan since long ago after they figured out she was deteriorating—a side effect from Cadmus’ doings. From her powers. There’s some irony in being killed by the power that’s supposed to keep her alive and whole that she decided not to point out.

Is it gonna work? Fuck if she knows. But mom had reasoned that it’d worked well enough with Jason, and if the pit was going to work the way they understand it would, it’s going to bring her back to life and allow her to live with a proper lifespan. In theory.

In theory. Lucille doesn’t know if she should trust it all that much—their understanding of the pit’s properties are subpar at best. She just couldn't find it in her to say no when her mother was beside herself with grief.

She'd also be lying if she says she doesn't want to give it a fair try. The thought brings her some solace and takes it away in the same beat; nice to know she wants to live like any other human does, but—and she hates to keep repeating herself—nobody knows if it's gonna work.

Her hands reach for a thin blanket to wrap around herself in a shiver, legs curled up as close to her body as possible. Christ, it's cold.

Why's she even thinking all this anyway? It's way past time for any regrets.

Lucille chuckles dryly.

Her toes wiggle in a futile attempt to work any remaining warmth back into her body. She's heard about how you're supposed to have flashbacks of your whole life when you're close to death, but all she's been finding so far are stray thoughts and some vague memories of bygone times. That, and the fucking freeze threatening to eat into her blood.

Everything feels a bit too muddy, too heavy. No room for thought. She thinks it's better she lays back down instead.

Her head plops back rather unceremoniously into the pillow faintly smelling of disinfectant. Eyes on the ceiling, except she's no longer blinded by what lights there were before.

It feels like she's just going to sleep. She's pretty sure that was the intended effect that mom and the doctors decided on in their wishes to give her as peaceful a passing as possible, though all that's doing for her is fooling her into a false sense of security.

Or was that intended as well?

Maybe. Mom was very, very determined she'll wake up again.

The corners of her lips quirk into a smile. Had it been anyone else, whether Dick or Tim or Cass, they'd have said it's a terrible idea. Steph would have other opinions. And Jason would likely choose to ignore the whole ordeal altogether.

( she doesn't have to wonder what's going on with Bruce. Mom probably already had a fight with him regardless. )

The tips of her fingers feel frigidly numb.

She should really tell someone to turn down the A/C.

AUG 27, 24. —— a nightingale's dying thoughts.

[tinypinkmouse]

I finished writing a tiny fill for the last Guardian bonus bingo prompt today. (I'll get around to editing it at some point too.) I've been trying to write something closer to canon with all the prompts, and it's really highlighted how few ideas I have for fic that are set at least close to canon (or post-canon everyone lives). I can manage something small to fill the prompts, but beyond that it just isn't happening.

This upsets me. I want to write things more close to canon. Something with substance. I've always wanted to wrote something plotty post-canon, but it just doesn't happen. Instead it's all just another AU repeating the exact same plot, and straying further and further from anything even remotely canon.

[shdwtouch]

taking a short break ♡ I know I haven't been here / doing much anyway, but I've just been dealing with some really bad anxiety, to the point I feel sick whenever I'm here, so I think I should just. not be here ? I've deleted the app from my phone, may pop in from my laptop if I feel like it I guess. gonna focus on school and playing v rising with my friends and reading the new graphic novels I got.

thank you, everyone, for your patience and understanding ! if you need me you can add me on discord ( sealkii ), just lmk who you are. otherwise... I'll be back on friday with an update; I have therapy on thursday this week, and I hope afterwards I'll be in a better place. I don't plan on leaving permanently, I'm just currently not in a headspace to be present here, much less active.

again, I apologize if anyone is waiting on a starter, thread reply, or DM reply from me. I really love Shade and I'm excited about all the different interactions and dynamics I've already been able to develop for her, so again I don't intend to leave ! I'm just riding the struggle bus as it is and don't know what else to do, honestly.

anyway. sending love to you all. ♡ take care of yourselves ! again, feel free to add me on discord, otherwise I shall see you on friday ! ( also, I may post some stuff to the potential blog I want to make for rosenrot, which can be found here. )

[keeps-ache]

steeping myself in the night air and hoping these ideas will take

[oops-its-a-fanwork]

Just got a notification for 500 likes! Thank you for all who leave a little like, and especially thank you to those who leave tags or comments! It's nice to see people enjoying what I make :)💖 I will start scheduling some reblogs at some point, since I do not have any finished new posts. I am working on some things though! just very slowly due to other things in my life ;)

[crittrs-ocs]

Does anyone else come up with lore late at night and then you realize it’s either a great fit or so so out of character? I forget basically everything about my character that’s currently established, but for the sake of Lore I’ll make up random bullshit and then realize in the morning it conflicts with my pre-existing lore. I’ll accidentally portray a bloodthirsty maniac with no chill as a calm put together man, and I’ll not even realize the mistake until I go back and check my lore.

[sensitivegoblin]

AHG!!!!!!!!!!!

Im screaming until my throat hurts in my mind

[suckinitup]

thinking about tidalwave cant cure me of physical ailments but like. whag if it could

[thisisforfuns]

it's 3:00 AM...I have school at 6:30 AM. 🤡

[kivihattu]

drop this sunflower 🌻 into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy! lets spread a little sunshine ☀️

Thank you so much! If it makes you happy : )