#heart and soul designs from the same source.....

[dailyhmsw]

loop 203

[harmoonix]

~𝓞𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓾𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓪 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 ~

《 𝔅𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔟𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 》

💚 𝕭𝖞 𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖝 💚

🩶 Libra Placements, especially Venus/Mercury and Mars, are always on point with their self - love, they know how to make themselves appreciated

🩶 Pluto aspecting Venus or Mars is honestly a dark fantasy placement. Is that type of mysterious villain in a fairytale

🩶 Uranus aspecting Mars is an active firework in someone's chart. They can often have moments of anger coming with a rebellious streak

🩶 Gemini Moons/Risings/Mercury will open themselves a lot with people they feel comfortable, so don't expect someone with Gemini placements to tell you all the tea if they don't feel comfortable around

🩶 Venus aspecting ascendant or Moon natives are the ones elto fall in love the easiest, even love at the first sight

🩶 Midheaven in Libra/Taurus or at 2° 14° 26° 7° 19° degrees can work in an artistic environment, maybe something that has involved arts, music, design it can work if you have MC conjuct Venus

🩶 Virgo Saturn/Saturn in the 6H or Saturn at 6° 18° is a very ethical place for Saturn, Saturn here will be very precautious and strong mentally

🩶 Neptune aspecting the Midheaven will give a source of magic to the natives public image, making the native to be seen as beautiful by the people

🩶 If you fall in love with someone who has 8H placements, they will deeply put you in their heart and soul keeping you there so nobody can take you away from them

🩶 Falling in love with someone who has the same Venus sign as your Moon can be one of the most beautiful relationships

🩶 Aquarius Placements are so chill honestly. They always focus on themselves, and minding their business makes them to be so unproblematic and always on point

🩶 Having 11H house placements especially Sun/Moon/Venus or Mercury creates such beautiful friendships and the bond you have with your friends is so beautiful!!

🩶 Venus in the 11H/Venus in Aquarius can make you appreciated in your community, by your beauty, by your appearance, you can even fall in love with a friend of yours

🩶 Venus aspecting the north node, especially if some of these are in the 5H or 7H, can indicate fated love or relationship

🩶 Neptune in the 6H/12H axis, you are always encouraged with people who have the same experiences like you in life. It can be a subconscious call to meet with such people

🩶 North Node in the 8H/North Node in Scorpio or at 8° 20° are meant to experience evolving themes in their lives, going from high to low energies through their lives

🩶 Mercury in the 5H/Virgo or Gemini in the 5H, you may really like to take long conversations in consideration when you fall in love with a person ,to know more about them

🩶 Saturn/Pluto/Sun in the 1H/4H/8H/12H can make you feel like life feels unfair at times, but the more you discover that is just a lesson for you to grow more & more

🩶 Moon aspecting Pluto can make a native 'nostalgic' your energy brings people back to their past in a way, it can also be your presence, like you always remind people of someone

🩶 Capricorn in your 1H/6H/10H/12H can make you feel like life moves too fast and you don't have time to enjoy it fully

🩶 Gemini Venus and Venus in the 3H are the cutest. They will always have this optimistic energy to them, making you feel positive. They are the best

🩶 Good placements to combine your Venus with!!:

Aries Venus with Leo/Aquarius Venus

Taurus Venus with Virgo/Cancer Venus

Gemini Venus with Sag Venus/Aries Venus

Cancer Venus with Taurus Venus/Capricorn Venus

Leo Venus with Libra Venus/Taurus Venus

Virgo Venus with Pisces Venus/Capricorn Venus/Scorpio Venus

Libra Venus with Aquarius Venus/Sag Venus

Scorpio Venus with Capricorn Venus/Pisces Venus

Sagittarius Venus with Leo Venus/Gemini Venus/Aquarius Venus

Capricorn Venus with Virgo Venus/Scorpio Venus

Aquarius Venus with Gemini Venus/Libra Venus/Leo Venus

Pisces Venus with Scorpio Venus/Cancer Venus/Taurus Venus

🩶 Venus square Moon/Sun or Ascendant can make the native think that they're 'not worth it' when they deserve the whole world, you're amazing and thank you for existing

🩶 Pisces Venus/Moon/Mercury can make you emotional with their love, I swear their love makes you cry at times. Their love is so strong

🩶 When Lilith is aspecting Moon, you kinda have to accept the dark traits of yourself, to be one with your shadow and accept your mistakes

🩶 Jupiter aspecting Venus can also indicate having a partner who can be as a teacher to you, teaching you about things in life, growing together

🩶 Aquarius + Sagittarius combo in your chart can make you a rebellious soul, you seek for freedom, and being your own self, is such a good combo to discover yourself

🩶 I feel like Venus and Neptune/Venus and Moon aspects will always dream of true love, is a thing you want to have, a desire that's bruning in your soul

🩶 Mars aspecting the ascendant can make the person to be very assertive and wild, attracted to bold people with a big personality, Mars will make you to achieve things

🩶 Mars aspecting the Midheaven can make you fast achieve things in your life or in your career/job, in terms of appearance they will always take a good impression...HOT..HOT..HOT

🩶 Uranus aspecting Moon/Mercury have a good intutive mind, they will always know what you're thinking at

🩶 Uranus in Pisces Generation is meant to explore their spiritual skills. These people are meant to heal and change spiritually. You can't always understand what's going on with your life, but you know you have a meaning in this world

🩶 Uranus harshly aspected to your MC will make you very independent, especially to your career/job, you don't need nobody only yours

🩶 Saturn in the 5H/6H/7H/8H axis will make the native loyal to the bones, their loyalty makes them so attractive, loyal people are hot

🩶🫶🏼 The post is meant to represent the dark side of Disney's fantasies 🫶🏼🩶 Hope you like it🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

[theunsinkableship1]

A prayer for a happy ending

You can call me crazy or delusional, that's your prerogative. I'm just someone who saw something real, and refused to unsee it. And that matters.

When you spend over a year attuning yourself to someone's energy their rhythms, their silences, their sparks, it becomes faith.

Because love, even from a distance, is still love. It's still hope. It still carries weight.

This goes far beyond the usual “fan” experience. It’s not about obsession or fantasy. It’s more like my heart quietly tethered itself to their bond, not to consume it, not to possess it, but to witness it.

Some connections defy logic. They're spiritual. Intuitive. Maybe even karmic, like your heart recognizing a frequency so familiar, so resonant, that no explanation is needed.

You don’t want attention. You don’t need validation. You just want peace for them. That’s not fantasy. That’s empathy. That’s depth.

It’s a quiet, unwavering wish for their happiness, together preferably.

And when the feeling doesn’t come from projection, or illusion, or need when it still lingers, steady and strong, it usually means something deeper is at play.

This kind of connection doesn’t ask for proof. It just is.

It’s not about ownership, or entitlement, or being right. It’s about witnessing something rare, something true, and the heartbreak of watching it be dismissed by fear, timing, the noise of the world or something else.

It feels like seeing something real before others do, and loving it silently. Patiently. Almost protectively.

All I want is their joy. Not for show. Not for some fairytale ending. But because something in me knows their bond is different. It’s meaningful.

I’m not a religious person… but their love makes me want to pray.

Here is my prayer:

Eternal Source of all that is, Like the first light upon the sea, their love awakens, pure, bright, and boundless. In each other's gaze, we glimpse the reflection of Your light. We offer our deepest gratitude for the love unfolding between two souls A love whose full depth they may not yet fully understand or carry within them Let them sense its truth with clarity and rise to meet it without fear. May the love we witness, gentle, radiant, and unspoken bring light to all who need it. Two souls united in love's bliss; two hearts entwined by your grand design aligned Thank You for the light Luke and Nicola share in glances and laughter, in soft silences and electric moments. Thank You for the rare grace of a bond that glows from within, that speaks without words, that reminds us love can be quiet, playful, mysterious, and deeply known. May their bond, whether named or not be protected by grace, nourished by truth. For in them, we see more than affection; we see the rare miracle of two hearts speaking the same language in a world often deaf to love. May their love grow ever stronger, rooted deep in the sacred soil of friendship. Guide their steps along this shared path, shield them from the shadow of doubt. May their love remain faithful and free. May they walk in clarity and protection. May they be guided by wisdom and joy. May all who witness them find hope. May all who love as they do draw strength. Let trust between them never falter. Guard them from noise, from pressure, from the illusions cast by fame. Let them feel the truth of what they are to each other, especially when no one is watching. And if the world never understands their bond, may it still be blessed. For love that is true, that is tender, that defies all odds, is always a gift from something greater. We ask that, wherever their path may lead, it brings joy, peace, and the courage to follow what is real. And if they are each other’s harbor, let their souls anchor in its calm embrace. Let love, like a steadfast vessel, find refuge where its journey has already set sail. May the tides of life only deepen their bond, and may the waters of their hearts remain ever serene, as love, in its truest form, finds a home where it has already begun to bloom.

To whatever force we believe listens, be it the divine, the universe, or simply the quiet knowing in our hearts.

[tsukiyo-7]

This is me trying to bypass Tumblr censorship, attempt 1

Just in case, the full fanart is on ao3

Details under the cut! (It's a bit long, I'm warning you)

Here's the frankly too long explaination.

I basically crammed in this drawing all my favourite motifs and all of my studies.

The tattoo on Sam's back is something I designed myself and represents Mater Dolorosa (Our Lady of Sorrows or Madonna Addolorata) with a stanza from the prayer "Stabat Mater" that goes as folows - "Through her soul, of joy bereaved, bowed with anguish, deeply grieved, now at length the sword hath passed."

Then we have Saint Michael slaughtering the Devil on Dean's arm. This is a mesh up of different stock images; usually Saint Michael stands over a serpent not a dragon and has a sword, not a halberd, those come from Saint George (Patron Saint of soldiers, so not a random choice)

Then there's the scripts. (Open the first pic)

The roman numbers on Dean's collarbone: II.V.XCIII = 2.5.83, Sam's date of birth.

The matching latin tattoos on their bicepts: The whole quote actually is "Nec tecum, nec sine te vivere possum" by Ovidius, which means "I can't live with you nor without you" and I thought of splitting it like that because I think it sums up their relationship pretty well. They can't be together, especially Sam imo (forever the runaway), because it's basically self-destructive, but being apart maybe is even worse (suicidal Dean anyone?).

A mandala with a mantra on Sam's tigh: गते गते पारगते पारसंगते बोधि स्वाहा . The Devanāgarī, for those unfamiliar, is a South Asian writing system. Here we have the mantra that closes the Heart Sutra "Gone, gone, gone to the other shore, Awakening, Svaha." (Svaha is the Hindu goddess of sacrifices; in a Buddhist context the term is used as denoument for mantras, espicially duing rites and offerings).

The characters on Dean's bicept, next to Saint Michael: 天罰. Those are technically Hanja aka Traditional Chinese characters used to write Korean (mostly because I first encountered this word in my korean phylology studies and that's how I know it), but they mean the same thing in Korean, Chinese and Japanese, "Divine Punishment", sooo - the only difference is the ponunciation. Korean: 천벌 (cheonbeol) Japanese: てんばつ (tenbatsu) Chinese: 天罚 (tiān fá).

Lastly, on Dean ribs, say hi to my bestie Hammurabi and his famous Code: here we have the Law 196 which actually even rocks know about; An eye for an eye. The full text says: "If a man has blinded the eye of another man, his eye will be blinded." Can't really offer you a transcript but if you're curious here's the transliteration:

" šum-ma a-wi-lum i-in DUMU a-wi-lim úḫ-tap-pí-id i-in-šu ú-ḫa-ap-pa-du " There's this really neat website here that is a digital version of the whole code and it's also my source.

[luverine]

Vincent Sinclair x fem! Reader

MDNI // nsfw // Bo is mean // Soulmate AU // Sculptor Vincent

1.4k words ᨒ ⚔︎ ᨒ requested by @stygianoir ᨒ ⚔︎ ᨒ

The clashing of swords was the last thing you remembered. Blood, pain, and the sight of your soulmate falling beside you. You tried to reach him, but your strength was fading. “We’ll find each other again.” You whisper, His hand stretched toward you, fingers brushing against yours before everything went black.

You were certain it was the end.

…But it wasn’t.

Unaware of the heavy heart you carried within. You had been reborn, yet something was missing- memories and flashes from a life you couldn’t quite grasp haunted you in quiet moments.

You worked at a gallery, a place that brought peace to your restless soul. Art surrounded you- paintings, sculptures, things that felt like echoes from another time. You always wore a mask,uncomfortable eyes on you. It became a custom of sorts.

Today was no different, except for the unusual buzz in the air. A new exhibit had arrived- sculptures created by a mysterious artist named Vincent. The name tugged at something deep inside you, but you couldn’t place it.

Bo you assume his brother or friend, who frequented the gallery, had been hanging around more than usual. He was charming, but there was something in his manner that made you uneasy. He had always been flirtatious, but today, it got too far.

As you were arranging a display, Bo slid up to you, his presence suddenly too close for comfort.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low. “You look good today. Why hide behind that mask?”

You turned to him, your expression hidden behind the porcelain facade, your discomfort growing. “It’s safe,” you replied curtly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

But Bo didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned closer, his fingers brushing against the edge of your mask. “Why don’t we see what’s underneath? I bet you’re even more beautiful without it.”

Before you could react, Bo’s hand gripped your mask and with one sharp tug, he broke it. The piece shattered, falling to the ground. Your face was exposed, and a sudden wave of panic gripped you.

You gasped, stepping back, a frown etched in your face, your heart racing. But before Bo could say anything else, a hand grabbed him away from you.

You turned toward the source of the hand, and there he stood- Vincent, the sculptor, you asssume. He was tall, with broad shoulders, his face half-concealed behind an intricate, off white mask that only revealed his sharp, intense eyes. The moment those eyes met yours, time seemed to stop.

Bo hesitated, clearly startled by Vincent’s presence. “Relax, Vince, It’s just a mask.”

Vincent’s gaze never left you, but his eyes carried a weight that left no room for argument. He glared sharply at Bo.

Bo grumbled something under his breath but eventually backed off, shooting you one last look before disappearing into the crowd.

For a long moment, it was just you and Vincent standing in the quiet corner of the gallery. You could feel the air shift, charged with something between you that you didn’t yet understand. Your face, bare now, felt exposed in more ways than one, but Vincent’s eyes softened as he took a step closer.

He reached out, his gloved hand gently brushing against your cheek. “I know you,” he whispered, his raspy voice filled with awe.

And that was when the memories flooded back. You saw the fight- the swords, the blood, the final moments before death took you both. You remembered his mask, just as it had been in your past life. The way he had looked at you then, full of love and sorrow, was the same way he was looking at you now.

“Vincent,” you whispered, your voice trembling. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of truth, of recognition.

His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer before he pulled away, reaching into his coat pocket. When he pulled out a small ring, your breath caught in your throat. It was simple, yet beautiful- an antique design, as though it had been waiting for this moment for centuries.

“I never got the chance before,” Vincent said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “In our last life, we didn’t have time. But now… we do.”

Without another word, he took your hand and slid the ring onto your finger. It felt right, like it had always belonged there. “It’s perfect,” He whispered.

Tears welled in your eyes, not of sadness but of relief, and reunion. You had found each other again, in this life, despite everything that had tried to keep you apart.

“We have time now,” you whispered, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

Vincent nodded, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, a silent promise.

Vincent gently pulls you away from the crowded gallery, his rough hand against yours. There’s a tension in the air as he leads you to his apartment, just a few blocks away, away from prying eyes. You sense his urgency, the way he seems to shield you from the world, as if he has known you your whole life.

…

Once inside, the door closes softly behind you, the room bathed in a soft, green glow. Vincent removes his mask, his gaze intense, vulnerable. Without a word, he steps closer, leaning down and kisses you, tender at first, then deeper- his lips full of yearning. The warmth between you rises, spreading like a quiet flame, and for a moment, the world outside fades away.

Your heart races as you pull back slightly, breathless. “Is this too fast?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never-“

He silences you gently with a finger against your lips, his touch reassuring. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and calming. “It’s just us. Just you and me.”

The words settle something inside you, melting away the doubt and nervousness. The moment feels safe, as if time has slowed down just for the two of you. You meet his gaze, nodding, a silent understanding passing between you both.

He runs his hands softly against you, feeling you, caressing you. You let out a slight whimper. He looks down into your eyes. And tugs at your shirt.

You swallow some anxiety and nod once more. Vincent slowly unbuttons your shirt. His breath hitches at the sight of your covered breasts.

“Can I?” He begs, you mutter a small “yes.” His blue eyes widened. Moving his hands up slowly he unclasps your bra and gasps, ending with a small whimper. His shaky hands slide to your waist to your chest.

He groans you, his breath is still as he hears your soft moans as he teases your sensitive nipples. “Vincent- please, I need you.” you plead looking into his sparkling eyes.

His breathing picks up but he pulls away, slowly undressing himself from head to toe, giving you a little show displaying his pale, toned, body.

the anticipation is having your core pulsating, and so warm, you feel feverish. As Vincent finishes he moves to you where, pulling your pants down. There was a pause as he reached for your panties. You take a deep breath and say “take it off.” He nods and continues.

Slick stuck to your panties as he pulled, he exhales, a borderline moan. Once after it was completely off he pulled you underneath him. You both looked deep into each other's eyes, the unspoken bond stronger than ever.

“Please,” you whisper in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. He shudders, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck. His lean body pressed against yours, and you feel him, hard and ready, rubbing against your entrance before sliding inside you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

You both moan in unison, the sensation overwhelming. Vincent stills for a moment, gritting his teeth, his voice thick with need. “You’re so tight,” he whimpers, his forehead resting against yours.

You giggle softly, running your fingers through his hair. “Move, please,” you beg, your voice trembling. He lets out a low moan and begins to thrust, his pace slow at first, then steadily building in intensity.

His rhythm gets harder and faster, diving deeper into you, making you cry out, the pleasure is getting intense. “Vincent- I’m- oh fuck!” You scream out as your juices gush around his dick, making him crumble in bliss, he creams inside of you.

He holds onto your smaller frame tightly, breathing heavy, covered in sweat, flushed, he kisses your cheek and moves next to you. Grabbing your hand and intwing it with your smaller softer hand. “I love you.” He says turning to look at you with a small smile across his face, you can’t help but smile back.

This time, nothing would tear you apart.

ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ ⚔︎ ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ ⚔︎ ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Welcome Back.

From the moment those tall iron gates— elegant and ebony—swing open and you pass through them, a dizzying nostalgia floods into you. Here is the line that divided the rest of the world from the campus guard behind its barrier. The air is thick with magic, tasting sweet as you sip it.

This feeling, you think, head buzzing from the thrill, can be matched by nothing else.

You’re in a crowd, allowing yourself to be swept up by it and carried along its current. Men in casual wear, men in formal suits, men in outlandish and odd attire. All of you, set on the same path down Main Street.

Seven statues stand erect, monuments to seven great historical figures.

The Queen of Hearts, her rounded proportions blossoming from a patch of roses. She holds up part of her skirt with one hand and a heart-topped wand in the other. Her peaceful expression betrays the sternness with which she commands.

The King of Beasts, perched upon a rock that slants up. The lion has persisted and finally scaled the peak. He now looks skyward, his cunning visage locked to and even grander future.

The Sea Witch, tentacles curling amid carved waves. She casually leans back, unfurling a contract in one hand. Sign, and she will bless you with her benevolence.

The Sorcerer of the Sands, appearing in a cloud of sand. He stands, thin and wiry, with his serpent scepter and a hand on his hip. His face is contemplative, mindfully considering visitors.

The Beautiful Queen, svelte and lovely as she steps forth from the smoke, A poisoned apple is suspended from her fingers. She is as tempting as she is tenacious.

The Lord of the Underworld, grinning amid broiling flames. His hands are both lifted, a ball of fire conjured on one fingertip. Playful as he is, the man is diligent in his work.

The Thorn Witch, her horns and tattered robes right at home in the briar. She is poised and elegant, fingers curled at her chest. Truly noble in every way.

You lower your head to them in deference as you pass.

The crowd funnels into a doorway, then into a dimly lit room. It’s circular in design, with several windows, the curtains drawn over them, and floating coffins ringing the outskirts. With the day banished, the only source of light were the apocalyptic green flames emitting from high sconces.

An elaborate crystal chandelier and many pearl lines hang over their heads. They shift in and out of the void, sometimes catching and shining in the glow of the flames.

In the center is a large mirror upon an elevated platform. The frame, an intricate braid. Its surface, dull and dark—as if coated in a layer of coal dust.

This, too, you remember vividly.

But not the small figure standing become the mirror.

They are fitted in a mourning gown of blacks and deep blues. Feathers adorn their chest, scattered iridescent fragments woven into their skirt. A long wispy veil obscures their face—but you swear you can hear an eerie, faint giggle come from behind the gathered fabric.

They lift their hands, beckoning you to draw nearer. You are compelled to obey, your feet drifting.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” they announce cheerily.

Your scalp tingles. And they sound so close too. Like a childhood lullaby, a musical box wound up.

“Welcome back to our Night Raven College. It is a pleasure to see you again. How nostalgic.”

Rose gold comes to mind, and you're unsure of why that is. It comes with a familiar feeling--of rediscovering a lost part of yourself, of rose-tinted glasses slipping on and clouding one's vision, of the wonderfulness of meeting an old friend. The color of dawn beckoning a new day.

Who is…?

They reach for their veil and carefully raise it.

Your heart leaps. Deja vu.

A demure smile. Honey-colored eyes staring straight into your soul. Wonder and curiosity radiating off of her.

You suddenly know who it is.

“We’ve missed you, dear alumni.”

[nevertheless-moving]

End of The Rope: MDZS AU #8

mdzs au where the junior quartet accidentally activate a rouge cultivator's array and send themselves back in time — post-sunshot, pre-Yiling Patriarch era.

Naturally they seek out Wei Wuxian, the only person they know who might be able to undo the absurdly complex thing.

plot device sidebar: there's a massive yao carcass in the middle of the array — clearly the power source is death based. The four start taking sketches (Mostly Jingyi). Jin Ling swats at a fly, killing it. Eventual cultivation math reveals that the design was ridiculously overpowered. The inventor probably sent himself to the Neolithic era. Hopefully that's — hopefully that's what he was going for because, yeah, this was not designed for round trips. More plot from that later.

Wei Wuxian, currently drinking and pretending that he's avoiding helping with Lotus Pier's reconstruction out of arrogance instead of inability is deeply amused to receive a visit from four miscellaneous cultivators — who he should probably recognize, right? they're the same age as him, wouldn't they have fought in the campaign? I mean his memory is bad but, no his memory is probably bad enough to completely forget these guys. Whatever.

Alright so two Lans, a Jin, and some other sect (Nice guan — sect heir, maybe?) cultivators are here for his help with something important and private that only he can do (weird, but not completely unimaginable. Something too dark for upstanding cultivator's hands?). They really should go to Jiang Cheng for requests, but, eh. He'll hear them out.

They did , in fact, first seek audience with the Yunmeng Jiang Sect Leader for just that reason. They were greeted by the sect leader's sister and, well. No one had the heart to make fun of Jin Ling for stammering briefly, then turning and running away. They figured they could probably find Wei Wuxian somewhere that sells wine. It didn't take very long.

Here's the thing, Wei Wuxian thinks, staring at the four once they are assured of the room's privacy.

These guys, for all their earnest, off-hand flattery, for as much as they addressed him respectfully, could not be less impressed with him.

One second into the conversation and the Jin is ruthlessly mocking him for his corpse bride attendants with a classic Jin sneer. "What, you don't have any living friends to hang out with?" But he's really not scared, honestly, it's not just posturing, which could mean he's stupid but — also he doesn't seem super mean spirited?? Maybe's he's reading friendliness because the tone is so much like Jiang Cheng when he's joking. Kind of disturbing how similar it is. He kindof wants to ruffle his hair.

The Green one is either joining in an admittedly hilarious bit or defending Wei Wuxian? "I think it's nice! Giving the poor souls a chance to — oh, wait — is it supposed to be intimidating? Oh wow, that's kindof sad, isn't it?"

Lan One, also joining in, absolutely no trace of fear (since when were fucking Lans so at ease around demonic cultivation): "Please disregard my companions. I think it could be very intimidating, to the right sort of visitors, Senior Wei." Senior? Am I even older than you?

Lan Two, a little nervy, but also sitting down and pouring himself a drink?!?: "Kindof over the top though right? I mean, this is exactly the sort of thing you're going to be embarrassed by in —"

"Jingyi! You can't just—"

"What! I'm right! This is totally the sort of 'oh look how evil and scary I am' showmanship that he's going to look back on in 20 years and —"

If the complete and utter disregard of his reputation wasn't enough, they brought him a bribe! Spicy, edible, bribes! And wine! Lans bringing him WINE!

It's crazy, it's definitely crazy — but considering all that — he's almost prepared to believe that might actually be who they say they are, once they start explaining.

Wei Wuxian of course doesn't let them explain much — he knows just enough of time travel theoreticals to know that it either explodes horribly or doesn't actually fix your past mistakes. Until he looks over their notes and figures out what kindof time magic it is they should keep any major changes to themselves — seriously Jin you can destroy your soul with this shit. He'll erase his memory if he has to but — fuck.

He wants. He wants the future where no one's scared of him anymore, not really, not to where they can't sit and share a table with him like a normal person. Where he teaches guest lectures to little Lans and Lan Zhan apparently trusts him enough to help take care of his son as a kid (BABY LAN ZHAN SON! LAN ZHAN HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD ! WHAT A PERFECT YOUNG MASTER YOU RAISED!!") And Shije's son makes fun of him with Jiang Cheng's voice and... he wants.

Which double means they can't explain the terrible things they obviously want to tell him because damn he did not expect to live, what, 20, 30 more years?? Wow! Lan Zhan's not even married yet, and his son is probably 20, so, yeah. Lan Zhan would probably have a super long, elegant courtship — no, no don't tell me. His wife has to be perfect, for you to be such an upstanding young growth — I SAID DON'T ANSWER MY QUESTIONS DO YOU WANT TO TURN LOTUS PIER INTO A CRATER?!?!

Identity Confirmation Aside: Headcanon that Wei Wuxian can in some fashion or another do the genetic stesting thing that fierce corpse's apparently do (ala Nie Mingue's corpse in the Guanyin Temple), which is one way he 'programmed' his armies to attack certain clans and leave alone others. Mildly satisfied that drinking the Jin/Jiang blood was enough to scare them — and ugh, she seriously ended up marrying a Jin?? — okay, okay I won't insult your father! Yeesh. Identity Confirmation Aside Aside: The juniors were less freaked about him drinking blood (they've seen him do that before), and more freaked about their young (oh god is he younger than Zizhen) FLAMBOYANTLY CUTSLEEVE uncle licking Jin Ling's wrist and making WAY too intense eye contact. He was going for demonically intimidating but considering they've all seen him 'cleaning' Lan Wanjii's hands for him after getting street food it came off kindof... yeah. Jingyi gleefully plans on using this against them both at some point in the future. Jin Ling adds another bulletpoint to the Wei Wuxian specific trauma list.

Jin Ling Meta From this AU

My MDZS AU Masterlist

[returntosunder]

oH DW I LOVE TELLING PPL ABOUT MY AU!!!!!!

Rn I have a few designs!

Sans (or Romance/Roro across the multiverse) is going to get a remake someday but things like his leopard patterned fluff and his eyes will stay! You can Definitely see the Lust inspo more from him so his design is gonna change to fit the rest of the au! Everyone is fine tho!

First we have Flowey! Who iirc is a carnation! Might needa go through my sources again to fact check later but im 90% sure they are. I don't have much for them rn as I was mainly focusing on the others BUT they probably act more friendly as a way to trick Frisk, which means no Friendliness Pellets

TORIELLLL THE GOAT!!!! She's her usual compassionate motherly self so she fits right in with the au! No need to change her at all

(Skipping Asgore bc he's Important :3)

ASRIEL AND CARA, yes Cara, not Chara, bc i can :3

Their story goes on as normal, Cara falls down, Asriel saves them, they become apart of the family and after Cara falls ill they make a plan to free the monsters, as Cara wanted to give back to Asriel and their parents for giving them a home (didn't work obviously < :3)

BUT IF U CAN SEE IT Cara's soul has Faint cracks on them, That's bc it's meant to represent emotional and mental damage! Like Frisk, Cara has also had a hard time on the surface but Healed in The Underground. The deeper the crack, the worse the mental anguish is

Muffet and Nabstablook are pretty much the same to an extent. Muffet is still a greedy cheapskate who overprices her products but does it to help herself and her family of spiders who weren't as fortunate as she was, and Nabstablook is still Nabstablook<3

ASGORE IM MORE NORMAL ABOUT

Bc it plays into smth I added into the designs

I said that in this culture: the underground wears brighter colors with some darker ones. Usually it's not common to see a monster with darker clothes and they believe that a monster's clothes represents how they feel. That's the angle I was going with, with Frisk and Asgore! Frisk enters the underground with darker clothes and in Pacifist, their clothes get brighter as they heal! Asgore tho has the Most darkest color palette, and that's basically due to him abandoning ALL of his morals- the morals he once taught to Monster Kind, all to avenge his kids, and despite never wanting to go down this path, he feels as if its too late to turn back now so he fully embraces the darkness. His gold accents becoming dim and eyes red with Rage. And that adds a new meaning to the monsters calling him a "Lousy King", bc he rejected the same morals he once told.

SPEAKING OF GOLD ACCENTS! There's more reason as to why these characters have golden accents

You may or may not have noticed, but the gold is the same exact gold Cara and Asriel wear on their shirts and heart lockets! Most monsters have at least one or two pieces of golden accents on them to show how much Asriel and Cara's death effected them and their culture and how despite it being Years since it happened they never left their mind, still tho, they continue to preach about showing LOVE to the humans once they're freed, believing it'll unite their houses once more

And I have More that's not Drawn yet, as I still need to draw more characters (Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton and Papyrus are left and idk who to do first-) BUT i still have ideas....True Lab :3

I'll stop here for now so I dont bombard you with info and let you catch up!

YAYYY :DDD LITERALLY KICKING MT FEET WHEN I SAW MORE FOR THIS

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIER DESIGNS!!! THEY ALL LOOK SO FLIPPIN CUTE!!! I can see the lust inspo, but it's so pretty, and it doesn't take away from its originally. I love it omg!

THE BROKEN HEART AND DARKER CLOTHES ON ASGORE IS SO GOOD THO! I love the thing with monsters' clothes representing how they feel, Its really neat!! Omg I can't wait for the others design that you need to do :D

And all the monsters having some gold accents in their clothes cause of Asriel and Cara is so sweet in a way, showing that their deaths even affected the other monsters not just the main family is really nice, I really like that a lot

Im absolutely eating up this au. Please lmk if you even update this with more info or more monster designs ^^

[onejellyfishplease]

BEHOLD! my new TMNT iteration!

tmnt: Strained Eyes

In this iteration, much like rottmnt, all of the turtles have super powers. however, there is a little catch. while the rottmnt turtle's powers suit their soul, Strained Eye's turtles... don't.

(please ignore the fact that Mikey doesnt really look like a spotted pond turtle, i came up with the design first and had to find a turtle species second)

So! Mikeys powers basically allow him to cause every thing he touches to rot/decompose/desintergrate. he does have some control, but not reliably.

And though he is a good cook, there is a 50/50 chance that you will end up eating mouldy/rotten food. but all the other times it will be delicious.

he (obviously) has insecurities about touch, he is very aware that he could very easily kill someone with just one touch.

he can also grow mushrooms on command -he can also grow them on his shell which freaks out his brothers a lot.

also hes not actually blind in one eye! its mostly just cosmetic.

Up next we have Donnie! compared to Mieky hes a very brightly coloured boy!

his power is illusions! they can be incredibly lifelike. the problem is, These illusions can be permanent if Donnie doesnt dispel them, and sometimes are summoned only by his subconscious. So Donnie can struggle with figuring out if something is real or not.

The only senses his illusions cannot mimic are touch and smell (and taste) so he is usually extremely tactile, holding onto his brothers to assure himself that theyre real and not just a projection of his mind. he covers a lot of stuff in his lab (and his brothers) with strong smelling perfumes as well.

application wise- he uses his powers in tandem with his machines to make incredibly realistic looking androids. example: robot cat that looks like real cat. robot dragon that looks like REAL dragon, etc etc. he can also use them to appear human and turn invisible. (he can expand this to all his brothers) but he still hasnt gotten down the art of human expressions, so when ever he appears human he looks quite uncanny when he talks.

It's Leo!!

now Leo is ~battery powered~ his powers basically allow him to absorb energy straight from the source, such as absorbing the electricity off of an electric wire, or even sucking the energy from a person. or eating batteries.

an unfortunate side affect (depending on how you look at it) is that Leo doesnt need to sleep. ever. as long as he keeps absorbing energy then he's completely fine! and the more electricity/energy he absorbs the faster/stronger he gets! he also thinks faster! coming up with excellent strategies on the fly!

however- the same is true of the other way around, when Leo runs out of energy (which he does often- hes VERY bad at judging how much he has left) he will start to get more lethargic, his cognitive funtions will slow down and his short term memory will start to degrade.

If he completly runs out of energy his heart stops and he dies.

but dont worry! you just need to zap him with more energy and hell get right back up again (Donnie has a defibrillator just for Leo). though its best not to leave him in that state for long. because like that he is still functionally a dead body.

And finally we have Raph!

Raph breaths fire. a very simple power, in fact he can even hold his breath for hours apon end and his skin is extremely tough! theres basically no side effects too!

Hes so lucky compared to his brothers, having a power that suits him perfectly and doesnt mess him up in the head.

because of this, Raph has kinda moulded himself into the hyper aggressive mom friend, making sure they dont all run themselves into the ground because of the drawbacks to their powers.

he still has anger issues too <3

[kurios-development-hell]

Uploading it individually to explain the design and how it differs from the first one I did more than half a year ago.

We all know how Spamton fell, that's no secret. The only difference with my AU (barring some narrative subtleties) is that he had it harsher and by the time Kris found him at that back-alley dumpster, Spamton was at his last ropes health-wise. In fact he was so weak against Kris he didn't even put a fight and just cut to the chase of inveigling Kris to get easy access to the robotic body that would help him extend his own life (and to make his enemies to pay dearly afterwards). Using Kris' SOUL to cut a rift between both worlds was another of the plans he had in the backburner, but that's a story for another day.

From the design, he's just a very emaciated "Addison", his corrupted data translated his mental state into physical glitches and other deformations. He still has his "Lucky Coat" though it has seen better days, and still wears the shirt from his "Big-Shot" era (the bowtie was torn and tossed away to be sold to whoever he deems worthy of it). He preserves the 3 fingers from the first design (if you are curious about why he has 3 fingers and a blue bandage on his right hand, ask away). His Dealmaker were a gift from someone to hide the traces of the virus from his eyes, and are currently cracked and missing a glass piece.

He's literally bones at this point of the story, decayed into a wight of his former self that is feared by most civilians living in the suburbs of Cyber City (who put him into the urban legend as "The Salesman's Pale Ghost"). His stature waned with the passing of time, and the reason why he's becoming more "compact" is tied to a plot device that explains Spamton's nature from a computer engineering point (he soaked in the palace's acid more than once but is not the reason behind his shrinkage).

Overall he's the self-same unstable salesman, now more unstable after receiving the "suburbian" treatment by many of the gangs using parts of the Trash Zone as hideout from the authorities. That made him more rowdy and prone to violence, but knows when to retreat when his body is not cooperating with his mind. Evil is not found in his heart, just pure raw survival instinct that blinds his reason when he has one of his glitching episodes. He still peddles lost and found things and other utility trash. Has a friend that is able to repair most of what he finds, in exchange of bottles of spirits (that are usually smuggled about the suburbs). Gambling is another of the sources of income for him, and sometimes the only means to survive the anger of a crime boss.

Does he long for his old lost life? I will leave that to your imagination (or I will spoil all the surprises 😅).

[bloodthirstymachine]

does blood from different sources "taste" different, or does it all taste the same? Like blood from a machine, or blood from demons, ya get the idea

YES!

Machine blood: stale, sometimes if I'm lucky they have "fresher" blood. mostly it just tastes like rust and copper.

Demon blood: demon blood is sour, and more metallic-y. to be honest it feels like the heart stopped beating long before they died.

Angel: funnily enough Angel blood tastes like sorbet! each angel has a different flavor but Gabriel has lemon sorbet tasting blood

Human: like home

Another weird quirk is that the prime soul's blood doesn't have a taste, its flavorless... Or more flavor than I was designed to have... I'll have to check

[rowayneau]

Cardcaptor Alastor AU

Alastor didn’t mean to stab her dad. Well… okay, maybe she did a little. But she certainly didn’t mean to die and wind up in Hell as a ten-year-old magical girl-in-training with trauma, a haunted book, and a duck that won’t stop judging her fashion choices.

When she accidentally unleashes the LuciCards—powerful magical beings created by Lucifer himself during a long-suppressed sparkle-core weeb phase—Alastor finds herself chosen as their new master. (Sorry, Cardcaptor. Same thing, apparently.)

Now, with Charlie as her mom-ager, Vaggie reluctantly supplying glitter glue for backup, and Lucifer emotionally spiraling in a corner every time he sees his old spellwork reused, Alastor must seal the rogue cards, discover her own magic, and maybe—just maybe—heal the broken pieces of her heart.

Hell has never looked this sparkly. And for once… maybe that’s a good thing.

This AU takes place in a canon-divergent world where Alastor, born later into the modern day, dies at the age of 10 after protecting herself from her abusive father, who had previously killed her mother. In a final act of self-defense, Alastor stabs her father in the neck before succumbing to the injuries he inflicted on her.

In this version of the AU, Charlie has not yet established the Redemption Hotel and is still laying the groundwork for it. She and her girlfriend, Vaggie—who Charlie found and later got together with—are working on plans for it. Amid all the chaos, Alastor is taken in by Charlie, much like Vaggie was before her, and now lives with both of them in Hell.

Alastor discovers the Luci Card Book hidden beneath the hotel basement, where Lucifer concealed it to hide his embarrassing "weeb phase" and to seal the extremely powerful cards. In a fateful accident, Alastor releases all the cards around Pentagram City and must now embark on the mission to collect them.

Charlie, obsessed with magical girls, takes on the role of Tomoyo in this AU, filming Alastor during her mission and designing many, many different costumes for her. Vaggie, despite her reluctance, follows because of her deep love for Charlie. Over time, however, Charlie becomes a second mother to Alastor, offering her the care and support Alastor never had in life.

Alastor is naturally drawn to Charlie, as her kindness and compassion mirror those of her own late mother. This bond grows stronger over time, and Charlie becomes a source of unconditional love, much like Sakura's father in Cardcaptor Sakura.

Some canon events remain consistent with the original series, such as Vaggie’s backstory as an Exorcist who was banished for sparing a child sinner. In this world, Vaggie’s past and her commitment to Charlie only strengthen the familial bond between the three of them.

Alastor discovers that she might be connected to the Luci Cards, as her soul spark responds to their magic. She could be the final missing card, part of why Lucifer’s spell still works, or perhaps she is Hell’s Magical Girl, destined to make the world sparkle in the most unexpected ways.

At the heart of this AU is the theme of love—love that takes many forms and builds connections between people, no matter how broken or different they are. If you care for someone and love them with all your heart,

Everything will surely be alright.

------------------------------------------------------------

🌸 Foreword

From the desk of Charlie Morningstar:

They say nothing ever grows in Hell. But they were wrong.

This story began not with redemption or hotels or grand ideas—but with a child. A lost little girl named Alastor who found a deck of glittering, chaotic, ancient magical cards in a city that forgot how to hope.

She was just ten. And yet, she faced down curses, monsters, memories, and something far scarier—love.

She wasn’t supposed to become a heroine. I wasn’t supposed to become a mother. And my dad? He definitely wasn’t supposed to leave behind a duck-themed book full of weaponized feelings during his weeb phase.

But here we are.

I watched her grow—saw her fall, get back up, and use her magic not to destroy, but to heal. She changed people. She saved people. She gave Angel Dust his first real second chance. She made my father cry with pride, though he’ll never admit it. And she reminded me why I wanted to build the Hazbin Hotel in the first place—not for appearances, not to prove anything to Heaven, but because love deserves a home.

This journal is a collection of memories: of spells and sparkles, of letters across realms, of handmade dresses and bedtime hugs. Of a magical girl who bloomed even in Hell.

If you're reading this, I hope you believe what we now know to be true:

Redemption is real. Love is real. And even in Hell, something beautiful can grow.

With all my heart,

Charlie Morningstar

[disruptivevoib]

HMS Design Explanations Overview

I've decided to break these down into four posts. This is the first one, focusing on an explanation of the strings and sources I draw on my designs in a more baseline way. The next three will focus on Heart, Mind, and Soul.

[Whole will not be receiving one, as he has sources and strings but they are all just Soul, Heart, and Mind's own put together.]

[Explanation under the cut]

Sources are indicative of a third's function, they produce strings which are an extension of this function.

Mind's strings are indicative of thoughts, and can often be small or fleeting, while others will stick around.

Heart's strings are indicative of emotion. As feeling is complicated, many strings are produced in one instance and often derive from any emotion he feels in the moment. They stick around for a while, and some never quite go away.

Soul does not have strings that manifest themselves only inside of his source, or when attached to an alternative self-extension. As a representation of Self-awareness, Memory, and Personhood, he has no real function that can be portrayed through string.

Whole's strings function the same as HMS, though they are all looped together and come from just his one source.

Sources are a crucial part to the construct themself. As the host of their functionality and energy, if it is damaged, that injury is permanent and altering. Some are surface level and not all that visible, others might shatter the source and thus slowly begin to leak out energy and waste away.

This is what happens in Sun Down to Mind. Though he is shot in the neck, like glass, everything cracks and it just barely reaches his source. Thus while he is not dead, he is slowly dying.

Sibling Posts: [Links will be edited in here once the other posts are made]

Mind's In-depth Explanation

Heart's In-depth Explanation

Soul's In-depth Explanation

[sheslikealionimagines]

Ash and Aether ~ Part 3

Pairings: Gale Dekarios x Fem!OC 

Rating: G

Genre: Slow burn romance 

Words: 3.6k  

Status: Complete (14 parts + Epilogue)

Summary: Aryn, a self-taught mage with wild, instinctive magic, crosses paths with Gale, a brilliant but burdened wizard whose life is tethered to a volatile arcane secret. What begins as an uneasy alliance deepens into a partnership of intellect, trust, and unspoken yearning as they challenge each other’s beliefs—and slowly unravel the walls around their hearts. Together, they discover that the most powerful magic isn’t found in tomes or incantations, but in the quiet understanding between two souls brave enough to truly see one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They had been studying together for weeks now—longer than either had planned, certainly longer than either would have admitted at the outset. What had begun in the broken, uncertain quiet after fire and guilt and too many sleepless nights had settled into something else entirely. Not easy. Not simple. But steady. Real.

Their partnership had been born of necessity—Gale’s knowledge, Aryn’s raw power—but it had grown in the spaces between danger. In the shared looks when a spell worked. In the long silences filled not with tension, but with thought. They had come to inhabit the same rhythm, not by design, but by quiet accumulation. Like two instruments gradually learning to harmonize.

Aryn had changed. Not softened, exactly—she was still sharp-edged, still more storm than breeze—but she no longer bristled at instruction or deflected with silence. She argued now. Fiercely. Teased. Her dry wit was quick as ever, but laced now with warmth instead of warning. She laughed with her whole body. She interrupted Gale when he got too pedantic. She listened when he grew quiet.

And Gale… Gale had started looking forward to the hours between dusk and dawn. To the sound of her boots on the stairs. To the way her presence filled the tower with something that didn’t feel like dread or memory. He laughed again, not because it was polite, but because she surprised him into it. She reminded him that he could still be surprised.

Tonight, they stood in one of the upper tower chambers—an old space with high, slanted ceilings and windows half-fogged from the damp. The stone bore the evidence of past missteps and quiet triumphs: scorch marks near the baseboards, sigils half-faded on the walls, chalk smudges like ghostly fingerprints. Crystalline residue glittered in the corners where spellwork had unraveled. Nothing in the room was pristine. And maybe that was why Gale preferred it.

Between them, a resonance matrix stretched across the floor—carefully drawn arcs and concentric circles, each inscribed with runes that shimmered softly under the lamplight. The Weave pulsed faintly at its edges, waiting.

Gale knelt near one of the outer glyphs, adjusting it with a precision born of years spent chasing perfection—failing, chasing again. “This should, in theory, allow us to align magical frequencies in tandem,” he said quietly. “It’ll let us track distortions without destabilizing the source.”

Aryn crouched across from him, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear with ink-smeared fingers. “Right. Or it’ll pull another carpet fire.”

He didn’t look up. “That was your improvisation.”

“Which stopped your sleeve from combusting. You’re welcome, by the way.”

His mouth twitched. “The sleeve was enchanted.”

“Badly,” she muttered with a smirk, rising to her feet.

They stepped into their respective circles, the chalk flaring softly beneath their boots. Pale gold and silver lines traced up their legs like veins, threading toward the heart of the matrix. The chamber responded like something waking slowly—tentative, uncertain.

They lifted their hands in unison. Mirror images.

And the magic pushed back.

Her energy surged, bold and unshaped. His moved like water over glass—measured, restrained. The clash wasn’t violent, but palpable. The tension prickled in the air, a low crackle of resistance that stirred the dust around their feet.

For a moment, it felt like the spell would tear apart at the seams. But then—just barely—they adjusted.

A shared breath.

A shift in pressure.

The two flows, so different, began to find one another. Not forced. Not tamed. Aligned.

Gale exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. The Weave slipped between them now in fine threads, humming softly, like notes of a half-remembered melody. The arcane lines shimmered with color, shifting with emotion more than intent.

Aryn’s hand sparked—a ribbon of blue-white energy curling from her fingers to his. It brushed his wrist, warm and electric. He flinched, not from pain, but from surprise.

She blinked. “That was… assertive.”

“Assertive is one word,” Gale murmured, watching as another thread of light wrapped slowly around his forearm.

“Suggestive?”

He gave her a dry look. “Possessive.”

“Oh. So, your type, then.”

He might’ve laughed—might’ve—but something in the room was changing. Deepening.

More strands rose from the field, drifting like soft silk. One slid along her collarbone, light as breath. Another curved behind his neck, curious, weightless.

Aryn’s posture shifted. Less playful now. Her eyes met his, unguarded for a beat too long.

“This feels…” she started, but didn’t finish. A shadow crossed her face—uncertainty, maybe even awe. “It feels like it… knows us.”

Gale hesitated. “Magic remembers intent.”

“Then what’s it remembering now?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because to answer would mean admitting something aloud he hadn’t even admitted to himself.

That he had started looking for her in the silences.

That her presence was no longer an interruption to his solitude—but its end.

The energy between them pulsed again, a slow wave that pressed into skin and bone like memory. Aryn’s fingers shifted—brushed his.

Deliberate.

An invitation, not an accident.

Gale didn’t move. Not away.

“Is this part of the diagram?” she asked, voice low.

“No,” he said. “This is… beyond it.”

Their eyes met across the spell’s glowing seam. She didn’t look away. Neither did he.

“It doesn’t feel dangerous,” she said.

“No,” he breathed. “It feels… personal.”

The final strand of magic hovered between them like a breath held too long—then dissolved, scattering into luminous mist. The light faded. The chalk lines dulled. The circles vanished.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

Eventually, Gale stepped back. Too careful. Too practiced. He cleared his throat like it might hide the way his pulse was still trying to catch up.

Aryn rolled her shoulders and shook out her hands, as if to dispel static. “So,” she said, trying for casual. “Resonance achieved?”

“On several levels,” he said, a little too dryly.

She grinned. “Emotionally catastrophic?”

“Inevitable.”

The sound she made then—half laugh, half sigh—was softer than her usual retorts. Earnest. Familiar. She grabbed her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder like armor.

“Come on,” she said. “You’re buying me dinner. Again.”

“And if I decline?”

“I’ll tell everyone you cried during that spell last week.”

“That was dust.”

She was already turning toward the door, boots tapping lightly against stone. But then she paused in the archway, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Don’t take too long,” she said, quieter now.

Then she was gone.

Gale stood there alone in the chamber, the room still humming faintly with the echo of shared magic. The spell had passed. But something else remained.

A residue. A shift. A beginning he wasn’t sure he was ready for—but couldn’t deny.

His hand drifted to his chest, over the place where the orb still pulsed in its silent rhythm. For once, it didn’t feel like a threat. Just… a reminder. That his heart was still his.

That he still had something left to give.

And maybe—just maybe—someone willing to receive it.

He turned toward the dark corridor she’d left behind, breath catching in his throat.

Then he followed.

Not quickly.

But he followed.

~ 

The candles burned low on the long table, their flames flickering like they, too, were growing drowsy with the hour. Scrolls lay unrolled and half-annotated, and the spine of a tome had given way under the weight of their discussion—folded open like a worn secret between them. Outside, the night had deepened into stillness, but inside the tower, the room hummed softly with the residue of long-spent magic and shared concentration.

Aryn sat cross-legged in her chair, her hair coming loose from its braid, a smear of ink on the side of one finger where she’d been too focused to notice. Gale leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, one hand gesturing idly as he spoke.

“—and of course, I was convinced it was her mistake,” he said, voice colored with reluctant amusement. “I spent half the day recalculating every rune in the matrix to prove her wrong. I even went to Karsus’ Notes for reference, if you can imagine.”

Aryn looked up, brow arched. “You argued with Mystra’s instructions using Karsus as a source?”

Gale sighed. “I was seventeen. The definition of hubris.”

She snorted softly, the sound barely breaking the quiet between them. “What happened?”

“She let me finish the spell exactly as I’d revised it,” he said, leaning back. “Which, of course, triggered a minor dimensional collapse in the practice chamber.”

Aryn blinked. “A collapse?”

“Localized. No casualties, unless you count my pride.” He smiled faintly, glancing away. “Mystra simply waited outside the entire time. Then afterward, she said—very kindly, which only made it worse—‘Sometimes, we must be humbled before we understand the shape of what we hold.’”

He expected her to laugh again, but when he looked, she wasn’t laughing. Her expression had softened into something quieter—contemplative, eyes tracing the motion of his hands more than the words.

Gale stilled.

Something in her gaze held him there—open, unflinching. Not wonder. Not admiration. Just… presence. Like she was trying to memorize the lines of what he wasn’t saying.

“What?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he meant.

Aryn blinked, startled, then looked down at the book between them. “Nothing. Just—” She hesitated. “You speak about her like she’s still watching.”

“She might be,” he said lightly, though he didn’t quite smile. “The gods are rarely polite with their absences.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked after a moment. “Her attention?”

He was quiet, his fingers grazing the worn edge of the open page. “Some days. Others… I think I’m still learning what it means to be whole without needing to be watched.”

That seemed to strike something in her. She sat back, drawing a slow breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been watched properly,” she said. “Not in the way that sees, not just measures.”

Gale glanced at her, but her gaze had returned to the text. She flipped a page absently, not reading. “People see the flare. The recklessness. Or they look for discipline I never had the chance to learn. Either way, they see a version of me I’m supposed to grow into—or out of. Never just… me.”

Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of fatigue behind it. Not drama, not vulnerability worn for sympathy—just truth, laid down like a quiet blade between them.

He didn’t speak for a while. The fire cracked once in the hearth. Then he said, “Maybe the question isn’t whether you’ll grow into something, but whether anyone will let you shape it yourself.”

She looked at him again. Her expression hadn’t changed, but something in her posture did—a subtle loosening, a shift from bracing to listening.

They fell into silence again. Not uncomfortable. Not quite companionable. Just full of something unspoken and shared.

After a while, Gale reached for the book between them to mark a section they hadn’t covered. His hand brushed hers—an ordinary contact, brief, and not especially charged. But neither of them moved away. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and she didn’t adjust her hand.

The verse lay forgotten beneath their touch.

They stayed that way a moment longer—hands touching, eyes lowered, words scattered and irrelevant.

Then, quietly, Aryn said, “We should stop for the night.”

Gale nodded, but didn’t move right away. “We’ll finish the section tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She stood slowly, gathering her notes. “But I’m keeping your copy. Mine doesn’t have the margins.”

He gave a soft laugh, one brow lifting. “Careful. You’ll start to think like me.”

“Only when it’s useful,” she said over her shoulder, already half gone down the hall.

He watched her go, the echo of her footsteps fading through the tower’s stone spine, and found himself still smiling—not for what had passed between them, but for what hadn’t needed to. 

~

A few days had passed since their last attempt, and the larger practice chamber still carried the echo of that effort—subtle, lingering. Tonight, the room was slowly warming under the enchantments Gale had activated earlier, the air shimmering with residual heat. Beyond the tall arched windows, night pressed close, the mist outside softening the lamplight into a silvery haze that spilled across the stone walls, casting long, expectant shadows. There was a hush to the space, not of emptiness, but of something waiting—like the pause before a spell takes shape.

Aryn stood near the center of the room, arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted. “You said this one would be fun.”

“It is fun,” Gale replied, his hands deftly adjusting the angle of one of the mirrored foci. “In the same way that scaling a cliff during a thunderstorm is fun.”

Aryn gave him a dry look. “Is that a Waterdhavian thing, or just a Gale thing?”

He smiled without looking up. “You wound me.”

“You terrify me.”

He chuckled, straightening and stepping back to admire the overlapping circle he’d drawn in chalk. Runes glowed faintly along the outer ring, pulsing in tandem with the slow rhythm of their breath. “It’s a simple shared conjuration framework—”

“That destabilizes into an interplanar feedback loop if we’re not synchronized?” she finished, scanning the runes.

“Precisely. See? You have been paying attention.”

She exhaled, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves as she stepped into her designated ring. “Fine. But if anything bites, slithers, or sprouts extra limbs, I reserve the right to name it after you.”

“Fair,” he said, moving to his own side of the circle. “And if it spontaneously lectures me about safety protocol, I’ll know who to blame.”

The spell began with a breath.

Then another.

Their hands rose in mirror to one another’s, fingers parting in a slow, practiced motion. Between them, the Weave stirred to life—brilliant threads of magic pulling together in a symmetrical lattice. The mirrored foci caught the light and threw it back, illuminating their faces in gold and violet hues.

For a few blissful moments, it worked. The conjuration pattern spun cleanly through the air, folding inward as Gale shaped the outer structure and Aryn anchored the core. He watched her out of the corner of his eye—how naturally she met the Weave now, no longer yanking at it or flinching from its pull. She was learning to listen. To feel.

Then something shifted.

A thread in the lattice twitched—no visible rupture, just a slight stutter, like a breath caught mid-sentence.

Gale’s brow furrowed. “Did you—?”

“I didn’t—” Aryn’s eyes widened. “Wait, no—”

The spell shimmered.

Then it flared.

And with a loud pop, the lattice collapsed in on itself in a shower of sparks—and when the smoke cleared, hovering in the air where the spell’s core had been was a faintly glowing, six-legged chicken.

It flapped once, slowly. Its feathers shimmered faintly with arcane residue. It blinked with unsettling composure.

Aryn stared.

Gale stared.

The chicken gave a soft, echoing brrr-AWK.

“…Well,” Gale said after a beat. “That’s new.”

Aryn blinked. “We conjured a chicken.”

“A magically enhanced, potentially extraplanar chicken,” he corrected.

“Don’t make it worse.”

The chicken drifted lazily in the air, slowly rotating. One of its legs twitched. Then, quite suddenly, it cast a minor illusion—a perfect replica of Aryn’s face, except the mouth was open and shouting something incoherent.

Gale made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke. “Did it just—?”

“It mocked me,” Aryn said, offended.

The chicken puffed slightly, as though proud. Then it exploded into a burst of glittering smoke and vanished without a sound.

Silence followed.

Aryn, now dusted in shimmering sparkles, turned to Gale with a blank expression.

He opened his mouth.

She raised a hand. “No. You don’t get to explain that.”

He closed his mouth.

Then—against her best efforts, despite the absurdity of it all—Aryn laughed. Short at first, startled, then deeper, until she had to clutch her side, the sound spilling out of her like breath breaking through pressure.

Gale watched her, expression softening. There was something in that laugh—something honest. It hadn’t been coaxed or performed. It simply was, unguarded and bright and real in a way that made his chest ache a little.

“Your face,” she managed, gasping between laughs. “You looked so betrayed.”

“It was supposed to be a beacon,” he said, mock-dignified. “Not… poultry.”

Aryn wiped her eyes. “Do all your lessons end with existential chickens?”

“Only the most memorable ones.”

The moment stretched, still warm with shared laughter, and Gale felt it settle in his bones—this ease between them. The magic may have gone sideways, but they hadn’t. Not once. Even in failure, there was a rhythm here. A shared instinct. Trust.

They started cleaning the ritual circle together, their conversation drifting into a more subdued register.

“You handled that well,” Gale said, glancing at her as he dispelled the glowing residue from one of the crystals.

“I was just happy it didn’t lay an egg.”

“It could have,” he mused. “Imagine the possibilities.”

“I am, and I hate it.”

Gale chuckled again, then paused. “But really. You didn’t panic. You adapted.”

Aryn shrugged, brushing stray chalk off her sleeve. “Well… you were calm.”

“I wasn’t,” he said quietly. “I just trusted you.”

That pulled her up short. She looked at him—really looked—and something in her expression faltered, then shifted. Softened.

The air between them was still charged, but no longer with chaos. It was steadier now. Shared.

“You don’t say things like that casually, do you?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “Not often.”

She nodded slowly. “Then I’ll try not to take it lightly.”

He smiled—not the polite one, not the careful one. A real one, quiet and a little tired. “We’re learning together. That matters more than getting the spell right.”

Aryn gave a small nod, then, on impulse, reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the shimmer-feathers the chicken had left behind. She held it up between two fingers.

“For the record,” she said, “if you ever publish this as part of your magical memoirs, I expect to be listed under ‘co-conspirator,’ not ‘victim.’”

“Of course,” he said. “But I reserve the right to name the chapter ‘Fowl Play.’”

She groaned aloud.

And he laughed.

Not because of the joke—it was terrible—but because she stayed. Because they were still here, brushing glitter off their sleeves and trading terrible puns beneath the flickering light of conjuration lamps.

Because for all the chaos, something between them had held fast.

Something was taking shape.

~

The tower had settled into its late-night hush, the kind that seeped into stone and marrow alike. After the laughter. After the magic. After the chicken, of all things, still warm in the center of the study table. The spell circle had been drawn, tested, nearly sung into resonance—close, but not yet whole. And now only the quiet remained, stretching long and wide around him like the silence that follows a heartbeat too strong.

Gale stayed behind when the rest of the evening had ended. Aryn had gone, soft-footed and tired, her departure marked by a murmured goodnight and a lingering glance he hadn’t quite known how to return. Not properly. Not without giving something away.

He moved slowly through the room now, as if the walls might bruise under too much haste. One by one, he extinguished the candles, his hand steady, his magic gentler than necessary. The scent of warm wax and parchment curled into the air, mingling with the fading trace of fire-roasted herbs and ash. He told himself he was simply tidying. That he was only preserving the order of things.

But that wasn’t it. Not entirely.

Aryn’s side of the table still looked lived-in, chaotic in a way that made sense only if you knew her. Scrolls folded unevenly. An inkwell sitting precariously on its side, dried ink feathering out like a shadow. Quills scattered at thoughtless angles, as though she’d reached for them mid-sentence and never looked down. It was, impossibly, endearing.

He reached to stack her notes, brushing the edge of the top sheet—and paused as one slipped free, fluttering down across the open pages of the tome they’d shared.

He followed it, fingers catching the edge.

It wasn’t spellwork. Not precisely.

In the cramped, hurried handwriting he recognized as hers, the margin beside one of their more intricate diagrams held a few stark, quiet words:

Anchor with intent, not force.

G’s method balances yield with precision—remember the shape of the silence between.

Beneath it, she had drawn a sketch of the lattice they’d failed to hold—a net of interlocking threads labeled not with arcane notation, but with something more intimate.

Trust. Restraint. Invitation. Patience.

Gale sank slowly into her chair, the parchment whispering against his sleeve. The breath he drew in caught at the back of his throat.

She had listened. Really listened.

Not just to the spell, not just to the theory, but to him. His rhythms, the deliberate hesitations he used to give the Weave time to settle. She had seen him—seen him—and thought it worth writing down.

He closed his eyes against the rush that rose, unbidden and sharp.

So much of his life had been spent trying to prove himself—brilliant enough, useful enough, worthy enough for gods and councils and lovers alike. And when it all came crashing down—when Mystra turned her back, when his own hubris nearly tore the fabric of the world—he had come to believe that the only things left to him were penance and containment. He had become careful. Controlled. Alone by necessity, not by choice.

But here she was. Aryn. Messy, raw, stubborn—and devastatingly earnest. She didn’t flinch from the cracks in his magic, or the shadows beneath it. She wrote his method in the margin as though it mattered. As though he mattered.

His gaze dropped again to the drawing.

At the center of the sketched lattice, she’d marked two faint sigils—small, flame-like, nearly hidden. They mirrored each other, not identical but clearly meant to exist in tandem. One without the other would tip the whole thing off balance.

He stared at it, unblinking, the ache behind his ribs growing heavier with every beat of his heart. He had no idea what to do with this—this vulnerability, this invitation. The fear inside him curled tight like a wound refusing to heal.

Because what if she was wrong? What if she saw only what she wanted to see?

What if he let her close and became the ruin he was so desperately trying not to be?

His hand moved without his full permission, conjuring a shimmer of warm, soft light at his fingertip. He hovered it just above the sigils, barely touching, and let a breath of his own magic fall into the space beside hers. It left no mark—nothing visible. But it was there.

His reply. Wordless, uncertain, but true.

I see you. I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try.

He placed the page gently atop the others, face-up. He wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t read it. But he wouldn’t mark it, either. Some things needed to remain untouched.

The tome closed with a quiet weight, the parchment slipped inside to keep their place.

He gathered his cloak and paused in the doorway, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the still-lit study—the room that had, somehow, begun to feel less like a battleground and more like a home.

“Anchor with intent,” he said softly, letting the words fall into the hush like a blessing or a plea.

And then he stepped into the darkened corridor, her trust tucked carefully against the hurt he still carried—fragile, glowing, and impossibly real.

[ninja-confession-go]

Ghost!Cole and Zane is my favorite variant of glacier because they're both functionally immortal. There's a tragedy in that when their friends are not. Not that they age normally by any means.

Queerplatonic glacier is where it's at! I love their bond and how they look at each other with so much love and appreciation for the other. Why does it get so much hate? :'( oni trilogy Zane and Cole moments warm my heart...

Age gaps don't work the same way for nonhuman characters. Also age gaps represent a power imbalance of wiseness & money & stuff. Zane doesn't have any of that really given all he did for the better part of 40 years was be a son and/or caretaker for Dr Julien isolated in a hollowed-out tree lab in a forest full of monsters.

The idea behind all of these ships is "relative age". Zane was designed to be 16-20 years old, I assume he rebuilt himself to be an "adult" robot. Zane and Cole are both young adult characters, they are both in the same relative age group. There is also a group of people who just hate all ships with nindroids because Robots. 🤷 I think Nya and Pixal is also a fun ship; they have a lot in common.

Also, also: It was heavily implied that the time he spent without his elemental power core was time he spent without a soul or complex/independent thought or emotion. We don't know how it took for the master of ice to find them, but it was long enough for Dr. Julien to know Zane was acting off. Which means it wasn't shortly after his construction. Zane was either invented before or during the serpentine war, not that we know how long the war was, but the master of ice did arrive after the war, as did Wu.

The point is Zane was never mentally 40, he had amnesia and defaults to being a late teen or young adult in his programming. He's a robot, being physically 40 doesn't mean anything beyond being older tech. He can't be mentally 40 because he doesn't age, to be X age you need to be capable of aging. Zane had to expand his programming with the ice power core in order to do more than just playing with toys and cleaning up around the lab Rock-Megaman style. Also he was rebuilt so he isn't even physically 40. All the ice emperor stuff is weird because he lost his memory again and was being manipulated by two evil sources simultaneously. He's ageless. The show pretends it never happened, so we might as well do the same.

(Sorry, sorry, this turned into a zane analysis lecture for a hot minute. When people take an ageless character and go oooh ohh age gap, it just gets on my nerves. It's a simplistic misinterpretation of what that even means. That only really applies to organic beings who can age and can have power over the other from it. I got it out of my system now.)

.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

❝so dream, dream your dream❞

➵ “‘because when you’re awake a nightmare awaits.” —❤︎

pairing: vessel x gn!reader

theme: angst ❦ (with comfort), fluff ✿

a/n: this is my first sleep token ficlet, and so i wanted to rest out how well i write for them lmao

cw: reader has night terrors, implied that they had a fucked up life, vessel being mysterious and somewhat teasing but ultimately comforting the reader in the end

┅✦┅

it always hurt to think of those bitter memories

those memories that haunted them in their sleep, awaiting in their dreams like a predator looming over its prey. nightmares that kept had them jolting awake and hyperventilating so bad that their chest hurt.

the feeling of waking up to such awful night terrors was like poison ivy constricting their throat, leaving them hoarse and speechless, almost too stunned to even.

y/n was in that same predicament when they shot up from their bed, cold sweat trickling down their forehead, their breathing heavy and labored.

another nightmare. why did the past have to keep coming back to haunt them?

it was such a dark time for y/n… something they wanted to leave behind and keep deeply buried within the crevices of their fucked up mind. it was such cruel wording, but it was the best way to describe their mental state.

a fucked up mind.

“god i’m such a mess..” y/n muttered softly, putting a hand to their face, feeling the dried tears on their face that they didn’t even realize was streaming down their cheeks.

groaning both out of sleepiness and frustration, y/n grabbed the nearest tissue and started to wipe their face, being a little rough with it due to how irritable they were at the moment.

moments like these just made them wish they could take it all back. say how much they were sorry, how badly they didn’t want to hurt those around them.

it was kind of pathetic for them, really. they fucked up, and yet they’re the ones crying on their own bed.

y/n just sighed softly and pressed a hand against their forehead, sniffling slightly and closing their eyes.

“what did i do wrong?” y/n muttered to no one in particular. that question really was meant for themselves.

but it still called out a commanding presence from behind them.

“nothing, my dear.”

a dark, and somewhat alluring presence emerged from the shadows behind y/n’s bed, making his way behind them and looming over them from behind, carefully observing the person below him.

y/n tried to look up at him, but their tears blurred their vision. they only caught a glimpse of the intricate mask designs, before they felt cold, calloused fingers cover their eyes.

“shhhh… relax, sweetie.” vessel whispered into their ear, his voice velvety smooth and dripping with a dark, mysterious charm.

it was almost haunting, but in a strangely, familiar way.

he always came around whenever midnight strikes the hour, but he’s never usually this… intimate. vessel was a strange, dark force that always came by to mock them with his arrogant superiority, looking down on y/n like a predator wanting to consume his prey.

but this time it was different.

y/n could only let out a meek, choked up hiccup from the sobbing they went though in their sleep, but they didn’t do anything to push away vessel’s touch.

“vessel…���

“relax, baby. i’ve got you … you’re okay.”

vessel gently crept around the side of y/n on the bed, gently laying them back down on the bed while making sure their eyes stayed closed. they couldn’t see him, not when he was being this tender.

he didn’t know what overcame him, usually he was a commanding and mocking presence for them. maybe it was hearing their screams and cries in their sleep that made this mysterious being feel the slightest bit of sympathy that was left in his empty, hollow heart.

“rest now. nothing will hurt you.” vessel whispered to y/n, keeping his hand on the back of their head and letting it gently rest on the pillow.

this is the most he’s spoken to the poor soul. he’s never like this… but maybe just this once, he can be a source of light to their sad, unfulfilled life.

y/n just let out one last shaky sigh, letting the comforting darkness soothe the aching pain that swelled in their heart. that pain that haunted them all the time, was slowly fading away. after a bit, the presence went away, and y/n only felt darkness— their eyes still closed.

but the darkness was comforting.

welcoming even.

it was enough to make them drift off into a dreamless sleep. no nightmares, screaming or crying.

just silence.

but the silence was enough to make them feel alright.