#most of us understand exactly how it works

[beesandwasps]

The person from the 1970s would honestly get the most shock from it, because they would expect a doorbell to have wired power (or, if it was old enough, to be mechanical), and would not expect a sofa to have an electrical hookup at all. And people from before electricity wouldn’t find it particularly odd because they wouldn’t know it was weirder to charge a doorbell from a sofa than from anything else — for all they’d know, that’s just how electricity works.

Oddly, though, people from the late 1800s/early 1900s would understand this immediately because that’s exactly the kind of bonkers thing they used to make, or at least talk about making, until it became clear over the decades that it was far more trouble to make this kind of stuff than it was worth. For some reason we have forgotten that lesson.

[dating-eveeything]

can you do romance hcs with an autistic mc? any characters you want really, but i would love dorian, cam, skips, johnny, betty, idk i'm not picky!

Them with an autistic S/O

Featuring: Dorian, Johnny, Betty, Amir

Fic type: fluff, comfort, headcanons/scenarios

Gender neutral reader, I'm using my own experiences of being autistic as a reference- please keep that in mind. Length varies for each

In all honesty, he's a decent person to be around, especially if you're overstimulated or about to have a melt down.

He's an overall quiet guy, and can easily recall stories or just talk about something random if you need the distraction.

His build is firm, and while he doesn't do it often, his hugs are just as firm and are a good way to calm you down, the pressure of his big arms a wonderful way to ground someone who's out of it.

Honestly, he doesn't really know anything about autism, nor does he quite care- he's a busy guy guarding doors, but post-relationship he pays attention more. He's watching out for you, making sure you don't stress yourself out; especially if you're leaving the house.

Very helpful when it comes to remembering things, he can help you find anything you might've misplaced. He always goes over a list of essentials needed when you leave the house.

If you're someone who gets overwhelmed quickly, he's your guy. Like earlier, he's a pretty quiet guy, so go ahead and sit against him- he'll keep quiet for you. And if you ask real nicely (though you really don't have too), he'll crouch down and pull you into his side, humming a quiet melody. The melody doesn't really matter, he knows the deep vibrations of his chest are what's helping you.

His outfit isn't as textured as you'd expect- he's a simple guy- but if you really like textures he'll let you touch and play around with his suit. Secretly enjoys it when you wrap your arms around him to feel the inside of his suit jacket (which is most definitely silk).

He stands at the door, barely letting a muscle twitch as he stares ahead. It would've been an intimidating sight if it weren't for you hugging his legs, leaning your head on his thigh like he was a pillow.

It had become a somewhat common occurrence after your relationship with Dorian started to truly blossom, you started going to him when you felt stressed and needed a moment of silence. The soft texture of his pants was enough to get some sort of sensory to help you calm down.

His hand slips down from his chest where it was crossed and rests his hand on the top of your head, not doing anything else put lightly resting it there. What a sweet door.

THIS MAN. He is the person you go to when you need to TAAALK. Lemmie tell you.

Johnny is open to hearing all about your hyperfixation or special interest. He knows so much about how it feels to be ashamed for his passions, for simply liking what he likes, and he would never want to make anyone feel that way.

He'll sit on the floor with you and listen about whatever it is you like, doesn't even have to know anything about it! He'll try and ask related questions to understand more.

Will be so excited when you come to him all excited to tell him about something that happened with your favorite topic. Go ahead and tell him all about your favorite show or game, the plot twist in your book or maybe an animal you saw that isn't usual for the area!

Absolutely remembers the little things about what you like, and when he sees you (even in passing) he'll ask for updates or just to see if he can chat you up.

Just for fun, he would write little songs just for you about your special interest! It's not exactly related, anyone but you wouldn't be able to tell what he's singing about, but you? You hear him say a single line similar to what you've told him and you're basically jumping up and down and leaning in while he sings. He does his best work just for you.

Johnny sits on the floor, legs stretched out, and listens as you speak. He has a huge smile on his face as he listens to you yap about this TV show you've been watching recently, going episode by episode about the plot and how the characters are cool or stupid.

You sit on his knees and hold onto his shoulders, every now and then shaking him when you get really excited about something. His smile never fades, and you can tell it's the most genuine smile he's ever had on his face- well, other than when he sings.

Another amazing object to go to when it comes to sensory/stimulation.

Her honey smooth voice is like a favorite song you play on loop when everything gets too much, and she knows it.

She holds you close, but doesn't whisper in your ear knowing it's uncomfortable, her head lays on yours and she practically suffocates you in her hole; just like you want. Often she repeats things she's said before, quiet funny stories she remembers about other objects in the house, repetitiveness is good for you.

Telling you something you know already is calming. She doesn't get it herself, but if it helps you she'll repeat the same thing over and over.

The blankets and pillows that decorate her are almost always the perfect temperature for you. Never too hot nor ever too cold, she makes sure of it.

Absolutely let's you play with her hair. The curls as soft as a freshly washed pet, easy to brush your fingers through and mess with, making little braids before brushing them out and starting again.

She's one of the few objects that can get anyone to shut up with a polite ask, especially if the other lives in the bedroom as well (the Hanks). It's real nice to know you have a guarantee of a quiet space whenever you want.

"There you go, lover" Betty mutters, her arms keeping you close to her. Your hands are wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair, the soft texture relaxing against your fingers.

She rests her hands on your head and places a big kiss on the crown of your head, resting down and slowly recalling a story she's told a million times, something about Jean Loo and Dorian- probably a silly fight- she knows you don't pay attention to the stories; just that you like to hear her voice verberate though her and to you.

Amir is GREAT for self image help and helping set routines. No one knows how to help get you out of an episode funk like this guy, let me tell you!

He'll sit next to you on the bed and rub you back as you lay away from him, not able to do much but lay there. He can be quiet if you really want, but he enjoys giving you compliments; we know this, it's like second nature for him.

Eventually he does get you out of your bed, at least getting you to sit up and lean against him. His arms wrap around you and a hand of his will come up to run through your (let's be realistic here) greasy hair and just sit there for as long as you need.

Of course he can't go a true minute without giving you a compliment. He's stroking your cheek and talking about how gorgeous you are, even with how out of touch you look after sitting in bed for who knows how long, he still takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you are.

When it comes to setting up a routine, Amir is your object. He's supportive every step of the way, holding onto you to help. When you forget to do something he's reassuring you it's alright, when you can't bring yourself to do something, again, he's there to reassure you it's alright and that you'll be able to do it tomorrow. Routines are made to be broken sometimes.

Even at your worst, when you haven't taken care of yourself in days, he's still giving you the sweetest- most genuine compliments; it's hard to believe him at times, but he has never lied about how much he finds you to be the most stunning human he's ever seen.

Amir sits on the counter, holding you- who's standing- in-between his legs as he holds onto your face. He's got a bright smile on his face, looking at you with nothing but love. "It's alright" he murmurs, moving his thumbs to brush up on your face.

Your routine had been ruined for after you had slept in and refused to get out of bed when you had woken up. It was a minor setback, but to you it was the destruction of something you had worked so hard to set up. Amir believed otherwise, helping you into the bathroom to help start up when you would've done a few hours ago.

"It's alright my darling, so you're a few hours behind. No problem, there's no better time to start than now." He leans down and kisses your forehead, grabbing the brush behind him to bring up to you. "What do you say, Sweetheart?"

[vasito-de-leche]

Ooh I just found your account on here! I love the way you write!

I just thought of this idea, and this can be with the reader with them as a group or single interactions, doesn't matter to me! ^^

What would the Suja Bois and Huntr/x do if they found out that the reader was a demon? Like they were cursed to be one, sold their soul etc.

Thank you <3

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - Finding Out You're A Demon

Compilation of headcanons and analysis about how the Saja Boys would react if they found out you're a demon.

welcome to my little blog!! ty for the kind words, I'm glad you like my writing <3

since the max number of characters I take for prompts is 5, I went with the saja boys cause I might have some ideas for oneshots involving huntrix for this prompt hehehoho

JINU

We basically see the way he'd react to this in the movie itself, but that was a very specific situation that required him to get close enough to Rumi to gain her trust.

I think this would still apply if you turned out to be someone more influential or powerful than him in the human world; he'd follow the exact same steps to befriend you, until he could start pulling at your strings without you noticing.

If we're talking about a coworker or acquaintance, someone that Jinu only knows superficially, then I can see him being much colder--you're someone he can exploit by simply knowing you're a demon in hiding, he makes this known from the very beginning so that you know your place. With how pragmatic he is, he's the least bothered by things like morality and such. If you're an obstacle, then he won't hesitate to subtly threaten you to stay out of his way, maybe even using his own status of working directly with Gwi-ma.

If you're someone close to him, however, then his reaction would be that of sadness and camaraderie--you're stuck in the same boat as him, you're aware of the consequences and the eternal doom and gloom that follows you just by existing. It sucks, but you can actually relate to him. Jinu would not throw you any words of pity or coddle you, of course, but he does soften when the two of you are alone. Not enough to be noticeable to outsiders, just little things that you can pick up--stepping in front of you whenever your patterns begin to show due to distress, a comforting hand on your shoulder if your negative emotions start spiraling out of control.

Overall, I like the idea that Jinu doesn't truly know how to verbalize nor show his concern and/or affection because of the centuries he's spent as a demon himself--he's internalized the fact that he can't feel anything but misery, but when presented with this situation, he does choose to try, as awkward or stiff as he may come across.

I also like the idea that he unconsciously does this as a way to make up for the way he betrayed his family. He didn't get to protect his sister, nor make his mother happy, so this is the next best thing.

When it comes to discussing your status as a demon, Jinu wouldn't pry into how you came to be like this. Or rather, he doesn't want to know. It would only add to the heartbreak he's already trying to forget so desperately. He doesn't want to discuss how to stop being a demon, how to get better, how to cope with it and anything of the sort; isn't it enough that he accepts you for who you are? The lowest type of creature, stuck at the very bottom, exactly like him? Why try to change what you are? You did this to yourself, after all.

There is a huge contrast between Jinu's actions and his words that could easily become the catalyst for constant fights between the two of you; he's gentle and understanding when he tries to keep the world from seeing you for the demon you are, but his words are so very cruel, denying any ounce of hope that you may have. And he doesn't do this on purpose, I insist--he genuinely thinks this is the best course of action for hopeless demons like you two.

ROMANCE

Regardless of your relationship with Romance, he's the most bothered about this discovery.

With his themes of, well, romance and love and what have you, I like to portray him as someone who is extremely contradicting, someone who adds a very specific flavor of drama by being so emotional and/or attuned to other people's feelings, while romanticizing the world around him, seeing it through rose-colored glasses for fun. This is how he entertains himself.

Romance, similar to most Saja Boys, thinks it's near impossible to escape Gwi-ma's influence on him; yet that romantic and dreamy side of him still holds on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it's possible. And if it isn't, then he can at least get the satisfaction of pretending that it can happen, or that he can live as a human once again. That's part of why he joined Jinu; the chance to return to the human world as one of them, rather than a demon.

So finding out that you--someone that's been lingering around in his life whether as a coworker or as someone close to him--are actually a fucking demon? Well, it shatters the perfect illusion he's built for himself. I can see him looking at you with shock and anger, as if he had any right to look down on you when you're just like him, before begging you to prove him wrong--that you misspoke or that he misheard. Romance goes through all stages of grief in the span of a week.

I think another big factor of his reaction lies in the fear that comes with the possibility that you might have known he's a demon. That someone saw right through him without his knowledge, without him choosing to reveal himself. Or the idea that he somehow missed the signs of your own demonic heritage. As much as Romance might care for you, this is still something that terrifies him to know end.

It would take a lot for your relationship to return to something stable, until he cools down and understands that it might've been just as terrifying for you to reveal yourself.

Romance is much more understanding than Jinu when it comes to existing as a demon, or the story about how you became one--he would like to know how it happened, if only to lessen the burden on your shoulders and maybe, just maybe, share his own story as well so he can bitch about all the things that went wrong.

He also entertains the idea of finding a way to be free from Gwi-ma with you, even if deep down he doesn't truly believe in it, it's fun to talk with you about all the things you'd like to do in the future. All the places he wants to visit from his life as a human to see how they've changed in the years he's been gone, and all the new things you'd like to show him. I can see Romance also teaching you a few tricks on how to pass off better as a human, like making sure to cover up the marks with make-up in case any nosy hunters that might see them show up.

ABBY

Abby's reaction depends on how you feel about your demonic heritage; if you dislike this side of yourself, then he acts a bit more solemn, attempting to cheer you up, and if you do happen to like being a demon, then he jokes around and cheers with you.

All in all, this information doesn't change a lot for him but he knows better than to pull a Mystery and give you absolutely no feedback and no reaction. It does come as a surprise and it explains many, many different things but overall? Well, you're a demon, how's that been going for you?

While Abby is not immune to Gwi-ma and Jinu's influence throughout the years, I like to think that his straightforward nature keeps him from conflating or mixing up his feelings and projecting them on you--not to say he's good at compartmentalizing his own set of emotional baggage, but he at least understands that whatever he may feel about being a demon is not something that instantly applies to you or someone else. Whether you're close or just an acquaintance, he adapts to what he believes is the best approach for your situation.

And after that is done, he would instantly focus on figuring out all the differences between the two of you, especially if you're a different type of demon and not grim reapers like the Saja Boys--from patting you on the back because damn, eternal damnation must suck to asking if you could transform so he can see, the change is almost jarring. He offers to transform too if you're curious as well, flirting here and there in a way that makes this reveal feel almost trivial, like there was nothing to worry about in the first place.

I like to think that Abby is just very good at disarming people in his own way, he does this every day already by being the eye-candy of the group, and this is one of those moments; it might seem like he trivializes how being a demon may affect you, but the genuine curiosity he has and the casualness of it all can be endearing (this casualness is, of course, completely gone once you show the same amount of interest in him).

Don't expect him to be more protective of you or anything on the spot--you've managed to live with your human disguise for this long, Abby doesn't see the point in stepping in when you're already so capable at taking care of yourself. He can, but only if you ask him yourself as some sort of favour, he doesn't mind at all.

You'll just have to live with him being funny or flirty about it. You need to cover your patterns? Well, good thing it's cold and you can wear his jacket, it smells just like him and it looks great on you. Wink.

MYSTERY

Mystery is a tricky one, because chances are that he's already figured out you're a demon very early on, so it's not exactly a surprise.

His reaction to this information is also very underwhelming, since it's not exactly his business to pry into your life or what you might be doing; if you're just an acquaintance, he literally couldn't care less. You do you. And if you're someone close to him, then he's not going to say a single thing about it either, that's for you to bring up whenever you feel like. And even then, he would just give you a smile and a thumbs up. Easy peasy.

Of course, he's still a demon himself, one that is driven a lot by his instincts (ie: the feral barking, like, hello?) so while he knows it's best to wait until you come to him with this part of yourself, he might just end up slipping.

I like to portray Mystery as someone who prefers being a demon over a human, no matter the caveats and disadvantages that come with an indentured existence to Gwi-ma, so if you're the type to struggle to keep your humanity despite being a demon, that might rub him the wrong way. Because that means you disapprove of your demonic heritage, that you disapprove of him by extension. Whenever you say something about changing, about fitting in--anything he can relate to the way you're hiding in the human world--there's a chance Mystery might just snap with an off-handed comment, carelessly tossed your way in reproach. Something that very clearly states he knows you're like him.

Mystery's reaction to finding out you're a demon is so very underwhelming because he accepts this part of you so easily, you're a demon like him and he likes sharing something so meaningful to him with you. The games of repression and the emotional baggage that people like Rumi or Romance play don't interest him in the slightest. He's also a bit similar to Jinu in the way that he doesn't care about how you became a demon--or rather, he doesn't need to know, especially if you're trying to justify yourself in any way. He'll definitely listen if it's something you desperately want to tell him, but it won't change the way he feels about you.

I can see Mystery slowly helping you come around with accepting your demon heritage, not quite hyping you up but clearly approving when you let go from time to time--he loves your claws, your odd skin demonic tone, and he especially adores seeing your real eyes glow whenever you get worked up over something. That's what he considers the real you.

100% enables you to be a little more fiercer, to take advantage of your current situation. What's the point of being doomed for all eternity if you can't have fun with it from time to time?

BABY

Right off the bat, if you're not the one to tell him you're a demon and he has to find out due to a third party? He'd be pissed. Absolutely fucking pissed that you didn't tell him yourself, especially if you're someone he holds close to his heart. Two months of the silent treatment at minimum.

What's the point of all the special privileges he gives you as his equal if you won't tell him something like this? Something that actually matters? You're supposed to be his bestie, his second in command, the one person he actually respects. Nevermind the fact that Baby wouldn't reciprocate in this aspect; he expects you to tell him, but wouldn't tell you he's a demon if that ever put the band in trouble.

But if you do tell him, then Baby would be ecstatic--while he's not fully accepting of being a demon due to how stressful it can be sometimes, how much he hates not getting his way when confronted with Gwi-ma and all, he's similar to Mystery in the sense that he likes matching with you.

Instantly demands to see your patterns, to see how much yours match his, basically hopping in circles around you, full of giddy energy. Baby also carries a similar energy to Abby in this aspect, being more playful than downright depressing like Jinu, but in a way that is definitely more careless and focused on how this reveal makes him feel, rather than how it might affect you.

If this bothers you in any way, it's up to you to reel him in and sit him down to properly talk. And trust me, he hates that you're raining on his parade but a few jokes and half-hearted threats here and there to snitch on him whenever he skips a rehearsal will get Baby to sit down.

I like to think that there's a game of push and pull with Baby in which you constantly have to reel him in from his usual bratty shenanigans, but it's not like you're actually babysitting him, a grown ass demon--everyone knows that if Baby doesn't feel like doing something, he simply won't. The fact that he listens and heeds to your words is already earth-shattering for his band mates, absolute proof that you're very special for him, even if he treats the story of how you became a demon like casual coffee talk gossip.

Oh and don't expect him to cover up for you--there is a part of Baby that resents having to hide what he is, so if you're ever at the verge of being revealed to the world, you can bet it's because of one of his elaborate pranks. "Don't you want to know what would happen if everyone knew?" This is the only time he wouldn't mind revealing himself.

[bi-scared]

First time ~ Bay Donnie Headcanons

Here are my headcanons for Bay Donnie's first time with reader.

NSFW ~ F!Reader

(Note: I'm french. My english is limited and I use Deepl.)

From the moment you and Donnie became a couple, he pulled out and updated his computer file containing all the information he'd collected on “how to pleasure a woman”.

Then he runs tests. To find out exactly what the risks are if you have sex with each other. The risk of pregnancy, disease and physical compatibility.

Donnie tries to do this in a discreet way, without telling you. Because not only does it embarrass him, but he feels that all these technical details could ruin the magic of the moment. He wants it to be perfect, of course. For you and for him.

So, when he feels the moment is near, he's ready. At least, he thinks he is. But the reality is quite different, because this kind of thing can't be programmed like computer software.

So, when the time comes, he has doubts. He's afraid. Afraid of hurting you, afraid of not being able to give you pleasure. Afraid of doing it wrong, of not understanding what's going on in your head, of neglecting yourself, of not going all the way, of...

If you already have experience in the field, now's the time to take the reins. Because it's his first time and he's bound to need some guidance. Talk to him, show him, but also let him explore, test his theoretical knowledge. Donnie will listen to you and apply what you tell him to the letter at first.

Then he'll test things out. Things he's read or seen, but also things that come to him by instinct. With shyness and clumsiness, but also perseverance. And while he's putting his knowledge into practice, he's studying everything. Your gaze, your facial expressions, the movement of your body under his fingers, the sounds that come out of your mouth... He observes everything, analyzes everything and deciphers everything. He wants to know what you like and what you don't like. Because Donnie has two major objectives: not to hurt you, but above all to make you feel good.

He's got lots of questions, and he'll be asking them later. His brain is currently too busy remembering what he's learned and not losing control of himself. Because having you under his fingertips, freely running through you, is beyond anything he could have imagined, and he's on the verge of a short circuit.

No, the first time, his questions will be limited to “Are you okay?”, “Can I go on?”, “Do you want me to stop?”. And as he loses control, Donnie asks your permission to enter you, panting and stammering. And he won't do anything without your permission.

But before he does, he makes sure you're ready for him, because he's not human in size or shape. Donnie takes his time, first making sure you can handle a finger. Then eventually a second. He makes sure you cum at least once. And, just in case that didn't work, he's provided lubricant and even a few accessories to satisfy you without penetration, so you can both have fun in a different way. It'll never be a total failure.

When he decides you're ready (and he'll decide when, even if you're begging) and you've given him the go-ahead, he'll make his move. He has a plan to make things go smoothly and he fights to the bitter end against his urge to just work his way into you for his own pleasure. He'll only get in as part of the game with insane slowness, analyzing your reactions and resistance. Start gentle back-and-forth strokes with just the tip until no sign of discomfort appears on your facial features. Then he'll move in a little more and start again.

Throughout this process, Donnie lets out the most animalistic moans and grunts you've ever heard. He tries to contain them, but he's already having trouble containing his movements inside you. Sometimes he pauses, shaking intensely, and you come to understand that he's just trying not to cum too soon.

When he's deep enough inside you and feels he can't go any further, he makes sure to cover the part of him that won't enter you with his hand. Just in case he loses a little too much control and wants to go deeper. No, his hand must not move.

Donnie then starts moving back and forth more frankly and, to his (and your) frustration, he doesn't last much longer. As a result, he has an angry orgasm, swearing at himself. So much work and patience for a few seconds.... He feels guilty.

Might as well laugh it off and give him a second chance. He'll last longer this time. And why not take the lead for round two ;)

If this is also your first time, things aren't much different at first. Except that Donnie takes a little more on himself, fighting his embarrassment and looking to do you good without expecting you to guide him. He'll be doubly attentive and caring, though.

For this first time, he's decided he's far too... imposing, and he doesn't want to inflict that on you. If it's all right with you, he'd like to settle for a little...

For your first time, he's decided he's far too... impressive, and he doesn't want to put you through that. If you agree, he'd like to stick to his fingers for the first few times. He doesn't like the idea of taking your virginity that way, but he'd rather do that than risk hurting you.

After a few sessions of fingers fucking, he ends up wanting more, but he doesn't ask. He waits for you to tell him when you're ready. And when you are, he makes sure he does it right and as painlessly as possible. It may take you a few tries before he can finally enter you, but it's worth the wait ;)

[baosour]

༝ play the part ( hange z. )

⤷ content : nerd!hange x fem!reader, college au, fake dating, fluff ⤷ word count : 6.2k words ⤷ notes : wanted to write a fluff fic and tried writing oneshots here on tumblr for the first time. needed some awkward nerd hange to boost my serotonin 🙏

( cross-posted on ao3 )

The library sits in a hush so thick it feels like pressure in your ears. It’s not silence, exactly, but the sound of pages turning, pens scratching, someone shifting in their seat like a slow creak of floorboards.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting long, sterile beams that catch in the fine dust drifting through the air. Two aisles down, someone muffles a cough into their sleeve as the old radiator ticks in the corner.

You sit across from Hange Zoë — checkered flannel sleeves rolled to the elbows, notebook open like a crime scene. They share a morning class with you in an elective. However, you have never talked to them one on one until this very moment. You glance down and catch a glimpse of their handwriting: messy, slanted sideways, like it’s trying to outrun their thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about our arrangement,” you murmur, glancing around the quiet library. “We need details if we’re going to be convincing.”

Hange props their chin in their hand, eyes already gleaming like this is a social experiment. “Already started making notes. We should start coordinating our stories before the party this weekend. People might ask questions.”

They look at you like they’re already analyzing your microexpressions.

“We need a meet-cute,” they add, casually chewing the end of their pen.

“We’re not writing a romcom.”

“A romcom would be easier. Less chance of being exposed and publicly humiliated.”

“Charming.” You raise an eyebrow. “Did you write that down, too?”

“No,” they say, like it’s obvious. “That’s just how I talk.”

You watch them for a beat, pen ink on their thumb, sleeves pushed up to their elbows, one sock slightly mismatched with the other. Always vaguely rumpled, like they got dressed in a tornado and didn’t care as long as their brain was working. 

Their hair’s shoulder-length and unruly, dark brown with waves that curl awkwardly at the ends like they’ve been sleeping wrong on it for weeks. They wear their glasses low on their nose, lenses a little fingerprint-smudged, frames sliding every time they look down to scribble. And they smell like something lived-in; old books and laundry that’s just barely dried. 

You used to think Hange was strange.

Not in a mean way.

It’s the kind of strange that doesn’t flinch when silence stretches, or when someone says something dark and expects you to look away. The kind of strange that lives comfortably at the edge of the room, taking notes on everyone else.

They cycle through the same three flannels like it’s a controlled experiment. They carry a neuroanatomy textbook around like a security blanket, even when there’s no class for it that day. And once, when a professor made an offhand joke about historical psychiatry, Hange spent more than five minutes delivering a quiet, unflinching monologue about the evolution of the lobotomy.

Everyone stared at the floor when they were done. You stared at them the entire time.

You weren’t supposed to talk to them—let alone conspire with them, but here you are. 

Because your ex doesn’t understand what silence means — or boundaries. Or blocked accounts. They’ll be at the party and so will you. And Hange? Hange is close to you in a way and is invisible enough to be useful. They’re off-radar, which is safe.

“Okay,” you say, leaning in. “We met during a group project.”

“Cliché,” Hange replies, tapping their pen against their notebook. “I like it.”

“We were friends first. Then something just… clicked.”

“When?”

You pause. They’re looking at you like they’re trying to see the timeline. Like they want to believe it too, even if it’s fake. You weren’t expecting them to care about the details. Most people wouldn’t.

“Last month,” you say. “During midterms. I lent you a pen.”

Hange hums, thoughtfully. “The one with the chewed-up cap that died halfway through the essay question?”

“Yeah.”

“I was impressed by your confidence.”

You snort. “You would be.”

They write as they talk. Bullet points, evenly spaced, crisp lettering that gets messier the more excited they get.

→ Started talking more over coffee.

You nod.

“Not the good café,” you say. “The one with the haunted vending machine and chairs that squeak if you breathe wrong.”

Hange grins. “The one where they forgot my name and called me Hammy for three weeks?”

“Romantic,” you deadpan. “We fell in love instantly.”

They underline the coffee bullet twice.

→ Inside jokes ??

They pause, pen hovering.

“Should we pick one now, or improvise?”

“Improvise,” you say. “More realistic. High-risk.”

“Bold,” they say. “I like that in a fake partner.”

Hange pauses, chewing the end of their pen again. Then, their face lights up as a thought occurred to them.

“Honestly, this works out for me too.”

You glance up.

“My friends won’t stop setting me up with people. I’ve had three blind dates this month. One of them brought a résumé.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I think it was supposed to be funny,” Hange says flatly. “A bit too much on my part.”

You snort. “So this is your excuse to opt out of the dating pool?”

“This is me buying myself plausible deniability and two weeks of peace,” they say, tapping their pen. “Mutually beneficial deception. My favorite kind.”

→ Pet names?

They glance up at you, already smiling. You don’t let them get the words out.

“No pet names,” you say, flatly. “Not even ironically.”

Hange makes a scandalized sound. “Not even... dumpling?”

“That’s not a pet name. That’s a cry for help.”

→ Pet names?

They groan and drag a thick line through the bullet, muttering “coward” like it’s the worst insult they can think of.

Their smile stays, soft and crooked, even as they pretend to pout. They’re half-folded over their notes now with their hair slipping out of its tie, glasses askew. Their knee’s started to bounce again under the table. There’s ink on their thumb and sleeve, and the overhead light turns the strands of their hair a deep, burnt amber.

You shouldn’t be staring.

“Photos,” you say, clearing your throat. “We should have something saved on each other’s phones. Something blurry and kind of awful.”

They light up.

“Yes. Mutual blackmail.”

They reach across the table and tap your phone screen like they’re summoning a spell.

“Unlock it. Give me two minutes and your front-facing camera.”

You laugh — really laugh, enough that the girl at the next table sighs and pointedly types harder.

“No peace in academia,” Hange mutters.

They’re already writing again.

→ Blurry photo (Possibly incriminating)

You watch them for a moment — ink on their hand, hair slipping out of its loose tie, glasses reflecting the yellow cast of overhead light. They look too alive for this room.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you say.

“Faking things?”

“Lying under pressure.”

Hange hums like it’s a compliment. Low and pleased, like they’re already sketching your dynamic in their head.

“I do my best work when the stakes are emotionally devastating.”

You exhale through your nose, watching the way their pen twitches near the margin, like their thoughts are still racing ahead of the conversation.

“Okay. Rules,” they say, straightening their spine and spinning the pen once between their fingers. “We need some.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“No kissing unless absolutely necessary,” you say, calmly. “And only if you’re not weird about it after.”

They freeze. Their fingers go still, pen suspended mid-spin. You can hear the air shift around the table — the soft hiss of a page being turned in the next aisle, someone’s shoe scuffing the tile.

You wait.

“I’m not gonna be weird,” they say too fast. Their voice goes up, then cracks a little at the edge.

You tilt your head.

“I’m normal,” they add, insistently, like you’re the one who needs convincing.

You glance down at their notebook.

“You just wrote ‘blurry photo (possibly incriminating)’ inside a heart.”

“It’s how I take notes,” they mutter.

You lean forward, resting your elbow on the table, letting your finger tap the edge of the page. “Physical touch is fine,” you say. “Hand-holding. Arm around my shoulders. Or waist, if the situation calls for it.”

They blink. “The... waist?” 

You don’t miss the way they shift in their seat. The scrape of denim against vinyl, the soft click of their glasses slipping lower down the bridge of their nose. Don’t miss the pink rising in their ears. You push on anyway.

“My ex usually hangs around the quad between 3 and 4. And Studio Hall on Thursdays. We should be seen. Deliberately. Arm around me, casual but obvious. Nothing too dramatic.”

Hange swallows.

You don’t mention it.

“Oh,” you add, leaning back in your chair, “and the terms of this fake relationship require you to shower every day. Sorry. Non-negotiable.”

Their mouth parts in mock offense. “I do shower every day.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Prove it.”

“I smell fine.”

You lean in, exaggerated, sniff the air, then wrinkle your nose.

“You smell like printer ink and library dust.”

“That’s just college!” they hiss, throwing up their hands, but their voice cracks again on college and now you’re laughing.

You grin, sharp and lazy. The kind that makes people wonder what you’re planning.

“I like tulips,” you say suddenly.

Hange blinks. “That’s... noted?”

“I want them when you pick me up Saturday.”

“Pick you up?”

“At 7 p.m. On the dot.”

Their expression flickers — something between dread and fascination. Like they just realized they signed up for a group project with no rubric and high emotional stakes.

They blink again—flustered, now. Visibly buffering.

You enjoy it far too much.

“And wear something nice,” you add, standing slowly, sliding your notebook into your bag. “By nice, I mean something that makes people stop and stare.”

They track your movements. Their hands are still. Their leg’s bouncing again.

“That navy button-up you wore at midterms? That. And do something with your hair. Use the cologne that smells decent. Not too much, just enough that people notice. And, no ink stains.”

You glance back at them over your shoulder.

“You’re playing the part of someone desirable,” you say. “Commit to the role.”

Hange stares like you’ve just handed them an exam with questions in a language they don’t speak.

“Okay,” they say, eventually.

You nod, satisfied.

“Good,” you murmur. “Then it’s settled.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

For the rest of the week, Hange walks you to class twice — entirely unprompted.

They claim it's coincidental. That, of course, they just happened to be heading in the same direction, carrying two coffees and wearing that same navy button-up, sleeves rolled up like a uniform. But they hesitate a little longer each time they say goodbye, with eyes lingering, foot tapping like there's something else they were supposed to say but forgot how to.

During your (fake) study dates, you catch them doodling in the margin of their notes. A stick figure with wild hair and glasses, holding hands with another stick figure that’s supposed to resemble you. You pretend not to notice, but your smile gives you away. Hange pretends not to be mortified that you noticed. And definitely pretends not to die a little inside when you giggle.

When Friday comes, you’re both crammed at the same table in the library again, sharing a playlist you both curated and a power outlet, pretending the silence between you is academic.

Someone from your block passes by, then slows. “Hey,” they ask, casual but curious, “are you and Hange… a thing now?”

Your fingers freeze on your laptop keys. You don’t look up. You wait.

Hange doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” they say smoothly, tucking a pencil behind their ear like it’s muscle memory. “The midterms got us delusional.”

The words are effortless—almost too effortless. Their tone is light, teasing, the kind of thing you could laugh off. But they don’t look at the person who asked. They’re looking at you.

Eyes steady. Lips quirked into something small and knowing.

Like they’re daring you to deny it. Like they’re trying to figure out if you want to.

Something hooks low in your stomach. Your mouth goes dry. You hate how warm your face feels.

You huff a laugh, try to brush it off. “Speak for yourself. I was always delusional.”

They grin — wide, bright, too pleased — but then something flickers. Their gaze dips from your eyes to your mouth, then away, too fast. Like they surprised themselves. They fidget with the pencil again, suddenly more focused on aligning it perfectly with their notebook.

You go back to your laptop screen, but your heart’s not in it anymore. Your fingers hover above the keys, unmoving.

Maybe it’s the way the sun filters through the grimy library windows and catches in their hair, turning it warm and gold at the edges. Or maybe it’s how they’ve started wearing ironed clothes still rumpled by the time they reach you, but less like chaos and more like care.

Maybe it’s the way they smell — clean and warm and just a little like cedar, like they actually remembered the cologne you mentioned. Or maybe it’s the mnemonics they come up with for their organic chemistry class, stupid and clever at once, whispered under their breath like secrets meant only for you.

Maybe it’s the doodles in their margins. The ones they try to hide. The ones that try to look like you.

You shouldn’t be watching the way their lips move when they mouth formulas to themselves, or the way they blink slowly when they’re tired, like the world softens for them for just a second.

But you are.

And you’re starting to think — Hange’s kind of cute. Painfully, stupidly cute. In a way that makes your chest ache a little.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You open the door to find Hange standing on your porch with a lopsided smile and a bouquet of pink tulips. They're wearing the black button-up with the first button loose. Their hair is half-tamed, and they’ve combed it back, a few strands still rebelliously curling near their ears. 

“You’re… wow,” they say before you can even tease them.

The words tumble out too fast, like they’d meant to say something cooler, but their brain short-circuited somewhere around your collarbone.

You’re wearing something just this side of effortless: an oversized cream cardigan slipping off one shoulder, a ribbed black tank top tucked into high-waisted dark jeans, boots scuffed at the toes like you’ve lived a life in them. The cardigan matches the softness of the tulips, and the black tank matches their shirt.

You take the tulips slowly, eyebrows raised. “These better be the best ones out there.”

“They were overpriced and awkwardly wrapped,” Hange replies, visibly sweating. “I panicked.”

You grin. “Perfect.”

You step aside and let them in. They hover in the hallway like they’re afraid to touch anything, hands shoved into their pockets, gaze darting to every framed photo on the wall like they’re collecting intel.

You grab a dusty glass vase from under the sink, fill it halfway with water, and set the tulips in with care. They look too bright for your kitchen, like they belong in some alternate life where this is a real date and you’re not both pretending it doesn’t feel weirdly important.

Footsteps echo from the stairs.

“Who’s this?” your mom asks, peeking in with raised eyebrows and the tone that means you better introduce them before I start assuming things. She’s wearing black reading glasses pushed halfway down her nose and a dark olive green robe.

Hange freezes like a raccoon caught in a porch light.

You clear your throat. “This is Hange. My—study partner.”

Hange lifts a hand in a stiff little wave. “Hi, ma’am.”

Your mom eyes the flowers. “That’s sweet, didn’t know study partners gave flowers now. Your ex never did.”

You nearly choke. Hange, to their credit, just nods solemnly.

“I’m setting the bar,” they say. “Low enough to be charming, high enough to be remembered.”

Your mom snorts, clearly amused. “You staying for dinner?”

“No ma’am, we’re headed to a party.”

“Oh. Well, if anyone throws up on your shoes, tell this young lady here to text me and I’ll pretend to be your emergency.”

“Noted,” Hange says. “I’ll rate the trauma on a scale from one to deeply scarring.”

“Good kid,” your mom replies, and disappears upstairs again.

You and Hange stand in silence for a moment.

“...I like her,” they whisper, almost reverently. Like your mom was some uncrackable code they’d finally deciphered.

You snort. “You called her ma’am. What are you, a first-class soldier reporting for duty?”

They gasp, clutching their chest like you’ve shot them. “It’s called respect. Bet your ex never had that one either!”

They’re still grinning when you grab your keys and open the door. The night air hits your skin like a soft shock — cool, a little damp, buzzing faintly with distant music from a few blocks away.

Hange follows you out, tulip petals and kitchen light left behind. They fall into step beside you, a little too close, hands stuffed in the pockets of their slacks like they’re trying not to touch you on purpose.

By the time you reach the car, they’re humming under their breath. You don’t ask the song. You don't want to know how many parts of tonight already feel real as the radio crackles to life. 

“Regrets collect like old friends…”

Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine starts playing through the speakers. Hange doesn’t skip it. They tap the wheel in rhythm, eyes on the road, but smile crooked at the corners.

At the party, the house is big and too warm and too loud, with music thudding through the floorboards. The air is thick with perfume, spilt beer, and something faintly like burnt sugar.

When you head inside, people call out your name. Someone offers you a drink. Hange stays close, shoulder brushing yours like they’re afraid you’ll disappear if they lose contact. You pretend not to notice. Their hand finds your wrist when a group brushes too close. You let it stay.

They trail behind you through the crowd, half-curious, half-overstimulated, and reconsidering all their life choices. Their glasses slide down their nose, and they push them up again without looking.

“Why are there lights in the bathtub?” they ask, peering into the bathroom as you pass.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

They nod solemnly. “Wise.”

You guide them to the kitchen, press a red plastic cup into their hand. “Drink. Mingle. Pretend to have fun.”

“I’ve watched Superbad to train for this,” they mutter, holding the cup like it’s cursed. “I think I’m ready.”

You lean against the counter and watch them sniff it suspiciously with their eyes narrowed like they expect it to lurch upright and bite them. The kitchen lights flicker faintly against the half-empty bottles on the counter, and someone laughs too loudly in the next room, sharp and echoing.

“What is this?” Hange asks, brow furrowed.

“Probably tequila,” you say. “Or something pretending to be tequila. Or battery acid.”

They take a sip, cautiously. “Tastes like—” they pause, grimacing, “like someone tried to make lemonade using nail polish remover and melted gummy bears.”

You clink your cup against theirs. “Welcome to college. Even if it’s our sophomore year.”

People swirl around the kitchen as someone dances with a bag of chips, another attempting to open a bottle with their teeth. The room pulses with music, but for a brief second, the space between you and Hange feels quieter. Like a bubble.

Then Levi appears, expression flat and entirely unimpressed by the chaos.

“Four-eyes,” he says flatly. “You’re upright. Shocking.”

“Levi,” Hange replies, grinning like they’ve been caught red-handed. “Didn’t think I’d see you out in the wild.”

He eyes them with the same disdain someone might reserve for a sentient stain. “You have glitter in your hair.”

“Intentional,” Hange says a little too fast, brushing a sparkly strand behind their ear.

Levi’s gaze slides to you. “You’re responsible for this one?”

You smile sweetly, holding up your own drink like it’s evidence. “Temporarily.”

He grunts. “God help you.” Then he turns and walks off with a red cup in hand and the posture of a man who came here only to refill his existential dread. You’re still laughing when Hange tugs at your sleeve and nods toward the living room. 

“Come on. I heard there’s a cat upstairs.”

“A cat? In a college party?”

“I might be wrong,” they say. “But, don’t you want to find out?”

You let them pull you out of the kitchen and into the maze of rooms beyond with glowing string lights, smoke machines, and bodies dancing like outlines in a dream.

Someone calls your name again. It’s Porco, crouched mid-battle in a game of giant Jenga like he’s defusing a bomb. His cheeks are flushed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw set with the kind of intensity usually reserved for the finals or group projects worth half the grade.

“You made it!” he hollers over the music. “Didn’t think I’d see you out in the wild. Especially after calling it quits with—”

“I’m trying new things,” you say, cutting him off before the name can land. Hange, just behind you, grins and waves with both hands.

Porco raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking between the two of you. “New things?” he echoes. “Like… experimenting?” 

His tone is sharp-edged with curiosity, but not cruel. It’s Porco being his usual, incapable of minding his business.

You tilt your head, deadpan. “Studying chemistry. In a controlled environment.”

Porco blinks.

And then his tower crashes with a loud, brittle clatter of wood and ego. He groans like he’s been shot and collapses into the carpet, face-first, limbs spread like he’s surrendered to the universe.

Hange snorts, grabbing your wrist. "Let's go before he goes to ask more questions."

You let yourself be pulled forward, weaving through the house. The music thickens in the air with some pulsing remix vibrating through the floorboards, lights strobing gently across walls littered with half-finished drinks and scribbled flyers for old shows. Laughter drifts from the living room. Someone spills something and curses. The scent of something burnt lingers faintly near the hallway smelling like a mix of incense or fruit punch.

You turn a corner and slow down.

Someone’s turned the narrow hallway into a makeshift photo booth. Twinkling fairy lights are taped haphazardly to the wall, curling like vines around thumbtacks and leftover party tape. A Polaroid camera dangles from a string, spinning lazily from the ceiling fan breeze. 

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should sabotage every other fake couple here by being hotter?” they ask, voice low.

“I was going to say take a terrible photo for our evidence folder, but sure. Let’s be insufferable.”

The two of you step into the glowing frame of light. You can hear the camera click as it swings gently between you. Hange picks up a ridiculous prop — a plastic sword — and presses it dramatically to their chest like they’re about to declare their love or perish of stage fright. You find yourself laughing before the photo even snaps.

“Here,” they say, reaching up. “Tilt your chin a little. There. Perfect.”

They’re closer than you expected. The camera flashes. The photo develops slowly, like a secret.

Hange pins it to the wall with a magnet shaped like a frog. “Mutual blackmail,” they whisper. “Now immortalized.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You both end up on the back patio next, sipping mystery punch and watching people play beer pong like it’s a high-stakes sport. Hange stands beside you, arm brushing yours every few seconds like they can’t help it anymore. They’re warmer now. The air’s cooled, and the night has softened everything.

“You having fun?” you ask, keeping your voice light.

They glance at you, almost shyly. “With you? Yeah.”

You pause. That shouldn’t hit the way it does. It shouldn’t curl something behind your ribs.

You look away.

Inside, someone changes the music. The bass picks up, and a cheer rises from the living room. You feel it before you see it — Hange’s fingers brushing yours. Then, slowly, their pinky hooks around yours. Not a full hand-hold. Not quite, but it’s enough.

You glance down at your linked fingers. Then up at them. Their smile are faint, eyes bright. 

You open your mouth to say something — anything — but then the crowd shifts inside, and a familiar voice cuts through the hum of the party. And just like that, the warmth flickers.

Your ex is here. And he’s looking right at you.

Leaning against the far wall like they own the place. Familiar smirk with the same entitled posture. They’re already watching you.

You grip your cup tighter. The alcohol burns on the way down. Not enough to numb anything — just enough to blur the edges.

You look at Hange. “Kiss me.”

They freeze, wide-eyed. You don’t wait.

You move in before they can second-guess it — hand at their collar, mouth against theirs. It's warm, awkward, a little too fast, a little too much teeth. Their hand goes to your waist like it surprises them, fingers tightening reflexively.

They smell like clean laundry and nerves. Their breath catches when you pull back. Their lips are parted, eyes a little too wide.

Your ex’s gaze flicked away already by now. You don’t care.

You don’t remember making the decision — just the sudden tightness of your grip, the way your fingers laced through theirs without asking. You pull them through the tangle of bodies, dodging laughter, neon lights, the pulse of bass thudding against the floor like a second heartbeat.

Hange follows without question, their hand twisting into yours like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged.

Your feet hit the stairs two at a time. Breath ragged. Pulse louder than the music.

At the top, you find the first door that’ll shut out the world, and you step inside. You lock it behind you with a soft click that sounds louder than it should.

The room is dim and quiet, untouched by the party’s chaos. It smells faintly of old laundry detergent and perfume. Hange leans against the edge of the desk like their legs have forgotten how to hold them. Their breath comes quick, uneven.

You stand there for a second, blinking.

You let out a laugh — sudden, dry, shaken loose from your ribs. Not at them. You’re laughing at everything — the absurdity of it all. The fake relationship. The flowers. The kiss that didn’t feel fake at all.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice catching. “I panicked.”

Hange shakes their head, dazed, like they’re still blinking through the aftershock. “No, I—It was fine. I mean. It was good. I mean—”

You sit down on the edge of the bed like your bones gave out. Elbows on your knees. Fingers knotted. You try to keep your breathing steady, try not to let your heart punch through your ribs.

“I just didn’t want them to see me flinch,” you say. “That’s all.”

Hange’s expression softens. They step forward, careful like the floor might crack beneath them. The air shifts with them. They sit beside you — not quite touching — shoulders rounded, fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve like they need to do something with their hands before they say what they’re about to say.

“I’ve never done that before,” they say.

You glance over.

“Kissed someone,” they add. “Not like that. Not with people watching. Not when it—” Their voice trips. They bite it off. “Never mind.”

You watch the way their eyes stay fixed on their lap. Watch how their knuckles pale around their sleeve.

Then, quieter: “Did I… kiss okay?”

The air thickens. Your throat goes dry again. Your heart squeezes something tender.

You don’t say anything at first. Just study them — the slope of their nose, the mess of curls fraying loose again, the warmth radiating off their shoulder.

You let the silence hold your answer, then say softly, “Yeah. It was… I mean, it was you.”

Their head jerks up. There's something in their eyes; a fragile, burning kind of hope, like they don’t dare breathe too loudly in case it shatters.

You clear your throat. “You’re a good kisser. A good fake kisser. Not that I’m saying it was—well, maybe it wasn’t completely fake, but—”

Your words crumble, feet shuffling against the floor. The tension crackles between you like static. It’s not awkward anymore. It’s electric. Barely containable.

“You’re warm,” Hange says, voice barely audible. Like a thought slipping through their lips.

You smile. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

They don’t answer. But they lean in — just enough for the air between you to narrow.

“Do you feel like an idiot right now?” you ask.

Hange huffs a laugh, low and real. “Terrible one. But, yeah. An idiot.”

You grin. “Great. We’re idiots together.”

Their body turns toward yours, angled and open, knees brushing. You’re still on the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder now, the heat of them sinking into your skin.

You glance at the old analog clock glowing dimly across the room: 11:47 PM.

Hange shifts again, weight settling beside you as they prop one arm behind them on the mattress, close enough to feel their breath ghost across your collarbone.

“So,” they murmur. “We still keep up the act? Even if your ex won’t bother you anymore after that?”

You stare up at the ceiling, fingers playing with a loose thread on your sleeve. “Yeah,” you say. “We keep it up a little longer.”

Hange nods slowly, eyes fixed on the wall. “And then what?”

“Then we fake break up. Quietly.”

“And after that?”

You glance at them. Their face is unreadable. Guarded. But their fingers twitch where they rest between you, like they’re waiting for a different answer.

“We… pretend we never talked. Like normal strangers.”

You try to make it sound like a joke, but it falls flat. Hange lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in their chest for weeks. 

“Wow. Harsh.”

You nudge their knee with yours, trying to shake the heaviness off. “I said pretend, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Their voice barely rises above a whisper. “Pretending.”

But the word sounds wrong on their tongue now. They’re still looking at you like they’re not pretending anything at all.

“Cool. Great. Love a clean emotional exit strategy,” they mutter, dragging a hand through their hair. It falls messily over their forehead again.

You don’t respond. Not out loud. You’re too caught up in the way their voice cracked around the exit. You notice the way the clock ticks softly.

They shift beside you, legs brushing again — and this time neither of you pulls away.

“I don’t want to go downstairs yet,” they say eventually. “I know we’re not hiding, but…”

“Me neither,” you whisper.

The quiet after feels softer now. Not empty. Just full of things unspoken. You glance down at their hand, close, barely an inch from yours.

So you reach out.

Your pinky brushes theirs. Then hooks. A small gesture barely there. Not a claim, not a confession of any sort, there lies only contact.

Hange doesn’t flinch.

Instead, after a moment, their thumb moves. Gently. It traces the back of your hand. Once, then twice. You look at them, and this time, they’re already watching you. Eyes wide open. No teasing. No inside jokes. Just something raw and vulnerable, sitting heavy in the air between you.

“I was scared shitless when you kissed me,” they admit.

You laugh, startled — a small, breathy sound that escapes before you can help it. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Your knees are still touching. You haven’t moved since your fingers found theirs again, and neither have they. The air in the room feels like it’s holding something in.

They smile faintly, then duck their head. “You always looked like you belonged to the part of campus with clean skylights and perfect notes and people who never lost their student IDs.”

You blink. “What?”

“I mean—freshman year,” Hange says, voice hushed, like the walls might overhear. “I noticed you the first week. You sat in the third row of bio. Took notes with that pen that had a pompom on top. You kept correcting the professor under your breath.”

You gape. “I thought no one heard that.”

“Oh, I did,” they say. “It was borderline terrifying—in a cute way. If that made sense.”

Your brain short-circuits on the word cute. You stare at them, lips parted, but no sound comes out. They rub the back of their neck, suddenly sheepish. 

“But, like. You were always surrounded by people. I wore the same hoodie three days in a row and kept chewing on my pencil caps like a gremlin.”

You choke out a laugh, a little too high-pitched.

“I mean, I didn’t think I had a shot,” they continue, quietly. “So I just…kind of admired you from the corner like a creep. Got over it now, though. I think.”

You’re staring now. Openly.

Because all this time, you thought you were the one falling a little too fast. You didn’t know Hange had already fallen—just that it never landed.

“You liked me,” you say, stupidly.

“I think,” they reply. Then they wince. “Sorry. That wasn’t—shit, that wasn’t part of the script.”

But you don’t laugh it off. You don’t tease. You just look at them. Study the slope of their nose, the way their hair’s gone wild from running their hands through it. The shape of them, slouched and uncertain and breathtakingly sincere.

“You’re cute,” you say softly.

Hange goes still. Their eyes snap up to meet yours, stunned. “I am?”

“I found you stupidly cute when you handed me a rubber frog and said, ‘This is my son. His name is Bean.’ ”

“Oh my god,” they groan, dropping their face into their hands.

“Well…”

“I was trying to impress you!”

“You could say it worked,” you laugh. “It really did.”

The room is warm, the bed creaking under your combined weight. Outside, the bass of the party has faded to a distant heartbeat. But in here, everything feels loud with the rush of your pulse, the air between your knees, and the silence that isn't empty at all.

“There’s no use faking this anymore,” you say. The words fall out like you’ve been holding them behind your teeth for weeks.

Hange’s hands drop from their face. They’re blinking at you, like they’re trying to make sure they didn’t imagine that.

“I mean—if you want. We don’t have to rush or anything,” you add, suddenly nervous. “We can take it slow. We can start over, even. Real meet-cute this time.”

Hange exhales, long and shaky. “No more pretending?”

“No more pretending.”

They reach for your hand again. This time, fully. Fingers interlacing with yours like it’s instinct. 

Hange lets out a breathless laugh. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Same,” you say. “But you smell nice. That’s a start.”

They grin. “Cologne. The one you said was decent.”

“And the shirt?”

“I ironed it,” they say solemnly. “With a straightener.”

You lose it as you collapse into their shoulder, laughing so hard your eyes sting. Hange leans into you, laughing too, and their arms wrap around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You both slip out the front door like fugitives, muffling your laughter behind sleeves, half-drunk on nerves and off-brand soda. The night air is cooler now, crisp against your cheeks, the party’s thudding bass fading behind you like a memory being exhaled.

Hange walks you home with your hands swung lazily between you, back and forth — like this is something you’ve always done. Like your hands were always meant to find each other in the dark.

The world feels quieter here. Streetlamps cast golden pools across the pavement, and the sky above is smeared with stars. You reach your porch. The familiar creak of the step beneath your feet. The chipped paint on the railing you keep meaning to fix. 

Hange stops just short of your front door, your fingers still gently twined. 

They hesitate. Then, in a voice low and careful; the kind people use when asking for something they’re afraid might be too much, they say — “Do I get to kiss you again?”

You don’t answer. Not out loud.

You step in gently, rising onto your toes, and press a kiss to their cheek, light and deliberate. Hange goes still. Their breath catches. You feel the warmth bloom beneath your lips, feel the way they lean in just a little too late, like they weren’t expecting it and now already miss it.

You pull back slowly. “Don’t get cocky,” you mumble. “earn the next one.”

The smile that tugs at Hange’s mouth is small, uneven, and impossibly soft. Their eyes are wide behind their glasses, like the world just tilted.

“Okay,” they whisper. “Taking it slow.”

Inside, the glow of the living room lamp spills warm across the hardwood floor. Your mom glances up from the couch, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, remote resting loosely in one hand.

She raises an eyebrow. “So… how was the study date?”

You both freeze, caught like teenagers in a coming-of-age movie — which, you suppose, you sort of are.

Then Hange, never one to back down from theatrics, straightens their spine like they’re standing trial. They lift their chin, eyes wide but voice clear. “Good evening, ma’am,” they say. “glad to say that I’m the real deal.”

Your mom squints. Eyes them for a long moment. Then hums.

“We’ll see,” she says, but she’s smiling. Really smiling.

You feel Hange’s fingers tighten around yours, and you don’t let go. Not when you close the door. Not even after.

Because this time, there’s nothing fake about it.

[bigmasterpiece4444]

What Everyone Is Forgetting: Everything Is Possible

Disclaimer: First of all, I want to say that what I’m saying comes from my own experience and from what I’ve built as truth for myself in this reality. Just because I say it doesn’t mean it’s actually that way (I’m only sharing what I’ve learned). Remember that from each point of view, reality is different or works in a different way.

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking a lot (a lot, really...) Things have happened to me in this reality that feel like a sharp splinter in my brain and heart. Yes, even though I’ve proven to myself that reality shifting is real and that I’ve consciously manifested many things, I still fall into the “trap” of the 3D. Sometimes circumstances get the best of me and I feel like they’ll make me forget everything I’ve learned, but that never really happens. I know there’s something much greater than we can even imagine. I feel it in the air, in my whole being. I feel the calling. I feel like all of this is just a game (a game we can take control of or keep letting control us).

I completely understand you. Even though you keep persisting and persisting, you can’t see anything, or feel it. You feel like time slips through your fingers and you can barely catch a distant glimpse of your desire. It’s okay, breathe, say it out loud, let it go. Just because you have doubts doesn’t mean it won’t happen. I know exactly how it feels because I still go through those thoughts. I know that lately on Tumblr, posts keep saying things like (persist, don’t give in to the 3D, circumstances don’t matter, PERSIST NONSTOP). And well, that’s fine, but I think those who “made it” forget something. At some point, at some moment, they had those same thoughts and doubts, those same fears. Most people who succeeded did so in very different ways. Some believed, some didn’t. Some fell asleep and woke up there, some just assumed, some used a method. Some saw things, felt things, and there are also those who didn’t feel the shift at all (it just happened naturally). Believe me, even those who’ve shifted still have fears, doubts, and blocks.

This is where this theory comes in. (I read this theory from @reynashift and she got it from @alisluvrob, by the way I couldn’t find her profile. That’s her Tumblr account but I saw her on TikTok, her posts are in Spanish). Everyone always says (at least in the shifting community) that we’re constantly changing realities without realizing it. I kept repeating that too, even though I didn’t feel it as truth for myself. Every time I said it, inside me it sounded like (how is that possible? So there’s no fixed reality? Then what are we? Where are we? Is nothing real?). The doubts haunted me.

Until I read that we don’t just shift realities randomly for no reason. Instead, there are branches in every reality/universe and depending on the decisions we make, we choose which branch to follow. Imagine a tree. That tree represents exactly where you are right now. This tree has branches and each one of those branches holds infinite outcomes that unfold depending on the decision you make in this moment. Let’s take a simple example: right now you’re reading this post and you decide you’re going to try it. You lay down on your bed and in your mind there are two dominant possibilities (among infinite ones). You either shift or you don’t. And unconsciously, you choose the branch where it didn’t happen because you let doubt take over and in your beliefs there’s this idea that you can’t do it if you have doubts. But in reality, you didn’t fail because you had doubts but because you unconsciously chose the branch where it didn’t happen. So now choose consciously to go down the branch where it doesn’t matter whether the doubts exist or not (it will happen anyway). Choose the branch that feels right for you and aligns with your own truth.

This means that everything is possible and you can achieve it in any way. You can consciously choose which branch to follow and it doesn’t matter what you believe in (because it’s not wrong, because you are the one who defines reality). Everything you believe leads you to a branch where that belief works and helps you shift. It will work because this experience is unique, personal, individual. There are no rules. Nothing can stop you. You can do it freely, however you want. Everything works, everything is valid and real. Do whatever you want, experiment, live, live your way, do it your way. If you believe that following a method step by step will help, do it. If you believe that doing “nothing” works, then keep doing that. Please start listening to yourself (what is it that you want? what makes you feel good?). Stop putting other people’s beliefs first and follow what your heart tells you.

I had an epiphany. I was forgetting about myself and what actually feels right for me. Every day I would go on Tumblr and read about what worked for others and tried to follow that, but it didn’t feel good for me and I remembered. Honestly, I let fear take over, but it’s okay. Every experience is unique and real.

[lyracarvahall]

HeartBeat Sync Part 49

Stress Relief

Still falling into fits of giggles as they sat up on the floor, Mingi and Y/N rested their backs against the sofa and still clung to one another. Mingi looked down at her through his glasses with a look of complete adoration. A comfortable silence came over the pair and gave them the opportunity to just observe each other.

"Hey baby...I know you have a lot going on right now, but would you want to hang out with me for a little while? I think we both need an escape right now. I understand if you are busy with the album..."

Y/N realized as he was talking that Mingi was the one who may have needed this more than her. To make sure she was alright. She saw in that moment how much her welfare truly effected everyone else. She knew roughly, but seeing his boba eyes looking for reassurance, it was confirmed.

"Mingi, honey, I am never too busy for you, okay? We can get out for a few hours." Mingi's face glowed with joy as he stood and grabbed her hand, pulling her into another embrace.

"Your hugs are like home." he muttered against her shoulder. She couldn't help but melt at a statement like that. Standing on her toes to kiss him gently, she took his hand and guided him out of the room.

He swung their arms as they borderline frolicked down the hallway. She giggled as his energy was contagious. Hongjoong stood in the kitchen looking to be making tea. He gently grabbed the wrist that was free.

"Hey baby. I am glad you are getting out for a little while. Did you want me to help on the track at all while you were gone or did you want to handle it all. What works best for you?"

"Thank you Joongie. I wouldn't mind you getting a couple of vocals done. Maybe you can get your rap done. I only have Mingi and Yeosang so far. Just don't don't complete it without me."

"Can do firebird." He gently tugged her wrist again and placed a fast kiss upon her lips and a firm slap to her ass before Mingi guided her out of the door.

Mingi chuckled deeply as they closed her apartment door behind them. "It is crazy how well this dynamic works for us. Most people would be crazy all loving the same woman, but you helped bring us closer together in a way we didn't think was possible."

Y/N squeezed his fingers and they made their way down the elevator to the parking lot where Mingi's car was waiting. He pulled his hat low on his face. After guiding her into the passenger seat, he handed her a spare cap from his backseat.

"Can't be too careful." He smirked as he put the car into gear. Mingi was always attractive but in a tight tank top and that baseball hat it hit different. He had a quiet swagger that wasn't the same as the bold sexiness he presented on-stage but it was like it belonged to only her.

"Where are we going anyway?" Y/N gently combed her fingers over his hand that was resting on the gear shift.

He gently grasped her fingers and rested both their hands on her thigh as he turned the wheel gracefully with the other hand. "It isn't a typical date but figured it may be something you would need right now. We are going to a rage room. Afterwards maybe grabbing some food to have a picnic date?"

"A rage room? Like where you get to smash shit?"

"Exactly. I know this was supposed to be a distraction date and to be honest I came up with this idea just now. If you don't like the idea we can always.."

"No no baby it is a good thought. Maybe confronting my feelings about this head-on are what I am needing. Settling down with a picnic afterwards sounds amazing. You are pretty good at this on-the fly stuff." Y/N giggles and he smiles with pride.

"Thanks baby. Glad you like it because...we...are here." He turns off the car navigation and pulls into the parking lot of an unassuming grey concrete building. The type of building that if she didn't trust the man escorting her, she would have quickly become suspicious.

Taking her hand and guiding her out of the vehicle, his lips grazed a gentle trail across her knuckles before he guided her through the building's side door. The smirk she could see from under his hat made her heart flutter.

Once they entered the facility, it was a totally different vibe. Loud rock music could be heard muffled through doorways down the hall as well as shouting. The front desk seems hilariously in contrast. A quiet and mousy woman sat at the front counter, pushing her glasses up her nose as she greeted them. You could see the flash of recognition in her eyes as she looked upon Mingi, but wisely she didn't mention it.

"We have a reservation under the name Song." Mingi grumbled deeply in Korean like he was trying to remain discreet even though his cover was blown.

The woman nodded quickly and looked at her computer before making a couple of clicks and then she stood from her desk. Y/N attempted to read her name tag but she wasn't too great at reading Hangul yet.

Opening the first hallway door on the right, the receptionist nodded again. Her voice could barely be heard over the activities in the other rooms. Y/N couldn't understand what was being said and Mingi squeezed her hand gently, letting her know he would tell her what was said in a moment.

Once the woman walked away, Mingi pulled them both inside and closed the door so they could hear each other a little better. "She said that the rules are spray-painted on the wall and asked if we wanted any music. I said no because I figured you would want to talk. If I did badly speaking for you and you do want music I am sorry and I..." Mingi began to nervously ramble.

Y/N kissed his lips softly. "Baby that is perfect. Thank you for all of this. I am sorry about you needing to translate for me. I will hopefully be able to read all of this soon.." Mingi guided her to the rules written on the wall and pulled her back against his chest, resting his head on her shoulder as he read the rules out to her. His deep tone in her ear made it hard to focus. He chuckled at sensing her lust and squeezed her hips, spending a little extra time running his hand over their soulmark.

Once the rules were laid out, she grabbed a baseball bat from the corner and surveyed the room. Mingi placed goggles over her eyes and his. There were TVs and cheap bookshelves full of junk and trinkets. There were toys that were obviously donated and well-beaten before they had arrived. Y/N twirled the bat and took a swing at a tube tv that was on a table. It flew and smacked into the wall. While normally not a fan of violence, this was so...cathartic.

Mingi began giggling and tossing toys in the air before swinging a bat at them. After an hour of taking out her anger and stress on the innocent objects, she felt physically and mentally exhausted but also...strangely liberated. Mingi seemed to sense the change and his shoulders sagged in relief. He ran up to her and kissed her deeply as the light flashed in the corner, signaling that their time was up.

"Damn Mingi. You know how to show a girl a good time." He blushed deeply.

"I hope it helped." Y/N nodded and took his hand to guide him out of the room and out of the building. Once they were back in the car, she kissed him fiercely to show his appreciation. He smiled widely as he put the car in gear and made his way down the road.

"Next stop...picnic."

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

I am sorry I have been gone for so long guys. I have been in a funk but hopefully will be back in the swing of things now. Hope you like it and sorry it is so short. Love you <3

Taglist: @vtyb23 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @yeosangsluthousewife @tyungelic @mygsis @mrsminseochoi

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

I think that if the Optimus from Transformers One were to ever meet a human, it would be perfect for him to have a child as a guide or companion on Earth — like Spike, Sari, Sam, and so on. Someone with the wonder and kindness of childhood, who wouldn’t be afraid of Optimus and would want to learn more about him. That gentleness could help rekindle the war-weary spark within Optimus. I just want to see him holding an adorable little boy in his hands 🥺🤲💙

☆ OP w/ a human child || drabble

funnily enough i'm already working on a request very similar to that haha. i do mostly Cybertronian reader but i'm not giving up on an idea i find intriguing. i jus gotta disagree with you on sam witwicky though cause he was... a very, very strange teenager but again, most humans in the bayverse are insane.

i get what you mean— Optimus in general is father material. no matter which continuity so i can definitely see TFO Optimus doing the same. it would be absolutely adorable to see him care for a human kid or even adopt one. also, i'm pretty sure he could because Star Saber has an adopted child in TF:Victory so its not a totally new idea to Transformers.

it would be the most wholesome father-child relationship ever. i can imagine Optimus learning more about humans through the kid, understanding human culture and what it means to be human. and i feel like Optimus would absolutely LOVE answering each and every question his little guide would have for him. the curiosity sort of reminds him of how he used to be back in the mines. ah, good(?) old times of being exploited by a treacherous Prime.

he's chuckling as they ask him what he adds to his petrol to make it taste better. but then panicking a little when he realizes the kid's tasted petrol before otherwise there's no way they would've known it tastes bad. they gotta explain themselves to him now.

also, i think the only group of people who wouldn't freak out when seeing a giant alien robot would be children; more specifically, children who are into mecha shows. so it would absolutely not feel very absurd to a kid. hence why i kinda like how its mostly kids who are a transformers human companion in most TF shows.

bonus if they make OP watch mecha anime with them. Optimus has a lot of questions. he'd first be so concerned and think its the Cybertronian equivalent of gore with how the mecha suits open up but then the kid explains it to him and he'd just go "oh.".

Optimus would definitely carry them around in his giant servos and show them around a Cybertronian Starship. he'd be too scared about the little kid being crushed by giant mechanical parts.

it would be a reminder to him that no matter how bleak the war gets, its all worth it because he's fighting for all sentient life, for all the good and innocence in this world. despite the harsh brutality of war, there's always innocence and goodness on the other side.

Optimus asking the child to stay put while he goes kick Decepticon aft while the kid peeks to watch the fight with absolute awe and wonder, it's just like the videogames. cue a slightly flustered Optimus feeling unsure on what to feel about a kid idolizing him and bombarding him with questions.

the wholesomeness would be diabetes inducing.

but it would be tragic too cause when Optimus finds out about human lifespans and how quickly we grow up as compared to a Transformer who can only grow up, mature in a mental sense which in and of itself takes thousands of years— it would be spark-breaking.

i also think that oppy would be very intrigued by the concept of childhood given Cybertronians don't exactly have a childhood. what is it like to be a child? to be innocent and free? Optimus will never know. closest thing he can imagine is how he used to be liked before finding out that his entire world was a lie, when he found out the truth about Sentinel Prime.

the concept of school would also be interesting for him but your classmates are more interested about the cool red truck which comes to pick you up from school because your parents are absent for plot reasons, imagine the kid flexing off Optimus' alt mode to all of their classmates like: "heh, yeah! this is my ride home." with the most smug smirk to have ever been smug.

i think at some point, for the safety of their guide, some of the other Autobots might make something similar to Coby-Bot from TF:Cybertron— a human piloted mecha suit so that the kid would walk around the Starship safely.

in short, Optimus is the dad who'd step up!!!

and i will die on that hill.

also, make sure to keep him away from the internet or else someday, he's going to ask what skibiddy toilet is

the funny part is that he wouldn't even realize he's being like a dad until someone points it out because again, Cybertronian don't exactly have parentage so they don't really have the concept of a dad, the closest i believe they would have to a 'father' in the traditional sense is a mentor.

anyway, that's just my thoughts though

[nostalgiaforplacesweneverknew]

hcs (sfw or nsfw) for todd stevens where reader kinda plays hard to get with him/ sort of challenges his whole fuckboy frat guy persona (a man who years is a man that earns🙏)

lol I love reforming a fuckboy frat guy <3

Todd Stevens x fem!Reader | 0.6k | Headcanon, mentioned spiciness (18+/MDNI) but nothing too explicit, hints of fluff.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ▹ Wherein Todd meets his match.

I think Todd would initially not think much of it when you don’t show an interest in him. He’s rarely flustered by anything or anyone, and that arrogant, cocky part of him thinks you’re just trying to play it cool. 

Because girls don’t just walk away, all unimpressed and unbothered, when they meet him. They normally bat their eyelashes, press up against him in hopes of enticing him, giggle a little too loudly at his witty remarks. 

But then you just blink at him, give him a slow once over, and then tell him, “No thanks... I prefer guys with substance.” 

Brain.exe has stopped working, and he spirals in private. 

He can’t understand it. With substance? Like he doesn’t have substance?! He reads, he dresses nicely, he does well in his classes, and he volunteers at fundraisers—sure, that’s part of his duties as president of the frat, but he goes and that’s what matters?! 

Or when you tell him that he’s so unserious, thinking he’s such a big shot when the only reason girls sleep with him is because he’s the president of the frat and his parents have money. Not because anyone actually likes him.

“Not that anyone actually knows what you’re like, Stevens,” you smirk, crossing your arms over your chest, unknowingly squishing your boobs together and he’s short-circuiting. “Why is that, exactly? Afraid people won’t like what they see?” 

He’s so incensed, like “How fucking dare you?” but he’s also like, “Jesus H. Christ, why does she have to be so hot when she’s insulting me?” 

Todd’s never been a violent person, he’s the kind to silently fume and use his tone of voice and authority to keep people in line. But when he sees you laughing at someone else’s joke, when you just shrugged, unimpressed, at his own earlier quip, Todd suddenly wants this guy dead. 

No, those must be pity laughs. She’s better than that. Than him. She’s just trying to rile me up. 

If that’s the case, then it’s working because Todd’s slowly going crazy. 

He hears that you like cats and he’s like, “Psh, I could learn to love cats…” even though he’s actually deathly allergic, lmao. 

He walks by where you’re sitting more times than necessary, pretending like he’s not looking at you and not frustrated as hell when you obviously aren’t looking back. 

You’d literally just be existing—laughing with friends, reading, sipping coffee, typing up notes on your laptop during class, studying your textbook in the library—and Todd’s watching like you’re the most riveting film he’s ever seen. 

You’re walking across the quad lawn in the cutest little dress, and he’s so damn sexually frustrated because you’re not giving him the time of day. 

He’s the picture of cool, calm, and collected around his frat brothers, but he’s wrecked on the inside: 

God, her thighs. Her thighs are out. Fuck, I’d have those legs shaking. I’d ruin her for every other guy in the universe. I’d get on my knees and worship her like she’s my religion. I’d make her come so hard she forgets her own damn name… if only she’d let me. 

He has to keep adjusting how he’s sitting, his jaw clenched and the vein in his neck pulsing, because he’s half-hard just by looking at you. 

Obsessively checks your socials but doesn’t follow you, but he does view every story  almost as soon as it’s posted. He finds an 8-second TikTok that your friend posted of you dancing at a party. He rewatches it like a million times, trying not to think about the throbbing in his groin. 

I imagine he finally breaks one day, literally begs you for a date. I mean, sex would be good, it would be great, but right now? PLEASE just pay attention to him.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐈𝐕 ༊*·˚

[riteliso]

ALRIGHT jumping back in here, uh, yesterday got a little weird so I'm late to return but you don't mind because there's like 2 people reading this as I post it and maybe 8 people reading it total

Y'see, Catra looks very pensive here. I don't remember ENTIRELY what I was gonna say for this bit yesterday, but I remember I was gonna say that Catra is always mad so she's lying. I can't remember if I was saying that as a bit or not, though.

Probably a half bit, like most of the things I say

Either way, her insistence that she isn't mad is what draws Entrapta in, and Entrapta's inability to tell when Catra is mad is what gets her thrown on Beast Island in the end. Entrapta's inability to understand emotion and push past it actually assists her in becoming friends with Hordak, and makes it more difficult to become friends with Catra.

Do with that information what you will, feel free to read it as Catra being more evil, I don't particularly care

I will, however, give MY hypothesis to why this exactly is.

I think Catra doesn't really see any of her relationships as, like, real. Especially not friendships.

So when her friends aren't doing exactly as she says exactly how she wants it done, it's not a disagreement, it's insubordination. And I don't think that's exclusive to work.

I mean, Catra hates herself and still thinks she's above everyone, you know?

When her bubble gets popped, when she gets called a bad friend, that's the reason why it hits her so hard. Someone she saw as an inferior fuck-up just stepped up to her level and told her to her face something she can't really disagree with.

There's a lot of different kinds of intelligence. Sometimes we don't value the right ones. Yes, Catra is a scheming little villain who loves to ride out a good plan, and Scorpia is completely incapable of that, but Scorpia and Bow are really the only members of our cast with a notable amount of emotional intelligence.

Adora and Catra very much lack emotional intelligence. So does Glimmer, and so does Entrapta, but those both become more relevant MUCH later on.

I do appreciate that she's pensively planning, here, pacing back and forth. It's clear she's not quite yet figured out what she wants to do here.

I'm sure someone else could have a lot more to say about this note of the character-- I just think it's very nice. She likes to take evil robots, make them more powerful, and make them nicer.

She lives in her own little world, but the show doesn't treat that as a flaw. It's how she is. If you need her help, you need to wrestle her away from herself like it's nobody's business, but that doesn't stop her from being a good person and a wonderful friend.

I don't know how to use language properly here-- you're ALLOWED to be inconvenient. We all are. We're human beings. We're messy and scared and none of us REALLY know what we're doing. Flaws are subjective, and if your flaws make you happy and don't hurt you, you shouldn't need to change them.

Like, I have plenty of flaws that I DON'T like, and you can't prove I just typed all of them out and then deleted them after I realized that wasn't the point of what I was saying.

But as far as flaws I DO like go, I am a SUCKER for mania. I love getting absorbed in something and finding out every little detail about it and writing until I'm starving myself and the people around me get WORRIED. Okay I should probably tone that aspect of it down a bit but the point I'm making is I wouldn't be a better person without that. I'd just be more-- palatable. I'd lose more than I'd gain.

Entrapta is wonderful. She's a handful, but she knows what she loves and she absorbs herself in it. It really doesn't matter what situation you put her in, because she'll always find something to do and a way to love what she's doing.

I need what she has

How do I login to catjerk@yahoo which of my passwords did I use was it Ador@sux.1 or SWbl0ws or 1.r34lly.m155.h3r.s0m371m35.

Nvm it was an autogen or someth cos idk what else dyg11ly14h5pj705 could be

We've been over this, after force captain is "Shadow Weaver." It doesn't have a title that's just what it is

I'll help you out here, the LEFT goes in your LEFT and the RIGHT goes in your RIGHT

idiot

This is a fair play honestly if my children didn't put away their toys I would make them enemies of the state

You can't actually hide being a good person. You'll always slip up. You'll always show, accidentally, that you care.

But no good deed goes unpunished. Even once Hordak finds some amount of goodness inside of him he's torn to pieces.

Catra's always been a good person deep down, but here we see her finally bring some amount of it to the surface.

Shadow Weaver doesn't deserve her kindness, but sometimes that just can't matter.

She's seeing someone in pain, and for the first time she's had the time to herself and the space to think that she's willing to use some of her words to communicate.

Like I said earlier, she's of the opinion that her and Shadow Weaver are equals in the ways that she values. It's why she tries to hold onto that feeling, and why she's willing to extend an olive branch.

Good people don't belong in the fright zone. Good people don't belong in the Horde. She's practically told that to her face countless times later by prime, as she continues to insist that she's not good. That she's everything she says she is. A conqueror. Someone who seeks to destroy and control.

And nobody will ever believe her

Because between all the biting and the torment and the theatrics

whenever she takes a single breath

there she is.

One thing she very much got from shadow weaver was a sensitivity to pity. I've certainly got that too, and I'm not spectacular at hiding it either. I don't really have anything much to say on it, though. It's hard to accept warmth when your blanket is so chewed and thin.

I wonder if any of this is true. Like, at ALL. Shadow Weaver is constantly lying, but she seems to drop SOMETHING before she speaks here.

I don't know if Catra is just incidental to her, or if she actually values her as a weapon and a tool. We know they were both her wards, but she clearly always valued the powers that Adora would hold a lot more than whatever Catra would grow to be capable of.

So was Catra just there so Adora would actually pay attention and enjoy her time training, or did Shadow Weaver actually have any hopes for Catra?

Sometimes when someone hurts you you're desperate to know that at least they value you. At least they care.

But you almost never get to know.

Something we don't see a TON of from Bow outside of super joke-y contexts, here he's fretting and spiraling and believing things outside of his control were his own fault. Also you like how crusty that image is? I probably coulda found a better version of it but I didn't

This is the sharpest fucking sword she drags it so gingerly across the surface

chalk would have hardly left a mark

I don't know anything about parenting but I have no clue how to raise a kid who feels like they can talk to you

I hear about people who have, like, ACTIVELY good relationships with their parents where they actively enjoy doing things together and it feels so alien to me

I think this is a good thing to brush on because it's something most people brush against. It's hard to talk to a figure of authority at be best of times, and it's even harder if it's someone you can't escape and someone you love.

An interesting parallel we have here is Catra opening a dialogue with Shadow Weaver, attempting to be open, and being called a disappointment, vs Glimmer refusing to open up a dialogue, digging her heels in, and getting reassured that she isn't one.

As time goes on, we see how resistant Glimmer is to change. How unwilling she is to become a different person. In comparison, we see how much Catra fights for things to change, but can only change so fast, and not always for the best. Neither of them wants to change themselves, but Glimmer is happy with her environment and Catra isn't. In trying to change her situation, Catra changes herself slowly, while Glimmer is majorly static until she can't possibly stay the same. This isn't a failing on Glimmer's part, I'm not one of those insane fans who says "uhm, if you're looking or a problematic member of the group, maybe look inward, sweaty," or anything like that, it's just something she struggles with.

Meanwhile Bow and Adora are great with change. They don't always enjoy it the most, but throw anything their way and they'll manage. They don't get stuck in their ways-- Bow is much healthier with his approach, but Adora is adaptable. Catra's good with small changes as long as they better her specific situation, and Glimmer can't really handle change much at all.

Anyway

Good character beat, but I don't like its presentation. Maybe it could have been helped with more voice direction, or more work with Angella trying to get a word in edgewise, but the sudden blurting of this twist is just kinda trope-y in a way that the series tends to be better at navigating. I'm a snob so the first time I heard this I probably snorted like an asshole or something

The scene is capable of making me plenty emotional NOW, but the first line is the low point, which isn't ideal.

Also I never remember how Glimmer gets healed if I'm honest but hey I'll remember when I see it

ALRIGHT SO

Here's how we're doing things, right? We're gonna go one episode at a time, and I'm gonna give my thoughts whenever they come up. This is a train of thought type beat, alright? Unlike my usual grandstanding authorial and analytical self, this re-watch is purely for the rant factor. If you don't know me, and you just happened upon this thread because you like reading she-ra rewatches, hello. I'm a writer from Canada who found she-ra in 2025 and is currently on her sixth watch through. From that, hopefully you can discern that I like this show, even if I'm likely gonna criticize parts of it. We good to go? Good. We start with S01 E01.

RIGHT, THE SWORD PART 1! A zoom in, with an angelic singing being drowned out by digital bloopy fright zone vibes, and then Adora being a fuckin dweeb as her leitmotif plays in a decidedly crystiline synth-y tone.

Now, what do we learn from this? This, aside from one gripe I'll have more to speak on later, is an excellent introduction. With the music alone we're essentially taken from the beauty of the planet, the overwhelming dread of the fright zone, and then into a hopeful tune that isn't FREE from these sort of digital themes in the music, but is very defined and separate FROM them.

This isn't gonna be one of those things where I praise literally every single fuckin thing so keep your panties on, I'm not gonna full-on overanalyzing avatar this shit, but the most important parts of a story are the beginning and the ending.

Now, when I say that, I am speaking pragmatically. Every part of every story is important-- but when it comes to what people remember, what they love, what they never shut up about-- it's the start and the end. You need to nail the take-off and the landing, people will forget the turbulence from the rest of the trip.

Now, what does THIS bitch's intro tell us about her? Well, a lot, honestly. Most of what we know about Adora at this point is she plays by the rules, but she is a notably goofy person. She's goofy, but she's unwilling to goof-OFF too much.

And while we get a taste of the rivalry they have instantly, with "That's low, even for you." "You know nothing's too low for me~"

We instantly see that that is not the CORE of their relationship.

I'd like to praise the voice direction in this show for the first of many times here. The voice actors do amazing work in this, and the direction can be felt throughout.

"Come on, you look stupid hanging there" can obviously be a seen as a strange first line to show the warmth these two share, but the inflection from Catra's voice actor, AJ Mikalcha, makes it read as downright sweet.

Also don't get used to me using names of the crew besides ND Stevenson because I'm so awful with names I was still calling Catra Katara half the time on my second re-watch and I was like 90% of the way to realizing I kinned her at that point

Also don't make fun of me for kinning Catra there's no RESPONSE to people making fun of you for kinning Catra THAT DOESN'T MAKE YOU SEEM MORE LIKE FUCKING CATRA OKAY

Anyway, the following scene makes it clear that this is not a one-way dynamic. The two banter, and it's clear Adora knows how to get under Catra's skin and annoy her as well. This is notable in a few places MUCH further on, but it is a difference worth highlighting NOW.

Once Adora leaves, Catra's primary goal is still to get under her skin. She's angry about it, she's mean about it, but she's still just doing what she's always done. The relationship between the two doesn't actually change as much as the context does. I'd say the relationship itself doesn't change much until the final season, at a scene I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about.

On the flip-side, Adora's goal when it comes to Catra is simply to fight her off. But that's not all there is. At points, it's clear that Adora holds some sort of REVERENCE for Catra, and while Catra is very capable of very mean things, don't get me wrong, Adora sees Catra as more of a threat than she realistically is.

At a few moments I'll point out she also relishes in getting under Catra's skin, but admittedly those are few and far between.

People have gone over this introduction billions of times, so I won't BORE you to death with it, but Shadow weaver's introduction does hint at a lot of what we'll learn later. I think it's very notable that while Shadow weaver brings a dark gloom that encompasses both our leads, her vile tendrils only dare to touch Catra. We learn the specifics of the dynamic these three have later, but it is a very unique and terrible situation to be the least favourite of an abusive guardian. Especially if you are repeatedly reminded of that fact.

I'm not gonna go over all the body language shit I've seen other text posts about it there's plenty of them a lot of focus in this show goes into tiny details where characters are constantly reacting to the world around them, and very rarely do we get lame stretches where anyone's face is just frozen and unflinching while they listen to someone else.

with all due respect to the setting at this point in time the bright moon rebellion is so pathetically anemic it's the two teens, some movie night lesbians, an immortal princess queen, and a bunch of fucking trees.

And you'd think the one carrying the team would be THE IMMORTAL PRINCESS QUEEN, BUT NO, ITS THE FUCKING TREES DOING ALL THE GOD DAMNED WORK

This introduction is fine. I don't particularly like it, nor have any strong feelings about it. It establishes the relationship between glimmer and her mother, but besides that it doesn't honestly do much. And don't come at me with "Uh, all it needs to do is establish that relationship?" Yeah, no shit, but we just had a better introduction to our other lead characters. And yes, those are the MAIN leads, the sort of heart of the show, but that doesn't mean that the other characters are unimportant. Glimmer's development later on is truly interesting, and Bow becomes a massively inspiring character. Fun jokey times are fine or whatever to show that they're immature and don't know the first thing about war, in contrast to our full-blown child soldiers raised from birth in the fright zone, but we really don't learn anything particularly INTERESTING about our best friend squad compadres in their intro, nor do we really see any of it until episode 2, to be frank.

This is something we don't actually see much of-- Catra has this ideal of being a conqueror, but it's very clear that she doesn't want that. Her threats are vapid and aimless-- She can enjoy some chaos, sure, but a shit-stirrer isn't gonna use that feces to build brick shithouses that they never intend to fall.

I think this should have been elaborated on more, personally. Catra is comically terrible with authority, and her plan, as stated later, is to wait it out until her and Adora are the ones calling the shots. But we don't really see what she thinks conquering even looks like, and it's not clear whether that's that she hasn't even imagined it and just likes evil words, or if she genuinely wants to rule with Adora as her Queen.

I gravitate towards the first, but that's partially because I wake up and post shit like "I want to destroy the world and rule its dust" and then forget I posted it when someone likes it 5 minutes later. If she do, in fact, as studies point toward, "be just like me fr," then I fully understand. If not, then I'd like to understand.

aw :(

Fuckin dweeb pulling the "my mom doesn't want me hanging out with you anymore" card

HA! Ah, what a bitch. Anyway, she's lashing out, but it's also quite tragic. A lot of people seem to think Adora IS, in some way, a people pleaser, but in reality she just has such an ingrained and violent sense of justice that she wants to right every wrong she has ever and will ever come across. She believes her validity is tied to what she can provide to the world, and she's got a natural sense of charisma, so it's natural for someone who refuses to blend in and naturally tends to put people off like Catra to have this view of her.

In reality, Adora is just-- a good person. And people LIKE good people. She's not a good person with an asterisk-- a good person with terms and conditions-- someone who falls into the definition of a good person while feeling and being treated like something else. Catra is the "a tomato is a fruit" of good people. Adora is just, like, a 1 dollar costco hotdog of a woman. An inarguable good treading water on this earth, no matter how hard it tries to pull her under.

Imagine falling for a brat with mad hops, like a fucking 50 foot vertical, you say you're too tired to play their favourite board game and they go hang out on your neighbour's roof, couldn't be me. Get fucked I guess

Yeah this is sad. Empathy is very much a learned skill, and people who don't learn empathy don't GET happy FOR people. Catra's not a complete person yet. She's not ready to be. That doesn't happen for a really long time, during an exceptionally long manic spiral. We'll get there, calm down, don't think about how far away that is and how much I've already yammered on.

Anyway, if you find yourself getting jealous or annoyed instead of getting happy for people, consider empathy isn't what you thought it was, and that you might still need to work on yourself.

fucking porno framing. Immensely sexual image, really. These bitches violently gay I suppose, I think I'm picking up on that during this sixth re-watch.

Buddy you got no idea how many problems those two already have you literally lose your little tiara at some point I think it ends up in the middle of a tree in space or something it's kinda unclear

Adora elbows her square in the nose during this so to everyone accusing Catra of physical abuse I just want it to be clear that Adora started it :/

Actually I'd like to retract that joke immediately because I know how people get about these two

My feelings are that they are literally child soldiers who were likely raised sparring each-other.

I was raised sparring other children and I ended up fine! Not for war, for Karate. And I didn't end up fine. And neither did they. Anyway, my point isn't even specifically that because this is sci-fi fantasy it's ridiculous to hold real life standards to it, it's more-so that because it's sci-fi fantasy there's extenuating circumstances that are going to affect how these two characters treat each-other. I'll go into hotter takes later, I'm sure, and get people to send me plenty of death-threats, but I'm gonna go into the nuances of exactly what forms Catra's abuse takes, and how it differs given by the separate circumstances we're shown the two in throughout the show.

my girl when I'm tryna live my best life playing as blue toad in mario 3d world

also holy shit we're only like halfway through this I am an AGONIZING yapper jesus fuck

Okay, what to say about lighthope-- well, their first words are "balance must be restored," far before they say Adora's name, so it somewhat lays out their secret priorities for us there. Besides that, I dunno, they got circuits on them? I don't have particularly strong feelings about lighthope, nor their introduction. I think they serve the setting and are written well, I just subjectively am not a sucker for the way they be. Their friendship with Mara is cute tho

I was gonna point out this is cute and how often I do this exact brat tactic but instead we data moshin, nothin wrong with a little data moshin, I'm down

This is the only reason she even wears a ponytail I'd stake my fuckin life on it

Once she leaves the fright zone that thing's fucking vestigial like a tailbone or having "any pronouns" in your bio when it's pretty clear you're very much a "she/they" type of bitch by now

glimmer why don't your windows have glass

or alternatively

how the fuck do you open and close that window

you can absolutely fucking hear her from this distance what on earth are you trying to pull

you a pillow princess tho how many of those arrows are just hitatchi magic wands attatched to a stick with duct-tape after the series ends do you think

The fuck you mean BOTTOM drawer we lookin at left and right here

or is this similar to my pillow princess comment and she's just addressing him and giving him an order

"Bottom; drawer."

It's established later on that he's a tech wiz but at this point in time they don't really give us much to lead us to the fact that he made that fucking thing

she's a freak

yes it's very sweet that she sleeps this way but I don't think it's some bdsm powerplay thing or anything like that, which would honestly be more tolerable, I think she's just like that

like how the way I'd sit in high school was to get two chairs and face them toward each-other then sit cross-legged across both

even if there weren't enough chairs to go around

people would sit on the FLOOR because I wanted to sit criss-cross-applesauce across two chairs, they wouldn't even ask for one of my chairs

also since I was sitting, again, cross-legged, it would have made more sense for ME to sit on the floor

I mean I think I got asked ONCE for one of the chairs and I just said "fine" but besides that people just let me sit on my fuckin throne

She really is kinda dumb, though. Like I ain't complaining, it's a character trait, but like obviously even if just you get in trouble Catra's gonna get blamed, you've seen it like at least once a month for your whole entire life

Mind you, can't really have Catra for the next part, because Catra's reaction to Bow and Glimmer wouldn't be "just let me have the sword" it'd be murder

oh wow we hit the image limit looks like we're doing TWO SEPARATE POSTS FOR THE VERY FIRST EPISODE YEE-HAW!!!!! THIS IS GOING TO TAKE ME FUCKING FOREVER

[rogue-vigilante]

Guys, I know it sucks that The Greens lost a bunch of seats, but it's not because Aussies don't understand how Preferential Voting works like I hear a lot of people here saying.

Greens first preference has remained roughly the same in between the two elections. If everyone was "so scared of repeating what happened in America", that number would have absolutely dropped a hell of a lot more than it did.

So, why did they lose the seats? Simple, in 2022, in all the Green won seats they were fighting against the Libs. This year, they were mostly fighting against Labour for them (excluding Ryan which is basically a Greens win at this point).

Generally, when it comes to preferential voting (excluding most minor parties), Labour voters rank the Greens higher than the Libs, while Libs voters rank Labour higher than the Greens. In 2022, the Greens had the backing of the Labour preference voters. (This data is all available btw, I'm not just pulling it out of my arse) This year, they were fighting directly the Labour voters who helped them win the seat, relying on the preference of the Libs voters instead (and in Brisbane, the preferential votes of the AJP just got them over the line in 2022 to beat Labour into the final 2).

Given everything that happened with this election (and people jumping ship from the Libs are more likely to go to Labour than Greens, as shown by the first preference count), I'm not surprised they lost their seats. Sad, yeah, but it's not a massive shock. And it's not "people not understanding how preferential voting works" but rather preferential voting doing exactly what it's supposed to.

But, there is some good news. The Greens still basically control the Senate by holding enough seats that either party has to bargain with them to get majority. So Labour is still going to have to work with them to get bills through. And there is not an insignificant number of Aussies who vote Greens; if Labour doesn't want those voters to preference rising independent parties like the Teals over Labour, they're gonna have to listen to the Greens.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the amount of effort that goes into figuring out what to cook and eat every day is RIDICULOUS. i used to think people were so weird and boring for eating the same thing every single day but it truly does make life so much easier

[eta-volantis]

I am starting to get annoyed with people calling LycaHugo and PhaiDei "bait" like there isn't even a canon straight ship wtf do you mean??? This is a game where they sell you characters, not ships. They can add them in as best they can while avoiding censorship, but they also have to allow player freedom to interpret relationships how they like because a lot of players are going to be attached to the chars they potentially paid for. If the game is full of confirmed straight ship then sure! Yes! The most crazy part is that the only confirmed ships Hoyo have are both wlw from HI3 like??? Not straight, last I checked. Hoyo does a lot of scummy stuff, but disregarding attempts to add gay ships around strict censorship that could fuck up their game as bait is starting to really annoy me. If they don't have it, they're scum, if they do have it, they're bait. Like what?? If you don't like the games then just don't play it, why is it so hard!!? Move on to something you like!!?? Continue to call for better ratio between male and female chars instead of trashing something they already actively do maybe??!!

[yeonban]

Just saw Blu's hc post about Lucian & Tobias from Lucian's POV and HIGHKEY... I adore how Tobias gives off the vibe that he'll understand you. Which, he will - sometimes even more than you yourself do, but the fact that people see him going about life and immediately get the urge to hover around him in search for someone who #understands them is so peak to me. If I had a dollar for every time this happened I'd already be able to afford a meal,

[quietwingsinthesky]

soulless sam was at his best when he was still being written as a version of sam, to accentuate parts of him that normally get held back, and not as 'guess he's evil now'. soulless sam when he's reflecting sam's tendency to lose sight of everything else in pursuit of a goal. soulless sam when he's just kind of rude without thinking about it without his filter on. soulless sam when he's equal parts intent on keeping dean with him and also happy to lie to him and keep him shut out of the things he knows dean won't like so that dean won't leave. soulless sam when he equally recognizes that he is a better hunter now, and also that he probably can't continue to exist without his soul. (you know. before they went along with making him just kind of evil.)

...soulless sam when he's begging for literally anyone to acknowledge his autonomy in this situation and not force him to take his soul back without knowing how much it could damage him and being ignored.

[katyspersonal]

^^^ I got this video recommended after watching a couple on UTDR dramas and it is honestly extremely spot on? I am impressed to hear a really thoughtful analysis from the "other side" of the situation, that addresses problems on both sides; creators being more worried about being shunned from the community than about what they did and damage-controlling what is said about them, but also strangers psychoanalyzing a person they don't know who is already irrational from fear and pain in bad faith.

I am not sure if anyone here finds it handy since I am against the idea of "building up platform" for as long as I remember (I even had instances of purging my following to remain small artist), and I've made sure to cultivate the audience (all ten of my fans xd) with the same mindset who just want to quietly chill with the friendly faces in the corners 🤔 But I never know when one of those "platform and community" kids is looking in my general direction, so why not xD And yes, it is certainly helpful from the side of the observer, to not judge the creators the wrong way. The brain biology bit is hella correct, again, I am impressed by how well it is explained!