#I love existing here from time to time it's so... a Lot.

[sugxto]

flip the switch - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: It's Volt's birthday, and he has a special request for his present.

⋆wc: 4.2k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, bottom volt and top eddie, fingering fucking, rimming, cunninglinus, erotic electrostimulation

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, folds, entrance, cunt and clit. e/v masterlist.

this does include dialogue and references from the final day of their route, so if you haven't finished them, i'd avoid for spoilers. there is also a few sentence description of what Volt's realization outfit looks like - they're not being realized, I just want to use the outfit, which you can see here in high res.

⋆snippet:

Before you can blink, Volt's above you, hands on either side of you, and you shudder at his white hot eyes when he says, in a voice smooth as silk, “I would rather love to fuck you, my live wire.”

Okay, that wasn’t too wei--

“While our Eddie fucks me.”

Oh, fuck.

flip the switch

“I didn’t realize it was actually this big of a deal.”

Eddie cranes his head at your voice, only being able to catch a glimpse of you from his precarious angle atop the ladder. “Ah, hey live wire,” he says as he turns back to his task. “Gimme a minute to finish this, yeah?”

He’s hanging a banner across the top shelf of the bar, decorated with bright, hand-painted lightning bolts and stars across the dark fabric. In a darling, cursive font, it reads, “Happy Birthday Volt!”

You look around the empty bar, see the stage adorned with balloons, the tables strewn with party hats and glitter. The Breaker Box, on any given night, is vibrant, lively, electric, but not often is it bright, with an anticipation in the air for celebration. You like it, you think, it’s different, in a way that makes you feel like a kid again.

You hear Eddie sigh, and you turn to see him lean back, survey his work. He studies the banner for a moment before calling over his shoulder, “Hey babe?”

“Yes?”

“Is it straight?”

“As an arrow, Eddie.”

He huffs as he descends the ladder. “Works for me then.”

You meet him behind the bar after he puts the ladder away, and he gives you a kiss on your cheek before he starts to fix himself a drink. “Want anything?” You nod, accept the cocktail he creates, and you lean against the bar with him. He must notice how your eyes keep flitting to the balloons, to the banner, to the white cake box that sits at the end of the bar, because he takes a long sip of his drink before saying, “It, uh, yeah, is a pretty big deal.”

You look over at him, surprised by the shyness in his voice that you haven’t heard notes of in months. “A big deal, because it’s Volt?” you ask, watching his face, see his brows furrow. “I know he’s a diva, he’s our diva, but surely he doesn’t ask for something like this every year.” You pause when Eddie doesn’t answer, only takes another sip. You ask, a bit incredulously, “Does he?”

Eddie sighs, tilts his head back, his grey eyes staring holes into the bottles behind the bar. “It’s not a big deal for us.” His fingers spin the tumbler in his hand, the liquid sloshing around the glass. “It’s… a pretty big deal to the rest of the house. Holly,” he nods at the banner, “Mitchell,” at the white box, “Stefan. Winnie. Mayor Celia.” He shrugs his shoulders, shuffles his weight on his feet. “It means a lot to them, I guess, having someone in the house that was actually… born.”

You blink, the connotation his words registering, aware of the silence that’s growing between you and Eddie, but he seems to pay it no mind, taking small sips of his drinks. Your brows furrow, and you turn your body to face his, steady yourself with one hand on the bar, before you finally ask, “Volt’s… the only one with a birthday.”

It comes out a bit more like a statement than a question, but Eddie nods all the same. “Yeah. Birthday, ‘sparked into existence’ day, whatever you wanna call it.” He puts a hand out in front of him. “There was a time before Volt.” He makes a sweeping arch with the hand. “And then, Volt was here.” Finally, he turns his gaze to yours, his lightning brows arched on his forehead. “That’s as close as we can get, I guess.”

“But what about -”

“Days they joined the house? Dates of manufacturing lots?” Eddie cocks his head, and you can’t quite read the look in his grey eyes, though it almost seems amused. “That doesn’t apply to all of us.”

Us?

Your lips fall open, words stuck on your tongue, and now you’re really, really studying Eddie’s face. “Eddie,” you finally manage, and his brows raise even more, expectantly. “How old are you?”

He chuckles, softly, and raises the glasses to his lips as he asks, “How old’s the house?”

“I… don’t know.”

He nods, the smallest of smirks on the corners of his lips. “Then, I don’t know. Like I said, it’s not so simple for all of us. You wanna ask River how old she is? She’s fucking water, live wire.”

Huh, you think. Guess that was true. 

He finishes his drink, sets it on the bar, and crosses his arms as he turns to face you. “Like I said. He and I would be more than happy to treat it like any other day. Well, maybe me more than him. But the others like…” he pauses, and you can see the wires connect in his mind as he finds the right phrase, “they like the idea that, we could create something. Create life.”

You nod. “But,” you ask, quietly, “can they?”

Eddie inhales deeply, his chest rising before letting it out, heavy through his nose. His own voice is quiet now too. “I don’t know that either.”

You’ve never asked about where Volt really came from, outside of the cursory explanation Eddie had given the night of the reset. That Eddie had split himself, made Volt out of necessity, their very essence comprised of something that powered both of them. “Sparked into existence,” was how they always phrased it, and they never offered more than that.

“But you did.”

Eddie’s quiet at that, but he nods. “Yeah. I did.”

“How?”

Eddie groans, and he rolls his eyes, exaggerates it, before running a hand through the coils of his hair. “I knew one day you’d ask me that. And live wire, I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else.” He points a finger at you, a sparkle in his eye. “That I. Don’t. Know.”

You blink, immediately confused, feeling the gears in your brain try to process. “What?”

“I don’t know how I did it.” He throws his hands up in surrender before dropping them to the bar, leaning against the cold, curved wood. A small veil of something falls over his face, almost always, stoic face, making him look more… contemplative. Yeah, that’s the right word, you decide. “I just… remember the pain. How frayed I was, a fucking dead man walking. And I thought, if I could just,” he gestures with his hands, like tearing a paper, “rip it out of me, split myself off from what was holding me back from doing my literal fucking job…” his hands turn to fists, and he studies them for a moment before dropping them. “I remember wanting, needing that with every electron inside me. And then, there was just this flash of white light. And I woke up,” he nods his head towards the back room, “to a white eyes staring at me.”

You’re quiet, a bit unsure what to say, and waiting to see if he speaks again. You reach out to touch his arm, wanting to be near him, and he settles into your touch, grey eyes finding yours, and a soft smile on his lips.

“Sorry it’s a bit anticlimactic,” he says with a small laugh. “But I’m not harboring any secrets on how household objects can procreate under my sleeves.”

You smile too, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You hear, in the back of your mind, something else they’d said that night - “we’re not one thing, but we’re not two things, either.”

You turn the memory over in your mind, working out how to phrase your next question. You swallow, purse your lips, then say, “Eddie, I don’t want you to be freaked out by what I’m gonna ask.”

He cocks a brow, and a corner of his mouth twitches up, and you see a flash of his canines. “Alright.”

You steel yourself for whatever answer he gives. “What is Volt, to you?”

Eddie licks his lips and studies your face. You see him catch your implication, and he takes a deep breath. “I can tell you what he’s not. He’s not my brother, and he’s not my kid, if that’s what’s suddenly worrying you. Though your timing is a little late in asking that.”

You fight how your eyes want to roll. “But he’s something.”

His eyes soften, and he worries his bottom lip with his teeth before saying, in perhaps the smallest voice you’ve ever heard from him, “I think… I think he’s my soul.” He must notice how wide your eyes get, how high your brows shoot, because he adds, quickly, “Most, or part, of it, at least. I don’t,” he runs a hand through hair again, tugging slightly at the frayed ends, “I don’t know. But, what I feel, what we feel, it’s… deep. Cut from the same thing. So, that’s my best guess.”

The look in Eddie’s eyes makes your heart swell - it threatens to rip itself out of your chest and throw itself at his feet. It’s a look of pure, electric, love, and you, not for the first time, cannot believe that you are lucky enough to be loved by him. By both of them. Because maybe you knew, deep down, that that would be Eddie’s answer, that there was no other explanation for how they literally completed each other. 

And what a privilege, what a wonder, that they thought you completed them.

You bring your hands up to his chest, press yourself against him, needing him, his touch, and he brings his hands to your face without a word, the two of you fitting together with ease. His thumbs run over your cheeks, hot under his touch, and he asks in a teasing voice, “Did that answer your question?”

“Yes,” you admit, your voice full of more emotion than you were expecting. “I love you. I love you both, Eddie.”

He hums as he smiles. “Yeah? Well, we love you too. And I didn’t even have to make you in a blind fury to ease my suffering.”

You try to smack his chest, but he’s too quick, and his lips are on yours before you can retort. He’s warm, always so warm, and you wonder if he’ll truly make you melt one day.

“Kissing our partner before me, live wire? On my own birthday?”

You break away at Volt’s voice, echoing in the unusually empty club, and your breath catches at the sight of him. His usual vest and wired coat have been traded for a stunning black suit, adorned with golden lightning bolts across the shoulders, and his usual copper cuffs replaced with a few gold bangles. He looks lush, expensive, gorgeous, and so fucking hot.

He chuckles at the look on your face, your slack jaw, as he steps to meet you and Eddie. “See something you like, darling?”

“Hell yes,” you say, at the same time that Eddie says, “Fuck you.”

Volt’s grin is devilish, charming, electrifying. “Later, Eddie dear. We have to entertain before I can open my presents.” As he says it, his white eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of the glam ensemble you’d thrown on for the party, and he licks his lips. “And I think I’ll take my time unwrapping them.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie grumbles, though his eyes sparkle, and he pecks your forehead. “Now I gotta get changed, everyone’ll be here soon.”

He takes a step to leave, but Volt shoots him a teasing look as he blocks him with a hand. “Ah ah, as I said, the birthday boy is lacking in kisses.”

“The ones I give your dick this morning not count?” 

You can’t contain your laugh as, shocked, Volt lets him pass, Eddie not even giving him a glance back. But you stop, immediately, when he turns his attention back to you, and the look on his face is both terrifying and exciting as fuck.

“Fine,” he purrs. “I’ll just have to get my fill from you, then.”

When Eddie comes back downstairs, he has to tear him off you, has to repeat over and over to Volt that no, just because it was his birthday, he still could not eat you out on the bar.

You’ve never seen the Breaker Box as full as it is for Volt’s party. Nearly everyone is here, packed together around the tables, sitting on the edge of the stage, primed with champagne and a charge of excitement you’ve not seen them buzz with before. Volt greets them all with ease, like he was made to mingle - you wonder, actually, if he was. You help Eddie behind the bar, knowing this sort of thing isn’t his forte, though he doesn’t look as fatigued as you expected, even as he serves cocktail after cocktail, as Mitchell grills him on the origin of their citrus, or as Barry talks a mile a minute. 

Mayor Celia makes a small toast, tells a story about how everyone remembers the shock (she gets laughter at that) of Volt’s arrival, and how he truly brings a warmth, an ease, to the house. You and Eddie are with him as she speaks, and after the Cheers!, he kisses you, then Eddie, to whoops and hollers, before pulling both of you onto the dance floor.

It’s late when the crowd finally thins out, and you’re playing some incomprehensible drinking game with Parker and Rainey when Eddie announces last call. Volt’s with him behind the bar, chatting with him while he has yet another slice of cake, and your heart swells again when you glance over at them, in awe of how easy and how right everything is. Volt, ever observant, must feel you looking, and he throws a wink over at you that makes you blush.

When finally, finally, the club is empty again, the three of you are sat at the bar, your bare feet thrown over Volt’s lap, your head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. Connected. Together.

“Volt,” you say, your voice tired, and he hums as he looks up at you. “Did you have fun?”

He smiles, runs a hand over your leg. “Always, little spark. But,” his touch creeps higher up your calf, “don’t I still have my presents to open?”

You’re all up the stairs in a flash, a trail of your clothes on the steps, all of you a mess of hands, lips, teeth, pulling and petting and just wanting to feel each other, and it’s only because you know them so well that you can feel the difference of their skin on yours - Eddie’s, that hums like a current, and Volt’s, that buzzes with power. You melt under their hands, and suddenly, you’re on the bed, watching them kiss, watching them pull each other’s coats off without even parting. 

When Volt’s lips move to Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s steel eyes find yours, and he keeps your gaze as he wraps a hand in Volt’s hair and says into his ear, “Hey birthday boy, you gonna tell ‘em what you want?”

You hear Volt’s chuckle, muffled against Eddie’s skin, before he stands back up and turns to you, his hand hanging off Eddie’s neck. “Mm, I suppose I should.”

Before you can blink, he’s above you, hands on either side of you, and you shudder at his white hot eyes when he says, in a voice smooth as silk, “I would rather love to fuck you, my live wire.”

Okay, that wasn’t too wei--

“While our Eddie fucks me.”

Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuuuck,” you moan, your cunt clenching at the thought, the anticipation, and you press your legs together as tight as you can. Volt’s resulting chuckle only makes it worse. 

“Do you think we can do that for me, my darling?” He coos, dipping his head to your ear, the ends of his hair shocking your skin where it tickles your neck. “For my birthday, hm?”

You moan again at this voice, his lips, his fucking everything, a shiver enveloping your body pinned beneath him, and it takes every ounce of your resolve to nod, to moan a, “yes, yes, please.”

Volt’s tongue licks your ear, and you throw your hands up to claw at his chest as your back arches off the bed. “Very good, little spark. How about,” another lick, another plea from your lips, “I finish what we started at the bar? While Eddie gets me ready for him?”

You nod, but then quickly whimper a yes, knowing you’d get a shock to your skin if you didn’t, and he leans up, finds your waist with his hands, and pushes you up the bed. You curse when he spreads your legs, settles on his stomach, and his eyes glimmer at the sight of you, wet and aching for touch.

You see him bite his lip, and there’s a shock to your clit as his fingers find your folds, and you hear him mutter, in a quiet voice, “Happy birthday to me,” and then you scream, because he feasts.

Your back shoots off the bed, your fingers claw at their sheets, and your ankles lock around Volt’s neck as his tongue works you, expertly, knowingly, and the warmth, the current he creates within you travels to every inch of your body. When you feel his fingers press inside you, your eyes open, needing to see him, but it’s then you notice Eddie’s dark hair at the end of the bed, settled between Volt’s legs, having a feast for himself.

You think it might be the fastest you’ve ever cum, screaming their names, and you hear both of them hum as the legs shake, lightning flashing behind your eyes.

But Volt doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow his fingers, and you feel his breath against your throbbing clit as he pulls away, says, “let’s have another, my darling, as a present, hm?” and your throat is raw as he goes right back to giving you long, slow licks, before his tongue practically starts vibrating around you.

You hear him groan after a minute, and through heavy lids, you watch Eddie lift himself up, run his hands over Volt’s ass, before you watch his fingers slide inside, and Volt’s resulting moan sends shockwaves through your belly. 

Eddie’s titanium eyes pin yours down, and his free hand finds the small of Volt’s back, pressing him down when he starts to arch. You know he can see the tears that are pooling at the edge of your eyes, the uncontrollable shake of your leg, and he fucking smiles - you think you hate him, hate both of them, as you feel Volt’s teeth scrape against you.

“They’re close, Volt,” Eddie hums, his grin showing his teeth. “You gonna make them gush for us, birthday boy?”

Volt’s tongue finds a truly brutal pace, his fingers slipping in and out of you with quick, slick sounds, and he does just that. The lightning flashes again, stealing your breath, and your body goes slack as your orgasm rips through every electrified cell in your body.

When you blink, a moment later, Volt is above you again, peppering small kisses to your collarbones, your shoulder. He feels you stir, and white eyes dart to yours. “You, our spark, are the most delectable birthday treat.” A kiss to your cheek. “Now, tell me. How would you like me fuck you? Like this? Or on your stomach?”

Both are equally appealing, you think, but the thought of him plowing your ass into the mattress does reignite the sparks that the orgasms threatened to drain, so you tell him, with a hoarse voice, “stomach, please.”

You’re flipped by four hands in a flash, and your hips are being lifted, just enough for Volt’s hot, aching cock to find the right angle to your entrance, and he slips inside with ease, coating himself with your own climax as he fills you in one sweet thrust. You both gasp at the feeling, the shock of his skin against you. He steadies himself when his hands grasp your waist, and his lips kiss your shoulder blade when he moans.

You feel, a moment later, his arms quiver, and a curse hisses through his teeth, and you know that Eddie must be fulfilling his end of the deal. Volt rocks his hips into you, groans Eddie’s name, and fuck, maybe the stomach was the wrong call, because you wish you could see.

Somewhere, deep in your mind, a little voice tells you that you can, and you remember the mirror on the armoire across the room, and flip your head.

Thank the fucking stars, it’s the perfect angle.

Eddie has one hand on Volt’s waist, and the other encircles his neck, his face hungry, powerful, savoring every little sound the two of you make, and he thrusts inside of Volt, sending Volt deeper inside of you.

One day, these men would be the death of you.

You watch, transfixed, as Eddie finds his pace, languid strokes combined with harsh thrusts, each in turn making Volt’s cock throb inside you, trying as much as he can to set his own pace, but Eddie’s hold on him not allowing for such freedom.

As Eddie moves faster, Volt loses his grip on your waist, his hands falling to the mattress beside your skin, his muscles trembling with the effort to keep himself up, to keep rocking inside you. The room is filled with moans, curses, and the sounds of skin on skin, brutal, relentless, and you wish it could be this way always.

“F-fuck, Eddie, yes, more,” Volt’s usual collected voice is anything but, he’s burning, greedy, and barely hanging on to his composure, and a silent scream leaves your lips when Eddie complies, your body being thrust further and further into the mattress, and you feel drool spill from your lips on the sheets.

Shocks light up your back, and now Volt speaks to you, nearly pleading, “Give me one more, live wire, give you j-just one, fuck, more.”

And it is his birthday, after all.

It’s Eddie’s tell-tale groans that make the spring inside you start to tighten, but it’s Volt’s whimpers, his pleas, and you feel him pump erratically inside you, that bring you to the peak once again, your walls clamping like a vice around Volt as tears from your mix mix with the puddle of drool beneath your cheek. 

Like a tripped circuit, Volt is next - he nearly collapses above your back as he fills you, one of his hands finding your arm and holding on for dear life, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find a hand-shaped burn in the morning (maybe, in fact, you’d welcome it). His whole body shudders as Eddie groans his name, how good he is, what a sweet birthday boy, until finally, he stills too, coming with Volt’s name on his lips.

When, finally, you’re free from the pile of bodies you all created, one of them (you’re not quite cognizant to register which) pulls you to their bathroom, and again, in the shower, you’re between their bodies, each of you helping to rinse off each other between quiet, slow kisses.

Clean in the bed, a new blanket over you, Volt holds you nearly atop his chest, Eddie on his side as he leans over the both of you, and your heart sings at their touches.

But, there’s one thing on your mind.

“It’s not fair,” you say in a small voice, sleep desperately wanting to overtake you.

Volt stills his hand on your back. “What’s not, darling?”

“Eddie’s the only one of us without a birthday.”

They glance at each other, as if it were the first time they realized it - maybe it is, in their world, Volt is the exception - before steel and white eyes find yours, and Eddie says simply, “Then pick a day.”

You raise your head, flick your eyes between them. “Really?”

“Why not,” he says, and you see the hints of a smirk he’s trying to hide. “If tonight was any indication, they certainly have their benefits.”

You smile, knowing without a doubt that you are the luckiest person in this house. “Okay. Um. Do you have a favorite month?”

Eddie chuckles, love and amusement both swimming in his eyes. “Not at all.”

“Well you’re a big help.” You turn to Volt, that same mixture in his eyes. “Volt, pick a month.”

“November.”

“Why November?’ Eddie asks.

“It’s got a V in it, of course.” He winks, and grey eyes roll.

“Alright, November… third,” you decide. “Cuz there’s three of us.”

Both pairs of eyes soften, their faces beaming. 

“Then that’s my birthday,” Eddie hums, his voice laced with devotion, adoration, pride.

Volt cups his cheek and strokes his stubble with his thumb. “I can’t wait, then.” He smiles softly, looks at you both. “Because I thoroughly enjoyed mine, my darlings.”

He kisses you both, and you settle in together, exhausted, but now, you dream of November thirds to come as well.

[ihaveasolutionbutyouwontlikeit]

As someone who has been (or attempting to be) making the choice of stabbed in the back, buried alive, burned from the inside out or feeding the wolves for my entire existence (and stupidly self aware of it to the point of madness), you learn that there is no one answer or application here. A lot of that is because of the variables of your existence and the alignment of each moment throughout the day in the first place, like overlapping violin notes or diamond quartets of stained glass casting colours from a church window onto different areas of the space.

Your conditioning. Your resources. Your natural abilities, inclinations and capability to apply them in various contexts. Seeing or not seeing the puzzle pieces making a picture, even if some of the pieces are torn or damaged.

I don't believe there is any one right answer here.

I don't believe there has to be one.

I don't think the variables of existence in its multilayered formats can ever have one conclusive answer as to how to care, how to love, both the world and ourselves at the same time.

I don't think the stained glass of humanity's being is something that can be condensed into only selecting the shade of your own glass pieces. Because sometimes it's not the glass, it's the lights pulsing through them.

What humanity can do is continue to forge new pieces from the old broken or damaging parts, apply more or less lead into the framework, and hope and aim to be aware of the light being cast upon and then through and onto themselves, others and the surrounding walls. They have always done this. It's just that the more of them there are, the more muddles the surrounding colours become. The harder it is to distinguish your own shades being thrown in every circumstance. That's okay. Work with what you've got, what you can see and colour. Or don't. Just exist and see what you see until a light comes along and just hits you so vibrantly you feel your fragments pulse with intensity, and then spend part of your existence chasing that light and throwing it back.

Give yourself a break. And know that, sometimes, you need to break a little to throw some new light, and that this does not make you damaged or flawed. It makes you glisten differently on a winter morning filled with frost. It makes you become part sand, part shard and part open window for the creatures and air to travel through on their ways, gratefully.

You can choose your suffering, and it's true also that often you can't, but only in being accepting of your purpose and aware of your conditioning and mindful of the surrounding light levels, or intentional shade being cast, do we find a balance between a soft glow and a laser beam.

Be light, refracted. Be lens. Be love. Belong. Become. And remember sometimes to just be.

Love loud and speak true, it's all becoming and becoming and becoming. ✨

You ever meet a person who you can just tell is constantly fighting against their own impulse to be kind

[jellyfishoreo1206]

Quite the Vocalist

Summary: What if the objects had a homeowner who sung often around the house before said homeowner was cursed blessed with the Dateviators?

POSSIBLE(?) SPOILERS FOR THE GAME

Notes: Pre-Dateviators! They/them used but they wear makeup, will switch to 3rd POV and 2nd POV often. You already KNOW that this is a Hector x Reader fic

Totallyyyyy not me trying to influence you guys into listening to my favorite songs no siree, why would you assume such a thing

Warnings: Slightly suggestive! That means, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF I SEE YOU INTERACTING WITH THIS POST IN ANY WAY

Headers belong to @/thecutestgrotto

Before the Dateviators crashed through their door window came to their house, the homeowner was quite the vocalist. It’s not that the objects didn’t like it, no, it had quite the opposite effect! 

It made the home feel more, well, like a home.

Even if the homeowner didn’t know that almost all of the objects in their household was alive and listening, it was entertaining for them to listen in on their constant humming whilst they busied themselves with a whatever task needed to be attended to or to watch their “live performances” as they belted out whatever lyrics came to mind. 

There are many instances of the homeowner doing such things for as long as the objects can remember…

—

It was two months after you had fully settled into your brand new home, and honestly? It feels AMAZING! Amazing to have your own privacy, amazing to finally enjoy the peace and quiet that seemed to never exist, and! No longer having to share the bathroom or bedrooms anymore!! 

Is this what liberation feels like?

So here you were, in your bathroom before taking the longest bath known the human-kind. You hadn’t had the chance to use your bathtub, as there was lots of cleaning to do around the house and remodeling to do. And when taking in the final result, it was wonderful. So for all that hard work, a nice hot soak in the bathtub sounded like the perfect reward.

The whole bathroom was decked out: dimmed lights, lightly scented candles, essential oils, bath salts, bubbles in the bath, and of course, your favorite playlist playing softly in the background. After the preparations, you slipped into the warm water, muscles instantly relaxing at the warmth, a soft sigh slipping out once you had fully settled into the bath. 

Ough this feels gooooood

Warm water enveloping every inch of you—soothing and massaging the cramped and tight muscles, ebbing away at the gnawing feeling of exhaustion, the feeling of your heart rate beating gradually, and the soft notes of your playlist…Speaking of which, one of your favorites is playing.

It began as a murmur,“You've got this golden way of making my body sway,” Honestly, you forgot where you heard this one, maybe from one of the shows Sam made you watch, but the rhythm of the music stuck to your head, it’s just so groovy. Your head sways gently to the lyrics as the next few line falls from your mouth oh so easily, “Of making my mind fly away, of making it fly,”

“It's the world I love to be in,”

“Come on, let's go high above the ceiling,”

“Oh, we could be feeling, oh, what we could be feeling”

Only when did the chorus begin did you start putting more passion into it, lifting your hand up to swirl a finger in the water in time with the chorus, “I’m one of those witches, babe,”

“I’m one of those witches, babe,”

“Just don’t try to save me, ‘cause, I don’t wanna be saved”

The objects in the bathroom are certainly not annoyed by this, oh no no no. Well, Amir is slightly irritated, but not for the reasons you might think, his mirror is just being fogged up by the warm atmosphere. Though he lets it slide, for now anyway. “They are delightful!! I never knew our new human liked to sing,” Bathsheba exclaimed excitedly, clapping together her manicured hands. The rest of the bathroom residents hum in agreement, chatting amongst each other as they look away to respect the privacy of their new human as they continue singing. 

But within the vents, deep within the vents does your voice carry up and up into the attic, where the local vent-dweller resided, listening in to the homeowner sing without an ounce of hesitation. Warm bursts of air spill from the gaps of Hector’s metal suit, face becoming warm. He could feel his heart stutter at the lyrics and their wondrous voice, their voice like the sweet nectar of the Gods that he was somehow blessed to hear. 

He never felt this way with the previous homeowners, but this one, this one. He knows they are the one. 

He hopes that this is a regular occurrence…

—

And by god was it a regular occurrence. 

Hector would watch and listen whenever (Y/N) did anything (except whenever they were in the bathroom, he respects their privacy). But when they sang, overwhelming feelings of love and adoration would fill his very being. Sometimes, sometimes he would imagine that they were singing for him, serading him as they danced underneath the veil of darkness to the rhythm of whatever song was on their mind.

Their faces just inches away from one another, as he held eye contact with their stunning eyes, a hint of a teasing smile on their lips as they leaned in close, so close, to his own. Only for them to kiss his adam’s apple—leaving behind the dark red paint of their lipstick, their lips just barely brushing against his slightly stubbled chin as they pull away. 

He shivers in delight at that thought, oh to be claimed by such a kiss.

Before he could delve any further into his imaginations, he was brought out of his thoughts by someone’s distant humming. He crawls towards the source, his metal suit clanking against the air-ducts walls until he arrives at the bedroom. He hesitates, before looking out into the room. 

After stepping out of the bath and changing into your pajamas, all that was left for the night was your skincare routine. So, sitting on your bed, and facing the mirror, you begin. It wasn’t a very extensive one, nor was it plain and simple, but it was a routine you liked doing. It made you feel great after you finished, and the products smelled nice.

Silence fills the room, only the sounds of popping caps filled the room. You hummed for a few minutes, but it didn’t feel right. So you do what you love most to fill in the silence.

“Estas tan dentro de mi,” 

“Te sigo pensando,”

“Te sigo esperando”

Hector’s attention was immediately drawn and caught, worry etching itself into his face. Why were they singing such a sad song?

“Y estas, oh,”

“Tan lejos de mí, oh”

“Te sigo pensando,”

“Me canso llorando,”

Oh, he recognized this one. It seemed to be one of their favorites to sing whenever it got quiet. He heard you sing the rest before, and he feels that song deep within his chest. It’s sad, but comforting in a way. The brief thought that if you actually see him, he wonders if this song will pop up in your head whenever you think of him..

A worthless thought for him to think. He goes back into the attic to nurse the negative inner turmoil.

—

“Come onnnn!!! You’re telling me that you won’t be the Romeo to my Juilet? Be all romantical and serenade me while I’m swooning up on my balcony?” Sam flutters her eyelashes at you dramatically, hands clasped together along with an over theatrical pout present on her lips. You roll your eyes playfully at her antics, a smile tugging at the edge of your lips as you attempt to keep a straight face. 

“Did not say that. I’d just rather be the Phantom to someone’s Christine. Or vice versa, I'm not picky."

Sam's dramatic gasp brings a laugh out of you, as she pretends to faint and lands into your lap, hand on her forehead. “The BETRAYAL! After all those times when I brought you food! All those times when I put you on some of the best fanfics!” She fakes a sob, her lower body slowly sliding off the couch, “How could you do this to meeeeee..?” She lies still on the floor, hand reaching for the ceiling as you give her a dead-pan look.

“Girl get your ass off the floor. I just vacuumed.”

“Gasp! Are you saying I’m dirty?!”

“Dirty minded? Yes.”

“Bitch.”

“Whore.”

The air is filled with silence, staring at each other with a straight face, until laughter bursted from you both. You help Sam back onto the couch, Sam making sure to dust herself off before doing so. “So,” You begin, sinking into the plushness of the couch, “-what’s on the agenda today?”

“So glad you asked.” She jumps up from the couch, and runs outside. A couple seconds later, you could hear her struggling alongside with something heavy being attempted to be dragged inside. You eventually got up from the couch, knowing Sam would be needing some help (and you really don’t want your floors to get scuffed either).

Once you rounded the corner and faced the front entrance, you let out a noise of shock, “Woah! Is that a karaoke machine?”

“You bet your fine ass it is!” Sam heaves out, the machine stuck on the ledge of the front door, stubbornly refusing to move. She kept pulling, but didn’t seem to be making much progress. “Here, lemme help.” Squeezing in-between the door and the machine, you lift up the edge that was stuck. The two of you got it into the living room no problem, so you watched as Sam connected it to your TV, chattering back and forth, laughter ringing out into the house.

Hector watched on in curiosity and the smallest bit of envy. Who was this other human? Why are they so close to them, perhaps lovers? That thought brought a spike of pain to his machine heart, he pushed it out of mind. But they can’t be, lovers don’t insult each other so casually, or do they? He isn’t quite sure in the field of romance, more questions keep piling up with so little answers. So he goes to ask Dorian.

He shuffles back up into the attic, meekly approaching the attic door, attempting to hide the lower half of his face. He squeaks out a small, “Dorian?”, second-thoughts already invading his mind.

“Ah, hello there Hector,” Dorian manifested quickly, greeting him with a small smile, arms crossed as usual. It isn’t often that Hector talks with any other objects that aren’t the attic residents, due to his shy and nervous demeanor. But it is quite a treat whenever he musters up the courage to talk with them, especially with Dorian. He knows that he’s quite literally scared shitless of him, so Dorian tries to lessen his fear of him by showing him some kindness.

He could already tell that the poor chap is nervous out of his mind, noting how he kept wringing his hands, eyes not being able to make eye-contact with him, and how he constantly seems to be tripping over his own words. 

But he knows what he’s about to ask, “The other human downstairs is jus’ a friend. Ain’t nothing for you to worry about, mate.” He chuckles as Hector’s sigh of relief, a puff of steam bursting out from his metal collar. He gives him a firm pat on the shoulder, before quickly disappearing.

Back downstairs, you come back into the living room with some drinks you just whipped up at the minibar. “Thank youuu~!” Sam hums out as you hand her her extra sugary and very alcoholic drink. You settled for a whisky sour. “Oo, oo! Can we do a Beyoncé song?” She claps excitedly (her drink on the coffee table), looking at you with sparkly eyes. You hum, mulling it over in your mind, gently swirling the amber liquid in the crystal cup. “...Yeah why not?”

Up in the attic, Hector took a few minutes to calm his racing heart and mind, instead just letting his thoughts wander. Wandering a little too far…He feels a flush of heat rushing into his cheeks as the brief thought of what your lips would taste like, what it would feel like to swallow all the little sounds you make into his own, as the kiss becomes more and more passionate-

OKAY! No more of that…

Bringing himself out of it, Hector’s hearing registers the music blasting downstairs, alongside with two voices singing. Shuffling back into the vents with haste, he makes it back to the living room, peering out with curious eyes to see what commotion has been brought to the living room. And to watch the reason for his living to sing once more.

You and Sam are side by side, facing the screen of the TV. Both of you are covered in sweat, partially due to the summer heat and exerting yourselves so much with how much passion the both of you sing. And because you were dancing (You and Sam almost tripped several times, BUT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT THAT).

The next lines of lyrics pop up, your blood pumping from all the rapid movement as you bring the mic back up to your lips, “Baby, I can’t go anywhere, without thinking that you’re there!” Your body buzzes with energy, limbs becoming agile and they follow the beat of the rhythm. Sam was hyping you up on the sidelines, whooping and dancing along with you.

“Seems like you’re everywhere, it’s true, gotta be having déjà vu!”

“Cause in my mind, I want you here,”

“Get on the next plane, I don't care!”

“Is it because I’m missing you, that I’m having déjà vu?” 

Hector watches on in amazement at the vibrancy of your movements, both rhythmic and captivating. Oh if you could hear him, he too would be cheering you on without a single care of who is watching. Reaching the climax of the song, you drop into a sudden split, posing with your hand as you are left heavily breathing, a wide smile on your sheen coated face. Sam quickly goes over to you, excitedly squealing and talking a mile per minute. 

You chuckle, using her shoulder to get up from the split, which hurts now jesus christ what the hell, going over to drain the rest of your whisky sour. “I…I think that’s enough singing for today.” You breathlessly say, bumping your hip into hers.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Hector will forever have this memory burned into his mind, as he returns back to the attic, face burning and jaw-slacked.

—

Your bathroom sink counter is covered in everything make-up related. Highlighter, foundation, bronzer, eyeshadow palettes, mascara, eyeliner, body glitter, glittery eyeshadow, blush, lipstick, lipstick liner, false eyelashes, make-up brushes, hell even some damn rhinestones to spice it up.

Now you may be wondering, what is it that you’re getting ready for?

Today was a very special occasion, for it’s Sam’s birthday. And Sam, being Sam, wanted to go to a popular pizza place and pub with you and a few other close friends. The only thing she said to you over the phone was two words, “Be extra.” And boy oh boy will you deliver.

Though, you are having quite a hard time deciding what outfit you will be wearing out. Eyeing the two sets indecisively as they hung on the edge of the bathroom door, then looking over at the clock. You have three hours to get ready, and you’re still in your towel! A noise of frustration leaves you, pinching the space between your eyes as you attempt to choose what you’ll be wearing.

The one on the right side consisted of varying tones of (F/C), a pair of pleated wide-legged pants that would perfectly snatch the waist, with a  dashing flowy long sleeve shirt with a rather large, yet fashionable, bow on the front. And it paired quite nicely with a vest and pointed business casual shoes. 

Though the left one was quite the same as the right, but with a few modifications.

First off, it was glittery. Like, so glittery that if washed with the other clothes they too will equally become glittery. Second off, instead of a bow on the front, it was a large jeweled star brooch that also glittered.

It was a very hard decision. So you merely went downstairs to grab your D-20 to make the decision for you. Whilst downstairs, the objects began to talk amongst themselves. “Oooh they should go with the left one! It’s so pretty!” Bathsheba gasped out, holding the fabric gently in-between her fingers, smoothing over the glittery material.

Amir also inspects the outfit, but with a more scrutinizing eye, bringing the fabric closer to his face, “Hmm, the material is of great quality..lots of glitter, and it seems like our human knows how to style it…” He lets the fabric fall from his hands with an approving grin, “Ah, our little reflection is growing up!” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear.

“Indeed indeed! Lovely fabric, and plenty of ways to stylize a look!” Barry adds on, peeking out from behind Amir, hands itching for the make-up brushes.

Meanwhile in your office, you are trying to find your 20-sided die, but it just seems like it fucking disappeared into thin air! “Fuck! Where is that thing?” You looked everywhere, on your desk, shelves, the floor, drawers, even the small closet here! All without any luck. What you failed to notice was, he was underneath your chair.

Chance merely watches in amusement and fake offense, crossing his arms as he watches the human slump in temperaliy defeat. He was about to reveal his object form before a quick, “Psst!” catches his attention. It’s coming from…the grate? Oh shit, Hector!?

He quickly clears his throat, throwing on his dramatic persona, “Ah, the infamous Enchanter!” He gestures theatrically with his arms, spreading them wide, voice loud yet performative “Do tell, what has brought you down to these weary parts of the village?” 

An amused chuckle could be heard from behind the grate, Hector also taking on a dramatic persona to be on par with Chance, “Ah, but a simple favor, dear Master of the Gargoyles.” 

“What for?”

Hector drops the persona, clasping his hands together in a sort of begging motion, eyes becoming rounder, how could they possibly get any rounder?? “Please, Chance, whatever you do, please! Choose left!” Chance was left confused, but the dots quickly started clicking together as a sly grin made its way onto his face, wiggling his eyebrows up at him, “Ohohohh, okay, I see what you mean.”

“Please?”

“Okay, but on one condition.”

“Name your price.”

“Come to our next session tomorrow?”

Hector is silent for a bit, contemplating, then with barely contained excitement, “Okay.”

Chance pumps his fist in victory, “Great! We’ll see you at 5 PM!” And with that, his object forms rolls out from underneath its hiding space, hitting your foot, quickly snatching it up and rushing back up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Alright! Anything above a 10, we’ll go with the right.” Clasping your hands around the die loosely, you begin to shake it earnestly, “Anything below a 10, we’ll go with the left!” Letting the dice go, you watched as it rolled, slowing down, before it landed on a nat 1.

“Left it is!” Hector mentally gives his thanks to Chance, his face becoming flush with excitement and adoration. Though he waits for a few minutes before going back up to the upstairs bathroom. He is a gentleman! And as a gentleman, he will do no such thing as breaching your privacy.

Upon arriving at the vent, both his eyes and ears are blessed by your voice and by your figure, watching as you navigate the organized mess of make-up products laid out on the sink. The outfit hugged every curve, as if it were built and made for you! The shimmer of the fabric looked as if it were made from the very night sky itself! Hector couldn't help the burst of hot air, flustered beyond belief as he burned the very moment into his mind.

Unaware of your admirer in the vents, you went about applying the product to your face, free handing something that will match with said outfit. Though, it felt too quiet in the bathroom, even with all the clattering of plastic. Though it is getting a bit hot here…

Probably from your bath earlier this morning.

Some quick tapping, and your playlist is now playing! Oh, and it’s your favorite song too!

“People say she’s bad, but they don’t see, the way she is with me!”

“P is for the painful ways, she makes me feel some days,”

“U is for Utopia, the other times with her,”

“N is for the new wave dreams she had back in her teens,”

“K is for the kid in her, my P.U.N.K. girl!”

The energy was buzzing in the bathroom, as you grooved along with the while also maintaining a steady hand, patting the necessary amount of a product before moving on to the next. Applying the shimmering eyeshadow in a gradient, using a smaller brush to blend the colors in.

“She is honest and kind but in a way that people see,”

“As telling lies and being mean,”

“She has thousand of dreams, but what they are I’ll never know,"

With a stroke of the eyeliner, you have finished the eyes. Turns out you don’t need the fake lashes. You move on to the rest that needs to be finished, maybe you could add some of those rhinestones underneath your eyes to give it more pizzazz…

“Hector, you're steaming again.” Amir points out rather playfully, jutting out a hip and arms crossed. Hector blubbers something out, most likely an apology, too absorbed into the absolute divine being before him, embarrassment coursing through his body like a hot wave as he retreats a small ways from the grate. Though not far enough where your figure doesn’t leave his sight. As he attempts to calm his embarrassment, his mind begins to wander…

You, standing behind him, a mirror in front of you both. It’s the veil of night, the only sourceof light being the soft lighting of the moon. He’s human within this scenario of his, no bulky metal suit dragging down his frame, no metal suit in sight. Instead, soft and squishy flesh is what is seen. He doesn’t have a shirt on, seeing that it was rumpled on the floor beside the two of you. A glimpse in the mirror confirms his face is flushed all the way down to his neck.

He imagines your hands encircling his waist, just underneath the pudge of his stomach, merely resting there as your head rests in the crook of his neck. He feels your heartbeat thumping against his bare back, the slow rise of your chest, the inhale and exhales of yours against his neck. 

Goosebumps form wherever you touch, causing delightful shivers to rack through him. He doesn’t dare touch you, not yet. Not until you gave him explicit permission. Slowly, ever so tantalizing, does one of your hands begin to travel up and up his torso—stopping every so often to draw a seemingly random pattern on the exposed skin.

But he’s hyper aware of what these patterns detail. First an “I”, followed by a, “L”, a “O”, a “V”, and a “E”. He already knew what followed after that, his breath becoming slightly heavier as he watches your reflection trace a “Y”, a “O”, and a “U”.

By then, your hand was so maddeningly close to his chest. Barely just a few inches away from his perked nipples, begging for your attention.

He feels it before he sees it, a flash of arousal courses through him as your hand gently pinches the perked bud, rolling it in between your pointer finger and thumb, slowly, oh so very slowly. You’re watching him in the reflection, watching as he crumbles beneath your touch, he feels you shift, no longer are you resting within the crook of his neck.

Your lips are right beside his ear, huskily whispering, “There’s my pretty boy~” Before you gently sucked on his earlobe-

NO! OKAY NO MORE OF THAT! Hector’s face is positively steaming once he comes back to his senses, the vent walls replacing the walls of his imagination— utter shame and delight overtaking his mind and body as he recalls the motions of his daydreaming, covering his heated face with his hands, as if that would deter all the feelings of shame coursing through him.

“Annnnd, done!” You set the make-up brush down, finally finished with the make-up. It is one of your favorites so far! The rhinestones really  pulled it all together. A glance at the clock tells you there are 30 minutes until you have to leave. So, you cleaned up the sink, put the outfit back in the closet, threw the dirty laundry in the basket, and left the house with your keys, phone, wallet, and some make-up to touch up your look.

Hector watches as you go, waiting for the moment you come back.

—

Today was a rather slow day.

The house was clean, the fridge was stocked with food, you’re not hungry nor are you sleepy, the laundry was done, the bed was made… You didn’t feel like reading, nor did you feel like doing anything else.

Well, other than lying on the floor of your room.

The hard wood presses into your back, bringing a rather grounding and somewhat comforting feeling. Though it’s not entirely comfortable, it does, however, distract you from impending boredom.

It's quiet in the house, only the dripping of water, the slight creaking of the floors and wall, and the distant humming of the AC are the only prominent noises permitting through these walls. You would call Sam to come over, but she’s been swamped with meetings as of late.

Then, an idea. Sitting outside for a little bit would surely clear your head…

You move to get up, but it seems like your body would rather stay planted on the floor.

You try again, same result.

“Well, shit.”

With a sigh, you just relaxed further into the floorboards, eyes boring into the ceiling. What can you even do when your body doesn’t want to do anything?

Hector watches from above, his hands supporting his face. He wished he could help with your boredom, but what can an AC do when its only purpose is to blow cool or warm air? Hector lets a noise of frustration escape his mouth, letting his head fall forward, a low thunk resonating when his forehead came in contact with the grate.

You don’t hear, of course you don’t hear. So close yet so far from him.

Several minutes have passed, you have not moved a single inch from where you reside. Your thoughts are muffled, foggy even. It feels…nice. Yeah, nice to not think. It’s quiet, you always used to fill the silence somehow…

An idea worms its way into your brain.

It was a song you heard somewhere many years ago, maybe a cousin of yours?

Yeah, your cousin. It’s been a while since you last talked with him. You wonder how he is? Your eyes flutter close, the first verse of lyrics come to you, “Ver como te alejas y querer más de ti,”

“Sin tener en cuenta como eso te hace sentir,”

“Quédate aquí que pronto yo voy a partir,”

“No quiero estar solo cuando me tenga que ir,”

Short, but one you kept close. 

You feel a little lighter, maybe you can finally get up? With a grunt, you finally separate from the floor, stretching your limbs due to the lack of blood flow. Man, you should do floor time more often, it feels great.

Your back doesn’t though, but whatever.

Eyes watch as you walk out the room, for once staying in place instead of following

—

Man what god did you pissed off today?

After getting fired from your last job, Sam was able to put in a good word for you at her workplace. Today was just your first day, and you just got fired. Just your fucking luck!

Whilst staring at your monitor in complete disbelief, you get a message from some guy named Tinfoilhat who said he was sending you a package that you’re supposed to keep top secret!

And now the window of your front door is broken, with a blue package being the said cause. Inside said package was a pair of glasses.

This is what you’re supposed to keep top-secret? A pair of glasses??

Well, it’s not like this day can get any weirder!

…

You take that back, it got weirder.

“Hey there!.” A pink-haired stranger now stands in front of you, donning the same pair of glasses as well. Her expression radiates friendliness, a bright smile seemingly permanently etched into her lips. “Your life is about to change. Hope you’re ready!”

You’re bewildered. “I’m sorry, what??”

—

The stranger, now known to you as Skylar, explains everything to you. She’s a pair of glasses called “Dateviators”, which can basically acknowledge any object into existence in your house. Any. Object. Within this house. Embarrassment is the only sole emotion you’re feeling right now. Oh god, maybe your privacy wasn’t so private after all.

The first thing, or um, person Skylar had you acknowledge was your door, who was named Dorian. He’s pretty aloof, with a somewhat gruff exterior. But, he’s actually pretty pleasant to talk with! His aloof nature made it easy to talk with him, the conversation flowing into different topics. Skylar left the two of you to talk for a bit, saying how she’ll check in with you a little later as she threw a wink in your direction.

“So, do you know any of the other objects?”

“‘Course I do, it's very important to keep a steady friendship with everyone.” He pauses, seeming to think over his next response, eyes shifting towards the vent. Well, might as well push you in the right direction.

“There’s this one chap I know, his name’s Hector.”

“Who’s Hector?”

“Why, he’s your AC.” The ends of his lip tilt up with his next response, “He has quite the, ah what’s the saying…” Dorian racks his mind for the words to put together what he’s trying to say, combing a hand through his hair. “Oh yes, he has quite the soft spot for you in his heart.” He can already hear Hector cursing him and thanking him from wherever he is in the house.

“So if I were you, I’d make him your next visit.”

A blush has made itself known on your cheeks. Your AC likes you? You can’t help but feel a little weird about it, but at the same time, your heart flutters a bit. Just a bit.

Only one way to find out more about this Hector.

“Where do I find him?”

“You’ll find him at any of the vents,” Nodding his head towards the closest vent. “Anyway, cheers mate.” And he disappears. You're left standing by your lonesome, staring where Dorian just was. Looking towards the vent, then the surrounding objects, you decided to move towards your room instead.

Sure, it may not have as much privacy, but it makes you feel a little better to be in your space.

Hector is panicking. He watched your entire conversation with Dorian, excitement filling his very being! But Dorian. Dorian mentioned him to you and his undying love for you! He couldn’t see your face very well from this angle, and that scares him. It scares him that you're actually going to meet!

Are you going to be disgusted by him? Creeped out maybe?? God, you’re probably going to absolutely hate him!

Up in your bedroom, you stare up at the vent, anxiety festering in your stomach. You shake those thoughts away, steeling your nerves as you point and focus the glasses on the vent. Your met with a pair of tan hands hanging out the grate, alongside with the most beautiful brown eyes you’ve seen.

You both merely stare at one another, one with curiosity, the other with devotion.

“Hi?” You offer quite lamely, not knowing what else to say as you stared deep into those brown eyes. God, they really are beautiful.

Hector says nothing at first, still drinking in your features, before he clears his throat, hands intertwined together quite loosely as he levels his gaze with you.

“Why hello there.”

OH MY GOD I'M FINALLY DONE!!!!! This took me A WEEK OF NON-STOP WRITING. Not complaining though, 10/10 will do it again.

I hope you guys enjoy this! I'll be putting it up on my AO3 soon.

Here's the list of songs in order:

Witches by Alice Phoebe Lou

No One Noticed (Spanish Extended Verision) by The Marías

Déjà Vu by Beyonce

P.U.N.K. Girl by Heavenly + the art piece that inspired that one steamy scene

No Te Hace Bien by Ale Murío

Have a good day, make sure to eat and drink something!

[withluvvenus]

　o͟u͟r͟ ͟f͟i͟r͟s͟t͟ ͟d͟a͟t͟e͟　　𝒆lementary teacher dr

　

“ can i ask you out ? ” 　　“ huh ? ” “ like . . . on a date ? ” 　　“ me ? ” “ i mean if you want ” 　　“ yes , ” “ yes ? like you want - ” 　　“ yes . ”

　

unknown number

　　Hello, this is matthew. From work.　　4:05 PM

me

　　hi matt!　　5:32 PM

matt!!! ( from work )

　　Hey, you told me to contact you at this number? 　　In regards of the date.　　5:32 PM

me

　　yes omg im sooo excited　　5:33 PM

matt!!! ( from work )

　　I'm happy to hear that. 　　I will pick you up at 7:00 PM, okay? 　　Is that okay with you?　　5:34 PM

me

　　matt you already asked me if i was ok w it 　　like 20 times 　　im giggling 　　ily you're so funny never die 　　and yes i'm very much okay with it　　5:36 PM

matt!!! ( from work )

　　Okay. 　　That sounds good to me too. 　　I won't die? 　　See you then.　　5:36 PM

　　

　　　　　　no , the date wasn't anything over the top . but it was eventful , and fun , and loving . i had fun , he had fun , we both had fun . so that's all that matters , right ? here's how it all started . it was a friday , and matt had been very very very distracted the whole day . as he taught the kids , i could just tell something was bothering him . like , he wouldn't even make eye contact with me , which he usually could . scarily good eye contact , makes sense when you're a teacher though .　　anyways , i let it slide . i didn't try to barge into his space and ask him what was wrong , i just let him exist and treated him the same ! during recess , he kept leaving to go to the bathroom or the staff lounge , said it was important . i just nodded and helping the students who stayed behind .

　　　　　　after school , i think that's when i really started noticing something was off and he was acting very odd . like obviously , i could tell before too , but now was different . he walked me to my car , which he only does if it's raining . it was bright and sunny outside , by the way . but anyways , i was like sure ! i like his company , he listens to me talk and it's just calming . we walks to my car , i was oversharing to him , and he was nodding per usual . but then he opens my car door for me , and that's when i realize ' hold on , something is off ' . like he's the type to open doors for you , but i don't know . i looked at him , and his head was down , he was avoiding eye contact . i didn't budge , duh . i wanted to know ! and then he told me . well , he asked me , really .

　　　　　　so we live in a small town in oregon , and there's not much in the town to do when you want to go on a date . well , there is a lot to do in the town , but if you want to hide from a bunch of third graders and their families ? the town isn't the best place for secrecy . so instead , matt took me outside of the town , a couple miles far off but not too far . we made one stop , at this ice cream shop ! he bought me whatever i wanted , i ordered chocolate ice cream with brownie in it . he ordered vanilla , and i obviously made fun of him for it . going back into the car , i asked him why we're skipping to dessert already . he pointed at the backseat and showed me he had takeout ready . takeout from the new restaurant i always talk about on trying . i had the biggest smile on my face when we drove to our final destination . cannon beach !

　　　　　　

　　　　　　he helped me step out of his luxury car , guided me to the beach . i love the beach . how did he know ? i asked him . he told me he listens to me . i think my heart melted and stained my rib cage with the adoration i felt for him just then . but whatever , anyways though , moving on , we found a spot away from the tourists and just sat there . we had ate dinner , watched the sun set , and then had ice cream . we both were giggling fits at the end of it , him grinning and teasing over every fact i told him from when i was little , and me going ' aww ' whenever he told me about his childhood . we talked about how we were when we were little , how different we were . how he didn't like the santa in the mall , and how i loved halloween since i was a little girl . he called me beautiful and i just smiled , not knowing how to tell him how i felt about him . i was hoping he would go first .

　　　　　　he didn't .

　　　

　　　　　　on the way back home , i kept talking to him . but it was different , the silence was just unusual . i couldn't tell it was good or bad . there were more pauses in between our conversations , more gaps to fill . he was focused on the road , it had started to rain heavily . we both were drenched from sprinting to his car , but it was still different . had i done something wrong ? did i screw up ? was i moving too fast ? i hadn't done anything , i don't even know what i was talking to him about actually . i wanted to ask him , even if this date wasn't successful , i didn't want to lose him .

　　　　　　but i didn't ask him .

　　　　　　instead , he parked in front of my house . before i could open my door , he quickly rushed over to open it for me . he helped me out again , taking my hand in his . he rushed me under the porch's shade , and he stood there , holding my hand still . he's looking at me . . . intensely ? i dunno , but before i can say anything he quickly asks ' can i kiss you ? ' . and oh . my . god . my heart fluttered , yes the melted one came back to life , WHATEVER . but yeah , he asked me if he could kiss me ?!?!? so obviouslyyyy i had to tease him even though 20 seconds ago i was freaking out over his whole existence and our whole chemistry .

“ you really wanna kiss on the first date ? are you sure ? ” 　　“ why would i not be ? i mean , if you don't want to- ” “ no ! it's just that it kind of means you have to take me out on a second date ” 　　“ i don't mind ” “ you don't ? ” 　　“ of course not ” “ oh ! ”

　　

　　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗹𝘂𝘃 ✶ 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝘀

　　　　　　　　　　　　　

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Romantasy Book Tropes Ranked By How Easy They Are to Make Interesting Again

okay so hear me out: i love romantasy. i am romantasy. but also? a lot of the tropes feel like they've been in a blender set to “medium aesthetic” and we all just nod and go “yes this is fine” while our souls leave our bodies.

so i ranked some of the top romantasy tropes by how EASILY they can be made good again, not which ones are the best, not which ones are ✨dead✨, but which ones are like, 2 rewrites away from being god-tier if you’re willing to do violence to them.

⚠️ this list is subjective. take it up with your protagonist’s tragic backstory.

🥇 1. The Cursed Prince / Beast / Exiled Royalty Difficulty: ★☆☆☆☆ Listen. This one is so easy to make interesting again it’s embarrassing when it’s bad. Just add one (1) real consequence. Is he cursed? Cool. Show me how that curse is actively wrecking his life. Exiled? Give me the betrayal scene in detail. Raised by wolves? Show me him eating raw meat like a weirdo. Don’t just make him Hot and Sad. Make him feral and complicated. Bonus points if he doesn’t want to be uncursed. Bonus bonus if the heroine agrees.

🥈 2. The Marriage Trial / Forced Proximity Setup Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ You can spin this SO MANY WAYS. Make the trial political. Make the contestants unhinged. Make it morally messed up. It stops being boring the moment you stop writing it like a CW love triangle and start writing it like a dark social game. ex: Squid Game but hot. Don’t just have them accidentally touch hands. Have them make alliances and betray each other in the hallway at 3am. Be weird with it.

🥉 3. The Warrior Girl Who Has Never Known Love Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ The trick is: don’t make her secretly soft. Make her correct. Love should feel like a threat to her survival, not a makeover montage. She doesn’t need to be taught softness, she needs to be loved as is. Give her a love interest who isn’t trying to “fix” her but sees her sharp edges and says “yeah that’ll do.” Instant slay.

👀 4. Enemies to Lovers Difficulty: ★★★☆☆ Controversial take but: most of you are doing rivals to lovers. Or “mild professional disagreement” to lovers. True enemies to lovers is hard because it requires two people to want to ruin each other, and then have to live with that. There needs to be blood on the floor. There needs to be regret. It’s not banter if they wouldn’t kill each other in Act 1. Go full feral or go home.

🔮 5. The Chosen One and the Dark Mentor Difficulty: ★★★★☆ this one is delicious BUT. the power imbalance. the age gap. the moral greyness. the betrayal baked into the bones. it needs to be handled with scary levels of intention. when it’s done right? peak feral epic gothic. when it’s not? feels like a Wattpad fic from 2012 where the teacher falls for the new girl in detention. tread wisely.

🪦 6. The Mysterious Assassin Love Interest Difficulty: ★★★★★ okay. i’m tired. i’ve seen this man too many times. he’s got a dark past, two daggers, and no personality. he exists only to appear at the edge of a ballroom and go “you shouldn’t be here.” if you want to make him interesting again, you need to get into his actual psyche. give him weird rituals. make him bad at normal things. give him a reason he’s choosing murder over healing. or better yet, retire him for a few years. we’ve earned a break.

💌 agree? disagree? reblog with YOUR favorite romantasy trope and how you’d resurrect it from the cliché graveyard. 🪦✨

[daylighteclipsed]

I didn’t want to add to the og post bc it’s already long and not focused on this. But this post made me realize most of Sora and Riku’s softer/shippy moments do not in fact happen in the Realm of Light. KH1 takes place mostly in the Light, but the boys act as rivals/enemies. Their dynamic starts to shift after this, but CoM takes place in Castle Oblivion, which is the Realm Between. In KH2, Riku aids Sora from the dark until their reunion in the World That Never Was, which is the Realm Between. The Dark Margin talk happens in the Realm of Darkness. DDD is the Realm of Sleep… Compared to Sora and Kairi who share more moments in the Light, this trend is very interesting.

Sora and Riku’s dynamic in DDD carries over to KH3, and arguably, it’s a little more in the Light than before. No big moments (that are acknowledged in-game, at least), but I would say it’s starting to leave the shadows with Sora being teased by Donald and Goofy for finding Riku attractive and always listening to Riku, the reminders that Riku is always at the back of Sora’s mind throughout the game, and Sora’s discomfort when Kairi offers him a paopu fruit (with Riku nearby on the beach… who Sora starts this scene looking at and thinking about). Those are moments that happen in the Light. But the big ones still happen in the Dark… or are forgotten.

Sora saves Riku in the Realm of Darkness. He uses the Power of Waking to do this, which is honestly a huge deal. That’s Sora’s entire goal for most of KH3 — to gain the PoW and regain the strength he lost in DDD. It complements Riku gaining the PoW by wanting to save Sora in DDD, and it parallels Hercules getting his strength back because he wants to save Meg. But the fact that Sora’s goal is achieved here is unacknowledged in the game, to the point where it seems to go over a lot of people’s heads. It even went over my head the first time I played KH3. (Side note: I wonder if it says something that the Combined Keyblade, which symbolizes Sora and Riku’s relationship, has only been summoned in the Realm of Sleep and the Realm of Darkness so far. We’ve never seen it in the Light.)

Riku’s True Love sacrifice for Sora in the Keyblade Graveyard is in the Realm of Light, but it’s ultimately forgotten. This sacrifice saves Sora. It’s the reason light prevails over the dark and our heroes win in the end. And it’s totally unacknowledged in the game. It’s implied Sora sees something in the tunnel of light when he reaches for Riku, but that also seems to be forgotten. Not only is that in the physical dark, but we are left in the dark as to what Sora sees. It’s out of frame, outside the bounds of the story presented to us. The shadows of the shadows. As the audience, we literally and figuratively do not have the full picture.

These parts of KH3 are practically erased, almost like they never happened. Almost like they cannot happen. (The KH3 graphic novel actually does erase Riku’s sacrifice from the story.) And I do think that’s very, very interesting in the context of KH taking place in the Disney fairytale universe. Even in the Realm of Darkness, even in the shadows within this reality, there’s only so far the boundary can be pushed. A queer relationship has to remain subtext (Darkness). It can’t exist on the surface (Light). It can’t significantly impact the story. The story can’t be about that. Not in this world.

I’m sure I’m not the only one that jokes about Sora and Riku getting together in Quadratum because it’s (from their pov) Unreality. But it’s not a joke either, right, because this is a different world, made up of things that don’t exist in Disney fairytale land with all its traditional cishetero relationships and happy endings… This is a world where a queer relationship could happen. Because it’s not “real.”

Let’s take this a step further.

If we’re interpreting Darkness as a metaphor for subtext in a story while Light is what’s on the surface, that makes Reality canon stories and Unreality the opposite. Ideas that never make it past the conceptual stages or drafts, that are never published or coded, for whatever reason (like how Verum Rex seems based on Nomura’s Versus XIII, which was cancelled irl)… or existing stories and ideas that are so forgotten/lost to time that they may as well have never existed (like Strelitzia and the Lost Masters). Unreality is the other side of creation.

On a textual level, Sora and Riku’s relationship in DDD carrying over to KH3, with increasing moments in the Light, is a queer relationship starting to be consciously realized by both characters. On a metatextual level, it’s a queer relationship starting to be made more explicit by a creator… before it’s hit by censors, sentenced to the limbo of what could be. From this perspective, it would be extremely meta for Sora and Riku to get together (or for romantic feelings to be confirmed, at least) in a universe that represents unrealized/lost ideas while their relationship struggled to exist beyond subtext in a universe that represents what’s “real”/canon.

What the Master of Masters says about Light and Darkness is also interesting from this perspective. Light and Dark are not supposed to reach Quadratum, but they do. Reality is not supposed to touch Unreality, but it does. The line between what’s real and what’s not, what’s canon and what’s not, is blurring. Versus XIII lives through Verum Rex. Sora (“real”) meets Nameless Star (“unreal”) in the Final World. Sora and Strelitzia, stuck in Unreality, are characters from a “real” story that haven’t been completely forgotten. Riku (“real”) has dreams about Sora (“unreal” atp), and Riku crosses from Reality into Unreality to find Sora while still remaining “real” (not erased from Reality/canon).

I actually think Strelitzia kinda represents when a beta/draft character is replaced by the final one. Ultimately, Ventus takes her role in the canon story, and she is erased from it. But that beta/draft character was still created, so it still “exists” even though it’s not in the story. And the bonds you, as the creator, imagined them forming with other characters if they were in the story still exist (Strelitzia is remembered by Laurium, Elrena, and Ventus). It’s also not lost on me that Strelitzia is, technically, a queer character because she’s in love with the UX Player regardless of gender. So it feels like she is erased and replaced specifically due to censorship/executive meddling in this allegory for the creative process. But I digress.

I do think it’s significant that the Final World rests on the edge of Sleep and Death, and that Riku reaches Sora in Unreality through the Realm of Sleep. Dreams and Unreality are pretty similar. Both are made of what you hope, imagine, wish, want to be real. The biggest difference is dreams are subconscious and Unreality, I think, represents conscious ideas that are never made real or are forgotten. A world of lost dreams and desires, brimming with possibility and potential… Moving from the allegorical subconscious to the conscious-but-not-acted-upon reflects the evolution of Riku’s feelings in particular. He knows how he feels about Sora, but he does not believe his feelings could ever be reciprocated. So he’s in the world where dreams remain fantasy. For now.

If Sora and Riku represent a censored queer relationship, then I think them getting together in Unreality (and presumably making it back to their own world/Reality in the Light) would be like saying you can’t erase what’s already in the story, what’s already real. You can try. You can downplay, ignore, dismiss, censor, try to forget, but those moments still happened. Those feelings still exist. That bond still exists. Nothing can change that. KH3 sure dropped some big Sora/Riku moments that require follow up to make narrative sense. There’s no taking those back.

KH is also really big on the idea that reality is subjective. Nomura said in an interview about KH4 that Yozora’s world is fictional to Sora, but Sora’s world is fictional to Yozora. What’s real to one person is fantasy to another. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter who’s right, because if you believe something is real, that makes it real. So I think you can also see “soriku canon in Unreality” as like meta commentary on fanfiction too, from this perspective. It’s not “canon,” but it’s still “real.” Obviously, it would be canon because all of KH is canon, but in this allegorical take, as long as the boys are in Unreality, it wouldn’t represent “canon.” Does that make sense? My head kind of hurts.

Of course I’m not claiming this reading (Darkness is subtext, Reality is canon, etc.) is intentional. It could be, but either way I think it’s really fun to view KH through a meta lens like this.

[sofnaskinder]

🌌💡My tribute to OMORI💡🌌

Zoom in please, there's a bunch of tiny details!! Can you spot every reference to the game?? 👀

I finished this in 2023 after working on it for over 3 months (with breaks and homework getting in the way ofc!). I've just edited the Omori in the middle because it looked a bit off, but everything else is from back then! This is my largest illustration so far, my computer was lagging SO BADLY (like, seriously) because of that, and I was still kind of a noob in digital art at the time, so tbh I'm still very happy this piece ended up existing at all!!

Since I was little I've always loved making drawings with a lot of characters and stuff in my sketchbooks and the like, so being able to actually do something like that in a digital illustration felt like a big achievement and a little tribute to myself as well hehe

Here are some of my fave close ups + the longest timelapse you'll ever see in your life probably (yep, I made individual pieces of most characters featured here as well, I'll post those later on!). If you're having trouble playing the video you can watch it here too!

[hannie-bees]

Cut 🎬

Pairing: Actor!Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst → Breakup → Reconciliation → Fluff

Word count: ~2,160

You never really watched him on-screen after that.

It wasn’t a conscious choice. You just… didn’t have it in you.

His face, the one you’d kissed goodnight for three years, was suddenly everywhere. In trailers. On billboards. Winning awards with tears in his eyes and your name nowhere near his speech.

You weren’t bitter. Not exactly.

Just… hollow.

The kind of ache that doesn’t show up all at once. It seeps in slow. Quiet. Like the way his apartment felt too clean the day you left. Like the cold side of the bed never warming again. Like the way you stopped ordering iced americanos because they tasted like mornings with him.

And you knew why he did it.

Mingyu had always been ambitious. The kind of man who could make his own dreams come true if he had enough time and focus, and when his breakout role finally came, he said the words you’d been fearing for months:

"I think we need to break up."

You didn’t fight him. You just asked him why.

"Because I don’t know how to love you and chase this at the same time. And I can’t give you halfway."

It had sounded noble. Even kind.

But all you heard was: you’re in the way.

So you walked.

And he let you.

---

Two years later, you met again.

Of all places, a filming set.

You weren’t part of the crew exactly, just helping out a friend who was running costume and wardrobe on short notice. She’d begged you to fill in for a few days.

You didn’t ask who the lead actor was.

You found out the moment you stepped on set.

He was laughing. Head tilted back, hair styled up, makeup still clinging to the corners of his jaw. The same laugh you used to hear at midnight when he burned his toast or tried to freestyle in the kitchen.

Kim Mingyu.

Standing fifteen feet from you like the universe had hit rewind and then pause.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Thank God.

You turned. Walked straight toward the wardrobe tent.

Your heart felt like glass in your chest.

---

But fate, or whatever cruel director she was, didn’t leave it there.

You spent the entire day ducking into racks of clothes and running errands that didn’t exist. But he found you anyway.

It was late. Almost everyone had gone home. You were helping pack up when a voice, lower now but familiar, cut through the soft buzz of the night.

"...Y/N?"

You froze.

Turned slowly.

He looked just the same.

Older, maybe. Sharper jaw. Eyes a little more tired. But the same boy underneath it all. The one who used to get nervous before auditions and bite his lip when he was about to say something real.

"Hey," you said, voice too steady for how hard your heart was pounding.

"I didn’t know you were here."

You shrugged. "Last-minute favor."

He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You look good."

"Thanks. You look… successful."

That earned a soft laugh. "Trying."

Silence.

You fiddled with a hanger. He stepped closer.

"Can we talk?"

You swallowed. "Why?"

He looked like he’d been waiting to ask for years.

"Because I didn’t stop missing you."

---

You ended up sitting on a prop bench in the corner of the lot. Everything else was packed up. It felt too quiet.

Mingyu sat beside you, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees like he was bracing for impact.

"I thought about you every day," he said quietly.

"You were on TV every day. Kind of hard to forget."

He flinched a little. "I didn’t want to leave like that."

"Then why did you?"

He didn’t answer for a second. Just stared at his hands.

"Because I loved you too much to ask you to wait."

Your heart twisted.

"That wasn’t your choice to make."

He looked at you then, really looked. The way he used to when he was trying to memorize your face.

"You were already giving up so much for me. Your time, your peace, your patience. I felt like I was holding you back. I didn’t want you to build your life around me."

"But I wanted to."

"I know." He looked down again. "That’s what scared me."

The wind blew gently through the empty lot. You crossed your arms over your chest.

"So you broke my heart for what? So I could be free?"

He winced. "I told myself it was mercy."

"And did it feel like mercy to you?"

"No."

Silence again. But this time, it didn’t feel as sharp.

"I watched our movie premiere alone," he said quietly. "Everyone was celebrating. I just kept wishing you were next to me."

You didn’t answer.

He went on.

"I got so much of what I wanted. And none of it felt right without you."

You swallowed, eyes burning.

"So why now?"

He looked up at you.

"Because I don’t want to win anything else if I can’t come home to you."

---

It wasn’t a fairytale.

You didn’t fall into each other’s arms under a spotlight. He didn’t kiss you under fake snow or cry through an apology monologue.

You just sat there, side by side. Two people who had broken, grown, and maybe, just maybe, still fit.

And finally, finally, you let your hand fall over his.

He looked at it like it was a miracle.

You gave a small smile. "So... are you gonna take me to your next premiere?"

He laughed, eyes shining. "Only if I can say you’re my date."

---

Six Months Later.

You stood next to him at the premiere. A proper red carpet this time.

Mingyu wore black. You wore navy. He held your hand like it was the only real thing in the room.

When they asked who you were, he didn’t hesitate.

"The love of my life."

[alexanderlightweight]

Anything in not all who wander are lost (the teleporting soulmates one) or back in may of 2023 you had an au where alec met ragnor first that never got titled and that au was a straight up banger that has haunted me to this day would be 10/10 chefs kiss delightful as to whether its sfw or nsfw thats dealers choice and i hope youre having a great wednesday :)

it has been so long since i've worked on this verse but i'm happy to go back! i just went with the first prompt because i do love that verse but yes! i need to go look and see if i've named that yet (i love when some of the more obscure fics get mentioned or prompted). i might have but my brain is a bit holey. last part here

i'm having a wednesday with a lot of prompts and writing and while the comptuer didn't work for a couple hours its working now and thats what matters!! so it's very nice ty! i hope you're having a good onee too! Nightshade has decided that he will let me write as long as i pause every time he comes over for kisses or a snoot boop. i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

not all who wander are lost

Alec processes things slowly through the fog of his mind.

He has a soulmate.

He does.

A male soulmate even.

Someone who won’t crush his heart and soul to be with.

Does that matter?

When Alec can’t do anything to protect himself, let alone his soulmate?

There are words exchanged.

Alec doesn’t remember them.

There’s hands warm and firm and steady on him but he can’t remember the feel once gone.

There’s questions he answers, but Alec isn’t sure what was said by either of them.

There’s a portal, at the end.  Something ominous and looming and Alec welcomes it like the embrace of sleep he begs for every dawn.

—

Alexander is fragile.

Perhaps not in body, but he’s at the breaking point of his life.

Magnus can tell.

This is where he’s reforged.  When his will is broken and remade to what the Clave demands and Magnus will not let them remake Alexander into their image.

This is his soulmate.

Alexander is his.

By law and claim and the call of a soul echoing the yearning of his own.

The dissociation is strong.

Alexander seems more instinct than thought and he’s drowning in his own mind.

Magnus summons everything he can — allowed to because he’s inside the wards and was summoned by a magic more ancient than even the alarm systems of the Institute.

Then he asks what Alexander wants.

There isn’t much.

It doesn’t seem like his boy is used to wanting things.

Except there are a few things that even in this state, Alexander seems capable of remembering.

Obviously his siblings aren’t something Magnus is interested in retrieving, but knowing they exist is helpful.  However Magnus doesn’t think they’ll do much if any good, considering Alexander is hiding from them while panicking.  They’re either too young and immature to help, or are a part of the problem as well.

Magnus won’t pass judgment so swiftly, that’s not his priority.  His only priority is to get Alexander out of here and behind Magnus’ wards, where he can bond Alexander properly and ensure that legally, Magnus has every right to swiftly take Alexander away.

And refuse to return him.

—

Magnus doesn’t take Alexander to the loft.

No, that’s far too common of a place for Magnus to be found, even just by other downworlders.

Instead he takes Alexander to a small but comfortable cottage in the Welsh countryside.  A property bequeathed to Magnus by Ragnor — during one of his many excursions playing dead — and while Ragnor always teased gentle that it would be perfect for a soulmate bond to take place.  Magnus never actually dreamed that it would be a reality.

The garden is lush and green and the sun’s glare harsh but the heat faded before it reaches.  Cool breezes rustling the plants and bees and dragonflies and butterflies of magical properties — because all things mundane, creatures and beings — are kept out.

It’s an oasis for all things magical and Alexander breathes easier, even if the dark emptiness of his eyes remains.

Magnus portals them to the walkway, the luggage and Alexander’s things already inside.  It’s because he wants Alexander to see where they’ll be staying. 

To give him information without overloading him with words he hears but doesn't comprehend.

Alexander pauses as the walk up the path, his fingers lingering on the polished bone of the fence and his fingers gently — hesitantly — brushing against the soft petals of a luridly pink bloom.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

Magnus still feels the rage swelling in his heart, untamed and smoldering yet being held in reserve for a better time.

Alexander is young.

He’s far too young for the kind of despair and pointless exhaustion that weighs him down.

The world is trying to break him — his own people are succeeding at ruining him — and Magnus will not let that continue.

Magnus protects what is his.

To the point of destroying his own self to do so.

In protecting Alexander, Magnus will also be protecting himself and for the first time that doesn’t feel like a weakness to admit.

Alexander is worth the protection and Magnus has a soulmate,  which means he also is worthy.

Regardless of how his father feels or what poison Camille spat or what seductive whispers of him being unlovable that she whispered into his ear.

AN:

Magnus does not tie the selfworth of others to soulmates. That’s reserved for himself. A special little trauma leftover from his mother and father. So like. Cheers to that. 

Like Magnus is incredibly powerful and intelligent but lets not forget how much trauma he’s gone through or how he’s had to dig himself free out of depression and spirals with every bad relationship that tried to knock him down (romantic, parental, familiar, friendship I’m not just talking romance).

Alec is drowning in his brain.  He’ll wake up in a few hours or days and be like ‘okay no, I want to be your soulmate. I do. But I can’t just abandon my responsibilities to play house in a cottage with you!’

Magnus entirely unbothered and not insulted because this is tame compared to what he’s prepared for: why not?

Alec: what?

Magnus: why can’t you? Are you so irreplaceable that someone can’t fill your shoes?

Alec: well no. It was made very clear to me that I am replaceable and if I don’t do better, someone will take over for me.

Magnus: so why is that a problem?

Alec: but I’m supposed to uphold the ligthwood name?

Magnus: oh… you’re a lightwood? Well I don’t mind. One can’t chose their parents and I doubt you wanted yours to be genocidal terrorists.

Alec: … are you. Wait. Are, you saying my parents were int he circle? (he can read behind the political lines. It’s innuendos he’s still working on)

Magnus: oh, you didn’t know? You’re not upholding the lightwood legacy darling, you’re rebuilding what your parents broke and the clave doesn’t trust them to fix.

Alec: … wait so all of this? Is because someone else fucked up. Not because I did?

Magnus not realizing the extent of Alec’s trauma being hinged on his parents and being a good lightwood heir etc: I mean, your parents even killed the last leaders of the NYI. I’m surprised they weren’t mobbed by the hunters who survived the attacks when they came back to lead what they destroyed.

Alec: …. So all those hunters who hated me for no reason and who I was never good enough for… that’s not because I was lacking or they could secretely tell I was gay?  It’s because of my parents?

Magnus: yes? …. Darling. Alexander. Sweetheart I am very new to this. Are nephilim supposed to start glowing like that? Alexander your runes look like they’re on fire what is goingon?

Alec: I think I just magically disowned myself.

Magnus: oh. So you’re in the market for a new last name? I happen to have a very nice one. Picked it myself.

Alec: …. Okay. Sure.

Magnus: I cannot beleive this worked and darluing…. Wait why are you crying? Shit. Alcohol? No. That creates bad habits. Sex? No that creates bad precedent… HOW TO STOP SHADOWHUNTER FROM CRYING??

Cat: … kill or comfort? I don’t know. This is a stupid question can shadowhunters even cry?

Ragnor: they can but mostly out of rage or disgust.

Magnus: no this is like, panicked sad crying. Quick. OPTIONS

Magnus: BESIDES ALCOHOL OR SEX

Ragnor and Cat: … neither of those were options we would send but now we’re curious

Ragnor: wait. Magnus. You’re at the cottage? You’ve found your soulmate then! How wondrous… oh dear. A shadowhunter then? Cat and I will create a carepackage but you’re on your own for the tears. Maybe give them a knife? Shadowhunters like sharp things

Cat: DO NOT GIVE THEM A KNIFE!!! NO WEAPONS

Ragnor: no you’re right. Unhelpful. A demon? Is it too bright? Do shadowhunters even like light?

Magnus: both of you are utterly unhelpful. I’ll text you later.

[fluffydeoxys]

oh, one thing i can more easily relay right now: I made changes to this.

A slightly more detailed delving into each section (excluding the last image cus that has remained unchanged, although with the new addition that Hank only has its right eye, while Zero has their left eye) is under the cut. I've written a lot, feel free to ask something about it if you like

looking up at you meekly. uh. i wrote a lot so. if you were perhaps interested I would love if you read even a little. your time and interest is always appreciated!

TRICKY AND ZERO

As we know, Hofnarr was a big fan of Slaughter Time, and canonically speaking, the Arena Player has also directly participated in at least a single episode of it (though the level implies more than one at least). Simple right? Hofnarr would've seen Zero on TV, nothing more. But here's the thing with Zero... she's an anomaly, a paradox, something not terribly congruous with reality. Not even factoring in her abnormal, deleterious existence, there are twelve possible Zero (the Origins/Imprints, if you're curious) at any given moment during that Loop, so how could anything stable or normal hope to represent that entropy, that unknown possibility?

There's an episode of Slaughter Time that never aired. Maybe doesn't even exist. It's an online rumour at this point. A tape where, if you tried playing it, nothing comes out. Your screen turns black, or if you're lucky, you'll get some nonsense binary spat back out. But 'cus Hofnarr's such a big fan of Slaughter Time, he's gotta get his hands on this one. Eventually he did, but unfortunately... it didn't play anything.

Much later, when the dissonance tore Hofnarr apart and remade him into Tricky, he still had that tape, and sometimes clown likes to watch them. But this time, that mystery tape? It played something for him. Not much, heavily warped and unstable, stuttering and droning, changing with every pause, play and rewind, but he could see it. Something fighting like he'd never seen it before, a black shape that, while censored, he knew what it was: a grunt.

To this day, only Tricky has ever seen the contents of that Slaughter Time tape - the only recording of Zero from the loop. There was no name included in the tape, so Tricky calls her Death-bringer because of how efficiently she fought and, well, slaughtered. While he had no idea what weapon she was using, it looked most like a scythe. The Reaper.

When it comes to Zero though, she doesn't know who Tricky is, understandably. But what she DOES know, what she can see, is how strange his S3LF is. It's like I said before, his S3LF has been ripped apart and remade, using dissonance as the stitches. There are echoes of memories tied to a new face, a S3LF entangled with something peculiar, an entropic jitter that defies expectation. He is like if you took the memory of a person and reforged it anew. A fascinating anomaly for Zero, that's for sure, especially with how Tricky also does not... conform to reality, but he does so very... differently. His power is a lot more unstable and erratic. Dangerous. Thankfully, Tricky seems to have some idea that his own entropy would not play nicely with hers, should her power come to bear.

JEB AND ZERO

So what if I told you I think about these two a lot? They're weird, in a way that's very different to Hank and Doc. It's pretty messy and I'm kinda bad at making shit messy, so this is pretty fun to me. Grunt who hates so bad it makes him look like he wants her. Okay buddy.

So it used to be that Jeb hated her so bad that he wanted her dead, which he still does, but to the point he challenges her to a duel and he loses, resulting in that stomach scar (completing the nice little Jeb->Hank->Zero trifecta). He still has that, but the original context of it has changed completely 'cus I didn't like this at all.

With the help of some friend involvement, it has since changed to a flexible series of events: Jeb's first meeting with Zero was alongside Doc, which already set things off on a bad foot. Doc already pisses him off, but another lackey? Like Hank? Wonderful, what a fantastic day for him. Yeah the mysterious silent enormous grunt towering behind you won't piss me the fuck off. I already got one on my plate right now.

Jeb already expresses extreme contempt towards the Employers, distinctly about how they 'don't belong here' (quoting the post-credits scene in MPN: CHRISTOFF: You are not welcome in Nevada. State your business and go.). So when Jeb finds out about her more anomalous properties (the particulars I haven't decided on, but I'm sure he'd spot her fighting once or twice and.. learn some things)... It's another tally on the "why I don't like Zero" board. Then again when he sees her with Hank, it worsens. It FINALLY cements when Jeb ends up having a conversation with Zero.

Why?

Because Zero is quite polite. She's nice. Nice. Is this a joke? This formality? This kindness? (Mind you, it's just her not oozing insults like everyone else and merely tipping her hat after their short tête-à-tête was done) From a thing like you, knowing who you work with, how you end up covered in blood and viscera, holding yourself with this otherworldly aura? Fuck you. You think you're above me. I see you for what you really are. Even the fact she's ALSO taller than him pisses him off.

But it reaches its true boiling point when Jeb gets himself killed, as he does (possibly one of his in-canon deaths), and Doc is responsible for bringing him back. Like he often is.

And who does he have help when doing that? Yes, that's right, it's Zero. Zero helps 2BD retrieve targets from the Other Place, especially high-value ones, or ones that have been lost to the dangerous, less stable depths. Jeb factors into both, so Zero has to chase him down. And for Zero to successfully reclaim a person, she must "kill" them (which looks and feels like literal death), but it's so Zero may 'absorb' their S3LF and connect with Doc's tools to reinstate their S3LF with the body on Doc's end.

Thus: Zero chasing after a very angry and baffled Jeb throughout the Other Place. Zero most likely making a monotone comment about how difficult he's making it while Jeb barks back for her to maybe stop trying to kill him, you detestable lunatic!

All in all, a more reasonable situation for their "duel", and for why and how Jeb gets his stomach scar.

Putting that particular.. backstory? Aside, more generally speaking: Jeb has a lot of mixed feelings about Zero,

She is smart. She's a lot kinder than others, even if that kindness isn't overt, it's subtle, it's... quiet, I guess. She's not doing anything to or for him that she wouldn't otherwise; mostly she's just listening. He loves to talk. But I don't think many listen.

But he thinks it's some weird mind game or something. Because killing his problems is what he's used to, he thinks the problem is her, and the solution is that he needs to run her through with his blade. Hence the lovely little comment he has about her on the chart. I don't deserve this, I don't need it, I want you (gone). This is ludicrous. Why do you listen to me? Have you not seen my destruction, a necessary evil, but one that haunts me nonetheless? Where is your contempt?

... I feel small. I hate it.

Zero also has a lot of mixed feelings for Jeb, though in her own way that she can't quite articulate. It's a mix of detached pity, an acknowledgement of what happened, yet not quite comprehending the totality of emotion, for better or for worse. A strange hum of fondness, because in a way, he's quite.. funny. It's like finding humour in a surly, prickly cat who craves affection, but only in very specific ways. Oh yes, you hate me, and yet you're here again? She thinks, but it's never heard. And the lamentation that he truly is doomed. I'm sorry.

When Jeb gets killed in MC8 and is abandoned out in Somewhere, Zero later comes to his body. To send him off, so to speak. When he was gone, she just knew.

This was discussed with my friend devicecontact, but there's a particular scene I like a lot. Of Zero walking to his corpse while vultures circle overhead, forming a dark halo above, framing the red sun. As Zero kneels down to him and takes a scrap of his coat, her hand briefly flashes with red light. The absorption, or at least.. its implied, that maybe, a piece of his dying essence now lives within her.

The vultures spiral away, and Jeb is truly, finally gone. When Zero walks off, without a word uttered save the pause before she departs, she casts a long, lonely shadow across the wasteland.

To convey how strange their relationship is, I made Zero's text+arrow to Jeb a little odd. Zero makes a light joke, which she normally doesn't do, and states something objectively wrong (Jeb is not at all Doc's friend). So she remains obtuse about what she truly feels about Jeb. There's no way she could concisely convey a singular feeling or idea about him anyway. There's just too much, and the same could be said for Jeb to Zero, and he merely oversimplifies it as a notion to kill.

Oh. Zero's seen an old memory of his. Accident with the halo. Jeb doesn't like to talk about it. Because he's dead haha ! okay obviously more to it than that smiles with gritted teeth

whys this one the longest good lord. no I don't think about zerojeb. hey .hey

VICTOR AND ZERO

One of my favourite topics: the narrative. Or the deliberate lack thereof in this case! The narrative that cannot be, the story that cannot be told, the events that cannot be seen. Both as individuals and together.

Victor's story cannot and will not be told; the lens will always be turned away from it, and they will always remain unknown, unseen. All that will be seen is a name and a facade. Why? We truly may never know, for the Maker is nothing if not persistent in ensuring things go PRECISELY the way it needs to. Maybe Victor knows something, as he's aware of the fact that he cannot be known, and is perpetually followed by things on the border of reality.

Zero instead cannot be known. Ink stains spill on pages, gaps bleed out on memories, and corruptions erase all data. All that will be known are approximations, stories, tales, indirect points that can form a great web. The shape of her can be traced by those who know what to look for, but the picture will never be clear. It will slip. It will fade.

And if the two met? You'd never know. You can't know.

SOME THINGS CANNOT HAPPEN.

Why? Would it break reality as we know it? Would some vehicle of storytelling break altogether, inviting a new form of entropy? A devastation that would crack the shell, and the three planes would intersect, obliterating Nevada like nothing was ever there?

Or does the Maker want to prevent something from happening? Is it the Machine's intervention? The Auditor's commentary? Who is saying that text? What does that eye mean?

That vagueness, the censorship, it's REALLY fun to me. It's one of my favourite concepts for Zero, and naturally it also extends to Victor, but it's in a different.. medium. But there are very substantial consequences and ideas within the notion of a Narrative. Regardless, the ambiguity between them is far more compelling than knowing for sure whether or not they've met. Maybe they have... and what would that mean, and what would that look like? It's up to you, really. But one thing fis or certain:

The Maker does not want it to happen, no matter what.

GONNE AND ZERO

Right so. Little bit of a preface ramble for some context. In my headcanon, there are three planes of 'tangible' existence. Reality, obviously, where things happen, the "occurrant". Entropy, which can be considered the Other Place and any extensions of that, and the infinite possibility. And then Something Else, akin to the Nowhere, including it and yet not, the infinite stretch of behind the veil, around the sphere. There's something even beyond that, further than anything anyone can truly see or know, and that's where Fate and Else reside, but that's beside the point.

What the point is: there are gaps between these. When you are severed from the weave, no longer within the manifold of the Machine's reach, the narrative that enfolds the world, you sort of end up between... reality and entropy, sometimes slipping into Something Else with no real rhyme or reason. For the sake of stability, or perhaps the universe rejecting you, or the Machine just really doesn't want your ass gallivanting around.

Pointing being ... again, Gonne is still "out there." Existing, just.. not in a way almost anyone can reach, see, or even know about. Ostensibly, they're gone (heh).

But Zero? She can. She has.

In the back of her mind, somewhere far off, something taps at the wall. Something sky-blue, a colour quite rare, glimmers in a minuscule crack on an invisible wall. Zero notices.

Zero managed to put a "name" to a "face" when she 'bumps into' the S3LF-eater story. Zero always seems to show up when "interesting" things happen, which is the case here, and it was spurred by Zero noticing Hank had died (a cosmic gut feeling, more or less). She arrives after San and Dei have already hauled its body back.

Instead, she encounters Jeb and Sheriff, and they do the whole running-around of sorting out the S3LF-eater stuff. That's where Zero properly learns about Gonne, putting together those scraps of documents, of leftover logs. Now she knows who that 'voice' is.

What they've spoken about is unclear, because the means of conversation aren't expected or translatable, hence the abstractions and binary their text has to take. A new script, one that can cross the boundary of reality and entropy, but it doesn't convey ideas that can be clearly read or understood. But there are some recognisable shapes. And Zero is one of them. This shouldn't be possible.

There's a place beyond heaven and I saw it. Something might happen soon.

It's just a matter of time.

CRACKPOT AND ZERO

You know I used to not really think anything about Crackpot haha! That sure has changed! i haven't even seen them in game yet pleasehelpme

Crackpot is corroded with madness enough to know more than he should in vague, broken pieces about Zero. He also does other things in general, but specifically we're talking about Zero here, so. To others, it sounds like delusional ramblings - but like Zero says, Madness is just knowing Something Else. There is truth in what he says, and because there is truth, the words themselves unravel into shapes, approximations of ideas. For their truth has made even the words themselves "mad." To try and retain stability, to make sure things that cannot be known remain unknown, they unfurl and blur, blotch and blacken, until there is nothing discernible left.

But Crackpot speaks in such strange riddles that the shapes of what they have said DO mean something. Primarily, the 0s going up allude to how Zero is "something above", perhaps higher than the Maker, than this world itself. Not in power, but mere existence, her role, the end. There's also a rough shape of Zero in there, plus some imagery of her wings, a figure 8 loop, something piercing the veil of reality, and the two bound shapes of Hank and Zero.

Crackpot knows fleeting shrapnels, glimpses of Zero in a way that Doc has been striving towards for decades, albeit a little more coherently. Shame he's dead now! Could've learned a lot.

PHOBOS AND ZERO

Okay I might not explain this one so much cus I wanna make it its own art/post one day but essentially, Phobos has a rubix cube. Its a figurative representation of what he has, what he failed to achieve, what he was searching for and how he failed to grasp the larger picture. The cube was never solved, but Zero thinks maybe one day, it might. Zero often visited Phobos in the Other Place, until she stopped. Phobos sort of misses it, especially because he's not got much longer now.

AUDITOR AND ZERO

Fairly self-explanatory I think. Or maybe I'm tired which is also true lol. Anyway, Zero is a real pain for the Auditor because of the way she interacts with reality, is difficult to plan around/for, and just the simple fact she's just as good a killer/an unstoppable (but killable) force as Hank. She's not as prone to spontaneous events of mass murder, but she fundamentally opposes Auditor's role - a custodian of the Machine, even if they don't understand it fully. Very annoying when you already have an active nightmare to deal with on top of not knowing how your boss well, operates. The fact they can't even put up wanted posters of her is absurdly frustrating, and every time they've tried to approximate its stupid things like "the Hat Man", which no Agent takes seriously and is just plain confused by.

Auditor just kind of has to begrudgingly deal with it. Maybe coercion or something would work. (It wouldn't.)

SHERIFF AND ZERO

With Sheriff, Zero is fascinated by the idea that there can be TRUE kindness despite the circumstances, despite the structure and code and tendencies of this world. What I wrote on Zero's summary image puts it well: Sheriff represents resilience, kindness and a human element that can prevail despite the way Nevada is. Zero respects him, and while not a lot of things affect her emotionally, this is one of the things that makes Zero "happy." Basically surprised to see something human overcome the odds in such an inhuman environment. I feel like there's more detail I could go into but I need it to cook a bit more and I might need specific examples or trains of thought to flesh it out. Not sure. One thing is that Zero saved Sheriff's life during a fight around the S3LF Eater debacle. Most of my Sheriff thoughts are contained within my+a friends OCxcanon with him, anyhoo. Zero is more just... pleasantly surprised he exists, that he can exist.

I'll explain Sanford and Zero more when I get a better grasp on them and will probably go into detail about SQ as a whole with her. Welcome to still ask about them though, the changed version is a lot better than the previous lines.

some up-to-date lore bits and relationship charts with Zero!

[fivewantscoffee]

Alright. So, to preface this, I'm aroace.

I'm a demi/aroace Five truther. I also love aus where Five becomes a husband and a dad somewhere down the line.

Here's why:

I think it's sweet.

Five loves his family dearly. He cares a lot, and he's much softer than he lets on. All those years away from home (spent surviving, then killing for the Commission) couldn't change that. The core of what makes Five Five never changed.

I'm sure he'd have a hard time adjusting to a quiet, peaceful life - would have no idea how to just exist at first - but once he's had the time to heal, I think he'd thrive in it.

And alright, in S3, when Five says, "You know, Lila, I shouldn't even be here. I was... I was out. I was done, and yet here I am again, swept back into the chaos. Why can't I just escape this hellhole?" Lila replies with, "Because you love it. Face it, Five, apocalypse problems are the only things that get your heart pumping."

Girl!! You're projecting!! You're the one who both wants and is also terrified of that life, because what if YOU don't like it? What if you get bored with it? What if it doesn't work out with Diego and the baby? What if, what if, what if.

Also, I disagree. That's not excitement, it's a trauma response! Five's been through two apocalypses in just over two weeks, and this is coming off the back of Five being forced to work for the commission, which came right after 45 years spent in an apocalyptic wasteland.

He doesn't know normal, or peace, or quiet. Of course it would feel wrong to him at first! It's the only thing he knows, sitting still and simply existing isn't something he's ever had the luxury of doing. It's going to take far longer than a day without an apocalypse to worry about to get over a lifetime of apocalypse trauma.

But he wants to.

Five says it himself:

To which Lila says:

And you're right, you're right, he doesn't dispute it! He simply says, "Yeah, well, you're not exactly cut out for domestic bliss either", which sounds like acquiescence, but... hear me out, couldn't that be because deep down Five believes something about himself that isn't true?

Regardless of whether it's the truth or not, people still believe things about themselves that aren't right. I can think everyone I know secretly hates me, but that doesn't mean it's true.

Five knows he wants retirement. He also thinks he isn't cut out for a normal life: groceries, taxes... no world-ending calamity hanging over his head, no need to go back, or save his family. He doesn't know how to live, but how could he? He's been surviving for 45 years straight.

Again, he was retired for ONE DAY. That's nothing! You can't draw any conclusions based on that.

You know what you can give us some hints, though? Five's forty-five years spent in the future.

Delores was all he had in the apocalypse, and while yes, there's a big difference between what Five had with Delores and being in a relationship with an actual person, I don't think it detracts from the point I'm trying to make.

If I remember correctly, and please correct me if I'm wrong, Five never refers to Delores as his wife. There's still a reason why we all call her that anyway: Five speaks to her (and of her) as you would to/of a spouse.

When Five says, "we were together for over thirty years", when he tells Delores, "I missed you... obviously" or "I want you to know that I cherish every single minute I ever shared with you. All twenty-three and a half billiin of them. A lifetime", when his voice cracks when he says "This isn't easy for me, Delores", those aren't the words and actions of someone who hates the thought of being married, or of being in some sort of lifelong companionship not otherwise specified.

That said, I don't think it's something he's ever thought about. Not seriously. Definitely not at length. All that is very far from his mind in the current timeline, so of course it doesn't come up. It probably won't come up for a very long time.

After the dust settles and he gets, let's say, a decade and a half minimum to work through some of his issues, though... I think it could happen.

Like I said, I think Five is ace, but you can be aroace and married. To me, it's about the companionship: being devoted to someone and wanting to spend your life with them, just without the sex or romance.

Now on to the second thing, children.

This one is easy: the Commission Handbook said Five would've been a stay at home dad had Reginald never adopted him.

Deciding he wants to be a dad one day doesn't have to clash with Five being aroace. You can be aroace and want to have children, I know I do.

So we know this: this other, hypothetical version of Five has children. We can assume he ended up with three of them (based on the picture in the Commission Handbook) because he wanted them. That Five is not our Five, though, so the question remains: would our Five want children?

As he is? Hell no. Absolutely not.

But like I said, this is a hypothetical taking place years and years in the future. Presumably, Five's done a lot of healing by then, he's had the time to figure out what he wants to do with his life, whether or not having kids factors into it.

I think in certain cases, if the circumstances are right, he might decide to go for it.

So yeah. Here it is. I'm a demi/aroace Five truther, but I also love aus where he is a husband and a dad. I think they're neat and can make sense for his character if approached from a certain angle. That's my controversial opinion for the day

[glowettee]

✧・゜: how i'm using this season to shed old identities that no longer serve me :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✨mindy here!

i've been sitting on my little balcony this morning, watching the sunrise with my iced matcha, thinking about how summer always feels like nature's permission slip to reinvent ourselves. there's something about the longer days and warmer air that makes everything feel possible, you know? like we can finally shed the heavy coats of who we've been pretending to be.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ realizing i've been wearing masks ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

honestly? i had this moment last week where i was getting ready for a friend's party and literally tried on seven different outfits, not because they didn't fit but because i kept thinking "does this look like me?" and then i had this weird breakdown moment where i was like… wait, who even is "me" anymore?

i realized i've been cycling through different versions of myself for different people - the perpetually positive girl, the aesthetic overachiever, the one who never needs help, the girl who has it all figured out. it's exhausting trying to maintain all these identities when deep down i just want to exist without the pressure of being consistent with who i was yesterday.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ summer as a season of shedding ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

i've been thinking about snakes a lot lately (stay with me lol). they shed their entire skin when they outgrow it, and there's something so beautiful about that natural process of release. summer feels like the perfect time for us to do the same.

i started making a list of identities i've outgrown but have been clinging to:

the girl who says yes to everything because she's afraid of disappointing people

the perpetual optimizer who can't enjoy anything without trying to improve it

the one who needs everyone to like her (this one's been the hardest to let go of tbh)

the person who derives all her worth from productivity and achievement

these old skins have been suffocating me, and i didn't even realize how much until i started consciously peeling them away.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ my gentle shedding rituals ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

i've been creating little rituals to help me release these old identities, and it's been kind of magical? here's what's been working for me:

morning journaling where i write from the perspective of my authentic self rather than who i think i should be (sometimes i literally don't know what to write and that's telling)

a social media cleanse where i unfollowed accounts that make me feel like i need to perform a certain version of myself (cut my following list in half and my anxiety improved immediately)

practicing saying things like "i don't know" and "i changed my mind" without offering explanations or apologies (terrifying at first but gets easier)

creating a "permission slip box" where i write down things i'm allowing myself to be/do/feel that the old me would have rejected (currently on my nightstand and it's getting fuller every day)

asking myself "whose voice is this?" whenever i hear that critical inner monologue (turns out most of my inner critic speaks in borrowed voices)

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ growing pains & gentle reminders ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

can i be honest? this shedding process isn't always pretty. there have been days where i've slipped back into people-pleasing or perfectionism because those old identities feel safe. there have been moments where i've felt completely lost without my usual masks to hide behind.

but i'm learning that this discomfort is part of the process. that weird in-between stage where you've outgrown who you were but haven't fully become who you're meant to be? that's where the magic happens. that's where we get to play and experiment and figure out what actually feels true.

i keep reminding myself that authenticity isn't a destination, it's a practice. and summer, with its forgiving warmth and abundant light, feels like the perfect container for this messy, beautiful transformation.

so i'm curious… what identities are you outgrowing this summer? what parts of yourself are you ready to shed? sometimes naming them is the first step to letting them go.

sending you all the courage to become more of who you really are.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. if you're feeling brave, write down an identity you're shedding on a piece of paper and bury it in your garden or a potted plant. let something new grow in its place. (i did this with "perfect girl" last week and i swear my lavender plant is thriving)

click here to leave a little heartbreak on my desk: the glowettee hotline official website

[astarioffsimpmain]

When It Rains, It Pours

Pairing: Gale Dekarios x Lyra Whitlock (Songweave)

Author's Note: This began as some late night thoughts, but just kept evolving! This scene will very likely be featured in my Songweave long-fic, "Ubi amor est, ibi es (Where Love Is, You Are There)" in the future. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Gale and Lyra get caught in the rain. Lyra has some minor revelations, and Gale is already in so deep.

(Or read on Ao3)

The claps of thunder reverberating through the mall were good indicators of what awaited you both once you crossed the threshold of the automatic doors. The tree branches in the parking lot bent sideways in a unified dance routine as the dark clouds rolled in, and Gale turned to you, shopping bag in hand, a mischievous grin on his lips.

"Would you like for me to Misty Step us or shall we try our luck?"

You knew which answer he wanted, and you chuckled, shaking your head. "Let's see how well the Dekarios luck holds up in this world, shall we?" His grin widened, and his fingers closed around yours.

Your eyes snapped to his, and your face warmed. His forwardness with touch as of late was doing irreparable damage to your constitution. He held your gaze steady as he laced his fingers with yours and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 'Ready?'

You gave him a lopsided grin and squeezed his hand in return. 'Ready.'

Simultaneously, you turned to the open lot and broke into a run, daring the rain to catch you before you made it to your car on the far end. He slowed to keep your pace - you could tell - and you giggled; a lovesick, carefree sound that bounced off of every car bumper you passed. Gale's head turned to you as he ran, and for a moment, in your peripheral vision, you caught his eyes and your world nearly tilted on its axis.

He was beautiful, and he was looking at you like you were birthed from a star. No one had ever looked at you that way, and the air evacuated your lungs all at once. You coughed and slowed, and he followed, his hands already on you, steadying you; always steadying you.

It was then that the sky won the game, opening all at once to dump rain down onto you both, soaking you to the skin almost instantly. You yelped, your sudden revelation halted by the ice pelting your head, and instinctively raised your arms to cover yourself. Gale's arm was already around your back, propelling you forward, and you took his lead.

Soaked and breathless, you reached your car and practically catapulted inside, water puddling into your front seats in the process. The doors closed, and you both sat there, chests heaving, not speaking, for a countless number of seconds. Gale's hand had already found yours again somehow, and he clung to it—his own now freezing.

As your breath slowed, a laugh bubbled up out of you at the absurdity of it all: You just ran through the freezing rain with Gale Dekarios—the Gale Dekarios, while he held your hand and looked at you the way a blooming flower looks at the sun. Your eyes found his across the console, and you grinned.

He grinned back, and the rain, the chill from the cold, and your soaking wet clothes failed to matter. His sparkling brown eyes and heart-stopping smile were the only things that existed in that moment, and your heart was whole for the first time in your life. When he broke eye contact, you had to restrain yourself from reaching to guide his gaze back to yours.

"Here," he said quietly, pulling one of the sweaters he had tried on in the store out of the bag. Miraculously, it seemed mostly dry. "I can't have you freezing." He handed the blue bundle to you with one hand, his other still holding yours tightly. The chill in your body faded as you warmed from the inside, but you took the sweater nonetheless, gesturing sheepishly to your joined hands.

"Ah! Right," Gale’s fingers unlatched from yours, and his hand withdrew—and again, you nearly scrambled for it. But you turned your focus to the sweater instead and pulled it over your head, situating it snugly on your body. It fit Gale rather loosely, but you could hardly find it in yourself to care. When he looked at you like that, what did it matter what size you were? You inhaled and melted. It smelled like him already, just from the few moments he had worn it in the store.

Your cheeks were blazing, and you dared not look at him, instead playing with the tags on the sleeves and pretending to adjust the bottom again. "Thank you," you said gently, a smile creeping across your lips despite yourself.

Fingers found yours, and you giggled, allowing him to take your hand with him. You finally stole a glance in his direction, and - as you expected - he was already staring, a smile playing on his own lips as well. When he pressed his warm lips to the back of your cold hand, you nearly gasped aloud.

"Of course, Lyra. I will take care of you, always."

~

fin

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Tagging, Darlings: @whiskeyskin @senualothbrok @optimisticgrey @faerybella219 @fanon-and-canon @micropoe10 @rafayels-bioluminescent-cumdump @nerissa-dekarios @knightofmight01 @worfs-glorious-hair @serenaoffaerun @bite-me-tonight

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Very specific frev stuff that if I had a nickel for every time it happened I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

Danton boasting about having sex with his wife every night

The word virtue made Danton laugh; he didn’t have a more solid virtue, he said amusingly, than the one which he did every night with his wife. How could a man, to whom every idea of morality was foreign, be the defender of liberty?  Robespierre’s notes against the dantonists, written somewhere in March 1794 and published in 1841

Danton in the chamber of the accused: Me a conspirator? I f… my wife everyday. My name is attached to all revolutionary institutions, the revolutionary army, revolutionary committee, Committee of Public Safety, Revolutionary Tribunal.  Notes de Topino-Lebrun, juré au Tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris sur le procès de Danton et sur Fouquier-Tinville, written during Danton’s trial in 1794 and published for the first time 1875.

Pétion being forced to share a bed with another revolutionary

We went up to the upper rooms; the sentries were immediately posted at all the doors. The King, the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, the Prince, Madame [Royale], Madame de Tourzel had supper together, Messrs. Maubourg, Barnave, Dumas and I had supper in another apartment; we made our dispatches for the National Assembly, I went to bed at three o'clock in the morning; Barnave came to sleep in the same bed. I was already asleep. We got up at five o'clock. Voyage de Pétion au retour de Varennes, cited in Mémoires inédits de Pétion et Mémoires de Buzot & de Barbaroux (1866) page 196.

This man, whose name must be recorded here, Baptiste Troquart, with the only means of existence provided by difficult work, did not hesitate to brave the dangers, to help proscribed deputies. […] We learned from his own mouth all the precautions, all the tricks that had to be used, all the fatigue that had to be braved for their first needs: the details were touching. We also visited the asylum of the poor (Buzot’s expression). “There, he told us, Buzot and Pétion slept; they occupied my bed; here, on mattresses, rested Barbaroux; there we cooked together; in this old armchair sat Pétion.” Preface to Mémoires sur la Révolution française , par Buzot, député a la Convention nationale, précédés d'un précis de sa vie et de recherches historiques sur les Girondins (1828), page 17-18.

A 34 year old unmarried sister of a prominent revolutionary openly wishing for Robespierre’s death in the spring of 1794

”But since they want your head, take, if necessary, theirs, remember that, without you, Robespierre will very quickly be swallowed up himself. My brother told me the day before his death that he was only good at making speeches, that he understood nothing about government, and that he would lose his head at the first crisis. If he abandons you, his friend, you, the man of August 10, he is only a villain; he must perish. Collect your thoughts for an hour, and mount the rostrum: change the committees; proscribe them if necessary.” Albertine Marat to Danton at the eve of his arrest, anecdote published in Histoire de la Révolution française (1850) by Nicolas Villiaumé, volume 4, page 41. Villiaumé had gotten into contact with Albertine Marat before her death, so it’s most likely she herself who is the origin of this anecdote.

”…I loved [Maximilien] tenderly, I still do… His excesses are the consequence of the domination under which he groans, I am sure of it, but knowing no way to break the yoke he has allowed himself to be placed under, and no longer able to bear the pain and the shame of to see my brother devote his name to general execration, I ardently desire his death as well as mine. Judge of my unhappiness! Charlotte Robespierre in May 1794, according to La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire, 1791-1799: d'après les Mémoires de Gaillard, ancien président du Directoire exécutif de Seine-et-Marne, conseiller en cassation (1909), p. 263.

A revolutionary describing someone they actually knew during their childhood as a child in order to justify their recent shenanigans

You (Pétion) have told me (Robespierre) twenty times that Brissot was a child, and that is the common word of the coterie, when it comes to explaining certain rather strong mischievous acts that he is accused of. Réponse de Maximilien Robespierre à Jérôme Pétion (November 1792)

Robespierre: Camille's writings are to be condemned, without a doubt; but it is nevertheless important to distinguish the person from his works. Camille is a spoiled child who had a happy disposition, but who was led astray by bad company. We must crack down on his numbers, which Brissot himself would not have dared to admit, and keep Desmoulins among us. Robespierre at the Jacobins, January 7 1794

Lucile Desmoulins predicting Marie-Antoinette’s fate

O woman, cruel woman, woman unworthy of the sun that shines on you, what, shall not celestial vengeance burst entirely on your head, will you triumph? Go, the day may not be far off when all the evils you cause will fall on you! You will groan then, but it will be too late! We won’t complain! Fear the example of queens who, like you, have done evil! See: some perished in misery, others were sent to the scaffold. This may be the fate that awaits you… Lucile in her diary, summer 1789

If destiny had placed me on the throne, if I was queen, and, having brought pain to my subjects, a just death for my crimes had been prepared for me, I wouldn’t wait for the moment when an unrestrained population came to tear me from my palace to drag me unworthily to the foot of the scaffold, I would prevent their blows, I say, and would like by dying to impose them on the entire universe. I would have a large enclosure prepared in a public place, I would have a stake erected there and barriers surrounding it, and three days before my death I would let the people know my intentions. At the back of the enclosure and opposite the stake I would erect an altar. During these three days I would go to the foot of this altar to pray to the great master of the universe, on the third day I would like all my mourning family to accompany me to the stake, this ceremony would take place at midnight by light torches. Short story by Lucile titled ”What I would do if I were in her place,” first cited in Les Autographes et le goûts des autographes en France et à l’entranger (1865) page 301-302.

A revolutionary courting a girl before contributing to the execution of her older sibling

Robespierre, if you are not a tiger with a human face, if the blood of Camille has not inebriated you to the point that you’ve lost your reason entirely, if you remember our evenings of intimacy, if you remember the carrasses you lavished on little Horace, that you delighted to hold him upon your knee, if you remember that you were to have been my son-in-law, spare an innocent victim. Letter from Annette Duplessis to Robespierre, the day her daughter Lucile Desmoulins gets sentenced to death by the Revolutionary Tribunal

Fouché had shown the most ardent patriotism, the most sacred devotion since the beginning of the revolution. My brother, who believed him sincere, had accorded him his friendship and his esteem; he spoke to me of him as a proven democrat, and introduced him to me in praising him and asking me to give him my esteem. Fouché, after having been introduced to me by my brother, came to see me assiduously, and had those regards and attentions that one has for a person in whom one is particularly interested. Fouché was not handsome, but he had a charming wit and was extremely amiable. He spoke to me of marriage, and I admit that I felt no repugnance for that bond, and that I was well enough disposed to accord my hand to he whom my brother had introduced to me as a pure democrat and his friend. I did not know that Fouché was only a hypocrite, a swindler, a man without convictions, without morals, and capable of doing anything to satisfy his frenzied ambition. He knew so well how to disguise his vile sentiments and his malicious passions in my eyes as in my brother’s, that I was his dupe as well as Maximilien. I responded to his proposition that I wanted to think about it and consult my brother, and I asked him the time to resolve myself. I spoke of it, effectively, to Robespierre, who showed no opposition to my union with Fouché.   Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 122-123. Charlotte places the courtship in the midst of the revolution, which can hardly be accurate given the fact Fouché was already married by then, but it does sound likely for it to have happened somewhere between 1788 and 1790, when both of them were unmarried and lived in Arras.

Danton crying over the fate of the girondins 

I could not convince myself that among all those who, since May 31, had retained great popularity, there was not one who did not still retain a little humanity, and I went to Danton. He was ill, it only took me two minutes to see that his illness was above all a deep pain and a great dismay at everything that was coming. ”I won't be able to save them (the girondins)”, were the first words out of his mouth, and, as he uttered them, all the strength of this man, who has been compared to an athlete, was defeated, big tears strolled down his face, whose shapes could have been used to represent that of Tartarus. […] When the fate reserved for the twenty-two [girondins] seemed inevitable, Danton already heard, so to speak, his death sentence in theirs. All the strength of this triumphant athlete of democracy succumbed under the feeling of the crimes of democracy and its disorders. He could only talk about the countryside, he was suffocating, he needed to escape from men in order to be able to breathe.  Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) by Dominique-Joseph Garat, p. 233-234, 241.

Danton was in Arcis in the month of November 1793. One day, when he was walking in his garden with M. Doulet, a third person came towards them, walking with great steps and holding a paper in his hand (it was a journal). As soon as he could make himself heard he cried out: ”Good news! Good news!” and approached them.  ”What news?” said Danton.  ”Here, read! The girondins have been condemned and executed,” responded the person that had just arrived.  ”And you call this good news, you wretch?” cried Danton in his turn, Danton whose eyes immediately got filled with tears. ”The death of the girondins good news? Wretch!” ”Without a doubt,” responded his interlocuteur, ”weren’t they factious?   ”Factious,” said Danton. Aren’t we factious? We all deserve death just as much as the girondins, we will all suffer, one after the other, the same fate as them.”  Mémoire écrit en 1846 par les deux fils de Danton le conventionnel, pour détruire les accusations de vénalité portées contre leur père, cited in Danton, mémoire sur sa vie privée(1865) by Jean François Eugène Robinet, p. 277-278. Danton’s sons claimed to have obtained this anecdote from the son of the M. Doulet mentioned in it.

[zerodaytesttape]

hiii!! i love your zd headcanons sooo much! if you haven’t done this already, could you make some on how they’d act online? like how would they chat and what would they post? thank youuuu! :3

HHAHAAAIIIIII!!! that means a lot to me!! HERE YA GO!!

ANDRE:

- Doesn't post much

- He only has like 2–3 posts on any of his social medias and never posts on his stories

- All of his posts are just random photos of the sky/nature, his car, random photos he took in traffic, or cool mountains, with the captions all being the thumbs up emoji or just smth dumb like "yep"

- Doesn't follow many people

- He would never respond to messages on media, he'd send vids and reels and then NOT REPLY when anyone does the same

- His first post on Instagram would just be a dumb photo of him going "👍" from like 4 years prior that he never really deleted

- Posted a photo of him shooting a week prior to the massacre with just a thumbs up emoji 😭

- His pfp is his shitbox car in his empty school parking lot

- Only saved post on his IG is a reel of someone playing with a Zippo lighter. He rewatches it obsessively

- Subscribed to a bunch of YouTube gun channels but never comments and his liked videos are hidden

- Gets into so many internet fights

- Uses Discord and WhatsApp, he types in full sentences, no emojis, uses punctuation, and always all lowercase. Randomly vanishes mid-convo

- After his death and everything, people start digging through Andre’s old Instagram before it’s taken down. A few screenshots get reposted like a pale sky with the thumbs up emoji, a grainy photo of his boots in the snow. There's one of him at a shooting range with the same deadpan eerily-basic caption, and that’s the one that spreads the fastest. People call it a warning sign and say it was obvious and that they always knew there was something wrong with him. Some kids from school post screenshots and tag each other, mocking his old captions, making threads about how creepy he was. The same people who never said a word to him are suddenly experts on how he “wasn’t right.” Some post fake sympathy, "mental health matters". "RIP Andre". but they didn't even know him. They didn't listen to him, most of them were the ones who pushed him to it. Most are brutal: "rot in hell," "freak,", "the devil," should’ve been stopped.". His account is deleted within a few days. Just fragments that resurface in Reddit threads and TikTok theories exist after that. Nobody posts tributes, no one truly calls him a victim. He becomes the manipulator and the embodiment of evil in everyone else’s healing, he's "a symbol of evil", and even in death, he isn’t allowed to exist and be himself.

CAL:

- So many selfies. Mirror selfies, bathroom selfies, black-and-white filtered close-ups all edited grainy with sharp crosses and edgy stuff, YKWIM???

- His captions are all lyrics

- Uses TikTok regularly but never posts

- Edits photos of himself on VSCO, same grunge and grainy and vignette stuff

- Tagged in like 40 photos per year with friendgroups that he was barely evencjn

- Constantly updating his bio. Before death, it was just something small and weird like "byeeee"

- Rachel asked to match with him and he left her on read

- He replies to people’s stories with “lol” and dumb shit, and a bunch of emojis, and leaves people on read all the time

- Uses Discord and telegram. He never replies to people, he's always seen playing stuff, and he loves leaving ppl on read even by accident

- After the massacre, Cal’s Instagram explodes. His followers triple in a week, and every post of him gets flooded with comments like “we miss you angel” and “gone too soon.” Classmates start tagging him in "in memoriam" edits with soft filters and sad music, even people who barely knew him. Some post old screenshots of DMs and pretend they were close. He becomes the symbol of everything tragic and beautiful. People tweet threads defending him saying he was manipulated, that he was just a kid, that he didn’t want it to happen. Someone writes: “he was sweet. andre made him do it.” and it goes viral. Any time someone tries to mention Andre, the replies get hostile. “Don’t even bring him up. Cal deserves peace.” Andre’s name becomes a curse. Calvin’s becomes sacred. There are candles lit in his name. People start editing angel wings onto his photos. Even in death, he’s adored, sainted, soft, mourned by strangers who never looked at him twice until it was too late

[ofeliaxoxo]

https://x.com/ln4norris/status/1940825095800607127

Landoscar, Dando + jealous Oscar who’s envious of Daniel but also attracted to him

idk idk

And by the way the most important threesome in the whole world is Lando Oscar and Daniel. Literally landoscar dando and jealous Oscar who’s envious of Daniel but also attracted to him. I fear I have no notes like you are correct. I wish I had some more coherent thoughts to give you but I’m unwell and brain won’t work. Something something the fond memories with Daniel being stronger than Oscar’s years long presence something something Oscar feels the absence of himself and tries to assert his existence into the dynamic something something idk

Here is some nonsense I typed out in my feverish state

They work together. It makes sense. The matching tans, sunny and golden, the dark hair, the lovely curls Daniel taught Lando how to deal with. Once it worked out for Oscar, the right moment, he was able to skim a hand over them, feel the soft bounce, the little spring of resistance. He couldn’t feel any product, only soft hair, but Lando told him there was loads in it. All things Daniel had told him to buy.

Lando likes Daniel more than he likes Oscar. Still. Oscar had been thinking maybe he wouldn’t still.

Daniel keeps doing this thing where he talks only to Lando but looks slightly to the left of him so that it looks like they’re all together properly, all at the table just the same, until Oscar thinks he would go if he didn’t know it would be the only thing he could do right now to bring their attention to him. It would be less embarrassing to go than to keep sitting here looking at them but he’s not sure he could find an excuse, pull off the lie, knows Lando would see through it, the little smirk in the corner of his mouth, alright mate, pleased to have smelled a rat.

Instead he’s sitting quiet, their audience of one. He’s drinking too fast so it looks like he’s not talking on purpose. Just chilling. Enjoying his drink.

“You’re not bothered, are you, Oscar?”

Mid-sip, it jolts him. His name, in Daniel’s mouth. He thought they’d basically forgotten him. He wasn’t listening anymore.

“Wh - I’m not bothered about what?”

“Any of it. Couldn’t give a shit. Lando told me it’s like competing with a brick wall.”

Daniel’s eyes are gentle, a nice brown, nothing sharp in them. Smiling, he’s only joking. He’s not being mean.

Oscar feels it like a slap to the face, the way his skin heats up, flushes, probably pink enough for them to see even in the dim light of the bar.

“Um.”

He shrugs, smiles. He has an answer for this one, because it comes up a lot, but he can’t say it here, to Daniel. Lando will know he’s doing an answer. He says Oscar has a special voice he puts on for answers that he got ready ahead of time, and that he can always pick them out from the things Oscar came up with on the spot.

Lando’s funny like that. Sometimes he pays all this attention to Oscar, notices all sorts of weird stuff, but not always. Sometimes he takes it away.

Oscar needs to think of a new answer, right now, but he’s run out of time already. It’s gone on too long. The two of them staring over, as if he’s supposed to agree, and they want him to go no, isn’t it weird, I don’t give a fuck about anything. As if Daniel is actually asking a real question.

“See, can’t even be bothered to speak to us. Very rude, Osc.”

Oscar doesn’t know what else to do except laugh, laugh and laugh and down his vodka, the horrible end of it. He wishes he could think of something funny, something that would come out naturally, like he was speaking as it occurred to him, not needing to prepare the words.

“I think you’re the one being rude now,” and Daniel pretends to hit him. Gives Lando a fake slap, his hand so familiar with Lando’s face Oscar realises he must have done it before, hit him properly, a real blow, reddened the skin. Lando is small next to him, although Daniel’s not big.

Lando doesn’t get mad, lets his body take the impact of Daniel playing, lips parted. Ready to laugh but not laughing yet. Maybe if Oscar wasn’t here he wouldn’t laugh at all.

It was never really a proper smack, but it softens further, Daniel’s fingertips lingering on the cheekbone, the temple, the touch lasting a second too long. They’re perfect, Daniel’s tattooed arm the link between them. Oscar imagines it, Lando under his palm, just getting one good whack in, one good crack at it, and then he’d kiss it better, and he’d mean it much more than Daniel.