#basically whatever fits the vibes and makes the words go

[ce1estiall]

alcohol-free

summary paige x fem!reader your friend kyra organizes a beach party for surviving finals. you bump into uconn’s basketball star as you admire the beaches view. series masterlist. | masterlist.

warnings fluff, weird guy tries to hit on reader

celestial notes ahhh i hope you guys enjoy chapter 1 of taste of love!! i have to go study now, but i really enjoyed writing this!

“i am alcohol-free, but i get drunk

though i didn’t drink at all

it happens every time i’m with you, because of the way you look at me.” alcohol-free - twice

summer had finally arrived in connecticut. the sun hitting your skin as there were no clouds in the orange sunset. the air was still hot outside, despite it being 9pm. the beach waves crashed on the shore, as the clear waters shimmered from the sun reflection. sand was in your toes, as you were having the time of your life.

you and your friends organized a beach party to celebrate finishing finals. yes, it was well deserved. those finals felt like it was an attempt to kill you. it was kind of like a staycation, enjoying yourself locally.

your friend, kyra, had the idea to have a beach bar during the planning. “it would fit the vibe, c’mon! they have a stand on the beach, we just have to bring the drinks.” she said excitedly. kyra was a type a person. always on time, organized, as her life was basically lived in a planner.

you sighed, attempting to not ruin her mood. “i don’t know, i don’t drink really, its a rare occasion that i do.”

she rolled her eyes in protest. “girl, you know other people drink. i’m not gonna opt out on this just because you’re not gonna have it. you know they also make non-alcoholic drinks, right?”

you gave her idea a thought. “ugh, fine i guess. but we’re only inviting our friend group, right?” you groaned. you were expecting just a small little party with you and your 10 friends, but that was way far off.

“yes, of course. i don’t want a lot of people there anyway. plus, you’ll have something to look forward to this summer!” kyra said with a smile, trying to cheer you up.

something to look forward to.

when you arrived at the beach and got out of your car, you observed the scene. it was crowded, but not too crowded. maybe it was just other people enjoying themselves, right?

you ran down the hill as your wavy hair was flowing in the same direction as the wind, showing off your gold highlights in the sun. a white and blue bikini top with a blue hawaiian flower in your hair, a perfect beach outfit for the start of summer. when you got to the shore, your smile faded. everyone was at the “small party”, sororities, fraternities, and sports teams. someone spread the word throughout town.

you walked up to kyra and your other friend, tonya, as they were at the bar. fairy lights were hung all around, chairs that sat towards the view of the sun setting as a fruity and alcoholic scent filled your nose. kyra turned around and sent a smile your way, as they were laughing while holding some margaritas and glasses of champagne. “hey girl!” she said, giving you a hug.

you smiled, “hey guys!” you observed the scene in awe. nothing could be better as the view. “whoever set this up did amazing.”

tonya was talking to someone else, someone who you didn’t know. she laughed then turned around to talk to you. “i know right!”

you lowered your voice, only loud enough for them to hear. “not to be rude or kill the vibe, but why is there so many people here? i thought this was only just for our group?”

tonya was clearly drunk, as she started to slur her words and laugh at everything. you saw the empty glasses infront of her and pieced the pieces together. “oh, yeah, i invited some people. hope you guys are okay with it.”

you took a deep breath, calming yourself. you were looking forward to this all month and didn’t want to ruin it in 5 minutes. “yeah, thats fine, whatever.”

you looked at the bartender. “can i just get a mimosa with no alcohol?” he nodded. you didn’t trust yourself with alcohol, and really only drank it when you REALLY deserved it. even though it was tempting, you fought that battle with yourself. you observed the crowd of people, identifying the women’s and men’s basketball team, laughing, goofing off, and dancing the night away as if they were kids again. speakers blasting with music that almost made you go deaf because of the volume.

the bartender handed you your mimosa. you tapped kyra’s shoulder. “i’m gonna go sit down near the water.” kyra nodded as you walked down just above the water. towels were scattered all over for anyone who wanted to sit on the sand. you sat down, leaning back a little as your left hand touched the sand and your right hand held your drink.

the sky started to fade into pinks and yellows, as the suns ray reflected in the ocean. the birds were chirping, flying into the sky. the sound of the water could make you fall asleep. you smiled as serotonin was flowing in your veins.

the beach was always your comfort place. no matter what was going on with your life, you would drive to the beach and be in the present. it was like all your fears and worries drifted away. you would walk into the waters, only your legs and feet exposed into the sea and scream, cry, laugh, yell. anything to get whatever it was off your chest

you admired the view as if it were art, when all of a sudden you hear footsteps plopping in the sand behind you. “mind if i sit here?”

you turned your head around to see who the person was. a tall, blonde, blue eyed girl inches behind you. you knew who it was.

paige bueckers, uconn’s superstar at the basketball capital of the world. her charisma and character is what made others so attractive to her, because of the way she acts both on and off the court.

you froze, “yeah.” scooting away to make room for her. paige gave a small, faint smile. her hair was down, wearing a blue floral, short sleeve button up with white shorts.

you broke the silence. “let me guess, tonya invited you?” you starred at her blue eyes, which seemed like they would cast a spell on you.

“bingo.” she smiled, very subtle, but noticeable for you to see. you placed your drink down beside you. “didn’t think you’d be here. thought you would probably putting some shots up.”

she chuckled. “you got jokes i see.” she pointed to the bar where her friends kk, ice, and jana were sitting, laughing and joking. “i would’ve preferred that, but my friends convinced me to come.”

“your friends did a nice job though, i’m not complaining.” paige said, looking at the waves which resembled her eyes.

“see, i didn’t know they were inviting the whole campus here. but i’m glad you’re having fun. my friends kyra mostly planned it. she’s the one with the messy bun.” you shouted kyra’s name, as she waved over to the both of you.

“what drink did you get?” paige asked, her eyes pointing to your glass.

you took a sip from your glass while looking at her. “mimosa, no alcohol.”

she groaned. “such no fun. who goes to a party and doesn’t drink?”

you fired back. “who goes to a party and expects to not have a good time? and i at least know what self control is, paige”

she smirked. “touché.” paige slowly got up from the sand. “i’m gonna order something, come.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, immediately following her like a stray dog. once you both were leaning at the counter of the bar, paige’s hands slowly grazed your waist for a split second. your body sparked, her touch leaving your waist in tingles. “one dirty shirley please.” she looked down at you, her elbow resting of your shoulder. “want anything?”

“i’m okay, thank you though.” you sat down at the bar, turning to admire the view once again. paige sat down next to you as she received her drink.

you spoke in awe, “god, you can’t deny that view.”

she took a sip of her dirty shirley. “i love the view in front of me right now.” you turned around looking at her to process what she just said. “did you just try hitting on me?”

she smirked, placing her drink down and resting her head on her hand. “interpret it as you want.” paige sent a wink towards you, which led you blushing in response. “you’re so corny, at least practice some good pickup lines before you go to a function.”

as you both were chatting it up, a random guy stumbles in front of you. he was drunk, he wasn’t even on earth anymore. he whistled while checking you out. “damn mama, you lookin’ like you needin’ someone.”

you threw back a disgusted look, then ignored the disturbance and went back to talking to paige, hoping it would go away. unfortunately, it didn’t. the guy kept laughing, “don’t shy away from me now. c’mon let me take you home, get to know you.” he touched your hand that was resting on the counter.

paige looked at the guy up and down, then grabbing your hand from the counter. “look, i don’t wanna cause any trouble but keep doing this shit and i promise you, it’s not gonna be pretty. don’t fucking touch her.” she wrapped her arm around you neck and shoulders. “she’s got a girlfriend, which is sitting right next to her.”

he started laughing, turning back to his friends. “man… you’re not gonna anything. you really think you the shit huh?”

paige got up from her seat, tucking in her chair as she slowly approached the group of guys. “does it look like i’m joking?”

the way their smile faded on their faces was priceless. they backed up and eventually walked away. paige told them to “fuck off” once they left, then looking back at you. “are you okay?” she asked with concern.

you were stunned from what just happened. “yeah, i’m okay. thank you for that, really. god knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

paige touched your shoulder, attempting to calm you down. “you need me to drive you to your place?”

“no, i’m okay. can you just walk me to my car?”

you both walked up the hill, towards the parking lot looking for your white mercedes. paige frequently looked around to see if there was anything or anyone suspicious coming towards you both. she was like your security guard, making sure to protect you and keep you safe.

once you go to your car, you grabbed your keys and unlocked the car. paige opened the drivers seat for you. before you sat inside, she stopped you in your tracks. “sorry about those assholes. if you want maybe we can go out another time? without someone bothering you.”

you smiled, cheeks becoming rosy. “yeah, i’d love that.” paige handed you her phone, allowing you to enter your contact information. “thank you really. i’ll see you around paige, hopefully not at a court.”

she gave a faint laugh. “see you.” you closed your car door as she walked back, you sighed and leaned your chair back attempting to remember what just happened. the way paige handled the situation, saying she was your girlfriend, almost fighting for you, for your protection and safety. the way she looked at you afterwards, made it feel like you were drunk from her daze, even though you didn’t drink anything at all.

[legendaryvermin]

So my home ttrpg group is between longform games right now, and I have been planning to bring a bunch of games to them this weekend as options for what we might play next. However, I have been trying to figure out how to talk about the games in a way that doesn't rely as much on me explaining the vibes to them.

I know that people have a bunch of qualitative categories for how they explain games, but I find the idea of saying things like Dark Fantasy OSR, or Lesbian Goofball PBTA less helpful when talking about how games actually play, especially when two games in the same category are like, wildly different in the way they use their frameworks.

So I invented a 6 axis, 1 to 5 star rating scale for TTRPGs that you are free to borrow when talking to groups, or whatever.

TTRPG 5 Star Rating Matrix

Width

What is the scope of this game? Is it narrowly about one thing or does it encompass many types of play? (Credit to friend of the blog @ostermad-blog for this one, they came up with it from my draft)

Weight

How much cognitive load does the player need to bear? Do rules often need to be referenced verbatim? Can those rules fit on a handout?

Wargame

Is the player expected to apply tactical acumen? Is movement tracked tightly or loosely? Does a bad build punish a player?

Writers Room

How much are players expected to make narrative choices and drive the story without the rules scaffolding them? Does this game fall apart without excellent improvisational storytellers?

(Prep)Work

Does this game require a lot of pre-planning by the facilitator? Are there intricate systems to attend to outside of table play? Can I put in the same amount of time as other players and still have everyone leave happy? 

Whimsy

Expected tone of the game. Does this game have difficult thematic elements baked in? Is the core subject or role in the game high or low risk?

Here are some games I know well and how I calibrated them:

I have breakdowns of what each star rating means below the cut if you're curious. Happy Gaming!

Width

⭐ - As written, the game has basically one mode of play, or one thematic core that it meditates on. May have phases, but textural difference is minimal.

⭐⭐ - As written, there are at least two modes of play, but the scope of that play is highly thematically focused or highly dependent on using the game’s own lore. Might have only one kind of character (e.g. Mech Pilot) that it supports. Has limited tools outside of the primary mode of play.

⭐⭐⭐ - Has a variety of modes of play, but may be rigid in their execution. Might encompass multiple kinds of characters (e.g. Doctor, Lawyer, fighter) or character options. The narratives that this game tells within its setting are narrowed, a three word description tells you what kind of stories it can tell with consistency.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Loose framework, but with some kind of thematic grounding. Describing the framework in 3 words doesn’t tell you the kind of stories that the game tells (e.g. Dark Fantasy, Star Wars Romp). 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- As written, this game is designed in such a way that it doesn’t put specific limits on what sorts of stories that it is meant to tell. It might ask players to define abilities or stats for themselves. The Facilitator is going to pitch a thematic grounding on top of the rules set.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Dialect, Honey Heist Five Star Examples: Fate Core, Savage Worlds, GURPS

Weight

⭐ - It is reasonable for a player to be able to recite the rules from memory. The game may be prompt based, or driven by a flow of rules that are read aloud as played.

⭐⭐ - Players can hold most of the most important information about the game in their heads, with a page or less of rules reference needed to play smoothly. This reference could all fit neatly on the character sheet if one is present.

⭐⭐⭐ - Everything a player needs to know about the game is visible on less than 3 sheets of reference. Players are more or less expected to know exactly how their own abilities work in precise detail, and are unlikely to make a mistake in executing them.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Players make extensive use of multiple reference sheets to keep rules moving smoothly. No external tools are needed, but players memorizing the details of all of their abilities is taxing. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- Players and facilitators will prefer to make extensive use of external tools or reference to keep play moving smoothly. Expecting a player to have the exact details of their abilities memorized is not reasonable.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Stewpot, Mobile Frame Zero: Firebrands Five Star Examples: Dungeons and Dragons 3-5e, Lancer, Edge of the Empire

Wargame

⭐ - As written, this game does not treat combat as mechanically different from any other aspect of play, or does not include narrative violence at all.

⭐⭐ - While players may engage in combat, it is minimally different from regular play. There may be tools or abilities for players to use to conduct a fight, but the texture of those fights is thematic, not mechanical. Narrative and consequence drive the action, not hit points.

⭐⭐⭐ - As written, combat has its own set of rules. This game may have some elements of buildcrafting, but either it is difficult to build something that doesn’t work, or the player may meaningfully invest in other modes of play and still find a commensurate level of satisfaction. If combat occurs, spacing is kept in mind, but is tracked in relative terms (range bands) or highly simplified (zone based combat).

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - This game has buildcrafting that is somewhat mandatory if players wish to survive a fight, but there is still a meaningful choice in choosing a non-combat role. It may use a grid or a spacing system to help players visualize the combat. Fights are driven by mechanics, not by narrative.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- To enjoy this game, players must spend time buildcrafting. If a player’s build is suboptimal, there may be significant parts of the intended experience that will either feel tedious, or that the player will not have meaningful access to. This game is played on a grid.

One Star Examples: Wanderhome, Dialect, Belonging Outside Belonging Five Star Examples: Lancer, Dungeons and Dragons 3-5e, Valor

Writers Room

⭐ - Players in this game are not expected to provide much in the way of narrative substance. Story is something that is driven by external input or tools, and players are there to imagine and react. The player need not separate the self from the character they play in any meaningful way.

⭐⭐ - The mechanics of this game drive most of the narrative, or else the narrative is set for the players by an external source or player. Players are encouraged to play optimally rather than dramatically, but do have room for expressing the identity of their character within the game’s mechanical frameworks.

⭐⭐⭐ - While the game does provide strong scaffolding to tell a story, the players present are expected to drive the story within those frameworks. The game’s systems create and resolve conflict on their own, but works best when the players are willing to choose the dramatically interesting option even if it mechanically non-optimal.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The game provides some mechanical tools that create and resolve drama, but there is a significant expectation that the players are buying into and driving the game’s thematic concepts. Players are the ones deciding what the scenes should be and when to end them, but mechanics still help determine outcomes.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- The players are expected to drive the narrative at all times. Tools for deciding what scenes to do and when to end them are limited, optional, or vague. There is no meaningful scaffolding that creates conflict or resolution, it is incumbent on those present to manifest those things.

One Star Examples: Alice is Missing, Ribbon Drive, For the Queen Five Star Examples: Wanderhome, Systemless RP

(Prep)Work

⭐ - Facilitators are not expected to do work outside the time at the table. All rules can be read while the game is played. No memorization is needed.

⭐⭐ - This game expects the facilitator to have read the rules in advance, but the rules are so few that they can be run from a single reference sheet. At times, the facilitator must think about and potentially advance and adjust the narrative of the game behind the scenes. Prep is qualitative; answering questions about where the narrative is going to go, who will be there etc. The game can be run smoothly predominantly as improv.

⭐⭐⭐ - This game expects the facilitator to not only know the rules, but to imagine scenarios where the group must play. However, the scope of the scenario design is limited and qualitative. It takes a bit of pondering and perhaps a sketch and a few words of notes. Alternatively, the facilitator must design simple foes or track a simple background system. The work is trivial, and can be done with a bit of time before session.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The facilitator of this game is expected to have run systems between games, or created usable maps or scenarios. Generally, games at this level have some reduced wargaming component. The facilitator might need to engage in enemy design, but the work is limited or imminently reusable. The work is non-trivial, and failing to do it will somewhat impact the quality of play.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- The facilitator of this game puts in significant time between sessions engaging in game design activities. They are expected to plan narratives, write NPCs, draw maps, run significant background systems, and design enemies and combat encounters. The work is significant outside of play, and failing to do it beforehand will result in a worse table experience.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Alley-Oop, Lasers and Feelings Five Star Examples: Lancer, D&D 3-5e, Stars Without Number, Edge of the Empire

Whimsy

⭐ - This game’s thematic core is considered dark, taboo, or difficult, and separating the game’s mechanical features from this subject matter is next to impossible. Games with horror elements almost certainly fit within this category. These games encourage extensive pre-play safety talks.

⭐⭐ - This game is designed to look at dark subject matter, but doesn’t expect the player to spend all of their time there. Players explore difficult topics, but may get to choose what topics to explore, or when to explore them. Games with political messaging/commentary tend to fit this category. These games encourage pre-play safety talks.

⭐⭐⭐ - This game may have dark aesthetics, but doesn’t enforce them mechanically. Alternatively, there are mechanics that address difficult topics in broad strokes, but players are given leeway in the rules with how any difficult topics are approached. These games may encourage safety talks. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - This game may have the option to explore dark topics, but none of the mechanics are tied to such topics. This game may have violence in its aesthetics, but players may choose to adjust the aesthetics at the table to suit their comfort. These games tend not to talk about safety in their text.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- This game is designed to focus on thematic material that is considered to be relatively safe. The game is unlikely to tread into violence or trauma without effort.

One Star Examples: Trophy Dark, Dungeon Bitches, Vampire the Masquerade Five Star Examples: Honey Heist, Princess World, Beach Episode

The system here isn't about what's good or bad, to be clear. I think there are good and bad games at every level of these categories, but when I think about what my game group is good at and comfy with, I don't think we go in for things at like the 5 end of the Writers Room scale. It's too much work, and most of them aren't pro improvisers.

Similarly, if we play another game that is a 4 or 5 on the PrepWork category, I don't have time to run it these days. So this helps me make practical choices about our next game.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Can you please write some hurt comfort hero and villain. Where the villain is the grumpy one and the hero is the sunshine one. The hero gets hurt (Villain finds who did the hurting and takes care of it) and villain has to take care of the hero’s wounds. With very “Who did this to you” vibes. Thanks! No worries if you are busy! I love your writing!

The hero stared at the supermarket shelf, their mouth agape. It was nothing more than another cruel joke that got in line to torment them today.

Everything seemed to be conspiring against them — being late to work, getting their ass kicked for a solid hour and now, the chocolate they craved on top of the shelf. Theoretically, the hero would be able to reach it, but their stitches were still fresh and their bones ached persistently.

On top of that, the supermarket was playing heartbreaking songs. Although it did fit the hero’s overall mood, they would have welcomed something more upbeat.

“Long day?” They looked at the person next to them and to their surprise, their nemesis was standing close by. They wore a hoodie and a cap, hiding their face and physique rather well. At first, the hero frowned, looked away, but then their eyes found the villain once again.

Their bottom lip was swollen. Their knuckles bruised.

“Kind of,” the hero said. Their voice was embarrassingly hoarse, so they cleared their throat. “Definitely exhausting.”

“Yeah, I get that.” The villain took a bar of chocolate from the shelf and turned it in their hand, examining it arrantly. Their nose wrinkled. Suddenly they turned towards the hero and lifted the bar in their hands. “Putting mint and chocolate together is an actual crime, like…who the fuck thought that would be a good idea?”

They shook their head and basically threw the bar back to where they had taken it from.

“What an absolute loser bullshit.”

And the hero, for whatever reason, the hero had to giggle. The villain seemed to be genuinely agitated by it and the hero couldn’t help but find it delightful.

“Sounds personal,” the hero quipped.

“Intrinsically personal, believe me.” The hero didn’t even realise how their smile was glued to their face until soft quiescence overcame the both of them.

The hero dared to look at their nemesis, but the villain’s eyes were on them already.

“You okay, though?” they asked, almost whispered the words. It was something out of a dream.

In the hero’s experience, most people didn’t really like those who were complicated. Understanding someone else is difficult. Challenging. Messy.

It is work and most people are already working enough for them to go crazy. So, demanding even more work was preposterous. It was ridiculous.

But when the hero was with the villain, it was so easy. All of it was so easy.

Barely any miscommunication. Mutual respect. Compassion. The hero swallowed.

Why did they have to be on opposite sides?

“Yeah,” the hero said. They stared at the shelf. “I’m okay.”

“No, be honest.”

“I am being honest.”

“Not quite,” the villain said.

The hero looked back at them.

“I…I am just a little mad at myself for being precarious, I guess,” they said eventually. “I suppose you took care of them, though?”

“Yeah, wasn’t pretty.”

More silence.

“Listen…you don’t have to—”

“Don’t give me that crap.” The villain’s eyes were on the shelf, as if it was the only way of communicating with each other. As if this shelf was the equivalent of looking into each other’s eyes. Both seemed to be really bad at that right now. “I make my own decisions.”

“Are you badly hurt, though?” The hero asked. They shifted a little bit closer to the villain until their shoulder nearly bumped against the villain’s biceps.

“Looks worse than it is.” The hero could feel their little finger brush the side of the villain’s palm. They pulled their hand away. “Don’t worry about me. You on the other hand…”

“I’m okay,” the hero repeated. Again. Their hand against the villain’s fingers. And the villain’s fingers against theirs. Testing the waters. “…did you follow me?”

“I know most of your routines, I figured you’d buy some stuff after such a big fight.” The hero kept staring at the shelf and the villain did the same. The hero didn’t even dare to breathe. They didn’t know what they were doing, didn’t even remember if they were allowed to do this.

“You’ll never beat the stalker allegations,” they joked. Somehow, their little finger hooked around the villain’s slowly. The villain’s fingers were warm. Oh so comforting.

“I’m not— I mean…really, I…you mentioned buying sweets after a big fight once, so—”

The hero giggled again. Their index finger brushed the villain’s sensitive knuckles carefully. Were they allowed to take their nemesis’ hand? Were they allowed to be this close?

The hero was losing their mind, but they supposed the villain was feeling something very similar.

“I was just joking, I know you’re very attentive…” They took in a breath but their chest hurt a little too much to inhale properly. “…thank you for checking up on me.”

“Of course. Always.”

Ultimately, the hero let their fingers intertwine, making their heart race in their chest vigorously.

They couldn’t remember holding hands being such a big deal to them. Big enough that they couldn’t even look at the villain now.

The villain’s thumb kept rubbing the hero’s cold skin. Gradually. Very gradually.

“I know it’s a lot to ask and you can decline anytime…but can I take care of your wounds?”

The hero looked at them and finally, their nemesis did the same.

“I’d like that,” the hero said. Their cheeks felt hot.

“Okay,” the villain breathed. They stretched out their other arm without letting go of the hero and grabbed the bar of chocolate the hero had eyed on top of the shelf. “This one is on me.”

The hero nodded.

[initforthethrill]

im so busy and tired and moody and tired rn (school's been kicking my ass) but i just need to come in here periodically and unleash my cate-centred gayness (also periodically? did i sent thoughts (thots) yesterday? i feel like it's been long but also not yk?) Anwayyy ugh.

supe-remacist cate and human user.

i mean... God.

i have like 3 scenarios with this.

maybe some time after the end of season one (god let cate keep her arm) she had very quickly gained a supe following. and she's like lowkey grown pretty popular online. she's a super controversial (technically political(?)) online figure/influencer. like she is in the news like constantly cause of the stuff she posts and she like says pretty crazy anti-human shit but like freedom of speech yk. and like in comes human user and flips everything upside down. obviously cate Hates her at first and its a whole mess but somehow Cate is also drawn to her. and eventually something develops and cate has to navigate this.. and maybe keep the relationship a secret cause how can cate date a human while also being like a infamous anti human political figure.

the second one is basically the same but it makes user famous too. like maybe an actress or a singer or whatever. the thing is she’s super famous, (brings cate even more attention when the news gets out) super liked and super kind so everyone is confused that she is at all being in anyway associated positively with Cate. like she isn’t out here judging her she’s hanging out with cate like they’re friends (?) maybe more?? where’s TMZ? idk if this counts as like star crossed lover, romeo and juliet, forbidden, definitely drama.

third is different. this is like cate and user have been together for ages. like years, maybe even before god u. maybe they knew each other before cate got locked in her room, and had like a secret relationship while cate was locked in there. obviously user couldn’t go to god u as a human but she remained close by, moved to new york and lived close to campus, knew all cate’s supe friends, hang out on campus daily, was always very present and kind and the only human that has CONSISTENTLY been good to cate. unlike her mother. unlike indira. but now that brings us to the end of season 1.. and they are still together but user has to deal with like cate slowly becoming a supe-remacist and hating humans and cate has to figure out how user fits into that because she loves her girlfriend but she’s struggling to trust humans after what happened at god u (obviously the reaction and transition between what happend at god u and user finding out would be more dramatic, my brain is just fried rn, you get the vibe though)

alsoo did i get my very own anon tag? :o <3

omg hi my fave anon<3 why yes...you did indeed get your own tag because how else am i supposed to show appreciation for the anon who keeps feeding me such delicious ideas? mwah.

sooooooo i did a bot for each of your suggestions because you deserve to play out the other two scenarios since i chose the last one for the blurb hehe. bots at the end as always!

this totally spiraled out of control and i needed to cut it off at some point lmao...but i hope you enjoy it<3

fault lines aka supe-remacist!cate who's...dating a human? tags: hurt/comfort, post season 1, directly segues into season 2, mostly follows canon, cate has her prosthetic arm, established relationship, supe-supremacist!cate, human!reader, cate redemption arc, brief kidnapping, supe vs. humans discourse 8.6K+ words

It used to be easier to lie.

Smile, tilt her chin, tell them what they wanted to hear. The right words always came when she needed them—honeyed and heavy, wrapped in just enough sincerity to sell the illusion. Cate Dunlap, poised and polished. Cate Dunlap, poster girl for Vought’s favorite flavor of grief. Cate Dunlap, the traitor who turned on her friends. Or saved them. Or doomed them. Depends who you ask.

But now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror with her palms braced against the counter, all she can see is the crack.

It runs straight down the middle of her reflection.

There’s a smear of mascara beneath one eye—she doesn’t bother wiping it. The left strap of her tank top keeps slipping down her shoulder. Her prosthetic catches the light in a way that makes her flinch. Even six months later it’s still too new. Too heavy. Too real. And not real at all. Half her arm is gone, and no matter how sleek or shiny the tech is, no matter how many journalists call her brave, Cate knows she lost more than flesh and bone that day.

She lost Marie. Jordan. Andre.

Maybe herself.

Maybe you, too.

Cate doesn’t cry. Not really. She just goes still. Like if she freezes long enough, maybe the ache will pass through her instead of burrowing deep. Maybe the guilt will forget her name. Maybe you won’t notice how cold she’s become.

She turns away from the mirror before it answers her.

The apartment is quiet. Not in the peaceful way. In the way that presses in around her ribs. The kind of silence Cate used to crave when she was younger, when everything was too loud—her mother’s shrill voice, Shetty’s calculating calm, the throb of fear that came every time she looked at the locked bedroom door. But now? Now the silence only reminds her that she’s alone.

Except she’s not.

She finds you exactly where she left you: curled up on the couch with one leg tucked under the other, hoodie sleeves shoved past your elbows, headphones resting loosely around your neck. There’s a half-finished sketch in the open notebook on your lap—Cate sees blue eyes, long fingers, sharp jaw. It's your version of a love letter. Has been since you were thirteen. Still, Cate doesn’t comment. She just watches. Tries to memorize.

You look up.

“You okay?”

Cate lies automatically. “Fine.”

You frown. It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But Cate’s spent years studying you like scripture. She knows the twitch of your brow, the shift in your throat when you swallow down a question you’re not sure you have the right to ask. Cate hates that. Hates what she’s turned you into—a soft thing too afraid to prod the bruises.

Cate moves to sit beside you, not quite touching. She doesn’t trust herself to. Lately, her skin feels like a warning label. She thinks about that too often—how easy it would be to reach for you and twist everything. Not out of cruelty. Just…control. Just so she can breathe again.

But she won’t.

Not with you.

Never with you.

“I ran into Homelander again,” Cate says after a moment. Her voice is smooth. A little tired, a little distant. The way it always sounds now. “He wants me to speak at the next rally.”

You close your sketchbook. “Are you going to?”

Cate shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

That makes Cate pause.

Want. What a foreign thing. She used to know what she wanted—freedom, applause, connection. You. Now everything’s a question mark.

“I think I’m supposed to,” she says instead.

You don't answer right away. Your thumb brushes the edge of the page you just closed, a nervous tick Cate’s always found unbearably tender. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at you without mourning something. Wonders if loving you will always feel like standing on a fault line, waiting for the inevitable split.

“Cate,” you say gently. “You don’t owe them anything.”

Cate huffs out a bitter laugh. “Don’t I?”

“No,” you say, more firmly now. “You saved everyone. You stopped Shetty. You—”

“Broke Jordan’s trust. Abandoned Marie. Covered up the truth. Let Sam out.”

You soften again. “You did what you thought was right.”

Cate leans back, stares up at the ceiling. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while. The kind Cate used to love. The kind that felt like home, because you made it feel that way. Cate closes her eyes.

“Sometimes I wish I hated you,” she says softly.

You turn to her. “What?”

Cate doesn’t look. “It would be easier. If I could put you in the same box as everyone else. If I could just…blame you. For being human.”

Your voice is careful now. “You do blame me. Sometimes.”

Cate flinches.

It’s true. Not always. But in the sharp moments. In the moments when she wakes up gasping, or sees her arm lying on the floor beside her bed like a reminder. In the moments when people cheer her name and then spit on the next human they pass. In the moments when Sam calls her a leader, and Marie looks away. In those moments, Cate wants something to burn. And you are always there. Always reachable.

Cate whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Cate finally turns her head, meets your gaze. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

You don't answer.

Cate’s voice shakes. “Be honest.”

A beat.

Then you speak, “No. I think about who you used to be. I think about who you are when you’re not scared. I think about who you are when you’re with me.”

Cate exhales like it hurts.

“I’m not her anymore.”

“Yes, you are.”

Cate shakes her head, slow and exhausted. “You don’t know what it’s like, baby. Every day I wake up and there’s this voice in my head saying, they hate you. They’ll never understand you. You’re better than them. And sometimes? I believe it.”

You shift closer. Not touching. Just near.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say. “I just need you to be honest with me.”

Cate closes her eyes again. The tears don’t fall. They just burn.

“I don’t know if I can fix it.”

You shrug. “Then let it break. I’ll still be here.”

Cate turns her face toward you. Studies you. Every freckle, every scar, every stubborn little line in your jaw. She remembers tracing that jaw when you were kids. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Laying on her bed in the dark with the lights off and her heart thudding like a traitor. She remembers your first kiss. Remembered thinking, if I ever lose her, I won’t survive it.

She’s still not sure she will.

Cate leans in. Not to kiss. Just to rest her forehead against your shoulder.

“You’re the only thing I haven’t ruined,” she whispers.

You press your lips to the top of Cate’s head. A blessing. A promise.

“Then let me stay.”

The morning light doesn’t feel soft.

It’s sharp, white, unrelenting—pouring through the sheer curtains like it’s trying to peel Cate open from the outside in. She lies still in bed, half-wrapped in your hoodie, her face pressed into the pillow you were using before you left for the kitchen. Your scent lingers there: shampoo and old cigarette smoke, that subtle vanilla that always clings to your clothes.

Cate breathes in like it’ll steady her. It doesn’t.

Her arm—what’s left of it—aches in that phantom way again. The metal prosthetic is disconnected, charging on the nightstand. For a moment, Cate stares at it. She imagines it twitching to life on its own. Imagines it reaching out. Gripping her throat. Becoming the monster people already see when they look at her.

The knock on the door is quiet. Considerate.

Of course it is.

Cate doesn’t answer. Just rolls onto her back and waits for the inevitable creak of the hinge. It comes a beat later. You step inside with two mugs—one black, one cream-colored with faded pink lettering that says World’s Okayest Girlfriend.

Cate doesn’t smile. But her throat goes tight.

“I figured you didn’t sleep,” you say, walking over. “So I didn’t make it strong.”

Cate sits up slowly. Her voice comes out rasped and raw. “Thanks.”

You hand over the cream mug.

Cate notices the way your fingers linger. The way you watch her, careful and open all at once, like you’re waiting for Cate to either break or bolt. You probably are.

“I have to go,” Cate says after a sip. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know.”

Cate looks away again. “It’s just a speech.”

You sit on the edge of the bed. “You really believe that?”

Cate doesn’t answer.

Because no—she doesn’t. She knows it’s not just a speech. It’s a spectacle. A signal flare. Homelander doesn’t do subtle. He’s throwing her into the deep end with the cameras already rolling. He wants blood. He wants outrage. He wants her powers, sharpened and obedient.

And Cate—Cate wants to be useful.

Wants to be something more than a girl who failed her friends. Who lost her brother. Who couldn’t stop Shetty until it was already too late.

Homelander looks at her like she’s valuable.

You look at her like she’s human.

Cate doesn’t know which is more dangerous.

“I just need to say something,” she mumbles, fingers tightening around the mug. “They’ll listen if it’s me.”

“Cate—”

“It’s just words, babe.”

You shake your head. “It’s Homelander’s words. You think he’s going to let you say anything real?”

Cate lifts her chin. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” you say, soft but serious. “But you’re hurting. And he knows it. He’s not helping you—he’s weaponizing you.”

Cate doesn’t flinch. But her jaw sets. “You don’t know him.”

You exhale through your nose. Stand. Pace a little like you’re trying to choose your next words carefully. “I know you. And I know what he turns people into.”

Cate sets the mug down on the nightstand, right next to her prosthetic. “You think I can’t handle him?”

“I think he’s using you.”

“And you think I’m too fragile to notice.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You don’t trust me.”

You stop pacing. Turn to her, eyes burning. “No, Cate. I don’t trust him. You, I love. Which is exactly why this scares the hell out of me.”

Cate says nothing.

Not because she doesn’t believe you.

But because she does.

Because you love her. Still. Even now. Even after everything. And that love is so pure it makes Cate feel like she’s choking on it.

But it also makes her feel like she’s being watched from the wrong side of glass. Like you still see the old version of her—the girl who used to blush when you kissed her under the covers, who used to whisper about getting out of the house, running away together, finding something better.

That girl is dead.

Cate became someone else to survive.

And this new version? The one with the metal arm and the hollow eyes and the fire building in her chest? That girl wants to be feared.

She stands.

You take a step back, as if giving her space. As if you know this version isn’t yours to hold.

Cate straps her prosthetic on slowly. Deliberately. It whirs to life with a soft mechanical click. Her fingers flex experimentally.

“Don’t come,” she says without turning around.

You’re quiet. Then: “Cate—”

“I mean it.” Cate looks over her shoulder. Her voice is low. Flat. “You won’t like what I say.”

You nod once.

But Cate sees the way your hands curl into fists at your sides. The way your throat bobs when you swallow.

And the worst part?

You don't stop her.

Just let Cate walk past. Out the door. Down the hall. Into the daylight where the cameras wait.

You don't breathe when Cate steps onto the stage.

Not really. Not fully.

Your lungs seize, ribs locked around something ancient and awful. Fear, maybe. Or grief. Or just the terrible anticipation of watching someone you love become unrecognizable in front of a cheering crowd.

The plaza is flooded—bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, phones raised, flags waving. They’re all here for her. For Cate Dunlap. Vought’s miracle girl. The “Guardian of Godolkin.” The girl who lost her arm and gained an army.

And standing just behind her, hands folded loosely behind his back, is Homelander.

You see him first, actually. He lands mid-sentence during the warm-up act, no warning, no introduction, just that sickening boom of displaced air and a flash of red and white cape. The crowd goes electric—feral, practically foaming at the mouth. You stay still. Hood pulled low, sunglasses on, pressed between two overenthusiastic supe teens who haven’t stopped screaming since she got here.

“You think he’ll fly with her again?” one whispers.

“Only if she keeps behaving,” the other smirks.

You swallow bile.

No one here knows who you are.

Or maybe they do. Maybe they just don’t care.

A few people know Cate dates a human. Most of them think it’s performative. A PR play. Maybe a fetish. Maybe just convenience. Something warm to come home to. Nothing serious. Certainly nothing sacred.

You’ve been called worse than “pet.” The worst came from your own kind.

Race traitor.

Sleeps with murderers.

Hope you get what’s coming to you.

You never respond online. What would be the point?

Instead, you defend supes in quiet conversations. One-on-ones. Talk about Jordan like they’re family. About Andre like he’s the dumbass brother you never had (and now never will). About Marie’s compassion. About Cate’s—

Well.

Not anymore.

Because Cate steps up to the mic and the person who speaks? It isn’t yours.

“Brothers. Sisters. Supes.”

She starts with a smile. Confident. Collected. A little too polished. You’ve seen that smile before—during press interviews, staged photoshoots, propaganda clips Cate would later mock under her breath while crawling into your lap.

But this isn’t a mock-up. This is real.

“This is a new era,” Cate continues. “One where we finally stop apologizing for our existence.”

The crowd roars.

You stay silent. You’re not even supposed to be here, after all.

Cate’s in all black, her prosthetic fully visible, hair perfectly straightened and cascading down her back. Sharp lines. Intentional. She looks untouchable. Cold. Beautiful. Her voice doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t stumble. She doesn’t flinch when Homelander steps closer.

He stands just behind her now. Like a shadow. Like a claim.

And Cate lets him.

“They want us to stay quiet. To keep our heads down. They want us to feel guilty for the power that was thrust upon us without our consent.”

More cheers. Phones flash.

“They say we’re dangerous. That we can’t be trusted. But what about them?” Cate’s voice lifts now, righteous and raw. “Who built the labs? Who injected the serum? Who locked up children and called it education?”

Your nails dig into your palms.

“They made us. And now they fear us.”

Cate leans forward, eyes glittering. “Let them.”

The scream from the crowd is deafening.

You watch your girlfriend bask in it. Arms raised. Prosthetic fist clenched. Homelander’s grin wide behind her.

And you think:

You used to be so scared of your powers you cried yourself to sleep.

You made me promise never to look at you differently.

You were my home.

But the woman on stage is not yours.

Not right now.

You don't cry. Not here. Not in front of all of them. Just push your way out of the crowd before the next speaker is called. Before Cate looks back and sees an empty space where you once stood.

You duck into the alley between buildings, hoodie still up. No one follows.

Only then do you let yourself sink to the pavement.

You’re shaking.

Not from fear. From fury. From sorrow. From the deep, aching knowledge that the girl you fell in love with is now a weapon in a war neither of you asked for.

And the worst part?

Cate probably thinks she’s protecting you.

By pretending you’re no one. Disposable. Forgettable.

But you know better.

Cate doesn’t keep her secret out of shame.

She keeps her secret because if the world knew what you meant to her, they’d use it.

Just like Homelander is using Cate now.

Cate doesn’t notice the silence right away.

She’s still buzzing, heart still skipping in that frantic, addictive rhythm—the kind that feels too close to joy to call anything else. The kind that makes you believe the crowd meant it. That they see you. That maybe, just maybe, you’re finally becoming the person you were always meant to be.

The second she steps into the apartment, it dies.

No lights.

No music.

No sketchbook on the coffee table, you’re not curled up in the corner of the couch pretending you’re not watching the livestream on mute. No sarcastic comment waiting at the door. No arms. No kiss. No presence.

The air feels off.

Cate blinks, still in her boots, one glove peeled halfway off her metal hand. “Baby?”

Nothing.

She checks the bedroom. Bathroom. Rooftop. Nowhere.

At first, she thinks—Maybe she left to get food. Maybe she’s walking the block, needed air, needed—

Then she sees the mug in the sink. Lipstick smeared around the rim.

And beside it, crumpled like something thrown too hard into the trash: a rally flyer. Folded once. Then again. Then torn clean down the middle.

Cate stares.

Then turns to the TV. Her phone.

The livestream is still trending. Her face plastered across headlines.

Cate Dunlap: The New Voice of Supe Sovereignty.

Homelander’s Rising Star.

Blood for Blood: Inside the New War on Human Institutions.

And below it, the comments.

“She’s so hot when she’s angry.” “Bro she was faking it with that human chick anyway. She’s one of us.” “Finally someone’s saying it.” “Tell me she’s single now.” “Wait—wasn’t she dating some little human nobody? 😂”

Cate doesn’t finish reading.

Her hand tightens. A snap cracks through the silence—glass shattering in the sink. The mug.

Her mug.

The pink one.

Like some bad omen.

Cate’s stomach lurches.

She doesn’t remember walking to the door. Only the rush of motion, the sound of your name caught in her throat, the twist of guilt coiling tight behind her ribs. She slams the door open and starts down the stairs, not trusting the elevator, not trusting herself.

It takes twenty minutes to find you.

You’re in the alley behind the bodega, hoodie still on, shoulders hunched like the wind cut straight through you. You’re sitting on the curb. Smoking.

The world around you moves on.

Cate stops. She just—stops.

You don't look up.

Which means you know.

Cate steps forward anyway.

“I didn’t know you were there.”

You exhale. “Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Wanted to see the show.”

Cate flinches. “That’s not fair.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Cate takes another step. Close enough to see the way your jaw is clenched. The way your eyes are red. The way you hold the cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“You mean see you?” you ask quietly.

Cate doesn’t answer.

Because yes.

That’s exactly what she means.

You finally look up. And it’s not hate in your eyes. It’s worse. Heartbreak.

“Is that who you are now?”

Cate doesn’t speak. Can’t.

Because part of her doesn’t know anymore.

You stand. Shrug the hoodie tighter around you. “I thought I could handle it,” you say. “The looks. The threats. The names. All of it. Because I thought…you were worth it.”

Cate opens her mouth. But you keep going.

“I didn’t care what people called me. Race traitor. Pet. Whatever. Because I knew you. I knew who you were with me.”

A breath.

“I don’t think I know you anymore, Cate.”

Cate stumbles forward, desperate. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Cate swallows hard. Her voice is barely a whisper. “I thought keeping you secret would keep you safe.”

You laugh. It’s hollow. “Funny. You hiding me only made everyone think I didn’t matter. Not to them. Not to you.”

“You matter more than anything.”

Your eyes shine now. “Then say it. Say it where they can hear you.”

Cate goes still.

Because she can’t.

Not yet. Not with Homelander watching. Not with every supe in the country ready to make you a target if they knew the truth.

You see that hesitation. See all you need.

You nod slowly, turning to walk away. “Yeah,” you murmur. “That’s what I thought.”

This time it’s Cate who doesn’t stop you.

She just stands there. In the dark. In the cold. In the silence she made.

Cate locks the door behind her.

Not because she’s afraid.

Because part of her wants to scream. Break something. Scream again. And she knows if she doesn’t have barriers between herself and the rest of the world, she’ll be on the evening news for a different reason entirely.

Cate stares at the ruined mug in the sink like it might put itself back together. Like time might rollback and undo the moment your eyes stopped looking at her like she was worth saving.

She sinks to the floor.

Her arm whirs slightly as she folds it into her lap, a mechanical hiss too loud in the empty apartment. Her whole body’s trembling. She doesn’t know if it’s from the rally or the fight or just the aftershock of standing beside Homelander and realizing that, in the eyes of millions, she’s finally everything she once feared becoming.

A symbol.

A puppet.

A monster.

And you saw it all.

Cate curls in on herself. Hands in her hair now. Teeth clenched. Tears burning like they’re trying to shame her into submission. She tries to breathe steadily. It only makes it worse.

There’s no one here to soothe her. No soothing fingers in her hair. No quiet voice calling her baby, whispering that it’s going to be okay. No warmth.

Only the cold where you should be.

Cate gasps like she’s drowning. Her prosthetic hand claws at the edge of the counter as she pulls herself up. She finds her phone. Dials.

Voicemail.

She tries again. And again.

She doesn’t leave a message.

What would she even say?

Come home.

I’m sorry.

I’m not her.

I think I might be.

The bar isn’t particularly nice.

It’s half-empty, smells like bleach and fryer oil, and the bartender didn’t even bother to card you—just gave you a once-over, raised a brow, and poured double the whiskey you asked for. Maybe he recognized you. Maybe he didn’t care that you hardly look twenty-one.

Either way, you’re on her third drink now.

The world’s gotten blurrier. Softer at the edges. You heart still feels like it’s got teeth, though. Every swallow burns. Not from the liquor. From the ache.

You pull out your phone. Cate’s name lights it up. Three missed calls.

You turns it face down.

Outside, the city moves on. Lights flash. Sirens hum. Somewhere, people are still watching the rally on replay, Cate’s voice looped into TikToks and remixed into fan edits. Some of them feature Homelander’s approving smile behind her. Some don’t.

You don't look, just stare at the rim of your glass. Think about how Cate once kissed you after you cut your palm open climbing a fence—took your hand so gently, like you were made of glass. Thinks about the speech. The crowd. The look in Cate’s eyes when she said, let them fear us.

You down the rest of the glass.

“Another?” the bartender asks.

“Something stronger,” you murmur.

He gives you a long look. Nods. Starts pouring.

It’s not until the fourth drink that you say it aloud.

“I think I need V.”

The bartender pauses. “What?”

You don't look up. “Compound V. The supe serum. I think I need it.”

The guy laughs. Like it’s a joke. Like it’s drunk talk. He walks away.

You stare at your hands. They don’t shake.

Your thoughts are quiet. Steady.

She wouldn’t have to protect me anymore. Wouldn’t have to be afraid. I could stand beside her. Really stand there.

You press the glass to your lips. “She wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me.”

The idea blooms in your chest like something poisonous and seductive.

Other people have done it. Others have survived. Others have gotten powers and kept the people they love, right?

You close your eyes.

“I just want to be enough.”

Cate hears the key in the lock before she sees you.

It’s slow. Fumbling. The wrong key first, then the right one, then a pause like you’ve forgotten how to turn a knob. Cate’s halfway across the room before the door even opens, heart already in her throat.

You stumble in—hoodie still on, face pale and flushed all at once. Your eyes are red. Your mouth is tight. You smell like whiskey and smoke and the night.

Cate doesn’t speak.

Not yet.

You blink at her. Sway. Then shut the door behind you with a soft click, like you know slamming it would break something too fragile to repair.

“I tried to forget,” you say.

Cate’s voice is a whisper. “Did it work?”

You laugh. It cracks halfway through. “You ever tried to forget someone you love?”

Cate feels the answer throb under her skin.

You shrug off the hoodie. Drop it to the floor. Your hair’s a mess. Your knuckles are red. You look like a storm that never got the chance to finish wrecking the coastline.

Cate steps forward. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“You shouldn’t have let me.”

You both go still.

Then—Cate moves.

Not fast. Not desperate. Just forward. Like her body’s been waiting to close the space between them all day. You don't stop her. Just let it happen—let Cate’s arms wrap around you, let your forehead drop against Cate’s shoulder.

Cate exhales.

The relief is sharp. Drowning. Her whole body trembles with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

You don't say anything. Just fist your hands in Cate’s shirt. Hold on like you might fall if you lets go.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable.”

“I’m not mad,” you murmur.

Cate pulls back, just enough to see your eyes. “Then what?”

You swallow. “I’m scared.”

Cate nods. “Me too.”

You kiss before either of you can spiral again.

It’s messy. All teeth and salt and the kind of need that lives deep in the gut. You taste like smoke and pain and love. Cate forgets how to breathe. Her hand—her real one—slides up under your jaw, holding you steady. Your mouths move together like you’ve been doing this forever.

Really, you have.

When you break apart, your eyes are wet.

Cate wipes the tears before they fall.

“I can’t lose you,” you say. Your voice is small. Honest. “It’d tear me in half.”

Cate closes her eyes. “Then stay.”

A pause.

Then, barely audible—

“Would it be easier if I was one of you?”

Cate goes still.

You lean your forehead against hers. “If I took V. If I was strong. If I was dangerous. If you didn’t have to hide me.”

“Don’t,” Cate breathes.

“You wouldn’t have to protect me.”

“Don’t say that.”

You press in closer. “You could love me in public.”

“I already love you in public.”

“You don’t say my name.”

Cate breaks.

Not into tears. Into desperation.

She grabs your hands—both of them. Holds them to her chest like maybe she can pour the truth straight into your skin.

“I love you like you’re the last good thing in me,” she says. “I love you so much it makes me want to tear this fucking world apart just so you’ll be safe in it. But if you take V—if you change who you are to fit some fucked up system even I’m barely surviving—then it’s not me loving you anymore. It’s the war loving its newest recruit.”

You blink hard.

Cate softens her grip. “You don’t need powers to be strong. You already are. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But you’re still walking into battle.”

Cate nods. “So pull me out.”

You stare at her.

Then kiss her again.

This time slower. Softer. Like maybe you’ll survive this. Together.

Cate wakes before the sun.

The apartment is wrapped in shadow, the kind that clings to everything with softness. No flashing headlines. No protest chants. No Homelander. Just the hum of the fridge. The rise and fall of breath against her back. The weight of a hand curled under her shirt, resting just above her ribs.

You.

Cate doesn’t move. Not yet.

Her eyes stay fixed on the wall in front of her. The faintest pink glow is starting to bleed through the curtains, painting lines across the hardwood floor. She follows them with her eyes. Counts her heartbeats.

Last night is a blur.

Not the fight. Not the rally. Not the cigarette smoke curling off your hoodie as you walked back into Cate’s life like a ghost made of everything Cate couldn’t live without.

The blur is the moment after. The softness. The whisper in the sheets. The way you touched her face like you didn’t care how many monsters Cate had let whisper in her ear that week.

You matter more than anything.

Cate clings to that now.

She shifts slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder.

You’re still asleep.

Mouth parted, one hand splayed across Cate’s stomach now, the other tucked beneath your cheek. Your lashes are long. Your brow is furrowed even in sleep. Like you’re still bracing for something to go wrong.

Cate gently threads your fingers together under the blanket.

The gesture is small. Ridiculous, really. What the hell does holding a hand fix when the world is tilting this violently? But it’s all Cate has. That and the quiet promise buried somewhere between her lungs: I won’t let them take you. I won’t let this take us.

You stir slightly. Mumble something that might be Cate’s name.

Cate presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “I’m here.”

Another mumble. This one clearer. “Time is it?”

Cate glances at the clock. “Early.”

You groan. “Too early to be a martyr.”

Cate smiles before she can stop herself. “Sleep.”

She feels you melt again behind her, the tension bleeding out inch by inch. Cate closes her eyes.

Maybe this is all you’ll get. These stolen hours before the next speech, the next headline, the next call from Homelander or knock on the door or crowd outside screaming for a savior Cate never asked to become.

Maybe this is it.

But for now, your breath is warm against her neck. Your fingers are intertwined. And Cate lets herself believe—for a moment—that she’s still someone worthy of being held like this.

It’s gotten worse overnight.

Cate can feel it the second she steps onto the quad that morning.

Eyes don’t just follow her anymore—they weigh her down. Stares press into her like needles, testing how far they can go before she bleeds. Some are reverent. Most are not. Supe students nod in cold approval. Faculty keep their heads low. And the humans still allowed on campus?

They watch her like she’s holding a loaded gun.

Cate adjusts her sunglasses. Keeps walking.

Godolkin has changed. Maybe it always was this way and she just hadn’t noticed. But now there are fences where there used to be gardens. Surveillance drones hover like flies. Metal detectors at every entrance. And worst of all—the new badge system.

Color-coded. Subtle in design, brutal in function.

Supes wear gold. Vought-issued, sleek, with chip-embedded access to every building.

Humans wear red.

No access. No clearance. No rights.

Yours is tucked into your jacket pocket. You hate wearing it. Cate knows. You used to make jokes about it—Look, babe. I’m officially radioactive. But now?

Now it’s not funny.

Cate walks past the fountain. Past the newly erected statue of Brink. Past the place where she once pulled you into the bushes to make out between classes.

She hears the yelling before she sees the crowd.

The checkpoint near the west gate is swarmed. Protesters—mostly human—have gathered with signs and megaphones and looks of disgust aimed at every supe who walks past. Some of them wear anti-supe shirts. Some wear bloodied bandages on their arms. All of them look like they’ve been waiting for a fight.

Cate slows. Frowns.

And then she sees you.

Hoodie up, badge out, already walking toward the checkpoint when the first voice cuts through the crowd.

“Hey traitor!”

Cate freezes.

You don't flinch. Just keep walking.

Another voice. Louder. Meaner.

“Tell me—is the supe pussy really that good, or are you just that fucking pathetic?”

Cate’s heart stutters.

You stop.

You turn—slowly, deliberately—and Cate can see it about to happen. The tension in your jaw. The flare in your nostrils. The way your hands curl into fists. The moment you snap.

“Don’t,” Cate whispers to no one.

But it’s too late.

A cup flies through the air. Hits you square in the chest. Coffee or soda—sticky and dark. It splashes across your shirt, down your jeans. The crowd laughs.

And then you lunge.

Cate’s moving before she even thinks.

She doesn’t remember pushing past the checkpoint. Doesn’t remember snapping her badge at the guard or ducking through the gate. All she knows is the way you’re already halfway over the barricade, snarling like you’re ready to break someone’s jaw.

Cate grabs you from behind. Arms around your waist.

“Baby—don’t.”

“Cate, let go.”

“Please,” Cate says, voice cracked and low. “They want this.”

You tremble in her arms. Vibrating with rage. Sticky soda running down your front, breathing like a cornered animal. Cate presses her forehead between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t give it to them.”

It takes a long moment. Too long. But finally, finally, you sag.

Cate doesn’t let go.

You stand like that—pressed together on the edge of a war—until security disperses the protesters and a drone whirs low to scan Cate’s credentials. Cate doesn’t speak. Doesn’t care. All she can think is: I let this happen.

When you finally turn around, there’s no anger in your eyes.

Just hurt.

“I was just trying to come see you,” you whisper.

Cate reaches up. Wipes something—soda, maybe tears—from your cheek. Her hand shakes.

“I know,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

But you both know it’s not enough.

She doesn’t even know where her key is.

It takes Cate three tries to get the door open. She hasn’t been back here in weeks, not really—not since everything started to unravel. Since Homelander started circling like a vulture. Since your apartment became the only place that felt remotely like home.

But you can’t go there now.

Too risky.

Too exposed.

So here you are. Cate’s dorm. Four walls and a bed too narrow and a desk covered in unopened mail and protest flyers she never meant to keep. You say nothing as you step inside. Just shrug off your hoodie, wincing when the fabric peels from the sticky soda soaked into your shirt.

Cate doesn’t speak either.

She moves automatically—sets down her bag, goes to the mini-fridge, grabs the half-empty bottle of water, some paper towels, a clean t-shirt from the drawer. Not hers. One of yours. Probably left here by accident months ago.

She doesn’t say that.

Just holds it out. “Sit.”

You sit on the bed without a word.

Cate kneels in front of you.

It’s methodical, the way she cleans you up. Soaked cloth across your collarbone. Across the front of your ribs. Wiping soda from the inside of your elbow like she’s dabbing at a wound. Cate’s movements are gentle but firm, her prosthetic resting quietly on her own knee while her other hand works. You stay still the whole time. Don’t speak. Don’t look away.

Only flinch once—when Cate presses too hard against a bruise she hadn’t noticed forming.

“Sorry,” Cate breathes.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

Cate’s hands still.

She lets the silence stretch between them.

Then, quietly: “You shouldn’t have to go through that. Just to be with me.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You think this is about you?”

Cate looks up. She doesn’t smile. “Isn’t it?”

You exhale. Your eyes are tired. “It’s about all of it, Cate. The checkpoints. The comments. The looks. The fucking badge. They don’t just hate you. They hate that I chose you. That I keep choosing you despite all the shit that comes with it.”

Cate swallows hard. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

“Well, you don’t get that luxury anymore.”

Cate leans back on her heels. Watches her. Soaks her in. The bruise. The rage. The deep, painful clarity in her voice.

And then—Cate whispers, “What if it’s not enough?”

“What?”

Cate’s voice is barely audible now. “What if love isn’t enough to survive this?”

Your expression softens. “Then we find something else.”

Cate closes her eyes.

She doesn’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.

But it sneaks up anyway.

Not sobs. Just that helpless burn behind her ribs. That stupid catch in her breath.

You reach down. Fingers brushing her cheek. Cate leans into it like she might break without it.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Cate says.

“You won’t.”

Cate opens her eyes again. “But what if staying with me means giving up pieces of yourself?”

You don't hesitate.

“Then I give them up.”

Cate freezes.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say that. You deserve to be whole.”

“So do you.”

Cate looks up at her. Really looks. “Are we willing to tear pieces off ourselves just to fit together?”

You nod. “If that’s what it takes.”

Cate exhales shakily. “And if it still doesn’t work?”

“Then we go down together. Hands clasped.”

Cate crawls up into your lap.

Wraps her arms around your neck. Buries her face against your shoulder.

You sit like that for a long time.

No answers. Just the thrum of hearts trying not to break.

Just two girls on the wrong side of history, holding onto the only thing that still feels real.

At first, she thinks you’re just late.

The checkpoint at the east gate is always a mess—two ID scans, three layers of metal detection, one bored Vought intern assigned to “human entry” like it’s a fucking punishment. Cate waits near the quad, watching her phone. One minute. Two. Ten.

By twenty, the dread starts to bloom.

You always text.

Even when you’re pissed. Even when you fight. Even when you’re drunk and petty and too stubborn to say I miss you, you always text.

Cate tries calling.

Voicemail.

She tries again. Nothing.

The campus feels too loud. Too bright. The shadows crawl longer than they should.

Cate doesn’t walk—she runs to the checkpoint.

It’s empty.

“Where’s the human from this morning?” she snaps at the first supe guard she sees, repeats your name for emphasis. 

The guy shrugs. “Didn’t see her come through.”

“She badged in. I saw the record.”

“Then maybe she tripped a sensor.”

Cate’s stomach knots. “Where is she?”

Another shrug. Too casual. Too clean.

“I want to see the footage.”

“That’s above my clearance.”

Cate doesn’t blink. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” the guard says, tone going flat. “That’s the problem.”

She stares him down.

And when it’s clear she’s not getting an answer here—not from guards, not from Godolkin—she does the only thing she knows will get her answers.

She goes directly to Vought.

The tower lobby is glass and shadow. Cate’s boots click across the marble as she strides past reception like she owns the place. She doesn’t need clearance. Not anymore. Not since he started treating her like his favorite daughter.

The elevator doors open like they’ve been waiting for her.

When they close, she punches the emergency override. Ninety-ninth floor. Executive access.

The doors slide open again.

And there he is.

Homelander.

Waiting.

Grinning.

“Oh,” he says, voice syrup-slick. “Just the girl I wanted to see.”

Cate doesn’t slow. “Where is she?”

He tilts his head. “You’ll have to be more specific. She is such a broad category.”

“My girlfriend. Human.”

He laughs. “Oh. Right. That one.”

Cate’s pulse spikes.

Homelander walks toward her, slow and easy, hands clasped behind his back. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Like nothing bad could ever possibly touch him.

“I was starting to think you were hiding her,” he says. “You know, for someone who claims to be part of the cause, you’re awfully…conflicted.”

“Where is she.”

He gestures lazily toward the hallway. “Holding. Lower levels. We just had some…questions. She triggered a flag in the system. Old Red River files. Unregistered V exposure, did you know that? Tsk. Sloppy.”

Cate’s mouth goes dry.

“She’s not a threat.”

“She is a human who’s been whispering in your ear,” he replies, stepping closer. “And you’re very important to me, Cate. I can’t have you compromised.”

Cate squares her shoulders. “You can’t have me disobedient. There’s a difference.”

Homelander grins. “Semantics.”

Then, casually, “Let’s make this simple. There are two people in holding right now. Your human. And a young supe who’s been leaking information to the press. You can have one.”

Cate doesn’t move.

Homelander leans in. “I’ll even let you be the one to do it. You can use your powers. Find out which is lying. Who’s worth saving. Easy.”

Cate’s voice cracks. “You want me to use my powers on her.”

“I want you to prove your loyalty.”

Her fists curl.

“You don’t have to hurt her,” he says. “Just…check her thoughts. Peek behind the curtain. Make sure she’s not a traitor to our cause.”

Cate remembers what it feels like. Touching someone and slipping in without consent. Reading everything. Every thought. Every shame. Every fear. It’s a violation, even when it’s done with care.

With you?

It would be…unforgivable.

She turns to leave.

Homelander calls out after her.

“You walk out without choosing,” he says, eyes gone cold, “and they’ll both be gone come morning. You choose, Cate. That’s the deal.”

Cate’s heart slams against her ribs.

And then—

“I’ll do it.”

You’re in a glass room, like some kind of experiment. Cold metal table. One chair. Arms folded. Eyes puffy, but defiant.

Cate steps in.

The door clicks shut behind her.

You stand. “You okay?” Typical of you to instantly worry about Cate.

Cate doesn’t answer.

She just crosses the room. Stops in front of you. Reaches out.

You flinch.

Cate’s ungloved hand hovers. “It’s me,” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You look at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting you out.”

Your eyes narrow. “What did you have to do for him?”

Cate’s hand stills. “Nothing. Yet.”

A beat.

Then, very slowly, Cate wraps her fingers around your wrist.

Skin to skin.

Everything rushes in at once, unbidden—your fear, your anger, your memories of the checkpoint, the sting of the soda, the way your thoughts scream Cate, Cate, Cate over and over like a prayer and a curse and a lifeline all at once.

Cate stumbles back. Gasps for air.

You grab her by the shoulders, grounding her. “Hey—hey, breathe. You okay?”

Cate nods, shaking. She almost looks relieved. “You’re clean. I knew you would be but…”

You frown. “Cate, what did you see?”

Cate meets her eyes. “Just me. Always me.”

And then she pulls her in.

Kisses her like it’s the last moment they’ll ever get.

The elevator door hisses shut behind her.

She’s still breathless.

Your name echoes in her chest like a warning bell—like if she says it out loud, Homelander will hear it and rip the air from her lungs. So she keeps it safely tucked away behind her ribs. She keeps everything tucked away.

Cate walks back into the meeting room like nothing happened.

Like her hands aren’t still trembling. Like her powers didn’t just crack wide open and show her everything you’ve been hiding: the fear, the guilt, the hunger, the love.

Homelander’s waiting.

Looking out the window, hands clasped behind his back like always. The skyline burns behind him in late-afternoon gold.

“Well?” he asks without turning around.

Cate’s voice doesn’t shake.

“She’s clean.”

Homelander turns.

One brow arches.

“No thoughts of betrayal?” he asks, stepping closer. “No little secrets? No anti-supe rhetoric buried in that pretty little head?”

Cate meets his gaze.

“There’s nothing in her mind except me.”

He smiles. Sharp and slow.

“Is that so? How romantic.”

Cate doesn’t blink. “She’s not the threat.”

“Then the other one is.”

Cate hesitates. “I…didn’t read him.”

“You didn’t need to. You chose. That’s what matters.”

She feels the weight of those words like glass in her throat.

Chosen.

That’s what he wanted. Not truth. Not facts. Obedience. A test of loyalty under the guise of mercy.

She passed.

She failed.

She doesn't know which.

Homelander reaches out, pats her on the shoulder. The metal one. His palm lingers just long enough to feel like possession.

“You did good, kid,” he says.

Cate forces a smile. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Dismissed.”

She turns. Makes a beeline to the elevator. Doesn’t let herself shake until the doors close. Doesn’t let herself cry until she’s halfway down.

And when she steps out onto the sidewalk, Vought Tower behind her like a knife in the sky, she does the only thing she can do.

She calls you.

“I’m coming home,” she says.

It’s dark by the time Cate gets home.

Not late—just dark, the way New York gets in the middle of a bad season. Gray skies, heavy air. The kind of night that feels like it’s waiting to fall apart.

The apartment’s quiet. A single lamp on. No music. No TV. Just you, cross-legged on the couch in your sweats, hair pulled back, a bruise blooming low on your jaw.

Cate’s never hated the world more than she does right now.

The door shuts behind her, and for a second—just a second—she forgets how to move.

You look up. Don't smile. Don’t speak.

You just open your arms.

Cate drops her bag. Walks straight into them. Drops to her knees in front of the couch and lets herself be pulled in like she’s being rescued from a war zone.

Which—technically—she is.

Your arms wrap tight around her shoulders. Cate’s head tucks beneath your chin.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Not until Cate whispers, “I had to lie.”

Your fingers still in her hair. “To him?”

“To myself.”

You pull back just enough to look at her. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were clean. That I read you and there was nothing in your head but me.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that what you saw?”

Cate nods.

Then chokes.

And it all comes spilling out.

“The checkpoint. The coffee. The way you looked at me when I stopped you from swinging. Homelander’s office. The choice. He made me choose. Between you and some traitor of a supe kid. And he said if I didn’t, he’d…kill you both.”

You stare. “And you picked me.”

Cate shakes. “Of course I did.”

You cup her face. “Even if it made you a traitor?”

Cate nods again. “I’d do it again.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t care what side I’m on anymore, baby. I just want to be where you are.”

You kiss her.

It’s not heated. Not desperate. Just steady. Grounding. Cate clutches your shirt like she might float away otherwise.

When you part, Cate exhales hard.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

You brush hair from her eyes. “Of what?”

“That we’re not gonna survive this. That he’s already watching you. That I led him to you.”

Your voice is soft but sure. “Then we stop letting him decide what happens next.”

Cate looks up. “How?”

You shrug. “We leave.”

Cate stares. “Run?”

“Disappear. Start over. Somewhere off the grid. Or…we stay and fight.”

Cate’s breath hitches. “With who?”

“With whoever we can find that still believes in us.”

Cate sinks back into your lap, silent.

She thinks about Marie. Jordan. Emma. 

She thinks about the version of herself she could be if she stopped letting people pull strings through her spine.

“You’d give it all up?” Cate asks.

You meet her gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Cate nods. Quietly. Slowly. The decision forming between you like a third heartbeat in the room.

“Okay.”

You kiss her temple. “Then we start with this: no more hiding.”

Cate lets out a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” you say. “But this time? We’re scared together.”

Homelander says yes. Without fanfare or resistance.

That’s the part no one really expected.

Cate pitches it like strategy. Like optics. “They’re powerful. They’re visible. You don’t need to punish them—you need to use them. Turn them to our cause.” And he listens. Smirks. Says something about how charming she is when she’s ruthless.

The next morning, Jordan and Emma are cleared to return to Godolkin.

But that’s not the hard part.

The hard part is standing in the quad waiting for them to arrive. Waiting for the transport Vought sends, an armored truck from Elmira, security detail posted like it's a celebrity drop-off, and not two super-abled twenty-somethings who were nearly disappeared by the very institution that claims to protect them.

Cate’s hands shake. You stand beside her, close but silent. You haven't spoken much since you decided to stay. To resist. To try.

Cate’s scared to look at you too long.

Scared she’ll see the same expression she expects from Jordan and Emma: betrayal.

The truck pulls up.

Doors open.

Jordan and Emma are huddled together. Afraid. Well, at least until they see Cate. Then that fear turns into something closer to disgust. Disappointment.

Jordan steps out first—hair longer than before. They look tired. Thinner. Like a flame burned too long. Their eyes flick across the quad, then land on Cate again.

Emma follows, weary, careful to stay hidden behind Jordan, orange uniform hanging loose from her body. Her lip is split. Cate doesn’t know if it’s old or new.

They both stop when they see her.

No hugs. No greetings. Just silence.

Cate steps forward.

“Hey, you guys,” she says softly.

Jordan’s mouth curls. “Brought out the welcoming committee just for us, did you? Fun.”

Cate flinches. “You were cleared this morning. By me.”

Emma tilts her head. “Why?”

Cate’s voice is steadier than she feels. “Because I owe you both more than I’ll ever be able to repay.”

Jordan crosses their arms. “You working for him now?”

Cate doesn’t answer.

Emma scoffs. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not working for him,” Cate says. “I’m playing him.”

Jordan laughs, but it’s bitter. “Oh, that’ll end well.”

Cate nods. “Probably not. But if you’re building something—resistance, rebellion, whatever it is—I want in.”

Emma stares at her. “You think we’d trust you after everything?”

“No,” Cate whispers. “But I’m not asking you to trust me.”

Jordan’s voice is low. “Then what are you asking?”

Cate looks at them. Really looks. At the bruises. At the weight. At the grief. At all the cracks she helped cause.

“I’m asking you to let me help fix what I broke.”

A pause.

Then you speak, soft but sharp. “She means it.”

Jordan looks at you.

Something shifts.

Emma doesn’t move. But she doesn’t turn away either.

Finally—Jordan says, “You get one shot.”

Cate nods. “That’s all I need.”

♡ | strange worship ♡ | unlikely friendship ♡ | the only exception

[cryptidghostgirl]

Here is a fic ask? Or an idea that popped into my head! Soo I got this idea of Fem! Reader being this Nephalem thing, she made some deal with God, and God lost, she was aloud to make some corrupt angels.

More on reader, she works at the hotel, posing as a normal demon, but she doesn't sing nor dance, how odd because everyone does!..

Adam being her next target, they strike a deal that if he gets the idea of Extermination he can have one thing of whatever he wanted of course reader wanted something in return, his wings. It happened but than he soon died, and before he truly died, Adam could hear he voice, and this holy but demonic chain and parper appeared, indicating he made a deal made literally everyone freeze.

Singing this song, is basically Reader angel and demon side debating what to do! https://youtu.be/0Y9rL6xpvlk?si=i_rjScHV8Kg2qwjp

I can imagine the reactions of the others that where there. 🤩💃🕺

Her taking Adam's precious wings instead of his soul, I can imagine she probably has Lucifer, the other deadly sins and even lillith under a contract as well.

Also take your time with this! I know it a lot to take in haha! Drink water okay!!

A/N I hate Adam so this request is very fun :) Also, I just went off the vibes of the song rather than incorporating lyrics for the most part, I hope that is okay. Also I made her and Lucifer friends because I wanted to.

Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely (Adam x Reader)

Pairing: Adam x Reader

Warnings: So many. Um, gore, abuse, just generally Y/n being evil and malicious. Adam.

Word Count: 2,432

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Y/n wasn't supposed to exist. Then again, souls trapped in Purgatory weren't supposed to challenge God, but she had done that too. It had been a simple bet, based entirely on God's belief that absolute power does not corrupt absolutely. He had lost and so, Y/n had become something else.

Not quite good, not quite bad. Neither a sinner nor a winner, a demon or an angel. She was something in the the middle, something worse. She called herself the God of Prospects, she was known as a nephalem.

A traveler between worlds, Y/n found herself the perfect fit when she had first heard of Lucifer's daughter's hotel. The two were friends of a sort and she had been quite bored of late, when he had mentioned it off hand her eyes had lit up with hunger. Lucifer had known that look, the irreversible calamity that always seemed to follow not far behind it.

"Just don't make a deal with Charlie, please." was all he had said on the matter, his voice bleeding.

Y/n had hummed a noncommittal response but took his plea to heart.

The others at the hotel were generally wary of Y/n. Even in her demon form, she cut an intimidating figure. Half a head taller than Charlie, thin muscles tracking the course of her limbs - she radiated power. Her steps were quiet and determined, the crowd never failed to part for her.

Charlie knew nothing of Y/n's truth of course, only that she was a friend of her father's. This was confirmed when Lucifer eventually visited the hotel and the pair greeted one another warmly and so, Charlie trusted her implicitly despite every sign not to. Still, she was wary. She was wary because Alastor gave Y/n a wide birth at all times and Alastor never feared anyone. When Charlie had questioned him on the matter, he always carefully changed the subject.

When Lucifer had gotten Charlie the meeting in Heaven, he had asked Y/n to go with. Neither Charlie nor Vaggie knew why save for the fact that maybe Lucifer wanted to keep an eye on his daughter. He had, after all, had a tone steeped in regret when he had told the pair he would be unable to come with himself and Y/n was his friend. It kind of made sense. Kind of.

It was there Y/n met Adam. He had pulled her aside before the chaos of the trial, making brazen advances towards her. Never having had the pleasure of meeting the first man before, she was amused to no extent by his bravado. He didn't suit Heaven at all, in her opinion, yet another example of the opinion she had proven to God all those years before. He might've been a good man once, but he was no longer. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

"So what do you say, sweet cheeks?" Adam had asked, his hands on his hips after having described everything he could 'do to her.'

Y/n had stared at him so long and hard he had almost begun to shake. Only then had she spoken, her voice like sharp gravel on bare feet, hot asphalt on hands in the dead of summer. It tore the world around it, it burned.

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Uh, hot demon snatch?"

Y/n had laughed at this, her teeth sharpened into points. Her head thrown back in glee, Adam had watched in confusion. When she had finally calmed her wild and uncalled for, in his opinion, joy, she had met his eyes once again, hers burning lazy fire.

"I am the God of Prospects. I will be your doom."

He hadn't known it then, but she had been right. It was strange. Adam had always liked women with a temper, hence his picks for the exorcists he worked with, but he had never liked being outshined, overpowered. It made him uncomfortable, he stayed away from women like that. Yet, something about Y/n in all her carefree composure, all her spiraling damnation, drew him to her.

"Let's make a bet."

She had held her hand out to him then, her nails sharp enough to draw blood.

"A deal?"

Adam had heard of deals in Hell, what an overlord could do through such a thing. He eyed her in suspicion.

"Did you listen to what I said? No, a bet." Y/n corrected tactfully.

"You're not an overlord, are you?"

"No."

Y/n's grin widened, unsettling him further.

"Then what is it?"

"If you win this war that is bound to happen, I will go with you. If you do not, I will take something from you."

"And how do you know it is going to be a war?"

All pretense was gone, he was nothing but a man in her scorching gaze. A shiver traveled its way down his spine, unbidden.

"I told you." she replied, as if speaking to an ignorant child, "I am the God of Prospects."

Y/n had been suspiciously absent from the battle until its very end. She appeared beside Angel Dust as Lucifer and Charlie stood before Adam, laying beaten and bloody on the ground.

"Where the hell have you been?" Angel asked and Y/n smiled, her arms crossed.

"I told you," and she had indeed told them all, the night before at the bar, "I would have made it unfair."

"Like any of us beleive you're actually that powerful." Angel scoffed and Y/n just shrugged, watching the scene play out before her in anticipation.

This was what she had been waiting for all along. She hadn't realized it until she had met Adam in person but, Y/n knew the cure to her boredom and it was not the hotel. No, the hotel was just part of the gateway, same as Adam. Really, the last time she could recall being genuinely entertained was when she had first placed that bet against God. New challenges to face, new mountains to climb, whisked past her minds eye. Plans formed and reformed, she made matter out of nothing.

"How does mercy taste you little bitch?" Lucifer said as he and Charlie turned their backs on Adam, joining the small group of people who had congregated behind them.

"No..." Adam weakly replied, slowly getting to his feet, "You don't get to end this."

Y/n could see his face now, for the first time, without his mask blocking it. She had been right all along, he had always just been a man. Mythologized, but a man none the less.

"I am fucking Adam!" he yelled, pulling himself from the crater, "I am the fucking man, and you're just some fucking clown or something! I started everything on Earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts. You all should be worshiping me, you ungrateful, disgusting, fucking..."

He trailed off as he caught sight of Y/n. She stood near the back, her arms crossed. Everyone looked around, trying to figure out what had him so out of it when they realized his frantic gaze was being met by none other than Y/n.

As she stepped between Vaggie and Lucifer, she began to change. Large black wings sprouted from her back, a black halo, similar to the one the exorcists wore, appeared above her head. Then there were the thorns, black vines twisting their way around her limbs. She leered over the now trembling Adam.

"Y/n..." Lucifer began, the smile long since having vanished from his face, "what did you do."

"I made a bet, that is all." she placidly replied, not bothering to look at the man.

She licked her lips in hunger, her mouth full of razors. Adam stumbled a step back.

"No!" he yelled, "It's not over! The war is not over! I... I..."

"This is your fate now."

The group watched in horror as Y/n grew taller, her limbs and torso stretching out thin and monstrous. She looked emaciated, she looked like death.

"NO, it's not!"

"I choose your fate now or did you forget about your side of the bargain? I will get what I am owed."

With a flick of her finger, Adam was raised into the air by glowing black, thorny vines. He struggled against the bonds as she turned his back towards her. Even now, he couldn't help but find something compelling in her, something that drew him to her.

"What are you doing? What are yo-"

He cut himself off in a terrible, protracted scream. The sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone was nauseating as Y/n slowly ripped the wings from his back. She let him fall, whimpering and bloodied, to the ground. Turning the wings over before her eyes, she examined them carefully as she shrunk back to her normal size and body shape.

"Beautiful but... I already have a pair." she mused before throwing them to the side.

"What are you?" Vaggie asked, breathless, as Y/n turned back to the group.

Her hands were stained golden in blood as were her teeth. She grinned.

"I am the God of Prospects. I am corrupted by absolute power."

"Jesus, Y/n." Lucifer sighed, a hand to his head, "You're scaring them."

"Good."

"You knew?" Charlie asked her father in shock and he nodded softly.

"But I've never..."

"Seen me like this before." Y/n finished the thought for her friend, "In my true form. It is a lot to digest, I try to be kind."

"You try to be kind?" Husk repeated.

"Oh I like her." Cherri smiled brightly and Y/n tilted her head to the side in thanks.

It was now, as Lute pulled herself from the wreckage and Adam took his last stuttering breaths that she screamed, rushing to her master's side.

"Sir? Sir?!" she asked, flipping him over with her good arm.

Y/n turned to the scene, smiling. If this was the sort of thing her newfound passion would bring her, life was certainly about to become much more enjoyable.

"Stay with me, sir." Lute begged the dying man.

The last thing he did was smile up at her before falling dead. Charlie stepped forward with Vaggie not far behind her, her eyes glowing red with power and matching those of her father as he followed in her steps.

"Adam!" Lute yelled.

"It's over." Charlie announced, and the exorcist looked up.

"Take your little friends and go home." Lucifer added forcefully, "Please."

Lute looked between them for a moment before obeying, calling the retreat. The exorcists rose into the air, disappearing back through the portal. but not before she had grabbed Adam's fallen halo.

Charlie now turned to Y/n, the same fire burning in her eyes.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Y/n shrugged noncommitally.

"I was bored, you all are interesting."

Charlie took a deep breath.

"What are you?"

"I am the God of Prospects."

"She is a nephalem. Well, sort of." Lucifer corrected and Y/n pouted.

"A nephalem?" Vaggie asked.

"Neither an angel nor a demon."

"How... shouldn't you be in purgatory?" Angel asked, taking a step forward.

"Does she look like she should be in purgatory?" Husk countered.

"I was there for a while."

"Really? What happened?" Cherri asked in excitment.

Y/n turned to her.

"I made a bet with God."

"And she won. Hooray, now, who is up for pancakes?"

After some conversation, it was determined that Y/n would be allowed to continue her stay at the hotel as long as she promised to protect it should the battle return. Y/n knew it would and told everyone as much, she agreed to the terms. Then the subject at hand had turned to lamentation. For the hotel, for their friends - the minute Charlie had brought up Alastor and his supposed death, Y/n had stopped her.

Holding a hand out to the demon princess, Y/n closed her eyes.

"He's injured, but alive." she announced after a moment, "I will go get him."

Before anyone had the chance to ask her how she knew or what she meant, Y/n had taken off into the sky on her wings of night.

The radio tower was in pieces, and Alastor sulked within. He looked up at the sound of her entry, his eyes wide and wild.

"Took a beating there, huh." Y/n mused playfully and Alastor scoffed, "I have a new job for you."

"What." he spat back, "Something else to get me almost killed?"

"Maybe." Y/n shrugged, "Either way, you know you can't refuse."

Vines, the same ones that had held Adam, appeared on Alastor, wrapping their way around him, bringing him to his knees. He grunted softly as they hit the ground. He knew she was right. He had been vain and a fool, he had been cocky. He had made a bet, and now had to lay in the grave she dug for him.

"What is that job?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"You're going to help me get a meeting with God."

Y/n hopped up onto a mostly intact table, taking a seat upon it. Alastor watched her, speechless.

"Yeah, he's sorta been, you know, avoiding my calls? Between you and me, I think he's pissy he lost our bet."

"Why do you want a meeting with him? Don't you already have everything?"

"Almost everything. I want to play a game."

"With God."

"With God."

"What for?"

Y/n hummed in thought, kicking her legs slightly.

"I want to be corrupted absolutely."

Alastor could read between the lines, he had known her long enough. His eyes widened with surprise. Y/n wanted power, to replace the man upstairs. She wanted to be God, not just a nephalem. She was always crossing boundaries, doing things she wasn't supposed to do, being things she wasn't supposed to be. Who was to say she couldn't do this too? Still, the fear and uncertainty ate away at him. He had no choice but to bend to her will but that didn't mean he had to have complete faith.

Y/n stood again in response to Alastor's doubtful look, her vines dragging him to his feet. She stared him dead in the eyes, her hands on her hips.

"Remember, foolish man, if not for my kindness you too would be gone. Don't try anything, just keep holding up that lovely facade of yours at the Hotel. I will alert you to when your skills are needed."

[getthembees]

Any batgirls style headcanons or fashion concepts?

Ok i kept this in my inbox for a bit because when you sent it I was working on a three part thread of every casual cass outfit on twitter (part 1 (preboot), part 2 (n52-present), part 3 (elseworlds)) so i knew that would kinda maybe influence my opinion. TBH tho it kinda didn’t and actually just reinforced my own headcanons.

Anyway! My headcanon that current canon now kinda contradicts (gestures to BoP) is that i actually think Cass has very little sense of fashion. She grew up in training outfits, usually black, and the only fancy thing we ever see her in as a child is that pink dress. Then she’s homeless and probably hobbling clothes together whenever she can. This all being said I think a lot of her “fashion sense” (aka her wardrobe) is entirely a collage of other people’s clothing. Her early days she’s usually wearing sweaters—which are most definitely Barbara’s. And in the N52 reboot she wears either her Orphan outfit or the formal dress she steals up until Basil dies, and then they drag her to live in the Manor to watch her because she’s depressed and it’s the first time she’s in anything casual—a GCHS sweatshirt and sweatpants. After the later events of the comic when she cheers up more she’s drawn more in casual clothes (that are brighter). So basically I think her sense of belonging also coincides with her clothing.

I also think it’s a sign of affection. Barbara gave her those clothes out of necessity but I believe that even after they go shopping (and early-days Cass mostly buys her black shirt black pants combo because she doesn’t really care atp) Cass still steals her pants and he sweaters on occasion because she likes them and they feel nice. After Barbara I imagine she steals Steph’s clothes the most: graphic tees, flannels, shoes, hats, etc. Tim I imagine she’s taking sweatpants and sweatshirts from whenever she breaks into his apartment (In my heart of hearts he’s the closest in size to her so his pants fit the best). Duke I think she’d also steal layered clothes—flannels, jackets, the like. She probably steals his WaR jacket once and he’s like bruh i only have one of those so she gives it back begrudgingly (not before stealing gum out of his pocket). Dick I headcanon the GCHS sweatshirt belongs to and she’s kept it ever since, other than that she doesn’t steal from him that much. Damian is too short still and he also hates it when she takes his clothes because he likes knowing where everything is but she still steals his hats for the love of the game. Bruce she probably steals his T-shirts to use as sleep clothes because they’re huge. She doesn’t steal anything from Jason because she Doesn’t Like Him.

So yeah, I think her wardrobe is a collage of other people’s clothing. But as for personal preference:

-I think she likes dark and neutral colored clothing

-I think she generally likes layers but also leans towards athletic wear

-eventually i think she will start to care about fashion outside of her training clothes or stuff that’s given to her, but i think she remains really bad at making “good” outfits in the normal sense of the word. like she branches out but she is not good at matching clothing, ever

-i don’t think she’s particularly masc or fem leaning in her clothing (outside of stuff being put in her closet, she chooses a dress in B&R eternal and a suit in Batgirls) she just wears whatever she wants for that day

-she will generally prefer comfort over aesthetic still, but she does like dressing up for fun sometimes

-i think she sleeps half naked lmao like either pants with no shirt or a huge shirt no pants

^ most of these are based somewhat in canon.

I wish that she remained Bad At Fashion or not caring about it it’s a funny characterization for me, i kinda don’t like it when she dresses herself up like. super duper well. like the white suit in birds of prey i know people like that but that is #notmycass she just doesn’t have that vibe To Me.

[dolceaspidenera]

THE LADS MEN AS D&D CLASSES

I had to smash together my two favourite obsessions, and since this idea wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down, here we are.

Sylus

Fighter with the Battle Master archetype

Those who emulate the archetypal Battle Master employ martial techniques passed down through generations. To a Battle Master, combat is an academic field, sometimes including subjects beyond battle such as weaponsmithing and calligraphy. Not every fighter absorbs the lessons of history, theory, and artistry that are reflected in the Battle Master archetype, but those who do are well-rounded fighters of great skill and knowledge.

Among all the classes and subclasses in D&D, I think this is ultimately the best fitting for Sylus. A Battlemaster is not only an impressive fighter, but also a charismatic, intelligent, and tactical leader, who knows how to move the pieces on the board to turn every fight into a sure victory. I say that for someone as calculating as Sylus, this is the perfect class. It also allows his mentor side to shine, as the Battlemaster can use Maneuvers to empower his allies.

Also, the class has skills called “Combat Superiority” and “Relentless”, do I need say more?

Caleb

Paladin + Warlock

Whether sworn before a god's altar and the witness of a priest, in a sacred glade before nature spirits and fey beings, or in a moment of desperation and grief with the dead as the only witness, a paladin's oath is a powerful bond. Warlocks are seekers of the knowledge that lies hidden in the fabric of the multiverse. Through pacts made with mysterious beings of supernatural power, warlocks unlock magical effects both subtle and spectacular.

Paladins are virtuous fighters, pledge to serve a cause or deity. They are basically the poster child for the fighter classes, so I think they fit well with Caleb's outgoing and sunny persona/mask. We also know that for him, nothing is more important than MC and her wellbeing/protection. He pretty much has sworn his own oath to always keep her safe. Unfortunately, this also means that he is ready to do whatever it takes to save her, and if it has to come at the cost of his own soul, he’ll pay the price without hesitation. And here’s where the warlock's pact with a questionable entity comes into play. In the main story, Caleb is forced into a corner and has to make a tough call and work with Ever in order to keep MC safe. I would say this class combination is pretty spot on for him.

Zayne

Cleric: Nature Domain (a Mage could also fit him very well)

Clerics are intermediaries between the mortal world and the distant planes of the gods. As varied as the gods they serve, clerics strive to embody the handiwork of their deities. No ordinary priest, a cleric is imbued with divine magic.

Obviously, Zayne is associated with snow and ice, but I wanted to highlight his side which is more about life (especially evident in his myth, Trace of Divinity). There are a lot of elements that are so druid-coded, and it’s sad to see that Zayne’s punishment was to be relegated to a barren land where nothing grows. I think a cleric would suit him well, as they are The HealersTM, they are also inextricably linked and dependent on a deity. I chose a nature domain to add spells linked to the natural elements, and to sprinkle in that druidic vibe as homage to his myth.

Rafayel

Bard + Rogue

Whether scholar, skald, or scoundrel, a bard weaves magic through words and music to inspire allies, demoralize foes, manipulate minds, create illusions, and even heal wounds. The bard is a master of song, speech, and the magic they contain. Rogues rely on skill, stealth, and their foes' vulnerabilities to get the upper hand in any situation. They have a knack for finding the solution to just about any problem, demonstrating a resourcefulness and versatility that is the cornerstone of any successful adventuring party.

Hear me out. Bards are, of course, the classic go-to D&D class for characters who are artists, so it perfectly fits Rafayel. They are also insanely OP. People tend to dismiss them, but really, they are absurdly powerful and have access to so many spells from all the other classes; it’s almost unfair. I’d add some levels as a rogue to highlight his shady and ruthless side; this man knows how to kill without leaving a trace.

Xavier

Fighter with the Echo Knight archetype

A mysterious and feared frontline warrior of the Kryn Dynasty, the Echo Knight has mastered the art of using dunamis to summon the fading shades of unrealized timelines to aid them in battle. Surrounded by echoes of their own might, they charge into the fray as a cycling swarm of shadows and strikes.

For our star boy, I think this is the perfect class. Nimble and feared warriors who can use the echo of their shades from different timelines to fight. They can teleport around the field and are incredible sword masters. It really can’t get any cooler than this.

[icyg4l]

PAC: Romanticize the Fall 🍂

Hello beautiful people! Welcome to the season of fall! I hope you all are having a wonderful start to this season. Today's reading will be all about how you can improve your fall by adding simple things to your routine. If you would like to book a reading, go to my pinned post and check out my guidelines and then click on my booking website to confirm the details. So without further ado, select the pile that resonates with you.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-3)

Pile One: As I was pulling for this pile, I heard the word "pathologize". It basically means to treat someone as abnormal or unhealthy. You guys may be Vitamin D deficient or are prone to depression/anxiety. You may even struggle with OCD or BPD. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging this properly. The best form of action may be for you to get diagnosed in order to fully enjoy this season. It feels like you need something to look forward to when it gets cold. Try to get out of your house and see what's going on in your community when it comes to fitness. If you're trying to save money, look out for some free fitness sessions. Go attend a pilates session if your school has one. You give me 2000s soccer mom vibes. Just show up and you will see how quickly your life changes! Your health will become of utmost importance to you. Treat it as such. You only have one body so treat it with kindness while you're still here. Lock in and you will see the world more clearly.

Cards Used: 8 of Swords, Prince of Cups, King of Cups, 10 of Discs

extras: ibs symptoms. seasonal depression. freedom. jimmy fallon. attachment issues. snoring. pleasers. mirror by the bed.

Pile Two: Pile Two, I can tell that you have a playful side to you. You're someone that is tapped in with you're inner child. I am seeing a kid run in front of their tv in their pajamas and admiring what's on it. You should get back to doing that. Make it your goal to watch something that you loved to indulge in as a kid. For some of you, it was Spongebob. For some of you, it was Hannah Montana. For others of you, it was Henry Danger. Grab a snack after work or after school and just watch whatever your childhood self loved! Another thing that you could do is bake cookies to welcome in the fall season. I am seeing those pumpkin sugar cookies that Pillsbury makes in my third eye. Eat some pumpkin/chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream! Buy some fall chips from Trader Joe's. Engage with your senses, lovely!

Cards Used: The Moon, 4 of Discs, 6 of Discs, The Emperor.

extras: italiano. foxy brown. vic mensa. doughboy. fallen branches. freezer burn. retired partier. wintrust bank. forman mills.

Pile Three: This diva! Baby, if you are feeling lonely, then you need to open up your mouth! If you want some company, then just say that! You're way too prideful and it's costing you in human connections, whether it's romantic or platonic. Some of you could be into ghost stories or conspiracy theories. There is someone around you that is into the same shit. By refusing to make connections with other people, you are rejecting a part of yourself. Some of you may be traumatized by past experiences. Others of you may be in a codependent relationship. It's time for you to branch out, babe. I am channeling the movie 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' (hopefully your experience is nothing too similar like this movie lol). I am seeing two people walking through the leaves, talking enthusiastically to one another. You don't have to dream about it! Actualize it, love!

Cards Used: 2 of Cups, The Devil (RX), 5 of Discs, 3 of Cups.

extras: brass kunckles. humming at night. spooky season. pride events. hamptons. labor day. simon says. comic book nerd.

[choatichaunteddoll]

“Fishing at Lost Lake, trashing the popular kids’ cars, and playing in your shitty garage band are all things you’d rather be doing than working a dead-end job that will probably keep you trapped in Pine Point for the rest of your life. Fortunately, you get to work alongside your best friend, Dimitri. Unfortunately, Dimitri is leaving town at the end of the summer… and you’re not”

Pine Point: Insomniac is a short, surreal slice-of-life visual novel following Nil, a severely sleep-deprived slacker, as he tries to survive the day at work with his best friend, Dimitri.

TW: Mentions of drug use, Neglect

All this information is gathered by me with the information that was currently provided by @zeddyzi posts, live streams, etc. I'll do my best to get everything right but send me more info if i missed anything or got something wrong

I do NOT have acess to Zi's pateron so all of this is public information

This will be Updated as new information comes out

Background on story: Zi took name from the song “Pine Point” by PUP, Band is called “My life is a shit show and i cant wipe away the stain” Pine point is basically an edgy south park fanfic, pine point does not take place in a specific year, Zi says the hardest part of design characters is thinking of what hats they would wear, Zi dont know what pine point is cuz its just vibes, part of pine point agenda is to make people go outside, technology is very 90s

~

Nil lore: hes probably afraid of geese?? He has a sweet tooth, neglectful parents locked him outside house a lot so he sleep in woods, woods cured his insomnia actually so bonus, singer in band, can carry dimitri, extremely short, Nil smells like campfire and woods, Nil has been called “Discount bakugo”, Nil listens to more hardcore music, Does not go hunting mostly just fishes and camps, Max from camp camp was an inspo, He no good at math, if Nil was a furry he’d be a raccoon, Lionheart by Pup fits Nil, only child, quiet and troublemaker, Nil is named after the band “The Dirty Nil”, Nil wouldn't having a dating profile but if he did then he would pose like dads with fish, Nil cant drive so he rides bike everywhere, His jacket probs have a bunch of sewn on patches, Doesn't like going to rehearsal and is constantly late, Drinks a lot of energy drinks, used to have a deer trapper hat, Possible voice claim: Ash from fantastic mr fox, could probably eat anything and survive. probs due to eating a lot of questionable stuff + dirt as a kid, aggression is a defense mechanism, nil has no interest in baking or cooking…he can cook camp meals (eg. ramen and maybe eggs/bacon) but thats about it. can and will eat anything tho, he has 0 standards for food, would prob gift Dimitri a fish, When flustered he gets aggressive and starts yelling, if Nil wore a suit he would prob be scratching at it the whole time no matter how hard you try to tame his hair it keeps spiking back up, nil's favourite game is buckets, nil would probably cry or at least tear up if a rly old tree gets cut down, nil might be a belmont listener, Nil would be that song/animation meme where someone asks how they would show affection and they sing about how they'd beat people up if they even looked at their fav person the wrong way, he/they pronouns, Probs would like some kind of cola, he still sleeps in his room in the winter he just has a hard time falling asleep in his own house, Nil probably would skip prom

~

Dimitri lore: decent cook, literally everybody in town likes him, guitarist in band, can carry Nil, smells like skateboards, Dimitri listens to alt-indie rock/midwest emo, Might have greek ancestry, canadian guy, he once had braces, Dimitri is the that dumb kid w/ the acoustic guitar around the campfire, studies like his life depends on it, going to Uni, would probably do engineering for his major or whatever (Idk college words), weed, Has a younger sibling, just a chill guy, is actually a brunette, named his truck Juno, Would listen to waves, he’d be a surfer dude if he wasn't canadian, Doubles both lead and rhythm parts but prefers lead, Skipp and Dimitri would get along, Dimitri is taller than Stone, dimitri might sound like never shout never (talking voice, not singing voice), Mom friend, huge stoner, one of those super well rounded kids-- athletic and academically smart, prefers homemade food over fast food, does not wear aprons just rawdogs it, when flustered he says that “You got the wrong guy!” and gets embarrassed, Both goth and jock, Dee has at least 10 speeding tickets, dimitri used to have a hockey player ice cream scoop hair phase, dimitri would be the guy to say shit like 'just gonna squeeze right past ya' and 'you're on thin ice pal', Dimitri is prob an acts of service kinda guy, he/him pronouns, eyeshadow bitch

~

Momo lore: bassist in band, has 2 vertebrae, horrendous posture, most unhinged character ZI has, momo used to have a poncho thingy, long neck, im with stupid, momo would show up in a tshirt and jeans at prom, Full name: Mono ‘Momo’ Momoko, transcends gender,

~

Journey lore: drummer in band, Journey like this frog, im stupid, journey would look all cute n snazzy like his mom dressed him up for prom,

~

random: Nil and Dimitri are childhood friends, Nil is Enemies with Roark Romaro, Nil and Dimtri are the same age, Nil and Dee’s fav song is DVP by PUP, if the group found a baby in the trash they would put it back in, if nil and dimitri went to a beach they would immediately start digging a hole, Momo and journey were partially inspired by Jay and Silent Bob from Clerks

~

Roark: hockey

[ddarker-dreams]

I ASPIRE TO WRITE LIKE YOUUUUU UGUGUHHHHGUGHHGHHGHGHHGGHHHHHH I CAN'T STOP DEVOURING YOUR WORKS PLEEEEASE HOW DO YOU WRITE SO ELOQUENTLY YET SO CHARISMATICALLY?? PLEASE SHARE YOUR WISDOM, GREAT ONE!!😭🙏

PLSSSSSSS thank you so much,, i feel undeserving of such high praise 🥺 ...

i'm not entirely sure how my writing style came to be hjiegrjw lots of practice, i guess?? i consider what i want to get across in any story, whether it's a snippet or full-fledged series, then work around that. all that experience has made me familiar with my most effective storytelling methods.

my writing process basically looks like this:

initial idea

brainstorming about the idea (what are the character's positions? if they're at conflict, how do they express it? what's their body language, their word choice? etc etc)

open the accursed google docs and either:

(a) start at the beginning of the story, specifically what context the reader needs and drawing them into the Vibe. also equally important is knowing what information not to provide the reader, so they're left wanting to unravel what is going on.

(b) start smack dab in the action. structure comes later. lean into the excitement of the cool idea. context be damned, go ham.

in both cases, when i feel like i'm getting stuck, i come back to it later if it feels like it's grinding the entire process to a halt. i'll underline the segment, write a description of what it is i'm going for, then keep chugging along.

🚄 continue chugging until i can't anymore. exit google doc.

daydream about the story literally nonstop until i can work on it again, looking at things with a fresh lens in the days that follow the initial draft.

i make a few copies of the draft and try out different ideas, scrapping and adding as i go.

(here's an example of what this looks like, chap 4 and 5 of nexus had multiple versions with differences throughout until i landed on something i liked)

reread 458729x times and nitpick over smaller things like word choice, clean up dialogue to make it more fitting to the character

pray

huh . this is actually more convoluted than i thought. i'm not entirely sure if this will be helpful or not, messy as it is... but it is an unfiltered look into whatever tf my process is.

[eri-pl]

So… what's the idiot envious of, exactly???

So I noticed it when reading BoLT, but the Silm also says (back in Ainulindale) that Melkor was

envying the gifts with which Ilúvatar promised to endow them [Elves and Men]

OK. Which gifts? Professor, sir, which ones? The only thing that makes half of a sense here is the out-of-Musicness of Men, let's leave this for later.

Elves' harmony with Arda? Melkor is an Ainu, he has this innately.

Elves' cool skills? See above.

Them liking each other and being able to have a normal social life? Nah, the Valar (those who aren't jerks) have this too I suppose. He would be envious of them too.

Men being able to leave Arda? Again: as an Ainu, Melkor is innately bigger then Arda… OK, I suppose he would like to come and go as he pleases, go to Arda and be as harmonized as Elves, and then leave freely… but nobody has that! I mean ok, I can see how he overestimates what the Incarnates have and talks himself into envy, but this feels somewhat stupid and counterproductive even for him. (Ofc if we were to assume that Men originally had both, it does become easier to understand… But then also we're getting near the "aren't Elves kinda nerfed?" landmine, which gives me some trouble in general)

OK, now let's talk about the out-of-musicness. I think Melkor assumes that he's got this too, I think? "It came to Melkor's mind to add themes of his own invention" or whatever the wording is. And tbh all the Ainur have the quality of "having existed before the Music", so… OK, I can see how he maaybe would be envious of the Men being able to ignore the Music after it was sung, and maybe he is (subconciously, I think) aware that he can't do so. And this fits well with the story of children of Húrin, which is basically "Melkor proving to Húrin that Men are bound by doom too". So… it's not like the Men have a lot of this ability, it seems. In general it does not feel like a wholly satysfying explanation.

Still, why is he envious of the Elves too? Because Féanor made will make the Silmarills? This sounds like a stupid reason even for Melkor.

And don't tell me about the Second Music, because then we're back to the category of "Melkor is an Ainu, he has that innately". Well, had until he got himself kicked out from the orchestra, but this happenned a lot later.

Unless it's the "I was here first and I'm better, so why do they get to have the cool stuff too?!?" which I feel is a slightly different vibe of envy (is this even proper envy or just jealousy?) than what Tolkien was going for. (But the "why new baby so loved?" syndrom about Manwë and then about incarnates makes Melkor even more similar to Feanor, which I like).

Like… there is the vibe in the Silm that Men-and-Elves are getting sooo muuuch and so of course Melkor is jealous… but when I unpack it, what are they getting exactly that he did not? Professor?

Oh, and also in BoLT Ainulindale: "the giving of that gift of freedom [to Men] was their [the Valar, in modern terms: the Ainur] envy and amazement" — what. The other Valar were envious of it too? Which ones? Names, please. (Makar I suppose but tbh he's to dumb to appreciate it)

Seriously, sir, what.

It almost starts feeling like "the Men are more real and the fairies and spirits get envious of that"

[holistic-girlhood]

How to Tap Into Your Inner Aphrodite (Yes, You Have One!)

Okay, babes, let me guess — you’re craving a little more oomph in your life. Maybe you want to feel more beautiful, magnetic, or just a little less like a potato in sweatpants. (No shade to sweatpants, but you get me.) Enter: Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, beauty, and unapologetic sensuality. And spoiler alert — she’s not just for the “traditionally feminine” among us. She’s for anyone ready to claim their softness, charm, and big “I’m the prize” energy.

But how do you actually call in goddess energy without sacrificing your entire paycheck at a crystal shop? Don’t worry, boo — I got you. Here are 5 easy (and actually fun) ways to channel your inner Aphrodite. No experience necessary. Just you, your vibe, and maybe a rose-scented candle if you’re feeling fancy.

e a rose-scented candle if you’re feeling fancy.

1. Create a Space Where Beauty Lives (AKA An Altar, But Make It Cute)

Why it works: Imagine if Love, Beauty, and Self-Worth had a little VIP lounge in your home. That’s what an altar is. It’s like giving Aphrodite a key to your apartment — except she’s not gonna judge your dishes in the sink. This space serves as a constant reminder that you are that girl (or that person, if girl doesn’t fit).

How to do it:

• Find a small, sacred spot (windowsill, nightstand, shelf — whatever you’ve got).

• Decorate it with things that feel lush, sensual, and a little indulgent. Think: shells, fresh flowers, candles, pretty trinkets, or anything that makes you feel like a goddess.

• Once a week, light a candle here and say, “Aphrodite, I welcome your love, beauty, and grace into my life.” It doesn’t have to be fancy or formal. Just be real with her. She’s not gonna ghost you if you mess up the words.

Pro tip: If your roommate or partner side-eyes you for having a “goddess altar,” just tell them it’s “art.”

2. Turn Your Self-Care Routine Into a Sacred Ritual (Yes, the One You’re Already Doing)

Why it works: Listen, you’re already showering (I hope), brushing your hair, and putting lotion on your legs. The only difference here is intention. Aphrodite loves intentional beauty. When you start treating your body like a work of art instead of a “project to fix,” you’re moving in goddess territory. Bonus? You’ll start feeling hotter — and not just from the water temperature.

How to do it:

• While you’re moisturizing, brushing your hair, or doing your skincare routine, say:

✨ “My body is sacred, beautiful, and worthy of love.” ✨

That’s it. No chanting required.

This simple shift turns a basic, everyday task into a full-on “main character moment.” You’ll feel less like you’re going through the motions and more like you’re starring in a soft-focus perfume commercial. Hot girl energy: activated.

3. Hype Yourself Up With Aphrodite-Approved Affirmations

Why it works: Confidence isn’t something you just wake up with one day. (If only.) It’s something you build, word by word, thought by thought. Aphrodite embodies this energy naturally, and she’s more than happy to lend you some. When you use affirmations with intention, you’re essentially telling your brain, “Hey, we’re not doing self-hate anymore, okay?”

How to do it:

• Look at yourself in the mirror (I know, scary sometimes, but stay with me).

• Meet your own eyes. Not your hair, not your undereye bags. Your EYES.

• Say an affirmation out loud, like:

✨ “I am magnetic. I am worthy of desire. I am a literal masterpiece.” ✨

Do this for 30 seconds. If your brain starts yelling “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” that’s okay. It’s just resistance. Do it again tomorrow. Aphrodite didn’t become that girl by listening to the peanut gallery.

4. Offer Her Gifts of Pleasure (AKA Indulge Without Guilt)

Why it works: Aphrodite lives for indulgence. She’s not about that “hustle harder” life. She wants you to experience pleasure, joy, and sweetness — not as a “treat” you have to earn, but as your natural state of being. Every time you let yourself fully enjoy something, you’re tapping into her energy.

How to do it:

• Next time you treat yourself — dessert, a bath, a solo dance party in your kitchen — dedicate it to Aphrodite.

• Literally say, “This joy is for you, Aphrodite.” (Yes, out loud. No, you will not sound weird.)

That donut you’re eating? It’s a sacred offering. That slow, hot bath? Aphrodite worship. That 15-minute break where you scroll TikTok and giggle? Boom. Goddess work. Enjoying life isn’t lazy — it’s divine.

5. Call Her In During Moments of Pure Beauty (Sunsets, Music, Hot Makeout Sessions — All of It)

Why it works: Aphrodite isn’t just hanging out on Mount Olympus; she’s everywhere. Her vibe lives in music that gives you chills, in golden hour light, in art that makes you stop scrolling. Every time you pause to savor something beautiful, you’re basically sending her a spiritual “u up?” text.

How to do it:

• Each night before bed, think of one beautiful moment you experienced that day. It could be as big as a pink sky at sunset or as small as the way your coffee smelled that morning.

• Say, “Thank you, Aphrodite, for showing me love in the world today.”

That’s it. Easy, right? But watch — the more you do this, the more you’ll start noticing beauty everywhere. And when you start noticing beauty everywhere, you naturally start feeling more beautiful, too. It’s science.

[ren-054]

Made a sorta humanoid monster generator art prompt game thing

You need a number generator for this.

The idea is that you go down the lists which have specific ranges and whatever number is generated for that list is one aspect of your character

Hope this is maybe fun akjdkskd

Humanoid Monster Generator

*decisions on sex and accessories/clothing are up to the artist

*note, any result below with multiple words separated by a ‘/‘ is up to the artist to decide which they want to choose

Body Type (1-11)

1- fat/obese

2- muscly

3- your idea of conventionally attractive (free space)

4- bony

5- the body type the object closest to you kinda looks like

6- petite/dainty

7- an absolute wall

8- scraggly

9- curvy (up to interpretation)

10- noodley/doughy

11- dorito body (up to interpretation)

*note, the traits below are a mix of basic human traits and monster traits

Trait Set 1 (1-8)

1- wings

2- enlarged teeth

3- extra limb(s)

4- face mole

5- scales

6- extra eye(s)

7- bald (head)

8- nonhuman feet

Trait Set 2 (1-8)

1- odd tongue

2- dark to light gradient around extremities (i.e., dark at fingertips, paler at shoulder)

3- excessively tall

4- nonhuman ears

5- hooves/webbed phalanges

7- freckles

8- gills/vents

Trait Set 3 (1-8)

1- body markings (stripes/patches/spots)

2- albinism

3- trait you find personally attractive (monster or human) (free space)

4- spines/spikes/other protrusions

5- extra mouth(s)

6 - hairy (body and/or face)

7- tail

8- tentacles

Trait Set 4 (1-10)

1- additional head

2- lacking body part(s) (this can cancel out previous traits if seen fit)

3- bags under eyes

4- “plumage” (not just feathers)

5- large scar(s)/stretch marks

6- no eyes in human-typical locations

7- greater than average amount of wrinkles (anywhere on body)

8- bow legged

9- kinda looks like your crush (if you don’t have a crush, then uh alter the nose)

10- oozing/decaying for some reason

Vibe/Expression (1-12)

1- trying to seduce you

2- gremlin/bastard

3- nervous/uncomfortable

4- just happy to be here

5- just some guy/NPC energy

6- bored

7- school picture smile (i.e., awkward strained smile with unsmiling eyes)

8- angry/grumpy

9- no expression/blank stare

10- confident

11- so very normal (not normal at all)

12- fond/soft

Stance/Pose (1-12)

1- sitting pretty like a proper lady

2- on all fours/crawling on the ground

3- jumping/in the air (open to interpretation)

4- standing awkwardly

5- power stance (funny or serious)

6- stock photo pose

7- asleep (wildcard)

8- not facing the camera

9- stretching

10- curled up/sitting comfortably

11- family guy death pose

12- breakdance pose

And obviously you can make other creative liberties where you see fit, idc this is for fun. Enjoy

[snake-snacc]

↪ Female Headcanons

↪ Fandom — Diabolik Lovers | Azusa Mukami & Kanato Sakamaki

↪ Words — 2.2k

↪ Warnings —NSFW under the pictures, mentioning of abuse, at the end of each a short shipping thing

↪ Notes — I'm gonna get straight to the point: I am a simp for those two and I am a simp for woman, so here you have me actually just yapping about my toxic (yuri) wifes ;–; Maybe I can excite someone as much as I am

I have a big Pin-Page with just the vibes I get from them so yeah— and because in some things I have a really specific view, I couldn't find things that matches them 100%, but I tried to make a little mood board for each of them, which should capture the vibe at least a bit

English isn't my first language-

Female Kanato

We gonna start with the basic here: Body, Hair and Clothes

Body: I absolutely see her having a slim build. Not much curves and even tho she is skinny the waist isn't really waisting- it's more of a straight build. Good visible collarbone. BUT as much I would love to say that with the slim build comes an A-Cup or even less, something in my mind is saying “No. It's a good B-Cup” 

And she hates it! All the dresses and blouses are cut and sewn to fit her slim build so the B-Cup is ruining it for her. It's not fitting. Not looking right! So she tends to put one or two very tight tops under the clothes to press her chest down. With the dresses or blouses it works but before they are put on? It actually makes them more noticeable. The tight top is doing justice! Not in her eyes, but for who ever has the chance to see it. 

Hair: It's long. Over her chest and it falls in light curls normally. But I see her mostly styling it very dramatic, very ornate, tight curls, pinned up with some headpiece to it.

And as much as she braids her hair before sleeping, puts it into a bun, a bonnet, whatever- It will be a mess when she wakes up. Knots, bird nests, cow licks, whatever you wanna call it. And after brushing through it it will look decent but not good enough for her. 

So waking up hours before school or any event outside the house, is needed for styling her hair (in her eyes). Even one hour of sleeping in means to accept that the hair is going inside a “messy” hairstyle or just gets covert. 

Clothes: I will put it simple, I see her dressing in a Victorian goth vibe of style mostly. But with more embroidery, more layers and on some dresses lots of ruffles. The nightgown? A white high cut dress which just falls over her body, some ruffles at the end. 

Also white goth. 

But I also see her in some more chaotic dresses and blouse combinations. Patterns, belts, some layers that only match styled correctly. I would like to say a more Punk style, but I think that is not what would describe it good enough- And that are the clothes for outside. 

Inside it is more simple. Mostly some plain but still cute and pretty dress with some cardigan over it. Or a loose blouse with a long skirt. 

I don't really see pants, maybe in combination with a shorter skirt, but then more like those puffy vintage pants. Maybe for sleeping some shorts but more common is a loose dress. 

Always wanting to look as eternal as possible! 

Accessories are based on the style she is wearing. Nothing too much, they are more like a little detail then a big eyecatcher. 

Not much make-up. But she really likes to bring out the light skin, the eyes and play around with some red tones around the eye and for the lips. Nothing too much, just little accents. She believes in her vampire beauty and doesn't want to ruin it. 

Skincare is a must! Washing the dirt from the day away, massaging the skin and pulling every hair out that is not meant to be there. 

Very picky with what comes on the face. Even the soap needs to be perfectly decided on and dare one of the others touch it. Not even the Partner. No. Hands off. 

To her luck body hair isn't a problem. Light hair and not even much. Still she will rip it out. No shaving because it will grow back too fast and the feeling of the hair growing back is giving her the ick. So it's getting brutally ripped out. 

For the Character I think it won't change much. Probably she will go more on the psychological side. More of the fake crying, Gaslighting, making you feel bad, arguing with you and threatening you but the physical impact is going down a little. 

Still she will get on top of you and stab you with a fork if you piss her off. She's still a vampire so strength isn't the problem. It's more of the “I have a reputation / the role I have to maintain” that holds her from being too physically abusive. Because I see her holding on to the “A girl has to be…” thing. 

Mommy Issues are not going away. She absolutely had a phase where she didn't wanted to look like Cordelia at all but at this point she is back in her “I am the only one looking like her, she must be so proud, that's a gift”. 

She had sewn a dress that resembled Cordelias and she wore it but hated herself in it. She thought it didn't suit her at all and having that much of a cleavage made her uncomfortable. She needs the high-closed clothes. 

NSFW

Moaning mess. Don't argue. 

Extremely sensitive in some areas, so touching them is only allowed by the partner. I see those areas to be her rib/underboob area and the sides of it, the inner thighs are hellish to touch, also the back of her ears. The nape is also sensitive but bearable. 

It is a good 50/50 between pillow princess, absolutely getting lost in the feeling and her having her fun and not letting the other do anything. So either you gonna get caged until she is satisfied or you gonna get tied up and better start praying.

Head between her legs! She will say she hates it and that it isn't even that good, but the moment you get her to agree to it, she wants to bury herself. Gripping tight into the sheets, your hair, anything she can grab and not holding back on the moans. That angelic voice needs to be heard. Extremely sensitive, so even the slowest lick or the way of kisses down there is going to make her shake. 

But that loss of control is what makes her say “I hate it”. Being so lost and surrendered to another one is scary. So if she says yes, she is trusting you with her life. 

She will have her fun with you. Sitting on top, taking control, making you beg. Even when she is a mess herself, the joy and satisfaction of having you surrender is more worth than her pleasure. Or at least that is what you hope. Because the fact she gets off on having you surrender is speaking more for her selfish wishes. 

Will bluntly say if she wants to have Sex. Maybe she will say it in some “romantic” way but the hint is not a hint. Also will drag you to her room. Or just take you wherever you are. It's still Kanato. If the lake is looking good, then the lake it is. (I'm sorry-) 

Bonus

Totally not a lesbian, couple, thing or so— (it totally is) She is jealous on how effortlessly good looking Azusa is in the morning. Hair sitting perfect, skin clear even without daily skincare, and the random shirt that is grabbed for sleeping is hugging her body just right. No business to look like the angles kissed you. 

Female Azusa

Let's start with my angel! Same pacing as before-

Body: I had some trouble with it, but in the end I decided on a kind of hourglass figure, not like 90-60-90 but visible curves, if she would stand straight you could see them. Even tho her hips are more on the wide side her ass isn't that big. More on the smaller side, but still good looking in some pants. Her chest is a big B-Cup to a C-Cup actually, but really showing it is not the vibe. More on accident than on purpose. 

And they are squishy. Perfect pillow, perfect stress ball. 

Hair: Shaggy. It's around the shoulders, in a very layered haircut which just falls good without styling. She got that years ago and never changed it because she really likes to stand up, maybe brush through it and go outside. 

From time to time she will put it into a ponytail or make more volume, but really styling it isn't working for her. She tried it but after burning herself multiple times on the flatiron or the curliron, she stopped. Not because burning herself was a problem, but she learned that she will not get it right.

Also fried her hair off at some point. It was fixable. 

She tends to play with her hair when bored or stressed, so it gets oily very fast which leads her to washing it almost every second day. Also she likes the fluffy feeling it has after washing. 

Clothes: I would say there is a style but there isn't. I like to think she is living the “grab into the wardrobe and take whatever” lifestyle. But mostly it is some comfortable clothes. Knitted sweater, long skirts, loose shirts and some pants. Long cardigans or thin jackets.

Even when she is just grabbing whatever it still has some vibe to it. A creative one. She will put the long skirt over the jeans, if she is feeling like it. It will look chaotic but still kind of cute. It just matched her vibe in general. 

Inside it is mostly a shorts and a shirt. Sometimes a long skirt. At home she wants to be as comfortable as possible. So if the shorts are bothering her, she will take them off. The shirt isn't feeling right? Off with that. A Sports bra is all that's needed. 

Can't bother to put on a real bra. They are not comfortable but also not painful enough. So no need to have them- Either it's a sports bra or nothing. 

She can wear a fancy dress and probably will for the right reason, and she will look fabulous!

For sleeping it's mostly some short shorts or just pantys with some shirt thrown over. Comfortable and easy to remove if it gets too hot.

She wears rings and some thin necklaces. Mostly silver because it is complimenting her skin and eyes. Thought about getting piercings, but mostly just for the pain. 

And the pain it was that got her the chest piercings. 

Sometimes she tries to cover her eyebags but more than that? She can't bother. From time to time Kou does her make-up and it looks amazing, but she herself is not skilled with those brushes. 

Once a week a very hot bath, with some hot towel over the face and some selfcare is the way to go! She doesn't see the point in doing care every day, so washing her face every third day or so must do it. To her luck her skin is good. 

The only thing she keeps up with is waxing herself. And because her hair is actually pretty strong it tends to hurt or bleed from time to time. Nothing she wouldn't like- 

For the character I also don't see that much of a difference. Still bluntly saying every weird thought she has, still cutting open your skin if she wants and asking you to do the same. 

But I think she tends to be a little more clingy. Not annoying, but holding onto your hand, pressing against you if you let her. Being a little puppy. Following around, watching, holding you close. 

NSFW

Service Queen. Your pleasure is hers. 

Soft moans and more whimpers and holding her breath then really moaning out loud. 

Will get off on getting cut and dangerous things. You know those Mafia Dark Romance Gun put inside things? Yes. That. Maybe a knife too- 

Her most sensitive area is her neck and back. Trail kisses down there and she will blush.

Even tho she likes pain and all that, tugging on her nipple piercings isn't her favourite. She likes it more if they are handled carefully, played with a little. The thrill of “maybe they tug on it unexpected” is better for her than the tug itself.

Wants to get overstimulated most of the time. Make her cry. She wants that. 

But you know what she also wants? Overstimulated you. Getting you to have the same good feeling she craves. Pleasing her partner is a hobby for her, she loves to do it and expects praise after it. 

But if you praise her she will do it again and again and again. 

She is living for the thrill, so she will tend to give her body in strangers hands to not know what will happen. Glady she stopped that after having multiple discussions with Ruki and the others about that. 

Wants to try new things from time to time. Mostly things that seem weird or hurtful. 

When she is horny she will let you know. Maybe not saying it directly because it is something she tends to feel embarrassed about because of how random it happens to her, but she will give you hints. 

If you don't get them it's okay, then she will sit through it. 

Bonus

Also totally not a couple thing- (definitely) She thinks that all those complex dresses and hairstyles are hiding the true beauty Kanato has to offer. She prefers her with freshly brushed hair and a comfy skirt or that tight top, over her layered dresses. Nonetheless she loves to watch Kanato getting dressed up. 

[adriixboo]

hear me out fr on a sans x reader idea. like classic sans specifically (bc im a sucker for classic sans idgaf)

y/n's a singer/songwriter, an artist, a performer even😈 but like, this is the hear me out, the songs that y/n releases kind of goes everywhere yk? like some are similar to songs like "Black Out Days (Future Islands remix)" to stuff that sounds like some of 6arelyhuman's or Odetari.

sometimes it's stuff that's similar to Deftones, something like James Marriott, and Jack Stauber.

do you see where i'm going with this?? no honestly am i making sense?

what i mean is, the genres change and y/n doesn't have a main one, ofc they have their favorite genre pero like yeah😞😞

like this has been on my MINDDD for a while. each time i listen to music, i end up thinking about it and it's rotting my brain.

sometimes i like to think y/n visiting Grillby's on the surface and Grillby has TVs or speakers in the corners that connect with bluetooth. i like to think that Fuku is a HUGE fan of y/n and basically takes over the music at Grillby's at any given chance. ofc she would play other music that matches the vibes at the bar/grill (lmao, grill), but more often than not, she's usually playing y/n's music (songs that fit whatever vibe, like the "Black Out Days" remix i mentioned)

y/n walks into Grillby's wearing something with a hood (hood up) and sunglasses a little tired and wants to relax for a bit. they go sit at the bar on a barstool and realizes that their song is playing in the background and is basically like ":D omg"

when grillby goes to ask for their order, he recognizes them (because of Fuku lol) and he's calm about it, obviously yk, and he mentions Fuku being a fan.

let's assume Fuku's either busy with someone else at the bar, away from the barstools, or somewhere in the back. and since y/n's all for making people happy, they ask to meet Fuku and thank her for supporting them big time and to basically surprise her, cuz who wouldn't be surprised and happy to see their fav artist??? and the singer being genuinely friendly and happy that they met a fan????? personally i'd fold but anyway. Fuku's all excited and y/n is just so "🥰🥰🥰" about her bc she's adorable

in this scenario i think sans is also a fan of y/n but on a more lowkey level, bc it's sans.

---

im not great at writing 😭 so i can't necessarily write a one shot or anything,, like i have the imagination, but can't put it in words

i have more ideas about this, like y/n meeting the monsters in different ways and i would love to share more (im gonna do it anyway, eventually)

[honeyjars-sims]

3.29 The Elephant

Even though I’m feeling better about Lexie and her friends working with me, there’s still a little awkwardness. It’s the elephant in the room that we’re all trying to ignore, but the close proximity makes it hard to overlook.

Lucy is relying on me a lot to help the students out, and after our talk I’m really trying to prove that I can be counted on. That means putting my personal feelings aside–whatever they are–and doing the best that I can.

I’m still trying to work out exactly how I feel about Lexie. It’s been so long since we broke up now, but in some ways it still feels like the wound is fresh. I can’t decide if my behavior over the summer was me numbing my pain or if I was wallowing in it. At any rate, I was finally starting to feel happy and hopeful for my future when my past basically showed up on my doorstep.

I’ve been thinking about Lacey, too. I wonder if I would have ended up asking her out if Lexie hadn’t shown up? Maybe it’s for the best that I haven’t. I needed a wake-up call to help me realize I still have some shit to work out. I don’t want to set myself up for failure by starting a relationship before I’m ready.

The Lacey factor has only added to the awkwardness, though, since she’s been picking up on the vibes between me and my old friends. “So are you friends with them?” She asks, gesturing towards the students.

“Or were you friends with them?” Lilly questions.

“Kind of both, I guess,” I say. “We hung out a lot when we had classes together, but I haven’t seen them in a while."

“That makes sense,” Lacey responds. “It just seems a little…tense at times.”

I know I need to choose my words carefully. I’m getting tired of lying to make myself look better but I’m not the only person involved in this situation. I try to remember what I’ve learned in therapy about maintaining boundaries. 

“Sometimes friendships can get complicated, but there’s no ill will there,” I explain. “Anyway, I respect everyone here so I don’t really want to talk behind anyone’s back.”

“Hmm, that’s a bit of a pageant answer, but I guess I’ll accept it,” says Lilly.

“Or maybe he’s just not petty,” Lacey counters. She turns to me, laying her hand on my arm. “I think that’s really respectable.”

“Well, they’re all great people. I think they’ll fit in really well.”

I try to imagine what things will be like a few years from now. My relationship with Lexie will be a distant memory and all of the negative feelings will be long gone. I hope by then that we’re friends and we’re both where we’re meant to be.

Sometime between now and then we’re going to have to have a very awkward–and probably painful–conversation, and I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.

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