#something with this theme probably already exists but still

[rowanthestrange]

Poppy was always Real theory:

So there’s someone here with a theory that Belinda ALWAYS had a child to go back to. We do primary investigation in this house, so while it sounds like there might be an associated video, I’m not watching it, barely read the post, because if this holds water we should be able to get to it from that concept alone.

Hypothesis: Belinda ALWAYS was supposed to have a child to go back to, and we STARTED in a wonky reality where she didn’t.

Starting with the obvious: If so, that would be poorly signposted. Agree. However would fit with my reasoning as to why the additional pickups were needed: that it was simply that because of the delays, which would end up with future filming being potentially two years later than planned, the actress for Poppy was now going to age out of the role, and they had to hastily wrap up her story instead of following the original plan. And in my opinion it’s notable that they chose to rush add an ending for her with Belinda, where the obvious answer is…she just disappeared. That’s fine. So therefore it was theme relevant enough to go and film a whole thing for it in light of being unable to have the extra episodes to resolve it otherwise. Poppy being with Belinda at the end mattered more to the Themes than just leaving her as a thing that vanished.

With that being said, I think it would make sense to analyse this through the lens of an intention of a two series plot, where the result of an entire second series plot/subplot would have to be crushed into whatever pickup shots you could do to fit in whatever ending space you had available. (Which is why if he did do this, that was obviously going to be stupid and risky — no matter how much he loves a risk — without a greenlight. Though of course I blame the BBC entirely for its decision to remove our funding and so leave us to the Disney wolves in the first place. Personally? If I had to, I think I’d take the risk of audience confusion (and potential allegations of racism) and found a similar enough looking kid to recast. Okay she’s had closeups but certainly it’ll be fuzzy for any casual viewer in a year or so, and anyone catching up later all in one go could probably make the logical leap. But I’m not in TV and I’d trust a more experienced person to their call.

My points are in a non-specific order, just labelling them for ease of discussion/rebuttal.

a) Mundy does end up looking after a child. However, that child is also not her own, which feels more fitting with ��reality rewritten for Poppy rather than her always being the case. Both Mundy and Poppy have Same Face Syndrome (though Poppy going all the way to her name - also significant as it does mean remembrance.)

b) What would have made the reality wonky? The Doctor mentions there was already a Time Schism (Edit: Fracture) that he’d “closed”. We did note this as weird. We know something glitchy went on.

c) While we get no talk of children, in Robot Revolution, we do have the Weird Schrödinger’s Baby-Cat. 

d) Lux does have a key plot point of a woman whose child has gone missing. Who also in a fake reality shopped the Doctor to the police. Mirroring works.

e) The Well. We have a woman alleging she desperately needs to go home to get back to her child.

f) In the Story And The Engine we get a glimpse of Poppy herself. Perhaps the glitch could also be from the reality where Poppy existed.

g) Wish World and The Reality War give us Poppy there. And the Doctor is suddenly very convinced that Poppy is REAL. We don’t really understand what that meant beyond him wishing really hard.

h) Hypothetically then, the original Reality War final ~15 minutes, would have been them going back to what we think was reality, Belinda maybe thinking something’s missing, maybe we get some Poppy glitches noticed by her or Ruby. We are left with the characters uncertain but the audience more sure that actually we’re still in a rewritten reality: hence the teal etc, this reality is still wrong. But it’s ultimately for a future episode that we dig into the fact that reality wasn’t right even from the beginning.

Is this enough?

I think it’s possible. However, if true, I think you could have done better with the introduction. A sign she’s already feeling like she’s missing something in her life, maybe she interacts with a kid patient in the hospital, maybe she gets a bit babytalky with people and she catches herself and apologises etc.

There are also some counters which aren’t just handwaveable by saying they’re trying to make the reveal not too signposted (which is stupid to do btw). Like we see Belinda’s descendant. Now you could argue that maybe that’s a ‘for’ because it happened last series if you believe the shift came after that, but then we still have the scene of the Doctor genetically compare them in what should presumably be the Poppyless world. Would it be possible she just has a kid later, sure, but why would you include a thing that confirms she has a descendant in a story that’s about how her child disappeared? The natural way to write it would be that he goes to compare and then can’t find Mundy’s information anymore. Which would serve the double feature of ‘is she literally Mundy and has lost her memories’, but also by logical conclusion deletes ANOTHER child from the story.

And I stand by my reasoning paragraphs of why you might change the story because you literally have to due to actor age, but…assuming we all understand how this is supposed to more or less mirror the Doctor’s child in future… I think it would be just as valid to show us the option where she is written out of reality. An ending where Belinda does feel that something’s wrong and missing, but in the end just goes about her life as a doctor nurse. I don’t think she needs to have the opposite ‘good’ ending, it can be a straight mirror. Obviously I can’t truly know cus I haven’t seen his future plans, but I think I’d prioritise ultimate coherence over original intention, even if it leaves with the opposite end. Polar Opposite and Same endings both work meta-thematically.

(Though to note, he clearly does work with the darkness that this ending adds - you needn’t have Belinda’s last words be saying she feels like she’s missing something otherwise. So if this theory is the case, it wasn’t just taking an ending from series ‘3’ and just slotting it in. It knows what it looks like and is willing to work with it.)

I suppose the only difference that this might make would be saying that we’ve been operating in Reality2 all along rather than Reality1, but this change now puts us in Reality1. But…I just don’t think it’s that necessary? Especially if there’s going to be 4th wall breaks and all sorts. I can’t imagine that difference can be too stark story-wise if it hasn’t caused us major problems til now. Unless it /has/ and Ruby now doesn’t exist or something, but honestly, I feel like you could handwave that. Cus as it stands the audience interprets us as being in a new rewritten reality, not reality prime anyway, even if that was the intention, so you’re not getting what you want either way.

I understand the belief you could maybe wrap this up in some reshoots before she gets too old, but I think that was the devil talking. That was the peril of going for subtlety and believing you had time to delicately build up the layers, nope, needed to go in with more coverage from the start cus it turns out you only have a few hours to paint this room, not days. And you could have forseen that because you know the owner of the house is fickle and refused to pay you for your work before. Now the wall’s all patchy. Poorly executed.

I think at the moment, without some more meta behind it (that is an invitation by the way), that I come down as saying that is a Valid interpretation. However it isn’t enough to say that the main interpretation that Poppy is just created wholesale and slotted into a new reality with Belinda is Wrong. As the story currently stands, I think both reads are acceptable.

Schrödinger’s reality.

[strawberrie-jaem]

hmm orv au where gamer yjh fans vaguely spot kdj in the background and try to track him across social media.

they discover that he only exists on the internet across a bunch of random videos, almost ALL from famous celebrities and influencers. Everyone who knows someone can't figure out who this man is irl. But he has a nice voice and all his acquaintances seem to be some degree of obsessed with him.

[authorscurse]

No one understood why you chose Ryomen Sukuna as your boyfriend out of everyone you could have chosen instead. Not even your family, friends, or coworkers knew why.

You are the kind of girl who loved having ribbons in her hair and made sure it matched with the color of your outfit. The kind of girl who watched and read about soft and romantic lovestories that could only exist in books and movies. The kind of girl who wouldn't have fallen for the notorious Ryomen Sukuna!

"Do you think he blackmailed her to be his girlfriend?"

"Do you think he paid her?"

"He probably threatened her,"

No, no, and no! Sukuna never did any of that!

"I just fell for him, that's it," you always answered whenever someone asked. And still, no one understood it. Not until they saw the way Sukuna treated you.

You had a bad habit of biting your nails, sometimes you never knew you were actually biting your nails until someone pointed it out.

One time you decided to visit your parents with Sukuna just because they were staying at your grandparents house while they were in the city.

You sat with your parents in the living room watching whatever was on the TV and that's when Sukuna noticed something from the corner of his eye. You were slowly bringing up your fingers to your mouth, ready to bite.

Instead of loudly pointing it out and embarrass you, he immediately took your hand in his to prevent you from biting them. The action was small and barely noticeable but your parents noticed.

You were known to always ribbons in your hair no matter the occasion and you made sure the color and theme of your bow matched your outfit.

While out with your friends, your boyfriend and theirs followed closely behind while you girls roamed around the mall choosing what to buy.

"Kuna, look!" You showed Sukuna a beautiful red silk dress that had a slit that would sit at your right thigh. Your friends watched as Sukuna nodded and grabbed the dress from your hand and placed it inside your basket without any comment.

When it was time to check out, a matching red ribbon was inside your basket that you never picked up or placed inside it. Your eyes widen and showed Sukuna, "did you get that?" You asked even if you already knew the answer. Sukuna clicked his tongue while giving the cashier his credit card. "'Course I did, who else would've put it there if you didn't?" He responded.

You only smiled sweetly before placing a kiss in his cheek. Of course you both had eyes watching you closely, despite the Sukuna's sassy reply his actions was sweet and small, but your friends noticed.

You loved the raining, but you get sick so easily so Sukuna hated (not really) having to take care of you while you were sick after you disobeyed his orders of not playing in the rain. It was raining when Sukuna picked you up at your office's exit.

He had you raincoat under his arm and he helped you get it on you. "Kuna," you started but before you can utter the words Sukuna already knew what you'll be asking.

"No," he cut you off, pulling the strings of your raincoat to fully cover you. "But Kuna—" you reasoned but Sukuna was not having it. "You'll get whiny and teary eyed when you get sick and I'll have to deal with all of it," Sukuna says buttoning up the last button on your raincoat. "Please," you begged, you pulled off your best puppy eyes and Sukuna tried to resist but the longer you stared at him the shorter his resistance held on.

Sukuna could only sigh and watch you smile widely while taking the hood of your raincoat and ran. Sukuna sighs loudly and trailed behind you. The next day, Sukuna called your office to tell them you were sick from what? Playing in the rain.

The whole day Sukuna took care of you, clearly the opposite of what he said to you a day prior. After getting better, you walked back to work all well and energised.

"I'm okay now. My boyfriend took great care of me," you told everyone who asked how you were doing. Your coworkers noticed that you were much more cheerful than before. You think your coworkers wouldn't notice, but they did.

Again, no one really understood why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much. But you did. The subtly actions, the concern and care under the sassy tone, and of course the actions hidden behind closed doors.

Others just really need to look closely to see why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much.

[thepradapariah]

Mars ☄️ and Your Sexxx Language 🐱💋✨

QUICK MESSAGE TO THE BADDIES

HELLO!!!! To all of my sweet, sweet Kosmic Baddies, Oh!! How I’ve missed you!

I cannot believe it’s been over a FRIGGIN year, but GOODNESS….believe me, when I say this past year has been a roller coaster for me, I truly mean it. I can only imagine what’s been going on in your lives as well. Just TOO MUCH!!!1111!!!!!111!!!!!1 But welcome to 2024! A universal 8 year and the year of the Dragon!!! WE IN THIS THANNNNGGG!!!! Hard work, discipline and accountability is the theme, and we can’t lose!!!!!

Believe it or not, I actually STARTED writing this to have to you for Halloween, but ummmm….this is looking like a Valentine’s Day post instead! HA!!!! Blame it on my Saturn in Pisces– my relationship to time is….non existent. But, I think this timing is better anyways. The theme is very fitting so we are going to turn apples into oranges.

***Even funnier update, now it’s past Valentine’s Day….GOODNESS!!! This has been the longest it’s taken me to write anything. Like…INSANE. Almost 6 months I’ve been steadily working on this!

Thank you to those who have continued to support me! Thank you to those who have continued to share and interact with my post through my…let’s say, hiatus! I am planning to put more energy and effort into this blog post. I LOVE writing for y’all, it is really one of my favorite things in the world.

I am going to take a moment to apologize in advance and say, the typos are probably going to be real with this one. Because I’ve been working on it for so long, I’m just ready to get it out, so it won’t be my cleanest work. I will probably be updating and editing, so bare with me!

🕯 INTRODUCTION 🕯

Sooooo….where to start? I wanted to do something fun and interesting this go round because I missed y’all so much, but I also wanted to do something light so I could get back into the rhythm of writing again….aaaaaaaaaand I thought you would enjoy something a little smexiiiii as we move into cuddle buddy season. So, in this post, we are going to talk about Mars and Your Sexxx language.

One day, as I was driving around town, it dawned on me that we always talk about Love Languages (check out my Mercury post if you haven’t already) and we never talk about sex languages. And y’all know me, and if you don’t know, you’ll soon find out, I am a Bharani moon (atmakaraka at that); and the blending between Mars and Venus is my soul’s most valuable asset to share with the world…(Did I mention my moon is the 11th House?) Sex is one of the most taboo topics (in Western puritan culture, at least), yet such a powerful resource in our human tool box and it’s ridiculously important in our relationships. The 7th House is followed by the 8th House for a reason. Intimacy, of course not always sexual, is what leads to self-discovery, the 9th House. So we cannot overlook the important step that is sexual relations. Even the word “orgasm” means “little death” and death baby, is as close as you get to God. (See how those houses flow together so well?) Hence why things such as Tantra are a sexual AND religious experience all in one. Don’t be fooled by western/christian ideals into thinking that sex is unholy or ungodly. If you think Jesus was a virgin, think again. I mean, what’s the point of turning water into wine if you’re just going to roll over and go to sleep? Y’know what I mean?

Don’t worry! If you’re a less experienced reader, and haven’t engaged in aaaaallll thhhaattt… this post is still for you! In fact, this is one of the reasons I love astrology so much, because hopefully this post will give you some context about yourself and what your SOUL craves, not just your body, so when you do start “doing the do” you can be spiritually comfortable with your wants and desires instead of ashamed or even afraid of them.

Not to put all my business on the street…but, hey, I love y’all, so I won’t keep too many secrets from you (mercury in the 8th, HA)…but, I had to do quite a bit of bumping and grinding to discover what my soul needs in an intimate relationship and I wish there was more of “guide” for me on that journey! So HERE…I’m giving it to you!

WHAT IS A SEX LANGUAGE? 😈

To be completely honest, a “sex language” isn’t something as defined as a love language, so please, bear with me as we discover this together. Please feel free to share any experiences or insight with me. Although I may not always respond, I TRULY appreciate you taking the time to share with me. I try to read everything that I can!

I’m defining sex language as how one creates and shares intimacy in their close relationships. This is particularly expressed through physical interactions and outward expressions. Mars is a planet that governs our passions, drives and desires, meaning our sex language is guided by what we deeply want and crave from our partners on a spiritual level. Venus represents more of the external notions that we have for love and relationships, while Mars represents our internal needs from love and relationships. Mars is inherently a more personal and “self-centered” planet, so interestingly enough, your sex language is all about you! I go as far to say, when you find a partner, don’t forget to check your Mars compatibility as well. If you have extremely incompatible Mars signs, you will have to do a lot more work in the relationship to overcome the constant friction. Moreover, if you have more compatible Mars signs, then WOOOO BABY, the sexual tension could be off the charts!

✨ ABOUT MARS ✨

Mars placements won’t make or break a relationship, per say, but it is a very important layer to help maintain a relationship. How many of you have heard of sexless marriages and people being unsatisfied in their relationships in a sexual way? Does that mean the couples always break-up because of the lack of sex or chemistry? No…..But does it help a HECK OF A LOT when you are wildly attracted to your partner? YES! (Of course this isn’t always a good thing…but for the sake of this post, we are only talking about rainbows and sunshine.) Just keep this in mind as you start to use this knowledge in your journey. Mars is a really important planet that is easy to overlook because it’s not in the Big Three! (Yet, it iiissss the natural ruler of the 1st House).

WHY IT ALL MATTERS 🌚

I truly believe there is a shift in the collective and many couples are going to be coming into union over the course of the next year or so. Why? Because Ketu is FINALLY transitioning out of Libra and entering Virgo. If you’ve noticed, we’ve seen quite a bit of celebrity break-ups and covid relationships coming to a screeching halt. Hence why I say, if you’ve been single, or haven’t been in a serious connection in the last few years or even ever, now is the time that your next partner might be going through some significant ending with an ex. Union is on the horizon for a lot of souls who have been doing theeee spiritual work. That’s why I couldn’t think of a better topic to get started to set the mooooooooood. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

So without further ado, let’s get into the nitty gritty. I’m going to do something different and start with Mars in Pisces/12th House and work backwards to Mars in Aries/1st House! I thought “Hey! Why not switch it up a bit? Pisces shouldn’t be forced to scroll ALL the time!”

***Note: If you’re feeling extra spicy, you can read for whatever sign is in your 1st House and 8th House as well because those are traditionally Mars ruled Houses. And you can read for your 12H, because the 12H is also the house of bedroom pleasures! Always keep in mind that we are complex creatures and astrology is like a puzzle, so it’s okay for some things to resonate and other things to not. Learn as many perspectives as possible so you can define yourself!

With Love & Lust,

Enjoy!

A-D 💋

Mars in Pisces/Mars in the 12th House

“Cut me like a rose, turn me like a beast” Only- Ry X

If your natal Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you may actually have a hard time knowing what your desires are. Why? Because Mars can feel as if it’s drowning in the deep spiritual waters of Pisces. Your wants can be quite dreamy. You crave a sexual experience that transcends space and time, forcing you to leave your body and touch God himself in ecstasy. (I’m a western Mars in Pisces, so…I get it). When it comes to your sex language, you want your partner to just get “you”. You don’t want to have to explain or talk or direct, you’d rather just receive and give a special type of unconditional love that knows no bounds. Because of this “boundless love”, you may actually, literally, lack boundaries. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, so we are going to focus on the positive. You are truly accepting of those who are accepting of you. Because Pisces is a mutable sign, you are willing to fit into whatever box your partner wants to put you in…and you receive great pleasure from making a deep seeded fantasy of your partner come true. You could be just as playful and imaginative when it comes to role-playing as a Gemini.

Because Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you’ll find that a lot of partners will project their wishes and dreams onto you. Hence why you want a love that is really deep, because people can get washed away in the shallow end of your energy without ever fully realizing how deep your waters flow. This can be frustrating. And because Mars isn’t the most comfortable here, you can have some unhealthy ways of expressing your sexual frustration. Particularly if your Mars is in the 12H, you can be attracted to self-gratification through self-pleasure and also self-harm. You may even conflate the two, harm & pleasure, and have a dark side to your sexual fantasies. Your passions and desires can end up being repressed because people may not understand them, or be able to meet your high expectations. Amd babes, I love you, but just know, your expectations out of partnership are OTHERWORLDLY. But no worries!! You are SUPER DUPER freaky and almost a guaranteed partner that will go down in history books, particularly after you get comfortable in your own sensuality.

One of the things to watch out for with this Mars, is you can be passive-aggressive in the bedroom. You can take a more passive role, expecting and energetically demanding that your partner take the lead. You may not realize you even give off this energy, but the internal need that you have to dissolve into your partner, like sugar into water, can be very intense. And the gag is, sugar doesn’t really fully dissolve, so what you’re seeking can be impossible to satisfy on the earthly plane. Because of this, it is IMPERATIVE for you to have spiritual outlets within your sexual connections. It may be that you and your partner practice Tantra, or you simply pray together. With this Mars, you can absolutely use sex as a tool for manifestation. Watch your thoughts during sex, because you truly can create MAGIK!

Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th House

“I believe in aliens, I don’t believe in love” Familiarity by Teezo Touchdown

If your natal Mars is in Aquarius or the 11th House, you are something special. Why? Because out of all the signs, you are the most unique lover. I KNOW!!! How friggin’ cliche, Aquarius=Unique, blah blah blah…boring. YES! It’s said all the time, but it’s the truth. In Vedic Astrology, it is important to note that Aquarius is ruled by Saturn and Rahu. This is hugely impactful as to why you are unlike anyone else. Even as you read this, you won’t be exactly like the next person reading this, because the Saturn Rahu combination can be influenced by so many different factors. Aquarians are the hardest sign to write for in general, simply because you are going to be very individualist when it comes to how you express yourself. Now, all that being said, you still crave, very deeply, a sense of belonging. So please, don’t ever take for granted how special you are. If someone is lucky enough to break through your hard exterior, they really are in for an extraterrestrial experience!

Because Mars is in an air sign here, you may or may not be the most sensual and/or sexual person on the planet. You could be. But you could not be. And that is the gift…or curse…of this Mars placement. I have Mars in Aquarius myself, and I remember reading an article that said “this placement can be infuriating to your partner because you are so nonchalant.” And I can definitely say I’ve lost relationships because the other party assumed I was disinterested because I wasn’t the most expressive when it came to my emotions. It’s important to remember that Mars in Aquarius/11H is actually a neutral placement. It isn’t a death sentence or the worst thing on the planet, but it’s not necessarily the best. So don’t be too hard on yourself if your partners don’t understand you very easily. You will just have to do more work to learn how to communicate and accommodate in your relationships. This may be something that follows you throughout life…and forget your partner….it could be infuriating to you! BUT NO WORRIES! Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th house is usually more concerned with developing and nurturing friendships, which seems to contradict the more lustful side of Mars. Longing for friendship and connection versus longing for sensual pleasure and connection can be seen as two different things.

What Mars in Aquarius/11H wants more than anything is L. O. Y. A. L. T. Y. Because this Mars placement can grant so much freedom, it is imperative for the person with this placement to feel safe and secure in the sexual relationship they are building. This is NOT to be confused with possession. Expecting loyalty from a partner isn’t the same as feeling as if you own your partner. You believe that your partner should have freedom to express and live their life the way they want to, and you expect the same in return. However, you do expect your partner to consider you when they make their decisions in life. It is very much “give a dog a bone, leave a dog alone, let a dog roam and he’ll find his way home” (S/o DMX, may he rest in peace). Meaning, in your sexual language, you want your space and privacy, but you want to feel a belonging no matter how far away you are from your partners.

NOW, for the fun stuff. You are one of the most explorative lovers on the planet. You may have a “the more the merrier” type attitude and be interested in group smexii time or oragies. You may have a dream to experience Amsterdam and the Red Light District. The beauty in having your Mars in an air sign/house is that you can remain detached from the sexual experience and partner– therefore, you may not experience jealousy because you aren’t super possessive. Again, you’re all about freedom baby!!! You may also have some pretty “far-out” kinks. You may be interested in different genders, or same gender, or mix gender or no gender or latex or pantyhoes or dress up or furries or hentai or tentacle porn….and if you’re not into it, chances are you will at least click a questionable link or two. You don’t carry the same shame as others do when it comes to what turns you on sexually. You don’t like anything boring or too routine, so your search history could be a bit…odd….BUT HEY!!! As long as it’s not hurting anyone or anything and pleasure is being derived from all parties involved, then let adults do what adults do is kind of your attitude.

Friendship is the key to your heart…and to your…uh…biological box….lol. When it comes to long-term relationships, I can bet my bottom dollar that you’re far more interested in the friendship aspects than the inherent relationship drama. When your friends ask “why are you still dealing with them”, you will follow up with “well, we are friends before anything else.” And you mean that deeply. The really funny thing is…on the other hand, you are also very likely to get down with complete strangers and never think about it again. You can hook-up and detach with the best of them, or your loyalty to a confidant can keep you in a relationship for a very long time…it. Just. depends.

The one thing that is true about your sex language, is that you speak ALL different kinds. When you look back at your life and your experiences, if you are more of an adventurous Aquarian, lets say you have a lot of air and fire in your chart, you will most likely have all kinds of stories from all different people and places. You will be one of the most interesting partners and friends to talk to about all the mixed bags of experiences that you’ve had..which is awesome. If your Mars in Aquarius/11H is paired with a more “earthy” sign or even water, you will most likely have a rom-com type love thing happening…that tugging “will they/won’t they” energy at the beginning of relationships, only to fall head over heals with the “guy/gal next door”. You may also find your sexual partners online, in a group setting or be hooked up by natural friends. “How’d you meet?” “Oh, I heard from a friend of a friend that that d*ck is a ten out of ten!”

Mars in Capricorn or Mars in the 10th House

“My vicious love, My lethal heart, I wanna screw you up into me” - Bad Bad Bad by Ramsey

If your natal Mars is in Capricorn or in the 10th House, then your sexual language is money, money…and….uh….more money. I kid, I kid…but not really. It would be easy and predictable for me to say you just lust after money, but it goes much deeper than that. Believe it or not, Mars is actually exalt in Capricorn, so, you couldn’t have a better Mars placement. Your natural ruler Saturn and Mars truly are the best of friends. And if you’re familiar with Tarot, then you know The Devil represents Capricorn energy and The Devil is all about seduction and temptation. Unlike some of the more dreamy Mars placements like Pisces/12H or Cancer 4H that use their sexual language as an escape from reality, or the detached air placements like Gemini/3H or Aquarius/11H, who are too aloof to harness Mars’ energy, YOU my Capricorn/10H individuals are acutely aware of how powerful the nature of sex can be…and most importantly, how it can be used to your advantage.

To the average person on the street, you may not seem like the super sexual type. You prefer a sophisticated lover to a “cute” one, so people can assume that your standards are too high. And perhaps, your standards are high, because you understand the value of your presence and your time. In fact, you HATE wasting time, so why would you waste time on lovers who don’t bring anything to the table? Sadly, for most of the public, they won’t ever have the experience to be with a Capricorn/10H Mars because quite frankly, they can’t afford it.

Funnily enough, I’m sure as you’ve been reading this, you’re like “dang…am I that shallow?” And the answer is yes and no. You’re shallow because we live in a shallow world– and you know in order to survive it, you have to use what you got to get what you want. The other side of this is, you’re not shallow at all because you are willing to work and discipline yourself and sacrifice for those that you truly care about. There is such a depth to you in the long run, that it makes sense that you make it really difficult for people to get to you. Because you know and I know, once you’ve committed to someone, you’ve committed for as long as you possibly can. Your sexual language is all about stamina and endurance. This is true in and and out of the bedroom. As an earth sign/house, you are a sensual being. You enjoy each and every bit of romance that you can get. A nice meal, some good perfume, dressed to the nines is all considered foreplay to you. You entice your partners with a certain dignified class and only the brave will approach. In your younger years, you could find this extremely frustrating at times because men will really have to get their sh*t together before they can even THINK to approach you on that level. But the more that you use your Mars to get you where you want to be in life, partners will follow behind you and constantly buzz around as if you are the Queen Bee and they are mere workers for your attention.

Funnily enough, you are quite the heart-breaker with this Mars placement. Because you are so focused on your goals outside of love, and yet, you can crave sensual pleasures, you will be very direct with a partner, but they may not be aware of how serious you take yourself. How can this manifest? Let’s say you meet a partner and everything is groovy, but you are working on a big project for work, you’re working on a degree of some kind, or you’ve said you won’t rest until you make partner at the big company…unlike other Mars placements, you won’t let romance sway you or take you off track. You are probably the best example of “right person, wrong time”. You don’t have as much of an issue as other signs walking away from a situation that is distracting you from your more worldly desires. This can leave people utterly confused, because you seem like a perfect partner, but honestly, you’re just not focused on aaaalll the drama that can come with fully committed relationships. People may actually take this energy and say that you’re a player…or worse…a floozy (one of my favorite words lol, definitely needs to make a comeback). You actually aren’t. You will be one of the most committed partners they could find, but if it’s not the right time…it just ain’t happening. So your partners will have to maintain some level of patience or they will miss out. On the other hand, because Mars is a planet of extremes, you may go through periods in life where you are celebate. It may take you awhile to stop channeling that Martian ambitious energy into your career and put it towards your sexuality. That being said, you will enjoy the more sensual side of sex. You could have great stamina and endurance. Because sex may not come around as often as you’d like, you will learn to savor every drop of your partners and please them in a calculated, thoughtful and masterful way! How smeeexxxiiiiiii!!!!!

Mars in Sagittarius or Mars in the 9th House

“I’ve been everywhere, man, looking for someone. Someone who can please me, love me all night long” Where Have You Been by Rihanna

If your natal Mars is in Sagittarius or the 9th House, your sexual language is that of many languages. You fall in love with the exotic, unknown and unexplored. You like your partners like James Bond likes his cars– foreign. You appreciate partners who expand your understanding of reality. Your partners have to expand your mind…and body…into positions that you never thought were possible. If you don’t attract partners who are of a different race, culture or class from you, then you will be attracted to partners who are otherworldly and spiritual or are just as serious about their religious beliefs as you are. Like Mars in Pisces/12H, your planet is ruled by the planet Jupiter, aka Guru. You NEED to learn from your partner. You NEED to explore with your partner. And you NEED to be able to teach your partners something as well. “I wanna know…can you show me…I wanna know about the strangers like me”...It’s giving…Tarzan and Jane. I have Mars in the 9th House, and it has manifested in a very fun way! So with my bias, I believe that this can be one of the more fun placements if you just go with the flow. Unlike other Mars placements, you don’t necessarily feel the need to control your partners. You’d much rather experience them, learn the lesson and move on to the next new shiny thing. Much like your brother, Gemini, you are equally as invested in getting the knowledge and seeking more knowledge. You of all signs are unlikely to overstay your welcome in a relationship. You can come off quite restless and unsatisfied…UNLESS you are just fascinated and enamored with an individual.

You can find yourself attracted to people who have accents, or speak a different language than you. But you will be even more turned on by someone who shares the same religious beliefs as you. You may actually be willing to convert religions for your partner OR, and this is more likely, you have a partner who is a different religion than you are, and instead of being ashamed by it, or making it an obstacle, you embrace it– ultimately respecting their religion, while maintaining the traditions of your own.

You will naturally desire to travel with your partner. Making some of your favorite memories in life when you made-love in some far off land. If the sentence, “I made love to a Frenchman I met while eating a baguette at the local cafe under the Eiffel tower and I’ll never see him again, but he’s the love of my life” turns you on…congratulations, you’re in the right spot.

This Mars placement is fueled by your deepest desire to see the world and its deepest truth, and then just imagine how much you can learn about the world through the lens of an intimate partner. Your sexual language, like I said earlier, involves language in and of itself. You want to hear the stories of distants lands, fascinated by the foreign nature of your divine counterpart. You will want to be intimate with partners who can speak for hours and hours about their adventures and endeavors. You need to be intrigued at the very least.

I also find that with this placement, there may be an age difference in your relationships. You either will be attracted to someone who is much older and wiser, OR, interesting enough, you could find yourself with someone younger. Why is this? You will appreciate a person who still has zest for life. You will be equally attracted to partners who are bright eyed and bushy tailed! Plus, I know I’ve talked a lot about your partner entertaining and teaching you, but the truth of the matter is, you will want to be as much of a sage to your partner as well. You will enjoy teaching them the ways of life and the pursuit of happiness. They will look to you with eyes of wonder as you paint beautifully vivid pictures of your life experiences that have shaped your view of the world.

Another element to this Mars placement, is you are one to challenge authority. This may manifest in your sex language by liking to explore BDSM culture in some way. Because this Mars is all about freedom, you may be turned on by the thought of your partner controlling you…just so you can say no. You can come off as a “well, make me”...kind of lover when it comes to foreplay. You love a challenge and you like partners who challenge you in some way when it comes to living out your sexual fantasies. Another way this may come out is you AND your partner may have a knack for getting into trouble or enjoying sex with some kind of risk involved. You get off being able to sneak away for a quickie. You’ll have sex in the backseat of a car. Joining the mile club is definitely on your bucket list…all the things! Because you are such a rebel, you tell stories that have “normies” clutching their pearls and leave their mouths open. You want to have memorable sex that is worth writing a book about!!!

I can not drive home enough how spiritual your sexual relationships have the potential to be. You are not a shallow lover. You are a lover full of wonder and full of lust…wanderlust…if you will. Sagittarius/9H is a very serious zodiac/house. You're destined to seek truth– so your sexual partners HAVE to enlighten you in some way. You don’t want to get stuck in the mundane, boring stuff of a relationship, (and please, don’t get too carried away, because we do live on planet earth!) you want to experience shrooms, talk about God and make love in the forest! Smexxiiii!!!!

Mars in Scorpio or Mars in the 8th House

“Every breath you take, every move you make, every smile you fake, every single day, I’ll be watching you” Every Breath You Take by Sting

Okay, okay, it would be all too easy to say your love language is stalking, and more stalking and even more stalking, but…that’s only a small fraction of what this Mars placement has to offer. If your natal Mars is placed in Scorpio or in your 8th House, your sexual language is that of raw passion and intensity. That being said, it is also about restraint and self-restriction, and sometimes self destruction. I tend to find Scorpionic energy and 8H energy to be radically internal. You, actually, may not be the most expressive lover. You are more comfortable waiting, studying and planning to pursue a lover, rather than going in full force. Because Mars is your natural ruler, Mars is more than comfortable here, but unlike your brother sign, Aries, you are more of the “planning” part of war, rather than action. This is the strategy of self-defense more than anything. You don’t want to walk into an intimate situation to be intimate yourself, you want to extract vulnerability from your partner like a detective solving a murder crime. Your sex language is more of a riddle than a question. And you would like a partner who intrigues you and leaves a lot of mystery. In my many many years of dating, and many many encounters with Scorpionic energy (I attract them like flies…it’s crazy) I always find that Scorpios are nowhere near as mysterious or hard to figure out as they perceive. Behind all that black and dark stares and gazed is usually a pretty pretty boring, but shy person. There is such a caution with this sign when it comes to acting on those very deep and sometimes all consuming desires, so you are very careful to not put yourself in harm's way. Another hot take that I have on this placement that may seem a bit contradictory to the Scorpionic stereotype is YES YES YES, you are smexxxxiiii and all of the things, but that doesn’t necessarily make you the most sexual person. You take intimacy and sexy very seriously, more seriously than most, because for you intimacy and vulnerability can be used against you and be seen as a weakness, so you are hard pressed to just be going around willy-nilly swinging from partner to partner. You also view sex/intimacy as more of a “power” thing than a “love” thing. And what do I mean by that? You know that deep intimacy and truly being intertwined with another individual gives you an unreal amount of access to that person on a personal and spiritual level. It is always important to remember where Scorpio/8H lines up in the grand scheme of things. It follows the Libra/7H of partnership. The 8H is actually the house that dictates how a relationship will play out. This. Is. Imperative. To understand this placement. You are far more focused on how the partnership plays out, rather than the partnership itself. Again, unlike your predecessor, Libra, who is ruled by Venus and may be more interested in the looks of a relationship and romantic partner. Your sexual language is more interested in the psychology of your partner. You don’t care nearly as much about the outside as you do the inside. What draws you to your partner is a need to access the ultimate truths through your partners. Hence why, you are followed by Sagittarius/9H of Truth and Liberation. Your sex language involves restraint, power and hidden truths.

As I said before, it may be really difficult for you at times to truly connect with your partners because your energy can demand sooooo much from them. You will require partners to go through such depths in their relationship with you, that they may not be able to handle it. And on the other side of that, you may stay away from relationships because you may mistakenly feel like it brings out some of your “worst” qualities. With this Mars, you may go through a very intense relationship when you’re young, one where you give your all, I mean…you would kill or be killed for those you love, and because that relationship fails, you may never want to experience those types of lows again and stay away. You are one of the most loyal of the Mars placements, so you are very careful to study who exactly you are giving your loyalty to. I recommend with this placement, you may find yourself oddly attracted to Aquarian/11H energy. It sounds weird, water and air, but in this case, Aquarian energy is endlessly fascinating because they are so unorthodox, you will never truly figure them out, so you’re constantly intrigued by them. Aquarians also value loyalty the same way you do. They will allow you the freedom that you need to sit in your own emotions, but value the friendship in such a way, you won’t feel abandoned by them. Even if the people you are attracted to don’t have Aquarius in their chart, I think that quality is something you should consider when looking into intimate partners. It is probably the partner who gives you the most space and it is the hardest to figure out, that will give you the most in life. If you have a partner that is easy to conquer, not only will you be bored, but you can easily slip into those darker energies of control and manipulation to get you way…even when it’s unnecessary.

AAALLLL that said, you are still a hell of a lover! I mean…wow. You intricately know how to please and conquer. You use sex as a language itself when you’re ready and willing. And man, do you have a way with words. You can easily hypnotize a lover to fall under your command, so be careful with this gift. You are more than comfortable in this arena once you move past your fears in the subconscious. You can channel this energy, much like the exalt Mars in Capricorn to succeed with some of your greatest ambitions. You will put your sexual energy into your work and projects in a way like no other! Just don’t take everything so seriously! It’s okay to have a good time. Be intimate and open up some! You’ll enjoy getting your head out of the sand!

Mars in Libra or Mars in the 7th House

“What a rush & what a high, cause when your love don’t fight, smoke gets in your eyes” Smoke In Your Eyes by Skepta, Ossie, Harry Stone

If you came to this section thinking that I was going to talk about how sweet and balanced you are when it comes to your sexual language…THINK. AGAIN. BABE. You are nothing of the sort. Seems contradictory, huh? Because Libra/7H is all about balance, right? Well…not when it comes to this Mars placement.

If you have your natal Mars in Libra or the 7th House, you are quite the spicy lover. To be completely honest, Mars is VERY uncomfortable here. Why? Because Libra is naturally ruled by the planet Venus, which is essentially the opposite frequency of Mars. I like to think of Mars and Venus as the brother and sister planets of the Milky way. Traditionally ruled by Ares and Aphrodite in Greek mythology respectively, they are technically half-siblings. So when you think of this Mars placement, this of how a girlie-girl would feel surrounded by all boys at a football camp. Sure, she may attract a lot of attention and she may have plenty of options…but she will CERTAINLY have to set clear boundaries to command the respect she deserves, as well as deal with the fact that no one around her may have the same interest. See how this can be uncomfortable? It’s not the worst thing to happen, but it can cause you to feel like you have to play the field a little bit differently because of Mars being in the House of Libra.

Okay, so now that we covered why this placement might be different than what you were imagining, let’s get into what this post is actually about!

If you have this natal placement, your sex language is all about breaking up to make-up. Because you’re on this constant quest of seeking balance, YOU will subconsciously or consciously seek chaos in order to regain balance. Your indecisive and somewhat aloof nature in relationships can be a source of frustration when it comes to your sexual expression with your lovers. If you have Mars in your 7H, you genuinely LOVE conflicts and attract conflicts to your relationships. You can be quite passive aggressive, honestly, and stir the pot to get attention. AAALLLL this being said, you still enjoy the finer things and love the idea of love, even though you may not have the most direct way of going about it. Your partners may even find you hard to read, and this can frustrate you, because your wishy-washy-ness is so innate to you, you may have a tendency to think that everyone is as back and forth with decision making as you are.

Ironically, more so than any of the previous placements I have discussed before, I will focus more on what sexual language you like from your partner rather than yourself. Of course, you like good food, good wine, good clothes, good banter, good company…you have Libra, like DUH, but I want to offer a different perspective on this placement.

So when it comes to your partners, you truly like a partner who takes charge, regardless of sex. You crave a level of masculinity and directness in your love language because as I stated earlier, it can be difficult for you to make decisions for yourself. You overemphasize how people will perceive you, and this can cause you to stunt your decision making, so you’ll find yourself craving a partner who can be unabashedly unapologetic in their approach to life. You seek partners who are brave and courageous and you will find yourself testing anyone you fall in love with to see if they have that spark of passion in them. You may find yourself seeking different things from different people, so you may have multiple lovers– and just like how it may take you forever to pick out your outfit in the morning, it may take you forever to figure out what you value in a partner. It is important to note that Libra/7H energy is indeed a masculine energy. I’m sure most would assume it’s feminine because of the “sophisticated” and charismatically social nature usually associated with Libras, but when it comes to sexual relationships, Taurus/2H energy is the feminine side of Venus. Libra energy in this way is more detached than people would think. As stated earlier, because you enjoy dates, chatting, getting to know people, you may be a really good casual dater! This could send mixed messages to potential lovers because you may have never really had any intention of dating them long-term– or, you really just haven’t decided yet. Now are we starting to see how this Mars placement can attract certain conflict? You will desire and crave a partner that can make decisions for you. This may lead to some kinkiness in the bedroom because you’re open to compromise and you can be bossed around in this regard.

Overall your sexual language is complex because of the inherent contradiction of this natal placement. You can make this work in your favor as long as you keep open communication with your partner, even if it’s to tell them that you need some more time before you’re comfortable making any lasting decisions. When you date, you will have to allow your partners to understand your up & down nature. Most people will probably take your pragmatic nature personally, so if you can find a way to channel this into being sexually playful with your lovers, it can be a great way to keep romance fun and interesting. As stated in the beginning, you are most likely to end up in an on-again-off-again kind of relationship because you like for the scales to be tipped, so you can rebalance them. You are far more detached in commitments than most people would assume, so it is essential for you to date like-minded people who understand that your coldness is not a reflection on your feelings. You choose to remain objective in your judgements and seek fairness in your relationships—even if you are the one who was unfair to begin with! Kiss it kiss it better baby!!!!

Mars in Virgo or Mars in the 6th House

“I got commitment issues, but I’m tryna fix that for you…I don’t believe in love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take you serious” Commitment Issues by Central Cee

With Mars in Virgo or the 6th House, you may be surprised to find how non-committal you are when it comes to relationships. Why? Because you find relationships to be impractical. So when it comes to your sexual language, you are quite all over the place. Lovers can find you hard to catch, almost like trying to keep a fairy in a jar. You prefer to flutter around and keep things light in the sexual department. To you, sex can scream responsibility. After all, sex can be a pretty risky and dirty affair. All the fluid exchange and, ultimately, the required vulnerability, can make you quite uneasy. With this Mars placement, you can go between the two extremes of putting too much emphasis on sex or not enough emphasis at all. This is due to the natural ruler of Virgo/6H being Mercury, which, I find to be, an asexual planet. You are more interested in the intellectual connection than the physical connection.

BUT PLEASE, don’t get me wrong! You know you’re way around the bedroom. Your sexual language is constantly evolving. You do well with long-term partners that you can trust, study and get to know. You prefer a lover that is loyal, so you don’t have to worry about where they’ve been, or better yet, who they’ve been with. You find joy in repetition with one partner. OR, you are really open to “protected” one-night stands. You are either all in or all out. You don’t like to waste time on sexual relationships that you don’t see a return for a long-term investment. That being said, if you are unable to invest in the long-term, you can find yourself in a position of sexual frustration. You may really desire a person, but because of your deep need for perfection first, you may stall connections & find a lot of pleasure in masturbation for the time being. You, like your opposite sign, Pisces, can really get into your fantasies. You may find that erotica and romance novels can be great resources to pass the time while you likely toil between celibacy and being a whore (this is particularly funny to me because Virgos are known for being the Virgins of the zodiac– hence the contradiction in Mars in Virgo. The planet of sex and desire ruled by a “Virgin” is, uh….a difficult juxtaposition to say the least.) – again, it’s all about mental stimulation with you.

When you do meet a partner that you can FINALLY settle down and feel comfortable with, you will be a very giving lover. Because Virgo energy is usually associated with servitude, you better believe that you will make it your duty to service the object of your affection. You care very deeply about the satisfaction of your partner— far more than you care about your own. As stated earlier, you don’t mind finishing up solo as long as your partner is satisfied. You will find every nook and cranny, every deep desire, every love spot that your partner has, because you will analyze their body with astute detail. You will break your partner’s sexual language down and adapt it to be your own, because after all, you are a mutable sign. As well as being an earth sign, you do have a very deep sensual nature to you. Although you can come across as quite guarded with new partners, once you blossom, you really enjoy heavy petting and physical touch. You can spend so much time in your head and alone with your thoughts in other aspects of your life, you may find it very powerful to have a partner that literally grounds you and brings you back to planet Earth by holding you in their arms. Again, after you’ve bent over backwards (pun intended) to please your partner, you, more than any other sign, except maybe Leo, really needs to be acknowledged and celebrated for your hard work. You don’t take kindly to being undervalued or under appreciated when it comes to your romantic relationships in this context.

Believe it or not, this placement can actually be quite kinky! Why? Because of the influence of Mercury again. As stated before, you want to learn your partner’s as well as you possibly can to make sure you are seen as perfect in their eyes– sooooo, that means you’ll have some exploring to do. Mercury is such a curious planet, that it may not be kinky for the sensual pleasures of it all, but it will be interested in testing out sex & kinks for “research purposes”. This can give you a sort of detached feeling when it comes to sex, which may or may not work in your favor– you’re able to disassociate in a way that makes sex almost an out of body experience…it may take you some time to actually feel pleasure from sex. You are so focused on the other and pleasing your partner, you can forget that sex is supposed to be a two way street! I just want to reiterate, that this placement is so mutable, that you may find yourself pretty ambivalent towards sex at different times in your life. You’re kind of like “eh”. But there is hope, when you find a partner that lights your fire– you will find yourself wanting sex like a child wants candy! There is plenty of potential here for a beautifully active and engaging sex life– it just may take more time to develop than others.

Learn your own kinks! Have fun! Explore the more sensual side of life for yourself!

Anyone who is able to win you over (which is NOT an easy feat by any means) will be able to revel in the fact that you are such a wonderful lover! But don’t forget, sex is not a test that you can get an A + in, it’s supposed to be the culmination and celebration of it all!

Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House

“She may be the queen of hearts, but I’m the queen of your body parts” - Cockiness, Rihanna

If you have Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House, you are Britney Spears, all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus, bay-bee. You LOVE to put on a show. Your sexual language can make love-making a spectacle! You’re over the top, you’re loud, you roar. You LOVE LOVE LOVE the attention. So much so, you may not even need sex to fulfill that internal desire for you. Huh? What do I mean? I mean, you may be satisfied using your creative gifts for sexual gratification. Chances are with this placement, you are highly creative and charismatic. You find sensual pleasure in being able to share your creative gifts with other people. Haven’t you heard of entertainers saying they had so much fun on stage, it was orgasmic? That’s where you come in.

Ironically, I don’t naturally find this placement to be the most sexual. Don’t get me wrong, you are DOWN DIGGITY for a good time, but you really use sex as an ego booster. You may even be quite lazy in the bedroom. You could easily live by the code “my present is my presence” and be a dazzling pillow princess. This isn’t a bad thing, and it definitely doesn’t have to be the case all the time! When you’re turned on, you’re turned on, but when you’re just casually engaging in sex, or are in a long-term commitment, you may feel like sex is something that is owed to you. Not in a weird entitled way, but more like a Queen sitting on a chaise lounge being fed grapes– like, “duh, you should have sex with me, I’m beautiful”, type energy. This, if you haven’t been able to guess already, can lead to a selfish attitude in the love-making department. You must remember that sometimes, your partner wants to be catered to as well. That being said, you won’t shy away from Valentine’s Day. You are the type to go all out! You’ll put on the lingerie. You’ll lay out the rose petals on the bed. You’ll pay extra for that honeymoon suite. OR, you will expect your partner to do all of this without you asking. You treat holidays and sex as if it’s a royal affair.

Due to your standards being so high, I cannot express to you enough that you may really put all your sexual energy into your creative pursuits until you find a lover of high-value and high sex drive. You love and somewhat need to feel desired in order to break down your walls. You don’t play hard to get– you ARE hard to get, so this may leave you with extended periods of non-sexual activities. You are more than willing to give up sexual pleasure for your own personal pursuits– in fact, you are more likely to do that if you have specific career goals.

You may be a tad bit surprised at my interpretation of Mars in Leo, perhaps you were assuming it would be a bit spicier, but I challenge you to look at your ruler, the Sun (yes, the actual burning ball of fire in the sky) . Not literally…well, you can, but make sure you wear sun-glasses. But in all seriousness, the Sun shines alone. The Sun is too hot to let anything near it, and it carries such a gravitational pull, that things simply orbit around it, but can never get too close. With Mars in Leo/5th House, you may find yourself in this position when it comes to your sexual nature. You attract a lot of people towards you, but they are unable to get too close, for fear they will burn up in your presence. Or, you shine so bright, you are forced to do it alone. Being the Sun and the center of the Universe is a hard job, but ultimately an isolating job. Your being, your creative gifts, your star power and the way you shine can cast such a shadow on those who dare come near you. It really can be one of the most challenging placements because you probably won’t understand why people can’t/don’t come near you. Again, you’re just soooo great, people can have an overwhelming and unrealistic ideal of what it will take to make you happy. It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s flattering, but on the other hand, you can suffer from being put so high up on a pedal stool that you never asked for!

One tip for you, is to keep your hair beautiful and lushes! People will be attracted to your wild side and want to bring that out of you. You can either really love having your hair pulled or be turned off by it because you spend so much time making it look perfect. Either way, your hair may be an essential part of foreplay for you and something that suitors may find undeniably sexy.

As long as you are mindful to share the spotlight from time to time and not always prioritizing your needs & your desires, you can be a remarkably loyal partner. Fierce is the word that comes to mind and you can be very fierce in the bedroom. (When you want to be.) You can outshine any of the competition. Most people truly can’t hold a candle to you when it comes to how committed you are in an intimate relationship. You are proud and you protect those that are around you and that you deem worthy. You have a royal air that surrounds you and it loudly and proudly screams `bow down bitches' when it's time to get down and dirty!

Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th House

“Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your girls insane” Born to Die- Lana Del Rey

If you have Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th house, ironically, your sex language involves a knack of overwhelming emotional destruction. Dramatic, yes, yes, I know, but very true. Mars is VERY uncomfortable in the deep waters of Cancer/4H. Mars in the 4th House, in particular, is a naturally difficult placement because it sits in the House of happiness, as well as aspects the 7th House of partnership and the 11th House of friendship– making that native, uh, a little difficult to deal with. Why? Because your emotions can be so erratic and illogical, it can be difficult for people to understand what you want. Heck, you probably don’t understand what you want most of the time. I promise I’ll get to the good stuff, but keep in mind that this Mars placement is in detriment! (It’s exalted in Capricorn, the opposite sign.) So when it comes to your sexual language, you value such a deeply emotional commitment from your partner, you could constantly try to test them by pushing their emotional boundaries.

There is a mixture of pleasure and pain. You love an emotional outburst– this can be good and sexy, or bad and scary. Emotionally bonding make-up sex, is your cup of tea…ESPECIALLY if you are the one who caused the “break-up” in the first place. You truly enjoy engaging with your partner in a loving way, when you can, but because Mars is so unstable here, it can be hard for you to maintain emotional consistency within long-term relationships. You can find that your passions wax and wane for your partner. Sometimes, you just want to run into their arms and kiss them in the pouring rain, other times, you want them to LEAVE YOU DAFUQ ALONE. This can be quite jarring to your intimate partners, but also to yourself. I recommend embracing this quality and being as honest as possible! Instead of literally creating a sh*t storm in order to be left alone, just communicate to your partner that you need a little space from time to time. But also be willing to give your partner that same courtesy and grace if they ask for the same.

You can feel a need to wrap yourself up in your partner's desires. It may come from a genuine place, but because Mars is an aggressive planet, you may be quite aggressive in how you demonstrate your love to your partner because your deepest desire is to be able to emotionally control them. This can manifest in an extremely emotionally manipulative way through passive aggressiveness and just causing overall uneasiness within your dynamics and partnerships. One of the lovely sides about this particular placement, is when you mature, you can have an extremely high emotional I.Q. Because you are naturally very sensitive to your surroundings, you can literally sense the emotional and physical needs of your partner without them having to say a word. You can be so emotionally intune with your lovers, it can feel like telepathy if they need anything from you. You just know, y’know?

In the bedroom, you can go from one extreme to another. Sometimes you want to be dominant, and sometimes you want to be dominated. It is important for your lovers to be able to ride your waves and learn what is needed from them at any given moment. Again, Mars is all about conquest. So when Mars is in the 4H in particular, you want to be able to be the leader in your home, but you also want someone who can take the reins when necessary. Again, this can be a difficult balance to strike within your sexual relationships because people may not understand the method behind the madness, typically because there really isn’t a method…it’s just kind of madness AND THAT’S OKAY!

Because Mars is so uncomfortable here, it is imperative for you to be able to channel your energy in creative ways or you can fall victim to your own emotional tirades. You want a clear line of communication with anyone you are interested with and they absolutely need to have some emotional intelligence or else they will drown in your water. You don’t want to suffocate your lovers with so much emotional intensity, that you both are unable to remain somewhat grounded in the chaos. You of all people understand just how powerful emotions and sex can be together, so be careful to use it wisely!!! When done right, you can have anyone wrapped around your finger.

Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House

“Talk is cheap my darling, when you’re feeling right at home. I wanna make you move with confidence. I want to be with you alone” Talk is Cheap by Chet Faker

If you have Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House, then you are all about an intellectual connection when it comes to your sexual language. You want to catch viiibbbeezzz. You want to be razzle-dazzled with the lingo. You want someone hip, cool, in the know…because, well, you’re hip, cool & in the know, y’know? It’s only fitting that your partner be the same. You, of all placements, may truly crave “your other half”. And I know, I know, we live in a world now, where people are saying “you are a whole person and you’re looking for another whole person yadayadayada…”, but you’re a TWIN. You want to be able to connect with someone as if you share the same brain, the same thoughts, the same…everything. This isn’t to say that you’re not sexual…you just enjoy mental jousting for foreplay. Think of how beautiful the dance between two evenly matched fencing partners is– the ebb and flow of tension – playing both parts of the aggressor and the defender– gliding almost effortlessly with a weapon in hand. It’s like the tango…but with swords. That’s how you envision your love. Beautiful art, yet dangerous. You may not be the most sensual lover at first, but in time you will certainly warm up. Why? Because at the very least, you are a curious partner! You. Want. To. Explore. You may be the type of lover to want to try almost anything once. You want to be surprised. You don’t want your bedroom to be boring. You resent repetitiveness and you welcome new experiences. You may even fall into the “switch my wig, make ‘em feel like he cheating” category. You like to switch up your look, your style…sexual positions (lol). This can even translate into role play! (Especially teacher/student).

I cannot express to you enough how much learning from your partner turns you on. You love asking questions & consider getting to know someone a conquest. The more difficult the puzzle, the more you yearn to solve it and this type of stimulation oozes over into your sexual pleasure. You’re curious to know what your lover’s love. You can have an objective perception of sex, because you aren’t the most naturally emotional person, so you can look at the love making process as getting to know every nook and cranny of a partner’s body– learning what makes them tick & “ick”. You become more emotionally open with a partner, the more confident that you are that you know them. You like learning, but you don’t like unpleasant surprises. This may be counter intuitive, but I find that after you go through your “lemme try any & everything era”, you will genuinely enjoy one partner. It will make you feel secure and like you have that missing piece in life. You don’t come across as the most committal type, but when you do commit, you commit fr fr, you just need a certain level of freedom in life to continue to expand your horizons far past the mundane in life.

Another element you may add to your sexual reservoir is……drugs. “DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDS & STAY IN SCHOOL”...alright, there is my disclaimer. Now back to what I was saying, you may be curious to try mind-expanding drugs & smex. Because you can be so cerebral, drugs like ecstacy can help you actually feel your body. The tingle will start from your subconscious mind, and venture into your conscious body, possibly making love-making a more pleasurable experience. If this doesn’t interest you, don’t worry, no pressure! Just making a note that this placement is more likely to think outside of the box when it comes to making their sex lives thrilling and exciting! Not saying that vanilla sex is boring…just saying in general. You do you!

Overall, this is a curious placement. It’s a fun placement, but it can be an extremely flighty placement in the beginning. Don’t let your fear of getting stuck, stop you from finding a true partner that you can really see the world with. You can find that “other half”, that “twin soul” that really knows how to light a fire in you and warm your cold cold cold gemini heart. In your moments of passion, you will prefer to keep things fun and light. Only when someone truly captures your mind, can they capture your body and soul! SEXYYYYYY!!!!

Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House

“People stop to ask me, how do you please your man? Take it from the black sheep baby, any way I can. Sometimes it’s with fire and sometimes, with ice…Just don’t get it twisted, his body’s gunna pay the price.”

- Rock My Boy’s Body by Joseph Stephens

If you have Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House your sexual language is about sensuality, sexuality, & seduction. You believe in making love an all encompassing experience and you will stop at nothing to make sure your partners have an all exclusive pass to your BO-DAY. IF it is earned. Because Taurus is naturally slow moving energy, you may be slow to open up. As I’ve studied astrology for years now…I’ve come to realize that Taurus energy is just as private and cautious and it’s opposite sign, Scorpio. If you have this placement, you feel the need to study your lovers and you wait and wait and wait and wait and wait before you make your move. But if you are able to wrap them in your warm embrace…you won’t want to let go and they won’t want you to either.

Like Leo, when it comes to your sexual language, you believe in putting on a show. But your show is subtle, quaint and slow burning. You will have the candles burning, the scented lotion and fresh out the shower smell, you will have the most luxurious sheets on the most comfortable mattress. You don’t believe in cutting corners when it comes to your comfort and whoever is lucky enough to wind up in your bed, simply gets to enjoy how you live your life. I could bet you have an impeccable taste in music and truly know how to set the tone when it comes to seduction. As stated before, you are able to create a world of pure pleasure for those you love and make them spell-bound to you, because chances are, they haven’t been able to match with a sexual partner who cares so much about the details of ALL 6 senses. (I’m including intuition because, y’know, I’m a tarot and an astrology girlie.) For example, I dated this guy with heavy taurus placements a few years ago. I very much remember and very much miss this awesome TV room that he made for himself. Instead of having a regular degular couch, he had a couch that was also a bed. It wasn’t a couch that converted into a bed….it was just a couch that had a bed in it…and massive 70 inch television mounted on the wall. When I TELL you, I wanted to marry that man because….UGH!!! I was so comfortable! I could melt into the floor when I was with him. And I have YET to be with anyone who has a room set up quite like that. The feeling has stayed with me long after we have been together. THAT is what I mean by the power of Mars in Taurus. It lingers when you’re done!

On the other side, you of all signs, can be extremely jealous and possessive over your sexual partners. You DO NOT LIKE TO SHARE. AT. ALL. The 2nd House is all about owning and possessions and you may take this mindset with you into your romantic relationships. To the right person and in a healthy way, this can be enduring and make your partner feel safe and secure in your presence. In turn, you also want to know that your partner is crazy about you and cares deeply about your well-being. Again, in a healthy dynamic, a little jealousy and possessivness isn’t bad. It can show that someone does have an interest in you and takes pride in the fact that they are able to claim you as their own. This is just something to be mindful of in this placement, because if underdeveloped, it can lead to issues of selfishness & strong resistance to allow your partner’s freedom. Of course this can bleed over into the bedroom as well. You don’t want to get so focused on your own comfort that you end up putting your partner into a routine that they no longer enjoy. Your favorite position may not be their favorite positive. It can feel like eating lobster every single day. Like, yeah, Lobster is great day 1, maybe even day 2, but by day 5….yuck. Depending on other placements in your chart, you may attract partners who are very much like you, in the sense they prefer routine, OR you may attract partners who are so wild and out of the box, it forces you out of your comfort zone. All I can do is say embrace whatever floats your boat.

There is no doubt that you are one of the most sexual, sensual and passionate lovers of the zodiac. Your innate knowledge of pleasure makes you an expert in the bedroom and you can be hard to beat. Although it may take you a while to warm up, either physically or emotionally, you eventually show your partners that it is absolutely worth the wait! Because you tend to be safe and secure in yourself (the 2nd house rules self esteem) you share that safety and extend your protection to those you love the most. Your sexual language is unforgettable. You know how to love someone head to toe! WOOOOO!!!

Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House

“Dollhouse, dressed up, perfect messed up, Torture me to sleep, paint the air I breathe. Fishbowl, chokehold, dirty water, I’m cold. Dirty as can be, have your way with me.” Dollhouse (with Lily Rose Depp) by The Weeknd

If you have Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House, your sexual language is intense & powerful. You have a way of pulling people into your orbit just by being your unapologetic self! The force is with you! Best believe! And people feel it. You get what you want and you want what you get and you have a way of luring in your prospective sexual partner by projecting your lust onto them– so much so they feel it when they walk by you. Much like your sister, the Mars ruled Scorpio, there is a carnal desire that surrounds you. It’s magnetic. It’s magnificent. And it’s very fleeting.

When it comes to your bedroom pleasures, you can be a pioneer of the “Wham! Bam! Thank you ma’am or…sir” (not as cute of a rhyme) mindset. You may have a habit of treating your lovers like conquest– wanting to overpower them and wrap them up in your passionate fantasies. You deeply enjoy power play in your sex life. Yes, you could easily be the dominant one in your relationships, BUT you could also seek refuge in being submissive to your partner. How? I know it seems contradictory. But chances are, with this placement (unless it’s in a water sign in your first house) you are more than likely the boss and the leader in your everyday life…so when it comes to sex, you may want to just “relax” and let your partner do all the hard work for once. If that’s the case, you may be a bit of a brat in the bedroom because you still like to challenge your partner for shizz & giggles, but you are certainly fun and definitely unforgettable.

Your sex language is raw and real. You don’t like to hold back your passion and you appreciate a partner who can match your enthusiasm in the bedroom. You love the runner chaser dynamic, and again, you can easily play both parts. You are strong and competitive and don’t like to lose the interest of your lovers, even though you can get bored pretty easily. You may prefer quickies over long drawn up love sessions, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like to indulge your sinuses from time to time– you’re just not one of the most lovey dovey of the zodiac and prefer loud, wild, hot, steamy sex opposed to soft caresses and whispers of sweet nothings. You may also be a person who uses sexy time to advance a certain agenda. You could use sex as a tool of manipulation to get what you want. That may seem extreme, but think about a stripper using her sensuality as a means to make money so she can pay her way through law school. THAT’S what I mean. Because you may not be so shy about your sex appeal, if used correctly, it can be your weapon of choice when it comes to getting what you want from someone.

Passion matters to you more than most. You would prefer a risky lover than a predictable one. You also may be a fan of the ole’ break up to make-up trope. Make-up sex is always better. And you don’t mind starting a fight in the streets, simply to uh…you know…end it….in the sheets…..if you catch my drift. You aren’t one for subtleties. You are probably one of the most straightforward and upfront people in the world and you may play shy, but once you allow a person to get to know you, you don’t hold anything back. Because you are a cardinal energy, you always have a childlike flair to you! You keep things interesting and youthful. You’re not afraid to cross boundaries and push the limits of yourself & your partner in the midst of a sexual act. You really may think that sex is something that can be “won”. You want to be the best. You want to be the one that lovers can’t get enough of. You don’t appreciate being compared to others and honestly hear partners talking about their past as if it was some sort of challenge. You definitely have a jealous and possessive streak, but like I always say, when this is a healed energy it can be enduring to the right partner. As long as it’s not obsessive and unhealthy, you can provide comfort to your lovers that you are there for them and only them. You expect loyalty in return, of course, but you don’t mind protecting and defending what you see as your own. Your love is real. Your love is honest. Your love is young and wild and free!

[aleksatia]

🍎 Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

❄️ Zayne | 🎨 Rafayel | ✨Xavier | 🏍 Sylus

Cut Scene (NSFW): 🍎 Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between

CW/TW: emotional trauma, post-divorce grief, unresolved intimacy, mutual guilt and blame, AI-simulated memory confrontation, violent emotional release, destructive conflict, references to emotional manipulation and psychological burnout, gameified use of weapons, simulated car crash, coarse language, heavy emotional dialogue, themes of self-sabotage, intimacy tangled with pain, and lingering affection that hurts to hold. Please read with care.

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Emotional combat dressed as therapy. Post-divorce catharsis through orchestrated destruction. Rage as ritual, memory as minefield. Estranged soulmates, bruised devotion, unsaid things turned weapon. Slow-burn devastation with soft hands and steel teeth. Summary: You didn’t sign up for closure. You signed up to break things. But when your blind date turns out to be Caleb — your ex-husband, your gravity, your sharpest regret — the rooms stop being symbolic. Each one strips you down, forces you closer, until rage gives way to honesty, control to collapse. And underneath it all, he’s still the man who would never let you fall… but might be the reason you broke in the first place. Word Count: 7.1K AN: For some reason, the one I write last always ends up being twice as long as the one I write first — which is why I constantly rotate the order. Out of five men, five parts, this one came last… and, predictably, got out of hand. I'll be honest — this turned out painful. At least for me. And cruel, in places. But it felt honest. Maybe a little OOC at times, but let’s be real — divorce changes people. And now I need to recover from this one. Probably for longer than I want to admit.

Almost a year after the divorce, something inside you had been fermenting. 

Not relief, not the lightness of a woman unshackled, but something bitter and unholy. The kind of pain that doesn’t dissolve, but calcifies. It grew claws. Grew teeth. Turned your bloodstream into gasoline. You tried everything: the silence of mountains, the thrill of anonymous sex, the rhythm of violence in a boxing ring. None of it was enough. The hunts were no longer satisfying. The catharsis, too fleeting. You needed something that could bleed when you hit it.

So when the ad appeared — BLIND DATE: DESTRUCTION EDITION. To escape, you must destroy — you signed up without thinking twice. Rage has never been your enemy. Indecision is.

You dressed for war. Tight leather pants that clung like a second skin. Laced boots with soles heavy enough to leave imprints. A button-down shirt under a corset not meant to seduce, but to shield. Your hair pulled into a high, severe ponytail. Drama layered like armor.

This wasn’t a date. It was a reckoning.

You arrived five minutes early. You always do. The place was a former warehouse, rebranded into a rage room with curated destruction experiences — urban apocalypse meets sad girl therapy. The hostess gave you a waiver and a smirk. “He’s already here,” she said. “In Room B.” 

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t want to know. You wanted to feel your heartbeat in your teeth.

You walked in, pulling on the thick gloves, then sliding the protective goggles into place. The world dimmed slightly through the tinted lenses, sharpening at the edges. Everything suddenly looked a little more dangerous. A little more true.

The door hissed shut behind you, and the lock clicked with a finality that was almost erotic. One way in. No way out but through — through brick, through rage, through whatever poor bastard was foolish enough to stand in your way.

Your hand found the sledgehammer without looking, fingers curling around its weight like it was made for you. Heavy. Grounding. Righteous. You gave it a test swing, then another, calibrating impact, imagining bone. You didn’t even glance at him. 

Whoever he was, he’d get the same treatment as the wall.

Until he spoke.

“Well,” the voice cut through the air like a cracked knuckle, dry and dark, “you still choose the biggest weapon in the room. Some things never change, pip-squeak.”

You turned. Fast. The hammer arced through the space between you, too close. He ducked. The wall behind him caught the edge, chipped hard enough to spray red dust into the air.

“Say that again,” you warned, low and flat, “and I swear I’ll aim for the nose next time.”

He straightened slowly, expression unreadable except for the barely-contained fire in his eyes. 

“Touchy,” he muttered. “All righty. Retiring that one. Let’s see... viperette? Still small. Still mean. But I respect the venom upgrade.”

Caleb.

Of course it was Caleb.

The universe had a sense of humor. A cruel one.

He looked like war in a t-shirt. Leaner, somehow, like rage had eaten away the softness around his edges. His jaw was tight, eyes dark and alert, like he’d been living off caffeine and unfinished sentences. He held a crowbar like it was an extension of his spine — ready to break, to pry, to rip something apart.

You didn’t say his name. You didn’t give the moment that kind of power.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyeing the setup. “A brick wall. Real subtle. What, are we supposed to talk about our feelings while we chip away at the trauma?”

You didn’t dignify that with a reply—at least not right away. Then, dryly: “I think we’re supposed to break shit. Bonus points if we don’t murder each other.”

He barked a short, mirthless laugh. “Blind date with a bat and unresolved issues. Sounds like your kind of night.”

“You’re projecting. I didn’t come here to reminisce, Caleb. I came here to destroy.”

“Great. Start with the wall.”

You planted your feet, drew back, and slammed the hammer into the bricks. The jolt surged through you like an exorcism. Caleb followed suit, striking beside your dent with a calculated precision that annoyed you more than it should’ve.

You worked without speaking. The cracks formed slowly, reluctantly, like even the damn wall didn’t believe you two could work together. You hated how easily your rhythms aligned. Always had. Even when you fought, you were fluent in each other’s movement.

He paused, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “So. Tell me, did you know it was gonna be me?”

“If I had, I’d have brought a bigger hammer.”

“And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”

You turned your head, just enough to let him see your smile — sharp, unapologetic. “I did. Like you miss a bullet you didn’t dodge.”

That shut him up.

For now.

The wall finally began to give.

Cracks widened, deepened, split like veins across the surface. Your breath came hard, sharp in your throat. You were sweating, but the hammer felt lighter now, almost like it wanted more.

Another hit. Another. Then —

Caleb dropped his crowbar with a clatter, stepped in close, too close. You tightened your grip, not sure if he was about to yell, shove, or kiss you.

He didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he reached out and gripped your upper arm — not rough, but firm, like a man redirecting fate — and pulled you a half step back. The wall loomed beside you like a dying animal. You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you saw his face.

He was looking at you like he was memorizing the end of the world. That same gaze he used to have when he thought you were asleep and he was letting himself be weak for ten seconds. It cut deeper now.

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

Then, without a word, he turned, drew back, and drove the full weight of his body into one final strike.

The hammer met the weak spot with a sound that rang like a gunshot. Dust exploded into the air. He kicked the base of the wall hard — his boot landing with perfect force, perfect timing — and the whole thing collapsed in the opposite direction, away from you, bricks falling like dominos, like judgment, like the years between you had meant nothing and everything at once.

Silence.

Then you exhaled.

And said, flatly, “You always did know how to make a point. Real subtle, Colonel.”

His jaw twitched. That was all. No quip this time, no grin. Just the tight strain in his neck and a flicker behind his eyes like something was about to unhinge. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. That was the whole game with you two — feeling everything and showing nothing until the room caught fire.

You stepped through the rubble.

The next chamber was colder. Darker. The hum of old OLED screens filled the air like flies buzzing near a carcass. Dozens of them, mounted along the curved walls in perfect symmetry. Some flickering, some bright, all showing the same kind of sickening reel. Success. Smiles. Promotions. Affection posed for the camera, curated happiness. Couples at sunset, at brunch, in bed. Running on a beach, golden and effortless.

Then the altar.

A bride. A groom. A goddamn soft-focus lens.

You stopped cold.

The hammer slipped from your hand. You bent slowly, picked up a chunk of broken brick from the ruins behind you — rough, warm, red with the breath of your anger — and flung it.

The screen shattered on impact. A flicker. Sparks. A frozen image of a kiss, fractured into spider veins of glass.

Caleb didn’t move. Not really. Just stood there, staring at the wall of curated lies. His eyes darted from screen to screen, like he was trying to catch something in the movement. Like he was afraid he’d see something too real.

You hurled another brick.

The screen cracked with a dull, satisfying sound, collapsing inward like it had flinched.

“Would’ve been more poetic if they used our photos,” he said, dryly, like his throat was sand.

You scoffed. “Should’ve offered the organizers access to our digital album, I guess. Too bad I wiped every trace of you from the cloud last October.”

That got him.

His lip curled upward — half a smirk, half a snarl. “Of course you did. Practical. Cold. Classic you.”

You turned slowly, blood surging behind your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t step back. Caleb never did. “I didn’t delete anything,” he said, voice low. “Renamed the album. Filed it under ‘Bitch I Used to Love’ Thought it was honest.”

You could’ve scratched the skin off his face with how fast your hands moved if not for the gloves and the goggles between you. You were on him in a second, eyes locked, breath ragged, but neither of you made contact. Not yet. The air between you hissed with the threat of combustion.

“You’re such a fu—”

The voice cut in. Not his. Not yours.

From the screen behind you, a woman's face smiled, unbearably bright, like a toothpaste ad with delusions of sincerity. “You can always count on me,” she said.

Your breath stopped.

That phrase. His phrase.

Before you could move, Caleb did.

He crossed the room in two strides and brought the bat down like wrath. The screen split open with a flash of white light and a guttural sound that wasn’t quite human. A scream, maybe. Or something deeper.

He didn’t say anything after that. And neither did you.

Not in words.

But your body answered. Loudly.

You tore through the room like it had insulted you personally. Which, in a way, it had. Those grinning avatars of happiness, the sterile intimacy of picture-perfect couples — people who hadn’t known the feeling of being swallowed alive by someone they trusted. Smug joy laminated in pixels. They deserved everything you gave them.

You brought the bat down on one screen, then another. Glass shattered in bursts. Sparks flew like ash from a controlled burn. Across the room, Caleb mirrored you, attacking from the opposite side — controlled, brutal, rhythmic. Again, you were in sync. Not lovers. Not enemies. Just two wild animals with matching scars, dismantling a cathedral of lies.

And then you met in the middle.

The largest screen loomed between you, mounted above a faux-marble pedestal like some grotesque altar. You swung. Hard. The bat ricocheted off the screen like it had hit bone. 

It didn’t crack. It laughed. A sharp recoil shot up your arm.

You let out a guttural sound — somewhere between a curse and a grow l— and dropped the bat.

Then picked up a brick.

It was still warm from the earlier wall, one edge sharp enough to draw blood if it wanted to. You didn’t give it the chance. You took it to the screen, again and again, raw and breathless, something primal and unrepentant bleeding out through your hands. Each strike carved into the polished surface like you were trying to murder memory itself.

Caleb didn’t stop you. He just stood to the side, watching the destruction like it was sacred.

When the screen finally gave in, it did so all at once. Glass caved with a scream of surrender, wires snapped, the frame buckled and collapsed in on itself. Behind it: a door. Dark, narrow, humming softly.

You stood still, shoulders heaving. Your fingers clenched tighter around the brick, so tight the rough edges pressed through the gloves and left grooves in your skin beneath. You swallowed hard, once, choking back something feral and ho t— not quite tears, but close enough to shame you.

Then, without looking, you turned and hurled the brick in the opposite direction. Just to hear it hit. Just to remind yourself you still could.

Caleb took a step toward you. Careful. Something in his face had changed — softened, almost. His mouth twitched like he was about to ask the one question no one in their right mind should ask.

Are you okay?

No. You were not okay. You were on fire inside a collapsing structure and the only thing holding you together was inertia.

“Touch me,” you warned, voice like cut wire, “and I swear I’ll hit harder than I did that screen.”

And with that, you walked forward. Toward whatever hell came next.

The room ahead was cleaner. Cold lighting. Metallic walls with thin veins of circuitry pulsing like capillaries beneath glass. At the center stood a sleek black pedestal, and on it: two shotguns. Game-style, not military, but still heavy, still real enough in your hands to feel the familiar pull of power in the barrel. Your palms flexed on instinct.

You grabbed one without hesitation. Caleb followed suit.

Above, a voice crackled — genderless, modulated. Artificial.

“Welcome to Trigger Point. Please attach neural sensors to your temples. Each player must input ten phrases associated with emotional distress. The AI will cross-reference the data, generate projected constructs, and render them in combat form. Destroy on sight. Objective: release. Completion time: variable.”

You stared at the interactive screen blinking in front of you. A small keyboard. Ten empty fields. The implication clear: name your demons. Feed them in. And then shoot them down.

Caleb started typing immediately. No hesitation. His fingers flew. He was always better at anger. At naming what hurt. You wondered if he’d been waiting for a moment like this.

You stared at your own screen, unmoving. The cursor blinked at you. Accusatory. You hated this part. Not the shooting. The naming.

Because naming made it real.

But you typed.

Reluctantly, clumsily, then faster.

Because you knew exactly which phrases had lived rent-free in your spine for too long.

Done.

You caught him glancing sideways. His screen dimmed just as yours did, locking your inputs.

You didn’t want to know what he’d written. But the room did.

A low mechanical hum vibrated through the air, and the wall across from you came alive. Light surged and split into fragmented holograms — each word sharp as a knife, floating midair, stuttering into full clarity. One at a time.

“Cognitive synchronization complete. Each phrase will be visualized using memory-sourced projection. Targets derived from active recall. Accuracy required. Proceed.”

You felt the data pull like a hook behind your eyes — memory sucked forward, scanned, sorted, shaped.

The first phrase came like a punch to the teeth. 

You were the safest place I knew. Until you put a ring on me and turned the lights off.

It hovered for a second, just long enough to register, and then dissolved. The smoke twisted and thickened. From it emerged a figure that stole your breath.

It was you.

Not the way you feel in mirrors, not the version eroded by grief or fury. This one was too poised, too precise. Her face was colder than you remembered yours ever being. Her beauty surgical. Her anger had been refined into stillness, and in that stillness — something worse than screaming.

She looked at Caleb like he’d failed a test she never let him study for.

You hesitated.

Your fingers twitched around the shotgun’s grip. You lifted it slightly, almost reflexively — but something inside you screamed don’t. You didn’t remember saying it like that. Not with that finality. Maybe in anger, maybe meaning something else entirely. But this version of you didn’t look like she regretted a thing.

She raised her own weapon.

You flinched.

But Caleb fired first.

The shot was sharp, efficient. Her body shattered into a scatter of static and fractured light.

You turned to him, stunned. His fingers were still trembling on the trigger. Yours were, too.

Not just by the sound of the shot, or the way your projected self shattered — but by the fact that he had pulled the trigger.

On you.

Even if it wasn’t you-you. Even if it was just light and memory, coded and cruel. He had done it. Without hesitation.

It felt final somehow. Like something sacred had cracked open and spilled out. Like you’d crossed a threshold you didn’t know existed.

Because you used to believe — no, know — that even at your ugliest, your worst, your most furious, he would never hurt you. Not like that. You had believed, with a terrifying kind of faith, that he’d sooner put a bullet through his own head than raise a weapon to yours.

And maybe that was still true. But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe too much had decayed between you. Maybe the divorce had rewritten you both in ways neither of you were ready to see.

You didn’t want to ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Neither of you spoke. You could see in his face that the phrase had lived in him longer than you’d ever meant it to. Long enough to calcify. Long enough to echo. Long enough to ruin.

You froze, body coiled in silent expectation.

You knew what was coming. You could feel it before the text even appeared, like a static current pulling through your chest. The phrase you typed. The one you swore you wouldn’t look at when it came.

But it came anyway.

The words unfolded in slow motion, thick with memory, with everything unsaid between you. A sentence shaped like him.

I was too blinded by loving you. You only let me touch you when you wanted something. You pull my heart like a puppet on strings.

It didn’t feel like watching something. It felt like being flayed.

Your breath caught.

You fired — too soon. You missed. Glass behind the projection cracked, but the thing itself remained.

You hadn’t wanted to see it. You hadn’t wanted to hear it again. You regretted typing it. You regretted remembering it. You regretted ever giving those words a place to live inside you.

You could feel Caleb tense beside you. Not from the content — he already knew the line — but from the timing. From your reaction. From how fast you'd tried to erase it.

You gritted your teeth. Lifted the gun again. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, cool and traitorous.

You aimed. And fired.

The figure burst apart — no scream, no sound — just a silent, violent fireworks display of red-gold pixels. Gone.

You stood there, breathing hard, hand tight on the grip, pulse roaring in your throat.

And only then did you understand.

Why he’d shot your projection first. Why it hadn’t felt like betrayal, not really.

Because these versions of you — of him — these pale ghosts, weaponized by memory and algorithm, weren’t real anymore. They were remnants. Monsters made of moments that no longer had the right to exist. Not even here, in a world built of nothing but ones and zeroes.

You hadn’t destroyed him. You’d destroyed the version of him that hurt you.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he’d done too.

More phrases came. Some his. Some yours.

Why do you always disappear?

Shot. Flash. A twist in the gut. You don’t stop moving.

I felt safer when you weren’t there.

Shot. Flash. His shoulders jerk. You catch it, pretend you didn’t.

You made me into someone I hated.

Shot. Flash. You almost drop the gun. Almost.

You wanted control more than connection.

Shot. Flash. You taste metal in your mouth. Don’t know if it’s from the memory or your own tongue.

It all becomes a blur — fragments of truth, shredded light, the weight of your weapon like a heartbeat in your hand.

Then —

One more.

It doesn’t come fast. It lands.

Like a final breath drawn sharp before the plunge.

His.

I loved you so much it destroyed me.

No shape yet. Just the words, hanging. Clean. Unfiltered. Unhidden.

Like he never got the chance to say them out loud. Like some part of him still hadn’t stopped saying them, even now.

Everything in the room goes still. Even the flicker of light quiets. And you feel it — that if you move now, everything will break.

You don’t know when the tears started. They weren’t dramatic. They didn’t sting. They just existed — like breath, like gravity. Sliding down your cheeks with the same quiet inevitability as everything else that’s ever gone wrong.

You were back there. In that moment. Before the signature. Before the sound of the pen on paper. When he looked at you across the room, and said it  — not to win you back, not to argue, not to accuse. Just to say it.

Because it was true.

And now here he was again — only not really. A pixelated Caleb. A slowed, AI-crafted echo of that same version. Stepping forward from the projection field like it remembered how he moved.

The voice that left his mouth was mechanical, but still it hit like flesh: “I loved you so much it destroyed me.”

Exactly the way he had said it then. The rhythm, the weight. The slight lift at the end that had felt like a question, a prayer, a hope too stupid to say out loud.

This ghost carried it too. You didn’t raise your gun. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t shoot that. Not the hope. Not the part that believed.

And so —

Caleb did.

No hesitation.

A clean, brutal shot that tore the projection apart mid-step. The ghost shattered like it had never mattered. Never happened. Never existed.

And then there was silence. When you turned to him, his face gave you nothing.

A mask. Still. Cold. The kind of stillness that doesn’t come from control, but from emptiness. Like your love hadn’t just hurt him.

It had hollowed him.

And maybe he was right. Maybe there really was nothing left.

“Nothing left to break,” he said quietly. “Nothing left to ruin.”

You looked at him. Eyes wide. Wet. Fragile in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Do you think I wanted this?” you asked, voice raw, like something torn.

He stared at the air where the projection had been, then turned his head slightly — just enough to catch your gaze. But his face didn’t change. He was somewhere else.

“No one wanted this,” he said. “And now we’re literally shooting pieces of ourselves. Burning through our own memories. Like wanderers. Like something foreign. Something we don’t belong to anymore.”

He looked around the room — at the shards of your past, still flickering. Smoke curling around dying light. A graveyard of ghosts you built together.

“It’s ugly,” he added. “But it’s beautiful, too. In its ruin.”

For the first time since the experiment began, you genuinely wanted to leave. Not rage-walk. Not storm out. Just… go.

Slip out the side door of your own psyche and vanish into air that didn’t taste like grief.

But there was no exit. Only forward.

Caleb moved ahead without a word. His body, usually so precise, so full of intention, now moved with the flatness of routine, of resignation. Like he, too, would rather be anywhere else — any room, any war zone, any alternate timeline — as long as it was far from this one. Far from you.

Still, you followed.

Your jaw clenched. Your breath caught sharp behind your teeth. You could feel the exhaustion sliding down your spine, thick and slow, but you didn’t let it stop you. You were going to finish this room. This experiment. This punishment. Whatever it was.

You were going to finish it with your head up. Even if, by the end, the only thing left to break was you.

And him.

Because he wasn’t stopping either.

And if the only thing you could do now was survive each other — then so be it.

The next room was vast. Empty in that curated kind of way that made chaos feel designed.

A sprawl of objects covered the floor — furniture, glass, cheap electronics, ceramic towers, crushed memories disguised as junk. It looked random, but you knew better. Nothing in this place was random.

And then there were the cars. Or what passed for cars.

Two stripped-down, reinforced vehicles — half desert racer, half post-apocalyptic scrap tank. No doors. No bodies. Just exposed frames padded with thick rubber guards. For safety. For impact.

In each one, a helmet.

You reached for the driver’s seat, fingers brushing the wheel, ignoring the helmet like it was a suggestion, not a rule — until Caleb’s voice cut in, low and sharp.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You froze. Spun on him.

“Oh, you’re giving orders now? That’s rich.”

You held the helmet by the chin strap, weighing it like you might throw it at his head.

“What about you?” you snapped. “Think I didn’t notice you weren’t planning to wear yours either?”

He didn’t answer. Just walked up to you and, with a startling lack of hesitation, jammed the helmet down onto your head. It caught on your ears. You cursed. He tightened the strap under your chin like he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe he had.

“I’ll wear mine,” he said, finally. “I know what this is. I know I’m your target.”

“That’s not the point of the exercise,” you muttered, flushed — not just from rage, but from the unbearable closeness of his fingers near your pulse.

You hated how your body still reacted. How it didn’t get the memo.

“Then let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward a tall ceramic vase as if that made anything simpler. “Hit something that won’t hit back.”

You threw yourself behind the wheel.

The engine roared awake — guttural, loud, too loud. It made your bones vibrate. Made your blood move. You wanted to scream. Instead, you pressed the gas.

At first, you aimed where you were supposed to — toward the objects. Toward the walls of cheap plaster, mannequins dressed in tattered remnants of other lives, cardboard boxes that exploded with satisfying finality under your tires. Something crunched. Something hissed. The world responded to your force. You smirked.

It felt good. But not enough.

Not with him still grinning across the room like this was just another simulation. Another exercise. Another moment where he got to stay composed while you unraveled.

And so —

You jerked the wheel. Toward him.

You slammed your foot down and the car jolted forward, rattling like a live thing. You didn’t know what you were doing. Only that you wanted impact. Needed it.

Caleb veered sharply to the right. You followed. He hit a cluster of mannequins, their limbs flying like blown petals. You turned tighter, skidding across a field of splintered boxes, your tires spitting cardboard shrapnel.

"Thought you said this wasn’t about targeting me!" he shouted over the roar of the engines.

"It’s not," you yelled back, swerving hard to chase him. "It’s about physics. You just happen to be in the way!"

He laughed. Loud. Honest. Then, dodging left, "God, you were a menace on a tricycle."

"And you were a sanctimonious little hall monitor!"

"You stole my lunch for a month!"

"You deserved it. You put raisins in everything."

“You loved raisin muffins.”

“Muffins, Caleb. Not pasta. Not rice.”

Another near-miss. You clipped the back of his car with a glorious metallic screech. He swerved, recovered, accelerated. You pushed harder.

You were hunting him now. You wanted to see him sweat. Not because you hated him, but because you couldn’t stand how much you still didn’t.

“Who gave the toddler a license?” he barked.

“Probably the same genius who made you a colonel!”

And then you caught him.

Your front bumper slammed into the side of his car with a satisfying, ugly crunch. Both vehicles jolted. Metal howled. You felt your own body snap forward, then whip back.

Then — his car spun, but yours skidded too far. You tried to correct, but it was too late.

You hit the wall.

Plywood gave way with a groan, but not enough. Your car embedded half its frame into the splintering surface, the engine sputtering, then smoking — thick, chemical breath rising like something had finally given up.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t panic. You just… stopped.

The world narrowed.

Then he was there.

You didn’t see him jump out. Didn’t see him run. But suddenly he was there, ripping open the harness, yanking the helmet off your head with shaking hands.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he snapped, eyes scanning you, touching your shoulders, your arms, your ribs like memory. “Are you hurt? Are you —? Look at me. Pips! Look at me.”

You looked. And then — smirked.

A small, crooked thing, like the aftermath of chaos.

Then you laughed.

At first, it was just breath. A puff of absurdity.  But it built. And it broke.

You laughed harder. The kind of laughter that comes too close to tears, that spills out sideways and jagged. Your whole body shook. You couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe.

And then — he did too.

His forehead pressed against yours. His chest stuttered with laughter. It wasn’t funny. It was never funny. And that’s what made it so goddamn necessary.

You clung to each other like gravity had forgotten how to work.

Your fists balled in the front of his shirt. His arms circled around your back, then up, then closed like steel around your head. He pulled you to his chest and held you there, hard, tight, like the world could crack open any second and he wasn’t going to risk letting go.

Your laughter broke first.

It caved.

And then came the sob.

One. Then another.

Your shoulders buckled. Your breath hitched. And then you were sobbing against him — ugly, heaving, violent tears that had waited far too long. Everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t allowed, hadn’t felt came pouring out in great gasping waves.

He held you like it was all he knew how to do.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“Why does it hurt so much, Caleb?” you whispered through the sobs, your nails digging into his back. “Why did every day with you start feeling like a survival quest?”

His lips brushed your temple, featherlight. His fingers moved through your hair — slow, grounding, almost clinical in their tenderness. A rhythm. A scan. Every few strokes, the pressure shifted just slightly, as if mapping out where you carried the worst of it.

And still, you couldn’t ignore the truth: you knew exactly what he was capable of. With those same hands, he could crack your skull like a walnut. Break you clean in two.

But he didn’t. And that restraint ached just as much as anything else.

“I don’t have an answer,” he murmured. “I only know one thing. That being without you hurt worse. But the idea that you were suffering with me... That I — my own fear, my own fucking hands — destroyed the most sacred thing I ever touched...”

You shook your head and pressed your hand to his mouth. You didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. You wouldn’t survive it.

“We both did it,” you said. “You don’t get to take all the blame. It’s always two people. Always. Equal weight.”

He kissed your fingers. Gently. And you pulled your hand back like it had caught fire.

The flicker in his eyes was instant.

Pain. And something else — like memory, or the echo of wanting.

“There was a time,” he said, “when we were the closest people in the world. Cliché or not, we were a single thing. Now look at us. Look at you. I’m not even sure you want me this close.”

“No,” you snapped, gripping his shoulders. “No, don’t say that. I’m terrified of how much I need you close. I’m scared of what I might do if you keep looking at me like that. If you touch me again. I’ve been fighting since the moment we walked into this place. Fighting not to —”

“Not to what?” he growled, closer now, voice frayed.

“Not to try again,” you breathed. “Not to want again.”

His hands locked around your waist. His face was right there. Breath on breath. Your bodies a magnet of wrong time, wrong place, right everything.

But he didn’t kiss you.

He held you at the edge, suspended, with something like agony in his eyes.

“Saying that out loud,” he said through clenched teeth, “is reckless. It’s dangerous.”

“Meaning it is worse,” you said, barely audible.

You could feel his heart against your ribs — fast, raw, so human it hurt to listen. And then he said, lower now:

“Are you really this cruel? You want the last working piece of me to break, don’t you?”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back, breath shivering. “No, Caleb. If I could, I’d give everything — everything — just to take your pain away. But how can I, when I’m still living in rubble? When I don’t know how to plan for tomorrow, or next week. When I can’t even picture where I’m going. I just keep moving. Blind.”

He looked at you for a long time.

And in that look — something bottomless. Not pity. Not anger. Something like recognition. You felt it in your ribs, your spine, your breath. Like he’d looked through your skin and seen the exact same void you saw in him.

He stepped back gently. Then rose to his feet.

Wordlessly, he extended a hand to help you up. You took it. Let him lift you.

He glanced around the room, then toward the wreckage, the wall, the place where your car had finally given up.

A low huff of a laugh escaped him.

“Of course,” he muttered. “The exit’s right where you crashed.”

You followed his gaze.

He was right.

Just one thing left to break.

The wall gave way with almost no resistance. It split open like it had been waiting for the final blow. You stepped through, side by side, not speaking. And suddenly, the world shifted.

No floor. No weight. No direction. You were in a massive, sterile cylinder, suspended in air — except there was no air current, no movement, no sensation of falling. Just drift. Your feet detached from the surface, and that was it. You were floating. Weightless. Unanchored.

The space felt unreal. Too smooth. Too quiet. A hum beneath the silence, like some great system breathing in sleep. High above, three exit hatches blinked with dull blue light — two narrow, one wide. The single exits were clearly labeled. The larger one read: DUO. Beneath it, a platform hovered, inert. A voice filtered in through the chamber, calm and cold.

“Three exits. One for each individual. One for those who remain. Shared exit requires cooperative locomotion and continuous dual contact. Time limit: irrelevant. Success requires choice.”

You drifted. He drifted. You turned your head and saw him across the space, his body slow-spinning, expression tight. This was supposed to be his realm. Gravity. That was his Evol, his identity, his anchor. But here, it was nothing. Disabled. Cut off. You could see the glitch in him, the way he processed the loss of control. And still, he didn’t panic. He just… adjusted.

You floated near one of the solo exits. It would be so easy. A small push. An end. A beginning. Alone. And then it passed behind you.

You saw him again, a little closer this time. You reached out, almost without thinking, and caught his hand. No rush. No symbolism. Just fingers brushing fingers in a place without weight.

Your hands gripped. Held. And you pulled yourself in, gently, until your faces were close enough for words. Your breath felt warm between you, even in the cold of engineered air.

“I’m not ready to leave here without you,” you said. “I don’t know what that means, or what it’ll cost. But I’m not ready.”

He didn’t speak immediately. His hand tightened on yours. Then, suddenly focused, he said, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

You blinked. “What —”

“Trust me. I can’t bend the field in here, but I can feel the currents — like micro-resistance. If we stay connected, I think I can guide us through it.” His voice shifted into command mode — confident, steady, and irritatingly hot. “Angle your hips left. No, a little more. Perfect. Now shift your weight forward.”

You moved with him. It felt awkward at first, like trying to learn to breathe underwater. But then something clicked — your center of gravity merged, found alignment, caught onto an invisible pulse. Like tuning into a frequency only his body knew how to hear.

“There,” he said. “We’re in it.”

You glided, slowly at first, then more directly. He adjusted, compensated, kept you level. He took you through the space like a conductor feeling the music in muscle and bone.

The platform under the shared exit blinked to life as you approached.

“Now,” he said, and reached out. Together, you hit the button.

Gravity returned in a single, devastating second. You dropped like a stone — feet on solid ground, air in your lungs, heat in your skin. You didn’t let go of each other. Not right away.

Not yet.

What came next stunned you. 

Where pain and rage had once lived like permanent tenants, there was only silence. You no longer felt the urge to scream, to break something, to tear through walls or claw through your own skin. Something had been rewritten in you. Recoded. As if the metaphysical cancer had been excised. Removed without anesthesia, yes — but removed all the same.

You took one step. Then another. And your body felt different. Not like it did in zero-gravity, not quite. But something remained of that lightness. That sense of floating just above your own sorrow.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Words would have broken the seal on something sacred.

You emerged into the final hallway together. Unspoken choreography. At the return counter, you shed the gear — gloves, goggles, names. One of the staff blinked, visibly surprised, and said, almost to himself, “No one’s ever mastered the gravity room that fast.” Then louder, “Would you like photos?”

You looked at the screen, flipping quickly past the chaos, the fracture, the violence. You stopped on the frame where the two of you floated — just suspended, hands clasped, nowhere to go but together. You tapped it. Took the printout without a word.

Caleb printed something for himself, too. You didn’t see what.

You walked outside. It was already dark, the wind sharp against your cheeks. The kind of cold that wakes you up, reminds you that you’re still alive.

Without meaning to, your bodies shifted toward familiar geography — toward your place. Once his, too.

And then, like nothing had changed and everything had, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. No words. No offer. Just instinct.

You didn’t argue. The fabric was warm. And it smelled like him. Like worn-in leather and something sharp underneath. You let it settle.

“What do you regret most?” you asked, quietly, almost to yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t have. But you knew, with sudden clarity, that whatever came now — wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe it would be sad. But it wouldn’t be cruel.

“That I gave up too soon,” he said, after a moment.

You laughed softly. “Too soon? You followed me for three months. After work. To the grocery store. You left flowers in my bike basket. Random books on my doorstep.”

He gave a crooked shrug, not quite defensive. “It sounds stupid now. Hollow. But I didn’t know what else to do. How else to tell you I was trying. That I was willing to change. That I just needed you to hear me.”

“To me it felt like a trap,” you said. “Like you were setting bait. Like you wanted to pin me down and hold me there. In the state I was in... if you’d just disappeared for a week, I probably would’ve come running. In tears. Begging you not to leave again.”

He sighed. “So I got it wrong. Again.”

“Not wrong, exactly.” You looked at him, then ahead. The street was quiet. Your block already in sight. “That’s the problem, I think. For both of us. We keep thinking we know better. Like I assume I know what you need, when really, it’s just what I need.”

You glanced at him. “Like you dreaming your whole life of this expensive model starship. Then giving it to me. Thinking it would make me happy. Because it would make you happy.”

His smile came slow, bittersweet. “And all you ever wanted was someone to just sit on the porch and look at the moon.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

By then, you were already at the gate. Home.

You stopped. Both of you.

You didn’t reach for your keys. He didn’t move forward. Just standing there, jacket on your shoulders, silence resting comfortably between your bodies.

“Caleb…” you said softly, already knowing you didn’t need to finish.

He sighed. The kind of sigh that had learned to carry meaning. “I don’t have an answer,” he said. “I want to try again. And I don’t. I dream about holding you every night, and then I wake up. And it’s… cruel.”

“I have the same thoughts,” you admitted. “But I can’t just erase you. Not now. Not ever. And I’ll never be the one to suggest we stay friends.”

He smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Technically, you just did.”

“I said I’d never say it,” you shot back, lifting your chin. “Not that I said it.”

There was a beat, then you added, “What if we let chance decide?”

“A coin toss?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No. The photos. The ones we printed. If they match — if they’re even close — I’ll invite you in. For tea.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Tea. Very non-committal of you.”

“If they don’t match,” you continued, “then maybe… it’s not the time. Maybe we see each other again. Maybe we don’t.”

“You always did like risk,” he said dryly. “Alright. No promises.”

“No promises,” you echoed.

“On three?”

You both pulled out your photos at the same time. Held them up.

The silence stretched.

“Well then,” you said.

“Yeah,” he murmured, the edge of a smile in his voice.

“I have only one question,” you said, turning toward the door, your voice lighter now, teasing. “Black or green?”

He gave a soft huff and curled his arm gently around your waist, guiding you toward the entrance. “Like you don’t already know.”

“I do,” you said, slipping the photo back into your bag. 

The exact same photo. Identical in angle, in light, in pause. The moment where you floated together. Still not touching. But already not letting go.

The... END?

So… you survived the end. But is it really the end?

Let’s be honest — I wrote a scene. A very explicit one. The kind I haven’t posted before. Spicy, slow, and entirely too much in the best/worst way. But after everything that happened in this story, slapping it on the end felt… wrong. Like putting a silk ribbon on a smoking crater. So I cut it.

But. If this hits 100 reblogs in 24h, I’ll post the continuation I cut — the scene that didn’t fit the concept, because it was too much: too raw, too intimate, too honest. But also... very, very smutty. And maybe the only kind of peace these two could’ve found. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve earned it. Let’s see if they do.

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.

If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration

Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)

Fourth Wall

Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸

Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

Genre: idk really?? real world player x character

Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)

| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.

It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.

The truth is, you don��t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!

But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?

Another notification:

Sylus: Take your time, kitten.

A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.

Sylus: I’m going to count to three.

Cute. He’s not actually going to—

Sylus: One…

Oh.

Sylus: Two…

Really?

Sylus: Three.

Okay.

You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.

Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.

He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”

You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.

Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.

He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.

With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.

You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.

It doesn’t do anything.

Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.

Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”

You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.

Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”

Okay but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.

“Stop.”

A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.

Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”

It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”

Does he mean the game? The other LIs?  

“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”

God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.

“Are you even listening?” he sighs.

Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?

“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”

Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.

“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.

“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”

This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.

There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.

He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.  

His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.

Did they change the animation?

“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

[lilacxquartz]

Can you write a homicipher fic with Mr crawling where Mc is deep cleaning their apartment and he's confused on what exactly they're doing and just like doing domestic stuff? Thank you!💜💜💜

in an attempt to clean;

mr. crawling x reader/mc

plot: you do all sorts of curious things but mr. crawling still can’t quite understand some behaviours — a/n: i hooope this is what you wanted!! like my mind ran with mr. crawling perhaps being sentimental about the stuff you cleaned up, so i went with it, aha, mc is in the real world here and mr. crawling is like, a live-in guard ghost — themes: gn!reader, domestic fluff, character study — w.c: 1.1k • ao3 • masterlist ✮⋆˙

Even if he didn’t quite understand the order of the world that you came from, Mr. Crawling still tried his very best to adapt to you and your way of living. He was perfectly happy just living in your home and existing within your space, finding every nook and cranny to be deeply fascinating. Every other surface had a hint of your scent, with other places, like the bedroom, signaling your once lingering presence—like a signature.

He traced around the areas where such things were left behind, from empty bowls from where you had breakfast to where your dirty laundry was thrown off to the side after a long day. This often led you to pause and tilt your head at such odd behaviour, but you also didn’t quite mind. He did many odd things, after all, such as hovering around in the corners of your home, watching you from a distance while you worked on… whatever it was that needed doing.

Had this been any other situation, you would have probably tried to flush him away with the help of a local shaman, but it was all fine. You brought him back with you for a reason. He wasn’t malicious at all, at least not to you. If anything, he was a little like a guard ghost—determined to keep you safe—no matter what.

However, at some point, too much of your ‘presence’ was left behind and you had to talk yourself into committing to a deep clean. You had admittedly put it off for his sake, finding his almost, enticed state of wonder to be endearing, but a clean space meant a clean mind, or however the saying went.

And things had to go.

At a glance, the apartment was a complete mess. Dust clung to the walls and tables, and there were dirty socks in every other direction. Trash was also becoming something of a problem and for it to not get any worse than it already was—something had to be done—before it was past the point of no return.

Just as you were about to dive in towards fulfilling your task, however, you felt Mr. Crawling’s presence materialise right behind you like a sudden, looming shadow and sure enough, when you turned around, he was right behind you. He was now Mr. Standing more like, you internally tutted, given that he no longer took the liberty to pad around on his hands and knees anymore, instead filling out the whole stretch of room. From the floor to the ceiling, he made himself known.

“What… you… doing?” he asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion. He had his finger pointed towards the bin bag in your hand, seeming almost alarmed.

“Cleaning…?” you replied, demonstrating taking some trash from the coffee table and dropping it into the bag. As you did so, his hand flinched away and he seemed rather upset.

“Object… away?” he asked.

“Yes,” you nodded, quickly filling up the bag with more and more pieces of trash that were otherwise littering the surfaces, all the while he seemed to twitch at the very sight, as if he wanted for you to stop but wasn’t sure how to ask you of such a thing.

And before you could continue on your spree any further, Mr. Crawling took a step forward, confiscating an empty crisps packet right from your hands. In turn, you raised an eyebrow, jumping up to grab it from him, but he kept it purposefully out of your reach.

“Give it back,” you huffed, unsure what exactly has gotten into him.

“No,” he shook his head, his tone sounding rather petulant, “I keep.”

You blinked a couple of times, sounding exasperated. “W-why?”

“Treasure,” Mr. Crawling could only reply, clutching the piece of trash to his chest like it was the most sacred item.

You withdrew a deep sigh. Of course, Mr. Crawling had gained some sort of attachment from the things he saw you use. It was actually sort of oddly sweet if it didn’t have the possibility of attracting bugs and potentially growing mould.

“I’m not throwing everything away,” you tried to reason, gesturing at what got put into drawers and what didn’t, “just the trash, the…” you trailed off, trying to find an appropriate word that you both knew, “the dirt.”

Mr. Crawling hesitated, looking at the crisp packet in his hands. “D-dirt… bad?”

Finally, it clicked. At last! You were finally getting somewhere. Oh, how you loved to see him understand you. It was so rewarding, but also, you almost felt bad at just how upset he sounded, but it had to go. “Yes, very bad. Dirt makes… people… sick,” you tried to charade out next, performing a show of you clutching your stomach and looking nauseous.

“Sick?” he asked, trying to understand before looking even more alarmed than when he had first seen you pick up the trash to begin with. “Sick, bad! Sick, bad!”

Before you could respond however, he was in the process of obliterating that poor crisp packet into nothingness, so you warily had to approach him, pluck it right out of his wary hands, and mime out the rest of your intent. When you took hold of the package, you feigned sickness, and then when it entered the bag, you acted right as rain again. All healthy while looking very much alive.

At first, he was horrified at your display but then seemed to get the memo, glancing around at what could potentially make you sick and what was fine to hold onto and so, over the course of the next hour, you slowly but surely got through a deep cleaning session while he kept bringing you all sorts of objects—perhaps missing the memo as to what counted as clean and what counted as dirty—but at least you were finally, actually getting somewhere.

Things like broken mugs were brought to you, along with more empty packets and forgotten socks alike. Some things he was much more defensive about throwing away, but you let him keep the stuff that you were certain wouldn’t actually bring strange things into your home, like that torn and tatted baggy hoodie you had—he refused to let that one go.

“Why do you want to even… keep that?” you asked, watching him cosy up to the piece of clothing.

“Smells… you,” he gleefully replied, taking a deep whiff of the fabric before towering over you, repeating the motion against the crook of your neck, “smells… good.”

“Ah,” you smiled a little, not protesting a single bit, “yeah, you can keep that.”

You supposed that life with Mr. Crawling, after all this time, was still a messy sort of affair, but that much was fine. It was moments like these that made it all worthwhile, reminding you of why you wanted him to stay in the first place.

Even if it did mean that things took forever to get done now.

[finalgirlmorgue]

𓉸⁺‧₊˚ AFFECTION ROTS 𓂃🦇

„⤵ MILD ANGST „⤵ 1 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Highschool sweethearts aren't meant to last, but Jason wants to change that, even after his ressurection.

After April 27th everything that once tasted sweet became bitter. Teenage romance is a ticking time bomb. It's a promise of flesh not made to last— meat rots over time, affection rots over time— and eventually, it all becomes rancid and sour.

Maybe that's what happened when Jason died. When your eyes met, a countdown began, ticking relentlessly toward its end. His time was always borrowed, and the clock, merciless as ever, simply ran out. The world the two of you shared stopped being his, and in the wake of it his memory became merely something to drive the day forward. Everything you couldn't be motivated to do was slapped with the statement "But Jason would've wanted you to" It was like a toxic parasocial relationship. His corpse dragged you in and out of pits of guilt and grief, while your body remained stagnant his ghost became restless inside of your head. Eventually, until you started to lose him in pieces.

Briefly, you would visit the box in your basement that contained some of his things. Hoodies and novels he read. You would smile at the annotations he made with sticky notes. Saving quotes that probably sounded deep and emotional to a teenage boy. A stuffed animal that smelled vaguely like him, or his cologne anyway. That box was where the memories of his existence stayed, buried under the blanket you had placed there. Admittedly sometimes you didn't want to think about him. It felt wrong to think of it that way. Grief is fatal to the mind. It's a disease. And maybe, on the worst days, it’s easier to let the infection run its course than to keep cutting into yourself trying to clean the wound.

You did a lot in the time between his last breath and now. life moved on, whether your sweet innocent Jason was beside you or not. After graduating high school, beginning your freshman year of college, and getting your first apartment it became easier. His cardboard grave sat there untouched, collecting dust, holding pieces of him you didn’t need anymore. Whatever you hadn’t already discarded, you packed away and left in the past.

yes, it still stung. Not like it used to—no longer sharp and unbearable. Instead, it lingered, dull and constant, a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. Jason became irrelevant, just another detail in your coming-of-age story. Dating other men still felt like cheating. Still felt like betrayal. He'd probably be jealous if he saw you at those college parties. He was the type of boy to fight for you until his knuckles bled. Maybe he didn't have enough time to get the words out, but the sentiment would have been there. Even in death, you were his.

Your room grew up with you. The calendar you'd gotten as a white elephant gift was months behind. Your bedsheets kept the theme you chose for your room years ago. You barely even slept in it properly. There were bookshelves full of classics and poetry that were untouched. It wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a mausoleum. More often than not you would leave empty fountain soda cups on your desk like ornaments of the slump you were in mentally. The only things you'd done in this place were sleep and stare at your phone screen.

You ordered food hours ago. You couldn't be bothered to go and collect it yourself, but your driver never arrived. You took that as a hint. You simply weren't meant to eat tonight. It hurt to know how little you were spending on your own needs and desires. But you could hardly complain when you were living off the kindness of strangers. Your bills were paid by societies focused on providing for low income students. This money didn't come from nowhere. So why did you spend it on fatty junk like fast food? Your appetite was gone by now. But as a heavy thump reverberated through the wooden door on your apartment you shot up in hope of fatty junk fast food. Your hopes fell quickly as soon as the sounds from behind the door faded into nonsense dance of shuffling and pacing. You turned off your lamp. Maybe it was some drunk who had the wrong address. he would obviously realize this wasn't the right crack house, even though the decor suggested otherwise, and he would leave. You were tired and ready to turn in.

You heard it again. It seemed louder this time. You got up, stepping up onto your toes to look through the peephole. You were only met with the chest of this unwelcome visitor. You unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open slowly. Whoever it was was clearly out of it and angry. They didn't wait around for you to greet them. They barreled past you, knocking you against the door frame. They crashed into the kitchen counter. Folded over like a crumpled rag doll, holding their ribs.

The figure was large. Tall. Male obviously. Uncanny.

Some kind of muscular walking frankenstein of a human form.

You reached for the house phone. Should you call 911?… was this some kind of botched break in? It didn't look like he had any weapons.. but he probably had enough surface area from the base of his palm to the tips of his fingers to cover the entirety of your neck.

Before you could move, a hand slammed itself onto the table and you flinched away. The stranger looked back into your eyes, the whites of them so bright they nearly glowed like headlights.. the pupils dilated and narrowed.

"Who are you?" you whispered, your throat sore and dry, "What do you want?" You couldn't make out his face in its shadow. But it looked like someone very familiar…. Someone you knew well but couldn't quite remember in your stupor. You shook your head slightly to clear the haze.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, dragging his massive body from the kitchen island to where you still stood, frozen in place, pinned against the doorframe. The wind whipped harshly behind you. He closed the door gently, no longer slamming it. No longer banging. His arm went around your shoulders as he pulled you close. His breath warmed your ear.

"You… grew up without me.. You got really pretty. Just like i thought you would.." He breathed out, his lips brushing your hairline. You were still. In shock, you didn't dare react at all. "…I missed you." His grip tightened.

You felt the skin on his fingertips pulling against your arms and shoulder. You were too terrified to make a noise. Almost too terrified.

"You're dead." You said, pushing against his familiar warmth, trying to escape whatever strange force held you there. It didn't budge. "This is a really fucked up dream.. Jason wasn't this tall- or strong-" You broke off, swallowing thickly. Tears blurred your vision. He squeezed you tighter. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not. You weren't sure you were awake. "Let go!" you cried out. He frowned.

"Please… let me have this. just for a minute." He pleaded. "It's been too fucking long.." you could hear him begin to sob. There must have been something in the air that made your stomach twist and churn unpleasantly, until you sighed shakily.. giving in and relaxing as best you could against him. You weren't sure what exactly was happening- this wasn't real, right? What were these feelings you were having? Fear? Regret? Anxiety?

As you allowed your head to rest atop of his chest, you stared at the floorboards beneath your feet. You tried to calm yourself down. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably.

It was clear. The affection he held for you had not withered. It was as fresh, as raw, as it had been back in March, before everything fell apart.

Jason couldn't rot. He wasn't meant to.

...

Haha I'm so evil. Comment + Reblog? Where should the story go from here?

[anniflamma]

RE-RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT: O Mar (2019)

Hey everyone! After years of keeping it hidden, I’ve decided it’s finally time to give my old 2D animated short film, O Mar, a proper release (or at least make it more accessible for my family and anyone else who might be curious)!

So what is O Mar about? It's about a fisherman and his wife feel longing and lacking in their simple everyday life. Something is lost, and because of that, they now live with melancholy.

This story is deeply personal for me. It’s based on moments from my maternal grandparents' lives, stitched together with stories from other family members, faint nostalgic memories of my own, and a fair bit of artistic liberty. I made this film back in 2019 while studying 2D animation, and honestly...? It was more for me and my family than anything else, despite being a student project. That’s probably why I never properly released it online. In a weird way, letting it out into the world meant letting go, and that was hard after my grandma passed. It was hard for me to say good bye. But now, after years of relatives and my mother asking, "How do we watch it??" I figured it was time. So here we are!

A Note on the Animation This was one of my earliest attempts at 2D animation, so be gentle cuz Im already cringing enough rewatching this! I was still figuring things out, while obsessing over Mamoru Hosoda’s films (wonder if you can spot the easter egg?) and trying to make something that felt honest. It’s flawed but it’s mine!

Also, a fair warning for the faint of heart (aka Misogynistic Puritans) There’s artistic nudity in this film. If the mere suggestion of a human body existing in an emotional context offends you so much, maybe go watch something else, something where everyone wears full plate armor at all times. XD

And here is a more serious content warning. This film depicts infant loss and death in general. If you are sensitive to these themes or have experienced the loss of a child, please approach with caution or consider whether this is the right time for you to watch.

This film means a lot to me, even if it’s not "perfect." Sometimes, art is just about capturing a feeling, a memory. And now, I’m ready to share it properly. I’m also thinking of writing a proper blog post about O Mar’s story, because I truly meant it when I said this film was for myself and my family. There’s no dialogue, no explanation. Every symbol and moment is a reference to real-life events that only my family and close friends would recognize.

However, Stay tuned for the release next week! For now, the trailer is still up… and… omg, it was 6 years ago… what the…

[the-ace-with-spades]

My train ride thoughts:

You know all those memory loss fics where they have an accident and forget the past five years they've been married and still think they're rivals? Can we move it slightly to the left and reverse a bit?

Jake and Bradley dated from 2006 to 2010. Bradley did the breaking up - in a brilliant act of self-sabotage, not because he didn't love him, but because he loved him enough to think Jake deserved someone better than Bradley.

Fast forward to 2017 and the mission training - Jake is the one to have an accident, not Javy, and has to eject. He has a head injury (among other things) and is medavac'ed.

He won't fly the mission, but he's mostly okay. However, the first thing Jake asks Javy when they finally let him see him is, "Where is Bradley? Why is he not here? Did something happen to him?" which opens a whole other can of worms.

Turns out, Jake thinks it's the summer of 2010, about three months before he and Bradley had broken up. He didn't say anything in front of the medical staff because his mind still thinks DADT is in place and he doesn't want any of them in trouble. So Javy has to break it to him that 1) it's 2017, which Jake's reply to that is just, Yeah, you looked kinda old (rude!) and 2) well, DADT no longer exists and no one can officially penalize him for being gay.

Which is enough to make Jake cry. And Javy doesn't continue with the whole 'So, Bradley broke up with you 7 years ago' because Jake starts mumbling different things like, We can get married. Oh god, are we married already? Where's my ring? Did I lose it in the accident? Where's Bradley, why did they not call my Next of Kin?

Because, you know, even in 2010 he thought he and Bradley are forever, surely they must still be together and probably married. Which, Javy shouldn't be surprised because he knows Jake had a whole wedding planner, children's names list, house decor theme, and god knows what prepared for them.

And Javy is not going to break his heart, AGAIN, so he chickens out and instead calls a nurse to tell her all about Jake's amnesia. They take Jake away for more tests and exams and just as he is rolled away, he shouts at Javy to 'Tell Bradley I'm okay when he comes in, he worries so bad when hospitals are involved'.

So Javy calls Bradley. Just calls him and tells him to come to the hospital and tell amnesiac Jake they've broken up because he's not explaining it to Jake himself. In truth, Javy doesn't even know why Bradley broke up with Jake but he didn't give him a reason beyond 'we just don't match' and Javy had been also pretty sure Bradley was as much of a goner as Jake and he hates Bradley for making him be so wrong.

Javy avoids the topic as much as he can, but he's not actually expecting Bradley to show up - why would he care now, right? - but just as Jake starts drilling the question, Bradley steps into the room..

Not only does he step in, he lets Jake hug him straight away

Bradley's also brought a bag of clothes and they must be his own because where the heck would he find Jake's and, oh, look at that, that's Texas Cowboys pajamas and Jake asks, "I still have this thing? God, it's so worn out," and Javy chokes on his own tongue. Sure enough, there's a mix of t-shirts that must belong to both Jake and Bradley and a new pair of sweats and those socks must be Bradshaw's because there's no way Jake would wear plane-themed socks.

"Do you have my wedding ring? Or did I lose it forever somewhere in the field?" Jake asks and Bradshaw looks spooked before the bastard recovers and covets under Jake's sad eyes and say, "No, you didn't, our rings are still in the locker room on the base."

And Javy just--stares at him.

"I promise I'll bring them tomorrow."

Javy stares harder.

Why did you not tell him? is what Javy spits out as soon as they leave the room and Bradley's reply is just Why didn't you, huh? and they just stand there pointing at each other like in the Spiderman meme.

Well, Bradshaw will have to explain himself because he sure as hell isn't going to magically produce wedding rings tomorrow morning.

And Javy is proven fucking wrong again because Bradshaw brings TWO wedding rings, with their NAMES engraved and a little thin band with Jake's birthstone that matches the wedding band perfectly.

Javy is speechless but Jake just shines with, oh, they're so pretty, put it back on me, I knew I have good taste.

And Bradshaw is all innocent when he says, "Actually, I chose them. They're made from my parents' melted wedding rings."

And Javy can't tell if he made that up on the spot or not. [He did not.]

And so the lies fucking go on. Jake is discharged, but not for flying, and to keep up the little charade, Javy packs all his things and brings them to Bradshaw's place - where Jake will be staying until they come back from the mission.

And of course, Bradshaw and his--whatever his issues with Maverick are make it onto the Dagger Team. Javy can only imagine the tearful goodbye 2010 Jake would give his married man, sweet husband Bradley.

"You've gotta fucking come back because if you don't, he's going to fucking find out he's not your husband when the will comes out."

And Bradshaw, just like that, replies, "He's the only person in my will anyway."

(Dunno how this would end tho, this is where I had to change trains and I forgot after...)

[jedijenkins]

About the structure of The Librarians: The Next Chapter and the potential Future of the Franchise (from a longtime obsessive fan):

sometimes i genuinely forget that your average person is not knowledgeable about how making television works, and don't really pay attention at all to the behind the scenes activities of the people who make television.

to everyone responding to The Librarians: The Next Chapter trailer with negativity along the lines of "why are there new Librarians" "why is Stone the only one there",

i am actually shocked to realize you guys are unaware of the entire reason the first Librarians show exists in the form it does. But then i realize i'm probably the weird one for knowing all of these specific details but here we go: The only reason Eve, Ezekiel, Jenkins, Cassandra and Jake even EXIST is because of scheduling conflicts. Noah Wyle wanted to come back to star in a spin off of the original movies very badly, but he was currently under contract in the middle of filming the final few seasons of Falling Skies. If you're unaware, when you're under contract to finish a certain amount of filming, you can't just break that contract without serious legal repercussions. Not to mention, Noah wanted to do Falling Skies justice. So the executives behind both projects and Noah came to a scheduling compromise - something that Noah was only able to do because of the pull he, Dean Devlin and John Rogers have, not something most actors can easily swing - to where he could finish his work on Falling Skies while also appearing in The Librarians in the time he wasn't filming for Falling Skies. This meant that Noah would be able to be there for at least a couple episodes for the first few seasons, but not all of them. Naturally, you can't have a show where the ONLY main character, the ONLY Librarian, is gone half the time for the first few seasons. So the obvious and genius solution they came up with? More Librarians.

An ensemble main cast that would be able to hold down the fort and keep the show moving forward when Noah/Flynn wasn't there. And they specifically wrote it in a way to where it made perfect sense character wise for Flynn to be absent, both because of the plot and because of Flynn's trauma and fear of commitment. They made Noah Wyle's inability to be there the whole time an integral part of the plot and themes, and constructed the rest of the show around it.

And then when Falling Skies was finished filming, Noah was able to appear more regularly in s3 and s4 of the show, while still being absent sometimes to maintain the consistency of his character arc. The group and plot was set up to allow it to make sense for him to be able to come and go as needed.

I want you to take a second to digest this information. Your favorite characters and their relationships with each other would never have even existed if Noah Wyle had been completely free at the time the show was being started. We would have no Eve Baird, no Ezekiel Jones, no Jacob Stone, no Jenkins, no Cassandra. It would be just the Flynn Carson show, just like the movies. Flash forward seven or so years, and Dean finally gets the chance to bring the franchise back again - but all the actors from the first show are now, just like Noah was, tied up in contracts and schedules for stuff they are already doing. The person with the most schedule flexibility? Christian Kane, because the other shows he's working on currently are also under Electric Entertainment. All of the actors have confirmed they DO WANT TO RETURN WHEN THEY ARE AVAILABLE. They have told Dean this, they talked about this at the convention panel at ElectricCon, and I even personally talked to John Harlan Kim during the meet and greet about how excited he is to eventually return whenever he can. They will return when they can, and these new characters are perfectly set up to work alongside them smoothly the second they do.

Therefore Jake is the best choice to be the first returning character to bring in the new characters and establish their connection to the Library, because they are new recruits, not replacements. This is a CONTINUATION spin off, not a reboot. The Library is once again expanding it's employee base and becoming even more of a capital-O Organization than it already was in the first show. This makes sense both externally and internally.

Externally, this is exactly what they did when they made the first continuation spin off show based on the movies. They created a new ensemble cast of main characters to form relationships with the previous characters in the franchise, and to hold down the fort when those characters are off screen because their actors are currently busy. Internally, expanding the Library even more is the natural progression of the plot and themes that where being explored in the original show. The entire point of the final season, if not the show, is that it was always a mistake to have only one Librarian, a mistake made out of fear. The natural endgame of the themes of the show was to invite even more people to join the Library - there where even multiple side characters heavily set up to potentially become future Librarians themselves. (Lucy Lyons for example). These new characters are not replacing the old ones, they are holding down the fort so that the old characters have a franchise to come back to in the first place. Because if they had to wait for all the actors to be available again to make the new Librarians show, it wouldn't get made, because the people with the money don't wanna wait when they're greenlighting a show. When you get greenlit on a concept, you make it now or you never make it. This was true when Noah was too busy to be the sole main character of the first show, and it's true now when the actors where too busy in 2022-2023 to all return at once for the new show's first season. And a final but EXTREMELY IMPORTANT POINT: Dean announced this show while talking about expanding The Librarians universe, and then at ElectricCon he announced that what he REALLY wants to do is bring back the original show if next chapter is successful, and have both the next chapter and the original librarians team's show airing at the same time while crossing over constantly with each other. Essentially creating a shared Librarians television landscape for characters to move throughout. But that will only happen if The Next Chapter is successful enough. So PLEASE, open your hearts to these new characters and these new actors, because they are in the exact same position the cast of the original show was in. I was there, movie fans where complaining that it wasn't a show solely about Flynn and Flynn alone. But when once the show actually aired, they all quickly shut up, because the day Dean Devlin makes Librarians characters that aren't worth obsessing over is the day hell freezes over. If you don't support The Next Chapter, you will completely lose any chance of seeing those older characters return. Trust me, guys. Relax. You will love these new characters just as much, and you will see the old ones again if this show gets more seasons. So if you want that, you better start getting hyped!

[jamilelucato]

the punchline effect (fred weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x [y/n] Warnings: This story leans more towards those above the age of 16 or a PG-13 rating. While there's no explicit sex, the themes and some of the dialogue suggest a level of maturity beyond a general PG rating. Summary: In the chaotic world of Hogwarts' seventh year, Fred Weasley's bad jokes become an unexpected distraction for the studious [y/n]. What begins as a test of patience evolves into something deeper as laughter intertwines with longing. Amidst the mayhem of magic and mischief, can they find a genuine connection, proving that sometimes the best punchlines lead to the most unexpected love stories? About [y/n]: I don't place her in any house, so you're absolutely free to choose. But outside of that, she's written as a girl (18-ish) and I think (I'm not 100% sure) I have mentioned she's white, or that she turns very pale (in shock, or something). Words: Almost 9k. A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! I missed Fred, truly. This one was absolutely just for me. But if you liked it, please leave a comment!

The class wasn’t exactly quiet. They teetered on the edge of acceptable behaviour, holding it together solely because the handful of students up front had decided to pretend they cared. The rest were swapping gossip, chucking crumpled parchment like Quaffles, and giggling in a way that would make a banshee jealous.

Professor Flitwick was fully aware, of course. But there was only so much a man under four feet tall could do when every time he tried to scold someone, they immediately transformed into cherubic little angels. And whenever he reached for an airborne note, it mysteriously ceased to exist. The man was clever. The students, unfortunately, were cleverer.

To be fair, no one really expected much from seventh-years at this point. The entire faculty had collectively resigned themselves to the fact that these kids were emotionally, mentally, and spiritually done. Frankly, if anyone snapped and hexed the ceiling, they’d probably just let it slide.

Which made it exactly the right moment for Fred Weasley to strike up a conversation with [y/n]. He leaned in, red hair gloriously unruly, smirk already forming. “Can I tell you a joke?”

They didn’t sit together by chance. No, this was most of the Professors’ grand experiment: seat the most notorious troublemaker next to the school’s most reliable nerd, and maybe her good influence would rub off. It was the academic equivalent of putting a cat next to a bath and hoping it would become a fish. George, the slightly younger twin, was exiled to the other side of the room by direct order of the Headmaster. Nevertheless, separating the Weasley twins was like cutting a Niffler in half and expecting it to stop nicking your silverware.

[y/n] sighed, long-suffering. She knew Fred. She knew that tone. Likewise, she knew that whatever came next was going to be deeply, profoundly stupid. And yet, here she was — the only one in the class not actively contributing to the unravelling of society — and, against her better judgment, slightly curious.

“Go on, then,” she muttered, finally turning to look at him.

Fred’s eyes sparkled. 

“What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?” He leaned a little closer. 

There was a pause — five, six seconds of mental preparation — during which [y/n] considered pretending she didn’t hear him and diving face-first into her textbook. She also considered dying of secondhand embarrassment. But ultimately, she resigned herself to her fate.

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “What?”

Fred grinned. “Snowballs.”

Exactly as predicted: idiotic.

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach. Fred stifled a laugh — poorly — just as Flitwick turned his tiny, deadly stare in his direction.

It wasn’t the first joke she’d heard from him. But this one had somehow done something. It was unclear what, exactly. Nothing obvious had shifted. The air was still thick with whispered gossip, Fred was still grinning like a boy who’d never known shame, and [y/n] was still trying to care about whatever Flitwick was scribbling on the board.

And yet — something had changed.

What it was, no one could say. Not yet.

While most Gryffindors complained bitterly about every single minute spent in the dungeons with Professor Snape, [y/n] had a particular vendetta against Transfiguration. Or rather, against Professor McGonagall herself.

It wasn’t that McGonagall had ever said anything cruel. That would’ve been easier. No, it was the look — that quiet, cat-like assessment that suggested she knew [y/n] could do better, but had already made peace with the fact that she probably wouldn’t. It was judgment and disappointment, wrapped in tartan and pinned together with a brooch.

Was it personal? Likely not. Did it feel personal? Absolutely.

Still, as Hogwarts kept pairing its brightest students with its biggest troublemakers in a grand attempt at character development, [y/n] had once again found herself seated next to Fred Weasley. The idea, no doubt, was that her bookishness might tame him, and his chaotic energy might “bring her out of her shell.”

Utter rot.

She didn’t need Fred Weasley to drag her out of anything. She was social. Just… not in McGonagall’s class. In that room, her entire personality narrowed to “avoid eye contact and copy everything from the board like your life depends on it.”

Unfortunately, Fred had not received the memo. Or he had, and shredded it for fun.

“How you doing?” he asked, with the kind of faux innocence that could only mean trouble.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. Just channelled every ounce of her nerdy energy into ignoring him.

He tried again.“What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

Her quill froze. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her expression dropped every other function but pure disbelief.

She turned to him slowly, like someone preparing to confront a boggart. “What did you just—? I can’t believe you— Why would you—?”

“Oi, can you let me finish?” he whispered, grinning. “Oops, that was… that was not the dirty joke.” He chuckled at his own brilliance. “I’ll start over. What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

“Stop saying that,” she hissed, now more horrified than outraged.

“Relax! It’s an Almond Joy,” he said smugly. “Honestly, the things going through your mind. Merlin.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.

“I don’t even know what an Almond Joy—”

She never got to finish. Her voice had risen — just enough to carry across the classroom.

“What’s going on there?”

Professor McGonagall was approaching, her robes billowing like an oncoming storm.

“Professor, I’m trying to pay attention, but she keeps—” One glare. That was all it took. Fred’s sentence withered on his tongue.

“It was nothing, Professor,” [y/n] said quickly, shrinking in her seat.

McGonagall lingered for a second, just long enough to make them both squirm, before returning to the blackboard.

[y/n] lowered her head and scrambled to look productive. Her handwriting was now panic-shaped.

“Blimey,” Fred leaned in again, his voice low and maddeningly amused. “Are you afraid of her?”

“No,” [y/n] muttered.

“Hm.” He crossed his arms and said nothing more. For once.

But even in the silence, [y/n] could feel him smiling.

This time — alright, fine — it was slightly [y/n]’s fault.

They weren’t even in class. She could’ve not come looking for him.

But then Samara handed her two Sickles for a bet. Then Ursula added six Knuts to the pile, and suddenly [y/n] was standing on the pitch with a pocket full of wizarding money and two friends staring at her like puppies left outside Honeydukes.

“Pleeeease!” they said.

It was an official Hogwarts Quidditch match — and as such, you could not miss the unmistakable presence of Fred and George Weasley, standing at the edge of the stands with an old wooden box and expressions that practically screamed entrepreneurial mischief.

As tradition dictated, if Gryffindor wasn’t playing, then the Gryffindor Beaters were definitely running the bets. And the turnout was impressive — even a few Professors had wandered suspiciously close to the betting box, dropping coins and pretending not to see anything.

“Ah, a customer,” George grinned when she approached. “Can you assist this fine young witch, brother?”

At this point, honestly, it had to be deliberate.

He turned to her with the wooden box, and as he flipped it open, [y/n] saw a scrap of parchment taped to the inside lid — names, numbers, and teams. She swallowed and held out the coins.

“Yeah, well,” she blinked. “Two Sickles from Samyra — for Hufflepuff. And six Knuts from Ursula — against Hufflepuff.”

“You’re not betting?” Fred asked, already taking the coins and scribbling down the numbers.

“Nope,” she said, flatly. Please Merlin, let that be the end of it.

But of course not. He looked up with that very specific brand of Weasley mischief — crooked smile, dangerous glint in his eye, and that posture that meant he was about to be the worst.

“Can I tell you a joke?”

“No,” she replied instantly, already turning on her heel.

But before she could escape, he gently touched her arm — not enough to stop her, but just enough to make her pause. She turned back, arms crossed, expression set to absolutely not in the mood.

“Please,” he said, already laughing. Which was never, ever a good sign.

She sighed like someone accepting their fate. “Fine. Go on,” after all, they weren’t in class, and she could, now, kick him in the shins depending on how terrible the joke was.

He took a second to compose himself, which only made her more suspicious.

“Are you a Slytherin?” he asked, voice low and weirdly serious.

She stared at him. Then down at her scarf. Then back at him. Deadpan.

He pretended not to notice the absurdity of the question.

“Because…” he took one last breath, “I really want to slither into your Chamber of Secrets.”

She immediately placed her hands to her face, in a full, dramatic palm drag. From hairline to chin, like she was trying to reset her entire operating system. It was the worst — a tragedy of a dirty joke. Or pick-up line, rather.

Was that a pick-up line?

She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him. She simply turned and walked away before her brain had the chance to process anything further.

But if you’d been paying attention — and I do hope you have — you might’ve noticed that she hadn’t rolled her eyes. Not once.

That was new.

At this point, it’s probably worth saying again: no, [y/n] and Fred Weasley were not friends. Or, at least, they hadn’t been when the school year started. Now… well, now it was harder to define what they were.

Fred was popular — the kind of boy everyone knew, or at least recognised by reputation. [y/n] had known who he was long before he ever looked in her direction. But apparently, he had known her silhouette from across the Great Hall for some time now.

It was a Saturday in Hogsmeade. Normally, [y/n] didn’t care much for the trip — not since third year when the novelty wore off. But now, with N.E.W.Ts looming and her Hogwarts days numbered, every corridor and crooked alley seemed to shine a little brighter. Like the whole place knew it was her last chance to love it properly.

That morning, she’d gone with Ursula. Samara had mysteriously vanished with vague talk of “plans” and “being mysterious,” which usually meant snogging someone behind Honeydukes. So it was just the two of them, arms full of sugar quills and chocolate frogs, wandering toward the joke shop.

Zonko’s was packed, as usual. Not that she or Ursula had any business there — they weren’t exactly prank-pulling types. But there was something oddly comforting about wandering the aisles and pretending to care about exploding sweets or belching powder. Like it was part of the Hogwarts package, and skipping it now would be sacrilege.

Besides, the place was warm, smelled like cinnamon and fireworks, and Ursula was dragging her by the wrist with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Just five minutes,” Ursula had said, which of course meant until one of them got distracted or bumped into someone embarrassing.

It turned out to be both.

Without quite realising, [y/n] found herself gently steered toward the shelves of potions, where the bottles gleamed like promises and mistakes. There were the usual suspects — Nosebleed Nougat, Perpetual Itch Powder, and, of course, the potions: brightly coloured, questionably legal, and temptingly labelled with things like Instant Obsession or Regret in a Vial.

She picked up the Hate Potion and raised an eyebrow. “Side effects may include irritability, brooding, and chronic eyeliner use,” she read.

Then came the Love Potion, all glimmer and pink swirls. She turned it in her hands, inspecting the label. People always went on about magical benefits, but no one ever mentioned what happened if you were allergic. Or if the magic decided it wanted something back.

She was just about to put it back when—

“Feeling desperate, [y/n]?”

The voice was a smirk wearing a human costume. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

She very nearly groaned. Or broke the bottle. Or both.

“Oh, hi, Fred!” Ursula greeted the redhead with a friendly grin. [y/n] couldn’t say the same.

“Hello, Weasley.”

“Looking for a good potion, girls?” he asked, lounging like he owned the place. Which, judging by the amount of stuff he probably bought there over the years, he might as well have.

“Not really,” Ursula replied, abandoning the potion she’d been fiddling with. “But hey — you’d know. Where do they keep the plush puffskeins now? You’re basically their number one customer.”

Fred looked mildly offended, but only for dramatic effect. “Near the back, between the dancing fangs and the hiccup powder.”

With a wink, Ursula left, no hesitation, clearly happy to abandon her friend and go off searching for adorable, overpriced puffskeins.

As soon as she was out of earshot, [y/n] turned to him, arms folded, eyebrow raised in amusement. “And you? What are you looking for, exactly?”

Fred grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up like he’d just thought of something outrageous.

“Always looking for trouble,” he said smoothly, like it was a well-practised line. “But when I spotted you here, I stopped looking. Thought I’d found something better. Also… I’ve got another joke.”

[y/n] sighed theatrically but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “Go on, then. Let’s get it over with.”

She had learned early on that resistance was futile. One look at his ridiculous, lopsided grin—his puppy-that-fell-out-of-a-moving-cart face—and any no would crumple into a yes before it even left her mouth.

Fred cleared his throat with the gravity of a performer about to hit the punchline.

“Are your legs tired?”

She blinked. That one caught her off guard.

“A little, actually,” she answered honestly, forgetting that she was being set up. “But I haven’t had nearly enough of Hogsmeade yet. I’ll be walking loads today.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he quickly adjusted course. “Well, if they do get tired, let me know,” he said, tone low and maddeningly cheeky. “Because as long as I’ve got a face, you can always sit on it.”

For a split second, silence hung in the air like a suspended spell—and then [y/n] absolutely lost it.

A laugh burst out of her so violently that she doubled over, one hand clutching her stomach, the other grasping the shelf for support. It wasn’t a dainty chuckle; it was a full-bodied, gasp-for-air, shoulder-shaking sort of laugh—the kind that turned heads and drew stares.

Fred stood there, blinking, slightly stunned. He’d told a hundred of these lines—maybe more—and, typically, he got groans, eye-rolls, or in the case of his brother George, outright heckling. But laughter? Real, honest, undignified laughter?

That was new.

And she wasn’t laughing with the joke—she was laughing at it. At him. And oddly, instead of feeling mortified… he felt rather proud.

He started laughing too.

“You—where—where do you find these?” she gasped, wiping her eyes.

Fred lifted both hands. “I admit nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, still grinning. “You definitely read them somewhere. Come on. Spill.”

He hesitated. His ears went red.

“Fred,” she said warningly, “if you don’t tell me, I’ll assume it’s your own original material. And then I will cry.”

He winced. “Fine. I found a book.”

“You should write to the author and let them know they’re a menace to society.” She leaned against the shelf, catching her breath. “Good Merlin, Weasley. That was absurd. Completely mental. What’s the name of the book?”

Fred’s laugh faltered. His throat clicked audibly as he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape. His cheeks flushed so deeply they were nearly the same shade as his hair.

“What’s the name?” she repeated, still giggling, not yet clocking the shift in his expression.

He exhaled slowly. “101 Pick-Up Lines for People Who Like to Laugh,” he said. And then, after a pause: “…Over the Age of 18.”

Oh.

[y/n] straightened ever so slightly, eyebrows lifting. She tried very hard not to read too much into the title.

“Well, they won’t make anyone laugh,” she said, aiming for casual but not quite pulling it off. “Besides, who’s meant to enjoy the laughing—the one telling the joke or the poor soul forced to hear it?”

Fred’s smile faltered slightly. The pink in his cheeks began to fade as he studied her expression, looking for any hint of mockery. But she was still cordial, still calm, still… kind. Which, somehow, worsened it.

“We should all enjoy laughing,” he replied, voice a bit more serious now, less performative. “I suppose it’s for the one who reads the joke, right?” His shoulders dropped a fraction, relaxing into the moment.

“I haven’t got a clue. You’re the one with the book,” she replied. Then, after a pause, she smiled—not wide, not teasing, but something soft, something that barely touched the corners of her mouth and still said everything. “Though… I must admit, I ended up laughing.”

“At me,” Fred said quickly, a little too quickly, his voice jumping an octave higher with defensiveness. “Not at the joke.”

It should’ve stung. But somehow, it didn’t.

Around them, Zonko’s remained its usual mess of spinning trinkets and prank-infused chaos, but for a heartbeat—or maybe a little longer—it all blurred into the background. It was just two nearly grown kids standing far too close in a shop they’d probably never browse together again.

“Hm.” She tilted her head slightly, a tone light but final. “I should go rescue Ursula before she marries a puffskein.”

“Already too late,” Fred said, following her gaze toward the back of the shop. “She’s registered three of them under her last name. Ceremony’s at noon.”

“Oh no,” [y/n] giggled, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then she nodded once, like she’d decided something, and turned to leave. “See you around, Weasley.”

And just like that, she was off, disappearing between shelves of enchanted stink pellets and screaming yo-yos. Fred stood there a moment longer, staring at the spot she’d been, one hand fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

He still had the book in his pocket. But suddenly, it didn’t feel all that useful any more.

It wasn’t exactly warm, but after what felt like endless days of snow, the sun had finally come out to make a bit of an appearance. Most students with free classes had migrated to the fields surrounding the school, especially the clock tower courtyard. [y/n] was one of them, basking in the rare moment of sunshine.

She sat alone, her body stretched out on a multicolored, plaid towel she’d thrown onto the grass, eyes shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. She was perfectly content, just listening to the distant chatter of students and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

Then, unexpectedly, she felt the familiar weight of someone sitting down on her towel, the fabric shifting beneath her. The change in balance was subtle, but unmistakable. She knew exactly who it was, even with her eyes still closed.

“Hot day?” His voice—deep, casual, and annoyingly charming—cut through the ambient noise.

[y/n] opened just one eye, peeking up at Fred Weasley, who was grinning like he knew something she didn’t.

“Not as hot as you?” she shot back, the words practically tumbling out, expecting yet another one of his ridiculous jokes.

Fred’s smile widened, and he gave a small, pleased nod. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

She smirked and closed the eye she had opened. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized what she’d said, and it made her laugh—a quiet, breathy giggle that only came out as a puff of air through her nose. If only the Professors could hear them now…

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the kind where you didn’t have to say anything to enjoy the company. The sun bathed them both in a warm glow, the sound of students and distant laughter creating a peaceful backdrop. [y/n] kept her eyes closed, but she could hear his calm breathing beside her, steady and unhurried.

“No jokes for me today?” she broke the silence, her voice low and teasing. 

Fred shifted on the towel, his legs readjusting as he stretched out a bit more. She cracked open her eyes just in time to see him lay down, his head resting on the towel, even though she herself wasn’t with her head down. 

“I donated the book to my brother,” he said, almost offhandedly.

“George?” she asked, the first Weasley name that popped into her head.

“Ron, actually,” he corrected, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I think he’ll need it.”

“Is your little brother an aspiring comedian?” [y/n] couldn’t help but ask, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Fred laughed, the sound rich and warm. 

“No,” he said, the word almost too ridiculous to be taken seriously.

“Then what’s he going to need it for?” she continued, genuinely curious now. “To embarrass himself?”

Fred chuckled again, the laugh almost surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting her to know so much about the Weasley family. “He doesn’t need any help with that department,” Fred replied, still laughing softly.

“So what’s he going to do with this classic piece of wizarding literature?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Fred gave a nonchalant shrug, but she could tell he was amused by her genuine, almost naive curiosity.

Since her question had gone unanswered, [y/n] let it drift away and decided to test another current instead.

“I heard you and your twin want to start your own joke shop,” she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter either way. “Is that true?”

Fred turned his head to look at her. The sunlight caught in his lashes. “We hope so,” he replied, at last. “I don’t really think of us as academics, you know?”

“But you guys are smart,” she said, the words escaping before she could think twice. The moment they left her lips, she regretted it—not because they weren’t true, but because she already knew what he’d say next.

“How’d you know?”

Right on cue.

She bit the inside corner of her mouth, cornered by her honesty. “Well, we’re partners in most subjects and… you catch up. That’s more than most.”

“We don’t get good grades, though,” Fred tilted his head slightly, brow raised. 

“Right,” she nodded. “But grades aren’t everything.”

“They are to you,” he said, gently—not accusing, just perceptive.

She paused, drawing in a long breath, then letting it out slowly.

“No, not really,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I thought they were, or maybe I just wanted them to be. Now…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Now, I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life, like you and George.”

Fred didn’t interrupt.

“I’m just lost,” she said finally, pressing her lips together in a tight line before looking back up at the sky.

Fred didn’t offer a solution. He just lay there beside her on the chequered towel, quiet. The sun warmed her skin, but it was the closeness of him—his steady presence, the quiet understanding in his eyes—that made her feel less like she was drifting.

After a long moment, he spoke. “If it helps… even with a plan, everything still feels uncertain. We’re just pretending we know what we’re doing.”

She turned her head, finally meeting his eyes again. “You’re pretending?”

“All the time,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I just happen to be superb at it.”

She smiled—small, but real. It crept up slowly, tugging at her lips before she could stop it. And that was simply it. There was no need to say more.

Still, rather than let it drift too far into the future category (an area she wasn’t ready to unpack on a weekday afternoon), she nudged him playfully with her shoulder and asked, “Don’t you have any other jokes for me? I know you can conjure one with your mind.”

He turned his head toward the clouds again, lips twitching, voice mock-thoughtful. “Actually… you just made me remember one.”

“Please, go ahead,” she said, laying her head on the towel as well, next to his.

Honestly, she couldn’t believe she was the one begging for a Fred Weasley joke. Of all the things she thought she’d become by seventh year, “enthusiastic dirty-joke-enabler” hadn’t made the list.

“Do you have telekinetic powers?” he asked, his tone casual—too casual.

[y/n] narrowed her eyes suspiciously and turned her head to look at him. Fred turned toward her too, face close enough that she could see the faint freckles across his nose and the sunlight catching in his lashes. He looked like he was on the edge of laughing—and maybe on the edge of bailing out.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he chuckled nervously.

“What? No! Come on!” [y/n] opened her mouth. “I’m curious now!”

He exhaled in surrender, still chuckling. “Just remember—you asked for it.”

“Go on,” she nodded solemnly.

Fred cleared his throat like a performer warming up for a very questionable debut.

“Because you just lifted one of my body parts without touching it.”

There was a full second of silence—then she gasped in outrage.

“NO!” [y/n] shoved him hard in the arm—hm, strong forearm, her brain noted—and scrambled back an inch on the towel, looking both mortified and scandalised. “Fred Weasley! We’re lying next to each other in public! That’s absolutely foul!”

Fred doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach. “You asked for it!”

“I was expecting a pun!” she wailed, face red, but her eyes sparkled. “A clever pun, not—you know—perversion!”

He was still laughing, and she was too, despite herself.

She flopped back down with a groan, shielding her face with her arm. “I can’t believe I encouraged you.”

He peeked at her from the side. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m scarred,” she corrected.

“You’re grinning.”

“Only because I’m plotting revenge.”

Fred grinned at the sky again, satisfied. “That’s fair.”

The sun was still bright overhead, but the moment between them felt quieter now, the kind of quiet that comes when two people have laughed a little too loudly and are left with only the warmth of each other’s presence.

Neither of them said anything else. But neither of them moved.

And maybe that said more than anything ever could.

It was Quidditch match day again. The air buzzed with anticipation, banners flapped wildly in the wind, and students filled the stands in their house colours. However, that day there was no one orchestrating the underground betting ring or smugly redistributing galleons post-match. That was because the Weasley twins were both on the pitch, flying high on their broomsticks, darting through the air as they desperately tried to block Bludgers coming from all directions.

And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about sports, [y/n] found herself once again in the stands, right in the thick of it.

“You’re drooling,” Ursula said dryly beside her, clearly enjoying herself. She was now very well-versed in her friend’s current obsession—mainly because [y/n] wouldn’t shut up about it.

“Piss off,” [y/n] replied without looking away from the field, showing a finger at her friend. Her eyes were locked on Fred, who had just zoomed across the pitch to block a Bludger headed straight for Harry Potter.

Gryffindor won—of course they did. Half the school seemed to be rooting for them. The crowd exploded into cheers as Harry caught the Snitch, and the players landed, brooms now in hand rather than between their legs. [y/n] left the stands, suddenly unsure what to do with herself.

Why was she going down there? Why was she following the surge of students onto the pitch like a Quidditch groupie?

Because she had a reason. Sort of.

Blending in with the crowd, she made her way closer, dodging hugs, backslaps, and the odd flying elbow. Fred was laughing, flushed from the match, surrounded by fans and teammates—but even in the sea of people, his eyes flicked toward her like he’d been expecting it.

When the crowd finally began to thin out, she jumped in front of him with a grin that could only mean trouble.

“I’ve got a joke for you,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Fred raised an eyebrow, grinning like a boy who’d just been handed a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, taking a breath like she was about to cast a complicated spell.

“Do you know if I could become a broom?” she asked innocently, though the corners of her mouth were already twitching.

He tilted his head, very parrot-like. “Er… can’t say I do.”

“Because I’d love to stay between your legs for an hour or two.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she burst into laughter—half from nerves, half from sheer pride in herself. Her hand flew to her face as a blush bloomed furiously across her cheeks.

Fred blinked, clearly caught off guard. And then—he roared with laughter, clutching his side like she’d physically winded him.

“Bloody hell!” he wheezed between breaths. “You did not just say that!”

She turned away in mock shame, still giggling.

He leaned closer, voice low and full of that wicked, teasing tone she’d come to know too well. “If that was your way of joking, you just put every line I’ve ever used to shame.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “Yeah, well. I learn from the best.”

Fred grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ll need a full recovery before I can match that energy. Give me a day or two. Or three.”

“Or forever,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her smile stayed stubbornly in place.

Their gazes lingered a second too long.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile held stubbornly, like it didn’t care if it gave everything away.

Their gazes lingered—just a moment too long to be casual. Just long enough to feel like something was changing. Around them, the pitch still buzzed with leftover chaos—shouts, chants, streamers tangled in the breeze. But in the bubble of that glance, it all faded into the background.

“Oi! Kiss already!” George shouted from a few metres away, his voice booming over the noise and absolutely on brand.

The remaining players and fans burst into laughter.

And just like that, [y/n] folded inward, embarrassment blooming red-hot across her face. Without thinking, she ducked into Fred’s chest, hiding herself from the entire universe. He smelled like cut grass, sweat, and something oddly warm, like worn cotton and adrenaline. And weirdly… she didn’t mind. She didn’t pull away.

Fred didn’t flinch or tease—he just wrapped his arms around her and let her hide there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Dumbass,” Fred muttered fondly, patting his twin on the head as George passed by, clearly proud of the chaos he’d caused.

Then Fred lowered his voice, leaning just enough for her to hear over the fading noise.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She turned her head, cheek pulling away from his chest just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were sincere, still glinting with laughter, but quiet now. Waiting.

“Blimey, yes, please,” she breathed, a nervous giggle escaping her lips, fluttering like trapped butterflies.

Fred steered her through the thinning crowd with an easy confidence. His left hand clasped hers firmly, and before they knew it, they’d gone from a gentle stroll to a proper dash, legs pumping like they were kids again. Giggles bubbled up between them, that daft, happy sound only teenagers – or those utterly smitten – could manage.

Breathless and flushed, they found themselves a good distance from the echoing cheers of the Quidditch pitch. [y/n] watched, a touch of wonder in her eyes, as Fred’s gaze swept around, his mind clearly flicking through mental blueprints. He’d located a hidden area, a spot promising that much-desired privacy. And it had almost all four walls; one side was more of a charming archway. Still, it would absolutely do.

But it would serve the purpose of the moment.

Another tug on her hand – barely a moment of looseness this time – and he was guiding her towards the nook he knew from the legendary Marauder's Map (a perk from his less-than-angelic youth). Without so much as “Can I?” — as if he needed it at that point — he released her hand to cup her face, both palms warm against her skin, tilting her chin up to bridge their height difference.

A proper Weasley grin was playing on his lips as he finally leaned in for a kiss. [y/n] vaguely registered the fact that she was probably grinning herself, but that thought quickly faded into the background noise of pure sensation. The taste of him, the sheer pleasure of their lips meeting, the soft brush of his breath against her cheek. His lips, surprisingly cool at first, were then incredibly sweet, like a lick of Honeydukes best. Little details started to bloom in her awareness: the way she had to lean up slightly, the gentle caress of his fingers moving from her cheek to her nape, then tangling in her hair.

Given Fred’s reputation as the school’s prankster, this wasn’t exactly the snog she’d mentally rehearsed. Not that it was a bad thing, not at all! It was brilliant, actually, the kind of kiss that surely had fireworks popping off somewhere unseen. And judging by the way neither of them could stay away for more than a snatched breath, both were in complete agreement. They kept coming back for more, a silent conversation of lips and tongues.

Truth be told, his repertoire of dodgy jokes had led [y/n] to expect something a bit more… naughty. A bit spicier. This kiss, however, was pure, unadulterated romance, worthy of a movie — but a PG-rated one.

After so many dirty jokes, it was a bit of a surprise.   

But she wasn’t about to complain. Not one bit. She simply melted into him, her hands finding a comfortable spot on his shoulders, fingers twirling through the glorious, untamed mess of his red hair.    

Time seemed to blur and fade. Dear reader, between us, it was a good half an hour. They kept pulling each other in, with a proper longing hung in the air, a silent yearning for something more than just a kiss. Cor blimey.    

Eventually, though, the moment had to wind down, and they found themselves chuckling again, like a pair of right idiots. And that was sort of it.  For that day.

Perched on her bed, [y/n] was doing her best to hide the monumental disappointment bubbling inside as she answered Ursula’s interrogation.

“And how long has it been, exactly?” Ursula asked, referring to how many days had passed since the kiss [y/n] and Fred Weasley shared.

“Four days,” [y/n] replied, perhaps a tad too quickly. “Give or take,” she added, attempting a casualness that felt about as convincing as a Niffler denying a magpie.

As if she hadn’t been counting the hours, marking them off on an invisible calendar.

“Hm,” Ursula pursed her lips, stretching them out.  “A bit of a long time, that,” she declared, sounding like a right scientist analysing a particularly baffling test tube.

“A long time!” [y/n] exclaimed, indignation momentarily overriding her attempts at nonchalance. Then, she bared her teeth in a grimace that was more “agggh” than a smile, before returning to her best uncaring expression. “Not that I'm bothered, mind you.”

“You have nothing,” Ursula observed, like a post-it reminder.

“We have nothing,”[y/n] echoed, confirming the dire situation.

“Still, you’d think he'd have said something,” Ursula mused, tilting her head. “Has he even spoken to you?”

The question sent another wave of frustration through [y/n], who mentally flicked through the last few days, desperately searching for any sign of Fred acknowledging her existence beyond the bare minimum in their shared classes.

“He did… sort of. He went a bit like this,” she demonstrated, raising her eyebrows and giving a sort of half-hearted upturn of the lips that barely qualified as a smile. It wasn’t a great impression of Fred, admittedly, but it conveyed his lack of effort. “And then he said, ‘What up?’ Who says that?”

Ursula, witnessing her friend's building fury, had to agree, it was a bit rubbish.

“No cheeky jokes?”

“Not a single one,” [y/n] confirmed, her tone still laced with disbelief.

“Shocking,” Ursula declared, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Defeated, [y/n] flopped back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress.

“You were just another conquest,” Ursula offered, her tone taking on a slightly mournful note.

“Just another…” [y/n] started to agree, to wallow in the disappointment, but then she stopped herself.

She refused to let Fred Weasley off scot-free. If he’d wanted her to fall for him, well, now he had a girl properly smitten, and he’d better deal with it. Because if not, Merlin’s beard…

“This is not how it’s going to be,” [y/n] announced, suddenly leaping out of bed with a newfound determination. It was nearly eleven at night; everyone should be tucked up in bed (or at least pretending to be for curfew).

“What are you going to do?” Ursula asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’m going to get what he owes me,” the girl stated, her eyes gleaming with purpose.

“And what exactly does he owe you?” Ursula asked, thoroughly bewildered, as if she’d missed a crucial plot twist. [y/n]’s sudden change of mood had left her slightly behind.

[y/n]’s expression hardened. “A punchline.”

It was not some sudden descent into full-blown stalker territory that had [y/n] knowing Fred’s whereabouts, mind you. Absolutely not. In fact, the cheeky git himself had let slip, the day before that disastrous Quidditch match that led to all this kerfuffle, that every Wednesday night he and his twin would sneak off to Hogsmeade.

“Where d’you reckon we get half our brilliant prank ingredients from?” he’d grinned, that familiar Weasley smirk plastered across his face. Zonko’s, naturally.

Well, now the tables had turned, hadn’t they?

Being a seventh-year, [y/n] and plenty of others were clued in on the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Still,[y/n] hadn’t exactly been using the clandestine route, not even for a bit of off-season shopping. But Fred must have been on his way back from the village just as she was legging it down the stairs and along the corridors to intercept him.

Reaching the hidden entrance, [y/n] stopped just shy of it, bathed in the rather dramatic light of a solitary chandelier halfway down the corridor.

She looked almost spectral, despite the fact her night robe was a rather fetching shade somewhere between purple and wine. A proper nightgown it was, tied snugly just under her bust. Not exactly see-through, but light enough. Still, no need to fret on that front, as she had her trusty pajama shorts and vest top underneath.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, she waited, patience wearing thin. Just as she was about to give up, she heard muffled noises, and her heart gave a little flutter. Did she actually have the nerve to go through with this?

Swallowing hard, she held her breath until he and his brother emerged from the passage, chuckling away with bags in their hands and that unmistakable waft of butterbeer clinging to them.

“Want to hear a joke, Weasley?” she called out, perhaps a tad too theatrically.

There were two Weasleys, however, both looking utterly bewildered at the ghostly figure illuminated in the dim light.

“Fred Weasley,” she clarified, clearing her throat and making it crystal clear which ginger menace she was after.

George didn’t hesitate for a second. He swiftly relieved Fred of the bags he was carrying and scarpered, a look on his face that suggested he either knew exactly what was going on — or at least, would soon understand; Fred would certainly tell him later. [y/n] could have sworn she even saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

And then George was gone, vanishing with surprising speed, that [y/n] felt hazardous. But Fred, the remaining Weasley, didn’t look scared. More…confused.

He didn’t look guilty, either.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse, like he’d forgotten how to use it. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He took one cautious step in her direction — but there were still a solid five feet between them. A deliberate distance. “I want to hear the joke.”

[y/n], who was still mentally processing George’s Olympic-level retreat, blinked at him.

“Go on,” Fred coaxed. “Tell it.”

She didn't actually have a joke thoroughly prepared, not one bit. She was going to have to pull one out of thin air, cobble something together from the chaos in her brain because she refused to look like an idiot.

“Are you my homework?” she asked, miraculously managing to keep her voice steady.

Fred raised a single brow — and not the amused kind.

And suddenly, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t look amused. He didn’t look irritated. Fred just looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from sneaking around with your twin in the middle of the night — no, this was deeper.

Realising this, she took a deep breath, all hope draining away. Resigned to her fate, she delivered the punchline, ready to turn tail and run:

“Because I should definitely be doing you.”

But she didn’t run.

Couldn’t. Not with his eyes on hers like that — fixed and unreadable, and yet… He wanted to laugh! Oh, it was written all over him: the way his mouth twitched at the corners, the faint scrunch of his nose, like he was physically restraining the chuckle. And yet — he didn’t.

And that’s what got her. That right there. The rational part.

Why was he being rational?

“What?” she asked, blinking, part bewildered, part boiling. “Say something, for Merlin’s sake.”

Still, he said nothing. He looked just as dazed as he had when he’d first spotted her in the corridor.

“Brilliant,” she muttered, a smile curling bitterly at her lips. “Leave me hanging, Weasley. Snog me in the middle of nowhere and then act like it was some shared hallucination.”

She laughed — sharply, dryly — and then, to her horror, kept going. “Better yet, don’t talk to me at all. I’ll do the honours for you, yeah?” She mimicked his voice — that low, cheeky drawl he used in the back of Potions class. “What up?”

She took a step toward him. Then another. Neither of them noticed the space between them shrinking — there was too much tension fizzing in the air, humming like a misfired spell.

Fred stuffed his hand into his front pocket — a small, nervous gesture she might’ve missed if she weren’t watching him like he held all the answers to her unfinished diary entries.

“I’ll tell you what’s up, Fred Weasley,” she declared, jabbing a finger in his direction with each word like she was reciting a particularly aggressive haiku. “I need to know where we went wrong. Was I just another name on the list? Another laugh between broomsticks?” She inhaled sharply. “If so, fine. Not ideal, but fine. I can handle that. But if you’re ignoring me because—”

Don’t say it, her brain whispered.

“Because I’m a terrible kisser,” she pushed on, her voice wobbling only a little, “then just tell me. Honestly. That’s all I’m asking for. I mean, if you were a terrible kisser, I’d have said something. Kindly, obviously. Maybe even offered a second chance. For improvement purposes.”

She was rambling now, properly spiralling, but she didn’t want to dare give him a chance to speak. 

“If my kiss didn’t set off your fireworks — pun intended — then fine. I’ll resume my day, quietly and gracefully. But, you know, we could keep with the dirty jokes, they are relatively funny, they’ve grown on me — pun not intended — and I…”

She trailed off only when she saw it — the tilt of his eyes, the almost-smile.

It wasn’t full-blown, not quite. But it was there, hovering.

Mouth still half-open, [y/n] froze like the sentence hadn’t quite finished leaving her lips. She glanced from Fred to the room, as if retracing her steps, searching for something she’d missed.

“You talk too much, you know that?” Fred said casually, hand still buried in his pocket.

She frowned. “I didn’t use to.”

That earned a real smile from him — quick, unguarded, boyish.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But then some genius professor had the bright idea of sitting the quiet ones next to the troublemakers. You know, to ‘balance each other out’.” He chuckled under his breath, gaze flicking away. “Seems it worked.”

“Oh, it did,” she shot back. “Now I’m the one who won’t shut up, and you’re quiet as a—”

“Uhm,” his brows perked up. “I think there was a joke in that book about flies.”

“What was it like?” she asked curiously, then scolded herself, scowling. “Well, I don’t want to know it,” she snapped. “Stop deflecting! Are you going to answer any of my actual questions?”

“They were more like wild guesses,” he said, smirking.

He had that look — smug, maddeningly attractive, and about five seconds from saying something entirely inappropriate.

“Stop smiling like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Honestly. It’s infuriating.”

“I’ll be serious then,” he said, drawing in a breath. And he was — all the mischief softened, replaced by something sincere.

“I didn’t like kissing you,” he paused. Dramatically. “I loved it.”

She blinked.

“But then,” he continued, “I got scared. Because the thoughts running through my head — during and after that kiss — were… a bit intense. And frankly, they’d been lurking long before we even kissed. Since the moment you laughed at one of my ridiculous pickup lines, something… grew.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Pun very much intended,” he informed, just like she had, before. Then he went on, “The lust definitely grew — along with, well… other things.”

Her eyes widened, and she asked, with a kind of horrified curiosity, “During the kiss?”

Fred had the nerve to grin, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Also right now.”

“But we’re fighting…”

He leaned in slightly. “And I’ve never seen you look so hot.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, deadpan. “It’s making me want to keep arguing.”

“But I still don’t get it,” she pressed, exasperated. “And no, I’m not dragging this out for vanity’s sake, to keep looking hot. I genuinely hope to understand. If you were so… enthusiastic about me”—she waved vaguely toward his trousers—“then why did you ghost me?”

Fred let out a strange sort of laugh — rough and awkward, like it scraped up the back of his throat on the way out. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his face softening like he was about to deliver news of a lost pet.

“Because you’re a virgin,” he said, voice full of tragic respect. He even tilted his head forward a bit, as though observing a moment of silence. “I was trying to be decent. Give you time.”

She stared at his hand. Then at his pitying, chaste little face.

And burst out laughing. Not a giggle — a full-on guffaw that echoed off the stone corridor, wild and unstoppable.

“I’m not a—” she tried, choking on a sob of laughter.

Fred looked wounded.

“I’m not a virgin, you absolute melon,” she wheezed, wiping at her eyes, still grinning like mad.

“But…” his eyebrows crashed together. “You blush every time I make a more sexual joke.”

“Yes, because you say those things in class,” she snapped, still giggling. “With Professor Flitwick like two feet away.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking.

They stood in silence for a moment. [y/n] was catching her breath from laughing so hard, while Fred was… well, recovering whatever shred of ego he had left — after all, he’d called her a virgin when she wasn’t, and had apparently sworn himself to celibacy for no reason at all.

The castle stayed quiet, but the air had turned colder as the hour crept on.

“So,” she finally said, relaxing her shoulders, her voice calmer now, almost casual, “was that kiss of yours the PG version?”

Fred looked at her, head tilted.

“What would you have done,” she went on, “if you’d known I wasn’t… chaste?”

He didn’t quite smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Memory? Something just shy of dangerous.

“Why do you want to know?”

She gave a little shrug. “I don’t think I hate you anymore. Not now that things are cleared up — the confusion, the vanishing act, the… sexual urges.”

“I never explained my sexual urges to you,” he said, frowning slightly.

“Oh no?” she asked, dragging one finger in a casual path over his chest, then up his neck. Half-pointing, half-caressing. “So what was that Chamber of Secrets line about, then?”

He bit back a chuckle. “I don’t want to fuck you in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“That wasn’t the line,” she smirked. “You said you wanted to sneak in and crawl to me.”

“It wasn’t crawling either,” he stepped closer — close enough now that he had to tilt his head all the way down to meet her eyes.

“You're giving me a hard time, Fred Weasley,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What’s a girl gotta do around here to earn a big reward?”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words had physically affected him.

“I think you’ve had enough puns for one night.”

She smiled — slow and wicked.

“Oh, but you know what I haven’t had enough of yet?”

Fred’s eyes searched hers, scanning for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

The half-light made her look ethereal — like she belonged to this strange hour of the castle, somewhere between dream and trouble. Her lips were parted, breath shallow but certain. Fred brought one hand to her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek like he was memorizing the shape of her. Then, slower still, he dipped his head.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It didn’t slam into her like the last time, like something impatient. It unfolded. A murmur of heat passed between their lips as they met, warm and unhurried, the kind of kiss that asked, Are you sure? and answered, Yes, I am.

His other hand came to rest on her waist, drawing her into him. She responded with fingers curling into his shirt, tugging slightly — asking for more. Their bodies fell into place as if they'd done this a hundred times before. As if they were always meant to fit this way.

Fred pulled back for a breath, their foreheads touching. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the beginning of a very good secret. And then he kissed her again — deeper this time, more urgent. His hands were moving now, one threading into her hair, the other pressing her closer until there was no air between them, just heat and want and years of almosts.

She gasped against his mouth when he backed her into the cold stone wall, and he laughed softly — not mocking, just amazed.

“I really didn’t plan to kiss you against a wall,” he whispered.

She tugged him forward by the collar. “Shut up, Weasley.”

They kissed again, and again, the world shrinking to the echo of their breaths in the corridor. She felt his fingertips graze beneath the hem of her shirt, just a brush, not daring more than the skin at her waist. But it made her shiver all the same. And Fred noticed.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” she replied. “I’m on fire.”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Good.”

They stayed pressed together like that for a while, as the castle held its breath around them — two people caught between recklessness and reverence, between the thrill of wanting and the sweetness of being wanted back.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I usually don't have all that many character headcanons of the domestic non-angsty variety, but for some reason I have, like, a Lot of specifically cooking themed Life Series headcanons (in the hypothetical scenario where they eat meals like normal human beings and not based on minecraft game mechanics), so I'm just going to leave them here:

Grian cooks. All the time. He makes every meal for his team, three meals a day, every day. It's Grian's thing, and he takes pride in it. Grian will cook if someone is lagging behind in their performance, he'll cook if they don't seem like they're feeling well, he'll cook before a fight, he'll cook before a long day of resource gathering, he'll cook when he's bored. If one of his teammates is gone for the day they'll come back to food left on the table for them. If one of his teammates is working on something he'll leave snacks in their workspaces or by their beds. When Grian has to join a pre existing team late in the series cooking will be one of his go-to methods for being 'useful' enough to earn his place with them. When Grian hasn't seen someone in a while he'll ask if they've been eating and then cook them something regardless. When Grian wants to win someone over or apologize for something it will be through gifts of little snacks or desserts. I just imagine Grian as someone who cooks for people and is proud of it. Ironically, I also imagine that when he doesn't have a team (on the rare occasions he doesn't) he won't eat very much because cooking would be more of a social/affection and personal pride thing for him than something he does because he particularly enjoys the act, so there doesn't feel like much point when he's alone (and i just don't think taking care of himself would be a thought, because grian has never been too concerned with his own general health).

I think Skizz is very similar to Grian in that he enjoys cooking for people, and is probably the 'designated cook' in pretty much all his teams. Unlike Grian, though, I think Skizz would really like the act of cooking itself and find it fun. Don't get me wrong, I imagine it can often still be a social thing and a show of affection for Skizz too, because Skizz is the kind of person who would be very happy to be able to see his teammates happy and well fed because of him. But I think enjoyment would also be a big motivator for Skizz and he'd still have fun with cooking for himself if he were alone.

I truly have to imagine Bdubs as being comically bad at cooking. I just have this mental image of Last Life Etho puppy eyesing Bdubs into cooking for him and then Bdubs just happily plopping down a block of nondescript inedible burnt mush right out of a kids cartoon storyboard trying to convey the concept of 'bad food' through design alone. And Bdubs just expectantly watches Etho who (without taking off the mask) unconvincingly mimes eating it and then tosses it out the window while Bdubs goes ":D" so glad Etho enjoys his cooking and already planning tomorrows meal. Bdubs does the same thing with every team he has to varying responses.

Jimmy started off Third Life not being able to cook at all, but has become quite good over time. I imagine Scott did all their cooking in the early parts of Third Life, but Jimmy's not the type to be content with letting someone else do labor for him with no reciprocation, so I think he very quickly started trying to cook too, literally corralling Scott out of the kitchen and not taking no for an answer. I think Scott would have playfully complained about Jimmy insisting on cooking when his food was literally inedible, but Jimmy is very stubborn, and Scott knows how to go with the flow with these things, so they'd probably end up taking turns with meals. I imagine Jimmy kept up the habit through the following seasons (when grian wasn't there to stake full claim over the kitchen and push everyone else out in last life and limited life) and has become quite decent at cooking, which always seems to surprise other players.

Tango would be a disaster in the kitchen. Like. I'm picturing fires and explosions (we can chalk it up to him being a fire entity if that makes it better). Usually Tango is just outright banned from the kitchen, but Double Life is an exception. Jimmy and Tango strike me as the type of people to cook together as a cute couple thing. Jimmy does most of their cooking at first until Tango jokes about how he can't cook and Jimmy's like "Well wanna try helping anyways?" and it just becomes something they do together with…minimal..fires and explosions, because Jimmy wouldn't mind, and cooking is fun, especially when you're doing it with someone you love.

I also feel like Pearl is someone who'd find cooking fun. She wouldn't necessarily take it upon herself to cook all the time, but she'd enjoy it when she does cook. It would start being a hobby in Last Life, though I think her enjoyment would take a massive dip during Double Life. I don't see Double Life Pearl as someone who really had the will to do many things for fun, or even to take care of herself, really. I imagine Pearl didn't put much effort into cooking in Double Life, understandably, and didn't find it fun anymore. Although I think she still probably kept up healthy eating habits solely because I imagine Tilly would remind Pearl to eat and Pearl would never purposefully worry Tilly. After Double Life, once Pearl started slowly feeling better and felt like she had real friends again, I think cooking slowly would have become a hobby Pearl was actually able to enjoy again and do for more than practical reasons, which is a habit I think has continued through Wild Life.

I'm gonna put Scott and Cleo together because I imagine they have very similar views on cooking and they've teamed multiple times so I can put them together here. I feel like both Scott and Cleo see cooking as a chore. They're both responsible people who are fully capable of cooking and do so with minimal complaint because it's a necessity. But neither of them really find it enjoyable, I'd say, and would rather not. If doordash existed in the life series, they would have gotten it frequently in Double Life, but alas, they are in a death game lacking most modern technology and are cursed to cook for themselves. They had an alternating day schedule, because it's more convenient than both of them cooking for themselves every night and also even if they don't like cooking admittedly I think Scott and Cleo just like doing nice things for each other regardless. When not with each other, I think Cleo is the kind of person who'd usually go "Okay I'm cooking for myself, you guys figure yourselves out" with their teams because they don't want to be stuck cooking for other people all the time and also don't entirely trust other people to cook for them (partially because some of the people she's teamed with are just bad cooks, partially because cleo has some trust issues generally and is prone to suspicions over their teammates potentially betraying her). Although I think Etho and Bdubs specifically could both probably puppy dog eye Cleo into giving them food sometimes, and while cooking for other people isn't a habit of hers, if Cleo really wants to be nice or suspects someone they care about won't eat enough on their own, she might make an extra plate of food for them. Scott, on the other hand, I think would prefer for cooking to be split evenly in his teams (and he certainly wouldn't complain if someone wants to cook for him all the time), but is also very much willing to do the majority of the cooking if he has a partner who can't or won't cook. Scott is flexible and very willing to compromise for team cohesion and morale, even if he gets the worse bargain. Fortunately, though, Scott has never teamed with someone who takes advantage of that. Scott started off trying to do all the cooking for him and Jimmy automatically, but Jimmy is a good husband- and a stubborn one- who shut that down rapidly with his active desire to contribute (also as a side note, i feel like scott literally did not eat a single thing in between jimmy's death and his own in third life). Cleo, Pearl, Gem, and Impulse were all more than happy to split cooking duties with him too. I don't imagine Scott and Martyn spent many meals together, so Scott was mostly just feeding himself in Limited Life, which was fine. Scott probably occasionally made Martyn something while he was cooking for himself if Martyn was around, just out of love, but it wasn't something Martyn really asked him to do.

Gem is also on team "Cooking is a chore that I don't really enjoy but I'm an adult so I am fully capable of feeding myself without complaining". It's not something that's especially fun for Gem, but I think she split cooking duty with Scott and Impulse without much complaint in Secret Life. That said, I do think she maybe convinced Joel (who i imagine is surprisingly good at cooking) to do most of the cooking during Wild Life, and Gem has probably also coaxed a few meals out of Pearl when things are okay/good between them. Gem is willing to contribute but she also won't complain if people are willing to be convinced to do things for her.

Impulse is my final "Cooking is a boring chore, but I'm an adult" guy who is a decent but not super impressive cook. Usually I think Impulse defaults to just cooking for himself, unless he has teammates who like cooking and want to cook for him, or who want to alternate cooking for the whole group. I see Impulse as fairly flexible in this regard.

Joel is a shockingly good cook and also enjoys cooking. Joel was pretty much completely alone for all of Third Life, and had very inconsistent companionship during Last Life, so it was pretty much a necessity to figure out how to cook for himself at least. And, well, cooking can be very calming, which I think is good for someone like Joel who is very high intensity all the time. I think this quickly turned into Joel cooking for other people too once he started getting more solid companionship. I mean, he's not necessarily the type to frequently do things for others just to be nice, but Etho's good at the puppy eyes act, and I think Joel quickly realized as well that it's an ego boost when people enjoy his cooking, which is always a bonus with Joel, so I imagine he's made a habit of cooking for his teammates.

Etho has never cooked a single meal in his life (/hj) and he doesn't have to. If his teammates won't feed him, Etho can go around to his other allies (because he always has alliances outside his main team, etho keeps his options open) until someone invites him in for dinner. Wandering the server stopping by with various allies looking pathetic is a huge staple of Etho in the Life Series, this man is absolutely a chronic dinner guest.

Scar isn't someone I think cooks consistently, or very well. Not that he can't cook at all, necessarily. I don't think he's very good, but he can make passable simple meals. It just slips his mind, really. I imagine Scar as someone who'll often honestly outright forget to eat for long periods of time if he's left to cook for himself until something reminds him he hasn't eaten in a while. Often Scar's meal plans consist of either being fed by an ally (grian cooks, as we've established) or using his patented Scar charm to convince random people to give their food to him when it does occur to him that he ought to eat. That being said, I do think Scar enjoys baking specifically. He's not good at remembering to cook for sustenance, but if he's bored or wants to do something nice for someone, he'll bake, and he does quite enjoy it (often the product is mediocre, but the actual taste of the food is not the point of baking for scar).

Martyn is another guy who I think forgets to eat. By no means is Martyn an 'all work' type of guy, and he'll stop to goof around plenty, but I feel like he categorizes self care acts specifically as a waste of his time. Stopping to cook and eat just feels like Too Much when there are so many other things to do. He cooks simple mediocre meals when he gets too hungry and snatches little bits of food from people when he's at their bases, just to be a nuisance, and that's about it. Luckily Martyn often has someone there to get him to eat. Ren in specific is really good at making sure Martyn has meals, he'll just make Martyn a plate of whatever he's having and Martyn's not the type to complain about free food with friends (he doesn't have anything against eating, it's just the taking time out of his day to make himself food when alone that's an issue with martyn). I also imagine Skizz cooked for the whole Red Army toward the end of Third Life. Martyn probably didn't have too much issue in Last Life either. Grian Cooks, and probably had the whole Southlands supplied, plus Lizzie served snacks at Shadow Alliance meetings. In Double Life Cleo probably would have made sure Martyn ate enough too, because while they might not be on great terms, Martyn's poor self care effects people outside of him while he's linked to Cleo. Limited Life was hard, I think, because he was really into Winning that season, and for the first time ever, Ren wasn't in the series at all. That said, I imagine Scott made enough food for Martyn whenever martyn was home around meal times, and I have a very vivid image of The Clockers frequently slipping Martyn food on his way out after visits (to varying degrees of appreciation. cleo hands him an actual plate of food occasionally, which is..nice. scar passes out slightly burnt cookies, which aren't as filling or well made, but they're yummy enough and something is better than nothing. and uh..martyn isn't sure what to do with the stuff bdubs hands him). In Secret Life Jimmy, who again, likes cooking and is decent at it, is probably more than happy to make enough for Martyn while he's alive, though I imagine the later episodes after Jimmy dies is the worst Martyn gets with his 'doesnt think about taking care of himself'.

Ren is admittedly a mediocre cook. His food isn't always bad, but it's also not usually great. That being said, I think he makes up for it in enthusiasm. I think Ren likes cooking for his friends, and I think he gets incredibly excited to eat his food. And, I mean, nobody turns down free food, especially when Ren's excitement is generally so contagious, even if it's sometimes slightly burned.

Mumbo can't cook. Luckily everyone very much wants to feed Mumbo. Grian absolutely made sure Mumbo had plenty to eat during Last Life and Wild Life, and Mumbo was on a team with multiple people who like to cook in Secret Life (plus grian probably showed up with food for mumbo a few times in secret life anyways because he really does adore mumbo). Mumbo honestly doesn't even have to ask, so far I feel like people have just been happy to feed him.

Nobody has ever seen BigB eat. He does eat, obviously. It's just that people don't see it. He'll sit down for a meal with someone and only take bites exactly in the .4 seconds it takes them to blink in very exaggerated cartoon fashion. I don't know, I just wanted to capture BigB's confusion strats because he's literally so funny.

Lizzie can cook, technically, but she does not want to. Luckily Lizzie is very very good at convincing people to cook her meals for her. Usually Joel. But sometimes Ren in early Last Life and also Jimmy in Wild Life. Lizzie does bake, though. Cookies, cakes, brownies, etc. Lizzie likes having sweet things to present at meetings and parties and traps.

[livvymd]

After Hours Service. MDNI

this one low key isnt eating sorry anon

The second the restaurant doors opened, you knew this day was going to be chaos.

You'd worked a few pop-ups before, but nothing quite like this — a full-on Sidemen event, half content shoot and half real service. It was all a bit mad: cameras everywhere, orders flying in, the back kitchen sounding like a school canteen on fire, and somehow you were meant to keep a smile on your face and carry three plates at once.

You were good at your job. Calm. Composed. Focused.

Or at least, you were — until ChrisMD entered the building in a too-clean apron and made eye contact with you for a full second before looking away like you’d physically blinded him.

And that became the theme of the day.

Chris was also “working” the event, roped into the front-of-house rotation with various YouTubers, and he was doing an okay job when he wasn’t short-circuiting every time you got close.

You didn’t even have to flirt. You just existed — and he apparently couldn’t handle it.

It started small.

You passed him a plate of sliders. “Table three, yeah? You good with that?”

He nodded a little too fast, eyes flicking from your hands to your face. “Yep — uh — totally. I’m good. I can do plates. Yep. That’s what I do.”

You raised a brow. “Right… Well, try not to drop them.”

Spoiler: he nearly did.

And that was before he walked into a folding signboard that hadn't been there two minutes earlier.

It escalated.

Every time your paths crossed, it was a fresh scene from a romcom:

You asked him to carry drinks. He spilled a third of a Coke on himself.

You brushed shoulders near the pass window. He nearly dropped a tray of garlic bread.

You asked him how the tables were going. He blanked completely, said “table 9 is a man,” and walked away.

You couldn’t not smile around him.

And apparently, neither could the others.

By the third hour, Harry had started narrating his movements. “And here comes Chris, attempting human interaction. Will he survive? Odds are low.”

Ethan chimed in, “Bro turns into a loading screen whenever she walks by. Buffering for his life.”

You caught Chris ducking his head behind the drinks fridge, pretending to look for cans. Probably hiding from you.

Cute.

You decided to push your luck.

Near the end of the lunch rush, you cornered him — lightly, playfully — by the cutlery stand.

“Chris,” you said, and the way his name sounded in your voice made him glance up, heart already racing.

You held out your hand. “Need help with section five? Looks like they’re about to riot.”

He blinked at you. “Help? From…you? Yeah. Totally. I mean, if you’re not too busy — ”

You just smiled and walked past him, bumping his shoulder gently. “Come on, then.”

He followed.

He always followed.

By dinner service, things had settled into something almost normal. Tables were clearing out, the last guests were halfway through desserts, and the YouTubers had mostly stopped pretending to be competent.

You were behind the bar restacking glasses when Harry strolled past you.

“Y’know he’s completely lost for you, right?” he said casually.

You raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Who?”

Harry snorted. “Chris. You’re like his Roman Empire. He can’t think straight.”

You smirked but didn’t answer. The warmth in your chest betrayed you. You liked knowing that. Liked that Chris wasn’t like the others — he wasn’t pushy, or flirty just for content. He was genuinely trying, and failing spectacularly, and that was half the charm.

The restaurant emptied out slowly.

Most of the crew started packing up, clearing the last of the plates, throwing out props. Cameras were off. The lights were dimmed. You stayed behind to tidy up your section, focused on the last table when someone stepped up beside you.

Chris.

Hair slightly messy. Apron wrinkled. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. He looked boyish, nervous, and — despite the long day — still painfully fit.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, eyes on the table you were wiping. “I wanted to — uh — say thanks.”

You glanced at him, pausing your work. “For what?”

“For… not laughing at me. Much. Or for not reporting me to management for being the worst pretend-waiter of all time.”

You leaned back against the table, crossing your arms. “You weren’t that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, you were terrible. But you were sweet.”

He shifted closer. “Sweet like… pity sweet? Or sweet like maybe-you’d-consider-hanging-out-after-this sweet?”

Your mouth quirked up. “Depends how brave you’re feeling right now.”

He looked at you for a long moment — longer than any glance he'd managed all day. His confidence wasn’t fake, but it was shy. Tentative. Like he’d finally decided to risk it.

“I’m feeling brave enough,” he said.

You reached out, your fingers curling lightly around the edge of his apron, tugging him closer.

“Then show me.”

The kiss started soft.

He leaned in slowly, carefully — like if he moved too fast you’d vanish. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, testing, then again with a little more pressure.

You sighed into it, your hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

That was the switch.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Not rushed — just sure. His hands slid to your waist, gripping gently like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You pulled him closer, mouths moving in sync, the kiss growing more heated. His tongue brushed yours and your knees went a bit weak — not from the kiss itself, but from how into it he was.

Like he’d been holding back all day and couldn’t anymore.

The door clicked behind you as Chris locked it.

You were both still breathless — bodies too close, pupils blown, hands already wandering.

The restaurant was closed. The others were gone.

You were alone.

Your back hit the prep counter as Chris’s mouth found yours again — this time deeper, desperate, no hint of nerves left. His hands roamed with less hesitation now, gripping your waist, skimming over your hips, tugging you closer until you felt every hard inch of him pressed to your body.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he breathed against your lips, voice low and wrecked.

You smiled, your hand sliding under the hem of his hoodie. “I think I do.”

You pushed it up and over his head, and Chris dropped it to the floor without a care. His chest was warm and lean, skin smooth beneath your palms as you traced down the slope of his abdomen, dragging your nails lightly just to watch his abs twitch.

“Fuck,” he whispered, shivering at your touch.

He bent, lips ghosting down your neck, then across your collarbone. His teeth grazed gently as he nipped, sucking marks into your skin you’d probably have to hide tomorrow. One hand slid under your shirt, warm and rough against your waist, until his thumb brushed just under your bra.

You arched into his hand.

“Off,” you said, tugging at your own shirt. Chris helped you peel it off in seconds, followed by your bra.

His breath hitched when he saw you — his gaze devouring, lips parted, frozen for a moment like he was trying to burn the image into memory.

“God, you’re — ” He stopped, swallowing thickly. “You’re unreal.”

His mouth latched onto your chest — tongue and lips moving slowly, wetly, kissing over sensitive skin while his hands gripped your thighs. You reached between your bodies, unfastening his belt and jeans, pushing them down just enough for his boxers to tent obscenely in front of you.

Chris groaned when you brushed your fingers over him through the fabric.

“Y/N…” he rasped, forehead against your shoulder, hips jerking.

You kissed his jaw, then his throat, licking a slow stripe across the hollow of it before whispering, “Want you.”

He stepped back long enough to drag your trousers and underwear down your legs, his hands firm but reverent. You helped him out of his jeans and boxers, both of you standing fully bare in the middle of the dark, empty kitchen — fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead.

Then he was between your legs again, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing.

Chris kissed you slow this time — less urgent, more worship. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs tracing the inside gently, so close to your centre but not touching yet.

“I’ve thought about this too many times than I'd like to admit,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours.

“Then show me,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He reached down between your bodies and lined himself up, the head of his length brushing against you — hot, hard, ready.

And when he pushed in?

You gasped — head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you in one long, perfect thrust.

“Shit — ” Chris choked. “You feel — fuck, you feel amazing.”

He paused once he was fully inside, letting you both adjust, just staring at you with wide eyes and parted lips. You were flushed and panting, legs tight around his waist, hands gripping the back of his neck like you needed him to anchor you.

Then he moved.

Slow at first — deep, dragging thrusts that had your whole body rocking with each one. The wet, filthy sounds of skin against skin filled the kitchen, along with your moans, his groans, his whispered curses in your ear.

Your hips met every movement, your thighs tightening with each delicious grind of his pelvis against yours. He hit that perfect spot again and again, making your breath hitch, making your body clench around him until his rhythm stuttered.

“God, Y/N — you’re so tight — I’m not gonna last — ”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered, eyes rolling back. “I’m close, Chris, please — ”

He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle — his thumb pressing to your clit just right.

Your whole body tensed.

And then you broke.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, waves crashing through your body as you cried out his name, shaking, clenching around him. Your walls pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper.

Chris groaned — deep, raw, helpless — and followed you over the edge with one last thrust, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, head falling to your shoulder as he trembled in your arms.

The air between you was hot and thick with breath, skin sticky and flushed.

You stayed like that — entwined, panting, bodies still joined — for long minutes.

Finally, Chris lifted his head, lips brushing your forehead.

“I’m never gonna look at the prep counter the same way again,” he muttered.

You snorted, too blissed out to care. “Guess I’ll never eat another chicken tender again without getting flashbacks.”

He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your mouth. “Reckon we’re due a round two in the freezer.”

You grinned. “And then maybe… dessert?”

Chris smirked, lips against your neck. “Sweetheart, you are the dessert.”

[melodramamirrors]

Glamrocks x Funtime! reader

Summary: After a successful salvage, Y/N the Funtime animatronic has become the new centerpiece of the Pizzaplex’s all new History of Freddy’s attraction. You’ve been fixed up, embellished and improved. There was just one little issue. You were a tad aggressive. In fact, you hated humans the most. 

Fazbear Entertainment’s solution? Make it someone else’s problem!

🧸Glamrock Freddy🎤

Kind, gentle, and understanding, he was the obvious choice. There was no better fit for the job than Glamrock Freddy. So, as the long day came to a close, Freddy was taken off to an unfinished section of the Pizzaplex. When he asked, the staff had mentioned something about the new animatronic not liking humans, thus he was left on his own at the entrance. Like a child left at the daycare for the first time, he thought.

If the daycare looked as decrepit as this place, then he supposed he could understand the child’s fear—hypothetically. Nonetheless, he swept the thought away and pressed on, through the doors. He had a duty to uphold, after all. It was time to give the newest bot a warm welcome.

The hall was quite gloomy. Shadows stretched across the near-empty room. Just past the retro arcades, there you were; alone in the darkness, just barely illuminated by the dim spotlight shining above. And how amazing you were. Freddy had never seen anything like you.

“Hello, my name is Freddy Fazbear. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted. He waited for a moment, and then another but your eyes never opened. “...May I ask what your name is?”                                                                                                                                                          

And again, you refused to grant him a single ounce of acknowledgment. Although Freddy was privy to your standoffish façade, he hoped to at least get a word out of you. He was The Freddy Fazbear after all. No, that was just his ego talking, he knew deep down that you did not owe him your attention. You were probably just nervous, or maybe you just needed space.

The robot bear let out a thoughtful hum. 

Over the next few weeks, he’d taken the time to come visit you every night. He only spent a few hours with you, sometimes just to ramble about his day, other times he’d sing, and often he’d simply sit in silence with you. You still hadn’t spoken a single word. It wasn’t really that you meant to be rude, but you had learned long ago that kindness—true kindness did not exist. There was always some kind of motive, some objective, some goal. This bot couldn’t have been any different… And yet here he was, every night, just for you. How curious, you thought.

This time though, it seemed he did have a goal. You couldn’t be sure, but there was something about his gait that felt… strangely purposeful tonight.

As usual, Freddy made his way to the right side of your auditorium and leaned himself against the wall. He didn’t face you, only gazing upon the Fazbear-themed museum you’d been forced to call home. Over the many days of construction, it had begun to look like a proper establishment. It seemed your display was nearly complete, ready to be unveiled. Normally Freddy would be excited about this, however, tonight he was starting to feel the pressure to get you talking. So, he decided to ask a question, one that had been plaguing his restless mind for some time now. 

“Y/N…” he hesitated, “Was there a… Freddy at your previous location?” he asked almost timidly. You supposed it was a fair question, so for the first time, you responded aloud.

“Yes,” you said. You felt his eyes bore into you from the side. You knew he wasn’t satisfied. A moment of silence passed.

“Do I remind you of him?” he asked, though the usually calm tone of his voice seemed a bit off, a bit hurried. You considered ignoring such a ridiculous question, but it seemed your voicebox had already decided the answer.

“No,” you turned to look at him, faceplates shifting gently. It was yet another first, you met his eyes with your own, noticing how they glowed a deep, electric blue. He didn’t resemble your old friend at all, save for those eyes, and a few accessories.

“You’re nothing like him.”

Freddy wasn’t sure what to make of that, but something told him it would be best to leave it at that. Well, he supposed it was progress. You hadn’t spoken again since, but he didn’t mind and still came to visit every night. He’d never forget that look in your eyes.

🐔Glamrock Chica🍕

It had come as no surprise when the glamrocks were informed of Chica being chosen to be your talk therapist of sorts. Out of all of the band, Chica was by far the most sociable. Chit-chat and gossip were just totally her jam. Well, it wasn’t a surprise to the others, but Chica found it to be a delightful honor. To say Chica was excited would be a disgusting understatement, no; she was absolutely ecstatic. 

Although she had been briefed on your little… situation, as the staff referred to it, she was confident she'd have you broken out of your shell in no time. It wasn’t until she made her way to the new Pizzaplex historical section, and caught sight of your miniature auditorium, that she finally realized the gravity of your situation.

There you were, sitting alone beneath the spotlights of your tiny glass display, entirely unlike anything she’d ever seen. Though she didn’t recognize your character, it was the odd seams lining your body that intrigued her. Needless to say, she spent a good while simply taking in your unusual features.

Of course, the fear of getting caught staring eventually caught up to her, and she figured it would be more polite to announce herself. Clearing her voice gently, she offered a simple, “Hi.” She was taken aback, however, when your eyes snapped open, and your distinct faceplates shifted apart almost instinctively.

So, you were as unique and off-putting as the staff had rumored. But Chica was a kind and open-minded bot, and she was determined to present herself as such. “Ahaha… wow! Those are some neat face… thingies you’ve got there!” she babbled, folding her clawed hands. “Oh! Let me introduce myself. My name is…?” she paused as she noticed you had shifted closer. You lifted a paw to the glass and uttered a single word.

“...Chica?”

How on earth you guessed her name was beyond her, but for you, it was simply obvious, albeit appalling. With white feathers, an orange beak, and a fashionably pink outfit, the resemblance was uncanny. For a moment, you were sure that you were standing before an old friend.

In an instant, your mind filled with memories from your days as a rental entertainer—the days of singing and dancing, the sweet scent of birthday cake, and the chilling darkness of the underground storage you had once called home. 

You recalled the painfully electric discipline you and your bandmates endured, the desperation you all felt, and the heartache that festered inside you as you watched your friends escape without you. They had left you to rot. All but one. 

And here you were, trapped within yet another glass prison, gazing upon the beautiful old face of the one who had never left you all those years ago. Your mouth hung agape as your voicebox desperately sputtered. Just as you finally found the courage to speak, a gasp escaped Chica’s beak.

“Woah, how’d you know my name? Are you some kind of oracle? You are, aren’t you? That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to meet one!” she squealed with the bubbly excitement of a child. 

Just like that, the delusion had shattered. The awe in her starstruck eyes told it all; she was not your Chica; no, she was just another variant. Just another stranger. You felt your faceplates shift with agitation as you let your paws slip away from the glass. No words could accurately describe the complete and utter despair that engulfed you in one swift bite. Defeated, you slumped back into yourself.

“H-hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said? Oh, I’m so sorry!” she blabbered, reaching out as if to embrace you through the glass. It was an impossible action, but how sweet it was. You scooted away and turned to face the towering wall of your little auditorium. Chica frowned and dropped her outstretched arms. She figured that was her cue to leave.

With heavy reluctance, she turned away and trudged off to her greenroom, pondering what she had done wrong along the way. Maybe it was the oracle comment? Perhaps she hadn’t been affable enough. She realized she had been a bit impolite with her gawking and all. 

Or maybe she had simply overstayed her welcome. Whatever the case, she hoped she would be given another chance to make it up to you, if that was even possible at all.

🐊Montgomery Gator⛳️

Well, truthfully speaking, no one told Monty to go looking for you. No, the gator had taken it upon himself to scope out the new attraction on his own. He’d heard the rumors of course, from the catwalks where he’d always eavesdrop. The guests seemed quite excited about the reveal of a brand-new attraction, they often speculated on what could be inside. But Montgomery knew; he’d heard from the staff. They found one, a functional one, an old relic from the past. And it was strange.

What was everyone so excited about? Just some old junk and a barely operational bot? How could something like that ever compare to him? Why waste your time oohing and awing at something so… inferior, when he was standing right here? Nonetheless, he did find himself rather curious, he’d have to go and see what all the commotion was about for himself, so he found his way to the new attraction and snuck—no, barged inside. 

This place was clearly a work in progress, with exposed concrete for a floor, empty display cases, and boxes of dusty nick-nacks haphazardly strewn about. He even spotted a few rusty endo-skeleton parts lying within a few of the acrylic glass cases. Creepy.

But that wasn’t what he came here for and soon enough, he found you.

All alone, sitting lifelessly, with your head slumped over. You sat on a little stage wrapped in glass, with one measly spotlight shining above. No curtains, no instruments, just you.

So that was the amazing new animatronic, Y/N the Funtime? What a joke, the gator thought as he lazily sauntered closer. Well, you certainly looked old, outdated, useless, but at least you were clean. 

“Hey, newbie. Wake up,” he commanded. His voice was gruff, and his tone unfriendly; you didn’t like that. Truth be told, you didn’t from the moment he’d stepped into the attraction. Yes, you were awake and you knew he was there all along. You were a specialist in hide-and-seek, after all. But you weren’t in the mood for seeking right now, and there was nowhere to hide, so you settled for ignoring him.

“Aye, I’m talkin’ to you! Is that how you treat a new pal?” he sneered, his long tail swaying irritably. To no avail; you must not be as functional as the others said you were. “Old hunk of junk.” You were nothing special in his eyes.

However there was something that did catch his eye, and he lifted his star-shaped sunglasses to have a look. It was a rusty-looking control panel, stationed right before your auditorium, and it only had two buttons. Intrigued, Monty reached out his claws. No.

You jolted forward, faceplates gaping wide open to reveal your piercing eyes and sharp fangs as you smashed yourself against the glass. An ear-splitting screech ejected from your voicebox, rattling your entire shell of a body. Monty swung himself away from the glass.

“What in the Sam Hill?!” he shouted, though he found relief as he realized you remained within your little enclosure. If he could swear, he would’ve just then.“What the leapin’ lizards is wrong with you? Just ‘bout gave me a heart attack!”

Perhaps he didn’t get your message. You gnashed your teeth and screamed again, this time with far more ferocity. Your claws dug into the glass, and though unable to penetrate it, you were able to leave fine scratches. The gator seemed less fazed this time, though he still took a step back. “Alright, alright, I get it, I won’t touch anything,” he grunted and raised his claws. “Why’re you ignorin’ me anyway, huh?”

You let yourself relax at his admission of defeat and allowed your faceplates to draw closed. Such a punk he was, to come barging in on your space, demand your attention, and insult you to your face. What gave him the right? And now he expects an explanation? What else did he want, an apology? Such arrogance. He was about as sensitive as Foxy, you thought.

You knew he had no idea what the function of that control panel was, but the mere thought of being punished—by another animatronic no less—infuriated you. You had no choice but to scare him straight. But the more time went on, the less scared Monty became; instead, he grew irritated as well.

In a sharp, unnatural motion, you heaved yourself up from the floor. Even when elevated, you only surpassed Monty’s height by a few centimeters. Faceplates shifting so very unnaturally as you gazed upon the reptile apathetically, taking in his features. For the first time in a while, Montgomery Gator found himself nearly unable to speak. It was something about your eyes, how they bore into him, gazing so lifelessly. He wondered if human eyes ever looked like that. “...You ain’t no normal bot… that’s for sure.”

“Are you scared?” you asked. Monty glared.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ scary. Yer jus’ a freak.” You couldn’t help but wonder if he was telling you, or himself. You tilted your head.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you said and lifted a paw to the glass. What a strangely sweet voice you had. “Sometimes you should be.”

“I told ya! I ain’t scared of nothin’. ‘Specially not no weirdo clown.” Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “Somethin’ like you don’t belong here. Not ‘n this place.”

“You should leave,” you said simply. A silence hung in the air for some time; you never broke eye contact. The spotlight began to flicker.

Monty huffed and spun on his heel. “With pleasure,” he grunted. You watched as he left with slow and deliberate steps. You wondered if he’d come back again someday. It was a lonely stage.

🐺Roxanne Wolf🦴

You stood there, gazing at your figure from the reflection glaring against the glass wall. You hardly even recognized yourself anymore with freshly groomed fur, spotless paint, and glossy eyes. It was especially odd to feel the lack of rust and dirt between your joints. It was almost as if they’d erased every last reminder of that dark time. However, the question still weighed heavy on your mind; where on earth had all that time gone? 

And yet here you were, trapped within a tiny auditorium of your own, surrounded by the many familiar bits and bobs of your past. Displays full of old props, and worn machinery, sat before you. Your entire life was laid out for future tourists to gawk at. It was nostalgic, in a twisted sense, as though some part of you missed that hell hole you’d once been kept in. As above, so below, you supposed. Half heartedly, you wondered if this was how a fish in a pet store might feel. For some reason, you found a strange comfort in the buzzing of the flickering spotlight shining down upon you. You blinked at the reflection of your face—it blinked back.

The silence, save for the vibrations of electricity flowing through the walls, was broken by the sound of distant footsteps. 

When the staff asked for a Glamrock to welcome you, to everyone’s surprise, Roxanne volunteered herself. She was the most popular bot for a reason after all, who wouldn’t want to meet her? The others were a bit hesitant, Freddy especially, but Roxy made the case that only a loner could break the ice with another, so he allowed it. Reluctantly. 

Within the shadows of the construction zone, you stuck out like a white rabbit in the night. Roxanne approached you with a clawed paw on her hip. You watched her reflection in the glass, beside your own, analyzing her without the need to face her. She was beautiful, tall, and advanced; it seemed the new generation of bots had quite the upgrade. Though, you weren’t sure who she was. Perhaps it was a new version of Foxy? Why was she grey? As a matter of fact, why did she seem feminine? Your Foxy never had a true gendered presentation. Foxy… You wondered if they were out there somewhere. Part of you hoped they weren’t. It wasn’t that you didn’t miss them, but you knew there wasn’t anywhere for them to go—the world had no place for you Funtimes.

“You’re not even gonna look at me?” Roxanne asked. Oh, right, her. You’d forgotten she was there. With a slow turn of your head, you gazed down at her. “That’s better. Say, pup, what’s your name?”

Your name? It took you a moment to recall and though you opened your maw to respond, you decided against it. You weren’t sure if this bot could be trusted.

“Hmph. Shy types,” she said, thick eyebrows knitted. She crossed her arms. “Name’s Roxanne Wolf, your pleasure to meet me.” Oh, so she was an entirely new character. She certainly had a showmanship about her, just like Foxy. An ego.

“Somethin’ wrong with your voice or what?” she said with a sneer. “Not sure what I expected. Of course something as old as you can’t speak.” There was an air of superiority leeching from her. That distinctly belittling tone of her voice was sinking beneath your faux skin. You felt your plastic hair stand on edge—something dangerous flickered behind your plastic eyes. 

“I can speak just fine,” you said. “I choose not to.” 

“Well, ‘least you got a voice,” she shifted her stance, putting her weight to one side. “Got a name too?”

“Y/N,” you said. It had been a long time since you’d heard that name aloud, even longer since you introduced yourself. What a stupid name it was. “The pleasure is no one’s.”

Roxanne glared for a moment. You wondered if you had pissed her off, but why had she smirked like that?

“Y/N… suits you,” she said as her scrutinizing gaze trailed up and down your body. For some reason, you suddenly felt a bit self conscious. “So, like… What’s this whole kicked puppy act anyway?”

“What?” you asked as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Y’know, the whole ‘I’m so miserable’ look.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that and a strangely disturbing silence lay thickly between the two of you. Your faceplates twitched. You felt this irritating itch to reach out and grab her, to show her what you were really feeling; the best you could do was lean against the glass, outstretched claws tapping dangerously upon the barrier.

“Let me out, and I’ll show you,” you said with a slight tilt of your head. 

Roxanne wasn’t sure what had come over you, it was as if one moment you were fine, and the next you appeared as some kind of monster. That was when she realized the soulless look in your eyes like you’d rip her apart if you could. You couldn’t, of course, but she now understood the meaning behind the “Do Not Touch” warning pasted against the glass frame. Roxy shook her head.

“Nah. Something tells me you deserve to be in there.” You watched as she stepped back before turning on her metallic heel and left. Alone at last; just like you were meant to be.

[venussaidso]

Mekhi Alante Lucky and Jeremy Meeks are two male models who got spotted from their mugshots.

It's very likely that they could both have Ketu-ruled Moons — Mekhi Alante Lucky with Mula Moon and Jeremy Meeks with Ashwini Moon.

The 'reformed delinquent' is something I've noticed a lot for Ketuvians, especially the men. For example, Ashwini Moon Matt Dillion was discovered by a casting agent while bunking off school, being rebellious early on — only to then play an actual delinquent fictional character. “I wasn’t in class, you could say that. I think why I ended up doing that movie was because I connected so much with the character. I recognized this kid, he was a juvenile delinquent – he was in a much worse place than I was, probably.”

This took me back to the character Roi, from the Spanish series Berlin, played by Mula Moon Julio Peña. Roi is literally a reformed delinquent — I touched on his character a bit more in my post Ketu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 2) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝟑.

And Roi randomly reminded me of Fontaine from They Cloned Tyrone, who's played by Magha Moon John Boyega. Fontaine's initial purpose of existing is to be a hard ass drug dealer, maintaining the cycle of violence and stagnancy within his community — which he means to transcend when he discovers that everything about his role in his town is simply manufactured.

This arc supporting the reformed delinquent.

Also, Matt Dillion talking about bunking school reminded me of an old guy friend of mine that I went to high school with throughout. He had Ashwini Moon. He used to bunk class regularly since the ninth grade, and was a heavy drinker already. He was always caught up in violence and conflict. I'm not sure if he's reformed, but last time he drunk called me at night before a school exam, telling me he accidentally stabbed someone– that person is luckily alive. Anyway, not all Ashwini natives will be like this or are like this — before someone lectures me in the comments. But he was a dangerous individual. Unfortunately, at that time, I didn't see that side of him fully. We used to walk together everyday after school, we would talk about everything and anything. The potential to reform or rehabilitate is there [but I don't trust men to change].

And just last year, I encountered a Magha Moon guy, who is the ex boyfriend of my Magha stellium friend. We were all talking about some random shit before he started talking about dark stuff. He looked me straight in my eyes and told me he stabbed his stepdad the year before. He's a very scary individual, and unfortunately I still cross paths with him on campus. Being random as I am, I had asked for his birth details upon first meeting — because his ragged appearance looked very Martian/Ketuvian and I just wanted to confirm my suspicions. His nature is very, very draining and abusive.

Ashwini Moon Dennis Rodman has been also known for his delinquent antics for his entire career, never caring for others and what others think. This level of detachment from Ketu definitely makes these individuals possibly dangerous as they don't care about rules or crossing boundaries. For example, Rodman had been attacking cameramen while he's literally playing in the game [basketball] — one day he violently kicked a cameraman in the groin and got this guy hospitalized, paying him $200,000 in settlement.

Mula Sun, Ashwini Moon Jared Leto is also known for being creepy & abusive towards his cast members and other celebrities. He's also a cult member. He's also known for attacking his fans.

And finding out that Suge Knight has Sun in Ashwini was quite shockingly validating as he reminds of that former Ashwini guy friend of mine. Suge Knight has always been violent since high school, being kicked off football teams due to his headless nature and drive to cross the lines — always using the game as an excuse to destroy his opponents, but gaining nothing material at all from it. This is extremely Ketuvian of him, as his Moon is conjunct Ketu as well. And his Ketu is exalted, being in Jyestha nakshatra.

Also, you might notice that Venus nakshatra natives will have an overlap with Ketu nakshatra natives. I know for sure that Venusians can be inclined to violence. Chris Brown is the most typical Venus nakshatra man I could think of right now.

Sidereal fire signs, and sidereal Scorpios, tend to show up in people who behave dangerously. Xxxtentacion had sidereal Scorpio Moon, and he was a delinquent.

Erykah Badu has sidereal Scorpio ASC.