#stop clogging up my inbox | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryoculus · 23 days ago

Text

— TRACK 02: ALL YOURS ⟢

the last thing you expect for mydei to do is ask you to help write a song. it could have been out of pity, or a means to distract, but little do you know, those fragmented lyrics will pull you so much closer into each others' orbit.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 7.4k (ongoing)

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

★ notes; i'm cross-posting chapters gradually so i don't end up clogging the tags with my updates LOL 😭 also, i bulldozed through the 3.3 trailblazer quest and was royally pissed off by those 10-second cutscenes lmfao!!!! but i liked the story anyway so here's chapter 2~

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

@TheFlamechasers [📸 Photo Post] “First live charity set with our newest member, #DIANA. Let’s hear it for the cause and the chaos. 🔥” → 🧡 132,940 likes | 💬 View all 9,021 comments

@stagebattles [🎥 Clip: Diana’s solo, crowd screaming in the background] “One show in and she’s already melting faces. Flamechasers just hit reset.” → 🔁 18.2k shares | 💬 “did NOT expect that tone shift. she’s got teeth.”

@lionmouth17 [Tweet] “did she really play Nightingale Static like THAT?? this is why we stan musicians who feel the music.” → 9.2k likes | 2.4k reposts | #Flamechasers #DIANA

@heph_saves_hearts [Fan edit clip of old Hephaestion solos vs. Diana’s live set] 🎧 “i miss him.” 💬 Comments are disabled.

@flamechasers_confessions Anonymous post “I saw Diana once at a show before she joined the band. She was front row, crying during ‘Firestarter.’ I swear it was her.” → 614 likes | 109 comments | 🧊 tagged: “unconfirmed,” “fan theory”

@ cipher [Instagram Story] 🎤🎸 “Our newbie killed it! Whole band was lit tonight. 🔥 #Flamechasers”

@GarmentmakerCH [Photo Post] Image: Diana, still in stagewear, clutching a bouquet Caption: “Operational success.” → 🧡 49.1k likes | 💬 “why do you talk like a cryptid and also make me cry”

Life hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s moving faster than ever.

Hyacine keeps your inbox clogged with 4K Ultra HD fancams of every angle of your debut, each one timestamped and over-captioned like she’s running PR. Her support warms your heart, really. But while you do your best to hold on to your tradition of monthly coffee shop catch-ups, even that’s starting to lose its place in your tightly packed schedule.

Rehearsals blur into fittings, fittings into interviews, interviews into frantic note-taking at midnight when a new riff won’t leave your head.

You should be too busy to feel anything.

And for a while, you are.

Cipher’s energy barrels through every room, impossible to dodge and secretly comforting. Phainon never forgets your drink order, not even once. Castorice taught you a new tuning last week and gave you a fist bump that landed like quiet approval. Even Anaxa has stopped scowling every time you walk through the door—mostly.

And Mydei… is still Mydei. Distant and watchful, but the silence between you is thinner now. Less like a wall, more like a pause.

It feels like the kind of chaos you used to dream about.

Until it doesn’t.

You only meant to stop by the practice room to pack up your gear, maybe tighten a string or two. Ten minutes. Fifteen, max. Rehearsals finished up late, and you’d rather head back to your apartment before you get caught in the evening rush hour.

But time slows differently in the quiet.

The rest of the studio is dim, lit only by the soft amber spill from a hallway bulb. Your amp is still warm. The hum of cables left half-wound coils at your feet. Outside, someone laughs, distant and muffled. Inside, it’s just you.

And the space where Erin should be.

Where she would’ve sent a dumb sticker just to make you smile, ask how your songwriting is coming along and offering her own input. She’d probably request a selfie in your stage jacket, too, before cheering you on with You did it. You’re really doing it!

The silence settles too heavily on your shoulders. You sit down, but it doesn’t help.

Your fingers find the pick hanging from your necklace out of habit, but they don’t move. You hold it like a lifeline. Like maybe, if you sit here long enough, your sister will walk through the door. Crack a joke. Roll her eyes. Hug you hard.

But she doesn’t. She never will.

The ache swells slowly and surely as it drags the air from your chest. Your throat tightens. And then, before you can stop it, the tears come—hot and thick and aching. You don’t sob right away. It’s quieter than that. Breath catching, shoulders curling inward, the sound of something unraveling from the inside out.

You don’t hear the door at first. How the hinges creak softly, and how the air shifts just a bit. You’re too deep in the grief that still curls tightly around your ribs. Your guitar pick is still clenched around your fingers like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

Then—

“…Hm? You’re still here.”

For a second, your heart stutters like maybe you imagined it. But you know that voice, even clipped short like that.

Shit.

You don’t want to look. You really don’t.

But your head turns anyway like it’s not entirely yours.

Mydei’s standing in the doorway, half-shadowed by the hall light behind him. His blonde hair’s still damp from today’s rehearsal—fiery tresses flattened by sweat and motion, and just a little frizzed at the edges. His jacket’s unzipped, slouched carelessly off one shoulder, like he left in a rush and didn’t bother to fix it.

But it’s his face that lands the hardest.

His usual mask of cool, unreadable nonchalance is gone. There’s no aloof arch to his brow, no smug curve to his mouth. Golden eyes catch on yours, and you expect them to flick away like they always do. But strange enough, they stay.

He looks stunned.

As if he wasn’t prepared to see you like this. Red-eyed and trembling and small in a room that was never meant to feel so empty. He says your name—the real one—like it might be enough to ground you or himself. Maybe it’s the only thing he has to offer.

You scrub at your face, clinging to the hope that if you wipe fast enough, you can pull yourself back together before Mydei speaks again.

But you can still feel him looking.

You sit up straighter. You don’t offer an explanation, and you sure as hell don’t ask for comfort.

“I’m fine,” you say with more bite than intended. You don’t meet his eyes.

He doesn’t call you out on it.

Instead, there’s a beat of silence, then the sound of heavy combat boots shifting against the floor. He glances over his shoulder at one of the cluttered work tables against the far wall—half-covered in scribbled lyrics and old water bottles.

“…Wanna help me write something?” Mydei asks quietly. “Could use another brain for this one. If you’re up for it.”

The question lingers in the air like he’s offering you a cup of tea instead of an outstretched hand. The shift is so gentle that it takes you a moment to register it. You’d braced yourself for indifference. Maybe a clipped nod before he turned and left.

But this? This quiet pivot, a small gesture toward something normal and shared—it unsettles you in a different way.

You risk a glance at him. Mydei’s already walking toward the table, grabbing a pen, and dragging over a chair with one foot like he’s not waiting for your answer.

Like he just assumes you’ll come.

And maybe that’s what does it.

You stand slowly, the heaviness in your limbs not quite gone, but a little easier to carry now. The space between you stretches but doesn’t pull apart. You cross it quietly, your steps careful as if the floor might shift underfoot if you make a single misstep.

The pen moves in his hand, tracing idle loops into the margin of the page. Not really in a rush. He allows the moment to breathe.

But the first lines don’t come easy. Mydei starts one, scratches it out, then hesitates. His gaze constantly flickers toward the corner of the page, where a few lines already sit—half-finished, older ink, not his handwriting.

“These lyrics have been sitting like this for a while now,” he says quietly, as if he noticed where you’re looking. “Felt wrong to just leave them this way.”

The strokes are unfamiliar, but the rhythm is there, off-kilter and aching, like someone left mid-thought. You want to ask whose writing it originally was, but you hold your tongue.

Something tells you it’s better not to ask.

He tries again, careful and deliberate with a softer furrow in his brow. The silence doesn't feel as sharp anymore. It rings more warm and worn at the edges, like an old sweatshirt you haven’t had the heart to throw out.

Mydei taps the pen once, twice, then gives you a sidelong glance.

“Is this too vague?” he asks, and nudges the page a little closer in your direction.

You hesitate. The instinct is to deflect—to say it’s fine and stay in your lane—surfaces in your chest. But his tone isn’t guarded. There’s no challenge in it, only a quiet question, maybe even a thread of trust. So, you lean in, eyes scanning the scribbled lines.

“Maybe,” you murmur, voice still hoarse around the edges. “The image is strong, but it feels…detached. Like it’s circling something it doesn’t want to say.”

He hums low in his throat. Then he tries again, crossing out half a line and rewriting it beneath in smaller, tighter script.

“Better?”

You nod. Less hesitant, more curious.

Just like that, it becomes something else, less about grief and the sharp edges still catching in your chest. More about rhythm, phrasing, and two people hunched over a messy page trying to make sense of feelings without naming them outright. You offer a few lines. Mydei adjusts them without comment, or sometimes just nods, tapping his pen as he reads them back. A small, quiet rhythm begins to settle between you—call and response, edit and listen, breathe and try again.

And in the space where your sorrow had curled in tight and silent, something else begins to take its place.

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe some sort of reprieve.

It’s a windless afternoon. The kind where the sky is washed-out blue, thin clouds stretched like gauze, and the world feels hushed, like it knows not to speak too loudly.

You don’t come here often.

Not exactly out of guilt, or avoidance. The thought of having to tread the winding paths is just difficult on most days. Like turning the knob on a door that’s never stopped creaking, no matter how many times you oil the hinges.

But today, you seem to tolerate the noise a lot more than usual.

Hyacine walks beside you with her hands tucked deep into her coat sleeves. She doesn’t say much, just matches your pace with the kind of quiet only someone who’s seen you at your worst knows how to keep. You’re grateful for it. Words feel too loud today.

The cemetery gates groan. Grass crunches under your shoes, soft and brittle from the cold. You know exactly where to turn, even if you haven’t been here since the leaves were green.

Erin’s headstone is simple. All that’s there are her name, the dates, and a single line you still can’t read out loud without your throat closing up.

Bright enough for both of us.

The flowers in your hand are plain and store-bought, wrapped in thin paper. You crouch slowly, knees a little stiff as you brush away a few windblown twigs before laying the bouquet down. The pick at your neck presses warm against your skin where it always sits, strung on that old chain. You catch yourself holding it, rubbing over the faded swirl. You don’t even realize you're doing it until Hyacine speaks.

“You doing okay?”

You nod. Or maybe you shake your head. It’s somewhere in between.

“I didn’t think I could do it,” you murmur. “Join the band. Stand on that stage. It felt wrong. Like I was taking something I didn’t earn.”

She doesn’t rush you, shifting closer to let you know she’s there to listen.

“But… The other night, I stayed late at the studio and Mydei showed up. We ended up working on some lyrics together.” You pause. “It didn’t really fix anything, but it kind of made the air feel lighter. I’m not sure how. Or why.”

You glance at the headstone again, heart squeezing as you picture Erin nodding along to what you’re saying. “I think you'd laugh if you saw us. Me acting like I know what I’m doing. Him pretending he doesn’t care. It’s stupid. But it’s something.”

Hyacine smiles gently. “She’d be proud.”

Your throat tightens, but the tears don’t come this time. You simply press your palm flat to the stone for a moment—steadying, not letting go—and then slowly rise. You’ll be back to tell Erin more stories. When you’re ready.

But for now, you turn toward the path again, the pick resting safely over your heart.

The label’s meeting room is too bright.

Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, sterile and clinical, bouncing light off a polished table that’s longer than most stages you’ve seen. You’re seated near one end, far enough from the center to feel peripheral, but close enough to know you can’t tune out.

Castorice sits to your left, sketching little spirals in the corner of her notepad like she’s done this a thousand times. Phainon’s on your right with his legs crossed at the ankle and a look on his face that says meetings are just another gig with worse acoustics. Cipher’s across from you, half-asleep behind her sunglasses.

Meanwhile, Mydei is situated somewhere farther down, arms folded with that casualness that always seems to come natural to him. You think he’s distracted, half-absorbed in whatever’s glowing on his phone screen until his amber-eyed gaze catches yours. The eye contact startles you, but you hold your ground, giving a small nod in acknowledgement.

He nods back.

You’ve never stepped foot in this room before. But after the glowing response to the last show, the label’s CEO, Caenis, called for a mandatory team huddle. Team, of course, being loosely defined because: 1) Anaxa is nowhere in sight, and 2) Aglaea and Tribbios weren’t invited. In fact, they were explicitly told to stay out of it.

Cipher mentioned once that Caenis might have some long-buried beef with the band’s management. At the time, you filed it under company rumors. But now? It’s starting to feel a little too plausible.

Then the door opens.

Caenis enters like she owns the air you all breathe, wrapped in a white suit with gold accents that look less like fashion and more like ceremonial armor. Her assistant—an automaton named Lygus—trails behind with a tablet and an efficient silence that somehow amplifies hers.

“So,” Caenis begins, noting how the team is lacking one member. “Where’s Anaxagoras?”

Phainon raises his hand lowly. “We haven’t heard from him all morning. He wasn’t answering our calls.”

That earns a pause. “Okay. We’ll proceed anyway. Let’s talk about the Renascentia performance.”

Lygus taps something on his tablet. A screen lights up at the end of the room, projecting a slow loop of stills from the charity show—sweaty hair, bright lights, screaming crowds.

And there you are. Caught mid-riff, stage jacket thrown back, eyes fierce. Diana.

Caenis doesn’t comment on the image. She gestures toward it with a nod instead.

“The numbers speak for themselves. Donations spiked. Engagement tripled. Public sentiment’s high. Press is calling it a comeback tour waiting to happen.” She glances at Lygus, who pulls up a calendar as well as a projected map that’s already making your head spin with one glance.

Then: “We agree.”

Your stomach flips. You hear a stream of murmurs from your bandmates, but you can’t make out what they’re saying through the roar of your pulse.

“We’re prepping for a ten-city run by the first quarter of the following year. Local venues first, then we’ll scale up depending on performance metrics.” She turns back toward the table with a sharp grin—like she’s already projected the profit margins and filed them away. “You’ll have support staff. Stylists. Full PR scaffolding. Any questions?”

None of you answer, as if the news is taking its sweet time to settle.

Unfortunately, Caenis isn’t a fan of idle silence and immediately levels a perfectly manicured finger at you. “Diana, questions?”

You jolt a little at the sound of your name—stage name, technically, but the way Caenis says it leaves no room for distinction. Every gaze at the table shifts your way. You clear your throat, sit a touch straighter.

“None at the moment,” you manage, voice steadier than you feel. “I'm just...looking forward to everything, I guess.”

You risk a glance down the table.

Mydei doesn’t say anything, but his brow lifts. A flicker of amusement, or maybe approval. It’s hard to tell with him.

Caenis seems satisfied. She nods once and moves on. “Good. Phainon, I want you working closely with Lygus on wardrobe scheduling. Cipher, you’re liaising with the media arm on socials. I don’t want another hashtag mishap this time.”

Cipher snorts but doesn’t argue. Phainon salutes, casually earnest.

Her gaze shifts smoothly across the table. “Castorice, you’ll be looped in with the audio techs and logistics—set maintenance, pedal configurations, all of it. I want clean transitions this time. No surprises.”

Castorice blinks once, then gives a polite, “Understood,” like she’d already prepared for this exact assignment.

“And Mydei…” Her voice pauses here, ever so slightly. “You’re still overseeing final track selections. Diana’s assisting, yes?”

You blink.

“She is,” Mydei answers.

Just two words. Flat and unfussy. But your ears burn anyway.

Caenis’s eyes flick to you. “Then I expect both of you to have the first phase of the setlist locked in by next month. We’re tight on turnarounds. The second phase can wait after you've all discussed the next album with our producers, but do work on it ASAP.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur.

The rest of the meeting devolves into logistics—tour graphics, merchandising approvals, the usual swarm of numbers and timeframes. You try to keep up, taking a few notes out of habit, but your brain’s still hooked on what Mydei just said.

She is.

Like it’s that simple. Like it’s so obvious.

The impulse to hit him flares up, but you tuck it neatly behind your teeth.

The hallway outside the meeting room feels colder somehow, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline crash setting in. Still, you fall into an easy rhythm. Down one elevator. Past some unfamiliar cubicles. Toward the wing of the building that actually feels like it belongs to all of you.

The studio.

Cipher’s the first to punch in the access code. “Bet Aglaea’s fuming,” she mutters, almost cheerfully.

“She was already fuming before we left,” Phainon adds dryly. “Which means we’re walking into something that’s probably evolved.”

The moment you step inside, you catch the sharp sound of Aglaea’s voice—even muffled behind the closed soundproof door to the main room, it cuts through.

“—again! Do they think I’m just here to hold everyone’s coats?!”

Tribbios’s voice follows in gentle, practiced tones. “It’s not personal, Aggy. You know how Caenis is. You know how these meetings go.”

“That’s the problem. They always go like this.”

You exchange a glance with Castorice, who simply nods, then quietly nudge the door open.

Aglaea’s pacing. Blazer off, hair a little more frazzled than usual. She stops mid-step when she sees all of you. Tribbios waves at you with a smile though her eyes are a touch tired. “Hey, good timing. I think I just barely talked her out of emailing Caenis an itemized list of all the things we’re excluded from.”

Phainon sighs. “We’ve got a tour coming,” he announces like he’s reporting the weather. “Ten cities. Local start. No breathing room. Highly hinted that Caenis is expecting a setlist with songs that haven’t even been written yet.”

“She’s already assigned everyone homework,” Cipher adds, dropping into one of the beanbags. “I get to babysit the hashtag situation. Again.”

Tribbios perks up. “Already? That was fast.”

“It’s Caenis,” Mydei says, settling onto the edge of the low couch. “Fast is slow by her standards.”

Aglaea clicks her tongue. “And she didn’t think it was worth telling the management team?”

“She thinks of you as management-adjacent,” Cipher offers with mock wisdom. “Somewhere between ‘essential personnel’ and ‘miscellaneous staff.’”

Aglaea looks like she might actually throw a clipboard, and you’re not sure whether you should look away or take cover. “That...witch. She can’t keep icing us out of the strategy loop just because I questioned her about rerouting funds during the last tour—”

“Breathe. Please breathe,” Tribbios pleads, placing a calming hand on her arm.

Castorice, always the mediator, pipes in softly. “You’re not wrong, Aglaea. But we’ve got the details now. Let’s just work with what we have, okay?”

Despite looking like a ticking time bomb personified, she takes a deep breath to loosen the nerves. Once your manager’s got her wits about her, the room hums with overlapping chatter—discussions of setlists, scheduling conflicts, wardrobe speculations, and whether anyone actually knows where half the venues are.

You’re just starting to feel like this might finally settle into something normal when the door opens again.

Anaxa steps in, three hours late, coffee in hand and not a hint of repentance on his face.

“Did I miss roll call?”

Aglaea glares at him like she’s about to combust. “Nice of you to show up.”

He arches a brow before settling on the sofa next to Phainon. “Sorry. Some of us had a rather…demanding night.”

Aglaea doesn’t respond. She just stares at Anaxa like she’s calculating the precise velocity required to launch a pen through his skull. Before you can think about what his words could possibly mean, Tribbios steers everyone back on track.

“Can we move on, please? We've got lots of ground to cover.”

Cipher snickers under her breath but quickly quiets when Castorice elbows her in the ribs. Phainon flips the page in his notebook like it’s just another day in paradise.

“According to the schedule that witch...I mean, Director Caenis handed out,” Aglaea starts, finally back in her element. “We have a week until the first official planning session for the new album. Which means we need everyone clear on deliverables, expectations, and actual attendance.”

That last part hangs in the air like smoke.

Mydei cuts through the silence with a raise of his hand. “I’ve actually started writing something.”

“Since when did you start early?” Cipher asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

His gaze shifts briefly before jamming a thumb in your direction. “Since she started helping.”

Every head turns to you.

You manage a thin smile, but your stomach ties itself into knots.

You weren’t expecting him to mention that night—when he’d shown up unannounced, finding you in a moment when grief felt inescapable. When the rest of the band had already gone and it had just been the two of you, creating something quiet and strange and new. You thought it would stay there.

You look down, muttering, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But no one really buys that. Especially with how Mydei treated you during the first few weeks since you joined. Not Cipher, who’s already wearing that grin again. Or Aglaea, who’s giving Mydei a slow, narrowed look that could mean a dozen things.

All this time, you thought things would be easier once the ghost of Hephaestion's presence has all but dissipated, but you're not enjoying...whatever this is any better.

“That's great,” Tribbios replies—either oblivious to the shift in the room or choosing to ignore it. “Let’s flag that for review in the draft session.”

The conversation moves on. Your face still burns.

And the memory refuses to let you go.

r/TheFlamechasers u/bandforbrainz

Diana vs Hephaestion—When Will It End? Her debut was a hit, but I’m seeing so many fans still comparing Diana to Hephaestion. She played her heart out, and it’s clear that she syncs up well with the band. Why can’t y’all just let her be?

⬆️ 635 ⬇️ 45 💬 137

hephforever • 2h WAKE UP! Diana’s not bad, but there’s no replacing Hephaestion. The band isn’t the same without him. Period.

AnalWithAnaxa • 2h Honestly, it’s so weird that people won't let go of him. He's the one who left without a word, why’s the new girl getting all the heat?

bandforbrainz • 2h ^^ so true, user AnalWithAnaxa

justagrrl • 15m sorry, i’m a new fan. but do we really have no clue why heph just packed up and left?

AnalWithAnaxa • 5m all you’ll dig up here are rumors. the most popular being: he and mydei broke up 🤣

myphaestion • 3m Why call it a rumor if it’s true?

bandforbrainz • 3m @Admin the rabid shippers are here, pls help

myphaestion • 1m KYS 🖕

This thread has been locked by the moderators.

You start to suspect that something’s amiss during your first brainstorming session.

The main studio has been converted into songwriting HQ for a better part of the week. Someone brought snacks, someone else forgot cables, and everyone’s half-tuned and vaguely alert, notebooks and stray riffs scattered across the floor. The label’s producers gave you all creative liberty for the next album, and everyone is, miraculously, locked in.

You’re perched on the sofa, trying to find the words that go with a chord Anaxa dropped earlier, when you hear them.

“…it’s not like he wanted to leave,” Castorice says softly. “He just—he couldn’t stay.”

Cipher hums. “Yeah, but it was Aglaea who—”

Their voices dip lower.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but they’re just behind you, and there’s no mistaking what you hear:

Hephaestion.

The name itself no longer makes your chest tight with an emotion you can’t name. Several months in, and you’ve more or less found your footing as part of The Flamechasers. Caenis wasn’t lying when she said that public reception of you as the new lead guitarist was mostly positive. But hearing his name again, so casually thrown into a conversation, catches you off guard.

It’s the first time you’ve realized that your bandmates have never mentioned him to your face. Not once.

You know it’s not your place to ask. The label made it clear from the start: the matter was buried, swept away as quickly as possible, and that seemed to be the same story for everyone in the band. But from the way Cipher and Castorice spoke, it made you think that they’re in the know.

About what really pushed Hephaestion to leave.

Part of you thinks, if you were the same person you were a year ago, you’d already be down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. You would scour old interviews, dive into every scrap of gossip and half-whispered rumor you could find. But now that you’re literally sitting in the same room as the people who once called Hephaestion their brother, you learn that some truths don’t come so easily.

You contemplate about asking. Just a casual curiosity.

But you never do.

As the seasons change, the silence around Hephaestion’s name grows deeper. No one speaks of him again, and you’ve mastered the art of pretending you never overheard. You smile for every camera, nail each rehearsal like it’s second nature, and pretend everything is perfectly in place—even when all you want to do is scream.

You think you’re fooling everyone. The band, the fans, the media, everyone who expects nothing less than the polished version of Diana. The confident guitarist who’s got it all together, who fits in seamlessly with The Flamechasers like she’s expected to.

But one quiet evening, something disrupts the rhythm you’ve so carefully rehearsed.

Mydei finds you again when you least expect him.

You know he has a habit of staying late at the studio, hovering by the mixers, fine-tuning vocals, obsessing over the way sound meets silence. But the tracklist for the new album was finalized days ago. There’s nothing left to fix. No reason for him to be here this late.

Yet, here he is.

“You up for a few drinks?” Mydei asks, his voice more casual than you’re used to. “There’s a place nearby. Still open.”

“…Now?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, as if he hasn’t just disrupted your entire idea of how tonight would go. “Unless you’ve got a better offer. You don’t strike me as someone with cable TV and a bedtime.”

Hesitation shadows your face. “But why me?”

Mydei glances around the empty studio hallway. “Do you see anyone else here?” Then he turns, keys jingling loosely from his finger. “C’mon. I’ll even drive you back. If anything bad happens, Aglaea will personally make sure I die a slow and painful death.”

You’re not afraid—just mildly weirded out. This isn’t the Mydei you’re used to. Sure, things between you have warmed with time, but he’s never been the type to invite people out on a whim. That’s more Cipher’s territory, or even Castorice on a good day. Mydei is more reserved. More deliberate. Yet, here he is, tossing you an offer like it means nothing.

Except it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like déjà vu.

Like the night he found you unraveling in the studio months ago, when instead of pressing or prying, he’d asked if you wanted to help him write something.

You’d thought it was his way of distracting you.

Now, you can’t help but wonder: is that what this is, too?

You sigh, grabbing your jacket off the back of the chair. “You better not make me pay.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Fine. Just for tonight though.”

You follow him out into the night, the soft hum of the city settling into your bones like a lullaby you hadn’t realized you missed. A dimly lit bar is tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat, the kind of place you’d never look twice at during the day.

Inside, the lights are low, the music soft, and the bartender doesn’t bother carding you when Mydei raises two fingers in a silent order. You settle into a booth near the back while he disappears to grab your drinks, and for a few moments, you're alone again—with your thoughts, your doubts, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

What is this, really?

When Mydei returns and slides a glass toward you, he doesn’t say anything right away. Just sits across from you like he’s been doing it for years, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” he finally says, raising his glass in a lazy toast. “Here’s to the biggest PR gamble of the year. New album and the tour reveal, both dropping at 7 PM tomorrow. Genius or disaster?”

You snort, clinking your glass to his. “Definitely a disaster.”

He grins, eyes crinkling slightly, and your heart stutters just a bit at the sight of it.

You sip your drink, letting the warmth crawl through your chest. For the first time in a while, you see Mydei, not as the cool, distant frontman, but as someone off-center. A little tired, but a little more human.

And then he says it—casually, but not without weight:

“Remember that song we wrote together a few months back? The one that didn’t make the final cut?”

Your fingers still around your glass.

“Yeah,” you say. “I remember.”

Mydei swirls his drink lazily, gaze fixed on the ice clinking against the glass. “I tried to make it work. We all did. The lyrics were solid—hell, the producers begged me to keep it. But every version we laid down? I don’t know. I just…couldn’t feel it.”

You blink. “You?”

He nods, face unreadable again. “It didn’t groove right. Not with me, anyway. Maybe it was the arrangement. Or maybe it just wasn’t meant for me to sing.” Then, softer, almost like an afterthought: “I’m sorry. I know you put your heart into that one. I meant to bring it up earlier, but couldn’t find the right timing.”

You can tell this wasn’t easy for Mydei to say. He doesn’t apologize often, if at all. You take a sip, the bite of the drink grounding you, so when you answer, your voice is steady.

“Then maybe I’ll cook something up myself.”

That gets his attention. His eyes flick to yours, a hint of surprise breaking through the usual calm.

“I mean, if it’s not working for you, doesn’t mean it can’t work for me.” You lean back, tapping your glass. “The lyrics are already written, so I’ll just tweak the rest. Who knows? Maybe it’ll finally groove with someone.”

A beat passes before Mydei laughs, quiet and genuine. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Then here’s to that.” He lifts his glass again, this time in a real toast. “Make it all yours.”

You will. Even if it’s the last thing you did.

The rest of the night slips past before you know it. Mydei is surprisingly more amicable when he’s got a few glasses in, but he maintains the distance that’s typically there. Not that you mind.

After an hour of exchanging stories and nursing drinks, Mydei pulls up just outside your apartment. You unbuckle your seatbelt, hand already on the door handle, when he says:

“Wait.”

You pause, turning toward him.

He reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out something folded and worn. The corners are already creased, but most of it remains intact.

When Mydei hands it to you, you recognize it instantly: the original lyric sheet. The one the two of you scribbled on months ago, passing it back and forth between verses. Your handwriting all looped and anxious. His, sharp and decisive. Ink smudges where the ideas came too fast to be neat. Even the few lines that some stranger before him wrote still linger in the corner.

You hadn’t even realized it still existed.

“I almost threw it out,” he admits. “Didn’t see the point in keeping something we weren’t going to use.”

You look down at it, then back at him.

“But you didn’t,” you say.

He shrugs. “It just felt wrong.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the paper. It smells faintly of his car—coffee, freshener, something electric. A memory, or maybe even a beginning.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Don’t let it collect dust,” Mydei replies, his tousled, golden hair catching in the reflection of his headlights. “Do something with it.”

You nod and slip out of the car as his gaze weighs on your shoulders. Mydei doesn’t linger any longer, and speeds back into the empty streets without another word. Even so, the cold brushes your skin like a reset, and you’ve never been more determined for a do-over.

The first show of the tour is nothing short of a triumph.

Okhema turns out in droves—old fans, new fans, the curious, the skeptics—and they roar. From the first chord to the final chorus, it’s electricity. You’re so in the zone, it barely registers when the spotlight hits your face just right, or when Castorice drags out a solo longer than usual just so you can go feral on the outro. Even Mydei, usually cool and clipped offstage, breaks character to grin between verses.

It’s one of those shows where everything clicks. No missed cues, no out-of-sync harmonies. Just rhythm, sweat, and fire.

And you? You burn the brightest.

Afterward, the crew buzzes with high-fives and hoarse laughter. Tribbios starts talking about press clippings before the amps are even unplugged. Phainon calls the entire night “a cleanse.” Cipher insists on a group selfie and, for once, Anaxa doesn’t protest. Even Aglaea allows herself a single relieved nod before getting on the phone with someone probably much more powerful than anyone in this room.

Someone suggests an after-party. Everyone’s already halfway out the door.

Well, everyone except you.

“Not coming?” Castorice asks, already halfway into her glittery jacket.

You shake your head. “I’ve got something I need to work on.”

There’s a general chorus of lame, and booo, and we’re telling the fans you ditched us to do taxes. You flip them off with a smile, which just makes Cipher blow you a kiss in return. But as the group files out, you catch Mydei watching you, recognition simmering in his eyes at some sort of shared secret.

He doesn’t say anything, but he spares you a barely perceptible nod.

You nod back.

When you get home, your apartment smells faintly of sweat and stale confetti. You kick your shoes off at the door, hang your jacket on the back of the nearest chair, and make a beeline for your bedroom-slash-studio. The walls still hum with adrenaline. Your ears are ringing a little, but your fingers feel ready.

You slide the lyric sheet out of its folder, smoothing out the creases with a gentle hand. Mydei’s voice lingers in your head, that clipped softness: “Do something with it.”

You plug in your audio interface, boot up your laptop, and open a new session.

The first thirty minutes are great. You mess around with tempo changes, layer a synth you think is moody but not too moody, and even hum a few melody lines that feel promising. There’s a spark. It’s there.

But then it slips.

Nothing fits.

Everything you lay down fights with itself—either too loud or too hollow. It’s like trying to rebuild a house with someone else’s blueprints and none of the original bricks. You get what Mydei meant now. There’s something evasive about the song. Something emotional that doesn’t translate on command.

But you’re not giving up.

You loop the chorus section. You tweak the pre-chorus. You try a half-tempo bridge and hate it. You drink three cups of water and one of bad espresso. You mutter, “What are you even supposed to be?” to your screen at least five times, and it still doesn't feel right.

You try again, but your hand slips off the mouse. The screen blurs a little. For a moment, you consider closing your eyes. Only for a few minutes.

But when you open them again, you’re slumped against your desk, the lyric sheet crumpled beneath your cheek, faintly damp with drool.

The screen of your laptop glows in front of you, frozen on a blank measure.

You rub your eyes, annoyed. With the arrangement, with the interface, with yourself. The melody slips every time you think you’ve got it. The lyrics feel empty even if they felt alive when you wrote them. You’re chasing ghosts in someone else’s song, and none of them are showing their faces.

You stare at the interface until your eyes sting.

Then you grab your phone.

Me: Ci

Me: Please tell me you're up

Cipher: duh

Cipher: i’m still in full concert eyeliner and fear no sleep

Me: ??? It's 9 AM

Cipher: so what?

Me: At least wash your makeup off 😭

Cipher: are u rly texting me just to tell me off

Me: No

Me: I'm working on a project Mydei handed over

Me: He already warned me that it was difficult

Me: And now it’s been kicking my ass for WEEKS

Cipher: ohhh? is this the one that didn't make the new album

Me: Yeah, I'm starting to suspect the lyrics are cursed or something

Cipher: no, sweetie. mydei was just being an idiot and gave up on it too early

Cipher: getting ultra-stumped just means you're halfway there

Me: Halfway to setting my laptop on fire?

Cipher: 🔥🔥🔥 creative process 🔥🔥🔥

Cipher: want me to swing by tomorrow? bring snacks? my expertise as the band's synthesizer?

Me: Yeah that would be great

Me: But I need sleep, so do you

Cipher: true

Cipher: i was trying to get aglaea drunk but got my ass handed to me

Cipher: my vision's still spinning, kinda

Me: Good night, Ci

Cipher: gn, newbie 🖤

On the promised day, you and Cipher work until something cracks.

It’s not polished. It’s not clean. But it moves—twitching and alive in a way that’s too raw to be careful with. Cipher high-fives you so hard it stings, then collapses backwards onto your floor, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay,” she groans. “I’m done. I’m fried. I’m leaving before I fall in love with a chorus we’ll regret in the morning.”

You snort. “Coward.”

She flips you off from the floor, then drags herself up, throws her jacket on backwards, and stumbles out of your apartment with little ceremony.

You're left in the glow of it. Still wired, and riding the high of something shaped like success. You bounce the track—just a rough cut for now. No title yet, so you type something dumb just to save it quick.

You mean to drop it in your local drafts, but in your sleep-deprived fog, you drag it into the band’s shared cloud instead. You don’t even notice. You’re already shutting your laptop without closing the audio interface. Still buzzing. Still hearing the bones of what you and Cipher made echoing in your skull.

You fall asleep face-first into a pillow with your hoodie still on.

Mydei’s at the studio on a designated day-off.

Not for the sake of productivity, exactly. He just doesn’t sleep much during tour season, and the first show’s adrenaline has yet to leave his system.

His body’s still buzzing from the gig, but not in a good way. It feels more like residual static. Too many people, too much light, and not enough room in his head. So he took a long stroll from his place until he ended up here. Only the soft hum of the monitors and the familiar chill of over-air-conditioned space offer him company.

Mydei boots up the console in the producers’ lounge, lets muscle memory guide him. He doesn’t think about it much. Just dragging folders, opening sessions, looking for last show’s harmony stems that Tribbios insisted were “absolutely perfect, don’t lose them.”

He scrolls.

Pauses.

Then, near the top of the shared cloud, Mydei spots a file he doesn’t recognize.

It could be Cipher’s. The title’s chaotic enough to fit her. But it could also be some half-finished garbage file Anaxa dumped in as a joke. He did once upload a mix that was just thirty seconds of dolphin noises over a kick drum. Maybe it’s corrupted. The name doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

But the timestamp stops him from dragging it to the trash bin. Just a few hours ago...

He should be organizing. Or doing literally anything else.

However, curiosity wins, and he plays it anyway.

At first, it’s all wrong. The levels are a mess, the bass clipping, one vocal harmony accidentally doubled and panned entirely left for no reason. It sounds like it was exported in a panic and bounced through a trash compactor.

But then—there.

That melody. His melody. Or at least, it used to be.

Now it’s got teeth. Rougher, louder. It doesn’t tiptoe around its own structure anymore, it kicks straight through the drywall and rebuilds itself mid-bar. Someone dragged this once-desolate song somewhere new, bent it at the joints until it stopped pleading and started fighting.

It’s not just rearranged.

It’s claimed.

The old bones are still there, buried under snarling guitar overlays, flickers of digital grit, and a deliberately broken drum loop that shouldn’t work, but somehow does. At the midpoint, there’s a climb—a sudden rise like a held breath—that breaks into a guitar line so fast and furious it leaves him blinking.

And he knows that hand.

Knows the impulse behind it. That frantic precision. That particular way of saying I’m not sorry with every note.

Yours.

Mydei leans back, a soft, involuntary laugh escaping before he can stop it. He runs the track again. Eyes closed this time.

Because it isn’t his song anymore. It’s all yours now, stubborn and spit-shined and loud in all the ways he never let it be. And he likes it. More than he thought he would. More than he probably should.

The file ends. The room falls quiet.

He doesn’t move, he simply sits there—slack-jawed and blinking like he’s been hit by a hurricane. The glow of the screen still frames the filename in the corner:

workign title.mp3

God, what a disaster.

Wrong format. No stems, no session file. Just a lumpy, flattened brick of noise. He can’t solo the layers or trace the guitar back to its source. Can’t reverse-engineer the chaos.

All he has is the wreckage, and somehow, it’s perfect.

The quality got decompressed. The reverb's unhinged. The bassline tried to kill itself twice.

But it’s you.

Every note is stained with your persistence, your teeth-gritted drive, your weird timing and weirder decisions. The melody clawed its way out of his hands and into yours, and now it sounds like something that actually wants to live.

Mydei catches himself grinning.

Like a damn idiot.

Then he opens a new folder, drags the file in, and labels it:

workign title (DO NOT DELETE).wav

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #mydei x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mydei hsr #mydei #cryoculus

70 notes · View notes

signedkoko · 1 year ago

Note

Hi again~! Your first batch of valentines are super cute, you did a great job! Also, I would be honored to be 💙 Anon if you’d like! Sorry for responding late, but I didn’t want to clog up your inbox! Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to come off anon. 😂

I have a fresh request for you too, I hope you’ll like it! Would you please do romantic headcanons or a little oneshot (I’ll let you decide which you feel like!) for Vox and f!reader going out dancing? I got the idea in my head recently and it won’t go away! Like just imagine him taking reader to one of those 1950s style nightclubs with the big ol’ dance floors for a night out—I think it’d be so cute! 😊

Thank you as always for all your hard work!

-💙

Rum Punch [Romantic]

In which on one random boring night you bring up how you miss dancing at clubs, and Vox only wants to make you happy. Reader is female.

Song - Don't Start Now x Hung Up Remix

There was nothing peculiar going on for you or your husband tonight; just normal days highlighted by seeing one another. There was nothing wrong with repetition, of course, you were both comfortable and happy as you were most nights.

But tonight, you couldn't help but feel inspired by the various songs switching as Vox scrolled through sinstagram.

"If you like staring at me so much, why not take a picture?" The voice blurted from your phone, and when you looked down at it, Vox's head had taken over the screen.

Rolling your eyes, you swiped the screen, which caused his visage to switch back to his main monitor.

"Not you, though I know you just love the idea of being my only focal point." Your neutral expression shifted into a smile, enjoying your usual teasing.

"I was just feeling..." As you trailed, the overlord leaned toward you expectantly. "Inspired?"

Reaching over, you pressed a button on the side of his screen, which immediately closed off his face and opened up his home screen. An angry grumbling came from your phone again, and you couldn't help but laugh as you used his monitor to look up the nearest club.

He swatted your hands away once you finished typing, and his face came back with a look of annoyance.

"Listen, if you want to party so bad, I'll take you to a party! Best of the best, every celebrity you could ever-"

"That's sweet and all, but I mean a real party—an old club with a big dance floor and shitty drinks!" You stood up, holding your hands far apart as you expressed the size of the dancefloor. Vox only sat back, sinking into the couch.

He looked up to the sky as you jokingly showed off some disco moves to exaggerate your point, though he stopped you when he held up a hand.

"Well, if my baby wants to party, then party we will! But I get to pick the place."

. . .

Only an hour later, the two of you were dressed and on your way. You argued that you didn't want to draw any attention, so he begrudgingly called a cab instead of his usual driver.

"So! Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Not even a hint?"

Vox only shook his head, though he laughed at your interest. Hell had a fuckton of bars, most shittier than the rest, so he made sure to pick a place he had minor ties to, that way he could ensure your safety.

Not that he would tell you that. He knew you liked the authenticity of being a stranger to others, but you should have thought of that before you said 'I do' to hell's most known man.

When you arrived, Vox could see the excitement creep onto your face upon seeing the club. It was run down, certainly, but it had a full parking lot and the music was blaring.

He seemed quite proud of himself, knowing he'd done a good job, but he quickly straightened himself out and offered a hand to you. In no time, the muffled music turned into a rhythm your heart could beat too, surrounded by friends and couples dancing together.

This was certainly old school—older than you expected—it was tacky, but it was perfect. Everyone's heels tapped on the waxed pine floor, which made every step louder than it seemed and filled the room with the drum of dozens dancing.

It looked to be some kind of tropical theme, with fake palm trees along the walls and many colourful cocktails with pineapple wedges or mini umbrellas.

All the chairs were wicker, along with the tables, though those had glass slabs on top of them to protect from the likely hundreds of spills this place saw per night. The seating surrounded the dance floor, most tables had a few people who would take turns on the dance floor. While you were interested in the warm-toned string lights hanging around the ceiling, Vox was interested in grabbing a drink.

"For the lady, a rum punch...and I'll go for the blue Hawaii." There were almost too many options, but you couldn't go wrong with the classics.

You were still distracted taking in the scene as he leant against the bar, glancing at you with a chuckle. He was sure he could have picked anywhere and you'd have been happy, but he liked to think he did a good job.

"You know, this sorta scene really reminds me of my startup in hell." A drink in each hand, Vox let you take a sip of both before handing you the one you enjoyed more. As always, you stared at him when he drank, probably still weirded out by how a monitor drank. Vox chose to ignore it as per usual.

When your gaze never left him, he figured he might as well continue.

"Val and I have known each other a long, long time. He got into business before me, and you know his thing. He'd go to every nightclub in the city, trying to find people who'd hear him out." Vox stiffed a laugh, seemingly amused, thinking of Valentino's struggle to fame.

"He needed a cameraman, and I was better than nothing. But cameramen were easy to hire, so quickly I was moved to handling the website, and you know the rest from there." He turned his monitor to the dancefloor, his now mostly empty drink placed on the table you were standing by.

"Places like these were all the hype. We went from scouting in them to blowing our paychecks in them to owning them." In his peripherals, he saw you down the last of your drink, sitting it next to his and pumping your first in the air.

"Here's to the past! And how much better it feels looking back on it than being in it." You dropped a lighthearted comment to pull him back to the present, grabbing his hand to drag him into the mingling hot bodies dancing as if they were going to die tomorrow.

He had to duck and squeeze between everyone, seeing as you were far smaller and could get through easier. But eventually, you were in the centre of the dance floor, facing each other.

"Are you sure it's okay to dance after chugging a drink?"

"I can't hear you! Just dance dumbass!" He could hear you just fine, but he shrugged it off with a grin, seeing you bust out the same moves you had in your living room just a few hours ago.

Only this time, he grabbed one of your hands and joined in.

Song after song, you two were never further than a few inches from each other. While Vox focused on keeping you close to him, you were busy singing out the lyrics to songs he didn't even know you knew. He made sure everyone saw that you were all over him, and he was just the same back, to make sure there were no incidents with stupid demons thinking they could take you away from him.

Even in the heat of dancing, Vox would always be jealous enough to worry about others looking at you.

But those thoughts were easily distracted when you'd pull him in for a kiss or push up against him, asking him to do a move with you.

A few drinks later and the night was a blur shaped vaguely like you, something that danced around his head until, eventually, he could remember that you both had work the next day and needed to leave.

When you left the building, there were only a few cars left in the parking lot, the building having mostly cleared during the handful of hours you'd both spent there.

Vox was holding you in his arms, bridal style, while you held loosely onto the heels you really shouldn't have worn.

This time, he called for his driver and let you comfortably lay in the back with your head in his lap, his claws carefully tracing through your hair and scratching your scalp. He could tell you were half asleep, but still coming down from the high of the club.

"Vox."

"Mhmm?"

"Thank you for taking me out," You paused as if you had something else to add, but when the pause continued for what felt like minutes, Vox realized you'd passed out on his lap.

For once, his grin was nothing but a careful smile, his hand leaving your head to rub circles into your shoulder.

"Thank you for reminding me what it felt like to be human."

Author's Note - This was SO HARD TO WRITE but not because of the story 😭I was so excited for this prompt, but I had a 7hr exam right before I started this, and then I finished it at 8 am after being awoken by the window cleaners PRESSURE WASHING MY WINDOW. Scared the hell outta me!

Anyways im rambling, tysm for requesting blue anon! I am so glad we have an indicator for you now 🖤

Word Count - 1,432

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #vox #vox x reader

335 notes · View notes

dandysworldhcs · 4 months ago

Note

stalking your blog oOoOo

Again, apologies for the ask, ik yall have a clogged inbox rn (if i can help lemme know)

headcanons be upon ye

Tisha has hand sanitizer on her at all times

Ginger is lesbian and has a crush on a certain festive friend of hers, but she doesn’t know yet. She’ll learn. (if the ginger/bobette ship doesn’t have a name, can I nominate pastrypresent)

Ace RnD! more ace representation dammit. Razzle is demiromantic, Dazzle is not, and they’re both pan

Twisted Rodger’s lower goopy half behaves like a snake’s tail when he’s exploring (investigation doesn’t stop when you’re overcome by ichor), making him look kinda like a naga

Rudie has moral OCD, and thanks literally everyone for anything

glisten chews his nails, but pretends he doesn’t. he’s gotten metal stuck between his teeth multiple times from it

Scraps uses the cup on her tail to carry small objects while running and walking or carrying larger items with her paws

aroace goob my beloved

Gigi has tried to steal the other toons before. The closet she got was when Connie tried to possess her and got stuck in the hollow clear part of her head

Shelly will eat rocks

Vee has misophonia due to the sensitivity of her microphone tail/internal mic/speakers

toodles would absolutely adore skittles

—angst below this point—

(If you’re going to react to any of my hcs, I’d prefer it be these; ive spent too much time on them. Or the lesbian ginger one)

The twisteds aren’t mindless zombies. They’re more like feral versions of the non-twisted version of themselves, running on instinct and unable to control their new selves. The ichor has imbued them with a strong prey/territory drive, and all toons are seen as threats or invaders to them. The other twisteds are tolerated, but not entirely recognized. Sometimes they get memories or emotions from the past or the uncorrupted version of them, but the ichor makes it near-unintelligible. The lethal outbursts toward the toons is a result of the intense confusion and fear in all of the Twisteds, manifesting in different forms for each of them.

ik this is a common one, but moth astro! his antenna are under his hat, and his wings are his blanket. Twisted Astro is so upset not just from the ichor, but because his wings have been torn to shreds and the pain is just as unbearable as the guilt

Twisted Goob doesn’t understand what his hugs are doing to the Toons, he just wants something familiar, some sort of comfort, but they keep dying in his arms. It wears on him, leading to his constant state of despairing confusion

Dandy originally wanted to fix everything, save everyone, but after losing Pebble and Astro, the grief forced him to stop. The odd floors where his shop doesn’t show up, he spends organizing/watching the tapes, and trying to forget. Sometimes he breaks down, but he makes sure he’s out of sight when he does. It’s hard to tell he’s still blaming himself for it all, but it tugs at him constantly

Glisten has always been scared of being forgotten, and the reflection trick started out of his desperation to be seen. Appearing to your friends randomly is quite memorable, so he hides his dizziness afterwards and pretends he’s okay, trying to make sure they don’t leave him behind

Cosmo witnessed Sprout being twisted, because it was his attempt to keep his friend safe, but it ended up infecting him with ichor in the process. Cosmo couldn’t deal with the guilt and shame, so he went back down, trying to find his lost friend. unfortunately, Sprout was twisted by then, and Cosmo lost his will to fight upon seeing what had happened, leading to his own defeat

shrimpo desperately wants someone to like him, to be friends, but he’s stuck in a permanent state of defensive isolation, causing his violent attitude. The world is not out to get you, ebi, no matter how it seems

Being twisted is not an instantaneous or mundane process, and in cases like with Twisted Glisten, some toons will hold on to sentience out of hope or desperation.

Cosmo’s another interesting case, because his ichor overtake started with Sprout, who managed to use his ability a final time while in the process of twisting, accidentally infecting the same toon he was trying to save. Due to not knowing and holding out hope that Sprout was still alive, Cosmo wasn’t affected immediately. His ability degraded over time, but the real breaking point was seeing his friend in a twisted state, destroying his will to go on. hence in the research, it says it was both being overcome by ichor and losing his best friend that caused him to become twisted

Brightney is often disregarded by most, and attempts not to show it, but being ignored has effects over time. Approaching the point of no return, her bulb glows dimmer and dimmer, until it goes out. It’s only lit up again when the ichor takes over, erasing her emotions and forcing her back into a state where her light is as bright as it can go

I am so sorry about the massive list, dw hyperfixation kicked in hard, and please let me know if I can help reduce strain or issues at all, sorry again

~ Anomaly Cereal Anon (or just cereal anon. or autism cereal anon. call me whatever’s the best for you)

pre read me, im very excited to read this

POST READ ANOMALY CEREAL WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME. THESE ANGST HCS ARE CHANGING MEEEE..... WUAGAHHHHSHAHSGOSBS

#freakin uhh mod daz #anomaly cereal anon #dandys world #dw #dandys world headcanons #dw headcanons #dandicus dancifer #astro dandys world #vee dandys world #brightney dandys world #rodger dandys world #ginger dandys world #glisten dandys world #cosmo dandys world #sprout dandys world #goob dandys world #those are the ones i remember

62 notes · View notes

brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 month ago

Text

hello everyone 👋

i worry i've established a bad precedent with speaking on previous graduations; i want this blog to be a positive place without discussing these things, especially since i personally don't get upset about graduations. whatever you feel is valid and true, and you are allowed to have those emotions. all i ask is that you take care of yourself and avoid the things that may upset you further.

that being said, i have a lot of ideas, requests and wips for ike. i've never felt comfortable writing for graduated livers, but i know that there are plenty of others who are still interested in writing for his character.

i'll be posting all my ike content in its unfinished state, plus further notes from me on what i had planned for them. everyone can read what i've written and interact with it. in fact, if any artists, writers, roleplayers, or other creatives gets inspired by it, feel free to use them. if you post them here on tumblr, feel free to @ me, i would love to see what you've done!

THIS DOES NOT INCLUDE AI.

i don't care if it's personal use, do NOT plug my writing into ai. numerous livers have expressed how much they hate ai art and writing, this blog has always been against ai scraping fanwork without consent.

...had to get that out, thank you for bearing with me.

you have my permission to use my ideas, wips, and requests as long as it isn't ai. you can also use them for other characters than ike eveland. these can be published, for personal use, etc... really, the only rules are

no ai, full stop, no exceptions

if you're inspired by requests with a url: please ask the original requester for permission.

on that note i'm sorry to every request i can no longer complete. i feel awful knowing that the requesters and i were excited over ideas i can no longer finish, especially for how long they've been in my inbox. you have my deepest apologies.

feel free to ask me any questions about this, but please avoid asking me about my thoughts on the graduation itself, and please refrain from venting on my posts. be sure to check my rules before doing so, i've amended them a bit so everyone can stay comfortable on my blog.

once i'm done clogging up my blog i'll make a list of all the ike stuff i wanted to write here, then add this post to my masterlist. additionally, if you post anything based on any ideas/wips/requests feel free to reply/reblog this post specifically with a link to your post. i would love to feature them on this post with credits to you.

thank you, everyone, for reading this far, with both this post and with my blog as a whole. this post was difficult to make as well as the following, but i am honored to have known my oshi. i will cherish every memory i have of his stream, and i will always wish him well no matter where he goes from now. he's always been an inspiration to me beyond fandom. i'll always be honored to be one of the quilldren.

always do what you love and extend that love to each other 💛

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

unit 4402's ike wips

nsfw fics are marked with 🖤

༻✧༺ first kiss wc: 224

༻✧༺ secret relationship wc: 132

༻✧༺ ike and pet names wc: 855

༻✧༺ eki in a maid dress wc: 611

༻✧༺ laying in ike's lap wc: 315

༻✧༺ ike walking in on you wc: 549

༻✧༺ 🖤 ike and electrostimulation wc: 958

༻✧༺ 🖤 all of my remaining ike ideas wc: 585

༻✧༺ the sequel for stars above your skin wc: 3.1k

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#unit 4402 reporting #rules #navigation #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland graduation

25 notes · View notes

kaumedii · 21 days ago

Note

I actually was inspired to make an oc that lives within the borderline! I was just curious what the general temperament of the place is. I assume crime isn’t dwindled down to nothing. Would you say it’s near incessantly peaceful? Moderately? There’s very little information about the environment, so you don't have to answer.

Also, are you ok receiving our ocs inspired by your story? I just want to know your boundaries because I'd love to info dump about the oc I’m making, but I’m neither an artist, so I'd be sending a bunch of reference photos, nor am I cohesive at all, so it would just be a rambling mess. I don't want to clog up your inbox lol

Okay, that’s enough of my yapping. Pls give Fugi a big kiss on the cheek for me and this unsuspicious binding legal document that looks awfully like a marriage certificate.

Yes, the average crime rate within Borderline is low but never zero.

While, overall, Borderline is right there at being a surveillance state, some Bonds may just be more lenient or allow little to no FUGItives. Second Bond, for example, upholds an honor system and does not welcome FUGItives without warrant.

Also, of course! Write and graft as you will! My work itself is a derivation, so who am I to stop you? And I’ll also be sure to pass your Papers onward for you. 🙂‍↕️

#ENAJDLore

24 notes · View notes

yevgenyyyy · 10 months ago

Text

a sincere note about @/benjicotblckwood

Hi. I'm making this post to alert the hotd fandom about the utterly disturbing behavior of user @/benjicotblckwood (their other blogs: soulsbrne, cregnstark). Some of you might already be familiar with this blog and their posts, since they constantly spam the "cregan stark" and "tom taylor" tags with their inbox messages. Some of you might already have them blocked.

I've filtered and blocked all the tags and blogs that I could, but I've honestly had enough, and I feel obligated to make this post, as I believe it concerns all of us as a fandom. The way they choose to "conduct" themselves on this platform is abhorrent, showing an acute lack of respect and consideration for other users, and worst of all, for some of the actors - real human beings - involved in the show. They have already deleted many of the posts that I show and link below (I wonder why), but these are only a few drops in an ocean. I didn't even bother to scroll that far on their blog.

I want to preface this by saying: whether you choose to read this in full or not, I am begging you not to send them hate or to harass them in any way, shape, or form. That is NEITHER my intention nor my purpose. If you are angry, disgusted, etc., please, please, please just report and/or block them. Don't engage with them.

For the past few months, together with the anons and blogs they enable (and who enable them in return), they have repeatedly made incredibly disgusting and sexually explicit comments about Tom Taylor and Kieran Burton, tagging almost all of the posts with the actors' names and/or the characters they play, thus clogging the tags with shit like this (I suspect that they have since deleted some of the tags):

bonus: why was this post even tagged as Cregan Stark?

To further demonstrate that they do not see Tom Taylor as a real person but rather as an object to hypersexualise, they read and reblogged rpf (real person fanfiction) of him:

They have repeatedly stated that they comment on every instagram and tiktok post from Tom Taylor and Kieran Burton, asking them for their heights (and fuck knows what else). They themselves referred to this as harassment, which it very much is.

what DO you say on twitter, benjicotblckwood?

They constantly post clips and videos of Tom Taylor, where he is, who he is with, and what he is up to, often adding their own speculations and gross comments. This is literally cyberstalking. They even keep the things that he himself ends up deleting. (the post below is about a song Tom Taylor made and deleted)

Here are links to some deleted posts that contained some of their invasive and disgusting comments about Tom Taylor, his body, etc.:

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758616703482675200/tom-is-over-6-feet-tall-and-hes-got-a-fat-juicy

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758022883677192192/thomas-joseph-taylor-bradshaw-please-let-me-hit

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758270274319810560/i-wish-that-truck-stop-employee-would-fuck-me-in?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758267144930738176/i-love-and-hate-that-tom-is-so-mysterious-like-i?source=share [they talked about "gatekeeping" and not wanting to "share" Tom Taylor in this one, 'cause.... you know... he's not a real person, obviously]

They also zoomed in on Harry Collett's underwear:

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758272062982930432/the-fact-that-you-zoomed-in-and-enhanced-the?source=share [deleted post]

https://www.tumblr.com/benjicotblckwood/758267589006884864/like-there-is-absolutely-no-way-harry-had-boxers?source=share [deleted post]

I assume, because they constantly appear in the tags with questionable content (I'm being polite), they have been getting called out by multiple people (admittedly, not in a constructive way aka via anon hate). They got incredibly defensive (used buzzfeed and others doing similar things as excuses), acted like they didn't know what they were being called out for, and eventually deleted most of the posts. Don't get it twisted. These aren't jokes. This isn't what fandoms are. This isn't what fandoms are for. This isn't about a "handful" of "jokes" from today or yesterday. This is about dozens and dozens of posts (many of them incredibly disgusting and invasive) about real human beings, made over months and months, every single day.

Finally, I arrive at the reason why I'm making this post. They used the g*nocide in G*za to deflect from the shitshow on their blog. This isn't even performative activism. It's pure evil, in what I can only assume is an attempt to portray themselves as a good person who still has morals and empathy. As far as I'm aware, they have never ONCE shared a post, a fundraiser, anything about the topic on tumblr. But they chose this day, after responding to and deleting posts calling them out for their repulsive behavior online. This is beyond vile. This is fucking unacceptable.

I will conclude by reiterating what I wrote earlier: Please do not send them hate. Please do not harass them in any way, shape, or form. Please just report and/or block them.

70 notes · View notes

richarlotte · 9 months ago

Text

Hair Removal Methods.

I was heavily inspired by a post I found on Reddit when making this post. I haven’t seen too many posts about hair removal methods on Tumblr, and I have quite a few asks in my inbox about that, so it made sense for me to make a small guide with tips, methods, and recommendations. If you want more information, product names, my sugar wax recipe, or just recommendations, please don’t hesitate to send me an email or just comment below for me to respond.

Shaving.

Cost: $

Speed: Average

Smoothness: Average

Discomfort: Low

Tips/Methods:

* Always buy men’s razors. They usually come with sharper blades that don’t clog as much as the blades on women’s razors.

* I only shave using hot water and when I’m in the shower. The hot water softens the hair and makes it easy to remove, and the flow of the water prevents my razor from clogging.

* The direction you shave is important. If you shave against the grain (the direction opposite the hair points), you can get a closer shave, but you risk ingrown hairs. Shave with the grain on sensitive areas and do multiple passes if needed.

* I personally use shaving cream from EOS and products from Topicals to lessen ingrown hairs and clear up dark marks. Shaving isn’t my preferred method or hair removal, but when I’m in a rush, it gets the job done.

Best for your whole body, especially large and flat areas like your arms and legs. It's cheap and effective but often time consuming. If you want to maintain a perfectly smooth body, you’ll have to shave or touch up at least twice a week.

Nair/Chemical Removal.

Cost: $

Speed: Medium

Smoothness: Smooth

Discomfort: Low

Tips/Methods:

* There are many brands but the basic idea is you apply the cream to your skin, wait 5-10 minutes while the hair “melts" off your body, then you wipe it off. You’ll definitely need to shower after using Nair to remove any excess cream and to avoid burning your skin. I would say this is mandatory unless your specific brand says otherwise.

* The process will probably smell pretty bad. You'll want to wipe the cream and hair off with something disposable to avoid ruining your regular towels. I personally use tissue, you can use anything easily accessible.

* PATCH TEST BEFORE USE. These creams and powders are made from very really strong chemicals and can absolutely mess you up if you aren't careful. Everyone's skin is different, so put a little on your arm first, see how it reacts, then use it on a larger area.

Best For: Armpits and pubic hair. I find these creams are best at getting hard to reach or uneven surfaces that your razor might struggle with. This is also a good option if you are in a hurry or don't have the option to try the options below.

Epilation.

Cost: $$

Speed: Slow

Smoothness: High

Discomfort: High

Tips/Methods:

* Epilators look kind of like foil shavers you'd use for your face, but the end has a roller with tiny clamps that essentially grab hairs and pull them out.

* Personally I think these hurt like a bitch, especially the first time you use them. You can definitely feel each individual hair get pulled out of your skin.

* The main benefit of an epilator (and waxing, discussed below) is that you're pulling the entire hair out, root and all. This means hair in that area will grow back significantly slower than shaving. It also means that if you're willing to commit to a routine, each future use with the epilator will be less painful.

* I highly recommend icing the area before and after to avoid swelling. That being said, the area needs to be completely dry for the device to work.

* Epilator performance has always been pretty hit and miss for me. They're good at getting coarse hair, but will struggle to get fine or short strands. Again, you will likely need to make a shaving pass to clean up anything left behind.

* Additionally, if your hair is too thick or the surface is too uneven, the epilator can get tangled and stop functioning leading to a super painful situation. As with any of these tips, definitely test on a small area and see how it performs for you so you can get a feel for the length/thickness your device can handle.

Best For: Flat smooth surfaces, primarily your arms, legs, and torso. Some people really love epilation, others don’t. I think epilation is an acquired taste and it’s not my favorite method.

Waxing.

Cost: $$ to $$$

Speed: Slow

Smoothness: High

Discomfort: High

Tips/Methods:

* When you need to get 100% smooth there is no substitute. I love the way my body feels after waxing or sugaring and it’s what works best for me.

* I'll do my best here as a general overview but please watch some video guides before attempting this. I'll cover the two most common options I have experience with: soft wax, sugaring, and hard wax.

* Soft Wax: Hot wax is applied to the skin, then bandage strips are applied over. Once the wax cools, the strips are pulled off, taking the hair with them. This method is probably what you've seen in movies. They're good for getting rid of finer hairs, but unlike hard wax, you risk taking off your skin if you do it wrong. If you're trying waxing at home (especially for the first time), avoid this option. Despite the name, hard wax is actually much safer and what I recommend

* Hard wax: Hot wax is applied to the skin. Once it hardens, you peel the wax off by itself, taking hair with it. Since hard wax only bonds to hair and not skin it's a much safer option for beginners and does just as good a job removing hair as soft wax. This is what I use when I don’t have time to make my sugaring solution and I've never looked back.

* Wax is warmed in a... wax warmer! It's a little pot with a heating element, kind of like a croc pot. Hard waxes come in pellets that you dump in, soft waxes usually come with their own container that pops into the unit. Look for a wax warmer that can adjust the temp, not just an on/off switch. Most but not all have this feature. Each wax brand is different so you'll need more/less heat to melt it correctly, especially if you're doing a longer session where the wax can begin to solidify in the pot.

* Popsicle sticks are a cheap, effective way to apply wax. You'll want something disposable as it can get quite messy.

* Waxing, like epilators, will slow down your hair growth. This means the more you do it in the same area the less hair will grow back, and the less painful each subsequent application will be.

* Your hair needs to be a certain length for the wax to catch, so check your brand and plan accordingly. My professional technician has mentioned 1/4th inch is a good guideline for when to start waxing.

* As with every method on this list, please test on a small part of your body first. The wax will be quite hot (like getting into a hot bath) but not so much that it burns your skin.

Best For: any area you want super smooth or silky.

Laser Hair Removal.

Cost: $$$$

Speed: Slow

Smoothness: Depends.

Discomfort: High

Tips/Methods:

* Getting started will take some time and effort. You have to set up a consultation beforehand before even scheduling a session where you'll talk to the professional, ask any questions, then work out your plan.

* Laser hair removal is a process over time, not a one and done. Considering each session can cost hundreds of dollars, we are talking a huge investment. It cost me $800 over 4 sessions just for a small area on my lower body. For larger areas, we could be talking thousands!

* On that note, the total cost is going to vary a ton. Not only will each area be priced differently, but most places require you to book multiple sessions in a row or packages of X sessions you can choose to use over a year.

* The pigment of your skin matters a lot. Generally speaking the darker your skin the harder/less effective the process will be. There are different types of lasers available that may make this irrelevant but you'll definitely want to do your homework.

Final Thoughts.

What matters most is time. If you have the time to wax or shave your whole body, go to a professional for laser hair removal or pro waxing, or epilate yourself, then you’ll have much better results than someone who rushes through everything. Learning, investing in quality products, and then actually investing time into the hair removal process will get you closer to where you want to be without wasting as much time or money as you would leaping in blind or with no effort.

Richarlotte x

95 notes · View notes

duskvsdawn · 21 days ago

Text

I think opening requests might have been a mistake. Now I feel even more pressured, and I don't think I can do this. Fuck. Don't mind me, I'm just going to cry in a corner because I'm afraid I have lost all the will to write. Nothing just seems right, no matter how I try to approach things. I really can't do this. I'm sorry. I will keep them in my inbox, but... I can't do them. So I am just going to close requests again, indefinitely this time. And I am going to step away from writing for now. I may return at some point. Idk. I'm sorry I let you all down. I will now disappear so you can all move on to something bigger and better. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for all my mental health rambles. I am sorry for worrying you. I know you've all become tired of me. I'm sorry. I can't stop crying as I write this. I hate this so much. I was so happy to finally have found a hobby I thoroughly enjoyed again. But the more I come across all my works, the more I hate them. I fucking despise them. I hate that I couldn't do better. I am so tempted to remove them all again. But I have put so much time and effort into them that I am too stubborn to do so. Then it would actually have been a waste of my time. Plus, I would love to believe that people actually genuinely love my works, even if I can't see it that way, no matter how hard I try. I am sorry for being a nuisance. I am sorry that I can never stop rambling. I am sorry that I clog up your feed with posts about how terrible I feel.

I'm sorry. You won't see anything from me anytime soon. This is a goodbye until I maybe, someday, feel better. Maybe, someday, I will write again. I will check my messages every now and then. And to the close friends I have made on here (you know who you are), feel free to add me on discord so we can talk there, if you want. But I understand if you don't want to, honestly. But in case you do want to, username on discord is duskvsdawn.

This is goodbye for now. I love you all. Take care of yourself. Your support means the world to me. Just thinking about all the kind words from all of you makes me cry even harder. But I have to take a step back. I am this fucking close to throwing myself in front of a train. Masking is tiresome, and I can't do it anymore. I just can't. I'm sorry. I can't keep pretending everything is fine when it hasn't been for over 20 years.

See you around. You are awesome, never forget that. Love you. Muah. ❤

19 notes · View notes

mandiemegatron · 8 months ago

Note

Why kill off the reader in the second part of losing the war? I was expecting Kidd or Killer to get hurt or something but killing the reader? Tell us you don't care about your readers without telling us you don't care about your readers. Who the fuck kills off the READER? Take the L and maybe stop acting like your writing is better than it actually is.

*deep breath*

Okay.

I've received a handful of anons similar to this one and I didn't think I'd have to come on here to break down my ideas and give reasons as to why I wrote something the way I did, but clearly some people are pretty pressed over my choices for Just Come Home. Everything under the readmore so I don't clog up people's dash.

Let's break this down one point at a time. So firstly, my choice to kill off the Reader was actually a last-minute decision while finishing it off. My original idea was reader never forgives Kid and decides to fight Kid and Killer instead, losing and being left for dead (for Law to find), but decided, why not even more hurt? More pain and more anguish, as I was asked to put Kid through via some askers/anons. I found the best way to do that, was to kill off the reader. Have them make amends only to have that ripped from Kids hands and destroyed with a simple flick of the wrist, and honestly, the fact that I had myself in tears while writing it gave me the motivation to continue with that idea.

I also wanted to delve into trying my hand at Law who felt backed into a wall and decided to spill blood, all for the sake of having an upper hand, and if that meant he had to off the reader to keep that upper hand, then so be it. I wanted to write something different from my usual angst, something a little more devastating and I feel like I hit that mark pretty damn close. Truly, I'm sorry you feel differently about it.

Secondly, don't you EVER come into my inbox and point fingers, saying I don't care about my readers. Buddy, I probably care TOO MUCH about my readers, about what they think and about how they feel when reading my writing. This is incredibly hurtful for you to come up here and essentially scream in my face that this isn't good enough. I need you to understand that if you dont enjoy something, that means it wasn't written for YOU. Not everything you come across is going to be to your taste and it's insanely self-centered and entitled of you to come in here and tell me I don't give a fuck about my readers because YOU thought it was stupid. It feels like you're taking this a little personally and I don't understand why.

Lastly, i don't sit here and brag about my writing. In fact, I feel like I stay pretty quiet other than some self reblogs of things I've written when I'm feeling that certain blorbo. It's confusing and again, hurtful, for you to come in here and essentially tell me to shut the fuck up... on my own blog. That's some strange activities there, buddy. I think you maybe need to log off for a bit, go sit in nature and do some deep breathing because this is crossing the line over to chronically online. Please go outside for a bit. Please revise your manners and remember the golden rule. You don't have to be religious for you to understand "treat others the way you want to be treated".

Do better.

#answered ask #anonymous #anon asks will be turned off after this posts.#writers should not have to defend their writing or their ideas - even if you think it was a stupid idea.#some people lost their manners during covid and nows the time to re-find them.

45 notes · View notes

sashathegirl · 2 months ago

Text

dude stop @'ing me in random shit. legit only @ me if its in an actual emergency, a game or activity (picrews n stuff where id actually respond to it), or something specifically meant for me, istg ts is clogging up my inbox .

#sasha moment #NOT DIRECTED #please dont take this personally 😭

18 notes · View notes

storiesofaot · 22 days ago

Note

Cookie in exchange for LeviHan sickfic?🥺

Here's the cookie 🍪

And here's the fic prompt😁:

LeviHan sickfic set in the Year 851 during the winter (Hange's Commander but Eren hasn't left Paradis yet). They've recently entered a romantic relationship soon after reclaiming Wall Maria. She/her pronouns for my girl plz🤞

Hange's overworking to get the Scout Regiment back on its feet and eventually falls sick with the flu but tries to work through it until Levi decides she's too disgusting and unhygienic from her constant sneezing (which he finds cute) runny nose and other symptoms forcing her to rest and nurses her back to health.

Hii Anon, I hope you're still around! I'm sorry, your prompt has been sitting in my inbox for some time, but the longfic I have been uploading over the past few weeks took up pretty much all the writing time I had, which is why I'm only finishing this now. 🙈 I still hope you'll enjoy this sickfic nonetheless! I'll be crossposting it on Ao3 as a seperate fic as well, since it turned out a little longer than expected haha. And of course, thank you for the cookie!! 🍪

I Love You, Too.

Word Count: 3.946

Rating: T (for language)

Canon-compliant. Sickfic. Fluff.

On top of that, with the Titans outside the walls now gone, there was even less drive for young people to join the Scout Regiment. Yet they had lost so many soldiers during the Battle of Shiganshina, and with the lack of new recruits, it was tough to get anything done—they were in dire need of more people.

Levi should’ve known better than to let Hange push through the early stages of the cold she’d been carrying around for several weeks now. It had been making its way through the younger Scouts, each coming down with the sniffles or a cough one after the other as soon as autumn had fully settled in. But with Hange constantly interacting with them, she always kept catching new versions of it. Most of the kids were over it by now, but she was still struggling, and the current cold, wet winter weather wasn’t helping either.

And now that Hange was the new Commander, the weight of the situation was starting to drive her crazy.

“You should call it a day,” Levi told her when, once again, he found her still sitting in her study late at night. She was bent over some papers, an untouched plate of dinner he’d brought her about two hours ago still sitting on one side of her desk, and next to it, a heap of what were likely already-used handkerchiefs. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Hange didn’t even grant him a reaction and continued scribbling away. Only when he poked a finger into the back of her head did she let out a tired grunt, swatting his hand away.

"Oi, Hange!” he called out, and this time he was finally met with an absentminded Hm, and he rolled his eyes. “Stop working.”

“Stop talking,” she mumbled back, suddenly flipping through a list of names before scribbling something into her book. “Please,” she added for good measure, likely noticing his testiness. But she still wasn't looking up and continued sniffling and wiping her nose with her sleeve. Levi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I will, if you eat." Determined to bring at least a little bit of order to the pigsty she was currently holed up in, he picked up an empty box from one corner of her room. Using a discarded piece of paper, which he folded to make it sturdier, he pushed the used handkerchiefs into the box without having to touch them.

“All right, Mr. Pain-in-the-Butt. I’m taking a bite, see?” Hange made a show of deliberately shoving a spoonful of her dinner into her mouth. She chewed a few times, then froze. "Isn’t this supposed to be mashed potatoes?” she mumbled around the food.

“Close your mouth,” Levi replied, then added, “Yes. It still is."

“Then why does it taste… odd?”

“I added some extra onions and garlic,” he explained after a short pause, setting the box aside. “It should help with your clogged sinuses.”

“Yikes,” she said, warily eyeing the plate. Bringing the food close to her face, she sniffled, then grimaced. "Levi, I don’t know if I can eat that.”

"Tsk, you can’t even smell it,” he huffed, taking the plate from her hands and lifting it to his face. He inhaled. Sure, the garlic was strong, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as she was making it out to be. "And how are you supposed to get better if you don’t eat?”

“How am I supposed to eat this if it tastes like you threw the entire garlic and onion stash into it?” Hange snatched the plate back, took another spoonful, and shuddered as she forced the food down. Immediately, she reached for her glass of water and took several gulps before slamming it back down.

Levi sighed. Well, at least the meal was making her drink something.

He usually wasn’t that pushy. But things were a little different now. This was Hange, his comrade, his friend. His… whatever she was, after they’d had that little unexpected moment at the beach a few months ago.

He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened there—of all places she could’ve kissed him—and with that slimy thing in her hand. He called it an accident; she was convinced it had been inevitable. Nevertheless, it had been another step in their already deep and steady relationship… yet one he was still struggling to get used to.

Falling in love wasn’t something he’d ever thought was in the cards for him. But it had happened, sneaking up on him, on both of them, and overwhelming them in a moment when they probably expected it the least.

Memories from that night, and the stolen moments that followed in the months after, flashed through Levi’s mind. Moments that always included that very smile Hange was giving him now. He shook his head as the images slowly faded, giving way to the present-day her, who was scrutinising him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, nibbling on her pen. He noticed the plate on her desk was half empty, the glass completely drained, and warmth spread in his chest. Without a word, he got up, picked the bottle of water up from the floor, and refilled her glas

“The beach,” he replied honestly, her eye still watching him with that same quiet curiosity.

“What?” Hange frowned in confusion, cocking her head.

“Forget it.” Levi stood up and, in parting, placed a hand on her shoulder. Though before he could pull it away again, she placed her own over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Eat up, and go to bed soon. You need rest,” he mumbled gently, the touch prickling on his skin.

"I will,” Hange assured him, pulling her hand away and tilting her head to rest her cheek against his hand. He brushed the back of his fingers along the curve of her jaw, and she chuckled at the tingle it must have caused on her skin.

“Love you, too,” she called when he was at the door a few minutes later, her head already bent over her papers again. Levi didn’t turn around, barely pausing to acknowledge her words. It was the first time she’d said those words out loud, and his heartbeat picked up at the realisation.

And I don’t even know why, he thought as he closed the door behind himself. He was terrible at saying how he felt; he rarely talked about it, and on the few occasions when he did, it always came out clumsy and blunt. Yet somehow, she still chose him—and he truly wished he could tell her just how much that meant to him.

◇

Levi didn’t see her for two more weeks after that. She’d taken a trip to headquarters with Armin, while he and the rest of the Scouts remained at their current location. When he was informed that they had returned, he immediately began to search for her.

Her horse was already in the stables, which meant she had to be inside the building. In the hallway, he bumped into Armin, who was already looking for him and greeted him politely.

“She wouldn’t let me get close to her, saying she’d pass her stupid cold on to me,” the boy informed him with a worried look. “But I’m pretty sure she’s running a fever. She seemed really lethargic on our ride back and didn’t even bother to look at the deer family we passed. Though I did my best to make sure she was drinking enough water.”

Levi nodded. That sounded just like something she’d do. “Thank you, Armin. I’ll take care of things—don’t worry about it. Now go and rest.” The boy nodded, a relieved expression flickering over his face before he said goodbye and went to look for his friends.

“I really hope you’re not in your office right now,” Levi mumbled to himself as he made his way through the building. A quick peek into Hange's bedroom reinforced his assumption, and when he knocked on her office door and heard her voice from inside, his guess was confirmed.

“Levi, I’m so happy to see you!” she exclaimed, her body expectantly turned toward him. She really tried to sound cheerful, but the roughness in her voice and the unmistakable dark circles under her eyes, paired with her pale skin, gave away just how unwell she was feeling.

“Stop working,” was his reply, short and almost a little gruff, and Hange chuckled.

“Why, didn’t you miss me?” she teased, chuckling again when he rolled his eyes. Though it quickly turned into a short coughing fit that occupied her for the next few minutes.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, the truth slipping from his tongue. The way Hange’s expression momentarily lit up made something in his chest tighten. It shouldn’t be such a rare thing for her to hear those words, yet sentiments like that hardly ever left his lips. “Now please take a break,” he added, much softer this time.

Hange sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Maybe I should,” she mumbled, rubbing her brow. “I’ve already done too much thinking in the past two weeks. I’m fine, don’t give me that look. I’m just… a little tired.

Levi stepped closer and placed his hand on her forehead. It was unnaturally warm, and she immediately leaned into his touch, which was cool against her skin. She was clearly still running a fever, and he immediately frowned.

“Mhm, that’s nice,” she sighed as his thumb rubbed small circles against her temple. He kept his hand there a little longer, continuing his ministrations.

“Is your nose still blocked? Does your throat hurt?”

“Yes. And… yes,” Hange replied, grabbing his hand as he started to pull it away and bringing it to her cheek. “Armin made me drink lots of herbal tea and even rustled up some honey for it. It didn’t taste too bad. Much better than your garlic mashed potatoes.” She was clearly talking just for the sake of it, eyes drooping and words slightly slurred.

“He’s a good kid.” Levi gently tugged at her hand, and when she didn’t move, he did it again, earning a weak groan in response. “Very sensible. Can’t exactly say the same about you.”

“I’m just doing my job!” she protested, finally rising to her feet, though very sluggishly. He was already withdrawing his hand when she quickly tightened her grip, interlacing their fingers.

Usually, he would’ve tried to pull his hand away. But he decided that, just this once, he’d let it slide. She was sick, after all, and he wasn’t that mean. He just prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone in the hallway as they walked down the corridor, their joined hands swinging gently between them.

“Have you already had lunch?” Levi asked as they reached the stairwell. When Hange shook her head, he wordlessly guided her down the corridor to the mess hall.

He made her sit down at the table, where she immediately rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, while he moved around behind her. He rustled up a large bowl, brought water to a boil, and added several spoonfuls of dried chamomile flowers, thyme, and a handful of mint leaves. Then he gave everything a good stir before pulling a big towel from one of the cupboards.

“You have to breathe in the vapour,” Levi said, gently smoothing a hand over her shoulder to signal that he was done. Hange lifted her head, blinking a few times before grimacing at the sight of what he had just prepared for her.

“My mum always made me do this when I was little,” she sighed, pulling back slightly as Levi pushed the bowl closer. “I hated it so much.”

"I think you hate your runny nose more than you’ll hate this,” he replied, moving to stand behind her with the towel ready in his hand

“I prefer the sniffles,” she said, punctuating her words by dragging her sleeve under her nose.

“Disgusting,” Levi said, rolling his eyes, but his words left Hange completely unfazed. She leaned back, the back of her head coming to rest against his chest. When she searched for and found his hand, she pressed it back against her cheek, sighing as she slumped even further into him. Levi shook his head; she seemed to get even more clingy when she was sick.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, nudging her with his other hand. When she didn’t move an inch, he repeated the motion, a little firmer this time.

“Gosh, you’re being so fussy,” Hange groaned, finally leaning forward over the steaming bowl. “Alright, I’ll do it. Happy?”

“Very.” With nimble fingers, he undid the strings holding her eyepatch in place and carefully removed it from her face. Then, he draped the towel over both her head and the dish, giving her a comforting pat on the back.

“You’re not going to leave me here, are you?” Hange mumbled from beneath the cloth when she heard his steps retreating.

“I’ll make us some soup for lunch,” he said reassuringly. “I just need to grab a few vegetables from the pantry—I’ll be right back.”

All the while he chopped the ingredients, Levi did his best to keep Hange entertained. He walked her through each step of how he was preparing the soup—mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. Whenever she tried to lift the towel to let in some fresh air, he snapped at her, insisting she was letting the steam out, upon which she called him a fussy grandma. But aside from those small bouts of bickering, she stayed quiet, a clear sign she wasn’t exactly thrilled with her current condition.

After twelve minutes, she’d had enough and folded back the cloth, taking in a deep breath of air as if she’d been suffocating the entire time. For a moment, Levi considered forcing her back under the towel. But she looked so pleased and relieved, and with the air clearly passing better through her nose as she continued to take several deep breaths, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he handed her a few handkerchiefs he’d brought along and ordered her to blow her nose.

Levi discarded the water, then turned his attention back to the bubbling soup. Hange seemed content to just sit and observe… him, to his mild irritation. Her head rested on her hands, an alarmingly dreamy expression on her face. He was relieved to see she hadn’t put her eyepatch back on, seemingly comfortable enough around him to go without it. He knew she still hadn’t fully gotten used to it, despite the time that had passed since her injury, but her trust did something to him—something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“What are you staring at?” he said dryly, feeling her gaze still boring into his back even after several minutes.

"You,” she replied honestly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re lovely to look at.”

"Tsk, you’re delusional,” Levi replied, turning away to grab two spoons and bowls from the cupboard, also to hide the blush creeping up his face. He filled the steaming soup into the dishes, then carried them over to the table.

During lunch, Hange didn’t talk much. She insisted it was the best soup she’d ever had and even managed to finish her entire bowl despite the burning in her throat. But she mostly just listened, leaving it up to him to do the talking—which was, of course, not only unusual for her but also mentally exhausting for him, and he spent an uncomfortable thirty minutes scratching his brain for any stories or bits of information she might find interesting.

Once they had finished, Levi did the dishes while Hange went back to being lethargic, her head resting on the table with her arms folded underneath. Aside from the occasional sniffle or cough, she stayed quiet and still, and when he asked how she was feeling, and she complained of a headache, he did his best to finish up as quickly as possible.

He made her change into her pyjamas as soon as they reached her bedroom, while he left to fetch a few wet towels to help with the fever. Hange had quite literally just flopped onto her bed and hadn’t moved an inch since—face pressed into the pillow, not even bothering to pull the blanket up. With a gentle nudge against her legs, he motioned for her to tuck them in properly, then spread the blanket over her himself.

"Here, this might help,” Levi said gently as he sat on the edge of the bed, placing the cloth on her forehead. Hange hummed in contentment, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again.

"Hm, yes, this feels good,” she mumbled, lifting her hand to press the cloth more firmly against her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, lips dry from dehydration, and he made her drink a few sips of the tea he had prepared until she had enough and announced she was too tired to do anything except breathe.

"Told you that you needed rest, idiot,” he remarked softly, reaching for the second wet towel to replace the first one. His fingers gently brushed against her forehead, tucking back the strands of her fringe, and a small smile appeared on her lips. If he didn’t know she was feeling like shit, he might’ve actually found her expression adorable. But he quickly pushed the thought aside—this wasn’t something he should be thinking about now.

"Alright, now sleep and— hey, don’t be disgusting!” Hange had been about to bring her sleeve to her nose again, and he quickly grabbed her by the wrist. “Use a tissue like every normal, hygienic human being.”

"Thank you, Levi,” she sighed, happily accepting the cloth he handed her. The smile on her lips was disgustingly dreamy again, and it made him want to be even closer to her—a thought that unsettled him a little. Yet it didn’t feel as terrifying as it had in the first few weeks, and he wondered if, one day, thoughts like that might come more naturally to him. Then, the moment was promptly ruined when she noisily blew her nose.

"Now sleep. I’ll come by in a few hours to see if you need anything.” He was about to stand when a hand on his wrist held him back.

"Don’t leave me alone, please.” Hange’s eye had flown open again, her gaze intense as her grip on his arm tightened. “I like having you around. It… calms me down.”

Levi hesitated for a moment, especially when she slid back a little to make room for him on the bed. Hadn’t he just wished to be closer to her? Now that his wish was being granted, he was already thinking of backing out. But then he nodded, took off his jacket and boots, and slid into bed with his back against the wall.

Yes, her constant sniffling was a big damper, and there was likely a huge cloud of germs currently enveloping her. The danger of getting sneezed on was high, and he might end up catching her flu after this—if she hadn’t already infected him. But when had he ever been able to say no to her, especially when she spoke to him with that sweetness in her voice, begging him to read to her, her eye sparkling like it was holding an actual star or something?

Gosh, she had truly ruined him.

"People sleep with their eyes closed, you know,” Levi grumbled as he reached for the book on her nightstand. She gave a quiet, pleased sound, squeezing her head into his lap, and he gave her shoulder a gentle pat with the book when she wiped her nose on her sleeve again.

He had already started reading aloud when Hange interrupted him, softly calling his name. “Hm?” he paused, glancing over the edge of the book and down at her.

"I love you, too,” she mumbled, grinning when she noticed the way his ears were turning red. She reached out a hand, brushing over his cheek, his skin flushing under her touch.

"Yeah,” he replied softly, just as ungracefully as he had a few weeks before, his mind completely blank. He allowed his eyes to flicker over her face—her bold eyebrows, the scar crossing her left eye, the glow in her right one, her strong nose, her gentle smile—taking it all in. He’d never been good at putting his feelings into words, and only slightly better at expressing them through clumsy gestures of affection. So he let instinct take over, took the hand still resting on his cheek, and brought it to his lips, brushing them gently over the back of her fingers.

Hange’s eye widened, clearly unaccustomed to such a soft display of emotion. But she recovered quickly, brushing her thumb along his chin and giggling when his breath hitched, the air tickling her skin.

But then, Levi froze. “That was probably the dumbest thing I could’ve done,” he muttered, quickly pulling her hand away from his lips.

Hange burst out laughing, immediately catching on to his train of thought. “No, I think kissing me on the lips might be the stupidest thing you could’ve done. This is just number two.” She scrunched up her nose when he flicked her forehead with his finger. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you if you get sick—just like you’re doing for me.”

"If you were more hygienic, this wouldn’t even be a problem,” Levi remarked, briefly considering getting up to make her sanitise her hands. He did regret that his lips had just touched her germy hand, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now, so he simply brushed it off. "Now shut up and try to sleep,” he instructed, pushing her head back down.

And she did.

As soon as Hange had nuzzled comfortably against him again, she closed her eyes and kept them shut; the only sounds coming from her were occasional coughs and sniffles. He continued reading aloud, doing his best to keep his voice as gentle as possible. When no sound came from her for quite some time, he peeked over the edge of the book—and almost smiled. She was fast asleep.

"There you go,” Levi whispered, gently pulling the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. “You should take better care of yourself, you know?”

He didn’t know what to feel when he saw her peaceful expression, the way she was soundly and… safely asleep in his lap. All he knew was that whatever he was feeling in that moment didn’t feel bad at all. There was a warmth in his stomach, something light and unfamiliar, and for a moment, he let the feeling sink in—until it spread gently through his chest.

When Hange sniffled in her sleep, Levi shook his head in disbelief. She truly never did shut up. But this time, he didn’t bother fighting the smile tugging at his lips, or the little huff that might’ve passed as a chuckle.

He allowed himself to look at her softened features a moment longer, until he decided things were getting dangerously sappy and he needed to stop. So he opened the book again—this time at the beginning—and started reading quietly. He had no idea what the story was even about. But since he clearly wasn’t going anywhere, now seemed like a good time to find out.

15 notes · View notes