#do you think they have in-world references

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: chronic pain, back injury, emotional breakdown, crying, self-worth struggles, internalized pressure/perfectionism, comfort/healing themes, soft intimacy, references to physical and emotional exhaustion

notes: (queued post) felix's back hurting literally hurts me. poor baby i hope he doesn't actually feel like what i wrote. this was requested so thank you to the anon who requested it <3 <3

The hotel room glows golden with city spill, the kind of light that’s warm but borrowed—filtered through the curtains, flickering gently against the white duvet, your half-unpacked suitcase at the foot of the bed. Music hums low from your phone speaker, but it’s the sound of his laugh that wraps around your ribcage the tightest.

He’s sitting cross-legged, hoodie rumpled, hair still damp from the shower he took before you arrived. You’d barely stepped through the door when he pulled you into a hug—arms wound around your waist like he thought you might vanish if he let go too soon.

And now he’s talking fast, smiling wide, full of stories he didn’t want to wait to tell.

You’re only here for three days. He keeps saying that like a countdown he refuses to acknowledge.

You nod along, matching his grin, watching the way he talks with his whole body—shoulders swaying, hands animated. But even through the glow of reunion and room service and the chocolate you brought him from home, something itches at the back of your mind.

He hasn’t leaned back once.

You clock it in the way he sits perfectly upright. The way his jaw ticks when he thinks you’re not looking. How his fingers press against his thigh like grounding points. It’s subtle, but it’s Felix—you know him too well.

You let him go on a little longer. Let him revel in the rush of having you here—finally, finally here. The hotel room feels different with you in it. He feels different with you in it. You know that. You know he’s trying to keep the moment light, to stretch it out like taffy and pretend it isn’t straining.

But still—you notice.

You always do.

So you shift forward on the bed, slow and nonchalant, like it’s nothing. Like you’re not trying to inspect him. Your hand finds his knee first, then the hem of his hoodie. You smooth your palm over it casually, letting your fingers slip underneath to touch the warmth of his stomach.

He startles, then grins. "What’s that for?"

“You just looked really cute sitting there,” you lie, though not really. “Wanted to touch you.”

He hums, a low, pleased sound. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, a half-second of pause. And before you can ask anything else, he’s leaning in—hands coming up to cup your cheeks, smile turning shy and sheepish and utterly distracting.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you too.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s a soft thing, at first—barely there, a whisper of pressure and warmth. But Felix kisses like he’s pouring something back into the world, like affection is a currency he never wants to run out of. The kiss deepens, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, his other hand sliding into your hair, tilting your face just so.

You feel it in your knees. Your heart. Your everything.

But then—

He shifts.

It’s just a small movement, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know. But you do. You know the difference between his usual slow crawl into your lap and the stiff, guarded slide he just attempted. And more than that—you feel the sudden tightness in his body, the way his breath hitches, the ghost of a flinch.

He pulls back too quickly.

"Sorry," he says, voice too bright. “Just—stiff from rehearsal.”

“Stiff,” you repeat, flatly.

Felix offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing, I’m okay—”

“Felix.”

Your voice is gentle, but it lands like an anchor. Firm. Unshifting. It stills him.

His smile falters for real this time.

You soften your gaze, fingers brushing lightly beneath his jaw. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not just here for the good parts.”

He exhales slowly, chest deflating like a balloon finally giving out. His hands fall from your cheeks to his lap, fingers curling inwards like he’s trying to hold something in—dignity, maybe. Or guilt.

“I just…” He glances away, jaw tightening. “You came all the way here. You only get a few days. I didn’t wanna make it about me hurting again.” He releases a frustrated breath. “It’s my back. Again. Worse this time. I thought it would go away, but it just… hasn’t. And I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t want to waste time talking about pain when we could be doing this.”

He gestures vaguely—at the kiss, at you. At the fragile, glowing bubble he tried so hard to keep intact.

You look at him for a long moment—really look.

He’s still sitting upright, spine pulled taut like a bowstring, even though every inch of him is screaming to lie down. There’s sweat gathering at his temples, just a sheen, but enough to give him away. His hands are shaking a little where they rest on his thighs. And his eyes, God—his eyes are so full of apology it guts you.

Because this isn’t just about the pain.

It’s about how hard he’s trying to be fine. For you. For the moment. For the memory he wanted to make of your first night in New York.

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t break something in you.

You reach for him again, this time slower. Gentler. Fingers skimming the curve of his shoulder until they reach the base of his neck. You lean in close, let your forehead rest lightly against his.

“I don’t care what we do with our time, Lix,” you whisper. “I just want you to feel okay while we do it.”

His eyes flutter shut.

“I didn’t want to waste a second,” he says again, softer this time. “Didn’t want to miss anything.”

“You’re not missing anything,” you murmur. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s all I need.”

He exhales, and it shudders out of him like something heavy. His hands come up to hold you again, but the motion is stilted, cautious. He grimaces.

That’s it.

That’s the moment you shift into motion—deliberate, calm, but unshakable. You take his hands in yours and gently lower them back to his lap, smoothing your thumbs across his knuckles like you’re calming a storm.

“No more of that,” you say quietly. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you lying down.”

Felix hesitates, brows pinching like he wants to argue—wants to say he’s fine, that it’s not that bad, that he can push through. But you give him that look again. The one that says I see you. I love you. Let me do this.

He gives in.

You help him shift—slowly, carefully—guiding him back against the pillows with one hand braced behind his neck, the other smoothing under his ribs. He winces again as his back touches the mattress, jaw tightening like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your heart aches so fiercely it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

He ends up curled slightly on his side, legs tucked in just a little. It’s not his usual sleeping position—it’s the one he uses when the pain is too loud to stretch out. You’ve seen it before. He hates it. Hates what it means. But still, he lets you settle the pillows behind him. Lets you tuck the blanket around his hips.

And he lets you stay close.

You brush his hair out of his face, soft and slow, fingers curling behind his ear.

“I brought the patch,” you murmur. “And that arnica balm you like. Do you want them?”

He nods once, quiet. “Yeah. Please.”

You press a kiss to his forehead before slipping off the bed and digging through your carry-on. When you return, he’s still watching you—tired but open, expression soft in that raw, defenseless way that only comes out when he knows he’s safe.

When he knows it’s you.

You warm the patch between your hands before peeling it open, then kneel behind him on the mattress, carefully lifting the hem of his shirt. The skin at his lower back is flushed from tension. He twitches beneath your touch.

��Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, brushing your lips against the top of his spine. “You don’t have to apologize for hurting.”

You press the patch gently against the center of his back, smoothing it with the flat of your hand. His breath stutters beneath you, a shaky inhale that barely makes it to his lungs. You wait for it to settle.

Then—slowly—you lean down and kiss the bare skin just above the patch.

Soft. Lingering. Tender.

His breath catches again, but this time it’s different.

You follow the curve of his spine with your mouth, dropping kisses one by one—up toward his shoulders, down along the tense ridges of his back. Between every kiss, your fingers work the balm into the muscles flanking his spine, warm and slow and steady, like you're trying to soothe him into softness molecule by molecule.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur against his skin. 

He goes silent.

Too silent.

You pause, glancing up—and that’s when you see it.

The tight clench of his jaw. The glossy shimmer clinging to his lashes.

He’s not just hurting.

He’s unraveling.

You press one more kiss to his shoulder and crawl up beside him, hands finding his face before the first tear can fall. He tries to blink it away, tries to roll to the side again, to hide. But you cup his cheeks and press your forehead to his and whisper, “No, love. Don’t go. Stay with me.”

That breaks the last of it.

The tears spill silently at first—slow, hot streaks that slide past your fingers as he squeezes his eyes shut, breath hitching against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I just—fuck, I’m just so tired. I keep showing up and smiling and dancing and I know I’m lucky, I know I am, but it feels like my body’s betraying me and I can’t keep up, and I—”

Your hands don’t leave him. Not for a second. One stays cradled against his cheek, the other smoothing slow, grounding lines down his side. You press your forehead to his, anchor him to your breath, your presence, the steadiness he’s lost in himself.

He swallows hard, trying to finish the sentence, but the rest of it breaks in his throat—just a sound now, raw and wounded and ashamed.

You nudge your nose against his. “And you… what?”

He lets out a broken laugh. “And I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

That sentence hangs there for a moment, fragile and aching.

“I’m supposed to be the one who lifts people up,” he continues, voice cracked and spilling. “I’m supposed to be strong. I want to be strong. But lately, I can’t even stand for more than an hour without feeling like my spine’s going to snap in half. I stretch. I ice. I pretend. I smile. But it’s still there. And it’s so fucking frustrating. I just want to give everything I can on stage, and instead I—”

His words tangle. Collapse.

“I feel useless,” he says finally. Quiet. Hollow.

It rips something open in you.

Because you’ve seen the way he gives—always. The way he puts his whole body into the joy he brings others. The way he laughs louder when he’s in pain, so no one asks questions. The way he thinks he has to shine all the time, or else he’s disappointing someone.

You frame his face gently, guide him back down into the pillow as tears keep slipping sideways into the fabric. You kiss each cheek, slow and firm.

“You’re not useless,” you whisper. “You’re human. You’re hurting. That doesn’t take away everything you’ve given.”

He shakes his head, but you keep going, curling your body into his like a shield.

“You’ve never needed to earn love by being perfect, Felix. Not mine. Not theirs. Not anyone’s.”

He presses his face into your shoulder, breath warm and uneven.

“I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Then fall here,” you murmur. “Fall into me. I’ll keep you safe.”

His shoulders shudder once—twice—before going still. The kind of stillness that only comes when the body has exhausted every other way of holding itself together. You feel him melt into you, bit by bit, like the last dam inside him has cracked open and everything is finally spilling out.

You hold him closer.

You don’t rush to fix it. You don’t rush at all.

You let him breathe. Let him be. Because sometimes love isn’t in the answers—it’s in the silence that waits without fear.

“I hate this,” he whispers eventually. “I hate that I can’t do what I used to. That I can’t move the way I want to. That my body feels like a traitor half the time.”

You nod against his temple, hands never still. One runs soothingly through his hair, the other slipping beneath his shirt again to rub slow, careful circles into the small of his back—where the patch still radiates warmth beneath your palm.

“I know,” you say softly. “I know, baby.”

You press a kiss just behind his ear. Then one to his neck. Then another—lower, softer—right where his pulse flutters, tender and alive.

“You don’t have to keep pretending it doesn’t hurt,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

His breath hitches.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just breathes—shaky, uneven, but beginning to settle. His face is buried in the crook of your neck now, warm breath ghosting against your skin. You can feel the tension in him easing—not gone, not entirely, but no longer clinging to his bones like armor.

You hold him through the silence. Through the weight of what he didn’t say. Through the grief of a body that’s asking for more patience than he knows how to give.

And then, finally, he speaks again—small, almost like a child.

“Do you think it’ll get better?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, to brush your thumb across the tear-streaked curve of his cheek.

“I think healing doesn’t always look the way we want it to,” you murmur. “But yes. I think it will get better. Not overnight. Not all at once. But piece by piece. Day by day. And you won’t be alone for any of it.”

His eyes flutter shut at that, lashes still damp, and he exhales like the truth of it finally sinks in. That he doesn’t have to carry it alone. That he can break in your hands and still be held like something whole.

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out quiet but steady. Like he means it more in this moment than he ever has before.

You lean in and kiss him—gentle, firm, the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“I love you more.”

You tuck him into your arms then, body curved around his, and let him breathe. Let him rest.

And soon, his body gives in. You feel it—the slow sinking of sleep pulling him under. His breathing deepens. His muscles soften. The furrow between his brows smooths out.

He dreams, eventually. You can tell by the little twitches in his fingers, the faintest smile at the edge of his mouth.

You stay awake just a little longer. Just to watch him.

Just to hold him through the quiet.

[dissociativewriter]

Headcanons about making the guys watch the Disney movie we associate with them?

Z = Frozen; X & S = Sleeping Beauty; R = The Little Mermaid; C = Snow White

this is so cute omg. i rewatched all of these when writing this (for research!) and it was very nice. this is very fluffy, i needed to write some lol I've been writing some very mean angst lately.

spoilers ahead and some references to their myths!

❀ It was your turn to pick the movie for you and Xavier's regular Saturday movie night. When you picked Sleeping Beauty, he furrowed his brow. "A Disney movie?" "I think it will be fun!"

❀ Xavier was silent through most of it, content to simply enjoy the movie with you. He would interrupt to offer you popcorn or to refill your drink. "She's a little scary," he whispered when Maleficent appeared.

❀ You caught him dozing off a few times, but Xavier always jolted awake when you nudged him. "I'm up!" "Were you falling asleep again?" "I was just resting my eyes." He did actually fall asleep when the kingdom was put to sleep alongside Aurora.

❀ As the credits rolled, you told him, "This movie reminds me of you." "...because I remind you of the prince, right?" His ears turned a faint pink when you explained you connected him more to Aurora. "So… I'm a princess in your eyes?" "A very pretty princess!"

❀ When you tell Zayne you want to watch Frozen with him, he’s… hesitant, to say the least. “Isn’t that a children’s movie?” He still watches it with you, though, no complaints.

❀ “I understand they’re worried she might harm someone, but locking her away isn’t good for her development,” he says matter-of-factly. He’s very respectful during the movie, though, not saying much. That is, until Hans�� betrayal. “That’s just not right,” he mutters. “What a scoundrel.”

❀ When you tell Zayne he reminds you of Elsa, he just stares at you blankly. After a moment, he quietly responds, “I hope you don’t plan on getting me gloves.” When the movie ends, he gives you a chaste kiss on the check. “If I truly am Elsa, then you’ve thawed this frozen heart.”

❀ For a few days after you watched the movie, Zayne finds himself quietly humming Let It Go. Occasionally Love is an Open Door. He’s alright with that one. He’s extremely annoyed with himself when it’s Let It Go.

❀ Rafayel will gladly watch any movie with you, but best believe he’s judging The Little Mermaid. Heavily. "Giving up your voice is sooooo unromantic," he groaned. "At least give your lover your heart." "What, like you just rip it out of your chest and offer it to your lover?" You laughed. Rafayel didn't.

❀ "Yes," he said very seriously. "Let my blood spill down your wrist as you feel how my heart beats only for you. Let my blood stain your lips the perfect shade of red so that every time you see your reflection, you cannot escape my endless devotion to you."

❀ You try to scoot away from Rafayel after that but he keeps you pulled close against him. He cries during the wedding scene but vehemently denies it afterward. "I'm just really happy they could finally be together! They're from two different worlds!"

❀ Rafayel sings the entirety of the sound track for at least a week. It’s pretty at first but after the tenth time (that day) of hearing, “What do they got, a lot of sand? We got a HOT crustacean band!” you’re throwing tomatoes.

❀ Sylus is always willing to do whatever you want, so when you asked him to watch Sleeping Beauty with you, he didn't object. He just settled you in his home theater with fluffy blankets, snacks, and an arm around your shoulders.

❀ When Maleficent comes on screen, he's already making commentary. "Cursing a baby to die because you didn't get invited to a party seems a bit excessive. And these gifts the fairies have given aren't useful at all."

❀ He’s judging you heavily when you start implying he's similar to Maleficent. "Doesn't her bird remind you of Mephisto?" "So I remind you of a villain?" "..but a really pretty one. I think you'd look very handsome with horns." "Hm."

❀ Sylus looks extremely unimpressed by the time Maleficent turns into a dragon. "...interesting design," he mutters. "See, there's another thing! You remind me of a dragon." Sylus met your wide smile with a raised eyebrow. "Really, sweetie?" "Sure! You're really warm, protective, you hoard things..." Sylus chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You have an overactive imagination."

❀ When you tell Caleb you want to watch Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, he's immediately agreeing. "Whatever you want, pips," he says. "But... didn’t this used to scare you when we were kids?"

❀ It’s not like this is his first time watching it. Caleb's watched a lot of princess movies with you since you grew up together. But, that doesn't stop him from making commentary. "I can't believe she just moves into some random men's home without asking. Promise me you'll never do that, pip-squeak."

❀ Caleb's confused when you tell him he reminds you of Snow White. "I remind you of that little princess?" he asked incredulously. "Sure," you shrugged. "You're a mother hen like she is. You cook, you clean, you're easily tempted by apples." "I'm not making you apple pie anymore," he pouts (he’s lying).

❀ When the poisoned apple comes around, he's desperately defending himself. "I cannot seriously remind you of her. I would not fall for that." You shrugged again. "I just call 'em as I see 'em." He's quiet for a few minutes. "Maybe the sleeping death is a good idea, " he says. "Then you'd be all mine." You stare at him. "Remind me to never eat any apple you give me."

I saw this art on Pinterest and thought it was so damn cute 😭 it wasn’t credited though so if you know whose it is please let me know so I can credit it!

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

@dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl

[butyoudidthis4what]

Congratulations on the milestone!!! Happy to be one of a thousand lol

From the five word sentences "did you lie to me?" with Jack Abbot. For the vibes, maybe angsty with a happy ending?

Thank you so much friend, I am so happy and grateful to have you here with me! ♥️ Also I love your url so much 😂 Thank you for sending this in and I hope you enjoy!

Celebrate 1k with me by requesting a drabble! Read this post for prompts and characters! 🙂

If you'd like to be tagged in the 1k drabbles please read and interact with this post!

It's planned.

Jack Abbot x F Doctor!Reader

1.2k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: The tiniest reference to cheating with an italicized that but in the context of reader thinking how that's not where her mind would go to with Jack. Robby had to take one for the team here for this storyline. Very very soft and fluffy! The smallest dash of angst (like barely, especially for me). I was told it was giving Jack in the vignettes in Part 1 of NML vibes.

Summary: Robby talks too loud. A surprise is ruined.

AN: I genuinely have no idea where this came from it just kind of came out when I opened a doc for this prompt so I hope it's okay!

“Did you lie to me?” 

That was certainly not what Jack was expecting to come out of your mouth when he saw you walking up to him. Your tone isn’t accusatory as such, just questioning. Almost a hint of joking in there. Almost.  

He looks up at you, makes that eye contact he loves so you know he’s telling you the truth. “No.” He says it with a confidence that's reassuring. And you like that his reply wasn’t ‘about what?’ it was no. And Jack doesn’t need to ask about what because he doesn’t lie to you. Ever. About anything. 

Jack was right there at one of the charting stations as you looked up so you just walked straight to him to ask without even really thinking about the implications of what you’d overheard. You’re strong communicators. It’s why you work so well together as a couple and, yeah, as doctors. 

“I thought we didn’t have breakfast on Sunday because you were getting lunch with Robby before the game.” You shrug at him a little. 

You were going to run out and have a late breakfast with Jack before he left for the game but he’d told you that Robby asked if they could meet early for lunch. You didn’t have any problem with that of course. Sure, you were bummed a bit about not getting breakfast with Jack but it wasn’t the end of the world by any means. You’d have him all night. 

It’s not so much that you particularly care what it was Robby and Jack were doing before the Sunday afternoon baseball game they went to five days ago. You trust Jack. You know based on what Robby said that they were together. And even if they hadn’t been, that is not the first place your mind would go with Jack. It would go to him hiding a doctor’s appointment from you because something was seriously wrong with him and he was trying to protect you until he had more answers. But from what you overheard Robby telling Dana it doesn’t seem like they had lunch. They were together so it doesn’t really matter to some extent. You just want to know why he didn’t just tell you what they were really going to do. 

Jack stiffens, his jaw setting a little. But he doesn’t drop your gaze. “Yeah. And he and I had lunch. Why?” He and Robby had gotten lunch like he told you. They’d made a couple of stops before that he omitted but he couldn’t really tell you where they were going without giving it all away.

“I heard him tell Dana that before the game you guys went to a couple of jewelry stores…” It’s as you say it out loud and start to really think that it clicks. Jewelry stores. “Oh.” You don’t have a birthday coming up. There’s no anniversary, no other big thing to celebrate on the horizon. Or maybe there is. 

“Oh.” 

Jack confirms it. “I’m gonna kill him,” Jack breathes, shaking his head. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” It’s only then that he finally drops your gaze as he lets out a long sigh and runs a hand through his hair as he looks up at the ceiling for a second. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to ask Myrna to kill him for me.”

“Jack!” You whisper shout his name as you grab his hands, bouncing up on the balls of your feet a little as you beam at him. “Seriously? You want that with me?”

“Of course I want that with you. We’ve talked about it. And you’re it for me, Beautiful.” He pushes through his irritation at Robby to give you a real smile and pull you gently by your hands a little closer to him. “I can’t imagine the rest of my life without you next to me.” 

“Jack.” You draw his name out in a slightly higher pitch as you tilt your head at him for a second. You’re getting emotional. You love this man more than you could ever possibly know what to do with or express. “I love you.” 

“I love you more.” Jack almost never kisses you on the floor when you’re both on shift together, but he does right now, short and chaste and sweet, just long enough to really feel it.

You bite your lip and giggle at him as he pulls away. “You might as well ask now!”

Jack looks at you amused but it turns into amused incredulity when he realizes you’re serious. “No!” He shakes his head at you, letting out an incredulous laugh. “I am absolutely not proposing to you in this god forsaken place.”

“It would be sweet! Our friends are here!” You nod encouragingly. 

“No,” Jack laughs, “it wouldn’t. It would be… I’m not proposing to you in the middle of the Pitt. I’m not.”

You nod slowly, in thought. “We could go to the roof? Or just outside the ambo bay?”

“I’m not proposing to you anywhere within a two mile radius of this hospital.” He shakes his head as he says it, amused smile on his face. 

“So when we get home?” You raise your eyebrows at him and nod as you grin.

“No.” Jack shakes his head and lets go of your hands to move his to your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “It’s planned. You deserve a real proposal, one that’s ‘us-’”

“I mean, this place is pretty us,” you offer quietly with a little shrug and pull down of your lips.

Jack has to laugh. He loves you so much, his sweet, tenacious, problem-solving, intelligent, warm-hearted woman. “Beautiful.” He shakes his head at you. “It’s planned. The plan is still in place and is going to remain in place.”

“So I just have to wait in suspense for the day or night it finally comes?” you huff playfully. 

“Blame Robby.” Jack shrugs. “It was supposed to be a total surprise.”

“Okay but is it soon?” Jack loves the eager smile you wear as you ask.

“It’s sometime within the next five years, yes.” He smirks at you. 

“Jack!”

“Fine, it’s within the next two years,” he offers. 

You pout at him, give him the big puppy eyes and everything. 

Jack gives you a knowing smile and tilts his head. “Do you really think I, of all people, went out and got a ring knowing I was going to sit on it for a long time?” he whispers like he’s telling you a secret.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows in thought. It makes Jack chuckle. And then he sees Robby.

“Dr. Robinavitch!” Jack calls just loud enough for Robby and Dana to hear as they walk out of a patient room 25 or so feet away. Jack takes his hands off your shoulders as you both turn to face Robby and Dana. He waves his hand to get Robby to come over. Dana accompanies him, of course. “I’m gonna kill you,” Jack says when Robby gets loud enough to hear it at just below a normal volume.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Robby smirks at him. 

Jack playfully bumps his hip with yours to let you know that you should tell Robby. “Jewelry stores.” A huge smile breaks out over your face and you grab Jack’s hand and lace your fingers together before bringing it over your heart. Jack and Dana smile and laugh softly at your infectious enthusiasm and excitement.

Robby doesn’t smile. Instead, his eyes flick between you and Jack and he pales. “Oh fuck.”

[astrolook]

🧭Synastry - Their 1st Lord Through The Houses 🔍

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home! A single placement or aspect isn't enough to conclude and the whole chart has to be analyzed!

Their 1st house lord shows how they move through life, how they carry themselves, and how they naturally are. When it lands in one of your houses, it shows where their presence hits you. Where they enter your life. It’s not about what they do, it’s who they are. And who they are lives in that part of your chart. That’s the role they end up playing in your world, whether they know it or not. It shows what part of you they wake up, disturb, support, or define, just by being themselves.

Their 1st lord thru your houses:

Their 1st lord in ur 1st - They will make u feel like a main character. They bring out your “I don’t care what people think” era. You like how you look when you’re with them. Their presence will make u say, "I need this person in my life." You actually become more confident just bcoz they're around you. On the other hand, it can be somewhat annoying. They’re always in your face energetically like calm down, I get it, you exist. You would feel exposed. Identity crisis.

Keywords: mirroring energy, feels like you’re seeing yourself, direct pull, strong first impression, wants to lead or match you, can’t ignore them even when you try, makes it feel personal from day one, wants attention but pretends not to, competes with your identity, intense presence in small spaces, connection feels alive and unavoidable, fast emotional pacing, shows up with strong opinions or strong stares, acts like they belong in your life, can become overwhelming fast, brings out your ego or soft spots, after breakup stays close or circles back often, doesn’t disappear quietly.

Their 1st lord in ur 2nd - You feel more sensual around them, like even food tastes better. You want to invest in yourself when they’re near, like skincare, therapy, fitness or whatever. You would start dressing better. Nothing feels rushed here. You will feel safe around them. You might even start to adopt better habits or behaviors once they enter your life. On the other hand, they make you painfully aware of everything you don’t have. They might call you lazy or unmotivated in life. One of you might think the other is high maintenance.

Keywords: slow but deep, grounded presence, gives consistent attention, shows love through small actions, loyal energy even if unspoken, notices details about you, calm vibe but emotionally steady, values stability, becomes part of your everyday without forcing it, brings quiet comfort, makes you reflect on what you value, may become overly focused on material or emotional control, gets attached in subtle ways, resents inconsistency, wants something to build not just feel, after breakup lingers emotionally, takes a long time to detach, may hold grudges quietly.

Their 1st lord in ur 3rd - You could talk to them for hours and still feel like you forgot to say something. They would get ur movie, political, or pop culture references without blinking. You would become enthusiastic about talking to them would feel like a butterfly. You start talking like them, typing like them, mentally adopting their slang. On the flip side, they make you feel smart and stupid at the same time. You over-analyze everything they say or do. In arguments, you could be losing, and they could make u feel dumb or would call u names or get bitchy.

Keywords: fast talker, curious energy, mentally sharp, shares thoughts easily, feels like a friend before anything else, always has something to say, likes banter more than big talks, wants stimulation not silence, may confuse motion for connection, wants to be heard and matched mentally, changes tone often, mixes deep and light fast, hard to pin down emotionally, shows care through questions or quick support, connection feels like inside jokes and random tangents, after breakup stays present online or through others, may act casual but still thinks about the “what ifs”.

Their 1st lord in ur 4th - You def wanna cook for them and would do anything to make them feel at home. You would let them in fast and won't regret it (until later). Their energy makes your walls drop. You get this need to show them ur childhood bedroom or pictures or share things about ur childhood. They’re the type you’d let see you cry. On the other hand, they might trigger ur childhood trauma or make it worse. They migth expect u to be dependent on them for everything and if not, would ghost you. Can get toxic really fast. Your family might not like them near you.

Keywords: emotionally deep, feels like family or memory, strong pull that doesn’t make sense at first, triggers vulnerability early, shows care through presence not performance, watches more than speaks, slow to trust but intense when opened, connection feels safe but also heavy, brings up old emotional patterns, may become overly protective or emotionally reactive, gives comfort and chaos at the same time, hides feelings but shows them in action, emotionally invested fast, can become clingy or too quiet, after breakup still affects your emotional space, shows up in dreams, hard to fully let go of.

Their 1st lord in ur 5th - They would bring out ur fun side. You flirt better with them than anyone else and you know it. You feel hot, seen, and slightly unhinged in their presence. You could make dumb jokes, and they would still laugh at it. Childlike couple. You would start taking more photos of yourself when they're in ur life, not a coincidence. On the other hand, the second they pull back, your self-esteem crumbles like a dry cookie. You can’t tell if it’s love or just the dopamine of being noticed. If they leave, u might feel like they turned off ur main character vibe.

Keywords: attention seeking, charming, playful, dramatic highs, performs around you, wants to be adored, flirts loud, makes you feel seen, warm then cold, fun until serious, craves praise, craves being special to you, jealous of your attention, shows off affection, creates moments not stability, can feel like a walking daydream, turns feelings into theater, romanticizes connection, needs validation constantly, after breakup acts like they’re fine but still watches from the crowd.

Their 1st lord in ur 6th - You start showing up for yourself because you want to keep up with them. There’s comfort in the routine they bring, and u would become more consistent just from being around them. They would actually make ur life better and vice versa. Their energy fits into your daily life like it was always supposed to be there. On the other hand, you fix their problems, and they still complain. They make you feel boring, invisible, like you’re just part of their background. You feel more like their assistant than someone they actually value.

Keywords: helpful, humble at first, acts through service, cares through doing, shows love in routines, anxious connection, wants to fix things, gets lost in small details, pushes self to prove worth, overworks to feel enough, rarely asks for help, reliable but emotionally distant, shows up daily but hides deeper needs, connects through shared tasks, gives more than receives, feels like a quiet support, may become bitter if unseen, after breakup burns out emotionally but keeps checking in indirectly.

Their 1st lord in ur 7th - They're ur missing piece. You understand them fast, like your soul skipped the intro. You feel like you’ve been circling each other for lifetimes. It feels serious even when it’s casual, like this could change your life. The vibe is magnetic like two puzzle pieces from different boxes that still somehow click. On the other hand, they trigger your abandonment issues by just existing. You might start projecting all your wants, fears, and old wounds onto them. They might also get under your skin because they act like the parts of you, you’re still avoiding. You’re obsessed with how they see you and it makes you lose yourself. You confuse compatibility with familiarity and might stay too long.

Keywords: mirrored connection, intense attraction, sees you as a reflection, wants partnership deeply, drawn to your energy without knowing why, triggers old wounds and idealism, acts like you complete them, obsessed with balance, gets clingy or overly detached, can feel like soulmate or enemy depending on day, needs equal attention, becomes reactive if not chosen, acts polished but hides fears of rejection, becomes who you need then resents it, after breakup acts cold but wants closure badly.

Their 1st lord in ur 8th - The bond goes deeper than logic, on a cellular level. You want to tell them your secrets and then beg them to never use them. The connection makes you feel alive in that “no going back” way. You feel emotionally seen in a way that scares you but also makes you stay. The chemistry is otherworldly. On the other hand, one of you is obsessed with the other. You might start spiraling over things they haven’t even done yet. You might try to detach but it’s like cutting off a limb. One of you is addicted to the other and would lowkey love the suffering.

Keywords: deep energy, emotional pull, heavy presence, triggers hidden stuff, feels karmic, creates obsession fast, magnetic but unstable, makes you confront fear, feels risky to trust, sees what you don’t say, creates intensity without asking, shows up like a test, unspoken tension, power games without words, trusts too fast or not at all, can become possessive with no reason, emotional undercurrents always active, after breakup haunts your thoughts, disappears but never really gone.

Their 1st lord in ur 9th - You will upgrade yourself through them. They will teach you that there's more to life. It can start as a long-dist relationship or u both might go on journeys together. They will show you what real freedom is (as long as their 1st lord isn't Saturn). Your soul gets a glow-up. On the other hand, you would feel more lost than ever. They make you question what you believe in, but don’t stick around to rebuild it. They can be out of reach either emotionally or literally whenever u want them around you. They might look down upon you for not having the same beliefs as they do. You might feel like they’re always halfway out the door.

Keywords: inspiring, free spirit, distant energy, makes you question beliefs, expands your view, feels like a trip not a destination, acts wise but vague, pushes you to grow, hard to hold down, exciting presence, shows up with fire then fades, intellectual connection strong, makes you want more from life, acts like a teacher or guide, emotionally light but spiritually loud, disappears when things get too real, after breakup leaves with grace but their ideas stay with you.

Their 1st lord in ur 10th - You respect how they carry themselves and they make you want to get your life together immediately. You see long-term potential with them. They push you upward even if it’s silent. They would be proud of what you do, and they would talk about you or introduce you to their people. On the other hand, you might feel judged by them. One of you might compare success with the other and feel like being in a silent competition.

Keywords: admires status, driven energy, puts you on a pedestal, shows up seriously, wants long term proof, notices your image, acts reserved but intense underneath, pushes you to be better, judges silently, wants mutual respect, shows love through support not words, may use success as love language, high standards, won’t beg for connection, emotionally distant but very aware, stays composed, shows love in public ways, after breakup focuses on goals but still checks if you’re watching.

Their 1st lord in ur 11th - They get your weird and won’t judge u for anything. That’s rare. They bring out your idealistic side, the part that still believes in people. They don’t judge your weird interests/ hobbies, they match them. You actually might imagine a future with them. You feel more like yourself around them than with your actual friends. Your "partner-in-crime." On the other hand, you can’t tell if they care or if they’re just really friendly. You feel emotionally close but logistically...nowhere. They might support you but never choose you. You might feel replaceable even though the connection is strong. You might try to act chill, but you’re secretly obsessed with how detached they are.

Keywords: friendly vibe, easy to talk to, hard to define, feels like future potential, deep yet detached, gets close without labels, emotional distance but strong mental pull, loves shared ideas, connection grows slowly, may treat you like everyone else but mean it more, supports your dreams, values individuality, can feel like a best friend or stranger in the same day, hard to read feelings, acts like nothing’s wrong when they care deeply, after breakup stays in orbit but won’t reach out first.

Their 1st lord in ur 12th - They unlock feelings you can't name or express. You trust them in a way that makes no logical sense. You feel them in your dreams, in music, in random waves of emotion. You forgive them before they even apologize. You might feel like part of you belongs to them and let them in past your defense systems without realizing it. On the other hand, you feel like you’re dissolving in them, losing yourself piece by piece. You never know where you stand, or if you even exist to them. They feel close even when they’re completely gone. It ends without closure, and you carry it like it still needs you.

Keywords: dreamlike energy, confusing but magnetic, quiet presence, connection feels faded before it starts, shows up in silence not action, emotional fog, feels fated but distant, triggers spiritual depth, reflects your unconscious, may feel invisible or overwhelming, connection hard to define, disappears often, may ghost without meaning harm, love feels like surrender, triggers healing or escapism, shows up in dreams more than texts, after breakup stays in your energy for months, feels like you never really knew them.

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Three

Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin POV

Oswald sat with his men surrounding him as he watched the latest show performing at the Iceberg Lounge.

It was the new rogue.

They were singing some theatrical, eccentric song that had them throwing roses at the both the ladies and gentlemen watching. It even grabbed one of the pole dancers and pulled her into the performance too. They’d spun the girl around until she was wearing something straight out of the sixties. A knee-length dress in the same yellow as the stars on the rogue’s suit. Speaking of the newbie, they were wearing a navy blue three-piece with those baby yellow stars. Now, Oswald could respect a person who wore perfectly tailored suits. He may despise the Joker and tolerate the Riddler, but hey, what’s the harm in looking good while doing crime…

…or singing in Oswald’s club.

Oswald watched them dance with the girl across the stage.

Somehow the girl knew the choreography as well?

She seemed as confused as Oswald when she and the green-faced freak started dancing in sync. Perfectly.

Now, as for why the newbie was even performing in his club. Oswald would like to take a trip down memory lane for that…

//Flashback…//

It had been about thirty minutes before the opening of his club. Bartenders were clocking in and getting their stations ready, girls were getting dolled up and doing stretches, and the muscles of his fine establishment were taking their places around and inside the building. It was normal. What wasn’t normal was that Oswald was even here in the first place.

See, Black Mask, the human equivalent of shit stuck to the bottom of shoe, wanted to talk partnerships. As for why? Oswald didn’t particularly care. They’d both tried to kill each other in the past, it’d be difficult to mend that relationship even with all the money in the world. But, the mighty, gracious Penguin, in all his guts and glory decided to humor him.

Besides, if negotiations went to shit, he could always have the man shot in the back of the head.

They were going to talk. In Oswald’s lounge. In Oswald’s turf. That was the plan. It’d even remained the plan after the new rogue strolled in like they owned the place, immediately bee-lining it to Oswald. One of his men immediately got in the rogue’s way but ended up with an anvil dropped on his head. They kept walking until they stood in front of him.

“Pots! Just the man I wanted to see!”

“What do you want?” Oswald growled, thumbing his umbrella.

“I want to sing.” They said, placing their hands on their hips.

A small silent filled the building.

“What?” Oswald asked, confused more than anything. He blinked and suddenly the newbie was right next to him, a hand on his shoulder while the other waves towards the stage.

“Think about it! I get to entertain, you get entertainment, and if things happen to go south and I… I don’t know, accidentally blow someone up—”

Oswald cut them off. “Again, what?”

They kept lm talking as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “—I have some spare cash lying around for reimbursement! I’ve been meaning to get rid of it anyways.”

That made him perk up slightly. Cash for reimbursement. Oswald supposed he could just saw the scuffs on the floor count. “Is it dirty money?”

“The dirtiest. I… acquired it just this past week.”

“The bank robbery.”

“Correctamundo, my short friend.”

“Short?” Saying that to Oswald’s face was bold. His hands itched for his umbrella. He’d love to fill this tall freak with holes. Because admittedly, they were tall. Those news reports did this thing no justice.

“You are to me! Though I suppose I could just—” The green feller’s hands went under Oswald’s arms. Immediately every one of Oswald’s men had their guns trained on them. They paid the guns no mind. Instead of picking the him up like Oswald expected, everyone watched as his torso elongated with the higher they pulled until his hands eventually left him. “There, now we’re eye to eye.” The newbie said, though they sounded like they were about to laugh.

It reminded him of that bastard clown.

“What the hell did you do to me!?” Oswald yelled. He looked ridiculous, proportions all wrong. His arms and legs remained the same, and certainly too short for this new body.

“You don’t like it?” They asked with that damned grin.

“No! Of bloody course not!” That seemed to seal Oswald’s fate as he felt his body go tense like a rubber band then snap back. His own face hit his knees as he up and bopped the hell out of his nose. His body then moved up and down rapidly for a moment, each movement being accompanied by the sound of an accordion?

He was going to kill whichever arsehole had the cobblers to pull that with him—

The green-faced freak started to full on belly-laugh in his face. He didn’t even need to tell his men to fire before they did, not that it’d do much. Reports say that they were bulletproof but…

No crushed bullets were falling to the floor.

When Oswald finally stopped being a human accordion, the newbie had stopped laughing and the guns had stopped firing. Though, they were still standing. If the bullets weren’t on the ground, where were they?

“Ah… man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in a while!” They exclaimed. “I think I need a drink.” They pulled a drink out of nowhere and obnoxiously sipped from the straw. Everyone watched as liquid, probably soda, spurted out of multiple small holes. “Well, this was fun, Pots, but I got places to be, people to see, and a Jarritos fruit punch waiting for me at the nearest gas station. See ya later!” With that, they literally spun out of the club.

//…Flashback End//

So here they were now. Black Mask was to show up any minute and the newbie was still singing like there was no tomorrow.

That is, until the lights suddenly shut off. The entire lounge went black until a light illuminated from the stage. Specifically from the new rogue’s stars on their suit. Their hand was on a cord leading from their fedora. Oswald hadn’t noticed it before. Was it supposed to be a lamp cord?

The emergency power turned back on eventually. Oswald watched them tug the cord again, the stars stopped glowing. There he was.

The bitch of the hour.

Black Mask.

He rolled over to Oswald, men behind him. Always with the damn dramatic entrances. And he wonders why no one likes him.

Bruce Wayne - Batman - Two Hours Before Penguin and c c Mask’s Deal POV

An hour before sundown, Bruce gathered everyone into the Batcave. They needed to go over the newest rogue as a group. He wouldn’t have any of his children getting hurt by this… monster? It certainly wasn’t human, that’s for sure.

The imp theory is still possible.

First, he played the video from his lenses of the unidentified individual’s interaction with the Riddler.

“They look so snazzy! Why do all the colourful people have to be evil?” Stephanie said from next to Jason. The man grunted, looked a mix between disturbed and angered. Bruce didn’t blame him. This rogue bore a good chunk of similarities to the Joker. The smile, some of the personality, the green. Though, at least it isn’t a cheerful psychopath in the same way that Joker is. It doesn’t do anything harmful besides property damage, wedgies, and theft. And it steals a lot.

Bruce can count a piece of a billboard with his own face on it, a fruit punch Jarritos, bank money, and even a kid’s lollipop. There’s more, but the list would be longer than Gotham’s Clocktower.

“It has quite the appetite.” Tim murmured. “Invulnerability?” He questioned Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “It seems so. That amongst the abilities to turn itself into a human tornado as well as pull objects from seemingly nowhere.”

“Human cartoon.” Cass’ raspy voice whispered.

A human cartoon indeed.

It eventually got to the part where both Bruce and Damian cornered them in an alleyway. They’d walked into one after growing bored forcing people to tap dance to their will.

Right from the start, the fight had been embarrassing for the dynamic duo.

To begin with, Robin slashed at them with one of his katanas. It didn’t so much as graze them, yet the back of their hand still dramatically touched their forehead and they stumbled around almost a drunkenly as if actually wounded. “Oh! I’ve been hit!” They eventually stumbled to fall into Damian’s arms, ignoring the grunt from the younger boy. “What am I to tell my wife? My children! That their parent can’t come home from this cruel, horrible world?” Damian of course paid it no and cuffed the fellow.

“He even cuffs me on my grave!”

“Stop being dramatic.” Damian bit out, probably rolling his eyes under his domino mask.

“Oh, Robin, are you always such a little fun-sucker?” When everyone blinked, the cuffs suddenly clattered against the grimy floor of the alleyway and Robin was having his own cape tied around him while being shoved to the ground.

“Little twerp.” They gritted out. Voice doing that same similar thing to Joker where it goes from cheerful to rough and deeper, full of annoyance.

Bruce watched Jason bristle at that out of the corner of his eye.

The Bruce on screen in the jab at the back of their head before Robin even hit the ground, yet as soon as everyone blinked again, Bruce was having his own cape tied around him and pushed to the ground. And it was a push. He was right that night. It was considerably lighter than the one aimed towards Robin.

They stood over Bruce as the man struggled, grin seeming lifeless. He doubted it could make any expression other than that grin. “What? You thought I didn’t know you were watching me when I was talking with Eddie-boy?”

They flicked their wrist in a similar manner to when they had still been talking to the Riddler. Sure enough, a cane slid out. “The big. Bad. Bat.” it punctuated each sentence with a jab from the cane into Bruce’s side. “Swaddled like a baby!” It barked out a laugh. Another blink and suddenly Bruce was actually being swaddled like a baby and rocked in the rogue’s arms. “I’ll admit you make for a cute, albeit grumpy one.”

Bruce felt Duke’s gaze slowly slide to him. “…why’d you start sucking the pacifier?”

“It made me.”

“Did it?”

“It did.” Bruce emphasized this time.

Soon after that, the video ended, and everybody started to get suited up for patrol. Bruce was about to put on his cowl when he suddenly got a call. He grabbed his phone and looked at the contact.

It was from Constantine.

Constantine never calls. Not really. Not unless it’s something important. Extremely important. It got to the fifth ring before Bruce finally picked up.

“Bruce! Bruce, are you at the cave?” The man sounded panicked.

“Yes? Constantine, what happ—” Bruce was cut off by the sound of the man teleporting into the cave.

“Bruce! Someone in your filthy, bloody city has the Mask of Loki!” The man yelled, stomping over to him.

The Mask of Loki?

Of-fucking-course it’s magic.

Richard “Dick” Grayson - Nightwing POV

Dick was back in Gotham to see the fam as usual. He’d just gotten off patrol and was now scraping any glue off his face from his mask using a q-tip. He was near a work desk and placed on it. Every now and then, he’d use his pinky to scroll the article he was reading about the new rogue.

This guy was actually insane. Power-wise. And a little mental-wise too. What do you mean they have the powers of a cartoon?

Isn’t that a little broken?

Then again… imps.

He got a message suddenly. Ah, it was from Wally. Dick momentarily put the Q-tip down so he could reply, the other man was asking if he wanted to hang out sometime.

Who was Dick to say no?

Speaking of hanging out… a little bit of guilt welled up in his stomach slightly. He swiped out of his chat with Wally and clicked your icon. He was expecting another offer to hang out from you that he’d have to turn down due to hanging out with some of the other family but… nothing.

Or, at least nothing since the last week he visited. Huh. He’d been in Gotham for three days already. Not a single message on any of those days. (The first day, you were too tired to message him after using the mask. Second, too busy worrying about people finding out about you being the new rogue. And third, too tired and too excited for later that night to use the mask. He was at the very back of your mind.)

Don’t get Dick wrong, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hang out with you. It’s just that you never want to do it with the family and he doesn’t want to do it with you alone. (You don’t wanna hang out with family because there’s a 50% chance Jason can be invited and you don’t want to take that chance.) He just always feels so… awkward around you. He loves you as a little sibling, yes, but he’ll admit he doesn’t know much about you. Though, you never tried to know much about him either. (You did. It’s just that he moved out when you were about nine and even then, there wasn’t much a 17-year-old could do with a nine-year-old. Not only that, but the despite whatever everyone thinks you… don’t know their vigilantes. Guess they overestimated your detective abilities.)

Trying to rationalize it didn’t seem to help him though. His thumb hesitantly pressed the typing bar. Truthfully, despite what he’d told himself earlier, he wouldn’t be that busy with the family. He could afford to spend some time with you. Especially after all the times he’s shirked that onto others. (Despite what Dick thinks, no, you did not go to other people to ask if you could hang out with them. You didn’t have Steph’s phone number, you never got it after she’d gotten a new phone. Tim blocked you (In Tim’s point of view, it was supposed to be temporary and then he forgot to unblock you.) and you don’t have the courage to ask him to unblock you. You and Bruce have never shared a single text message in your life and Duke? You don’t have his number either because… well, you’ve had like two conversations with him)

He typed and deleted repeatedly, trying to find the right words. When he felt he did, he then tried to rack his brain about what you two might do together.

He was only coming up with blanks.

Eventually, he settled on something simple.

Dick: “Do you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?” Read 2:37am

Alright, now to wait for the mor— did that say read at 2:37AM?

Huh.

Well, maybe you’re a night owl like your family. He watched your typing bubble appear. Then disappear. Then it appeared again before disappearing for about a minute.

Finally, after a couple more seconds, your message came through.

[Name]: “Sorry. Can’t” Read at 2:39am

Dick stared at the screen for a bit.

Dick: “You busy or…?” Unread.

You’d just came back from being Gotham‘s newest rogue when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You picked it up as you threw the mask on your bed. You rubbed your eyes as you typed the passcode. The reason you’d retired so early from being a rogue was that you had a math test in the morning you wanted to be at least somewhat functional for. You absentmindedly noted that Ace hopped on your bed.

It was a text.

From who? Sammy? Kyle? Maria? Those last two were some of your other friends.

You opened the messages app.

Oh.

It’s from Dick.

Dick: “Do you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?” Read 2:37am

You went still for a long moment before quickly typing. How should you respond to this? Dick’s never invited you to do something before!

It’s literally always been the other way around!

You typed an “I’d love to!” before quickly deleting it.

That’s a little too eager.

You played around with few responses, unbeknownst to Ace curiously looking at the mask you’d also oh carelessly left on your bed.

The “bad doggie! Go away” that was hissed went unheard as you kept trying to think of a response that sounded as neutral as possible. Sure, you’d have to forgo being a rogue that night but…

…but what? Wait, you’d have to forgo being a rogue that night.

“Exactly, [Nickname]! We can’t be together if you’re off watching a stupid movie with that guy! Also— TURN AROUND AND DON’T LET THIS MANGY MUTT PUT ME O—.” That last part was practically screeched into your ear as you whipped around. Conveniently just as the dog pushed his cute little face against the inside of the mask and started spinning wildly, twisting sheets before hopping off the bed and knocking into furniture.

Gosh, is that what it looked like when you transformed? No wonder your room was always a mess when you got back!

You typed a quick response to Dick before you could even think and through your phone to the side so you could lunge at the dog and try to rip the mask off him.

Who knows what a dog with your powers could do?!

You found that out by getting slammed into the wall like three times, body-slammed onto your bed and dragged around the room by the dog while you tried to dig your fingers into the mask and rip it off.

Richard “Dick” Grayson - Nightwing POV

“Bad dog, Ace! You shouldn’t have put the mask on!” You were scolding Ace on the other side of your door.

(“Yeah! Stupid dog!” The Mask hissed.)

After a small moment of silence on Dick’s end, Ace suddenly started growling.

“Don’t say that to him! While he might be a dog, he’s my do— Wait, Ace you can understand it?”

The dog barked.

“But how?”

The dog barked a few more times.

(“Two short barks and one long bark. I think that’s dog for ‘I don’t know’, [Nickname].”)

Ace barked again.

(“I was right! He agrees with me!”)

…Was [Name] schizophrenic…? Or at least talking to Ace like he was a human? Dick had been standing outside your door for about two minutes, hand frozen in front of the door about to knock. At first, he’d heard a lot of commotion and banging until it sudden suddenly went quiet. Then you started scolding Ace, and now you were talking to yourself?

He really needed to get you out of the house. Maybe instead of a home movie, they both could go to an actual movie theater?

Dick finally knocked. “[Name], I’m coming in!” He called out before opening the door. As soon as he stepped in, he watched you hide something behind your back as you stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Dick.” You blinked wide eyes at him, sharing a surprisingly cryptic look with Ace.

“Uh… [Name]. What’s that behind your back?” Dick asked, pointing at you.

“Nothing!” You exclaimed, suddenly walking closer to him.

Wow. He’d never noticed how tall you’d gotten.

Your hand gripped his shoulder with an honestly surprising amount of strength as you shoved him out of your room and closed the door quickly. “SorryI’msuperbusybye!”

You left him standing in the hall on his lonesome.

It took a couple minutes, but he eventually walked away.

He’d never realized how much you’d grown up.

Also wow! Your hand on your shoulder actually hurt a bit. Damn. He massaged his shoulder lightly as he kept walking.

??? - The Shadow Thief

He touched down on one of the city’s buildings, overlooking the glittering lights below.

“So this is where my newest friend is?” He let himself fall forward until he was soon gliding over Gotham. “I gotta say! I do love their choice in city!”

Extra Bits of Info:

1.) You did in fact make him start sucking the pacifier. 2.) The Black Mask and Penguin negotiation ended in a shootout. 3.) Despite the fact that you don’t know the bats are vigilantes, the mask does. 4.) In case it wasn’t obvious, Dick could not hear anything the mask was saying and now thinks you’re schizophrenic.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla

[liahaslosthermind]

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞! [PT 2]

Summary: The Inner Circle is still oblivious to Azriel and his mate’s bond. Will the couple’s agreement to forgo secrecy open their eyes? Or will they just remain obtuse? Read Part 1! Work Count: 4.5k+  Warnings: Very suggestive, Timeline? What timeline?, Inner Circle are idiots, Historiography, I put too much detail into things that probably didn’t need it but oh well. A/N: I’ll be honest, writing this took so much out of me that I kind of hate it. Now the reader’s job has more to do with the plot, though it really was me just getting a little too into the historical study of a fictitious fantasy world. HISTORIOGRAPHY ROCKS. (If anyone finds the 30 Rock reference in here I’ll kiss you with tongue)

Her head pounded as she stared at the documents. After years immersed in the historical field- starting with historical study, then historiography- her work had become too… stagnant for her. She loved what she did, of course, but her job had become less about discovering great historical finds and more like gathering fractured accounts. 

She was happy, she truly was, but being with Azriel these past few months made her greedy. She wanted more. Maybe it was the Spymaster rubbing off on her, but she was itching for something big, something that would shake her field. 

The library had quieted around her. Hours ago it had buzzed with soft voices and rustling of robes. Now, it was still and deathly quiet, with the priestesses away at evening service. The hours had slipped away unnoticed. 

She sighed as she closed the 3 books scattered in front of her. She’d sworn to Azriel that she would leave before the priestesses even left for last service. Though the shadows circling her seemed content to let her stay, she knew better than to test her mate’s patience. 

Just as she began to rise, she heard the familiar rhythm of Azriel’s footsteps.

“Yes, I know Az,” she called before even looking back at him. “Don’t worry, I am pissed at myself too. Didn’t even get to the work I had wanted done today,” she groaned as he entered the reading nook she had settled herself into early that morning. 

He laughed quietly as he brought his hands to cradle her face, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones as he kissed her forehead. He laughed a little harder when she whined before finally kissing her on the lips. 

Footsteps echoed nearby. She pulled back quickly, but Azriel only grinned before tugging her back in. His arms locked around her waist as he kissed her, reminding his mate of their agreement: no more hiding. 

As the sounds of the priestesses’ footsteps disappeared, along with a few shocked gasps and giggles, the two of them broke apart. She looked at him in confusion. 

“We made a deal, did we not?” He asked.

“Yes, but that was only in front of your family-”

“And what do you think will happen when a few priestesses stumble upon us like this? While their gossiping is mostly harmless, it is rampant. I’d kind of like to see how quickly it makes it to Nesta, and whether or not she tries to say anything.” Azriel reasoned. 

She narrowed her eyes at her mate but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. The library might be sacred, but it was also a pressure cooker of whispered scandal. One that no one escaped unscathed. 

As the two walked back out of the library, Clotho beckoned the two to her desk. 

At least have the decency to pretend you are trying to hide any dalliances in the library. Her pen scribbled. 

Azriel’s face lit up in amusement, while his mate’s was cast in embarrassment. As the latter began to apologize profusely, Clotho waved her hand in dismissal before her pen began to write again. 

The priestesses needed something new to discuss, many find comfort in silly gossip. By dinner they will be making lists of baby names. 

The couple blushed a deep crimson at that. Azriel inclined his head in a silent goodbye, taking his mate’s hand and squeezing it tightly before the two walked back to the House of Wind proper. 

The sitting room in the House of Wind was light and buzzing, alive with laughter and heated by the well fed hearth. 

Like the rest of the room’s occupants, the Night Court’s historiographer and her Spymaster mate were drunk. 

Neither were big drinkers typically. Azriel claimed growing up alongside Rhysand and Cassian had meant he had consumed more alcohol before the age of 200 than most fae did in a lifetime. These days, he preferred to keep his wits about him more often than the rest of his family. His mate shared similar sentiments, only getting drunk for special occasions. 

But tonight had in fact been a special occasion. 

Mor had returned from a month-long stint in Hewn City. While Rhysand typically never encouraged her to stay more than a few days at a time, the two had recently launched quite the campaign to uproot the rot embedded in the Court of Nightmares, a feat that warranted longer and longer visits each time. When she’d come home that very afternoon, the exhaustion and haunted look etched into her face had worried her family. 

What had begun as “just a nightcap” had quickly spiraled into a full-blown celebration. 

After several bottles of expensive wine and a few decanters of something suspiciously strong and equally as vile tasting, the entire Inner Circle was comfortably drunk. 

Azriel’s mate had curled into the corner of one of the plush couches with a wine glass in hand, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, the room spinning at borderline nauseating speeds. Next to her, Azriel slouched lower than anyone had ever seen him, his normally rigid frame nonexistent as he melted into the cushions. He was dressed in loose linen pants and a button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, an elegant but far more relaxed departure from his usual Illyrian leathers. Even his shadows seemed drowsy, coiling like cats around his ankles

“She then told him to fuck off,” Cassian howled, halfway through a story that had been going on for far too long, “after he complimented her speech!”  

Azriel’s mate snorted into her drink, too inebriated to be embarrassed, “He sounded surprised that a speech on the importance of historiographical methodology could be interesting,” she protested. “It was rude of him to think otherwise!”

Azriel’s low laugh warmed her insides, “Always the peacekeeper,” he murmured, teasing. 

“Oh please, you know you love it,” she shot back, nudging his shoulder with her own. 

Mor raised an eyebrow at the interaction. “Az, is that a blush on your face?” 

“How drunk are you, Azriel?” Feyre added, her tone steeped in amusement. 

Azriel swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he drawled, “Somewhere between a lot and very.”

Everyone chuckled, but their eyes soon zeroed in on the look he gave the female tucked against his side. The way their hands brushed one another, the way Azriel leaned in every time she laughed, closing his eyes as if to savor the sound, even the way his shadows curled protectively around them both.

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically at the pair, “Mother above, the tension between you two makes me sexually frustrated.” He groaned

Azriel didn’t flinch. Based on the absolute torture he’d endured every night in his bedroom in the House of Wind, unable to sleep because of the noises Cassian and Nesta had been making, he knew that to be a lie, so the Shadowsinger didn’t dignify his brother’s words with a response. 

“Not everyone has to be as vocal about their feelings as you are, Cassian. Don’t force Azriel to be what he is not.” Nesta said coolly. 

Azriel gave her a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m very vocal about my feelings. It’s not my fault you’re all too dense to notice.”

His mate dissolved into a fit of giggles she tried to hide with her wine glass, only to end up amplifying the noise with the action. “Oh yes Azriel,” she gasped, “you are so vocal about your feelings, especially last night: ‘Oh Gods, fuck, your mouth feels so good on my-” 

A scarred hand clamped over her mouth with lighting speed. 

Azriel looked mortified- for all of two seconds- before both of them collapsed into wheezing giggles on the couch. 

Soon the laughs were the only sound that could be heard in the room as the rest of the Inner Circle fell into shocked silence. 

Mor blinked, “Did she just-”

“Oh she definitely just-” Feyre whispered. 

“Are you two…” Rhysand began, also unable to finish his sentence. 

“Inside joke.” Azriel said halfheartedly. The pair agreed they wouldn’t outright say anything, nor outright deny their relationship, but they hadn’t actually been asked a question.

His mate nodded, face beet red but grinning wickedly, “Very inside.”

The two descended into wheezing laughter once more, the rest of the room soon joining in, albeit confused. 

Amren was the only one who didn’t laugh, watching the pair carefully over the rim of her glass.

While the conversation attempted to pick back up, nothing stuck. The rest of the Inner Circle watched the secretly mated pair, hovering around the edges of realization, circling it like buzzards but never quite landing on the truth.

Through it all, Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around him and his mate as their bond remained hidden in plain sight.

The next morning Cassian groaned as he unceremoniously dropped into the chair across from Rhysand in the High Lord’s home office, rubbing his temples and whining with the drama of a dying male. 

“Whatever was in those decanters tasted like regret and death,” Cassian muttered. 

Rhysand, who looked only marginally more functional, snorted without lifting his gaze from the reports in front of him. “And yet you drank 5 whole glasses.” he replied dryly. 

“I was recouperating from a day of torture,” Cassian justified, “Nyx has been weaponizing flowers, spreading their poisen throughout my own home. I am not safe anywhere thanks to that child.” 

Footsteps sounded down the hall, halting the two’s conversation. Azriel had traded in his relaxed attire from the night before for his usual leathers. While his High Lord and general looked like they felt everybit of the alcohol they consumed last night, Azriel remained composed and unbothered, every inch the formidable Spymaster. 

“Its not fair he gets to look like that.” Cassian groaned. 

Azriel raided an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Good morning to you as well, Cas.”

Rhysand finally glanced up, a curious expression on his face. “You’re up early. I didn’t think I’d see you till tonight when I found these reports on my desk. I figured you’d be occupied nursing a hangover.” 

“I had things to take care of.” Azriel responded. 

Both Cassian and Rhysand perked up.

“Like what?” Cassian asked with the subtlety of a battering ram. 

“Moving out.” Azriel glanced between them, trying to read their expressions. When the two didn’t say anything, Azriel gave in, “I bought a house.”

Rhysand dropped the reports he had been shuffling in his hands. “You… what?”

Azriel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “It's on the outskirts of Velaris… quiet, private, beautiful views.”

Cassian sat up straighter. “Wait- you bought a house? You don’t even like decorating your own room.”

Azriel gave him a look. “I like silence, and hate paper-thin walls.”

“This is slander,” Cassian said turning to Rhys in defense, “Nesta and I have been extremely respectful-”

“You cracked the plaster above my bed.”

Rhysand snorted.

Cassian gaped. “So you dropped a fortune to move out just because of us?”

“I also value my own space, and privacy.” Azriel’s tone was mild, but firm. He was starting to get irritated at the endless questions. 

“You are barely home as it is,” Rhys said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s the point of buying an entire house, unless…” he trailed off, eyes sharpening. A beat passed, then another. Rhysand’s eyes flicked towards Azriel’s face. He tried to read his Spymaster’s microexpressions as he had done for centuries.  

“You’re not living alone,” he finished. Not a question.

So Azriel didn’t answer. 

Cassian and Rhysand looked at each other, then back at Azriel. Cassian’s face lit up when he realized exactly who his brother’s new “roommate” was. 

“So that's where all the ‘inside jokes’ came from, why you two were so comfortable last night.” The general reasoned. Azriel had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. They were so close and yet so far. 

The High Lord’s face became ashen as he looked at his brother, as if realizing all too late that something had shifted beneath his feet without him even noticing. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked, not hiding the hurt from his tone. 

Azriel didn’t miss a beat, “You don’t listen.”

This time, the silence was deafening. 

As the tension became a bit too unbearable, Azriel coolly shrugged his shoulders, “You may all come by in about two months. Give us time to finish some things.” 

“Are you hosting a housewarming party, Azriel?” Rhysand asked incredulously, choosing to push the lingering sting of Azriel’s silence down. 

“Something like that.” Az responded. 

She had been working all night on her research paper. Originally, it had been pretty straightforward as far as these things went, that was until she stumbled upon two drastically different accounts of the same battle documented by two soldiers on the same side, not far from the other on the front lines. 

And yet every modern interpretation she could find blindly aligned with one or the other. No one questioned the contradiction. Not historians, not theorists, nor any other scholars who had lended their two cents. 

Sighing, she realized she wasn’t going to finish the project anytime soon, though she had to admit the thrill of such a discovery had brought enough motivation to continue working until dawn. Azriel, her mate of many months now, was away on a mission and wasn’t due back until dinner the next day anyway. 

I should probably ask Rhysand about this, she thought. But it was late and while he most likely would have been up at this time a year ago, Nyx had ruled the High Lord and Lady’s schedules, constantly requiring all their attention just to make sure he hadn’t shifted into the form of a beast or rearranged Velaris’ stars… again. Though they loved their prince, the Dreamers of the Night Court hadn’t appreciated the impromptu redecorating of their beloved skies. 

She also simply didn’t want to see Rhysand, still bitter about how he treated Azriel at family dinner those few months before when the Shadowsinger had tried to tell his family about his mating bond. 

So instead, the Night Court’s beloved historiographer called someone else. 

While late night calls weren’t usually welcomed from the ancient fae female, nor were any calls at any time of day for that matter, Amren was rather thankful for the chance to leave the River House. Ever since Nyx had crowned his Aunt Amren as his favorite person ever, she had been borderline imprisoned at Rhysand and Feyre’s home just so they could get a few hours of work done, or (and this was far more vital for the sake of their court) shower. 

Still, in typical Amren fashion, she couldn’t let her gratitude be known. 

“You called me away from a glass of very old and very, very expensive wine while I watched the latest episode of The Toddler Tyrant.” Amren teased. 

“Nyx sprouted daisies again?”

“Out of Cassian’s ears this time,” Amren answered, breezing past her into the study. Cassian’s suffering at the hands of a toddler had been entertaining at first, but after a while his torment went from hilarious to pathetic. 

The historiographer gestured to the scrolls spread across her desk, “These are accounts of the same battle, the same side, same front, yet completely different outcomes. And yet every major historical interpretation aligns with one or the other, like no one bothered to question the discrepancies.”

Though she displayed disinterest, Amren slinked closer to the papers. “That’s war, girl. No one remembers it the same way. Memory makes fools of us all.” 

“Except these accounts were written during the war. Not years later. They were created mere hours after the battle in question. The first account claimed the general abandoned his troops, choosing to flee like a coward. The second swore he died protecting them. Both can’t be true.”

“Both could certainly be true, or rather, true to the writers. Maybe what one saw as a cowardly flee from the battle, the other saw end in a valiant death. Personal bias that led both to arriving at their own differing yet truthful conclusions.” 

The more she thought about it, the more Amren’s words rang true. While this was a huge oversight in the historical field, it did lend itself to the widespread pattern of historical memory corrupted by the silent biases of the narratives they choose to listen to. “Everyone’s so caught up in what they want to see, they can’t recognize truth, even when it’s parading around in plain sight.”

Amren smirked, “History repeats itself.” Before she stalked off. 

As she watched Amren leave, her words echoed in her head.

History repeats itself.

She thought of the different accounts of the battle again: two soldiers, one truth fractured into two. Everyone so caught up in their own perspective they were blind to what was marching right in front of them.

Just like them. Just like her and Azriel.

She looked down at the scattered scrolls on her desk and saw something else for the first time. Not confusion. Not contradictions. Just… love, interpreted differently by each witness. 

She thought of the soldiers. One grieving, one bitter, both clinging to their own truths. Both were so sure they knew what happened. 

Just like Cassian, swearing she and Azriel were dancing around their feelings. 

Just like Nesta, insisting Azriel wasn’t the type to share what he felt.

Just like Rhysand, who couldn’t see beyond the brother he used to know. 

She sat back down and wrote one sentence, one that would jump start her greatest project yet. 

“We mustn’t only question the historical accounts we see, but our reasons for believing them.” 

She dipped her quill in ink, turned to a fresh new page and wrote her new working title. 

The Battle for Truth: Perception, Memory, and What We Choose to See

Azriel had been nonchalant about it. 

When he and his mate arrived at dinner, he oh-so-casually mentioned the two were hosting a party at their home. A housewarming party, as his family had assumed it was, and a party to celebrate the historiographer’s finished project, one she hadn’t even let Azriel know the details of. 

Not one of them had suspected a mating ceremony at the center of it.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the Sidra as the Inner Circle arrived at the couple’s home. 

The house was nothing like they had expected. Elegant, but also warm in a way only a home that was truly lived in, truly cared for, could be. The group stopped their various conversations as they tried to take in every detail they could. 

The first sign something was… different came when they made their way to the garden. Dozens of candles flickered to life, illuminating the stone walkway. Golden lanterns swayed gently in the trees. A long table stretched beneath the stars, draped in silver and blue linens and set with the finest of dishes. At the end of the garden stood an archway, draped in silk, glowing with candlelight, and unmistakably ceremonial. 

"Are we… early?" Feyre asked, glancing around in search of the hosts. 

Before anyone could answer, the sound of footsteps came from behind them. As they turned, the Inner Circle was met with a surprising sight. 

Azriel caught their attention first, dressed in an elegant navy suit softened by silver detailing. No armour, nor shadows to be seen, just… Azriel. 

But it was the female next to him that stole their breath. 

She stood beside him in a gown of lighter blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift when she moved. Her eyes scanned the space, looking at the faces of her family, and for a moment, her nerves were evident. 

It was only then, when the two walked to the center of the garden and faced their friends, not hiding the ribbon that laced their hands together, deliberate and unmistakable, that realization struck.

“Oh-” Mor breathed.

“-my gods,” Cassian finished, slack-jawed.

Feyre blinked rapidly. “Wait. This is—?”

“You two are—?” Rhysand’s voice cracked mid-sentence.

“Mated,” Azriel confirmed, his voice clear and calm, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. “The priestess left just before you all arrived.”

There was a long pause, almost comically long, but long enough for the couple to start to sweat as they awaited further reactions.

Then Mor let out a loud, disbelieving sound and clutched her chest as if she had been physically wounded. “You traitors! You beautiful, deceiving traitors! How long have you both been…” she trailed off before finding her words, “When did the bond snap?”

The two turned to each other, smiling, before replying in unison, “A while ago.”

“Around half a year.” Azriel added.

Cassian’s head slowly turned from Azriel to his mate and back again. “Are you kidding me?” he said, scandalized. “How come none of us knew? How come I didn’t know? What kind of brother am I?”

“A dramatic one,” Amren deadpanned. “And apparently, an oblivious one.”

Feyre looked between them, mouth parted in shock. Then a slow, radiant smile bloomed on her face. “You’re mated,” she whispered to herself, trying to register the words. “You’re both actually mated.”

At that, Feyre launched herself at the couple, hugging Azriel’s mate first, then Azriel, her eyes glinting with tears. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, breathless. “You both look… I don’t know… lighter, happier.”

Nesta crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Well,” she said coolly, “that explains why the priestesses keep asking me questions about you two and giggling when I looked at them like they were crazy. They asked if you were pregnant last week. I thought they had been hexed.” Though her tone was cool and indifferent, her eyes betrayed her affection.

That earned laughter from the rest as the couple looked at each other with deep blushes on their faces. 

It was only Rhysand had remained quiet, far too quiet, his violet eyes fixed on the two of them. And then, without a word, he walked forward.

Azriel’s body went rigid, ever so slightly. But his mate didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

Rhysand stopped just short of them, looking between the pair.

“I missed it,” he said finally, voice low. “I pride myself on seeing everything, knowing everything, but I completely missed this.”

There was no accusation in his words, but something raw in his tone. No anger, nor judgment. Just the sad realization he hadn’t known his brother as much as he thought. 

He looked at Azriel’s mate then, and whatever tension had been between them for the past few months softened. “I’m sorry,” Rhysand said. “To both of you. I was too busy thinking I knew everything that I missed what was right in front of me.”

Azriel’s mate gave him a gentle nod, filled with forgiveness and understanding. 

There was a moment of anxious silence, till Amren smirked behind her wine glass and muttered, “Finally.”

The tension shattered. 

Laughter rippled across the garden, followed by a chorus of overlapping questions, but Azriel only looked at his mate.

They had decided to do the ceremony part alone, just the two of them, a priestess, and Clotho acting as witness, under the promise she was allowed to give any and all details to the other priestesses to gossip over. 

But the celebration was for their family who had, however obliviously, been with them for their entire relationship.

That night, the Inner Circle celebrated under lantern light. The house echoed with laughter, shadows trailing around the garden and dancing to the music.

When the guests had finally gone, after having to be forcibly kicked out, Azriel and his mate sat on the floor in their study.

She sat nervously next to her mate, looking down at their hands still bound together with ribbon. She had promised they would get to that part of the night after she showed him one last thing.

She turned to the coffee table and picked up a leather-bound book. The cover was a dark blue and as she turned to the first page, Azriel recognized her handwriting. She handed the book to her mate who took it in his free hand. 

The page was opened to the dedication, written in her neat script, reading:

To the ones who taught me that truth is rarely singular, that memory can be messy, and love, like the historical work I dedicate my life to, can often be found hidden in plain sight. 

To Azriel, who saw the truest version of me and waited until I was ready to see her too. 

Azriel stared down at the page, tears lining his eyes. His shadows brushed the edges of the paper, like they too were reading it. 

“It’s not about us,” she quickly murmured, “not technically. It’s about conflicting battle accounts, probably less exciting but-”

She tried to swallow down her nerves, looking to their joined hands for strength. 

“But it’s always been about us, in a way. About how people miss things that are right in front of them, because they’re too busy holding onto the story they think they already know. That’s what those accounts taught me. Two people, on the same side, in the same moment, seeing two completely different truths. They can both be wrong and right. Just like some others we know.” She teased.

Azriel leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered against her skin. “And I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered back, angling her head till her lips were just a breath away from his, “but you should say it again.”

“I love you.” He answered before kissing her deeply. 

While the bond between them hummed, everything around them grew silent and still, like the shadows and stars themselves had stopped to listen.

Taglist: @happyxdayxbitch, @kksbookstuff, @firefly-forest-blog, @marigold-morelli, @yourenothingbutnottome, @triangleshapewinner, @honk4emoboyz, @i-am-infinite, @dreaming-softly-in-the-night, @fuckingsimp4azriel,

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 10: galaxies

’Maybe fan fiction writers were actually onto something.’

That was the only thought going on your mind once you fully processed that your favorite singer was now driving you home, in his well-kept Aston Martin, on his passenger seat.

”Have you replied to my manager yet?”

”Yeah,” you reply as you scroll through your phone. “I just did what you told me, with a few tweaks.”

”And the tweaks are?”

”Well, I don’t want to send him a complete lie, you know. I’m not comfortable with that.” You inwardly wince as you recall the huge lie of a persona you’ve been living. Whether it was your ‘[Name] persona’ or your ‘Sky persona’ that was a lie, you could not tell. “So I just said: Yes, we’ve been talking.”

Scaramouche grins. “Smart.”

It was a witty answer, he admits. You two have indeed been talking. It isn’t at all a lie, but it also isn’t the full truth. You two have been talking, yes. But not about what you should be talking about.

And truthfully, Scaramouche couldn’t care less.

His songs stem from his life. And his life was at rest. 

Before you — the recent enigma that had struck him.

”By the way,” he breaks the silence. Though there wasn’t really any because he obliged you to play your playlist in his car. You didn’t play your own because God forbid he finds out right now that his full discography is in every single one of your well-curated playlists. “How did you even get to the park with all of the stuff you have? Especially that canvas.”

”Oh, I booked a cab because I had a lot of things!”

He hums in acknowledgment before once again glancing at the navigation app that now leads to your place.

‘The heck?��

He stops over to the side. You give him a puzzled look, seemingly still unaware of the reason behind his skeptic glare. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

You slightly lean over, face hovering closer to the screen. “Yeah, why? If you don’t want to go there, I could get off and book a cab, I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “No, no. That’s not a problem for me. What I mean is, you gave me the address of a hotel.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You said you were staying here in Inazuma for three months.”

”Yes, I am.” 

“You’re staying here—“ he sternly points at the address flashed on his car’s screen. “—for three months?”

You suddenly felt the need to hide — though your knitted sweater wasn’t doing you any wonders like a blanket would — because yeah, that does sound a little too lavish. A five-day stay in that hotel might even amount to a month’s worth of rent!

You turned your head away. And to Scaramouche, it seemed that suddenly, the trees outside looked a lot more interesting to you than him. He frowned.

“I’m not planning to…” You whispered. If he didn’t lower the volume of his speakers, the song would’ve drowned your voice. “...but I just haven’t found a place to stay yet that allows me to lease only for three months…”

“Yeah, that’s kind of a weird term.”

“Mhm.”

His sudden silence felt a little too loud for your liking. Curious, your gaze found its way back to him, only to see that his was focused on the steering wheel.

‘What in the world is he thinki–’

“Say, how much are you thinking to pay for rent?” 

“Huh? Oh! I’m… financially comfortable so —”

His lips slightly parted in realization. “Right. Your family. Plus, you’re a well-known artist.”

Oh.

‘He knows my family.’

‘He probably thinks I’m like them, too.’

“Well,” he says as he starts to gear up again. “If you want, I could probably refer you to my landlord. My sister leased for like two months last time when her house was being renovated, I think he could do the same for you this time.”

Your eyes visibly twinkle at his words.

And for a moment, Scaramouche swore he was seeing galaxies.

Until he forcibly blinks himself out of his stupor. 

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 2

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.8k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Fluff, sexual tension, flirting. Summary: Venue hunting for Percy and Tamara's wedding turns into an afternoon with Harry and a nearly perfect first date. Notes: Spot the reference to Zach's supper club from 'In the Still of the Night' and a mention of our very first soulmate story setting, The Alewife!

The next four hours are spent calling vendors, arranging appointments, cashing in favors, and even fielding a call from Percy’s parents begging for an update. By the time it gets to be about five-thirty, you push back from the enormous conference table and groan, arching your back to crack what feels like every single vertebrae.

“Well,” you check your phone for the time and glance back down at your appointment book. “The next couple of days are going to be crazy, but, it’s going to be perfect when it all shakes out.”

Harry had not done much more than watch as you worked. Impressed by the way you organized and prioritized calls. You are meticulous and it shows in how you have managed to get everything together in such a short time. He had brought you an organizer. One out of one of the many supply offices, and you had quickly filled it. Smiling in appreciation when he had set it and an espresso down beside your open notebook and half eaten plate of Mango curry chicken.

“I should get home if I’m going to change.” It’s not that Keen’s is particularly dressy, but for a date you like to put in a little effort. Especially if it’s a date with someone as heart-stoppingly handsome as Harry, who you’ve also spent the day finding out is as considerate as anyone could ever hope for.

“Let my driver drop you off.” He offers, reaching for his phone.

When your immediate reaction is surprise, you practically roll your eyes at yourself. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you have a driver.”

He frowns slightly, brows furrowing together before he slowly lowers his hand. “So you don’t want the ride?” He asks, trying to figure out why you would say that.

“No, no,” Immediately, you regret not tempering your reaction. “It’s actually very nice of you to offer, thank you. I just…you’re that level of fancy and important. Sometimes I forget people are really like that and it’s not just in movies.”

“So you do want the ride.” Now it’s apparent that he’s a little amused by the way this conversation is turning out. His eyes are twinkling playfully, but he’s hiding the smirk.

You don’t bother, smirking openly when you catch his playful tone. “There’s no way I get out of this without being teased, is there?”

He shrugs slightly, returning the smirk and humming. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He licks his lips. “I was going to see if you wanted him to wait for you to get ready.”

“I don’t think that counts as me picking you up.” It’s funny. He’s fun. This unexpected turn of events has your stomach flipping again like a teenager with a crush.

“That’s true.” He agrees easily. “Then I will go home and wash my hair before trying on one too many outfits.” He tells you with a playful wink.

“That’s why I have mine picked out already.” This time you wink, and when he actually laughs, you take a minute to gather up your things from his conference table to hide your pleased expression. “I’ll come by your place at eight?” He’d given you his address during the course of the afternoon, and you’ve swapped cell numbers. Every second closer to this date you get, it feels so giddy and real.

“Eight.” He confirms. Wondering if you are just that eager to go out, or if you are eager to go out with him. You don’t seem interested in his bank account, which is both surprising and intriguing.

There is no reason for him to know that you pulled a string or twelve with the friend of an old friend to get the reservation and that the only possible time to squeeze you in was 8:30. The actual fact is that you’re looking forward to tonight.

******

In the end, Harry has his driver take him back to his apartment. Taking the time to shower and carefully dress appropriately for what could be considered a first date. He wonders briefly if he should get you flowers, but he reasons that you initiated this date. He will laugh if you bring him a bouquet.

At eight sharp, you ring the buzzer for the penthouse of his building in Tribeca. The doorman has given you about a dozen appraising -- and borderline judgmental -- sweeps of his gaze since you pulled up to the curb outside, and now that you're standing in the lobby waiting for Harry to appear, you have to wonder if little red dress was too much for tonight. Control top tights are doing their job tonight and keeping your figure on point as well as hiding the scars you have from your soulmate with just a little bit of color. Any casual observer would think the color was just your skin, and you own about six pairs of these heavy duty but breathable tights just in case the company ever goes out of business.

As soon as the desk informs him that you are here, Harry is in the elevator and riding down to the lobby. Wondering if the charcoal black suit and ruby red tie is too much. He had decided on a black button-down shirt as well. The only color popping on the dark background is the red of his tie and pocket square.

There really ought to have been theme music playing when the elevator door opened, you think, tucking your smile into the corner of your mouth. Harry steps out in a gorgeous suit and you swear you nearly giggle. "Hey, handsome." He is. There's no reason not to say it out loud. Your purse is in one hand, but the other has a single red rose that you picked up from your florist friend on the way over. "I thought a whole dozen would be unwieldy," you tease, holding it out to him.

“For me?” He’s honestly a little shocked that you have brought him a flower. Delighted as he plucks it from your hand and turns towards the desk. “You have any scissors?” He asks the desk clerk.

"Of course, Mr. Castillo." In a building this expensive, tenants are never called by their first name. The woman turns a pair of sleek silver scissors over easily.

Harry cuts the stem of the flower, leaving only two inches and he tucks it into the pocket of his jacket in front of the pocket square. “Perfect.”

It is? He is? That churning, flipping sensation in your belly is back and the urge to skip ahead a few hours and try kissing him is strong. "Absolutely perfect."

Harry turns his full attention on you and his brows wing up, his eyes dragging up and down every curve of your body. “Not nearly as perfect as you in that dress.” He hums, stepping forward to get close enough to pull you in for a very respectable peck on the cheek. Only lingering for a moment as he smells your perfume.

"I like that we unintentionally match." His tie is the same shade as your dress and the rose, and you would not be ashamed to admit that you shiver a little at the innocent little peck. "Ready? Or should I promise your mother I'll have you back by curfew before we leave?"

He chuckles and turns to offer you his arm even though this is your date. “She is very reasonable about what time to be home.” He jokes.

"Glad to hear it." He lets you lead him outside to where your newly-cleaned-out, modest little sedan sits in the pickup zone outside his building, and you hop forward to open his door for him.

He looks at the car in surprise. He had expected a taxi, or an uber to dinner. He honestly did not expect you to have a car. “Interesting.” He muses.

"She's not flashy, but she does the trick." And since you're a person who makes a living planning things, you've already booked a parking space in a garage two blocks from the restaurant.

“Just surprised you have a car in the city.” He admits, sliding in the seat and chuckling when you close the door and skirt around the front.

"I was warned before coming up here that some of my clients would want to have weddings outside the city," you explain. A quick check of the rearview and you buckle your seatbelt, gliding away from the curb smoothly. "So I didn't sell my car. It's worth the slight complication of keeping it here to have the ability to do whatever I need to for my clients."

“Smart.” He nods as he watches the way you drive. Harry doesn’t actually drive himself. He has a license, but he hasn’t been behind the wheel in years.

"So how was your evening?" It almost feels cheeky to ask, since you spent almost the whole day together, but you flash him a grin as you merge into traffic.

“Oh you know, did the entire self care routine.” He smirks. “Soaked in a bubble bath and did a mud mask.”

"What number outfit is that?" You tease, knowing full well that you would have gone through a dozen or more without this trusty red dress.

“Three.” It’s a joke. He had pulled it out immediately and decided on it. For some reason wanting a bold look for this bold date.

Somehow you doubt it, but you like that he plays along. "Third time was definitely the charm."

“And the best part of it is that it won’t show a stain if I manage to drop food onto my clothes.” The banter between you is easy and he appreciates that.

"I cannot say the same." But the thought of it does make you laugh. "Satin shows all sins."

“But you wear it well.” He compliments.

"Like I said," you throw him a wink that makes both of you grin. "Satin shows all sins, which makes it perfect for showing them off."

If satin shows all sins, then apparently you don’t have many. The dress sits perfectly, mouthwateringly appealing. “Then I’ll have to give you the name of my dry cleaner.” He teases.

That hits the horny tone in the back of your mind a little too hard and you swear you can feel the warmth of damp excitement between your legs. “I’ll remind you,” you hum, biting back a smirk.

“I have no doubt.” He leans back in his seat and watches as you navigate traffic towards the restaurant, only to drive by it. “Uh—”

"There's a parking garage two blocks down with a reserved space just for us," you tell him, and tap the display on the dashboard. "We still have ten minutes before our reservation. Perfect timing."

“Okay.” He nods, knowing he would have chosen the valet parking, but this is your date.

"I remembered what you said about New Yorkers being unimpressed by everything," you tell him, pulling around the next block. The blue and white parking sign is just up ahead. "So I figured...the odds were pretty good that you hadn't really walked around and just taken things in. We might find something surprising if we look around, who knows?"

“Who knows?” He echoes, grinning at your idea and he wonders how you will feel about it after dessert in those heels.

The car is easily parked, and you make it even more easily back to the sidewalk. You had jokingly offered him your arm to walk together but he is just enough taller than you that it feels a bit awkward. It doesn't stop it from being sweet, though, or making you both smile.

“So I’m guessing that you have looked at the menu?” He asks with a glance over at you before looking ahead again. There’s several sets of eyes on the pair of you and he’s reaching down to take your hand.

"Of course." His hand is bigger than yours, and seems to envelop it entirely, which sends a shiver up your spine. "But I was going to ask you what your favorite thing is that they make."

“Half dozen oysters, with a dry martini.” Harry tells you. “Calamari salad and the twelve ounce prime filet mignon with au Poivre.”

You groan quietly, eyes practically fluttering with the sound of it. "Swap the martini for a Hemingway daiquiri and it sounds like perfection."

“Because you’re a rum girl.” He chuckles. “Then you have to get the bananas foster for dessert.”

"Surprising no one," you laugh. "I love bananas foster. This place I used to work back home...they do the most incredible bananas foster French toast. Everybody goes crazy for it at weekend brunch."

"Never thought about it on French toast." He admits, looking interested in it. "It sounds like it would be amazing."

"If you ever get to Fayetteville for any reason," you turn the corner together and up the block. "You have to eat at The Alewife. It's the best place in the county. Maybe the whole of the Carolinas."

"The Alewife." He tilts his head curiously, intrigued by the name. "You worked there?" He knows you were in North Carolina, or the Carolinas, but he hadn't known what area. He had assumed it would have been the Triangle.

“I waited tables from the time I was sixteen, all the way up through college. Any time I was home from school, I was back there in an apron with a tray.” There’s a different kind of warmth to him holding your hand than to the summer air, and you’re reveling in it. “It’s where I learned about event planning. They started doing catering while I was there.”

It doesn’t take more than another minute to be standing in front of the door to the famous restaurant. “Let’s see if Keen’s bananas foster is up to par.” He offers, reaching for the door to open it for you.

You’re right in time for your reservation, and are seated promptly. The hostess fawns a little over Harry — apparently he really is a regular here — and you sit down together in the atmospheric lighting at a table with a crisp, white cloth.

The drink menu is extensive and he watches as you look it over. “I say we order cocktails with our appetizers and bottle for the meal?” He suggests.

“I think what you mentioned outside is perfect.” And considering this is probably the fanciest restaurant you’ve ever eaten at, you’re sure absolutely everything is good.

“Although if you want to try the mutton, I’ve heard it’s delicious.” He hums.

“Do we dare?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. “Try all new things tonight? Things you’ve never had here before?”

“We could.” He smirks. “We could order the steak and mutton and share?” He hadn’t really thought of that before, but it sounds like fun. “Now I usually eat the oysters raw, but do you prefer them Rockefeller?”

“I’ve only had oysters raw or fried. Rockefeller would be totally new.” He likes the idea, and you like the way he looks surprised by just a touch of whimsy. “I think we gotta do it.”

“Then we get them Rockefeller. Roasted veggies and mashed potatoes?” He asks. “All the sides come to share.”

“The only thing, then, is drinks.” You set your menu down since you clearly won’t need it tonight. "You order for me and I’ll order for you?”

He lifts a brow and smirks slightly. “You’ve already told me what you want to drink, so I don’t think that’s exactly hard.” He pauses and then grins. “But I’m ordering you something else.”

"I hope you surprise me utterly," you tell him honestly. "And I'll choose something other than a dry martini for you."

He hums, mischief lighting his eyes as he nods. “But remember, I’m snobbish, Mack.” He teases, sending you a wink to show that he is only playing.

"Oh, I know." But the smirk on his lips makes you practically giggle. "But I didn't only wait tables when I worked in food service. I know my way around a whole roster of cocktails. For snobs and for sugar addicts alike."

“Then you’re gonna know everything that I could order you.” His pout is for show, a small, grumpy looking thing even though his eyes are laughing. A conversation about drinks should not be this entertaining.

"Just because I know the drinks," you point out, "doesn't mean I know what you'll choose for me."

“What do you think I’ll order?” He demands, watching as the waiter starts to approach.

"A negroni." He seems utterly fashionable and up on trends, which makes you think he'll go for something popular for you. "Or an Aperol spritz."

He doesn’t answer as the waiter stops in front of the table and greets each of you, listing off the specialty drinks of the night. Harry nods towards you when he asks if either of you would like anything. “Ladies first.”

"A boulevardier for the gentleman." That will likely be a little outside of the drinks he's tried out and you think he'll like a complex cocktail. Classics are classics for a reason.

The only indication that the man is surprised that you are ordering for Harry is a slightly raised left eyebrow. Then it’s his turn to order. “The lady will have an El Presidente and can you bring us an order of oysters Rockefeller?

"Right away." The waiter smiles politely, but you catch the twist of his lips and you smile as he walks away.

"I think he's going to be amused by us tonight," you predict.

“People watching is an integral part of being a waiter.” Harry snorts.

"It is." That can be confirmed in a heartbeat, from your life as an ex-waitress. "It really is."

“Bussing tables never gave the same kind of insight.” He admits, glancing around. “You saw the kind of mess they left behind. None of it ever pretty.”

“You worked in a restaurant too?” That actually comes as a surprise, but maybe only because you haven’t known Harry long enough to picture him doing anything but his current career.

“My parents were determined to make sure that we were aware of our privilege.” He cocks his head. “I had a job from the time I turned 15 until the day I graduated college. And I wasn’t allowed to have an office job.”

"That's an admirable way to go about it, I think." In fact, it gives you an instant bump of appreciation for the way he was raised. His parents could have spoiled them rotten and handed them everything. But Harry and his brother had worked, and learned the responsibility of it. "What made you pick food service?"

“Because I sucked at construction.” He flashes you a grin and shrugs. “My mother once told me you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats those that serve him.” He looks around. “Everyone here has a story. Just matters who’s telling it.”

"I couldn't agree more." It's another layer to him that makes you smile. It gives such a window into his personality, that he has worked with the public and hasn't just worked in a gilded office for his whole life.

“So what made you interested in wedding planning?” He asks. “Dreamed of your own since you were a girl?”

"If I say yes do I lose points for sounding girly?" You sit back in your chair and smile softly. "I think I've planned by own wedding dozens of times over, and I love helping people make their dreams come true."

He chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s good.” He tells you, almost jealous that you can envision that future for yourself. He’s never been able to. “It’s okay to be girly. To enjoy that process.”

"I like to dream." And you don't mind admitting it, which you know sets you apart from a lot of people. "It helps balance out the daily bog of responsibilities and disappointments."

“What disappoints you?” He asks.

"A lot of things, unfortunately." It's a less desirable topic, but it feels important. The kind of question that helps you get to know a person that most people don't think to ask. "Although...the first thing that comes to mind is burnt popcorn. Burnt popcorn is a bummer."

It’s an odd thing to say and stares at you for a moment before he starts to laugh. “Burnt popcorn?”

“Sure.” You grin. “It’s a disappointment. Because clearly I was looking forward to a tasty snack. But it’s not going to end the world if I have to do it again or even if I don’t have it at all.”

“Well, if that’s the only disappointment you have in a day, it’s probably a pretty good one.” He reasons.

“Exactly.” The waiter is coming over with a tray but you don’t even notice, too distracted by him. “Unfortunately, it’s very rarely the only disappointment on any given day.”

He chuckles again, aware of the disappointments a day can bring. “I can understand that.” He admits.

The waiter murmurs a greeting, sets down your cocktails and oysters, and takes your dinner order from Harry all in a manner of a few seconds. The service here is polite and efficient, with an emphasis on getting the details right. You can tell just from the way your drinks are delivered and the oysters are garnished.

“What about you?” You ask Harry once the waiter has gone. (edited)

“I don’t really think about it.” He admits. “There are days that I don’t want to repeat, but…” he frowns slightly. “I guess I’m just going through the motions.”

"Everyone has days they don't want to repeat." Your fingers play with the cold stem of your cocktail glass, avoiding his eyes for just a moment -- hoping that today isn't one of them. "But I hope you're able to find some joy in between the motions."

“There’s always some joys to be had.” He picks up his drink. “A good cocktail.” He takes a sip. “Dinner with a beautiful woman.”

"Yeah?" Your eyes come up again, meeting his even as you pause with your drink halfway to your lips. "Then I hope you like your boulevardier. So you can have both joys at once."

He sees the flash of doubt in your eyes and he sets his drink down. “When was the last time someone called you beautiful?” It’s a sad thing that he even has to ask, because you are beautiful.

"Not counting my parents, or Percy when he's sucking up because he wants something?" Your smile is a shield, a flash of armor on the battlefield of self-doubt. "I honestly can't remember."

“Well, you are beautiful.” He tells you softly, leaning in and smiling warmly. “You look beautiful. That dress is….” He clicks his tongue and can’t help the way that his eyes drift slightly. “Perfect.”

It's a lovely way to pay the compliment, and your cheeks go from warm to burning in less than a second. "Feel free to look as much as you like," you hum, in that sort of charmed and bashful way that almost has you hiding behind your glass. "Might even let you touch later, if you want to."

“Just like that?” He asks, brows shooting up in surprise. He leans back and watches you squirm for a second. “Did you already decide before now?”

"I'd say hope, rather than decide," you admit, but shrug slightly. "It was this afternoon that did it, it case you're curious."

“What about this afternoon?” He frowns slightly in confusion and tries to think about what he might have done to make you want to sleep with him.

"Right after I hung up with the third bakery." Finally taking a sip of your cocktail, you moan happily to find it delicious, and set the glass back down while he doles out oysters. "You came back into the conference room with two espressos, and I watched you inspect them before you decided which one to give me. You gave me the one that had the perfect crema on it and kept the other for yourself, and then asked me if I had enough light despite the fact that your conference room is practically floor-to-ceiling windows." Swallowing nerves and choosing courage, even for just a little moment, you reach forward at the table and set your and on his. "I asked you to dinner when you were just my best friend's exceedingly hot and clever boss. But I'd go home with you because you have a good heart."

He chuckles softly. “So being considerate gets me into your bed….” He taps his glass lightly, smirking. It’s not his money, or his connections. Not even his sense of style or attractiveness. It was because he had been considerate. “Interesting.”

"I decided after my last break up that I wasn't accepting anything less from now on." Which is why, unfortunately, Harry is your first date worth a damn in over a year. It's tough out there for a girl with standards.

“And if I’m somehow a disappointment?” He asks, his own insecurities rising up but he tries to keep them hidden.

“I’d say there’s an equal chance of either of us disappointing the other.” Not that you wouldn’t put money on it being you rather than him, but for the first time you think you see a glint of flesh and blood behind that suit of armor he wears and you aren’t going to poke at whatever wound lies beneath. “That’s a risk we agree to take if we decide to go home together.”

“I don’t see how that could be.” He turns his hand over to have your palm against his. “Tell me your risk assessment.” He prompts. “Your fears.”

“Those aren’t…” Just because you don’t think of dating in business terms doesn’t mean he doesn’t, you remind yourself. The weight of his hand under yours is comforting. Grounding. Even despite being electric. “The present looks different without the wrapping,” you tell him flatly. The two of you start to eat slowly, but start together. “Which is to say, more than a few men have unwrapped the present only to find they don’t want it anymore.”

“Because you’re thicker than they like?” He asks bluntly. His eyes are still fixed on your face, he’s not shying away.

"I think a lot of people forget that curves come with thing like stretch marks and cellulite." The first oyster is warm and luscious and full of flavor. Cheese and seafood isn't always your favorite but this works beautifully.

He snorts and watches as you pick up your drink to savor it after the oyster. Losing contact with you isn’t necessary so he uses his other hand to scoop up a bite of his own out of the shell. The oysters are already separated, so it’s easier than it would normally be. “And yet they would be insulted if their penis was a disappointing size.”

“God forbid that topic should get touched,” you snort almost identically. “But there is the other thing.”

“What’s that?” He asks, amused at your dry sarcasm.

“Marks,” you tell him matter of factly. “I have some.”

“Oh.” His smile doesn’t falter, but it’s honestly disappointing how quickly his heart drops. The new bloom of interest, of intrigue, is crushed. You have a soulmate out there. Still, he shrugs causally. “And they don’t like competition with your future partner?”

"And it doesn't matter that I'm not actively out there looking for my soulmate, either. They assume I am and lose interest." Which, unfortunately, if why you mentioned it. Because you just saw the light leave Harry's eyes the way you've seen it leave plenty of men's before. "Like you just did." There's no use in pretending. And you can't blame him for it. Not really. It's only human to shy away from someone that you don't fully believe could commit to you.

“I didn’t.” He argues and you just huff and give him a disbelieving look. “My last relationship—” he bites his lip and sighs as he looks away from you for a moment. “She had a soulmate. Had been with him and left.” He chuckles quietly and looks back at you. “The night before we were supposed to go to Iceland and I was going to propose, she broke up with me and went back to him.” He shrugs.

"Shit..." Instead of taking your hand away, you squeeze his in a show of absolute support and sympathy. "That...that is bullshit and I'm sorry to hear it."

“We didn’t love each other.” He admits. “But we could have built a good life together.” In his mind, that’s as good as love.

"Is that what you want?" You ask, honestly wondering about the answer. "To build a good life with someone, rather than to search and search for the romantic ideal?"

“Isn’t romance the effort you put into something?” He asks. “The care and time. Not just some feeling in the pit of your stomach. That could be fleeting, it could change with sickness or surgery.”

"If attraction changes with surgery, then I would have to question whether it was ever real at all." Still, this is a hell of a conversation for a first date. Maybe it's good. You're comfortable enough with each other to actually have an important conversation just twenty-four hours after meeting. That is something you consider a good sign. "Tell me what you would want, then. Your parameters for building a good life with someone."

The waiter comes back and asks if you both would like another drink and Harry looks towards you to see how you feel about that.

"I'll hold off." Something tells you that having a clear head would be best tonight. Plus, Harry ordered wine with dinner anyway.

“We’re good.” He nods his thanks and turns his gaze back towards you. “What would anyone want?” He asks vague. “Trust. Respect. Communication.” He sighs softly. “I’ve been told that I look at love like a business deal. Negotiations and clauses. But I don’t think that it’s a bad thing.”

"I think relationships are different to different people. And that's one of those things that makes me believe soulmates aren't total bullshit." When you've each had your last oyster, you both instinctively lean forward at the table to make it easier to keep holding hands. "Communication is the key, though, in my opinion. If you can communicate to me that you're looking at things in terms of a business deal, then that tells me that you want things to be beneficial for both of us and hopefully equal. That's not a bad thing at all."

“And what are your parameters?” He’s curious to figure out if you are whimsical daydreams or practicality. Or perhaps you are something of a mixture of both. “For life and love.”

"I'm greedy," you inform him without hesitation. "I want the good communication, respect, trust, and that feeling in the pit of my stomach. I want to be a little giggly about my partner sometimes. Be able to take them into my daydreams and fantasies with me. Which...is probably why I'm still single."

He blinks slightly, surprised by your answer. It doesn’t seem too bad. Not unobtainable if someone put in the effort. “I see.” He doesn’t mind any of that, but he doubts he would have given you any reason for the tingles. “I don’t think that’s a horrible list.”

"I'm glad to hear it." And you really are.

Dinner arrives, plates steaming and smelling delicious. “You’re in for a treat.” He promises as they set the plates down in front of you and the sides framing the edge of the table.

"I think the only thing that keeps it from being perfect is that we can't eat one handed."

“Why is that?” He asks, his face serious and set before he smirks slightly when you open your mouth to answer. “Because we can’t keep holding hands?” He huffs. “That’s true, but having both hands means I can feed you a bite of this steak.” He says as he cuts into the tender meat to gather a bite for you.

He's so fucking cute you could just melt. It's like he doesn't quite understand how sweet he really is, but there's a layer of playfulness under the surface that you feel privileged to get to see. Your humming and soft moan of pleasure at the bite of food isn't even a put on. The food here is delicious and that first bite is delivered in the very best way possible. Nothing could be better.

He watches you wrap your lips around his fork, moaning softly as you take the first chew. Eyes fluttering as you lean back. It’s almost fucking erotic as he watches you savor that bite.

"Perfect," you pronounce when you open your eyes again, and that light has come back to his eyes full force.

“Yes it is.” He’s agreeing with you, but he’s not talking just about the steak.

The entire meal is perfect, actually. Every morsel of your dinner is expertly prepared and the conversation keeps flowing as easily as the wine. There's a sort of unexpected blanket of comfort that's surrounded you in his presence. Harry Castillo isn't just an intelligent or clever man, he's thoughtful in ways that surprise you even going from topic to topic in conversation.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Philly fan?” He wrinkles his nose as he sits back in the seat, the bottle of wine is on the table and your glass is almost empty so he leans forward the tipple the rest of the bottle into your glass. You had oohed and ahhhhed over the vintage he had selected, promising yourself that you would buy a bottle for your home and he didn’t have the heart to tell you it is a five hundred dollar bottle. “It’s bad enough to be a National League fan, but at least be a Braves fan.” He shakes his head slightly.

You stop him at half a glass more since you have to drive home, but it’s too good not to have just a little bit more. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” you’re laughing together and enjoying the night so goddamn much. It’s easy with Harry. It’s comfortable and exciting all at once. “But the first place I ever lived in the States was Missouri. So I’m actually a Cardinals fan.

“Oh that’s worse.” Harry is born and bred Yankee’s fan. He has box seats, although most often the tickets are used as business assets rather than just going to enjoy the game.

“I was five!” You argue, practically doubled over laughing at his dismay. “My Dad bought me some Cardinals gear after my first game. It’s purely sentimental.”

“Shame really.” He huffs. “They are steered wrong at such a young age.” His tongue is tucked into his cheek and he’s grinning when you sputter at him.

“Yankee snob,” you tease, still laughing while your shake your head at him.

“True.” He won’t deny that. Huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes. “But there’s nothing like watching the Yankee play from the seats with a hot dog and cold beer.”

“Yes to the hot dog and beer, but I would go to pretty much any game. The fun of going is who you go with.”

He smiles softly. “Then I’ll have to arrange to take you to a game.”

You hum, biting back a face-splitting grin. “Does that mean there’s going to be a second date?”

“Do you call a Sunday afternoon game a date?” He asks, tilting his head.

You huff, looking at him incredulously. “Daytime dates are vastly underrated and that is a hill I will die on.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “So daytime dates count in your book. And baseball games count.” He smirks slightly. “What else counts?”

“Museums…curling up on the couch with a movie…concerts…plays…” Anything. Literally anything that includes him, your heart says with a little flutter. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“There’s a little place that you might enjoy.” He shrugs. “Dinner club modeled after the old nightclubs in Vegas. Live singer, low lights, good food.” It’s become a popular place and Peter has taken Charlotte there many a date night. “Used to be an old theatre.”

Your eyes practically sparkle with how fast they light up. “That sounds perfect.”

“Figured you would like that.” He laughs as he forks up the last morsel of steak and offers it to you.

There is not a single part of you that is bothered by how well he seems to have you figured out already, nor by anything else that’s happened tonight. It’s like an incredible little bubble you want to live inside forever. “Okay, I have another one,” you tell him after the last bite of dinner is gone. “What’s your dream vacation?”

He huffs for a second. Putting the fork down and pausing before he huffs again. “That’s hard to say.” He admits. “I—I plan things. Research them, and then….” He spreads his hands wide. “Never go.”

“Why not?” You know why not for one of them, but that’s only one. And it sounds like he’s done this a lot.

He sits with it for a moment, probably analyzing why for the first time. An introspective look on his face before he looks down at his hands. “Because it’s not fun going alone.” He finally answers.

“Well…” You tuck your hand back into his on top of the table and gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Dare to dream, gorgeous. You don’t have to go alone.”

He smiles. Staring at you for a moment before looking down at your hand on his. “May I interest you in dessert?” The waiter is discreetly at his side and it ruins the beautiful tension of the moment.

“This very learned and well traveled man,” you motion to Harry with your free hand, good naturedly not scowling at the waiter for bursting your precious, perfect bubble. “Has never had bananas foster before.”

He huffs, and tosses one shoulder up. “Sue me.” He jokes.

“Bananas foster.” The waiter smiles and moves to bus your empty plates off the table. “And coffees?”

“Cappuccino?” Harry asks. “Or are you more an espresso with dessert girl?”

“Cappuccino sounds good, thank you.” It sounds comforting and delicious, which is where you’re at right now.

But the bubble further bursts when your phone rings.

“Uh oh.” Harry frowns.

“I’m so sorry.” You frown right along with him. “This is my client that’s getting married next weekend. We’ve been having some vendor issues so I really have to take it.”

“I understand.” Of course he does, business is always a priority. He would know that better than most. “Take the call.”

“I’m so sorry. Excuse me.” Your phone is raised to your ear halfway to the front door, but you keep your voice low and do your best not to disturb other diners. It puts a damper on a perfectly lovely moment, but Anisa and Andy are a sweet couple and you inherited their event from a planner that left Dragonfly not too long ago. They deserve the care and attention of your professionalism.

Harry sits at the table, supremely aware that often times it is him that has to excuse himself from the table to take an urgent phone call. He can’t be upset about it. He smiles to himself as he pulls out his phone and taps the emails.

In less than the space of five minutes, you reappear at the table with your phone still in your hand but a pronounced frown on your face. “I’m so sorry…” Coffees have arrived at the table, but not dessert yet. “My bride is panicking and…she tried to call her venue with questions and just…” A weary sigh makes your shoulders slack. “I need to go straighten out the mess she made before she accidentally loses her venue or her block of booked rooms.”

“I can have my driver—” he cuts himself off, remembering that you had driven. “Then let me walk you to the car.” He stands up and motions the waiter over.

“I can drive you home,” you offer, knowing the end of this date is nothing like what you wanted. You’re supposed to be falling into his bed, not scurrying away hurriedly. “I’m going to your neighborhood anyway.”

“Okay. Let me pay the bill.” He agrees. “I’m sorry. We have to leave.” He tells the waiter as he comes over. “Please Give our dessert to someone and bring the check.”

“I have it here, sir.” Though the waiter seems perplexed he is professional, bringing the small leather folder out of his apron and not commenting when Harry hands over his card without so much as glancing at it.

“Thank you. Again, I apologize.” He picks up the cappuccino and hands it to you. “At least drink this while we wait for him to run the card.”

“This was not the end of the night I was hoping for.” He knows that, and you accept the cup that he hands to you with a small smile. It seems like you might be up for a while tonight and the caffeine will be good.

“Are you sure you can drop me?” He asks seriously. “I can always catch a cab.”

"That's asking if I'm willing to give up the last vestiges of our first date." He's right, though. While you are driving through Tribeca, it would be faster not to go through the middle of the area.

“There will be other dates.” He promises with a wink as the waiter brings back the slim folio book. “Do you want me to run and grab your car?” He asks as he signs and leaves a tip. “So you don’t have to rush in your heels?”

"Shall I have the valet?" The waiter begins to ask.

But you shake your head. "No, I can manage it. Thank you." With another nod and murmured thanks, the waiter disappears with the signed slip – Harry seemed barely to look at any of it, calculating a generous tip swiftly in his head. For Harry, you really wish you had something better to ask than, "Will you at least walk out with me?"

“I’ll walk with you to the garage.” He snorts. “Not gonna let you walk alone.”

"She's having anxiety over the details being just right. It isn't uncommon," you explain to him as you walk around together, turning up the block together the way you arrived almost an hour and a half ago. "It's just that she called the hotel where everything is happening and started making panicked demands for changes in such a way that the night manager to now threatening to cancel the thing altogether. If I can't smooth it out with him, I'll have to relocate an entire wedding in a week."

“That’s not good.” He winces, knowing that last minute wrenches in deals can always cause the entire thing to implode. “Hopefully cooler heads will prevail.”

"I'm hoping so." If not? You're confident, but relocating an entire wedding last minute is not something you have the resources for yet in New York. After inheriting this client from someone else, you would hate to pass her to a third.

“Let me know if I can help in any way.” He offers, not sure what he can do, but he would try.

"That's very sweet of you." And so is the arm he offers you, a comfortable place to rest your hand as you walk together. "But short of buying a hotel, I'm not sure what the solution will be."

“I don’t know if I could pull that off in a week.” He admits with a small laugh.

The two of you laugh together, but you put just a gentle touch of pressure to his arm and smile. "It's sweet of you to offer," you repeat sincerely. "And thank you for tonight."

“I should be thanking you.” He corrects with a smirk. “You asked me out, remember?” He huffs. “I distinctly remember being bowled over that this beautiful, confident woman hit on me and asked me out.”

"Oh hush." He certainly hadn't looked bowled over at the time. He had looked astonished and mildly amused.

He snorts playfully and reaches out to put his hand on your back. Your dress is silky against his palms and he wished that you didn’t have to rush off. “Doesn’t take compliments well.” He understands that, he doesn’t either.

“I’m sure Percy can tell you all of the tricks for dealing with me, if you need an insider tip.” It’s more that you’re just not used to receiving many compliments, but his hand on your back is better than any words you could conjure right now.

“I think I’d like to find out on my own.” He admits, turning to look at you with a small smirk. “Isn’t that the fun of dating?”

“Well, I think so.” And your cheeks burn with the idea that this could really go somewhere, despite the rocky end to tonight. “I just didn’t know if you did too.”

“I’ve decided that I will just take it one day, one discovery at a time.” He explains. “I’ve done the checklists and I didn’t like it.”

“Checklists are for packing,” you contend. “Not for people.”

Your car is so close that you’re practically cursing yourself for picking a convenient parking garage. “Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night? Before Percy and Tam take her parents to LA for the rest of the week?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Harry admits with a small smile. “Should I crash it?”

“Maybe.” Suddenly you’re beaming at him again. “Wanna be my plus one?”

“I can rearrange my plans.” He nods. “It was nothing but work anyway.”

“Okay.” The warmth in your face has you beaming at him as you reach your car. “I should get going but I’ll, um…I’ll text you the name of the restaurant and the time?”

“That sounds good.” He reaches over and opens the door for you. “Let me know when you get back home?” He asks, aware that you owe him nothing but he feels like someone should be looking out for you.

“I will.” Even though you still have a roommate for the time being — before Percy officially leaves to live with Tamara in LA — it’s nice to know that he wants you to be safe. That at least he’s thinking of you in terms of protectiveness.

Harry waits until you are backing out of the parking space before he pulls his phone out of his pocket to order an Uber. It’s easier than calling his driver.

It would have been a perfect night, even without going home together, if you’d just been able to indulge in a good night kiss. Next time, you promise yourself as you drive through the city streets, next time.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TSoMS: @inept-the-magnificent @aomi-recs @noisynightmarepoetry @beezusvreeland

[formulafanfics13]

The reader is Schumacher's daughter, Max's friend since childhood, and she is in love with him. Verstappen has no idea about this, but he is also in love with her. Since he thinks she doesn't feel the same way, he gets involved with someone else (nothing serious, but it's still an involvement). After that, the reader starts avoiding him in every way and he goes crazy without her. She wants him to see that she is living very well and kisses boys and girls to provoke him, but she continues to avoid Max. He confronts her and she tells him to leave, but he doesn't go and they argue, then he confesses and they make up. She does whatever she wants with him, as punishment (🔥)

You Should’ve Known - MV1 🔥

masterlist

Summary You’ve known Max Verstappen your whole life, but when he turns up at a Monaco afterparty with a new girl, it breaks something in you. You vanish from the paddock, punishing him with silence and strategic chaos — until Spa, where he finally corners you, furious and desperate, only to admit he’s loved you since you were kids. The reunion is explosive, emotional, filthy — you punish him with sex and he lets you, whispering that he’s yours. Because he always was.

Warnings explicit smut, emotionally charged sex, dominance and submission, degradation and praise, possession, angst, mutual pining, jealousy, legacy pressure, rough sex, unprotected sex, manipulative undertones, intensity between childhood friends turned lovers, revenge elements, male crying, references to mental exhaustion and emotional repression.

You’d known Max Verstappen since before either of you knew how to drive. Before he was World Champion. Before he was feral and famous and lion-hearted. Before all the noise. When he was just a boy with too many expectations and not enough softness. When your last name still made people flinch.

You were nine and he was ten when your fathers introduced you. Somewhere quiet and snowy in Switzerland. You wore a ski helmet that was too big and he had a tooth missing. You shared gummy bears and didn’t say much, just sat beside each other in the snow like you'd been doing it for years.

He was your first friend. The only one who understood what it meant to live in someone else’s shadow. To exist in a legacy. To be born and already expected to win.

You never fell in love with him. You just were. You existed beside him. Until one day you weren’t sure where your body ended and his began.

But Max? He had no idea.

Which is why when he rocked up to the post-race afterparty in Monaco with that generic blonde thing on his arm, some influencer who wore Mugler like it was her personality and laughed like she’d swallowed a whole TikTok, you’d felt the blood drain from your fucking face.

The whole grid saw it. Charles had done a double-take. George had whispered, “Oh fuck.” Carlos didn’t even pretend to hide the look of pity he threw your way.

You were Michael Schumacher’s daughter, a famous fixture in the paddock, and for the first time in your life, you wished you weren’t. Because being seen meant being known. And everyone knew you loved him.

So you vanished.

You didn’t answer his texts. Didn’t show up to dinner in Barcelona. Skipped out on Silverstone. Declined the invite to Austria. Every race, you were somewhere else — Ibiza, Milan, Paris, your best friend’s villa in Lake Como. Every post you made was calculated: sunglasses and heels, legs in the sun, drink in your hand, arm around someone hot and new.

Men. Women. Didn’t matter. You let them kiss you in frame. Let them touch your waist. Let the world think you were over Max Verstappen and having the time of your life.

Except every kiss made your skin crawl. Every drink left a sour aftertaste. Every DM from Max, growing shorter, sharper, more desperate, made your chest twist and ache like a fracture that wouldn't heal.

Until you returned to Spa.

Because you were your father's daughter. Because legacy mattered. Because it was raining, and your hands were shaking, and you needed to see it again, the track, the ghosts, the place where it all began.

And he found you.

You were standing in the motorhome hallway, damp hair pulled into a braid, fingers trembling from cold and memory. And Max, furious and wild-eyed, cornered you like you were a threat. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he growled, stepping closer. "You disappear for weeks. You ignore every message. You flirt with half of Europe. You kiss that random guy in Rome and let that girl grope you in Saint-Tropez and you think I wouldn’t fucking see it?"

"I didn’t do it for you, Max."

"Bullshit," he snapped. "You’re punishing me. I know you are."

You shoved past him, storming into your room. He followed. "Get out."

"No."

"Get the fuck out."

"You don’t get to ghost me and then kick me out like I’m nothing-"

"I told you to leave!" you screamed, voice breaking, chest heaving with fury and heartbreak and months of swallowed agony.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at you like he was looking through time. "You love me," he said.

You froze.

"You fucking love me. And you didn’t tell me."

You laughed, broken and bitter. "You were too busy with your new girl to notice."

He swallowed. "I didn’t sleep with her."

"Congratulations."

"I couldn’t," he said. “She wasn’t you.”

And suddenly your hands were on his chest, shoving him hard against the wall. He caught your wrists but didn’t stop you. He looked like he was waiting for your wrath.

"You don’t get to want me now," you spat, eyes wild. "You don’t get to come here like a fucking victim after ignoring everything I’ve felt for the last ten fucking years-"

"I’ve loved you since we were kids," he whispered.

You stopped.

"I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought... I was scared if I tried and it went wrong, I'd lose you."

You stared at him. And then, slowly, deliberately, you shoved your thigh between his legs and pressed him against the door. "You don’t get to be scared anymore," you said, voice low. "You’re mine now."

He nodded, breath shaky. "Yours."

"Say it again."

"I'm yours."

You tugged his shirt off. Scraped your nails down his chest. Bit his lip and shoved him onto the bed like he weighed nothing. Climbed on top of him, knees planted, eyes sharp.

"You're going to let me do whatever I want to you, Max. Because I get to punish you now. And you're going to thank me for it."

His head dropped back. “Yes. Yes, please.”

You kissed down his stomach. Took your time. Let him whine, let him buck up into your hand and beg. You didn’t give him what he wanted, not until he was wrecked and desperate and dripping sweat onto the sheets.

And even then, it wasn’t a gift. It was a lesson.

Every moan he let out was for you. Every twitch, every curse, every tear slipping down the side of his flushed cheek, it was all yours.

He came harder than you’d ever seen. Gripping your hand like he was scared you'd disappear again.

You kissed his cheek after. Tucked yourself into his side. And whispered: "You should’ve known. You were always mine."

And Max, broken and blissed out, smiled through the wreckage.

"I know that now."

[princess-pathetic-112898]

Guys the way this short fucked with me on so many levels.

Because at the beginning I was thinking the same thing as Loona, especially with the name they gave this guy. I was initially suspecting that Wrigglers was going to be a Jimmy Savile type of creep; If you’re unaware Savile was a major media personality in the UK who had a kids’ tv show that was very popular in the UK & he gained a lot of public goodwill through highly publicized charity work (he also happened to be pretty chummy with Margaret Thatcher & the royal family) but behind closed doors he was a vicious predator & the wider public only became aware of his crimes after his death. I thought we would be rooting for Blitz & Loona to send him straight to Hell. Then it turns out that really uncomfortable name that blends right into the show’s typical sense of humor was an intentional mislead. The mentions of Wrigglers’s educational puppet show, particularly the note on the file that specifies his show is on public television, and the loving words of reassurance he gives each of his adopted kids when he’s saying goodbye, make it obvious that he’s actually a nod to the legacies of both Jim Henson and Fred Rogers. I don’t need to explain to you that these two men really were gems of human beings, you already know that (also don’t think I didn’t catch the reference to Ned Flanders in his design I see what you did there animators). By the time they were on the bench, I genuinely thought Loona was going to insist that they let Wrigglers live, but then what happens happens. It’s completely in line with the show’s dark sense of humor, but the sequence of events also makes sense in a way that’s oddly sad. Wrigglers’s panicked reaction is obviously devastating to Loona, but it didn’t make me feel like he would’ve been prejudiced towards her once the initial shock wore off, I think that’s really all it was- initial shock. Which, fair. Loona then panics and instinctively responds with violence because that’s the world she’s from, that’s the norm, and on top of that she’s had a lifetime of mistreatment and neglect that’s left her with major trust issues that she’s only just beginning to work through. Blitz then proceeds to crank that violence up to eleven because he’s also from that world, has also suffered from a lifetime of abuse that’s left him struggling with trust and connection, and to put a cherry on top the guy who’s been taking up the day he thought he’d get to spend with his baby is now the cause of his baby’s distress (at least from his perspective). At the end of it all I, the viewer who’s invested in these characters but also grew up with & was deeply impacted by the works of Jim Henson & Fred Rogers, as generations of kids have, am left laughing and crying in a twisted little paradox.

Vivienne Medrano WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS TO ME-

I'm so proud of Loona here for being so vulnerable and trusting, especially given how many times we see her put up her walls or get aggressive towards others so as to not let them in. <3<3<3 She also is just so adorable when she goes "Ta-da!" ^_^<3<3<3

*Spoiler alert: Saying her reveal did not go well is a massive understatement. O_O

[lethargical-lily]

Why is everyone on TikTok acting stupid about Marvel like they never watched the damn movies

Everyone is losing their minds over the ONE LINE in Ironheart where Riri said “Do you think Tony Stark would be Tony Stark if he wasn’t a billionaire” because she’s apparently dissing this saint of a man who was literally introduced as an immoral weapons dealer in the first fucking movie he was in.

But the kicker is the fact that she’s probably fucking right. Would Tony Stark be able to be where he is in the world without his wealth? NO HE PROBABLY WOULDN’T BECAUSE HIS INHERITED WEALTH GAVE HIM OPPORTUNITIES MANY PEOPLE DONT HAVE

Now listen, he is objectively one of the most intelligent characters. He is certainly not intelligent because of his wealth, but his wealth allowed him to apply that intelligence and hone it in ways others couldn’t. She didn’t say “Would he actually be a genius if he wasn’t rich?” She said, “Would he be Tony Stark without his wealth” and considering the most famous line from the Marvel franchise in reference to Tony Stark is “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” no I would say he objectively wouldn’t be.

I’ve seen people say he worked for his money. Hey so, NO THE FUCK HE DID NOT

HIS MONEY WAS FAMOUSLY INHERITED. MY GUY HAS NEVER KNOWN A DAY OF STRUGGLE IN TERMS OF POVERTY UNTIL THE DAY HE WAS CAPTURED AND AFTER THAT BRO WAS BACK TO HIS WEALTH

And Riri is a young black woman. I don’t know her backstory but I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t like Tony Stark’s in which she had access to all this wealth and billions of dollars worth of technological equipment to create these genius ideas. She has a lot of limitations on how she can apply her intelligence because she is not a rich white man, and I feel like that criticism is incredibly valid from her.

This show is also from Riri’s perspective. She did not know Tony Stark so if her take is slightly based in ignorance that shouldn’t be surprising because she did not know the man or his background aside from the fact he was rich and a genius.

I truly feel like a lot of hatred either comes from

A. People who miss the old Marvel too much to give the new one the chance it deserves, or

B. People who hate that a black woman is replacing their fav white male character.

And for Side B, you do realize the argument “Warmachine is basically a black Iron Man and he doesn’t get this hate” isn’t actually as valid as you think?

The reason he doesn’t get the same hate is because never once did he move to replace/further Tony Stark’s legacy. For most of the series he was often pushed to the sidelines and utilized more as a sidekick to Tony Stark rather than his replacement. So no, he is not a black Iron Man because he was never Iron Man, but if he WAS in line to take up the mantle of Tony Stark’s legacy I know very well that he would indeed be getting hate much like Sam Wilson is for being a black Captain America. You just don’t want to admit your hatred for characters such as Sam Wilson and Riri comes from the fact you can’t stand to see black people be the ones furthering the legacy of a previously white character because you don’t enjoy when black people can see themselves in these white characters like you previously could, or you’re just too blinded by the past to give the future a chance.

All this to say, put some damn respect on Riri’s name, even RDJ himself said “Ironman loves Riri”

[icyboineptune]

Mi Vida Loca and why it's about Ivan

(editor's note: this post started being made the day before Karma but since I've seen it, I've added lil things)

Vivimeng, you've done it again. Broken my heart. I'm terrified for tomorrow with Karma, but hey, what better time to go on an ALNST rant.

(Look at my boy. I love him.)

First off, my delusional ass wants you to take note of the Ivan written in the large, leftmost heart.

And then, the shirt of Till. Normally, it's covered in a mixture of Mizi and Ivan's signatures, but not today! Rather, that cat with an eye mimics when Ivan is portrayed as a cat chasing Till in official art.

The background colour is Paratise's blue, inverted. In fact, whilst the preview was the inverted colours of the Unknown Till The End, the actual album doesn't fit into the same colour scheme at all. It's... well, I'll show you.

Remind you of anyone’s colours, hmm? Look how little pink and green there is (Mizi colours) compared the overwhelming red/white/blue/black representing Ivan.

Now onto the lyrics! See, as of right now I'm unsure whether Till meant the song directly for Ivan, or whether he meant it for Mizi and Ivan snuck in there. Regardless.

"I feel so pathetic whenever I stand in front of you/I can't say a word, I turn back around every day"

Do you remember in Black Sorrow that scene where Till and Ivan were so close to escaping Anakt. Till hesitated and turned around to head back for stability in the form of reliable faces and reliable punishments in the garden since he couldn't face the unknown of freedom like Ivan could?

He is expressing his guilt here over not taking the opportunity now that it is much too late. He wants to turn back around every day that he did not, back to Ivan. But just as he couldn't say a word back then to explain himself, he cannot say a word even in this hypothetical idealised world he wishes to have made.

Doomed yaoi, am I right?

"Scenario: CRUSH"

Remind you of a certain pink-haired lady's desire to crush, anyone?

It's similar perhaps to 'error: no better options' which refers to how the deep idolisation and love for Mizi Till felt was a product of his socialisation, deeper than anything he could say in words (hence his performance of Unknown to show that no, it was much more than her being 'pretty' that meant he cared for her)

I think this demonstrates a sense of awareness from Till that he is susceptible to crushes, without the agency to act upon them the way he wishes.

"My stimulating love explodes"

There's not as much to note about this line yet imo other than the idea that his feelings are kept so badly in check due to how earnest he is in essence that they will always build up and explode out of him, thanks to this lack of self-regulation he has.

"Open up your ears, please understand me"

Ivan does not listen to any sign that he could be genuinely happy around anyone, I don't think. He doesn't pay much mind to the people that admire him for his princely persona, he's put off by Mizi's false optimism, and he's jealous of Sua's reciprocated love.

The latter makes me laugh in hindsight because Mizisua has just as many issues in their relationship. If anything, the perspective that it's better not to tell a loved one your feelings till the end (get it?), though it made Ivan deeply unhappy and ended up with the mess that was round 6, turned out to be a lot kinder on Till than Sua's love was on Mizi.

But yeah Till asking him to listen and understand instead of 'shaking it off and stand(ing) tall' like Ivan sings despairingly about in Nowhere feels very purposeful in recontextualising unrequited love as miscommunicated requited love, something I will defend with my life

"Don't you leave me"

Till has never once shown himself to be demanding of Mizi like this, even in Unknown he innocently 'want(s) to know all about (her)' rather than ever make a demand about her presence.

Rather, this is a call to Ivan, an urgent demand for him to return and explain himself. He doesn't want to be a victim of Ivan's 'shallow emotions', goddamn it, he wants him back! The biggest constant in Till's life cannot simply just up and leave to the Great Anakt after throwing the competition and a tantrum by unexpectedly kissing and choking him. He can't leave him, not like this.

It reads almost like a plead to which he'll never know: if you loved me, why did you leave me?

"I'll probably get it across to you for sure"

*klaxon noise*

press X to doubt

There have always been little signs that Till cares for Ivan, even if we have been robbed of a Till POV comic so far that depicts his side of things. But not enough for Ivan to notice.

"Close the distance between us/To be inside your heart"

Up until now, the main one to be mentioning being 'inside' another person as a representation of their desire to forever occupy a space in someone's life is Ivan!

Though 'to live in you like parasite', works as a parallel in that they both wish to be within each other, 'bury my secret deep within my heart' captivated my interest because it feels as though Till is saying to Ivan what he was initially to Mizi: he wants to know about Ivan through his heart, his love, his secrets, everything.

One of Till's love languages seems to be the wholehearted desire to acknowledge and accept a person and all their hidden facets, and part of his frustration thus stems from the fact that he ironically cannot seem to fully break past the masks people hide behind until it's too late.

"Do you love me? I do" AND "Don't you hate me"

Ivan and Till had a love-hate relationship in their lives, and too often I see people disregarding one side of their relationship simply because the hate is more easy for Till to express than his love.

See, while Mizi is more someone to uplift Till, or at the very least make him flustered enough to not express himself properly as seen in the comic where he could say nothing but "you're pretty", Ivan called Till a loser. Like, literally called him a friendless loser that he plays with and Mizi doesn't.

That will hurt coming from someone you spend a lot of time with, especially Till who has - as far as I know - barely any other people who actually like his presence to converse with, save for his bisexual awakenings.

Ivan beats him up and teases him a lot in general tbh. They had to stop because Ivan and his '4 hours of sleep for the GAINS' scheduling meant their physical difference was too big.

"I get scared again like an idiot/Widen the distance between us"

The meteor scene is going to actually kill me. The meteor scene is going to kill meeeee aughhhh

Till once again lamenting for what could have been in his life had the mutual awful communication skills and fear inherent to their beings as pet humans not widened the gap between what is done and what is meant, driving a rift between them.

"Mi Vida Loca"

Damn, boy, your life do indeed be crazy

"They say this is a beautiful song/And they open their arms wide for me"

Till has a 2.5 vocal skill rating (absolutely FOUL, Akugetsu is Ado's brother from another mother and deserved 5/5) but still made Alien Stage because he has prodigy level musical talent. He was stolen from Io because he genuinely liked singing and they took notice of that. I have the feeling aliens don't like the rock-ish genres as much as others, hence All-In being how it is. Mi Vida Loca being loved since it's a pop song thus makes sense, and Unknown skyrocketing him to Top 3 status is because of his performance and stage presence.

His rebelliousness is commoditised despite its existence causing him suffering; he is only conditionally 'loved' by alien society, directly contrasting Ivan's love for his authenticity.

"But more than the countless spotlights I want you/My light is born from you"

OHOHO. Tasty line, this. Light is born from shadow, one cannot exist without the other. Well, Ivan describes himself as Till's shadow: 'What's closer than light is shadow'.

Till's connections with the people around him are the things that keep him going, in essence, which is something I truly admire about him.

"You(r) smile that doesn't love me"

This can apply to Mizi and Ivan to be honest. Mizi smiles and fawns as a way to dissociate from her reality, and Ivan practiced fake smiling in front of puddles to the point of it being one of two expressions he allows himself to show (the other being apathy).

Till's unreliable narrator shows again though, because both of the two definitely cared for him. It's the classic self deprecating thought process of: I really hope they care for me -> of course they don't, just look at me -> but what if I did something new, maybe I would have a shot then -> they're pretending to but they actually hate me, etc etc it goes on forever

"I'll also smile at me that doesn't love myself"

My son has self-expression and self esteem issues. No wonder, what with literally everything that has happened to him in his life. I'd have issues too, gawd dayum.

Why I wrote this is not out of malice for my girl Mizi (girl you're not a witch ahufwdfggsobbinf).

It's because Ivan makes me a sad little man since every one of his songs, original or covered, is the most fucking depressing piece of music to analyse the lyrics of from his perspective. Whether the fact Till loved him back is a win or not is debatable, because that means he hated himself so much he doomed his own relationship (TvT)

Anyways. I DEFINITELY didn't cover everything, but here. My two cents! :D

Yours sincerely,

a guy who submitted an essay analysis of Ivantill to be graded and got a Distinction.

[wonderhorror-sys]

ive never answered this because i didnt really know how or where to start but i am going to make an attempt, i suppose.

first of all if i remember correctly, our queerness was what made us realize we were plural. we knew we were queer for a long time but were unfortunately in a very "you must have a label and stick with it and never change" mindset (can you see how this became a problem very quickly). of course theres a lot of reasons for queer identity to be fluid and everchanging, but the realization that we couldnt stick with any one label lead to such realizations as "nothing about me seems to be consistent, i cant even settle on a name i can tolerate for more than a week" and "my genders have personalities and i dont think thats normal" and "remember when i was younger and my fictionkins would take over my body" but refused to look into plurality because only a Faker™ would do that ("but thats only true for me of course, not anyone else. everyone in the world but me has many good reasons to research plurality"), probably not helped by the fact that de only knew of DID at the time. and then finally after a friend told us they were plural we were like "oh yay i finally have an excuse to look into it" and Well.

before we realized, we came out as trans (binary) and. a lot of people still refer to us that way. i dont have the heart to tell them, because i really cant come up with anything to explain it. some have our current collective name though...? only 2, really. pfhfjfjg.

Happy pride month! To kick things off, here's a question for all of you who are more-than-one in whatever way that means to you:

If your plurality and queerness are intertwined in any way, or you are queer because of your plurality, how does that work for you? Consider this an invitation to talk about all the complexities of who you are and how these two areas of your life connect to each other!

(We also see our queerness and plurality as intertwined, ftr – We just want to hear from others about their own experiences, lives, and identities!)

[windvexer]

Helper Spell: General Assistance and Course-Correcting via Tarot

This is a method I haven't tested very much, developed in conjunction with a major project I'm undertaking with tarot.

It's the intersection between doing divination to determine the best course of action for spellwork, and the spell itself.

You draw a card to hone in on an area of concern, and then do tarot magic to use the card itself to assist in creating desired change.

So far I'm very happy with my results but much more testing is required... I just felt like posting a little something today.

Part 1: The Draw

1. Think of any situation in your life that you want to work magic on. The situation could be going well, or poorly, or just need some polishing and attention. Anything you like.

2. Think of how you want to frame your question. Whatever your question is, that is the path of magic you'll end up taking:

Show me the most unhelpful energy in this situation that is blocking my desires [blocking/cleansing/healing]

Show me the most helpful things that are happening in this situation which could use more active support [empowerment/protection/way-clearing]

Show me something in this that's just a waste of energy and doesn't need to be included moving forward [binding/banishing/release]

Make sure to frame your question to the end goal you desire: whether the draw is for the 'highest good' of the situation, or to achieve your personal desires, or for the good of someone else, etc.

3. Shuffle in your normal manner and draw a card. That card is the primary energy you will be working with.

Interpret what this card is referring to based on your knowledge of the situation and the meanings you're used to using. Remember to frame this in the context of your question.

Typically desirable cards showing up in the context of 'unhelpful energy' may ultimately be unhelpful by being draining/distracting/misguided.

Typically undesirable cards showing up in the context of 'helpful things to support' can indicate necessary boundaries, painful truths, or uncomfortable pivots that best occur in order to obtain your desired outcome.

4. Optional: Now, or during the next step, select a major arcana or court card to rule over this spell and provide support.

Using this system, I have found the major arcana to be more powerful than court or pip cards. YMMV.

Typically auspicious major cards, such as the Wheel of Fortune, Sun, Star, or World may be panacea for any spell, but they will each bring their own powers to the table; not interchangeable.

It's best to select a court or major card based on the best assistance you think you will need. Emperor will do very well in an out of control situation where people need to follow guidelines. Strength will assist in resilience getting through this round of medical care. Sun will help everyone have a better time at the club meetings. Etc.

Of the court cards I have personally found:

Knights are best appointed as rulers to assist with manifesting something, as in clear physical occurrences or change.

Queens are best appointed when a personal advisor needs to stand next to someone and assist them moment-to-moment.

Kings are best appointed when clear direction and order are required among many people, as in households or groups.

Majors have a sort of blanket effect and their power can be saturating. Might be too much for the little things.

(I do not find pages highly suitable to this appointment at this time).

Part 2: The Magic

5. With the card you've drawn to indicate the energy to work with in the situation, take your own personal steps to evoke the spirit of that card within ritual space.

For me this means:

Calling my spiritual helpers

Performing prayers to assist in summoning spirits

Performing a ritual of summoning

Plying the spirit for its attention

Keep in mind: You are summoning the spirit of the card as it pertains to the situation at hand. It is not strictly the "Five of Swords" you're after, but the "Five of Swords of [Situation]".

This step can take moments or dozens of minutes depending on your ritual structure. Calling the spirit is up to you. (Ofc you can work this just with 'energies' but you don't need me to tell you that!)

6. Once you're satisfied with your conjuring of the spirit of the card, do the following things as your intuition and practice advises:

A) Address the card and tell it that you are here to modify its impact in the situation for the betterment of [primary benefactor(s)].

B) If the card is reversed, upright it. This symbolically seeks to restore order and control to the card. Include ritual instruction such as, "I release disorder and reinstate control." If your understanding of tarot precludes this making sense, skip this step.

C) According to your understanding of the card and situation, gently but firmly instruct the card to modify things on your behalf*.

"Knight of Swords, I have uprighted you. This out of control impulsiveness must be sent away. I call to you now to exert your virtues into this situation and take charge of these impulsive behaviors at play. Remove recklessness and bind foolish exertions. Support and guide persons whose actions bring me towards my goals and the benefit of [primary benefactor(s)], but stand in the way of those who's actions are a detriment to our cause."

Each card should be instructed to do things relevant to it. I.e., the Two of Pentacles should be instructed to assist with balancing tasks and ensuring nothing gets forgotten about. You would not instruct the Knight of Swords to be a gentle and romantic shoulder to cry on. Etc.

*I've found that major arcana cards normally should be negotiated with or humbly petitioned. They do not seem to respond well to bossiness.

D) During this portion of the work, go slowly and work intuitively. As you make each request ("Knight of Swords, bind foolish exertions") you may feel compelled to cast 'micro spells' as you go along, like:

Grabbing some thread to tie a knot and 'bind foolish exertions' as you work with the Knight to do this task.

Having to go get a protective herb to help the Knight 'support and guide' helpful persons.

Stuff that's auxiliary, like feeling you have to do a cleansing ritual for the Knight so he's prepared to do his job.

E) You may provide offerings or not to the card in thanks for its help, or provide a candle to further empower the work. I place the card under a candle holder and light tea lights as the spell goes on to repeatedly energize it as necessary.

7. If desired, assign a court or major card to rule over these changes and provide further assistance.

I have found that some pip cards are not remarkably dexterous or powerful. Certain of the pips appear to have limited ability to mitigate their own harm.

The energies in a situation may also be such that while a helpful and dexterous card may be able to greatly assist, a higher power may still be needed to bring a degree of balance or course-correction a single focused pip or court card can't accomplish on its own.

If you so desire, appoint a court or major card. Go back to step 5 and evoke the spirit of the ruling card.

Ask it to pour its virtues over the situation at hand for the benefit of [primary benefactor(s)] and to achieve such-and-such goals. Ask it to work with the other card you drew and supervise it, giving it support as necessary.

If you feel you should, return to the first card you drew and encourage it to work under the purview of the ruling card.

Place the ruling card sideways over the first card you drew, indicating that the situation is now 'under' the ruling card's authority.

Place a candle (in a nice safe holder) on top of both cards or nearby, devoting the candle to the operation.

I have found that while pips and courts do not always seem to need payment, major cards usually do. They also make take more persuading and diplomacy* to help in a situation, and you should explain things that you do not want to have happen or that would be unhelpful, as they seem to have a great deal more agency and free will than other cards.

(*sucking up)

8. Keep the cards set aside until your desires are reached, providing more power to the cards through offerings or energy work (etc) as desired.

When returning them to the deck, thank each card for its assistance and call the spirit back into it. You may find it necessary to cleanse the deck after some of the spirits have been running around getting up to who knows what.

For this reason it's preferable to use a separate deck for spellcasting, as it's assumed the spirits of the cards will be busy at this time and unable to assist you with divination even if you re-shuffle them into the deck.

[lara635kookie]

The animators and artists for the kpdh film have been teasing so much about what happened Sunlight Sisters lately and it’s making me excited. I really want to know what happened and hope that it’s in their sequel. There’s so much mystery. We don’t know much about the other members and what actually happened. I guess there was a fall out between the members. Something must have caused a rift between them. The relationship of Rumi’s mom and dad might have been a factor to it. Or there was some differences and disagreement on their ideals or opinions on how to deal with the demons and Gwi-ma. I am betting that Celine and Rumi’s mom were drifting apart because they were beginning to have different opinions about the demons. What are your theories?

I guess the sequel can show that whatever happened with the Sunlight Sisters can be a good lesson to Huntrix, especially since it might seem that history is repeating itself with Rumi and Jinu. The difference would be how Mira and Zoey react to it (and whether they are open to the idea that not all demons are bad), compared to how the Sunlight Sisters (specifically Celine) reacted to Rumi’s mom and dad’s relationship. If Celine has caused the death of Rumi’s mom, then I wonder what happened to her dad? Is he back in the demon realm? Or is he also dead?

It’s also interesting that Gwi-ma doesn’t know about Rumi being half demon. I mean, shouldnt he have atleast noticed that a demon went to the human world and had a relationship with a hunter? Because that would be huge news and it’s an opportunity to go against the hunters. But he seems clueless about it. What do you think?

I agree with everything you said. There are too many questions for that sequel to answer. It is funny how Gwi-ma says:"One of the hunters carries my marks, but I have no control over her" or something like that, referring to Rumi. I can't wait to find out more about the Sunlight Sisters and Rumi's dad lore

[mossadspypigeon]

hmm gentle viewers, isn’t it awfully convenient how the buffoonerus maximus always ends up somehow mysteriously being a jew when they’re called out for either a. antisemitism or b. denying antisemitism when it’s right in front of their face? funny how that works 🤔

but sure, i’ll throw you a bone.

fought against nazism. honey you don’t know what that is. you can’t even see antisemitism when it’s RIGHT THERE. if you do have any jewish ancestry, you certainly have no tangible connection, no knowledge of our history or culture OR ethnoreligion, and you are fucking deluded.

you can’t even see what globalize the intifada means. you have the worst kind of blinders on: the kind that excuse attacks and murders. and wtf do you think is happening rn?

the jewish museum shooting? the firebombing of governor shapiro’s house? the boulder attack? the numerous attacks on synagogues, jewish day schools, jewish events, JEWS? all ALSO done by pro palestine idiots? funny how you don’t know about any of that, or do you just justify it?

also: bb zionism is a landback movement created by and for jews. it is simply the right of JEWS to live and self determine in our ancestral homeland of israel and judea. so yes, the majority of zionists are jews. in fact, the fucking kkk popularized the term “zio” to refer to GUESS WHAT??? JEWS.

israel is the one jewish state. you can PROJECTTTTT all YOU want and that will always be the case. demonizing the one jewish state in the same way JEWS IN GENERAL have been demonized for millennia is GUESS WHAT

ANTISEMITIC!!!!

SO YES THREATENING TO ROUND UP “ZIONISTS” IS ANTISEMITIC.

YES, THREATENING TO CONTINUE ATTACKS THAT RESULTED IN THE MASS MURDER OF JEWS IS ANTISEMITIC.

next you’ll tell me hamas and have palestinian extremist movements have never said “kill all the jews.”

let’s do a little comparison:

here is hamas using the terms “jew” and “zionist” interchangeably:

the protocols reference really drives it all home right? 😂 what a ReSiStAnCe.

and here is the ex grand wizard of the kkk doing the same damn thing:

also if “globalize the intifada” wasnt antisemitic, why are jewish orgs talking about it (same goes with antizionism not being antisemitic):

in addition, hamas and others have called for these intifadas numerous times:

hmm not violent hmm?? lmao it isnt about the ~growth of the movement~.

are you done now? like seriously, the sheer dumbassery and undiluted lack of knowledge is BORINGGG.