#its just that rebellious magic

[dailycupofcreativitea]

Silly comic based off of that one Simpson's episode 😂🪁

(A little "what if Gohan tried to make super saiyan 2 feel natural like he did with super saiyan 1" except shenanigans ensue)

[snekdood]

Dude.. my ex boyfriend totally did get me into conspiracy theory shit, even if unintentionally (i think its intentional im sure he believed in that shit. Would not surprise me at all.) At the time i was already pretty isolated from anyone online who mightve countered any of my dumb spiritual or alien related beliefs because of some dumb shit i said online making most of the friends and followers i made online generally avoid me, depending on who it was. I was just a regular pagan and then he showed me this weird video with all this weird conspiracy theory symbolism in it. I looked it up later on and looked up the meaning of the symbolism and came across a whole bunch of stuff posing itself as Secret Information The US Govt Doesnt Want You To Know About, etc. And then i just fell deeper into the conspiracy theory pipeline, traded my paganism for new age beliefs, and goddamn dude. Like we both got suspended from school bc he had a dumb idea to dumb shit there and i spent my time in detention fucking. Trying to read "the emerald tablets" or whatever tf. Its all coming back to me rn.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART ONE !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 4.3k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! g/n reader, harassment, death, parental abuse/neglect, animal neglect/cruelty, & elements of sexism.

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ The sun feels blistering as it blankets you in its sweltering embrace. Body sheen with sweat, you halt your early-afternoon endeavors and begin the lengthy journey home. The flowers you’ve spent the past several hours plucking now rest in your wicker basket. It will be the perfect apology for your parents, you surmise. After all, you are miles away from being the exemplary model-child they swore they raised you to be. 

You take a moment to admire the Shurima empire in all of its glory. Even in the short frame of several decades, the discovery of this continent has managed to flourish so elegantly.

It is rare you are given the opportunity to see the fruits of the founder's labor. Nonetheless, you were not born in the lap of luxury. You were raised in the poor corners of civilization, which is exactly where you return to.

Stepping into the streets of the dank city, you are immediately met with the perfusion of dust and sand. You cough into your elbow from the sudden exposure (the mountain air has evidently spoiled your senses). All you can do is hope you survive the journey back home, and more crucially, the wrath of your parents. 

You still have yet to forget the stifling look of enraged disappointment in their eyes from the day before. 

A charming suitor, an impossibly rich one at that, gifted you a vase full of flowers native to his home country. You check off the list of physical and verbal cues your parents set out for you: batting your lashes, good posture, and how can you forget, the obnoxiously-flirtatious compliments and the innocent “damsel in distress” etiquette. 

So engrossed in the tasks at hand, the vase in your hands then slips from your butter-fingers and shatters against the pavement. A few of the cracked pieces nick the suitors ankles.

He had some particularly colorful words for you. Now, there is certainly no hope of marriage with this man. 

A selfish part of you is relieved. Marrying a man twice your age is a page torn straight from your worst nightmares. When you are inevitably faced with the incessant scolding of your parents, however, you find yourself wishing he’d just jam a ring on your finger and call it a day.

Doing anything to make your parents happy is the disposition you have molded your life around. Hence the flowers currently in your possession.

The very picosecond you became an adult, your parents scrambled to find you a spouse. Your mothers insistence on maintaining your “beauty” struck as strange, as you have never viewed yourself or others through an aesthetic lens. Even when a myriad of suitors were kicking your doors in to claim you as theirs, you still don’t understand where she is coming from. 

After all, they take one glimpse at your (in your father’s words) eccentric personality and they’re making a dash for the hills. 

It didn’t take long for you to understand that their proclamations of “ensuring a delightful life with me as my respected spouse” meant forging you into their submissive, braindead pet. So, in a petty, rebellious manner, you do not hinder the vibrance of your personality. Of course, you are acutely aware of how this behavior will never earn you a spouse. No man or woman would want something as unconventional as you, that has been made abundantly clear.

Because of this, you have resorted to pursuing other forms of validation from your parents.

Every ache that pulsates through your fingertips reminds of your utmost passion. Playing the harp has tended to your needs the way no suitor ever has.

You managed to snag the instrument when an indecisive elite tossed it out after a single attempt at learning how to play. It has now made a home in your bedroom, hidden behind the panel of the unfinished wall. When the weight of the world becomes too heavy (and when your parents have left the premises), you indulge in the peace the music provides. Every flick of your calloused fingers against the thick strings provides a solace you cradle close. 

With this passion follows hope, as well. You’re positive that with enough effort, you can convince your parents to let you pursue the art of music instead of marriage. Soon, you’ll flaunt your polished skills with the harp and earn the approval of your parents. That is most imperative now.

Something furry then brushes against your leg. A familiar purr rustles against your skin. When you look down, you are not surprised to find a Poro.

It is common for the rich to own them as pets, but of course, you get the few bunch who grow tired of the animals and chuck them out like trash. A few find their way to the poor side of civilization, where the critters are now lethargic and emaciated from the abandonment of their caregiver. 

The Poro's black, bulbous eyes peer at you in hesitation, before he flings his tiny body into the dark alleyway just ahead. You coo at the creature in an attempt at beckoning him back out from his hiding place. A fresh idea in mind, you dig a hand into your satchel and fish out the lunch you had forgotten to eat. It is mere scraps at most, but you have an inkling the little guy will be desperate for any form of nourishment.

Soon enough, you spot an eye peeking out from behind an empty wooden crate. When his gaze lands on the torn piece of bread in your hand, he takes a few cautious steps forward. Freezing periodically, anticipating your next move, the Poro soon makes it to your palm. His wide, slobbering tongue slithers around the small chunk of bread, before gathering it into his mouth.

Just as you reach your hand to pet the feathery tufts of fur atop his head, a door behind you bursts open. A burly man appears in the threshold, a tower of several more empty crates balanced in his fat arms. When the man's gaze meets yours, his expression drops into one of irritation. 

“Goddamn L/N…” 

He chucks the crates into a pile of many others, the collision loud and tumultuous. The Poro shrieks and scurries off into the distance. 

“Thought I told you to stop feeding the strays. Fur-balls always come back for seconds.” 

Animals have always struck a soft spot for you, more-so than others evidently deem admirable. You still remember the red-raged lecture you received from your father when you saved a suitor from a sly snake, before cooing at the slithering friend in your grasp and presenting it to the woman. 

In your father’s eyes, this was apparently inappropriate of you. What would other suitors think, after all? That you’d bring wretched creatures like that into their mansions? The answer is obviously yes, but you’re better off without more incessant scolding from him.

You shove the remaining clumps of food back into your satchel as though the incriminating evidence would vanish once stashed away. As you do so, a prideful smile creeps onto the mans face, enlarged cheeks stretching wide. 

“Finally meet someone stupid enough to set the date?” He asks, gesturing to your hand. 

When you follow his gaze, you see the ring you crafted yourself, realizing he had mistaken its origins. 

You have a tendency to sneak off into the rich side of Shurima and “borrow” a trinket or two. The ring you snagged happened to be an engagement ring a forgetful fiancé left by a bathroom sink. The intricacies and glittering shimmer were too stunning for you to ignore. So, the poor woman had to return home empty-handed that night.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” A mocking chortle exhales from the man's chapped lips. 

“Poor bastard.” Another man chuckles.

The two clearly find the prospect of you marrying to be hilarious. You don’t have it in you to tell them the truth, knowing they’ll surely find a way to twist your words to fuel their amusement. The ring is not even on your ring finger, to begin with. Rather, your index finger. 

You pretend to ignore the sounds of their wheezing laughter and hasten forward, desperate to escape their cruel words.

Unfortunately, these heavy words did not end with random pedestrians in the streets.

The very moment you enter your home, the anger of your father is almost palpable. It is uncomfortable and distressing, but foreseeable. With your track record, there is always something you’ve done to provoke his irritation. And the sight of you soiled with dirt and sweat leads him to wonder why he ever considered having a child in the first place. 

“I… I figured we could give a bouquet to the suitor and his mother as an apology.” You present the flowers to him. “Perhaps not in a ceramic vase, this time.”

You accentuate your idea with a dry attempt at humor, despite knowing how aloof your father is. As expected, his expression remains stern. You can’t recall a time you have ever seen him smile, for that matter. 

“Y/N…” He buries his face into his hands. “We’ve spoken about this…” 

Ah, yes, how could you have forgotten? 

Another lecture of millions instilled into your brain about how suitors only like someone who spends their time with meaningful tasks. These tasks include slaving the hours away cooking and cleaning, as well as raising enough children to fill a wagon. The mere thought of being prisoner to such responsibilities sends a wet shiver through your blood.

“Well…” You scoff. “You act as though any suitors still remain in town. What do you wish for me to do? Swim after their ship and grovel at their-?” 

His fist slams into the surface of the table. The force causes you to flinch; you would not be surprised if a hole was forged from the impact. His ugly face twists into a scowl as he points an accusatory finger at you — another sight you know all too well. 

“They have all left with no hope of marriage! Even with our offers of dowry, no man nor woman would ever want to waste a second more with you!” 

He speaks nothing of the truth, but still, it pierces sharp. 

“Day after day, your mother and I work tirelessly to ensure your future and you do nothing to express any gratitude!”

Speaking of the devil, your mother then enters the premises, startled from the sudden noise of her husband's anger. And like clockwork, her expression descends into one of disappointment at the sight of you. 

“Dear Lord, what have you gotten yourself into now?” She stomps over and begins fussing over the stains of dirt and grass smeared into your clothes. “You are surely something arcane, child.” 

You attempt to explain your intentions, but any hope of obtaining their approval falls on deaf ears. You should have known from the start they would not roll over so easily. Still, you keep crawling back to sit at their feet. Like a beaten dog desperate for a loving hand. 

Your mother proceeds to force you through another tangent about the horrid state of your appearance. How your poor diet is clearly showing through your choice of clothing, how the sun will ruin your already hideous skin — another lecture of millions detailing everything you are doing wrong in your life.

“Beauty is not eternal, Y/N. You do not have much time before your attitude begins reflecting in your appearance.”

Her words may sting had that not been the plan in the first place. 

What your parents fail to realize is that you are intending on allowing your “beauty” to decline. In the end, you’ll just be another atrocious, old bat who will never hear about the prospect of marriage again. Therefore, your parents will have no option but to support your dreams of music. Maybe then, they’ll finally learn to love you as you are. 

“We cannot survive another season without marriage.” You hear your father mutter as he turns to face your mother. “Will you inform them or shall I?” 

Your attention is now fully piqued, expressed through the furrowed brows and curious pout plastered on your face. Something that will provoke wrinkles, your mother always remarks.

Brutally, they enlighten you on how they intend on fixing your rebellious attitude. 

In the dawn of the following week, you’ll board a ship with other troubled youth and sail across the sea. When you arrive on uncharted lands, you’ll be handed over to a man old enough to be your grandfather. Here, he will “train” you into becoming a better spouse for future suitors. Once you prove yourself to him, only then may you come back home. Set to be married the very second you return.

Nausea stirs in your stomach as the weight of the situation settles at your feet. You’ve been receded to that of an object; a ticket to obtain the fortune your parents so desperately crave.

“Is that truly your intention? Sell me off like livestock while you both lay here comfortably!?” 

“I assure you, my child, this is for your own good-!” 

With forced sympathy, your mother attempts to console you. You tear her cold, neglectful hands from your shoulder and glare at your parents, glossy eyes overwhelmed with anger. They do not respond further; they have said all they have needed to say. 

Like a fussy toddler, you slam your basket onto the cement. The wicker weavings are now awkward and awry. With another scolding bridging on their tongues, you then stomp out of the house and slam the door in your departure.

The calluses in your feet pulse with every loose twig and pine cone you step upon. You neglect the unforgiving city and devote your journey to the forest, traveling as far as your body can take you. Past the spreading moss, the sky-high pines, the simmering fog; farther than you have ever ventured before. Anything to escape what remains at home. Why on earth would you want to return, anyway? To receive yet another lecture about your maturity? To inevitably be handed off to a stranger like chopped liver? 

You’d rather starve beneath a canopy of branches before you ever board that damned ship.

Time passes unbeknownst to you as you explore further. When the sun begins its descent into the sky, only then do you realize how far you have traveled. At this point, you have become lost in the maze of trees. Finding your way out is a fool’s errand now, but in this moment, you almost find that as a blessing.

Fortunately for you and your weak self, you find a river stream and can practically feel your legs sigh with relief. The frigid temperatures are almost equivalent to that of a warm blanket, soothing your muscles of the incessant labor you’ve forced upon them. The water swooshes and sways against your feet, following the drifting stream.

When you spot a foreign cave nestled beneath the hill’s ledge, overwhelmed with ivy and greenery, your curiosity is snatched like a feeble mouse in the claws of a hawk. The entrance is illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, almost as though the universe wished for you to stumble upon this sight. The rest of the area is drowned in a vast darkness. Something inside of you wants to explore further, despite the dangers you are positive lurk within.

To test the waters, you grasp a loose stone and toss it into the dark depths. You expect a gentle thud to help you judge the distance inside. Instead, the wall within crumbles from your intrusion and the avalanche sends a surge of rocks and dirt your way. 

Before you can question where you’ve obtained this sudden strength, an odd light sprouts from the darkness. The light is opalescent and dances in hues of violet and blue, almost swaying through the air like oil spilled into clear water. A tender frequency churns when the thundering destruction dies down. The sound shivers, but maintains an almost heavenly disposition. 

Sparkling in the corner of your eye, your gaze shifts down to your feet. There, you find that same light appearing like an ink splotch beneath where you stand. It increases in brightness, before fading away like a snuffed candle. Then, the light glistens again a few inches ahead of you, before dying out the same way. This process continues onwards, pressing footsteps into the jagged stone and leading to the destruction you caused. 

It’s as though something was beckoning you to step forward, yanking the strings of your curiosity like a child with a toy.

Now rendered silent (and any lasting rage eased), you tread further into the cave and follow the scintillating light. Peering a suspicious eye around the corner, you find the very last thing you expected. 

A crater had been carved out by some form of impact. Surrounding the crater are glimmering crystals, now jutting out of the cave walls. In the middle is a hunk of rock, blistering in even more intensive hues of blue and purple. It pulsates, as though it were alive — its heart hammering just like yours. 

For a reason you cannot explain, every cell in your body is alive with a strange, fiery exhilaration. The bliss encompasses your head, before spreading down to your toes, threading with every vein you possess. There is an underlying fear tickling the goosebumps across your skin, but the euphoria perceives it as delicious adrenaline. 

Simultaneously, your entire body is oddly tranquil. Like you’ve been submerged in thick honey, blanketing your muscles in complacent ease. 

It is an intoxicating oxymoron. So much so, you find yourself stepping closer to the ethereal boulder. When you are a mere feather touch away, your vision swims with delirium. It sways side to side in a sea of nauseous excitement.

Lifting a finger, you creep your hand closer to the boulder. A mere nudge of your fingertip against the rock and a blinding light floods the cave. 

The magical, colorful aura is snatched away when a sudden force bludgeons through the expanse. Without a mere second to spare, you no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. Your body is thrust against the cave wall. Rock matter plunges straight into your skull.

And just like the closing curtains you’ve always dreamt of being behind, everything cuts to black. You’re now lost in a dark void. No thundering applause or flower bouquets to welcome you.

When you gain consciousness, you are overwhelmed with suffocating darkness. 

Chunks of dirt flood your mouth, your eyes, your throat, and ensnare around your entire body. You struggle to no avail, with all of your limbs restrained beneath the weight forcing you down. Your heart thrashes like the bashing of a war drum. Oxygen abandons you and leaves your lungs burning with need. 

The fear enveloping your bones intensifies with its bitter touch. It intensifies and hastens until your body cannot withstand the force of it all. 

Another explosion pervades with a thundering force. Only this time, you are not met with harm. Instead, a light invades your vision.

Adjusting to the harsh intrusion of sunlight, you soon catch the sight of that familiar blue and violet light. They scatter in flickering specks through the air, like curious fireflies drifting through the Summer wind. As your eyes adjust to the new environment, you find yourself buried in a grave, of some sort. 

Climbing your weak body out of the hole, your brain is infested with mountains of questions. Was that just a dream? How did that even happen? How did you end up here of all places? 

Are you dead? 

And, of course, that unhealed part of you wonders where your mother and father are and why you cannot cling to their comfort. 

“Mama…” You whimper, not recognizing the voice crawling from your throat. 

You feel like a fresh fawn on legs when you bring your weight to your wobbly knees. Stumbling through the newfoundland, it does not take long before your body fails you and you collapse at the edge of a river. Your attempts at catching your breath are halted to a stunned silence when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the water. 

The person you stare upon has been replaced by something different. Splotches of saturated colors splatter your skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Most of which are the same purple and blue that have made a stark appearance time and time again. Your pupils, swimming in those same blistering-bright hues, have enlarged drastically. Your teeth are now crooked and bent as they jut in violent directions inside your mouth.

Trailing your gaze further, you find chunks of flesh missing from your body, which have now healed over rugged, rough, and raw. In the sun, incomprehensible gibberish glitters across your exposed flesh. Almost like some form of ancient rune. Sparkling when a certain patch of light hits it right. 

Something undead — that is your conclusion. You have died and been revived as a monster, that must be what has occurred. You peer over your shoulder to the grave you were buried in to confirm this suspicion. As you do so, something captures your attention.

In the sand, a footprint stands out to you as explicitly familiar. You’d recognize the pattern of that shoe anywhere after the multiple occasions you spent sweeping the debris in your home.

Your father was here. Likely your mother, too. 

The city must have heard the explosion from miles away, crowding to the source to identify the cause. In the debris, your parents had found you. Dead. In a sloppy attempt at concealing the truth of your disappearance, they had dug an impromptu grave and tossed the lifeless body of their only child within. No gravestone, no flowers, no proper burial. Absolutely nothing. 

All for your name to be forgotten about and to never see the light of day again.

You cannot piece together where exactly everything went wrong, what heinous actions you pulled in the past to deserve such cruelty. For all the years of your fleeting life, you’ve been balancing on the tightrope of perfection. Every inch of you has been scrutinized like a passionate scientist. No matter what step you took, you were always too much in one area, while not enough in another.

Now, you are overwhelmed with the revelation that it was all for nothing. 

It never earned you a spouse, it never earned you the status of a harp player, and most imperatively, it never earned you the love of your parents.

Betrayal squeezes the weight in your chest, snagging out rib-burning cries from your body. Globs of snot and tears embellish your deformed face. Standing to your feet, you can almost swear you heard a… Harp? The melodies swarm around you, like a lulling cloud of tranquility. 

In your attempts to step forward and locate the source of the sound, the sudden sound of squelching twists beneath your feet. 

When you glance to the ground, you find a flower blossoming just behind your ankle. It glistens with glitter, woven around the blue stems and fading into purple petals. When you take another step, the same occurrence happens. Another flower, just the same as the other, blossoms at the edge of your foot.

Your rendition of horticulture is weak, but you have never seen a flower quite like that before. Even when the richest suitors presented their collection of bouquets from all around the world, not a single flower shared a speck of familiarity with this new discovery. 

The sounds of harp still hold your attention, but despite your efforts to locate the music, all you find surrounding you are fields of nature, accompanied by these strange flowers you’ve somehow conjured out of the dry soil. It was almost like the sounds of harp were reverberating from you; as though the strings resided in your chest.

Step after step, flowers continue to blossom and harp strings echo in celestial tunes. You do not know where you intend to go, but you now know that all you have centered your life around has proven to be immaterial.

The only thing you have now is yourself. 

You dare to think that is all you need to survive.

To this day, this revelation proves to be correct. It manifests into everyday life where you have remained on the grounds of the Shimura Empire. 

Thousands of years have now passed. The powers that cave had gifted you have now been utilized to your greatest ability. Your parents are long dead, your suitors found better spouses to continue their bloodline, and your precious harp is now a mere gust of wind. You’ve watched civilizations crumble and rebuild themselves to fruition, all while you maintain the same powerful, immortal body. 

Who would have guessed that an “eccentric” personality like yours would lead you to where you are today?

Another year of thousands has reached its middle point. 2021 has begun like any other, but has suffered an abrupt shift when a few citizens tread a bit too close for your liking. It is merely a fragment of power they find. “Hextech,” they call it. With enough intricate studies and prosperous experiments, however, you fear it is only a matter of time before these scientists yank you from the comfortable shadows.

When hearsay bleeds through Runeterra of your powers being capitalized for violence, you know you have no choice but to stop them.

No matter what it takes.

        ⁺  🎧 ,  🪷  you are currently listening to . . .  ⁺  🪺  , 🎵  ꪆ

❝  THE RAYS OF THE SUN

APPROACH AND ALL IS REBORN . . .  ❞

gif creds.

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[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[dokidokitsuna]

The Diary of Penny Polendina

The other day I was inspired to try working on a different NeverFell Projects installment, one that would probably be a lot shorter and quicker to write, because it's not like I care that deeply about Penny, right??

Well, I was incredibly wrong. ^^; So wrong that I'm actually having trouble with this story now...essentially, Penny goes through a bit of a 'rebellious phase' (gross oversimplification, but that's all you get for now) and there are, surprisingly, a lot of aspects of that character arc that I want to explore. Plus, a pivotal connection with Pyrrha, the climax of which I haven't quite figured out yet...

God only knows if I'll be able to finish, or if I'll just write the first 2/3rds of the story and leave it at that. But I figured I might as well warm up by talking about the designs. ^^

Penny's new look is basically 'Disney's Pinocchio, color picked from Arthur Watts' character design'~

I didn't necessarily want her to look evil, just...bolder. Like she specifically picked 'daring' items that maybe her father or Ironwood's PR team would rather she didn't wear, at least not compared to the more innocent frilly pastels she had on before. Between the chest window, midriff, and short sleeves, she's actually showing a lot more skin than before, despite still being 90% covered up. ^^;

Those multicolored wrist accessories are prototype weapons invented by Dr. Watts, that mix and pressurize Dust from the cartridges to cast "artificial magic". This way I get to do a bit of the 'Winter Maiden Penny' stuff in this Vol. 3-locked AU~

Penny's magic usage is one of the things that stumped me when writing this story...In NeverFell, magic isn't just glowy rainbow lasers or weather powers-- it essentially allows the user access to any conceivable semblance at any time; its potential is limitless. Being a beginner, Penny would probably just come up with one signature 'spell' to use in tandem with her Floating Array...but I can't decide what I want her to do. ^^; I think I'd like for her to do something connected to dance, because I feel like that's something unique to her, the way she dances with her weapons before striking. Nobody ever points out how the "robot" in the cast is the one who chooses to spend energy on unnecessary movements that aren't even used to maneuver around an enemy; they're just cute and fun. ^^ I think that's a great encapsulation of who Penny is~

Redesigning Pyrrha is always super difficult, because her original design is so perfect. But I like this end result a LOT. ^^ I may need to adjust the pant legs a bit, but overall it feels like a very believable alt outfit that keeps the spirit of the character.

Pyrrha is another one of the stumbling blocks in this story, because I'm now forced to create at least one malleable personality trait for her-- i.e. one that isn't intrinsically tied to Jaune and/or the plot. Something that she could actually take into a meaningful relationship with a different character... I had the idea to expand her "I'm sorry!" gag into a real guilt complex, where she has trouble letting go of instances where she's made mistakes or hurt someone. In this case, dismembering Penny 1.0 and essentially ending her life. :T She seeks out 2.0 in a desperate effort to make things right, and ends up helping her with ...things, and growing as people or whatever, and all that other stuff I have yet to write. ^^;

I just realized that Pyrrha could use her polarity semblance to pull Penny towards her in a situation where they need to reach each other...that's so cute. ^^ I gotta remember that~

[bisclavret]

there's a palpable missing link in gwen's characterization that the show has almost hinted at but never explored in a satisfactory way and after hours of riffing with @morganadismay i think it might be summarized with just. ambition? on a show as juvenile in its moral politics as bbc merlin ambition might be seen as a hunger for something and therefore a sinful bad thing so gwen just seemed to kind of seamlessly and elegantly rise to power, but honestly when you attribute a sense of ambition to her, the entire character that is guinevere clicks into place:

she has the most solid moral compass out of everyone in that castle - and she knows it. by her late teens she is already lady morgana's servant (morgana who, at this point, is the progressive and rebellious "adoptive" daughter of the king - perhaps someone to stay close to if you want to see reform?) and she flocks to merlin the second she sees him stand up to the prince. then, as soon as she realizes prince arthur actually listens to what she has to say and that it has an effect on his actions (makes him more progressive, open-minded, and class conscious) she subtly moves her interest from merlin and morgana onto him.

((affection is a propelling part of all these decisions, of course, anyone that's seen how gwen treats people doesn't doubt that it's with genuine love and kindness and care for their well-being. i'm just trying to argue that there's more to her than that, or rather that it's precisely this love that is driving her ambition as well:))

the show is written in such a way that only one person per episode can have a braincell so gwen's cleverness is often cast to the wayside so another character can have a go at using their brain, but we can all agree she is overall the smartest character out of the core four. and when you're as smart and full of love and worry as gwen is, it's intolerable to acutely feel the kingdom's injustices and do nothing about them. people often talk about how gwen is impossible to upset or make angry because she is just that empathetic and understanding and can easily put herself in people's shoes. these are definitely elements of gwen's personality, but i don't care how empathetic you are, when someone kills your dad - a sweet, innocent man - in the name of tyrannical ethnic cleansing of people with magic, you do not, you cannot brush it away. especially if you are as clever and empathetic as we know gwen to be.

and yet that's what she seems to do. in one of the most tone-deaf and frustrating and nonsensical conversations in the entire show, she tells merlin she would not kill uther, the mad tyrant king that just killed her fucking dad and is killing so many people on a daily basis, because then she would be just as bad as him. and i do think she believes this. because that's how she was written. however, there were other ways for her to show her displeasure with the royal family after they killed her literal dad. and she chose none. instead, she stayed close and hardly ever acknowledged her huge, enormous loss (elyan had been away for years and she had no mother to speak of - they killed her only family).

because she's strong? sure. but have you lost a loving parent? strength has nothing to do with what that sort of grief does to you. and i think it is precisely through that grief that gwen makes her choice to stick around and see this relationship with the royal family through as far as it can go. she lets her anger solidify into determination - determination to turn arthur into a better version of his father so these injustices have a chance at stopping once he's king.

she lets go of lancelot. she becomes more feminine, her hair longer and her corsets tighter every time we see her. she tolerates arthur's indecisiveness and brashness and morgana's increasing outbursts of cruelty. she never fully seems to expect to become queen, always quick to offer to let go of arthur for The Greater Good (merlin could take a page from her book), but that's precisely what makes her ambition a good trait. it's steadfast, it's logical, and the end goal isn't power for the sake of power. it's a slow, borderline sisyphean climb up the social ladder until she has stable enough footing to enact the reform that her contemporaries were too undiplomatic to achieve.

TL;DR you cannot get where gwen gets by the end of the show through true love or luck or a series of accidents. it would be a disservice to gwen's character to ignore the hints of calculating ambition in her actions and to pretend the compromises she had to make to get where she ends up were easy. what's amazing about her is that she is the sort of lovely, warm woman whose kindness could get taken advantage of until there is nothing left, but instead she turned her love and wisdom into an asset that helped her, essentially, win the game of thrones. i just wish the writers had let this side of her shine through.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary - The high you get from drugs is nothing compared to the high you get from Eddie Munson.

Warnings - 18+ Only. Drug use. Explicit Sexual Content. Intense Sensory Experiences. Consensual Intimacy Under Influence. MDNI.

Word Count - 3246

The flickering neon lights of Eddie’s makeshift sanctuary in the trailer park cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the room, blending seamlessly with the thin, curling wisps of smoke emanating from the joint loosely held between his fingers. The air was thick with the scent of marijuana, creating a hazy veil that softened the edges of reality. 

The room itself was a dimly lit haven, a cocoon of muted hues and muffled sounds that provided a perfect escape from the relentless, harsh realities of Hawkins. On the walls, vibrant posters of iconic metal bands like Metallica, Iron Maiden, and Judas Priest proudly displayed their rebellious spirit, their edges curling slightly from the humidity and time. Each poster told a story of defiance, passion, and a love for music that transcended the mundane.

Scattered across the room, an eclectic mix of knick-knacks cluttered the shelves, each item seemingly random yet holding a personal significance to Eddie. A worn-out Dungeons & Dragons manual lay open on the table, its pages marked with notes and sketches from countless campaigns. A collection of vintage vinyl records stacked haphazardly in one corner, their covers worn but their contents treasured, added to the room's nostalgic charm.

The centrepiece of Eddie's sanctuary was an old, beat-up leather couch, its cushions sunken in from years of use but still providing a comforting embrace. A faded tapestry hung behind it, depicting a fantastical scene of dragons and wizards, adding to the room's chaotic yet magical ambiance. String lights, intertwined with the neon signs, draped across the ceiling, casting a gentle, almost dreamlike glow over the space.

This sanctuary, though chaotic in appearance, was a testament to Eddie's spirit—a blend of rebellion, creativity, and a longing for something beyond the mundane. Here, amidst the haze and the flickering lights, he could lose himself in his thoughts, music, and dreams, finding solace in the chaos he had come to call home.

"Here," Eddie said, passing the joint to you with a devilish grin, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and challenge. The neon lights cast a shifting glow across his face, accentuating the wild, untamed mane of hair that framed his features. He looked every bit the troublemaker everyone warned you about, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him—a whirlwind of rebellious energy that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze locking onto his. Those mischievous eyes seemed to see right through you, past the façade you wore for the world. Eddie Munson was trouble, that much was clear, but tonight, trouble felt like exactly what you needed. The weight of reality had been pressing down on you, and the promise of escape, even if just for a few hours, was too tempting to resist.

"Why not," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you took the joint from his hand. The moment it touched your lips, you felt a rush of anticipation. Inhaling deeply, the smoke filled your lungs, spreading a warmth through your chest that was both foreign and exhilarating. You exhaled slowly, watching the wisps of smoke curl and dance in the air before dissipating.

The sensation was immediate, a buzzing in your head that made the world around you soften and blur. The sharp edges of reality dulled, replaced by a comforting haze that seemed to wrap you in a gentle embrace. You sank deeper into the worn-out couch, the fabric rough and frayed under your fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness enveloping your mind.

Eddie chuckled, the sound rich and comforting in the otherwise silent night. It was a laugh that spoke of shared secrets and unspoken understanding. "See? Not so bad, right?" he said, his voice tinged with a playful yet reassuring tone.

"Yeah," you agreed, the words slipping out slower and more languid than you intended. Your mind felt as though it was floating, untethered and free. "Not so bad."

Eddie leaned back, his own head resting against the couch, eyes half-closed in contentment. The room was a symphony of muted colours and sounds, a perfect backdrop for this moment of shared escape. The flickering neon lights continued their dance, casting shifting shadows that seemed to move in time with the music softly playing from an old cassette player in the corner.

Minutes, or maybe hours—time seemed to lose its grip—passed in a blissful blur. The haze of smoke and the gentle hum of a barely audible heavy metal track playing in the background created an ethereal atmosphere, where reality and fantasy intermingled seamlessly, the sense of euphoria lingered, wrapping itself around the two of you like a comforting blanket.

But soon, the effects of the weed hit you harder than you had anticipated. What had started as a gentle buzz of euphoria quickly morphed into an overwhelming sensation that gripped you with surprising intensity. The room, once a comforting cocoon of dim colours and soft sounds, began to distort and spin, as if the very walls were closing in on you.

The neon lights, previously a source of ambient charm, now seemed to take on a life of their own. They pulsed rhythmically, synchronising with the frantic beat of your heart. Each flash of colour felt like a jolt to your senses, amplifying the dizziness that was steadily washing over you. You couldn't latch onto a single coherent idea, each one slipping through your mental grasp like sand through fingers. The warmth that had spread through your chest turned into a heavy weight, pressing down and making it difficult to breathe.

"Eddie," you whispered, your voice trembling and tinged with panic. "I don't feel so good."

Without a moment's hesitation, Eddie was at your side, his carefree demeanour evaporating and replaced by genuine concern. His mischievous grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and earnest eyes. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said softly, his voice a soothing contrast to the cacophony in your head. "Just breathe."

His presence was grounding, a lifeline in the midst of your spiralling thoughts. Eddie gently placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to lie down on the couch. His touch was reassuring, each movement deliberate and careful, as if he were handling something fragile. You focused on the rough calluses on his fingers, a testament to countless hours spent mastering the guitar. The familiarity of it offered a small but significant anchor.

"You're gonna be fine," Eddie assured, his voice steady and calm. "Just close your eyes and breathe with me, okay?"

You did as he said, focusing on the rhythm of his breath. Slowly, the panic subsided, replaced by a comforting warmth that spread from where his hand rested on your arm. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest next to you, grounding you in the moment.

"Thank you," you mumbled, your voice still shaky but filled with genuine gratitude. A warm wave of thankfulness washed over you, momentarily easing the remnants of your discomfort. "You're really sweet, you know that?"

Eddie chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air, making it feel a bit lighter. His eyes, warm and sincere, locked with yours, creating a moment of unspoken understanding. "Don't let that get around," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have a reputation to maintain."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken words. Your mind, still hazy, drifted to thoughts of Eddie—the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way he always seemed to know how to make you feel better. You noticed the small scar above his eyebrow, a remnant of a long-forgotten skateboard accident, and the way his smile lines deepened when he was genuinely happy.

Before you knew it, you were leaning in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. Eddie froze for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes before he responded, his kiss gentle and slow. His lips were soft, a stark contrast to the rough exterior he often displayed.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice husky as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, mingling with the lingering scent of smoke.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes. I've never been more sure of anything."

With that, the last of the barriers between you crumbled. He took your hand and ledEddie's kisses became more insistent, his hands roving over your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness. 

He guided you to his bed, the sheets rumpled and smelling faintly of his cologne. As you lay back, Eddie's fingers traced intricate, delicate patterns on your skin, each touch sending electrifying shivers down your spine. His hands moved with a slow, deliberate grace, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory. His touch felt electrifying, each caress sending waves of exaggerated pleasure through your heightened senses.

He took his time, his fingertips brushing gently along your arms, then down to your sides, and finally across your back. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each moment lingering as if you were moving in slow motion. The reverence in his touch was palpable, each caress imbued with a depth of feeling that words could scarcely capture. It was as though he was discovering you anew, with an unspoken vow to cherish every moment, every sensation.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and awe. The words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. His breath was warm against your ear, sending another wave of shivers cascading through you. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His admission was like a key turning in a lock, opening a door to a shared vulnerability that neither of you had dared to breach before. You felt a rush of warmth, a mixture of relief and joy that settled in your chest.

“Me too,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of your own emotions. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly strands. The sensation of his hair slipping through your fingers was a tangible connection that anchored you in the moment. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Though the drugs had you floating, it was Eddie who truly had you soaring. You lay beneath him on his bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he clasped your hands above your head. His kisses were tender, his lips trailing down your body and brushing against your skin as he eagerly cast your clothes aside. Your body responded instinctively, arching into his touch, begging for more. You found yourself hyper-focused on the small details, like the texture of his skin the way his breath felt against your neck.

You could hardly think straight, the world around you a blur of colours and sensations. But Eddie, oh Eddie, he was the one clear thing in your mind. Your breath hitched as his lips worked their magic, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your fingers intertwined with his, holding on like he was your lifeline. "Eddie..." you whispered, voice trembling with need. Every touch, every kiss, sent shivers down your spine, making your body respond to him instinctively. 

Eddie's eyes met yours, a mix of desire and tenderness reflecting in them. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice a husky promise against your skin. His kisses grew more urgent, yet still so gentle, as if he was savouring every moment, every inch of you. Your breaths came quicker, your body aching for his touch, for the connection that seemed to electrify the air between you.

You felt his hands slide down your sides, taking their time, memorising every curve. The intensity of his gaze made you feel seen, wanted, in a way you had never felt before. Eddie’s hands moved with a careful, deliberate tenderness as he began to remove your clothes. His fingers traced the outline of your collarbone before gently slipping under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it over your head. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of desire and deep affection, as he continued to undress you, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal the vulnerability and trust that existed between you.

With practised ease, Eddie then began to remove his own clothes, his eyes locked onto yours, never breaking the connection. He peeled away his shirt, revealing the contours of his chest, and kicked off his jeans with a casual flick. In those brief moments, the space between you seemed to buzz with anticipation of what was to come.

"Eddie, please..." you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the world narrowed down to just the two of you. He paused, just for a moment, to look into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of love and raw need. "I need you," you confessed, feeling vulnerable but safe under his gaze.

Eddie's smile was soft, yet filled with a promise. "I'm right here," he reassured, his lips capturing yours once more, sealing the promise with a kiss that left you breathless. His body moved against yours, the world outside disappearing as you surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

Eddie's skin pressed against yours as he positioned himself, his tip teasing your entrance. He took the joint from his bedside table and rested it between his lips, taking a long drag before he took it from his mouth and offered it to you, which you accepted eagerly. After you took a drag, he placed the joint in the ashtray beside his bed and let his body sink down on top of yours.

As Eddie's weight settled back on top of you, you exhaled, the smoke curling around his face. Your eyes locked, the connection between you deepening, unspoken words and promises passing in the silence. "Eddie," you whispered, your voice breathless but certain, your heart pounding in sync with his.

A smirk played on his lips, his eyes dark with desire as he positioned himself once more, his tip teasing your entrance, heightening the anticipation. "You’re mine," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His hands found yours again, fingers intertwining around yours as he pinned your hands above your head.

Eddie's eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust, his breath hitching as he felt you envelop him. The initial sensation was a mix of tenderness and intensity, your bodies adjusting to one another in a perfect, intimate dance.

Each subsequent thrust was measured and deep, a rhythm that spoke of both passion and control. Eddie's movements were fluid yet powerful, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His hips rolled with a practised grace, driving deeper and harder with every motion.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this shared moment of ecstasy. Your breaths synchronised, mingling in the air between you, each thrust drawing a soft moan from your lips. Eddie's pace quickened, the intensity building as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your voice a mix of plea and gratitude, every touch, one that transcended the physical and touched the very core of your being.

As the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, your body trembled beneath Eddie's, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. His hands tightened around yours with possessive urgency, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the connection between you deepening with every movement.

"Eddie,I’m gonna…" you gasped, your voice filled with desperate need. He responded with a deep, primal groan, his pace quickening ever so slightly, the intensity of the moment swelling around you. You could feel the tension coiling within you, ready to snap, and you knew he was right there with you.

Eddie's rhythm became more urgent, his thrusts faster and deeper, driving you both towards an inevitable, explosive release. The air between you crackled with electricity, every nerve in your body attuned to the mounting pleasure. His breaths came in ragged gasps, mingling with your own, the sounds of your shared ecstasy filling the room.

Your body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over you, every muscle tightening and then releasing in an overwhelming rush. Eddie continued to move, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm, his own release following closely behind. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he found his own peak, a guttural groan escaping his lips.

For a few moments, the world was a blur of sensation, the two of you lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure. Slowly, as your breathing steadied and your heart began to calm, Eddie loosened his grip on your hands, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You okay?" he asked, his voice tender and full of concern. You nodded, a contented smile spreading across your face.

"More than okay," you replied, your voice a soft murmur. Eddie's smile widened, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Good," he said, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet room. He settled beside you, pulling you into his arms, the warmth and comfort of his embrace a perfect end to the intensity of your shared moment. 

As the moments slipped by, you found yourselves wrapped in each other, the intensity of your earlier passion giving way to a serene, comforting intimacy. Eddie's fingers lazily trailed through your hair, his touch soothing and familiar.

"I'm really glad you're here," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. "I mean, I’m always glad when you’re here, but tonight... It feels different. Better."

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. "It does," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Eddie's lips brushed against your forehead in a tender kiss, his breath warm against your skin. "I guess we both needed a little push," he said with a chuckle, reaching across her to grab the discarded, half smoked joint from the ash tray beside his bed. He rested it between his lips, sparking it to life with a steady inhale.

You shifted closer to him, your head resting on his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, a comforting reminder of the connection you shared. "I always feel safe with you, Eddie," you admitted, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest. "Even when everything else feels out of control."

Eddie's arms tightened around you, his grip possessive yet gentle. "You're safe with me," he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. "Always."

The room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the first light of morning filtering through the curtains. The gentle illumination revealed the familiar outlines of Eddie's room—the cluttered desk strewn with scattered notebooks and D&D figurines, the posters of Iron Maiden and Metallica that adorned the walls, and the guitar propped up in the corner. Each detail was a vivid reflection of Eddie himself: chaotic, passionate, and full of life.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #9: OBJECT OF AFFECTION

(also on spotify!)

O, wayward soul, I beg of thee an ear; Companionship, a Constant of desire, is all too fleeting. Would thee quell this fire? My love, do you know what you want to hear?

Welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Yesterday was some gay shit (Liaison) and today is some more gay shit (Object of Affection)

---

I'm usually pretty good about letting go of the things I make and letting them live imperfectly, but there is exactly one released song of mine that I've ever been actively unhappy with the final product of, that I haven't been able to let go of my displeasure with.

Honor Majesty, off of Autumn Every Day.

It's not that it's a bad song, or that it didn't have good ideas! In fact, I genuinely think it shares more with the music I make now than a lot of my older work does. Rather, it was incredibly rushed and full of uninspired choices I made for the sake of completing the song rather than making it the best version of itself, and it ultimately ended up falling incredibly flat relative to what I wanted it to be!

I really like the intersection of synthpop/electropop and fantasy. One of my favorite musicians ever is Baths, whose album Romaplasm is chock full of this exact thematic and sonic intersection, and it's so deeply inspiring to me that it still gets put on whenever I want to dream things up. I've always wanted to make things like that! Bubbly and fantastical, brimming with a sense of magic so pervasive it makes even the mundane seem mystic.

...Also I'm just a fantasy dork okay. I like wizards and shit. Sue me

I've been wanting to make a grandiose and fantastical story song for years, and my single attempt to do so felt like it missed the mark entirely. I did touch on fantasy a couple times on Bittersweet, but ultimately, when I started working on this album, I knew exactly what I wanted to take a second crack at.

---

The intended story in question here is fairly vague, but to sum it up as literally as possible:

A rebellious, disobedient, gender-questioning prince has mildly inconvenienced "his" royal lineage one too many times. Their solution is to invoke magicks widely regarded as heretical - what's a fantasy monarchy without some hypocrisy - to seal their "son's" soul within an automaton body, rendering "him" a perfect, subservient doll.

This doll is promptly spirited away under cover of darkness by a mage, and is granted free will once again. She experiences the crushing weight of newfound self-awareness and nearly spirals out of control, before realizing the mage who saved her is the same - a doll. It turns out being a magical-mechanical construct has its perks if you are TRANSGENDER. then they overthrow the monarchy and fuck nasty or whatever idk this is where the story gives way to things like "metaphor"

this is a song about artifice and being transgender

Seriously, though, I know that being an electronic-music-producing transgender lesbian with a thing about dolls or robots or whatever is a major endless-store-shelves-of-identical-buzz-lightyear-action-figures moment on my part, but dammit, I own a copy of Logic Pro and a genuine leather wizard hat, I inject estrogen into my stomach fat every Wednesday, and I think ball joints are cute. I'm posting this on Tumblr, for gods sake, I am unconcerned as an active choice

---

With the exception of Liaison, the entirety of Constant Companions utilizes only three unique vocal synth characters - ANRI, Gumi, and Teto. This trifecta was born organically from simply being the vocal synths I enjoy using the most, and in this song, I wanted to use all three of them almost like one single singer, freely shifting intonation based on the context. I messed with this idea before on Ballroom, my voice meshing and melting into Gumi V3's voice, but it felt especially appropriate for this context; Plus, I feel like there aren't a lot of examples of vocal synths being used/recontextualized in this way, and that's a shame in my opinion!!

I really want to do more story-driven songwriting like this in the future as well. Now that I'm a bonafide VocaloP I've been floating the idea of doing a song series with this trio... I'm mostly just worried I'll want to get too ambitious with it.

Off the top of my head, Object of Affection references at least eight other songs of mine - Honor Majesty is an obvious one, but it also directly samples parts of Autumn Every Day, and lyrically references genuinely just a bunch of things. I'm probably forgetting some, even!

I know I'm the Leitmotif Lover, but it's a lot even by my standards. However, this song's entire existence already served to satisfy a fairly self-indulgent desire, and these days, I don't deal in half measures. I think the final product serves as a lovely little look back at where I've come from, though, and perhaps even a little glimpse into the future!

That all being said, Object of Affection in some sense is also a love letter to a beloved part of my creative process - the voice memo. A lot of the audio I've provided with these posts have been recordings off my phone for good reason! Not only are the chops at the beginning of the song entirely comprised of edited recordings I got on my phone, but the sample at the very end happens to be from a particularly legendary recording, never before heard by the public...

Until now. I present to you an excerpt from "the worst beat on planet earth", featuring none other than unit.0.

That's about it for today!! If you have any questions, I'll gladly answer them below, but otherwise, I'll be back here tomorrow to talk about this album's title track laid askew - My Darling, My Companion!

[etherealily]

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇪​ // 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘪 𝘷𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader

Warnings : Cuss words.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

'Cross that line for me, sweetheart?'

Desc. : You are not a temptress, but he is tempted.

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

It was curious, to say the least, how land was divided. The conch next to you was half your property and half the Vronsky estate's property. It had remained that way for ages.

The waves lapped up the sand, like a heart reaching desperately for its other half as you sat watching the entire ordeal.

The Line - one drawn up every morning and marked by tiny flags as placeholders - had always pissed you off. Intrigued you. What would happen if you were to... just a finger? The hem of your dress. Would you immediately be shot at by concealed snipers? Perhaps you'd have to be tried in court.

You had never really noticed much about this Vronsky character before. Another handsome, manipulative bastard. Nothing much.

In turn, he'd also never noticed you. A face. One of many. Beautiful, of course, he was not blind, but never seen as worthy of his efforts. You were not rebellious. You were not adorably innocent. He could not entice you. He could not corrupt you.

In theory, your paths were never to cross. Different lives, same circles.

The key word : theory.

Because there are moments in life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again, when you know that your proverbial pathway is forever skewed and rerouted. These may appear to you embossed in calamities such as loss and grief, or these may be whispered in your ear by silent smiles, lovestruck looks across a ballroom, or the simple offer of champagne.

Or, in the case of you and Alexei Vronsky, all of the above.

And this was one of those torturous, life-altering moments.

"-And that's when I said, it was just a bloody goat !"

Booming, drunken laughter ensued from your left - the other side of the Line. Fuck. Keep drawing, shut up, keep drawing, shut up.

Your pencil made unintelligible sounds as it scratched out a somewhat passable depiction of the moonlit waves. The screams and guffaws grew louder, but the issue was that if you moved, he'd assume you did it because you were on his side. You were not, but it would look highly suspicious if you fled.

No. They'd quietened down. Meaning either they left - highly unlikely - or, they'd noticed you.

"Oi!"

Don't respond, don't respond.

"You! Pretty girl!"

Drunk men are terrifying. How could such kind words be said in a way that made your skin crawl?

"Mate, maybe she's a mute. Or deaf. Or both."

"I know for a fact she's not. She's got quite a mouth on her, as I can remember from last year- HEY! LADY WITH THE SKETCHBOOK!"

And that was Alexei Vronsky. His story with the goat had ended, apparently. Ugh.

You turned. "Uh, hello."

"ARE YOU A MUTE?" his companion yelled.

"Are you daft? She just answered! How could she be mute?"

Drunk men are also idiotic.

"WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE, WE'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO DRAW?"

Bellowing laughter followed.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm alright, THANKS!"

"OI, C'MON! WE DON'T BITE!"

From what you'd heard, he does.

"IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT LINE?"

"Good night, Count Vronsky.", you called back, as you gathered up your things and stood, dusting the sand off your dress.

"HOLD ON! WAIT!"

"Let'r go, mate, c'mon, we've got a party to get back to."

"I WAS JUST BEING NEIGHBOURLY, YOU BITCH!"

FUCKING HELL.

"What did you just call me?!", you yelled, turning. He looked back at you in a swaying, inebriated haze, trying to focus those glaciers he called eyes on yours in the darkness.

"A witch. You've cast a spell on me, bewitched me, so to speak. You're magic."

Ugh. "Whatever."

"Just come over here, or I'll have to come there, and you wouldn't like that.", he slurred, his friends chortling and egging him on.

Buggering Christ.

"You can't. See?", you replied defiantly, pointing deliberately at the faint white outline of the line they renewed every morning with chalk powder. "That would be trespassing."

"I'm Alexei Vronsky."

What was that supposed to mean?

"So? It's still trespassing. My family's had it in for you for a long time - we'll take you to court."

"Then you come here.", he shrugged, taking an unstable stumble closer. "Cross that line for me, sweetheart? Yeah?"

"You're a creep. And you're drunk."

"You're a beauty. And you're technically trespassing, so I need to punish you."

"HOW am I-"

"Your pencil." Fuck. How is it he's sober enough to notice that, but not sober enough to know that his buddy said 'the coat storage' not 'the goat story'?

"It blew in the wind."

"Yes. To my estate."

"You can keep it."

"Are you sure? Isn't this your, uh, fabulous pencil from Paris you were talking of?"

"No." Yes.

"No?", he frowned, picking it up. NO! Not in his grimy, disgustingly delicate fingers. "Seems pretty French to me."

"Are you actually inebriated or do you simply enjoy pretending to be so that you can get away with things?"

He stopped swaying, pointing the pencil in your direction as he placed the other hand behind his back. "You're sharp."

"So you're sober?"

Drunk Vronsky could have been molded. Sober Vronsky was a cunt.

"More or less. My friends feel left out because they are unable to hold their liquor as well as I can, so I act for them.", he explained, with a small look behind him, at his comrades trying to jump over the waves as they came.

"You should be in theatre, then."

"Adding performer to my resume is just a smidge too over-accomplished.", he retorted, an amused glint in his eye.

Ugh.

"So you're going to hold on to my pencil, then, I'm guessing."

"What? No, I know how much this means to you."

Trap. You'd bet your entire estate it was a trap.

"I will give it back.", he continued as he paced, his hand still placed behind his back as though he were planning war strategies. "On one condition."

See? Trap.

"Dinner. With me. Tomorrow."

Did he think this was a smart way to secure an evening with a woman?

"I won't be here tomorrow." Bold-faced lie, and he could tell.

"Then tonight. Right now." You couldn't think of anything you were doing.

"And I'll get my pencil back."

"Yes."

"That can't be it. There's a catch."

"You are... remarkable. Yes. There is.", he whispered, softly, as though impressed that you caught on. "Champagne. I wish to see you drunk. Drunk, in denial and... ruined."

Lot of darkness for someone who'd just been talking about a goat.

"In denial?"

"Nothing. Just... join me for dinner and drink a little, and I promise you shall have your pencil back."

"I do not drink."

"Then I do not return fancy French pencils."

"I can always purchase another."

"You do not have sentimentality, then?"

"No." Yes.

"I see. Then you may be on your way."

"I don't have to go anywhere. I have every right to be here! This is still my side of The Line."

"Suit yourself, darling."

The silence that followed was torturous and unbearable. "I do not like steak."

"Then you shall have no steak."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

His eyes focused on you from across the table, his spoon paused midway above his plate. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. Terrifying but alluring.

"Enjoying your not-steak?"

You hid a smile. "Yes, I am."

He nodded, bringing his spoon up to his lips as he watched you do the same.

"You've left your friends out there?"

"They know not to cross The Line. They will be alright."

"Why is it you wanted to have dinner with me? To trap me into trespassing?"

"I've wanted to speak with you since I first saw you." Lie.

"And I you." Lie.

"What was it you wished to say?"

"Simply a greeting. You?"

"The same."

He set down his spoon, scrunching up his napkin as he stood up and walked the short distance across the table to you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. "You promised you'd drink."

"I did?"

"You did.", he whispers, accepting the newly-uncorked bottle the servant handed him, and pouring it into the glass next to your plate, smoothly. "And you're a good girl who keeps promises, yes?"

You'd heard he loved using such degrading language, but this was the first time you'd seen it firsthand.

"What gave you that idea?"

"I just figured you were of proper breeding and were raised right."

Good answer.

"Well, the words 'I promise' never left my mouth."

"Well-bred women do not look for loopholes. And they most certainly do not argue."

Lord knows where he'd worked up the audacity to brush some hair off your shoulder, but perhaps he was born with it imbibed in his blood.

He narrowed his eyes at your unchanging expression. "Drink."

"I am not done with my food."

He breathes out loudly, taking your plate and thrusting it into the hands of the nearest servant. "Yes, you are."

"I still have dessert."

"No, you don't. Drink."

"This is not champagne. You said champagne."

"And you said you'd drink. We both have uttered falsities. Drink."

"I fear you may be trying to-"

"Poison you? I am not. I would not like to see you die."

Was that supposed to be some form of assurance? Romantic? Caring? That did not have the intended effect.

"Drink, lovely."

It irked you how invested he was to see you drunk.

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, bringing it to your lips. Tilting it upwards, you let the liquor cascade down your throat, and echoes of your sputtering filled the room - it burned.

He laughed heartily, shaking his head as he stroked your shoulder from behind you. "Do you know what that was?"

"No. But I do know I will not take another sip."

"It was vodka, my dear, and in a few moments, you will want more. Trust me."

"I'm not taking another sip of that ghastly liquid!"

"Not even for me? Not even if I begged?"

"You think your begging has any effect on me?"

"Doesn't it? I'm known to be quite persuasive, and- besides, aren't you supposed to be the empathetic one in the family?"

"And where did you hear that?"

"Just about everywhere, really.", he huffed, resting his elbow on the table as he knelt down by your side. "'Y/N is the nicest one. She cares the most. Empathetic.' Surely you are not telling me those are lies?"

"Not lies, but exaggerations, perhaps."

"I am quite literally on my knees, Y/N, and you should realize how rare that is. Drink more or I will have to force you."

You frowned at him.

"I will do it. Force you. Don't think that because I have let you in my house so courteously that I will continue to be a gentleman with you."

"How could you be? You're nothing but a cad.", you scoffed, as you took another stingingly painful gulp.

He watched the glass, your tongue, your throat, almost mesmerized as he replied. "A cad?", he questioned softly, amused but still fascinated by your every movement.

"A cad.", you nodded, trying not to show how much you were gasping for breath. It hurt, satisfyingly.

"That's a first. No one has ever said 'oh, Alexei Vronsky, that cad'.", he murmured against his palm as he observed you meticulously.

"Then they have met a different person."

"You say this out of personal experience, do you?"

"I've met him. The Alexei Vronsky. He only thinks of one thing."

A lilt of his lips. "And that is?"

"Himself."

He concealed a grin.

"Or perhaps...", he mused, fingertips on the back of your neck as though he were playing your skin as one would a piano. "He is one who shows different versions of himself to different people."

"So he is deceitful."

"I'd say careful."

"Would you, now?"

"I think we put up far too many false pretences anyway. No point in fighting it - it is necessary, to be part of society."

"And what false pretences am I putting up, in your expert opinion?"

He smiled, one too pure to match the description you had so harshly delivered a moment before, but you knew more than most that it was a ruse. "Drink more."

"You're an incredibly demanding man, aren't you? Dine with me. Drink more. Not a single please, nor thank you.", you retorted, as though that could take away from the fact that you obeyed.

"When you are incredibly in demand, you learn to be incredibly demanding."

If ever a smoother talker existed, you'd wager he'd simply be Alexei Vronsky in disguise.

"So tell me, then. Are you a gentleman, a cad, or an opportunist, Count Vronsky?"

You had to steer the conversation back to him, because whatever this vilely beguiling liquor was, it was shooting through your veins at a rate too fast to risk talking about yourself, lest any family secrets spilled out.

"I am whatever you want me to be. And you? Are the rumours true? Are you a virgin, a temptress, or a genius?"

"I am whatever I want to be. For tonight."

"Come morning?", he murmured against your neck as he slipped a finger under a loose strand of hair, and twirled it with such dedication you would think that were his only purpose in life.

"A memory."

"Well, we can't have that.", he pouted, as he stood up, gently taking the glass away from you and finishing the last of it. "What does it take for a memory to stay in the present?"

"Vronsky-"

"A dance, perhaps, as they say you enjoy?"

If you weren't unsure of the functionality of your motor skills in your drunken haze, you'd have punched him right then and there.

"The rumours aren't true, you know?"

"What rumours?", he asked, feigning obliviousness.

He'd just spoken of them, but you were quite sure if you reminded him, he'd attribute it to the vodka. Tell you you were 'surely imagining things, dear one'.

"The ones that led you to come and have a go at me."

"Those? Oh, I didn't believe them for a second.", he grinned, his eyes examining the filthiest, most remote parts of your soul - ones that even you had never been privy to.

A moment washed over the both of you, tauntingly. You looked for any secrets in his eyes, and he looked for any in yours, albeit, more calmly than you.

"Come.", he mumbled, finally, offering his hand for you to get up out of his disgustingly well-crafted chair. "Let's get you back on your side of The Line."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

"There. Oh, and here. I am of proper manners.", he added after you'd leapt over The Line, handing your pencil back over to you.

It felt oddly anticlimactic after the events of the evening.

His icy blue eyes - striking, so striking that they pierced you - fell onto your lips for just a moment before landing on the pencil in your hand. "You don't want it back."

"What? Of course I do."

He had you. He was onto you.

"Let me rephrase. You don't need it back."

"Sentimentality. Of course I do."

"You really don't want it to stay in my possession, instead?"

"No."

"Liar.", he smirked, his lips curving deliciously, and you just about lost it. "You know I'll take very good care of it, no? Like I took care of you, tonight. No complaints, yes?"

"Besides the aggressive persuasion to drink a fiery liquid that most probably burnt my throat off, no."

"You exaggerate. Tell me tonight was just another of your dull nights. Tell me I haven't been a source of reprieve from your tedious, mundane days of fakeness and gossip."

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with a reply, although you already knew that any response- or lack thereof - would be all too telling.

"You cannot, can you?"

There was nothing you hated more than when men were right.

Especially men who were as captivating as Vronsky. It was unnecessary and dangerous.

He beamed, clearly so fucking proud of himself, as he looked out at the waves. "It is a lovely dress you are wearing."

No, it wasn't. It was the most commonplace of dresses one could wear. But he'd say it anyway. Because that was his play.

"Thank you."

"It is disgusting, though."

"In what way? A disgusting display of my wealth, or disgustingly lovely?"

He knelt down next to you from the other side, on the sand. "It is disgusting that such beauty and purity like yours can exist and people continue to slander its name."

Had you been a lesser woman, you'd have fallen for it.

It seemed, however, that he knew you wouldn't. It was confusing, to say the least, whether he was being genuine or being genuinely fake.

"It is how I live."

If you'd read him right, he should say something along the lines of...

"It shouldn't be."

There.

"However... the dress in itself is not disgusting?"

"No, it is spectacular- although, I must say, the woman wearing it is far more ravishing."

Games get boring when they are predictable.

"So. What is it you normally do after parties, since you cannot get drunk? Unless blackmailing women to dine with you and drink your vodka is your usual pastime."

He snickered, although a slight maliciousness infiltrated his gaze for a moment. "It isn't so much a pastime as... an unfortunately common occurence. Perhaps that's why you've got an opinion of me as a - how'd you put it?"

"A cad."

"Ah, yes, a cad. I wonder if your opinion has changed."

That was not hope in his eyes, no. That was a challenge. 'Go ahead, Y/N, say no. If you dare.', his look said.

"I wonder that, too. Perhaps it will if you keep your promise."

"Promise?", he repeated, raising a brow. He knew. He knew all too well what you were saying.

"False pretences.", you reminded, watching him as he watched the waves distort the light of the moon. "You said you would tell me what false pretences you think I put up."

He was far too close. The incredibly fragile, entirely imaginary Line wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching over and touching your shoulder once more.

"I think... do you want to know what I think?"

"I might."

"I think that you're lying when you brush off the rumours."

"You think I am a slut? A temptress?" Now, suddenly, the monotonous nature of everyday seemed far more interesting than the thousandth iteration of the same conversation.

"No, I think you brushing them off is the lie. They affect you far too much." Alright. That was... progress.

"Do they, now?"

"Very much. And there is one more, as well, although I doubt you will like to hear it. You crave to prove them right."

Congratulations, Alexei Vronsky, you've caught my attention.

"That is an extremely, extremely bold suggestion."

"Yet you are not denying it."

"I do not wish to have my virtue questioned, Vronsky, and us having dinner does not change that."

"But it pokes at it, does it not? A slight scratch, an itch, asking if that is what you really want. It blurred the lines, did it not?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"You're an incredibly delusional man, Count Vronsky."

"A delusional cad."

"Precisely."

You didn't miss the amusement in his tone, the laughter, the way he knew how perfectly right he was.

"Well, this delusional cad did not lie, earlier. You truly have bewitched me, my dear, and I do not think I shall ever turn you down."

He stood up, dusting the sand off his gloves and pants. You stood up too, not out of respect, but out of the desire to relish his face once more.

"Turn me down?"

"When you inevitably ask for me when your marriage is dry, lifeless and torturous."

Good lord. How long had he been- how far ahead was he thinking?

"I will be right here. On this side."

"Why are you so adamant that my marriage will be-"

"Because I'm the one you need. You've broken quite literally every rule tonight. Crossed the line, fraternized with the enemy, drank unfamiliar alcohol that could so easily have been poisoned or used against you."

"How does that make you the one I-"

"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone. Freeing you. What more would one want from a lover?"

So casual with that word. Lover. As though that was all you two had been, since the beginning.

"Have I mentioned that you're-"

"Delusional? Yes, you have. But you have also yet to mean it."

Who the hell allowed this man to be so confident?

His thumb rubbed against your cheek in pure tenderness that you are well-prepared for - you've learnt over the years he's unpredictable, and since his mercurial nature was the only predictable thing about him, it was easy for you to guess his next move.

Or at least, figure out that it would be the exact opposite of the tone of his words.

"I can help you, you see?", he said, words so faint they were almost whisked away in the sea breeze. "Honest."

"Was that the point of tonight?"

"No, the point of tonight was to get you so utterly inebriated that you would tell me your family's secrets, and hence, your own."

That was the only thing that had come out of his mouth all night that you could guarantee was the truth.

"And since that did not happen, you are doing this?"

"No, I couldn't let that happen. Unwrapping you, figuring you out, it is far too intriguing a task to complete with a glass of vodka and enticing words. I want to spend years, decades, the rest of my life, performing this task, revealing you slowly and addictively, until I have lost myself or driven myself crazy trying to reach the core of your soul."

The silence kissed you two over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "You are terrifyingly good at this."

He almost looked like he was about to say 'at what', but it seemed his mood had turned too serious to coax a half-hearted insult out of you.

"And you are terrifying. You are like the eye of a storm, intricately, almost... sinisterly drawing me closer."

"I'm not sure what you want me to-"

His lips devoured your words, and you could not help but think that this night had progressed far too rapidly to your liking. He was a stranger, a random man who you shared nothing but a flimsy little line with, but here you were, letting him kiss you, letting him ruin you, letting him convince you with his words that this was a good idea.

"Come on, darling.", he murmured against your lips, his eyes still half-lidded in a triumphant haze. "Cross the line. I promise, I'll take care of you."

You surrendered, and all you could do was hope that his beauty was simply angelic in nature, and was not designed for the sole purpose of ruining you and every iota of self-respect you had.

Hard to tell, but perhaps he had meant it that way.

[calliesmemes]

YET ANOTHER ROUNDUP OF ASOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM AROUND THE INTERNET, including quotes from Tumblr, Pinterest, TikTok, and X (formerly known as Twitter), for when a muse wants to be a bit silly <333

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ I am not merely a clown; I’m the entire damn circus! ❜

❛ I will bite you if you continue this behavior. ❜

❛ Being a dramatic ass bitch isn’t a personality trait; it’s a lifestyle! ❜

❛ Trauma? Oh … you mean, my lore? ❜

❛ why must I cite sources? is it not enough to just say ‘trust me, bro’? ❜

❛ sorry for being a perfect sweetie and a genius it will likely happen again. ❜

❛ forget about touching grass; I need to touch WATER I NEED TO GO INTO THE OCEAN I NEED TO DIVE INTO THE SEA!!! ❜

❛ I’m attracted to men with muppet energy and no i will not be explaining. ❜

❛ you want me to make friends with people? the thing that killed julius caesar? ❜

❛ what’s your birthstone? mine is rock bottom. ❜

❛ I absolutely hate that I’m not bioluminescent. Pathetic. ❜

❛ ohhhhh my god i have got to stop mourning the past or whatever. ❜

❛ you expect me to act like a normal human being? I’m wearing a turtleneck! ❜

❛ i don’t struggle with same sex attraction I’m actually very good at it. ❜

❛ unfortunately i often find out without even getting the chance to fuck around. ❜

❛ I’m bisexual which means that I’m attracted to anybody who can defeat me in physical combat. ❜

❛ all anyone needs to know about me is that i’m a dumbass and i love women. ❜

❛ sorry but philosophers aren’t impressive i came up with stuff like that when i was 12. ❜

❛ I pay my own bills; I can cuss all I want! ❜

❛ I don’t have rizz; I have sad eyes and a weird presence. ❜

❛ my demons are chasing me and they’re doing the Naruto run. ❜

❛ honey we are ALL doomed by the narrative. it's not that serious. have some fun with it. ❜

❛ dating me is like interviewing a psych ward patient. ❜

❛ being a girl with very large brown eyes comes with great responsibility. ❜

❛ i’m autistic in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine. ❜

❛ being a loser may be a phase to you but its a lifestyle for me. ❜

❛ entering a magical portal in the woods would fix me. ❜

❛ I’m lonely but not in a hot mysterious way; more like in a pathetic way. ❜

❛ life is so unserious just say womp womp and move on! ❜

❛ you’re vibing? In this economy? ❜

❛ just because I’m small doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass. ❜

❛ my primary motivators are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ❜

❛ sorry about the chaos; I needed attention. ❜

❛ WHAT IS UP GIRL you look foreboding and malicious! ❜

❛ baby i can be your problematic bi wife. ❜

❛ i don’t think any of you understand how important i am to the plot. ❜

❛ what if we are both red flags? what then? ❜

❛ any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ❜

❛ my hobbies include being right, being gay, and being a hater. ❜

❛ i have a phd in Loving The Color Pink And Also Glitter. ❜

❛ being a menace to society is a full time job and I am dedicated. ❜

❛ my life has been a bouquet of oopsie daisies. ❜

❛ i survive on spite, anxiety, and blasphemy. ❜

❛ if you’re not obsessed with me, why would I wanna be with you? ❜

❛ the hottest thing a man can be is a little afraid of me. ❜

❛ my love language is being a hater. ❜

❛ i don’t get enough credit for acting far less insane than i actually am. ❜

❛ the A in my name stands for always right. ❜

❛ Jesus is my homeboy but God has a lot to answer for and I will continue to be rebellious until he does so. ❜

❛ I’ll see a man with long hair and then remember that I’m not above temptations of the flesh. ❜

❛ i’m going to be honest with you I’m not going to be honest with you. ❜

❛ stop asking me if I’m ok I’ll literally make out with you. ❜

❛ part of my masculine charm is that I’m literally insane. ❜

❛ are you sure those are demons bro? or are they consequences from the choices you made? ❜

❛ i do not identify as a boy or a girl. i identify as a nuisance, an irritant, a fool, and a problem. ❜

❛ praying on someone’s downfall isn’t enough i need to participate in it. ❜

❛ we all need to chill. i won’t do it first but it’s something i noticed. ❜

❛ not to sound like a Victorian woman suffering from hysteria but going to the sea would fix me. ❜

❛ the silly goose convention called; they asked if you could be their keynote speaker. ❜

❛ i deserve unrestricted access to old castles and old churches i want to know all the secrets. ❜

❛ doesn’t matter if you’re cringe or based we’re all just here to suffer. ❜

❛ I’m no longer comedic relief I’m now serious panic. ❜

❛ this is getting difficult to romanticize. ❜

❛ done healing my inner child. next up is my inner teen. her highness needs a sword. ❜

❛ i am God’s silliest experiment. ❜

❛ i’m very vulnerable right now if anyone wants to take advantage of me. ❜

❛ sorry i overshared do you still think im hot? ❜

❛ I can yap for days and still maintain my air of mystery. ❜

❛ good luck sending me mixed signals; I don’t even understand normal ones. ❜

❛ not all of your life decisions have to be smart. some can be purely for cinematic value. ❜

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Edwin doesn’t think about the Blitz, and the way you could hear the bombs falling, even deep underground in the depths of the Athenaeum. He always harboured a particular dislike for the doodlebugs, and the ponderous tick-tick-tick of them as they made their way to their final destination. The way the ticking would stop, and the moment of silence as the bomb fell, before the explosion.

This feels like that.

He can feel the pull of it, the alien power flooding his body and rooting him to the floor, seeking its target. He looks over at Charles, just like he’s done countless times over the last sixteen years. The moment Charles’ eyes meet his, everything stops.

Charles’ mouth drops open on a gasp, the call of the magic possessing Edwin finding its answer. Edwin can feel it rising up through his feet, through his whole body, like a tidal wave. Somewhere very far away, a trumpet wails. Summertime.

Just before it closes over his head, he says, “Charles—”

Tick-tick-tick-tick. Boom.

When L&H told me they were planning on posting this prequel today I couldn't resist doing a quick drawing for it! Not sure it's my finest work (my waterbrush is going through a rebellious phase) but glad I got it out!

[yuri-is-online]

I imagine Deuce!Yutu is either A. The Ultimate Honor Student with perfect grades and a plsmile that makes old nannies and mothers swoon (Yutu: "Thanks, its because me and my parent are the local "weirdos" I had to overcorrect and become a golden child (':") OR B. just as bad as pre-NRC Deuce was, a gang member who'd jump anyone who'd look at him wrong (but still cried until he was sick when he watched My Girl (1991) behind Yuu's back. They told him not to because they knew it was sad, he didn't listen).

I imagine Yuu's main memory of Deuce to their Yutu was how much Deuce believed in self-improvement and redemption, always trying to be a better man, which either version of Yutu can't help but admire or respect, despite their complicated feelings over their absent father.

Upon meeting him in the "current" timeline as a student, A or B either can't help but give Pop's an A for effort, despite missing the goal sometimes or finds him a little cringe for being such a tryhard.

I had to google the movie you mentioned and got jump scared by it taking place in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure I have driven through the place it's supposed to be set before... and fuck just reading the synopsis made me cry I don't think I could watch it ;-; poor Yutu should have listened to his parent.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.

I feel like I have read too much Tokyo Revengers because... we can have both: an honor student with a delinquent mean streak sounds like a good set up for Deuce! Yutu. Not that I think he would behave like Kisaki does exactly, but still. Dylla mentions in the White Rabbit event that she wasn't on the best terms with her mother when she was a teen, and we know about how Deuce was in middle school, so the idea of Yutu having a bit of a temper and rebellious streak to him does make a degree of sense. Sadly, I think that extends to his interactions with Yuu... so things are about to be angsty on two fronts today.

Much like Deuce, Yutu was just the cutest baby. He loved all things cute and fluffy. Bunnies, kitties, puppy dogs, he was such a sweet little kid who really loved chasing around butterflies in the great outdoors. He really loved to read, and learned how to do so at a very early age. When Yuu was having a bad day he would pick out one of his favorite books and insist on reading them a bedtime story so they could take a nap without any nightmares. If he was especially worried he would bring his favorite nightlight with him.

Not that anyone would ever dare to suggest it given what Yutu is like now, but he was very afraid of the dark as a child. He still is, there's just something about the void that exists in the darkness that screams danger to him. When he's isekaid to Twisted Wonderland it evolves into an extreme fear of blot and phantoms. I'd like his unique magic to have something to do with light or stars, something inspired by the Second Star to the Right from Peter Pan? I think it would be cute for someone afraid of the dark to be able to provide their own light.

When Yutu reaches middle school there's a noticeable change in his relationship with you. He's still polite, still bringing home good grades and unoffensive comments from his teachers. But he's a bit cold, as if he is purposefully putting emotional distance between you. His friends all treat you respectfully, but you just have a feeling, left over from somewhere, that you know what is likely going on but you can't put your finger on what. He gets angry when you try to ask questions, yelling something about how you just don't understand, maybe even throws in something about this being your fault...

I wrote about Riddle! Yutu having some fights with Yuu, but Deuce! Yutu's fights are so much worse. While Riddle! Yutu typically comes out of his room blubbering big fat tears ready to apologize, Deuce! Yutu feels the need to double down and save face. He does believe his parent has amnesia, he's seen how they act, but what he does not get is why they insist on feeling so fond of his dad and refuse to move on. In his mind their life could be a lot better if Yuu was willing to be honest with themselves about who his dad probably was. Yutu is very hung up on why Deuce felt the need to be redeemed, focusing on self improvement is all fine and good if you are someone worth redeeming but he's not around for Yutu to judge. And Yuu doesn't remember...

He's young, stupid, and angry, and he takes it out on anyone who looks at him wrong. What's worse for authority figures who want to help is that he's veeeery smart about how he does it. When he jumps someone you can bet there won't be cameras around to see it. When the police start troubling Yuu about what he's doing it's mostly just in the hope that they'll be able to talk some sense into their kid rather than to arrest Yutu or anything like that, but it doesn't work. Yutu gets to see the same thing that his dad did all those years ago, his parent crying because of his behavior but there's no grandparent Yuu is asking advice of. Since I am in the mood to be extra cruel, let's say the day that fight takes place, the day Yutu sees Yuu crying is the day he hears a very important name for the first time.

Deuce. His father's name is Deuce and the reason why he wasn't around was because he was from the other world that came to swallow up him and his parent the instant they began to remember. He doesn't get time to cover up the signs of his rebellion, or really a chance to say sorry. He has to look Grandpa Crewel in the face and admit that he made Yuu cry and added to the overly stressed mess their life had become. Everything they said about Deuce was true, and what's worse he was like him.

I feel like Deuce would be the sort of person who wanted to make a lot of home videos. Cater probably would be too, but he'd store most of them on his phone and I think that would be lost to time by the time his Yutu came home. Maybe it's because of the ghost camera, or his desire to be an "honor student" evolving into wanting to be an "honorable husband and father" but Deuce totally bought a video camera to take cheesy videos to show Yutu as he grew up. Instead the kid gets to see fragments of a life he could have had as he listens to his dad tell him about his life and how he met Yuu.

"Honestly I have no idea why they said yes." Deuce is a dork. A complete dork who looks so... young and life like in the video. He knows what features he took from Yuu but watching Deuce talk, he can pick up on the ticks, the way his mouth sets when determined. The look of shock that always made Yuu laugh, it bursts into view when he hears Yuu laugh as they enter the frame to snuggle into Duece's side, to press their face against his cheek with a happily contended sigh. "Y-yuu you're making me look uncool in front of the baby."

"He's not here yet!" You giggle and for the first time in a long time Yutu feels himself choking up as he watches his dad get all silly looking at the thought of his arrival.

"We're really looking forward to meeting you kiddo. I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Well. Technically kept that last promise didn't you." He tries to play it off like a joke, but Crewel isn't laughing and neither is Yutu.

Gets put in Heartslabyul, but isn't exactly determined to be an honor student like his dad. While Deuce enjoys a good fight or the feeling of the wind in his hair... Yutu mostly got into fights because he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. Because of that temper he struggles with learning and controlling his magic but he still does pretty well with the practical academic side of things. He's proud of his ability to understand these things, and takes a lot of comfort in knowing his dad would be excited at knowing he was good at things like math and science.

Like with the other Heartslabyul boys, he had to fight his father's phantom. He sees putting Deuce to rest as part of his penance for how he treated Yuu in the years leading up to getting isekaid. He refuses to go back in time until he's able to lay this version of his father to rest next to Yuu so he can promise both of them, to their faces, that he'll create a world where they all can be together and live as a family.

Deuce is extremely friendly to Yutu! He wants to learn as much about Yuu's world as he can so he can help them feel as at home in Twisted Wonderland as possible. He makes sure to let Yutu know that extends to him too once Yuu warms up to having him in the friend circle, Uncle Ace is much less enthusiastic but it's clearly from a place of care towards Yuu. He starts to warm up when he sees Yutu trying his hardest to tutor Deuce, though he claims it's because he just thinks it's funny but really it's because Ace wants to see Deuce succeed.

Very correct on his feelings about Pops. His dad is so wildly cringe it's unreal. His effort is inspiring until he starts getting embarrassed for losing his temper and stuttering, or seven forbid you look at his grades. The more he interacts with both of you the more certain he becomes that Deuce would never have abandoned him... and that he is so getting grounded when Deuce learns about how he treated Yuu. And what's worse is that Yutu sort of wants him to.

Surprisingly that's not what happens at all. When Deuce learns who Yutu is, whether by sleuthing or through a violent confrontation with a monster from the future, when the whole story is laid out before him and his son bows to beg for his judgement it doesn't come at all. His Pops yanks him up by the collar and turns him towards Yuu.

"Say all of that again to your parent." Deuce's voice is as stern as it is serious. Yuu looks distraught, not quite to the point they were on the day everything changed but getting there as Yutu immediately breaks down and chokes, crying and begging for your forgiveness and saying he's sorry as Deuce brings all three of you together into a strong embrace. "I'm not the one you need to make things up to, but it's ok. I know exactly how you feel and we'll work through things together."

Deuce doesn't feel like he can be overly angry at Yutu for taking after him. He does feel the need to apologize to Yuu, profusely and in private, for putting them in so much danger and not being there to help Yutu work through his temper. If I was writing this as a story, I'd make Yuu sort of afraid of Yutu's feelings? I could see them blaming themselves and things being a bit awkward within their relationship with Yutu where they had been very good before the reveal. With Deuce being the loving and understanding partner that he is, the bridge is once again mended and the whole family gets to indulge in hobbies that aren't beating the shit out of other people.

Yutu gets back into reading, and starts looking up manuals and histories of blastcycles so he has something to talk to his dad about. He was right about his dad being extremely proud of him for being smart, he's that classic mechanic working class dad who can't stop talking about his kid who went to college and has pictures of him in his garage he makes sure to point out to everyone who comes in. Said person is really just Ace who really wants to make fun of Deuce and Yuu for being cringe together but is too focused on this whole world ending thing and wants everyone to be more focused on that.

Deuce promises that he is, he has a lot of confidence in the ability of your little group to be able to win against stacked odds. You've done it before you can do it again. Yutu couldn't have picked better allies, he's really determined to show him that and be a dad his son can be proud of. He repeats his promise to Yutu that he's never going anywhere, even though the kid never told him anything about the tapes because he really means it. He wants that world little Yutu dreamed of and older Yutu swore to fight for to be a reality, and it's his job as an honorable dad and future husband (he gets so flustered when he says that) to be the one on the front lines of fighting for it,

... just please please please do not tell Yutu about the egg incident. He doesn't think he could handle that embarrassment.

[storydays]

Hazbin Hotel: Episode 1 p1

Overture

@avatar_lover

(3rd POV)

"Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil. Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation. But he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven. 

For they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world. So he watched as  the angels began to expand the universe in their ways. From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Adam demanded control and Lilith refused. 

Drawn in by her fierce independence, Lucifer found her and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love. Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the fruit of knowledge to Adam’s new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted.

But this gift came with a curse.

For with this single gift, evil finally found its way to Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin, and the order Heaven worked hard to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he created, never allowing him to see the good that came from Humanity, only the cruel and the wicked. 

Ashamed, Lucifer lost his will to dream. 

But Lilith thrived, empowering a demon-kind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power. Threatened by this, Heaven made a truly heartless decision, that every year, they would send down an army: an extermination to ensure Hell and its sinners could never rise against them. 

But Lilth’s hope remained. And her dream was passed down to their precious children, the Prince and Princess of Hell.”

A pale hand closed the story book, as a young woman held a key close to her, looking downcast. “Don’t worry Mom, I’ll make you proud.” She whispered, gazing out the window, listening to the screams outside. 

“Charlie?” a voice called startling the young woman. “Augh!” she yelped, as her key turned into a cat, who ran away to hide. Charlie winced before turning to the other woman, “Vaggie! Did you hear all that?” she asked. 

“Uh, yeah. I was standing right there.” smiled the woman, pointing at the door. “Sorry, I get pretty worked up after an extermination happens. The story helps.” Charlie frowned, staring at the book. “I know, don’t worry. I enjoy your theatrics. Are you okay?” Vaggie asked, sitting next to the blonde demoness. “I’m fine, just–ya know thinking about family stuff.” “DId you hear your from your mom yet?” Charlie shook her head sadly. 

“Oof, how long has it been now?” 

“Not that long…only…..seven….years. Off doing something important, I’m sure.” Together the women stood up, to look outside the window. “But this kingdom was something she really cared about; something I care about.” Charlie hugged herself, smiling wistfully. 

“Well, at least you’re not alone.” Vaggie soothed, holding Charlie’s hands.”I just hope that what I’m trying to do here will work.” Charlie admitted. “It will. I have faith in you.” the white haired woman smiled, cupping Charlie’s cheek. 

“All right, come on. Alastor says he’s got something he wants to show us.” Vaggie walked out of the room, Charlie going to follow her, before hearing the church bell ring outside. She turned to look out at the clock as it rang, signaling the end of the extermination. Charlie sighed before heading downstairs. 

*Downstairs*

“Well, hello there, you wayward sinner!” A cheery voice, on the television, called out to a demon currently stabbing another on the street, making the two look around confusedly. “Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do, that’s why you’re in Hell! But what would you say if there was a place that had none of that?” questioned the voice as more sinners popped up, varying emotions from annoyance to confusion. The camera then zoomed to reveal the hotel.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! A misguided path to redemption!” the camera then pushed into Charlie’s personal space as she was mid conversation, before she noticed the camera and she smiled and waved nervously. A spider demon appeared behind her, using all four of his hands to give the demoness bunny ears behind her head and on the side. “Founded 5 days ago by Lucifer’s delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your faith in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!” 

The television showed a picture of Lucifer facing away from Charile as she hugged herself, tears in her eyes. Then it showed Charlie attempting to convince sinners to join. 

“Here we offer fun things! Such as somewhat functional staff.” The camera showed a grumpy cat demon who was clearly drunk as he face planted into the bar. A little cyclops woman scurried around him, chasing a bug with a giant needle in her arm, with a maniacal grin on her face, as she attempted to stab the bug.

“24 hour pest control! Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor!” The camera panned out to show a piece of wood falling near the spider demon from earlier who was lounging on a couch, clearly bored as he examined his finger nails.  “Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident.”

The spider sent the camera a middle finger, making an effect of the word Wow appear on screen, changing to show a crudely drawing of the hotel with different notes and smiley faces with a large toothy grin. “Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel. Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here!” On the screen, appeared: “Call now or don’t! I don’t care! We still don’t have a working phone!” 

The TV shut off as the audience in the room sat around, emotions varying from anger, shock, and disbelief. “So, what’d ya think?”asked a grinning deer demon, dressed head to toe in red and black. 

“I’m sorry, what the FUCK was that?” scowled Vaggie, arms crossed. “Uh, yeah, one note. Alastor…” Charlie started, ignoring how the demon’s smile tightened. “I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this, seriously, amazing, but um..” Charlie played with her fingers as she tried to explain her thoughts, “The tone was maybe a bit..off?” Alastor tilted his head as she continued. 

“We want people to WANT to come here. This makes it look–um..” “Bad. The word you’re looking for is bad.” Vaggie snarled, crossing her arms. 

“Funny, I was going for hilarious!” Alastor laughed. “It didn’t explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons, which is the whole fucking point!” 

“Vaggie is right, Alastor. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to save them.” called a smooth voice from another armchair. The male was sitting on the chair, his legs over the arm of the chair, and the cat from earlier purring in his arms, as he stroked her back. This was the Prince of Hell, Heir to the Throne, and Charlie’s big brother, (Y/N).

“Well, my dear (Y/N), I haven’t been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show. The proper way to express oneself!” Alastor turned to the TV with a clear disdain written over his ever grinning face.

“But you insisted on this noisy picture box advertisement. So I had a little fun with it.” “Oh fun, you had a little fun?” Vaggie snapped, before standing. “Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here, a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you’re mocking us. Nobody’s going to want to come to a place that a powerful Overlord like you thinks is a waste of time.” Vaggie hissed before the 4 noticed a red hand waving in the air. 

“What?” snapped Vaggie as (Y/N) started to walk towards the bar. 

“If’n you’re filimin’ a commercial, can I suggest you take advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?” The spider demon from earlier, sat up lazily, grabbing the bottle of alcohol with him, and winked at the people, gesturing to himself. 

“Angel, you’re a porn star.” Vaggie deadpanned.

“A famous porn star.” Corrected Angel, as (Y/N) came back and sat next to the spider, with a strawberry Daiquiri in his hand. 

“I’ll have the horniest sinners knockin’ down these walls to get in.” The white furred spider grinned smugly, before swinging his legs over (Y/N)’s lap, clearly comfortable. “We are not shooting a porn as a commerical.” Vaggie said firmly. 

“Why not? Sex sells, don’t it?” Angel winked. “I swear, if you film me going at it with Sexy Princey or Mr FancyTalk Creep Voice here, you’d be rollin’ in participants to stay at this tacky hotel.”. Alastor laughed loudly before deadpanning. “Haha! Never going to happen.”

The bespectacled prince cleared his throat nervously, cheeks a slight red as he tried to compose himself. “A-Angel, we appreciate you wanting to use your ‘special skills’ to, um, attract folks to the hotel. But I–WE, meant to say WE don’t want to exploit you in that way.” 

(Y/N) smiled at the spider demon who grinned, leaning into the prince’s space, close to his ear, and purred, “But what if I want you to exploit me……..Daddy?” “HAHA! OKAY!”

(Y/N) yelped, before using his wings to quickly fly up and over by the bar, startling Angel who then smirked knowingly at the demon. 

Turning towards the girls, Angel continued to talk, “This body was made to be exploited, baby. I’ve got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs, I got the lung capacity. Oh, oh! I have the legs, the gag reflex, the holes, the chest fluff everyone thinks are tits..”  Charlie laughed uncomfortably as Angel continued talking.

(Y/N)’s phone started ringing, making the prince roll his eyes and walk away, answering his phone. “I’ll be right back.” 

He turned the corner, and grinned deviously as he answered the phone, “What up, bitch!”

*Back with the others*

“Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?” Angel asked suddenly, pointing at Alastor.

“Oh trust me, I can.” Alastor grinned darkly, briefly showing his horns.

“Why do you think I’m here?” A gruff voice called from the bar, making everyone turn to the bar, towards the grumpy cat from earlier. 

“You think I’d be cleaning bottles and listen to you fucks’ bitch and moan, if he wasn’t forcing me.” The bartender hissed as the little cyclops appeared next to him, grinning. 

“I like being forced.” She giggled. 

“Keep that to yourself, Niff.” grimaced the cat demon. 

“What, you don’t love being here with me, Whiskers?” Angel mocked, making a kissy face. 

“Call me whiskers again, and I’ll jam that bottle down your throat.” the cat threatened.

“Kinky! C’mon, keep talking dirty.” grinned Angel, narrowing his eyes at the cat.

“Angel, let Husk do his job. And no, we can’t force people to stay here; they need to choose to.” Vaggie stated. 

“I’m choosing to be here, and I think it’s all stupid. We’re in Hell, toots.” Angel shrugged, “That’s kind of the end of the line, ain’t it?”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Charlie smiled. “Just because no one’s ever made it out, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Angel placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder as he leaned down to her height. “Hey, whatever means I can keep crashing here rent free.” The women shot him a deadpanned look, and he scowled. “Crack is expensive.”

(Y/N) quickly came and grabbed Charlie by the arm, grinning excitedly. “Char, come with me!” Charlie yelped as her brother pulled her around the corner. 

“Woah, (Y/N), what’s going on?”

“So the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet…and I managed to convince Dad to let me send you to talk to them instead.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Why me? You usually take care of stuff like that.”

“Because, Char, you are the princess of Hell,and I think you’re old enough to start partaking in stuff like this. And.. you can use this as an opportunity to try to convince Heaven to give your Hotel a chance. “ (Y/N) prompted. 

“Ooh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Charlie hugged her brother before rushing to tell Vaggie. (Y/N) going to lean on the couch, as Vaggie questioned Charlie. “But the extermination just happened. What could they want this soon after?” 

Charlie started singing and twirled Vaggie who replied dizzily, “Okay but just don’t sing to them.”

“That bitch is half way down the street.” (Y/N) and Angel laughed, with the others looking out the door, watching the princess sing. 

“Is she–?” Vaggie asked, worriedly.

“Oh, she’s dancin’.” Angel tossed his head back, drinking the bottle in his hands, ignoring Vaggie’s groan.

[hyperbali]

After the final battle against Corypheus, Jeanne Amell's newly reunited and fairly eccentric family - herself, Nathaniel Howe, their daughter Dejana, Morrigan, and Kieran - were quick to leave Skyhold, sensing trouble brewing on the horizon.

For several years, they traveled the expanse of Thedas together, the elder three doing their best to raise and mentor their children - and adding yet more to the brood.

In 9:47, when Dejana was a young teen, the family stopped over in a fairly remote part of the Free Marches. Deja, as was her wont, wandered off to explore on her own, finding an ancient and rather foreboding ruin. She was almost drawn into it by a mysterious impulse - and deep inside, she found a most unusual tome.

Though Flemeth is gone from the world, vestiges of her power yet remain; not enough to command or possess, not anymore, but enough to shake. Dejana's head felt as though it were about to split from a sudden onslaught of light and heat and pain--and then all went dark...

Jeanne, realizing she'd not seen her daughter for several hours, sent Kieran to find his sister. When he came up empty-handed, the adults delved into the search. Hours turned into days... then weeks... then months...

Dejana Amell has not been seen again since.

-

In the meantime - a traveler happened upon an unconscious Deja that very eve, thinking they'd found a lost and alone child. When she woke at their camp, she couldn’t remember who she was beyond her given name, or how she got there. Still, she's always been a smart girl - and clearly brimming with magical power. Such things have their potential.

Option One: Dejana De Riva - Spellblade

Madeleine De Riva had been on her way back to Antiva after a successful assassination in Orlais. Though not exactly the nurturing type, she recognized just what a mage with some fairly impressive swordsmanship could be capable of - with the right guidance. She took the girl with her back to Antiva City, and so began the young future Crow's unforgiving and often quite dangerous training.

Option Two: Dejana Ingellvar - Death Caller

Zophiel Ingellvar, a rather accomplished necromancer of the Grand Necropolis, had been returning from an excursion to meet with what remained of the seers of Rivain. They had always been quite shrewd, pragmatic, and perhaps more than a little bit of a schemer. With the girl practically radiating dark magic with barely a blink, they knew it would be best to bring her back to Nevarra. Some of the elder necromancers might have had an issue with it, but, well... nothing some creative memory spells couldn't fix...

Option Three: Dejana Laidir - Evoker

Meenah Laidir, a Lord of Fortune with a fairly obscene reputation and following of her own, had been hoping to shake off hot pursuit from Kirkwall's city guard by way of the Vimmarks after a heist gone awry. Getting stuck with a tag-along had definitely not been part of the plan, but when the girl startled at a noise in the woods and practically called down a firestorm, what opportunist would have been stupid enough to turn up their nose at that? The rest of the crew certainly didn't seem to have any problem warming up to her, at least!

-

Even as the world seems to be falling apart yet again in its latest disaster, and an ever-rebellious Dejana pushes at every boundary and authority she can, she struggles to regain the person she once was. Senses trigger fleeting memories - the smell of warm perfumes, the low hum of an old Fereldan folk song... but still, she tries to stay focused in her newfound life.

But for the voice in her head, the wizened and wicked cackle ever ringing in her ears, and the sudden incredible compulsion she feels once more to get herself involved when she hears whispers of the Dread Wolf...

[re-bee-key]

Honestly, it's so wild tumblr isn't obsessed with Willow. With all the talk of love for old campy scifi fantasies like Xena, Farscape, Stargate, Buffy, the list goes on. You'd think tumblr would love a show that honors the old campy style while merging it with a more modern rebellious style. It's a show that has scenes with rock music that watch like a youtube scene compliation. It feels like fanfiction. But in a good way. In the way that fanfic writers know how to choose exciting scenes and weave epic romances and character arcs with action. It's a show with lesbians whose love language is sword fighting. A rogueish himbo who is loyal and witty and there's a whole scene where he plays sexy in a waterfall and he likes to get tied up by his girlfriend. The saddest nerdiest emo bard with a heart of gold. And, a female chosen-one, almost like a firey fanon Zelda - learns magic but is most passionate about cooking. Like... I could go on. The plot is fun and exciting. Reminds me of playing DnD with my friends. The cast is fun and weird and queer and make playlists for their characters and like our fanart.

Like, its just wild to me. But anyways, if you read this and are intrigued and havnt seen Willow yet. Please do. Im reaching out my hand, asking you to trust me. Its so good.

[gilverrwrites]

at this point we should give dick a sionis!reader and call it a day 💀 all the batboys have one now except for him (but I have no idea what his plot would look like compared to the other three)

Yeah, Jason and Tim dating with his kids and now Bruce sleeping with his ex-wife, Roman’s hatred of them is becoming more and more justified. . Can I also just add that Roman would be the most miserable girl dad. Imagining him with his 3 bastard girls and ex wife who he's still hung up on but can't win back fills me with joy and its becoming a full on AU in my head.

Anyway, okay, so hear me out with my pitch; Jason/The Rebellious child, Tim/The Favourite child, Dick/The forgotten child

Specifically, one who has tried so hard all their life to not be. Even more specifically, a dancer, a singer, maybe a triple threat. It’s not that you need the attention, you’re good at what you do, you get the parts, you have a small fanbase, you’ve won some minor awards. But just once you’d like to look out into the crowd and see your father or your siblings out there cheering for you.

You try so hard to be supportive of the rest of your family, always there for everybody. You listen to your rebellious sibling and your father bitch about each other constantly, you help them mend their bridges. Rebel is notoriously flaky, but you always step up and cover for them.

You help the favourite study. You were the only one who knew when they started seeing Tim and you helped keep it a secret.

You attend all your fathers parole hearings, all his club launches. You wear the stupid clothes and play the happy, smiling child whenever he wants to show his kids off at events.

But no matter how much you do for everyone, they never return the favour. As soon as you bring up an audition you need help with or a new show you’re in, everybody dips. Nobody takes you up on the free tickets you can get them. When you were training, Roman footed the bills and told all his buddies about his kid the dancer/singer/whatever, but not once did he show up to a single one of your recitals.

But one day, at one of his stupid galas, Dick Grayson catches you dancing by yourself on the patio outside and is instantly smitten.

“Where’s your dance partner?”

“Oh, haha. Can’t you see him? He’s right here.” You jokingly gesture to the air.

“Ah of course, hello sir. Mind if I cut in? Not at all, please be my guest.” He puts on a silly voice as he answers himself before offering a hand to you. “May I?”

And you’re sceptical at first, but you take his hand, and you let him whisk you off. You dance around in circles all evening, laughing and joking, and getting to know each other. You have the night of your life, but dating Dick Grayson seems like a bad idea, it’s not that you don’t want it, it’s just that your dad would so not approve. So, you resolve to move on, but will always remember that magical night.

Until a few weeks later, you step on stage and spot him front and centre in the audience looking elated. And although it's downright euphoric for you to see him there, you're not prepared to face him. Alas, he comes to your dressing room straight after the show anyway. Reaching you before you can sneak out, and confronting you about never calling him back.

You explain your hesitations and that golden child part of his brain understands, his heart aches for you. But he so selfishly wants to see more of you, so he gently mentions how your dad doesn’t seem to care what you do... and hey, maybe he’s out of line here and if you want to tell him to take a hike he will but all he wants is a chance to be a part of your life, can’t you spare him one date? Please?

And damn is he hard to say no too. So, you concede. And one date becomes two, then three, and so on…

It doesn’t take long for you to fall hard and fast for him. C’mon who wouldn’t?

He’s handsome, and charming, funny, smart, and superb dancer to boot.

But what really does it for you is how badly he really does wants to be a part of your life. Dick Grayson wants to dance with you anywhere and everywhere; At galas, in the rain on the way home from a date, in your kitchen at 3AM.

Dick Grayson could listen to you talk about anything and everything all day long. Doesn’t have to be performance related, but he likes it best when it is. He especially loves reminiscing about his circus days with you.

And though his job may get in the way sometimes, Dick Grayson wants to be front row at every single one of your shows. He wants to clap the loudest, and bring you flowers, and tell all of his friends, THAT’S MY BOO up there! From the moment he met you, Dick Grayson could never, ever forget you.

How we feeling about this concept?