#new years resolution: get love life sorted

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. Uncharted waters for me, because I have no idea how many chapters it will come out as.

Reader is: British, Young Vic (get it?) theatre company director, working class, in her 30s, a control freak, a semi-conscious sub. Viktor is: Czech (as always), working in biotech with Jayce, working class, in his 30s, a control freak, a conscious dom.

MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this work contains: d/s dynamics between main characters (but who the fuck knows what Mel and Jayce are doing), love (attraction?) at first sight, no strings attached to lovers/strangers to lovers (so like reverse emotional slow burn?), lots of porn, angst, happy resolution. I will be adding kink warnings as they appear in the future chapters.

author’s note: Ok, so, um, hi! A Deer and a Man is ending, so something else has to begin. It’s like… a very freeform thing I’m doing here. Sort of about nothing, just relationships with d/s dynamics, because I want to play around with some kinks and stuff. I’m trying to make it make sense here, but not everything might, since it’s just my subjective take on things. It will have some d/s etiquette but not always, because I’m clumsy and my characters get infected with my clumsiness :v Nothing’s new really (hehe, get it?), some plot, some porn, some feelings. It’s basically me going to IKEA asking you if you wanna come and grab some vegan meatballs and the meatballs are smut in this :v So yeh, hi, welcome to another blurb of a mutlichap work.

Special thanks to my friends @rennethen and @strongfartzemergency for pre-reading this and enabling my brainrot. Artist is @petitesieste, just ahh ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Your eyes glaze over the computer screen, trying to memorize a list of poor souls to probe the next day. An ouroboros of theatre life has reached another mark, one where you must make a million decisions in a short span of time: Which plays will grace the stage, who’s performing in them, who’s directing, and who’s dressing all those people in their fancy costumes? And, most importantly, who’s paying for all of it?

So far, a successful year has set your bar even higher, with the next season looming in the golden light of August evenings. You don’t even have time to warm your bones in it—you have to think ahead, transport your brain to the future, to a cold January, when the real test begins for you. In truth, you don’t have time to do anything beneficial for your bones, and you’ve just learned to accept that your joints crack like dry wood every time you move.

A head peaks through the crack in your door, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Charlie,” you greet him, your nose still scrunched up by the screen. “I know, I know. I’m going, I just need a second.” You begin to rise from your chair but remain hunched over, extending your arm blindly toward the computer. “Did you bring my shoes?”

“Yes, and I’m not kicking you out,” says Charlie, passing you a pair of ballet flats. “But if you want a driver, well… he’s getting impatient.”

“That’s okay, I can commute,” you smile at him, taking the shoes and glancing at your watch. “It’s only Camden… oh, shit, it’s very late. You should, in fact, kick me out.” After a few hurried jumps while putting the shoes on, you're back to frantically picking up unrelated objects and shoving them into your purse: tissues, lipstick, random notes to review in the morning, and Mel’s gift—a seasonal Young Vic pass for her and her plus one.

“Where are you guys meeting?” he asks, passing you the rest of the things you will obviously want or need. It’s a seamless collaboration with Charlie. Since the very beginning, you two have been sharing a brain, and this is partly why nothing has collapsed yet. On the contrary—both you, as a theatre company director, and Charlie, as an assistant director, have been doing an amazing job, mending together a forthcoming approach and love for theatre. And this is all your head is at, despite the one evening of reprieve where you can share beers with friends in a pub that Mel has chosen completely out of character for herself. Which is why, instead of answering, you ask, “Do you really think we can do Hamlet?”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to do Hamlet?” Charlie parrots, passing you a coat with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it not a bit… on the nose? It’s my second year, and my brain’s steamed up so much that I’m doing Hamlet?”

Charlie chuckles softly, as he steps behind you to dress you up. “You are going to do a bitchin’ Hamlet. And now can you please go and have some fun for once?”

“This is fun, Charlie. Hamlet is fun,” you say, holding his arms and giving him a playful shake. “Fun!”

“Calm down, captain,” he grins, rolling his eyes. “Where are you guys going?”

“Ugh… World’s End?”

“World’s End?!” Charlie covers his mouth in feigned horror, his eyes wide. “This is so unlike Miss Medarda!” he whispers, shooting you an incredulous look.

“I know, Mel wanted casual,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. Then, as you move past him, you swat him lightly on the shoulder, seeking another round of uninhibited cackles. “Don’t be mean, Charlie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, World’s fucking End, who would’ve thought. Let me fetch you a driver, my lady.”

You shake your head and scan your office one last time, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Figuratively, of course, since almost everything dear to your heart is actually being left behind. And even though it’s only for a couple of hours, not being in control is frightening.

On the other side of the coin are your friends, with Mel right up front. She’s been there since the very first second of your meeting—right after you yelled at a light technician, making him flinch and nearly fall off the ladder. You had immediately corrected yourself with, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But this lightwork is still shit. Please fix it. I ask you kindly.”

That was when Mel grinned, wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and whispered into your ear, “Okay. I want to be your friend.”

Since then, Mel has been one of the main patrons of your theatre company, and you—being a firm unbeliever in your own abilities—are convinced it’s largely her money and pep talks that have granted you the creative freedom that led to you becoming an artistic director. Your worlds collided fast and hard, and, being another person married to her work, she quickly became one of the closest people in your life.

Until Jayce.

Mel, being someone who treats every relationship as an investment, doesn’t limit her influence to the arts. So when her family decided to fund research grants for scientists from the Francis Crick Institute, you knew something was coming as soon as she justified the decision with, “And they are both very handsome.”

You know the urge very well—the ever-nagging need to have everything under control, to oversee every grain of sand that rolls through the waist of the hourglass, every second planned, every schedule so tight there is barely time to breathe. It’s one of the things that bonded the both of you.

So when Jayce came along—with his motivation stemming not from a sickening need for self-accomplishment or a desperate urge to prove something to the world, but from the purity of his own heart and a healthy curiosity—Mel began to crack. And then the disease spread to you.

Now, you actually rest. You spend your free Sundays socializing. You talk about things other than work. You’ve even been on a few unsuccessful dates. And it’s all Jayce’s fault.

You loved him for it immediately—the small crumbs of the outside world granted to you and Mel through his unabashed joy and excitement. Jayce made things fun, and turning your phone off—briefly relinquishing control—became a little less terrifying.

From there, your thoughts drift in different directions until your absent-minded stare at the moving lights outside the car window is interrupted. The driver, in a grumpy tone, informs you that you’ve arrived at your destination. You crack the joints in your hands before thanking him and bidding him goodnight.

The World’s End is all red from the outside, its glow bleeding onto the wet pavement. Through the glass, you spot the back of Mel’s heavily accessorized hairstyle, a head of intricate twists and gleaming accents. You glance at your reflection, and—well. You’ve seen better days.

Your mini skirt has twisted around, placing the slit exactly where you don’t want it, so you yank it back into place, cursing Charlie for not telling you. In the process, you notice a small eyelet in your tights, the hole widening with each step you take. No nail polish to stop it from spreading. You curse yourself for that one. Your shirt is crumpled at the stomach—a reminder of hours spent hunched over your desk. Your necklace has caught a bunch of stray hairs, which you pick out frantically as you stride toward the door. And the rest of your hair? An artistic mess, sculpted by an impatient hand that’s raked through it a hundred times too many today.

Once inside, Mel’s slender hand and a row of her impossibly white teeth beckon you forward as she stands up to give you a hug.

And the inside of The World's End is exactly what you would expect from a Camden pub—big, loud, and brimming with mismatched charm. The walls are cluttered with a collection of art that looks like it was bought in a rush at a local flea market. There's a hum of conversation mixing with the thrum of the music playing in the background, and the space itself is large, almost cavernous. The low ceiling and uneven, wooden floorboards give it an unpolished look that feels welcoming to some, but it's not exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see Mel at.

Mel, in contrast, belongs in a sleek, minimalistic bar, somewhere where the drinks are as carefully curated as the furniture, where everything is perfectly composed. Here, she’s lost in the midst of it all, a little too refined for the space, as if her sharp lines don’t quite align with the pub’s rough edges. The things we do for friends.

“Darling, I’m glad you made it,” she chirps, walking toward you and spreading her arms wide.

“Now I can say I’d go to the end of the world for you,” you murmur into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. Then, pulling back, you present a small envelope. “Happy birthday, love. Here—best possible seats.”

Mel’s brows lift as she takes the tickets, flipping them between her fingers. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, though the gleam in her eye betrays her excitement. “But thank you. You wouldn’t believe who Jayce has managed to drag along,” she murmurs into your ear.

“Oh, it can’t be,” you whisper back, scanning the table over her shoulder.

A few of her closest friends sit huddled together, deep in conversation and laughter. Then, Jayce’s broad frame, unmistakable even in the dim light. And next to him—

A pair of loose shoulders, wrapped in a red shirt stretched between two sharp blades. The nape of his neck, covered in a mess of brown curls. He leans on one hand, nodding along to whatever Jayce is saying, his profile cutting sharp against the glow of the street lights.

Viktor. The last man standing, the one seemingly immune to Jayce’s influence when it comes to making people step out of their comfort zones. And yet, here he is. Of all occasions, it’s Mel’s birthday that has somehow coaxed Viktor out of his self-imposed solitude. A horse you wouldn’t have bet on.

You are led to the table, where all the seats seem to be taken—until Viktor removes his cane from the empty stool beside him and gestures for you to sit between him and Jayce. As you lower yourself onto the stool, you take his hand briefly and say, “The smartest man in the room, finally in the room.”

“You must be talking about Jayce,” he counters, a glint of amusement in his eye. He holds your palm for just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply with a smile—until Mel’s head suddenly pokes between the two of you.

“What’s your poison, honey?” she asks. Only now do you notice her flushed cheeks and the way she’s completely disregarded the concept of personal space, her arm stretching beyond your shoulders to tug playfully at Jayce’s hair.

“A pint of bitter?” you say, startled.

She frowns slightly, but you quickly follow with, “Cheers,” hoping to steer her attention elsewhere. Her eyes squint at you, but she relents, giving Jayce’s back a clingy hug before strolling off to the bar. Only now Viktor’s hand releases yours.

He studies you for a moment before turning to his glass, giving you the chance to take a closer look—

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the hollow between his collarbones, skin up to his neck is covered in a satin sheen of sweat. Tendons shift beneath it, blue veins threading along his throat. His hair is faintly damp around the ears, curling and plastering itself to his temples. From the side, his jaw forms nearly a perfect square.

You don’t dare to look higher.

Lower down, though, his sleeves are rolled up carelessly, exposing freckle-specked arms. You spot it by dropping your gaze naturally.

Mel was right. They are both very handsome.

As the birthday gal disappears toward the bar, you are left wedged between the two scientists, the noise of conversation assaulting your ears. Across the table, Amara leans in, her many rings clinking as she refills someone’s glass from a sweating bottle of wine. Beside her, Salo—always overdressed for the occasion, his blonde curls neatly combed back—gestures broadly mid-story, his voice animated. A few seats down, Mion, the youngest among them and always balancing the line between sharp and naive, listens intently while occasionally stealing olives from Mel’s abandoned plate.

"So," Jayce starts, shifting his weight so he can face you properly. “What’s keeping you so busy these days?”

You exhale, stretching your arms along the back of your seat, making your spine pop. “Wrapping up meetings with playwrights, directors, and actors—making sure everything aligns. Managing funding and sponsorships, finalising script choices.”

Salo whistles. “Sounds like a headache.”

“It’s a miracle she’s here at all,” Jayce adds, nursing his beer. “I half-expected her to send a regretful telegram from the depths of her desk.”

That earns a laugh from Amara, who nudges your foot under the table. “And what are the plays, then? What’s in?”

You rest your chin in your palm and do a mock countdown with the fingers of the other. “Further than the Furthest Thing, The Scottsboro Boys, A Streetcar Named Desire—possibly Hamlet.”

Mel, just returning with your beer, lets out a delighted gasp as she sets it down. “Hamlet? Oh, darling, tell me you’re doing it.”

“Calm yourself,” you warn, reaching for your drink. “I said possibly.”

She spreads her hands dramatically. “I can already see it now—the staging, the lighting—”

“Don’t start designing the posters just yet,” you cut in, but she’s grinning too widely to be discouraged. “I can still change my mind.”

“You know that’s a lot for one person,” Viktor remarks, leaning in from your right, his voice lower, meant just for the two of you. His pupils are darker, wider than the number of glasses of wine he’s had would suggest, assessing you from under hooded eyelids.

“I’ve always run through my life,” you say simply, tipping your glass toward him. “I do have help, though.” Viktor clicks his tongue, his mouth curving into a half-smile.

Before you can figure out what it means, Mion suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait—how did you and Mel meet, anyway?”

Mel waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I saw her preparing Yerma, and it was love at first sight.”

“Love?” Salo lifts a brow.

“She was standing on stage, sleeves rolled up, arguing over how the chairs should be arranged.” Mel sighs theatrically. “Her diligence. Her eye for detail. I knew I had to have her.”

Jayce snorts. “And by ‘have her,’ you mean ‘fund her.’”

Mel grins. “Exactly.”

The table dissolves into laughter, glasses clinking. Conversations crisscross—Salo and Mion bickering over some technical aspect of stage production, and you don’t have the heart to correct them. Jayce launching into an enthusiastic recounting of an experiment gone wrong. Someone beside you leans in to talk, and for a moment, you lose the thread of conversation.

The haze of smoke, the warmth of alcohol-softened breaths, the layered voices—it all blurs. Next to you, Viktor is speaking, but his words are swallowed by the noise.

The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just the drink settling in. Sounds overlap and ring in your ears as exhaustion takes hold and you zone out. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of wine gets passed around, then discarded in the middle of the table, still within your reach. A voice cuts through the fog, softer, closer. Then sharper, clearer than before.

Foreshadowed by Viktor’s hand on your leg—his right palm rests on you, and the moment it does, you tilt toward him, only to find he’s done the same. His fingers press inward, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh. It’s a gentle invasion, entirely unprovocative, something that simply happens—natural. His left arm hovers over your backrest as his mouth nears your ear, and you can feel the tickle of his hair on your cheek.

“Pass me the wine.” A soft command, tilting toward a question at the end, firm and quiet all at once.

You reach for the bottle without looking, your eyes fixed on his throat as he breathes. The moment it comes close, his touch leaves your leg and finds your fingers instead. His skin brushes yours, spreading the sweat from the glass onto your own, and something coils low in your stomach.

“Good…” he murmurs, clipped, as if something else should follow. “Thank you.” And then his warmth is gone, leaving you painfully sober, achingly empty.

It’s one of the most agonising seconds of your life—except this time, there’s something sickly sweet curling around the edges, a lingering undertone that was missing from all the other agonising moments you’ve suffered through.

For the rest of the evening, your attention doesn’t waver, save for the necessary moments to put Mel in the spotlight.

Viktor lingers close. Not close enough to raise any eyebrows—everyone else is too busy bickering and laughing at Jayce’s anecdotes—but enough for you to notice and relish in it. His breath occasionally fans your face when he leans over you for the bottle, his knee bumps yours under the table. He sits tilted toward you, his arm hooked against your stool, and his eyes never leave you, one way or another. He bombards you with questions and answers yours without blinking.

"Where did you study?" you ask, lips glued to the rim of your glass, leaving an stamp of your lipstick there.

"Abroad," he says vaguely, tipping his head. "You?"

"England. Try again," you counter, not looking up, only baring your teeth to the remnants of a cocktail in your hand.

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his glass idly in his fingers before conceding, "Vigilant, of course. Very well—biochemistry at UTC Prague." He pauses, watching your reaction. "Then onward to Francis Crick through MSCA. Now—tell me yours." The last part, a command again, gentle and firm and you find yourself reciting in no time.

"Theatre and Performance at Goldsmiths," you reply, your words a little looser, the alcohol working its way through your veins.

"Ah, how prestigious," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"If you consider five years of bullying that, then yes," you slur, twirling your drink in your glass. His expression sharpens, brows lifting slightly in silent question. You sigh, meeting his gaze. "I got The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art scholarship. Before that, I led an utterly non-prestigious life in Staines."

"Hardworking girl," he purrs, and oh—his hand returns to your thigh, this time less inconspicuous as he drags a long finger up and stops just beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Where do you live?" he asks, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like the answer might be something just for him.

"Hackney," you answer immediately, then, seeing his knowing smile, feel the need to correct yourself. "The bad Hackney. You?"

"Eh, Islington," Viktor says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Your mock jaw drop is immediate. "Unbelievable," you drawl. "And you dare to make fun of my fancy living?"

Viktor smirks, his fingers brushing your thigh before retreating. "You are making it up. But we can share a cab home then."

Something jumps in your chest at the thought of being locked in a tiny space alone with this man. And the cab driver, but, nevertheless. "I suppose we can. When do you want to go?" you ask, as steadily as you can manage right now.

He exhales slowly, then leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's go now."

You have to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull. In fact, with the mix of various alcohols cursing through your veins and the secretive glances he’s been giving you, you’d probably nod vigorously if he offered to fuck you on the bar.

You step away from the table, weaving through the crowded space as you pull out your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly—whether from the drinks or the anticipation, you can't tell. It doesn’t matter. The cab company confirms your ride is on its way, barely three minutes out.

When you return, Viktor is still lounging against the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his now-empty glass. He doesn’t look at you right away, but his body angles toward you the moment you step back into his space. You lean in just enough to let the scent of him—wine, sweet sweat and washing powder—settle into your senses before speaking.

“We have three minutes,” you say casually, as if not stopping yourself from clenching your thighs.

Viktor gives a small, knowing nod and starts shuffling around for his cane and coat. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a quiet efficiency to them, a preparedness that has you smiling.

From across the table, Mel lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re leaving already? I knew I shouldn’t have sat two workaholics together.”

Jayce snorts into his drink. “At least they lasted this long. I was expecting Viktor to slip out halfway through.”

Viktor hums in vague amusement, fastening the buttons of his coat. “And miss all your storytelling? Impossible.”

Mel rolls her eyes but grins. “Fine, fine. Go, be boring. Just don’t forget—” she waggles a finger at you—“you owe me a Hamlet.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Mel.”

With that, you feel Viktor’s hand brush lightly against the small of your back—an absentminded gesture, almost cautious, but it sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s raining again, and neither of you has an umbrella, so you huddle together under your purse until Viktor opens the door for you. You fall in with no grace whatsoever and slide your ass across the back seat to make space for him. He steps in slowly, throws his address to the driver, then slumps down beside you, looking at you expectantly.

For a moment, you freeze—until you realise everyone is waiting for your address. Mumbling out the street and number, you lean back, your shoulder blades pressing against his arm.

And oh. You know damn well you won’t be able to let this go beyond tonight—or that you shouldn’t be fucking around where you figuratively eat—but he smells good, and his eyes stay on you, dark and hungry. So you tip yourself into the crook of his shoulder, tilting your head up with an innocently pleading look.

Viktor chuckles, as if something has just been confirmed, and his slender hand finds its way between your thighs. His body shifts subtly, shielding you from the driver, who barely suppresses an eye roll in the rear-view mirror. His lips, burning with alcohol and want, close over yours. His tongue pushes inside, licking slow and deep along the row of your teeth. His fingers travel up your leg, stopping painfully close to where you ache for him most, and squeeze—just enough to brace himself as he leans in further.

You fumble with the buttons of his coat, slipping your hands beneath to tug his shirt free from his trousers. Another warm chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“So efficient,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to mouth at your ear. His breath is hot when he whispers, “Do you want to fuck here, or will you be a good girl and wait until we get home?”

A strangled moan escapes you, and your own hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Viktor grins against your skin.

“Good. Quiet,” he purrs, before dragging his tongue in a slick trail down your neck, stopping halfway to suck a bruise into your flesh.

Breath stumbles in your lungs when he stops, lips flushed, wet and red with your smeared lipstick, his teeth barely grazing your skin before he leans back to look at you. His fingers remain firm between your thighs, a teasing pressure that makes your legs tense and tremble beneath his touch.

Whatever has led you to this moment is not your usual behaviour, but somehow, you can’t be bothered to announce it. Long ago—somewhere after shitty date number five, or fifteen—you swore off bad sex for the sake of no sex and peace of mind. You grew tired of partners who were more tease than do, and the ones who assumed you’d thrive on organising everything in bed, just as you do at work.

You crave someone to take that pressure off you. Someone who would simply allow you to be dumb, even just for a few moments. To fuck your brains out so that poor strongest muscle of yours can replenish and breathe before you have to step back into the saddle and lead the chaotic orchestra of theatre technicians, actors, directors, and founders toward whatever critics deem a successful season. To take all the decision-making away and praise you for it.

And you have no guarantee that Viktor will do exactly that—other than the way his roaming hand squeezes your leg so firmly or the way his tongue, insistent and wanting, doesn’t ask permission before invading your mouth. The way he has stared at you the entire night has left you hotter and more bothered than anyone’s scrutiny ever has. And even if this is a mistake, it’s one you are willing to make. Your thighs shake at the thought, and Viktor gasps softly against your lips.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, voice low as the vowels roll thickly off his tongue. His free hand reaches up, pushing your hair aside. He trails his knuckles along your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against your parted lips. "Cold, or something else?"

You give a breathy laugh, rolling your hips ever so slightly into his palm, chasing that friction. Viktor hums, pleased, before his fingers slip higher—just barely ghosting over the hanging-there nylons shielding your underwear. Your breath catches.

The cab rattles over a pothole, jolting you both, but neither of you pulls away. If anything, it only makes Viktor bolder. He shifts to face you fully, pressing you back into the seat as he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling languidly around yours. You taste wine and your own spit on him, and it makes you dizzy.

His hand abandons your thigh only to grab your wrist, dragging it to the front of his trousers, where he's already half-hard beneath the layers of fabric. "I want you," he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip before letting his forehead drop to yours.

You palm him through the material, pressing just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. The sound alone makes a fresh gush of lust bloom in your knickers.

Then—a pointed cough.

You both jolt as if caught doing something far more illicit than you already are.

"Islington," the cab driver announces dryly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Viktor huffs out a laugh, dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "Do you want to come in?" he says, as if you hadn’t just been grinding against each other like reckless teenagers in the back of a cab.

You swallow, pulse still pounding in your ears. "Yes," you nod. "Yes."

“I suppose we will wrap up the ride here,” Viktor says reaching for his wallet and taking out one note too many to make up for whatever the poor man had to endure.

“Yeah, mate, I figured. Have a great night.”

[regulusrules]

A very long meta explaining why the confession scene in Good Omens is the best that has ever been written and performed on screen

First of, the scene begins with two different realisations that makes each of them believe that their dynamic will significantly change (Crowley wanting to confess his love and Aziraphale wanting to break out the news about heaven). This, you can see, creates an unprecedented shift in their energy, makes them super excited (Azi) and super nervous (Crowley) to break the news to one another. And despite the two matters being drastically different, when Aziraphale begins his revelation we don't get the Miscommunication trope where Crowley listens to the offer and passively retreats back his emotions. No. He is steadfast in his resolution, in his love for Aziraphale.

And that right here is king attitude no.1, because even if Aziraphale just threw something so godforsaken on him, he won't allow himself to be cowardly or let go of the one person he loves more than eternity. Crowley still bares his heart, still lets it all out, because he will not lose Aziraphale in his naivete of still believing that Heaven is good and Hell is evil. (I write this with supreme detachment of my own beliefs lol) He tries to make Aziraphale understand that sides didn't do them any good the past 6000 years, that the only solid foundation they ever had was them, and that Crowley would rather have them than have everything.

The way you hear Tennant's voice breaking when he said “And we spent our whole existence pretending that we aren’t”, is the perfect reflection of how Crowley genuinely despairs the time they lost and wouldn't have any more of it. And even with how bare and raw he's feeling with revealing all this, he still goes on. He still tries to tell him and I would like to spend our whole existence together, but struggles and struggles because he's strung wide open. But he keeps trying.

Now you see here a moment of disbelief on Aziraphale's behalf, because he doesn't understand why Crowley would refuse going back to heaven with him when all Aziraphale remembers of Angel!Crowley was how utterly bright his eyes shone when he lit up the stars and surely Crowley must miss that too? He wants the same thing Crowley is saying, just in a different dimension. The “I can make a difference” immediately changes to “We can make a difference” because that's all what’s ever been for Aziraphale; them changing the small engines of the world according to their partnered will. He is genuinely benign and not ill-intentioned when he says “Nothing lasts forever”, because he truly wants a better life for them, a better existence. And that's when it gets better: Crowley has his walls back up, he's walking away, because he can't bear that he was never enough as he is for Aziraphale. That he was never worth reciprocation.

But Aziraphale doesn't let him leave.

And that is king attitude no.2, because he doesn't want Crowley to leave when things are strewn all over the place that they don't know where they stand. All Aziraphale ever wanted was for them to stand on the same ground. He asks him to come back to him but hides it by finishing it with “to heaven!” because the whole conversation is going too fast for him, and he's undergoing a religious crisis of sorts that does not end in 6000 years, yet even so he still doesn't want to lose Crowley because he's everything he has and he can't do it without him and “I — I need you!”

And that's when it gets reaaally interesting. Aziraphale's expression then turns from sorrowful desperation to rageful desperation, because he's baring his heart and Crowley is walking away from him. Their solid ground is completely shaken when he says “I don't think you understand what I'm offering you” because he's trying to be subtle about his love for Crowley and still direct as much as he can, but Crowley responds with a condescending “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” and if this isn't peak human beings in their arguments, I don't know what is. Because we all think we are so misunderstood every time we get into an argument with someone we love, and we absolutely despise it when we feel patronized, so it's no wonder Aziraphale bitterly says “Then there's nothing more to say”, because if Crowley understands, truly does, then he'd see right past his fear to how much he loves the ground Crowley walks over.

And on the other hand I don't believe Crowley truly meant to be patronizing, but in a desperate last attempt he wanted to make Aziraphale understand what he is trying to say, what he spent his entire eternity feeling for Aziraphale, what Aziraphale would be giving up if he goes to heaven. What their life sounds like with no nightingales.

“You idiot, we could've been.. us” is the very culmination of love confessions. It took every single emotion and equated it. Tennant's delivery of it was unsurpassed in the way that it truly covers everything. And the way he grabbed Aziraphale, not entirely lovingly but desperately and angrily and, honest to God, awfully, is the reason why their kiss is so perfect. No queerbaiting, no beating around bushes. It is raw and sad and giving and agonising. Crowley wants to say see what you're giving up? See what we can have? And all Aziraphale thinks is how could you lay this on me now after everything, after every chance we could've been something, after me loving you from the first time I've met you. He's angry towards himself too, because nothing he can offer Crowley will be good enough that he chooses him instead of his choices. Sheen's choice in making his character grab Crowley's shoulder and let it go and then grab it once more in desperation is so unexplainably perfect of how much Aziraphale wants to hold onto Crowley.

But in the back of his mind, Crowley isn't choosing the same. Instead, Crowley's choosing to run from something that no doubt will rebound in their faces. They are angels and demons of heaven and hell, how could Crowley expect they could run and hide without being a repercussion later on? At least what Aziraphale is suggesting ensures that they will have a high position of power, enough to make them together, enough to make them happy, but instead, Crowley is walking away.

And when Crowley lets go of him, not the other way around because of course it is Crowley who must let go and detach from the utter pain that pierced his heart, you can see his expression being one of defeated longing. He sees all expressions passing across Aziraphale, sees how torn apart the other man is, too, and awaits just a semblance of anything they could work with. But instead, Aziraphale's face closes, and he tells Crowley “I forgive you”, and Crowley thinks this must be his second falling, because he's never felt more pain. “Don’t bother”, he says, yet still waits for Aziraphale outside and doesn't leave until Aziraphale has left him. Because in the end, Crowley would always be there for Aziraphale, even if he doesn’t feel worthy of it.

And that, my beloveds, is why eternity will remember this scene.

[darkdarkstucky]

Enchanted, S. Rogers and C. Kent.

SUMMARY: In a world where Omega's were scant and decent alpha's even more so, you think you're one in a million to be in a relationship with Alpha's who not only take care of your every whims and need, but also love and respect you unconditionally. However, your marital bliss of two years is interrupted by the concept of ‘true mates’.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Clark kent.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst.

A/N: imy guys!!!!!

CHAPTER FOUR

“What are you going to do, dollface?” Natasha asks, a worried frown on her face. “You know i will fully support you in whatever decision you make, but i worry about you.”

This is the only life you know about; Were the words left unsaid. Safe in their arms and shielded from the horrors of the world, you were carefully treasured at the palm of their hands, never truly knowing what it meant to suffer any form of grievance.

How will you ever live otherwise? Well, spite was a powerful thing. Heartbreak too. What do they say about women who were scorned? Never to fuck with them.

And right about now, you were feeling extremely vengeful and inclined to doing something extremely stupid. Although, for the sake of being fair and the years you shared with your husbands, you were leaning towards a peaceful resolution. One that was being refuted by the small voice you tempered down with reason.

The tears have gone dry, and the omega inside of you was itching for revenge. Wanting to give your alpha's a new one. A reason for them to truly look the other way.

She surprised you. Normally, she takes their side no matter what happened. Never finding fault with Steve nor Clark, always whining for their attention and barely holding any sort of grudge. But now she's steaming with anger and egging you on to abandon their sorry asses.

You figured it was a betrayal that ran deeper than flesh. You were on the prepice of being replaced, of being abandoned. Your base instinct was rebelling against the idea of being tossed aside, and urging you to flee before you truly get replaced. A self preservation instinct, if you will.

“To be honest, i don't know either.” You whisper, biting your lower lip in thought. “They have told me absolutely nothing. Acting as if i was a merely a decoration in their lives. It's so frustrating because they treat me as if i don't matter, like i was a stranger in my own home.”

Natasha bites her lower lip, sitting herself close to you and holding your hands in earnest. "Tell me how to help you."

Your shoulders were tense and your expression quickly shifted from that of hurt and heartbreak, to a blank one. Determination was squarely set in your gaze as you come up with a resolution for you.

"I need to leave."

***

"I could kill you." Steve's booming baritone welcomes Clark as he pressed the phone to his ears. He expected the other Alpha to have a good nose when it came to such things; all matters concerning you were their top priority so it didn't come as a shock.

Clark maintains he'd never do anything to hurt you, and that oath holds him true to this day. Yet the circumstance had him on a short, tight leash in navigating that promise. He was duty bound, no matter how cruel it sounded.

An omega just for him. One that was his genetic match. In paper.

"Nice of you to check in." He waves the rest of his staff away, knowing the conversation to be personal with threats of every kind being thrown about in the mix.

"You better have a good reason as to why you're housing a bitch." Steve bit the word off like he was utterly disgusted, and a growl ripped through Clark's chest.

"Mind your words, brother." He warns, jaw clenching. No matter how mild-tempered he was, the other alpha's implication had him defensive. He rested his back on the swivel chair, sighing "I don't take kindly at your implication."

"I'm not implying anything, Kent." Steve hisses, "I can take my wife away. Make it so you'd never even see her—"

"I dare you, Rogers." Clark tenses, the menacing growl cutting through the silence in his office. "She is as much bound to me in matrimony."

Steve and Clark were both powerful in their own right— their wealth and affluence were second to none, and they were the unspoken kings of New York. While they exercise dominance in many aspects of their life, it would be unlikely they bring the same menacing attitude home.

No, at home, they were merely your husbands. Parallel in their desire to keep you satisfied and happy, like any alpha with their bonded mate. Their base instincts craved to see you comfortable, well loved and safe under their careful care.

It was as surprising to the rest of the world when such dominant alphas could share a sole omega; even so, because Steve and Clark barely intersected if not on a business setting. While sharing among packs were commonplace, neither Alpha's belonged in the same faction, with Clark being hailed from Smallville and Steve in Brooklyn.

They were as civilized as they come. Polite, educated, over-achieving faces of their prime designation. However, anybody would tell you that propriety and forgiveness does not hold any single ounce of sway in their lives once somebody as much steps on their toes.

Being possessive and selfish came with that territory, so while their arguements were few and far between— measured and handled with like responsible adults, there had indeed been times where they almost rip eachother's head off unbeknownst to you.

"You have to believe that i have her best interest in my heart." Clark grounds out, trying to temper down an outburst. He tries his best to rationalize; He wasn't trying to justify a so called affair to him, or get away with something unspeakable.

Clark knows he would react the same, if not with a tentative explosion aimed to snuff out Steve; he shared the same protectiveness when it came to you, afterall, yet he was designated to become the necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. He needed to be the executioner of the dirty work lest... lest it touches you.

"Trust me." Clark emphasizes, tone set with certainty and self-assurance; his was a confidence that had won him everything in life. "You know as much as i do what needs to be done."

There was a pause in the other line.

"Make it quick." Steve's agreement was strained, a hint of relent in his visage. Things had spiralled out of their control a few dozen things ago, and he was desperate to have a shred of control. "It does not touch her, Kent. Not ever."

"You don't need to tell me twice." Came his prompt response, "Safe skies, then. You wouldn't want me to have all the fun, do you?"

[bengiyo]

Knock Knock, Boys! is an Ideal First BL for New Viewers

I often talk on @the-conversation-pod about how I react to BL from the lens of a queer media critic actively trying to recruit queer media viewers to BL. I want those viewers to join us in BL, and so I value shows that have strong character writing and satisfying resolutions for their drama. New viewers don’t always understand or recognize romance or BL tropes right away, and sometimes things go over their heads. In that vein, Knock Knock, Boys! may be one of the most useful shows I’ve encountered in the last year for this exact purpose. 

Rating: 9, Highly Recommended

Runtime: 12 50+ minute episodes

Country: Thailand

Network: WeTV

Availability: WeTV, GagaOOlala

Knock Knock, Boys! places four young men at a transitional point in their lives. Split evenly between first-year college students and working adults, each character is running from something. Peak is running from a marriage to a woman, Thanwa is running from a bad relationship with his ex-boyfriend, Latte is running towards graduation, and Almond is running away from his sheltered existence. Over the course of the show, these two pair off based on their shared age brackets in one of the most sex-positive shows I’ve seen this year, with a common theme about how honesty and commitment to each other gives people the space they need to grow. More than anything, this show values patience and kindness in relationships in a way that I cannot overstate.

As the ice starts to break, they learn that Thanwa and Latte have had active sex lives (Thanwa exclusively with men, and Latte with all sorts of people) and establish a rhythm within their home. Thanwa makes most of their meals, and Almond has to wake Latte up every day because he ignores alarms. The original conceit that connects our quartet beyond their shared housing incident comes from Almond promising to pay the rent for a year for anyone who helps him lose his virginity to his high school crush, Jumper. Hijinks ensue as the boys try to befriend Jumper, and angle for him and Almond to grow closer. As with any story like this, Latte ends up developing feelings for Almond, while Peak and Thanwa grow closer. 

More spoilers ahead, I want to talk about each character, and what I liked so much about each. These boys became one of my favorite friend groups we’ve had in a while. I am a huge fan of age gaps in queer friendships, and this show has much of it.

Thanwa: Played by the talented Seng Wichai, Thanwa is a great answer to the question of “Where do the quiet gays go?” He clearly knows his way around cruising spots, or knows how to use the apps, and yet everything we know about his shows that he’s geared towards domestic life and his hobbies. He dresses like a normie all the time, he loves cooking, and he loves eating. He’s clearly a thoughtful and reliable friend, and it’s that commitment and reliability that eventually gets him a job he actually wants to do. More than anything, he gave far more grace to a closeted man he cared about than I ever expected AND HE WON. Seng remains one of my favorite BL performers because of his ability to play ugly and goofy. He’s so beautiful because he is capable of playing weirdos well. 

Peak: Played by BL veteran Best Vittawin, Peak is running from compulsory heteronormativity. He’s expected to marry the daughter of a family close to theirs, and he is letting this all happen to keep his stern father happy. Peak has been running away from himself ever since his mom died. He saw how much that hurt his dad, and he’s struggled to be a problem-free son for a long time as a result. The weight of expectation on him presses down on Peak so hard that he can’t even focus half the time, and literally zones out as he tries to cope. Best gives a wonderful performance as Peak, especially in the final episodes, as he finally unburdens himself and blossoms as a result. This is my favorite Best character of all time, and Peak is one of my favorite portrayals of what it means to love someone enough for them to leave the closet on their own terms. 

Almond: Played by Nokia Chinnawat, who appeared in Thank God It’s Friday (2019), Almond is such a fun view into what modern gay boys could be like. He’s young and horny, and he wants to get laid! He’s not embarrassed about this, but he is shy. I loved the way the show used his enthusiasm as a way to further its PSA agenda in such a fun way. Almond is also one of the few rich kids we’ve had in these dramas that isn’t inherently insufferable. I like how his wealth mostly comes up as a problem solving tool, and he doesn’t feel too much like a snob after the first few interactions. I also loved his arc of getting over his unrequited crush on Jumper into recognizing his feelings for Latte. Nokia himself shows a real knack for physical comedy and expressiveness that makes me genuinely want to follow his career beyond this show. 

Latte: Played by Jaonine Jiraphat, Latte fills the role of our sexually experienced queer in the group. Confidently pansexual, Latte was so much fun for me because he and Thanwa had no shame about the sex and relationships they’ve had before. I loved how consistently Latte was shown to be emotionally present and sincere in all of his relationships. It could have been so easy to present him as promiscuous or slutty, and instead they present him as beloved. Every one of his former lovers we encountered seemed happy to see him again, and also resolved about the time they’d spent together. More than anything, I deeply appreciated how patient he was with Almond without suddenly becoming a sexless being because his boyfriend was shy or nervous. Jaonine was incredibly charming in this role, and I hope casting directors take notice. 

The Supporting Cast: The supporting characters were perfectly calibrated for their roles in this show. Jumper (Pak Varayu) made total sense as Almond’s crush, and has a great arc of Almond falling out of love with him, and becoming briefly enemies with Almond before reconciling. Lookpeach (Guitar Tunthita) plays the role of the modern faghag in a way that feels like Thai BL doing corrective work on the role of fandom in BL, and I have deep love for this character. Jane (Naya Gorrawiya) is the friend that everyone deserves; I loved the reveal about how personal her understanding and support for Peak has been this whole time. This show even calibrated it’s villain well in Max (Tuss Thotsawat), who showed that there are far worse things than cheating in broken relationships. 

Final Thoughts: I am so excited to show this show to my friend Emily, who’s been watching BL with me since early covid lockdowns. While this show has a few small stumbles that keep it from getting a 10, I don’t want to downplay how refreshing it was to watch a show that had a clear vision of what it wanted to be, and executed it the whole time. I commented during episode 1 that it felt more like a romcom than a BL, and the show said that through Lookpeach in its final episode! It built believable queer friendships in front of us, and understood the emotional core of most of its angst and drama all the way through. This show avoided veering too far into melodrama, and remembered that it was a romantic comedy the entire time. It also managed to be consistently sex-positive without feeling exploitative of its talent, or by letting the audience down on the sex front (I will be thinking about Almond and Latte’s first time and the morning after for a long time). This show also has parents apologizing for the knots they tied their children into. I don’t know a better Thai show airing during this season. This show is a real delight, and one I urge you all to show your friends who might be looking for a gay romcom. 

[charon-hydra-nix]

Hey, welcome to Nix's blog! Nix isn't writing this post, but he's present & verifying what I write for him so I can give the lowdown for anyone who stops by. The short version is that Nix is a very young alter of @patricia-taxxon who is more apart from the system than normal and wants his own space for himself where he can be a kid. (of sorts.)

Some facts: Nix is a mouse, he is somewhere around nine to eleven years old, possibly younger. He doesn't have much of an identity yet, but he loves space & the solar system is his main special interest. Jupiter is his favorite planet, but the moon system of Saturn is his favorite place in the universe. Nix is autistic and, if my theorizing is correct, he is from a very dark time in our past.

Part of the reason we thought Nix should have his own blog is because he often gets stressed out by the interactions he has on our main, and for that reason, I'll be setting up some boundaries for him. There's a lot of fuzziness to plurality, but practically, Nix is a child. He might seem different from most kids, but that's because he's in the brain of an adult and has been blending in to hide himself for years upon years. We want to keep this space very respectful, sarcasm-free if that's possible, and also resolutely SFW. He appreciates attention from people who are older than him rather than other kids, so feel free to ask him any questions, although he can't promise very interesting answers since he's so new to being aware of himself.

We're not sure yet what Nix will use this blog for, but if everyone participates, then maybe he'll have a better idea of what his online life can be like, separate from Avery and I. Thanks!

-Amber

[nonotnolan]

No Not Nolan's Year in Review

Once again, it's time for the traditional "year in review" post. Since I've also been collecting prior years in these posts: here's 2021, here's 2022, and here's 2023. This year has more than 12 posts, and that's because I posted a few shorter stories to celebrate the release of my eBook.

I'm not planning to abandon this account anytime soon, but I'd be lying if the thought hadn't occurred to me once or twice. Every year I'm not sure how much longer I'll be doing this, but then every year the support and feedback I receive keeps me going. So if you ever wonder if notes and reblogs help-- yes, they do motivate me to keep going. But more than that, I'd encourage you to message the authors directly. I'm not always the best at carrying a conversation, but it really does mean a lot whenever I hear from you all.

17) Side Effects - 71 notes - January 2024 Okay, well... I like this one. If you've already caused a lot of irreversible damage... why stop now?

16) Labor and Materials - 83 notes - December 2023 Sometimes I can just sort of tell the photos aren't what the average people are wanting, but I like the text too much to toss out the idea. Mass commercialization of body swapping isn't a new idea by any means, but I love exploring all of the low stakes uses and scenarios that would appear if that technology existed.

15) Shapeshifter's Night Out - 111 notes - January 2024 Honestly, this one was mostly just an excuse to pull out a few of the weirder photos I'd come across. I think it holds up well enough, though.

14) Fiverr Warlock: Holiday Magic - 183 notes - December 2023 The thing about the Fiverr Warlock series is that a lot of story ideas work better without the added baggage of the lore and narrator. This one holds up pretty well, and the photos do exactly what I need them to do, so I'm quite fond of it.

13) The Ends Justify The Means - 204 notes - February 2024 See, I thought this one was great, especially for the Valentine's Holiday. Sometimes I have no idea what the average reader wants from me, and this is a prime example of that. No regrets, though. I'm never going to apologize for striking more sentimental than erotic.

12) Jock Cock, Part 3 - 219 notes - July 2024 Speaking of which... I can't be too surprised something this sentimental didn't do better. But I still love it, and I don't feel bad about it. (It does, however, make me less inclined to write sequels to other works. My idea about how the story continues vs how people want me to continue the story are seldom in alignment.)

11) Drawing Straws - 235 notes - January 2024 I love trait swapping, and I wish I could get inspired to use it more often. I have to be satisfied with an idea before I'll set it to the page-- it needs to have some amount of characterization and plot outside of "hot guy does a hot thing and it's hot" for me to be happy with it-- so trait swaps don't happen too often for me.

10) Treat Day - 241 notes - January 2024 This is my least favorite of the 5 promo-stories, so naturally it's the one that received the most notes. Revenge swaps are hit or miss for me, but needlessly cruel swaps seldom appeal to me. I like the photos, I like the ending wordplay, but overall it's not one of my favorites.

9) Swap Broker: Social Climbing - 250 notes - October 2024 If there's any story whose low placement on the list hurts to see, it's this one-- I absolutely love this one. Photos, concept, resolution, all of it. Ahh, well. A few people asked me what happened to the original Aiden, which I don't have much interest in writing, but... his father would have given him a one time chunk of hush money, which he would have burned through in a matter of months, at which point he'd probably be forced to start doing hard work for the first time in his life. It's not a happy outcome, which is why it's not a story I'm particularly interested in telling.

8) Jock Cock, Part 2 - 285 notes - June 2024 Like I mentioned for Part 3-- I don't regret writing it, even if I don't quite understand why it wasn't as well received. I'm not sorry for mixing sincere emotions into your casual smut-- it was intentional, and it will happen again. Also I've been doing it for the past 5 years, so presumably you noticed me doing that at least once before? I'm sure it's not a photo issue. Anyway.

7) Spring Break - 313 notes - March 2024 I love it when both parties can get what they want out of a body swap. I've had quite a few stories involving out of touch rich people, now that I think about it-- but then, every idea has already been done before if you simplify it enough.

6) Bodily Betrayal - 319 notes - December 2024 I'm so thrilled to be working with photo-manip artists for future detachable limb stories. You all may not be bothered by my attempts to create suitable pictures, but I definitely am. I mean, look at these pics-- head/body swap? Headless with head in hand? I wouldn't have been able to do that without a lot of practice and training.

5) Trial Period - 351 notes - November 2024 I don't do much with ghosts, and I'm honestly not planning to change that anytime soon. Still, I love the idea of supernatural entities shopping around to choose their next host.

4) This Happens all the Time, It's Detachable - 376 notes - August 2024 This is another one that I absolutely adore, and as a bonus it's a detachable story that requires no photo-manip work whatsoever. Obviously, I had to go with the King Missile reference in the title.

3) Roommate Rehab - 407 notes - April 2024 I still think my photo-manip work is clunky, but it gets the job done, and that's what matters. The interesting thing about writing more detachable works is that I'm really not familiar with any of the tropes. I'm so used to subverting expectations when I write body swap fiction, but it's a lot harder to subvert tropes that I don't know.

2) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 I'm glad this one did well, because it's definitely a lot more vulnerable than what I normally write. It's equal parts sincere and sexy, and I adore it. The thought of what stays with the body and what stays with the mind is one of my favorite concepts to explore with body swapping. On a different tangent, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be to find good photos for a twink model that pass tumblr guidelines.

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 This story came out of nowhere and completely surpassed all of my expectations. I have no idea what it is about this story that appealed to so many people-- probably obvious, given how few notes the other parts pulled. Is it the photos? The idea of using an athlete's body for sex without him knowing? Unfulfilled sex-with-teacher fantasies? I sure as hell don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm flattered.

Above 500 Notes - All Time

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 2) Soulmate Swap - 704 notes - August 2022 3) Gym Merchandise - 654 notes - September 2022 4) Overbearing - 572 notes - May 2022 5) Finals Week - 568 notes - May 2021 6) Group Project - 566 notes - November 2023 6) Revenge, Reversed - 540 notes - August 2020 7) Rookie Mistake - 530 notes - May 2023 8) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 8) Information Overload - 501 notes - August 2021

Well, Jock Cock Part 1 has officially dethroned... uhh, literally everything else. Finals Week, my first piece to break the 500 notes mark, is quickly dropping out of the top 5. And some of these works received random resurgences several months (or years!) later, so that's always fun to see.

Enough time has passed that I have a sort of note rubric to determine success. Anything below 100 notes, I consider flopped. 100-300 is average, and 300-500 is a success. So to have this many stories above 500? It feels pretty good.

Here's hoping next year will see more additions to this list!

Special Mentions

Reunion - 151 notes - February 2024 Once again, @mergeman and I wrote each other stories for Valentine's Day. I do really love the idea of a support group for people affected by body swaps.

I'm always honored whenever I end up tagged in someone's recommended post, and @sanzaibian 's compliment of "someone who writes really sweet love stories ^^" is no exception.

Also, like I said earlier-- I live for compliments and discussion, both given and received. If you've dropped a line or responded to one of my outreach attempts, I appreciate you. If we've talked in the past but it's been a few months since you or I sent the last message-- I'm too ADHD for friendships that follow the constraints of linear time. If we go months between messages, know that I still appreciate you.

Is it too cheesy to end this with a "thanks for viewers like you" sentiment? Maybe, but I'm doing it anyway. I'd be having these ideas with or without an outlet for sharing them, so I really do appreciate the likes and reblogs. Here's to another year!

[avelera]

Your rec has moved wheel of time to the top of my priority watchlist, but out of curiosity would you also recommend the books themselves? Consider this an excuse to ramble as much as you'd like btw ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

HOOOO BOY THAT IS A COMPLICATED QUESTION

My answer is multifaceted. Take it as you will:

1) Wheel of Time was my first fandom. I adored the books. Ate slept and breathed them. It was the first fandom I was online for. They owned my SOUL.

2) BUT… the WOT book fandom I loved was all about the theory mongering. There’s so many CLUES in them and prophecies and hints hidden where only the most attentive will find them. It was so FUN to comb through every word with the community.

3) BUT now that they’re complete, the books don’t really have that experience anymore. Presumably you’ll binge them and unless you do so with a reading group you’re not going to pause between books and try to guess what happens next for weeks or months or years at a time they way we did

(The show is doing a great job putting just enough little twists in that even book readers get to theory monger again and it’s GREAT I bet it’s even great if you’re show-only too if not better!)

4) so basically it’s like asking if “Lost” is worth watching when it used to be this huge cultural phenomenon. I think the answer is “Yes for the story but it is long and the reason it was a phenomenon was all the theorizing the fans did. Just binging it isn’t the same experience that people had when they said they were obsessed.” I’m still excited to share the books with others but the EXPERIENCE isn’t the experience that obsessed me so if the books don’t land with someone I don’t really even try to defend them. It’s just a different sort of pleasure now and maybe the show is best for that.

Then throw in the fact that the author died before finishing them and the last few books are good but stylistically quite different as a result. The new author wraps stuff up a lot more quickly for obvious reasons. Most people loved that but I’m a weird duck who hated it lol because I loved being edged forever by WOT and I got offended when like 3 prophecies got resolved in one chapter when it used to take 3 books to get one resolution.

They’re also long as fuck so if you don’t like them by the end of Book 1 then don’t force it even if later books are great. Because book 1 is like 700 pages and so is each one after that if not longer so I can’t reasonably say “No man you gotta get to Book 4 to REALLY get what the series is about!”

I was hooked by Book 1, and I loved those books like they were life itself and the ending changing the pacing and style crushed me but I still read them because I loved all the characters and that world so so much. The show is doing so much needed edits to this huge sprawling work so ignore the haters who don’t like that it isn’t some impossible page by page adaptation they’re idiots this adaptation is phenomenal.

So, uh, tldr I loved them but they might not be for everyone and that’s fine?

Oh and if you’re reading them for the cute Siuan and Moiraine lesbian romance you don’t really need to read the whole series just read the prologue novella New Spring it’s all in there much more than it’s in the main books.

[orchidsangel]

The holiday season with Jason would be the most comforting thing ever, no matter how you spend it. Thanksgiving through Christmas through New Year is basically you being reminded every day why you love him in the first place. He's so attentive and loving, always doing exactly what you need him to do without ever asking, including skipping out on the annual New Year's Wayne gala to spend the night in with you. It's not like he wanted to go anyway, but if you had, then he'd be rifling through his bedside drawer searching for cufflinks just as he had done many times before when you'd wanted to escape the mundaneness of regular civilian life. This year, however, you'd decided to ring in the new year at home, the illustrious and extravagant gala not seeming too appealing this time around. Now, you sit together on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap while he gently massages the muscle of your calf.

Remnants of dinner and dessert sit in empty bowls on the living room table, streaks of brown ganache on the back of a spoon you'd almost licked clean before Jason had pulled it out of your hand, a hearty laugh escaping the typically quiet man followed by a question of whether it was good or not; it was, he knew it was. They were just a couple of delicious experiments you'd helped him whip up as a last hoorah of sorts before settling down to watch the New Year's Eve performances. A star-studded brigade in sparkly costumes dances around your screen, the backing track of some Hot 100 hit playing loudly over the sound of people cheering, visible breaths appearing on the screen every time the camera pans to the audience. They must be freezing, you think, and pull your blanket over your shoulders at the thought of waiting for the ball to drop in this temperature. You feel Jason gently move your legs off of him, getting up to grab the bowls and plates off the table before putting them in the kitchen sink. The countdown on the TV catches your eye, twenty minutes till midnight, and you stand up from the couch, sliding your slippers on, and walking to the balcony door.

The squeaky sound of the sliding door is faint under the sound of the first fireworks going off. Dashes of gold and white paint the sky, the streams of hot light reflecting in your eyes as you watch night temporarily turn to day. You're not sure how much time passes, but pretty soon, the feeling of warmth surrounding you multiplies tenfold, and strong, muscular arms pull you flush against an equally strong and muscular body. Jason cages you in his arms, keeping you close to him as the last few minutes of the year pass, and his grip is tight, like he's scared he's going to lose you when the clock strikes twelve. The sound of crowds on the street counting down gets louder as the year comes to an end. You and Jason stand in silence, numbness settling into your fingers despite the layers of blanket and man wrapped around you. An eruption of screams breaks out, mixed in with some laughter and Happy New Year's, Jason's cue to turn you around by the waist and kiss you intently, swallowing your surprised gasp until it becomes a smile. New year, new me, they say, but you hoped to god Jason had picked a different resolution because the man in front of you was a man you never wanted to change.

(more than) inspired by this ask, and ik it's not new years anymore but i hope you still enjoy it !! it's a little rushed at the end, and for that i'm sorry but i wanted to post it before it got too far away from jan 1. wishing you all the best this year, and thank you for 300 followers <3

[iglowindark]

@sideguitars and @makicarn you may regret engaging me about my 2025 Pasta Shape Rubric of Awesome (TM). 😜

i was getting quite annoyed with the New Year's Resolution questions from friends and fam - like, i consistently fail to overhaul my life during the other 11 months of the year, why would January be a magical success month? but i was also bumming everyone out during Resolution Reveals so i decided to pick something that would be fun for me and mildly upsetting for my elders!

the initial format was to "try every pasta shape in 2025". but. there are more than 400 pasta shapes. do you know how often i would have to eat pasta to accomplish this? i mean, i had to use a calculator because i forgot a year had 365 days, but it's MORE THAN ONCE PER DAY. i love pasta, but i also love other food, and i need to leave room in my life for every other cuisine.

so then i settled on "52 pasta shapes in 2025" - but glowy! (you might say) how will you decide which 52 pasta shapes to eat??? out of more than 400???

the answer is, of course: arbitrarily! but with a spreadsheet twist, because my first love in life is hot sauce, and my second love in life is a spreadsheet - no, i lied, i forgot about ms underfoot 😸, ok, she's #1, then hot sauce, then spreadsheets, then probably my family i guess.

ok, so please understand, i literally spent 7 hours and 40ish minutes over the past week assembling, editing, auditing, and admiring this spreadsheet. i started with trusty wikipedia, which helpfully broke down pasta shapes into groups like "long/medium" and "short cut" and "soup". it also had a group for "filled", but maki, sorry to say, this group i eliminated wholesale. there was just so much variation in what they might be filled WITH, and i needed some sort of control element. i didn't think it would be fair to compare cheese ravioli with 3-cheese tortellini? the cheeses are not equal! 🧀🧀🧀

so THEN: i did my own sub-grouping. (actually, first i split long and medium into their own groups, because, duh, they're different) long-flat and long-rolled, for example. i also started combining shapes that were really similar. like linguini and tagliatelle are kinda just the same noodle with slightly different widths/shapes/ingredients? (please, nonnas of the world, do not come for me in the comments, this was SO HARD). this part involved a lot of googling. my ad content for the next 4 months is gonna be all pasta related. through many gruelling rounds of re-googling to remind myself what shape was what, and some painful, tearful cuts (lasagne noodles are for lasagne, not for unserious noodle frippery) i finally finally finally culled my list down to 52 pasta shapes. 🍝 (editor's note: the single emoji does not represent this publication's favored pasta shape)

then the FUN part: how was i going to score these 52 pasta shapes? every google result went to pains to insist that different shapes were meant for specific sauces, and i'm sure that's true, but what's the fun in scoring something based on what it's meant to do? (also i didn't want to commit to having to make 52 different sauces/soups) so i came up with this scientifically rigorous scoring rubric:

BUTTERED/RED SAUCED (depending on my mood and whether or not i have red sauce available)

a pasta may earn up to one (1) point for being really good at holding butter/red sauce

a pasta cannot lose points in this category

PRIMAVERA (my version of primavera just means that i diced up whatever veggies i had handy and tossed them w/ the pasta)

a pasta may earn up to one (1) point if i can make one perfect bite that includes veggies/sauce/pasta

a pasta cannot lose points in this category

ALTERNATE USES

a pasta may earn one (1) point (max 5 points) for every non-food alternate use that i can dream up. for example, orecchiette could be used as hats for frogs! or to decorate the ramparts of a sand castle! 2 points for orecchiette!

a pasta may not lose points in this category

MISC/GENERAL (here's where i let my freak flag fly)

a pasta may earn one (1) point if i think the name is fun to say

a pasta may earn one (1) point if i think the shape is "cute"

a pasta may earn one (1) point if it works in a soup

a pasta may earn one (1) point if it might stick (cooked) on the ceiling

a pasta may earn one (1) point if it could probably be used to build a bridge for matchbox cars

a pasta may lose one (1) point if it sticks together unreasonably

a pasta may lose one (1) point if water gets stuck in it and surprises me with pasta water bites

a pasta may lose one (1) point if i can't eat it with a spoon

a pasta may lose one (1) point if it won't fit in a pot without being broken up

a pasta may lose one (1) point if it breaks when dropped from 5 feet (dried and uncooked)

all pasta shapes must be eaten twice (once with butter or red sauce, and once in a primavera), and once i've submitted my scores to myself, i cannot be influenced or bribed to change them. at the end of the year, a Champion Pasta Shape will be announced and celebrated.

so... was that a lot of senseless work for an absolutely pointless goal just so i can eat lots of pasta? heck yeah it was!!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Lovers Say Goodbye | 3 - B.Barnes

Character: soft!dark Bucky x ex-girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds solace and love in an unexpected place, only to have his world shattered by a shocking revelation about the person he cared about.

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3, Chap 4, Chap 5 , -

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to read all your comments. Thank you once again.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

A few Months Later

"I just realized," Bucky murmured, his voice a low rumble transmitted through the earpiece.

"What is it?" Steve responded, concern lacing his words.

Bucky kept his eye focused on the target through the rifle scope. "She never spoke much about her family when we were together," he explained, his voice devoid of emotion. "Only brief mentions."

It was true. You'd never delved deep into your family life, only mentioning their retirement and love for world travel aboard cruise ships. Back then, Bucky had harbored anxieties about being accepted by your parents, worried they would disapprove of their relationship.

However, the truth's unveiling didn't erase the raw pain in his eyes. Instead, it sparked a chilling realization: you were equals. Both of you are masters of the deceptive game.

"Well, something must have smitten you good," Steve chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Bucky's response was devoid of humor. "Sex. Good sex."

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed through the earpiece. "No need to get graphic with me."

A phantom sensation washed over Bucky, a memory of your touch. He recalled the caress of your fingers on his skin, the warmth of your breath against his neck, the intimacy of your body pressed against his. His mind fixated on a specific detail - the strength evident in your legs wrapped around his hips.

Bucky wondered, was the pleasure mutual? Did the experience hold the same significance for you, or was it just another masterful performance?

"Such a shame," he muttered, the bittersweet memory turning to ash in his mouth. "Good memories turned to ashes."

His words were cut short by the sharp crack of the rifle firing. Steve, observing the scene through a remote monitor, cheered. "Bullseye!" he exclaimed, the celebratory tone at odds with the gravity of the situation.

Taking lives was Bucky's expertise. His agency issued the order, and he executed it with unwavering precision, regardless of the complexity of the mission. Most targets were simply names and faces, strangers with no personal connection.

This time, however, the target was significant. He had become a pawn in Bucky's desperate game, a calculated move orchestrated solely to attract your attention. He had murdered an informant.

This time, the target was a high-ranking CIA informant, sacrificed solely to get your attention.

Steve warned, "This is a double-edged sword, Buck. They'll know your hand is in this, and they'll know it's personal."

Bucky's voice was cold and resolute. "That's the point. They'll know this is my work. They'll know it's personal."

He held firm to his belief that his reckless act, taking out the CIA informant, would draw you back. He envisioned them sending you to him, a twisted reunion of sorts.

However, reality unfolded differently. His agency commended him on a job well done, their client's debt to the agency now settled. This outcome was the polar opposite of his intended result.

Meanwhile, you remained oblivious to the chaos he'd unleashed across the miles.

You were deep within the isolated European country, laser-focused on rescuing the hostages. The news of the assassinated informant and the potential storm brewing back home hadn't reached you yet.

The adrenaline coursed through your veins, a familiar yet intoxicating sensation. Your mind buzzed with activity, fueled by the thrill of the unknown and the ever-present danger. This was the lifeblood you craved, the constant stimulation that had been absent during the past two years.

Flashback Start

Two years spent undercover in a war-torn country, posing as a florist. A stark contrast to the thrilling, high-octane missions you had always thrived on. But it had been necessary. The previous agents sent to infiltrate Bucky's life had all returned in body bags. You were the agency's last resort, their ace in the hole.

They had given you a mere 24 hours to transform yourself from seasoned operative to unassuming florist. The moment you saw Bucky step into your shop, everything you'd built, every practiced smile and fabricated story, teetered on the edge of collapse.

Your hand hovered near the concealed gun nestled beneath the counter, yet it remained unmoving. Something was different. The usual cacophony of the city seemed muted, replaced by an intense silence that amplified the sound of your own ragged breaths and the frantic thump of your heart. Bucky's eyes locked with yours, his gaze a stormy sea of conflicting emotions.

For a moment, the world held its breath. Time seemed to slow, stretching into an eternity where only the two of you existed. The air crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a potent mix of danger and something else, something you couldn't quite define.

Your mind whirred as Bucky approached the counter, requesting flowers for a funeral. You meticulously combed through your inventory, carefully selecting blooms that held the weight of grief and remembrance. The familiar scent of lilies and carnations filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As Bucky wordlessly left the shop, the heavy bouquet cradled in his arms, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You watched his broad, fearless shoulders slump as he headed towards the funeral, a lone figure burdened by sorrow. It was no ordinary funeral; you knew it was for his former handler, the man whose death had orchestrated everything – the death of Bucky's handler, Operation Pandora, and ultimately, your own undercover operation.

Initially, the CIA's instructions were simple: observe Bucky. They were aware of his safe houses near your flower shop, anticipating his return and potential request for employment. However, the agency and you, along with them, had never expected this turn of events.

Your new mission: to distract Bucky, to prevent him from digging into the death of his former handler. While you played your part, Director Brandon and a team of agents worked tirelessly to eliminate any trace of Operation Pandora. It was a meticulous process, ensuring absolute secrecy, hence the two-year duration.

When Brandon called and said, "It's finished," you left. Leaving behind the lingering whispers of a life that had become a carefully constructed facade, you didn't hesitate.

You lied when he asked if you regretted anything. Those two years with Bucky were a break, a rest from the usual danger. But it wasn't real because you were lying while he genuinely cared.

Flashback Ended

You wanted to forget everything, so you took a mission where you couldn't contact anyone. Your only job was to save hostages, which took time, planning, and working together. It was hard, and you got hurt, but finally, your team succeeded in saving all the hostages.

Months later, when you finally boarded the private jet for your return, you were surprised to find Director Brandon onboard. Usually, he remained at headquarters, awaiting reports of successful missions. His presence sent a tremor of apprehension through you.

Brandon gestured towards the seat across from him. "Sit down."

You complied, fastening your seatbelt as you settled in. "Why'd you come all the way here?" you inquired, a cold compress pressed against your right eye, the throbbing evidence of a recent punch.

The plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air before Brandon spoke, handing you a file. "You need to see this."

Your eyebrows shot up as you set down the ice pack. "Another mission?"

Brandon shook his head. "No. It's about the aftermath of... what we did."

Curiosity piqued, you flipped open the file. Your breath hitched as a photograph greeted you: Bucky, his face obscured by a mask, gun clutched in one hand, a hostage held captive in the other. You'd never witnessed such raw fury in him before, but a deep-seated certainty gnawed at you - you were the spark that ignited this inferno.

With a defeated sigh, you closed the file. "Can't you handle this?"

Brandon's voice held a hint of regret. "If I could, I wouldn't have come to get you."

Another sigh, heavier this time, escaped your lips. "He wants to talk to me."

Brandon nodded silently. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes. "Just tell me when we land."

Each passing moment was fraught with tension, the image of Bucky burning into your mind. The weight of your choice, the lie you'd woven, pressed down on you like a physical burden. As the plane soared through the clouds, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation, the consequence of a past drenched in deception.

*************

The car sped through the bustling city streets, a tense silence hanging heavy in the air between you and Brandon. The file containing Bucky's photo as a ruthless hostage-taker lay discarded on your lap, the image seared into your memory.

"We have to prepare for the worst," Brandon said, his voice grim. "We don't know what that bastard will do to you."

You remained quiet, your gaze fixed on the cityscape blurring past the window. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within you: regret, guilt, and a flicker of fear.

Brandon continued, "You can't do this alone, Y/N."

"I know," you finally responded, your voice barely audible.

Brandon offered a heavy sigh. "Good. I've gathered some agents who..."

His sentence was abruptly cut short by a deafening explosion that rocked the car. The rear driver-side tire gave way, sending the vehicle swerving wildly across the street.

"What the hell?!" Brandon exclaimed, his voice laced with shock.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, the years of undercover training kicking in. "It's him," you stated, your voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around you.

"Damn it! Where is he? We wiped our tracks clean," Brandon cursed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he fought to regain control of the car.

You craned your neck to look through the rear window, spotting a lone figure standing on the overpass ahead of them. Bucky. He held a sniper rifle aimed directly at your car, his masked face unreadable.

"There," you said, pointing towards him.

Panic flickered in Brandon's eyes before he slammed on the gas pedal, shouting to the driver, "Faster!"

The chase was on, a desperate attempt to outmaneuver a vengeful Bucky and reach the safety of the agency headquarters. The once quiet car ride had morphed into a heart-pounding race against time, the line between hunter and hunted blurring with each passing moment.

The car lurched and swayed, tires screeching in protest as Brandon fought to regain control. Explosions echoed behind them, a deadly symphony composed of shattered glass and mangled metal. Each boom sent tremors through the car, a chilling reminder of Bucky's deadly precision.

You watched, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, as one by one, the cars accompanying them were systematically eliminated. Bucky, a relentless specter on the overpass above, picked them off with chilling ease. Each shot rang out like a death knell, extinguishing the hopes of their backup and leaving you and Brandon increasingly isolated.

"Damn him!" Brandon roared, frustration and fear coloring his voice. "He's like a goddamn ghost!"

With a final, bone-jarring explosion, the last remaining car sputtered and screeched to a halt, flames licking at its mangled frame. You and Brandon exchanged a grim look, the weight of their predicament settling like a leaden weight in your gut.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a figure materialized on the edge of the overpass, silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

Bucky, his mask a stark contrast to the golden light, dropped down onto the hood of the flaming car with an agility that defied physics. He landed in a crouch, the glint of his rifle barrel reflecting the dying sun as he turned his gaze towards you.

A tremor ran through you, a primal mix of shock and awe. You'd known of his skills, witnessed glimpses of his prowess during your time together, but this... this was something else entirely. He moved with a lethal grace, a predator stalking its prey, and the cold certainty in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

"Shit," you muttered, the single word encompassing the maelstrom of emotions churning within you. With a chilling certainty, you knew this was no longer just a mission gone wrong. This was personal.

You fumbled for your gun, the familiar weight a cold comfort in your trembling hand. But your movements were sluggish, weighed down by the shock and the adrenaline wearing off. Before you could even raise the weapon, a click echoed in the air, the sound of a safety being disengaged. It was too late.

Bucky lowered his mask, revealing a face etched with a mixture of pain and fury. His eyes, once full of warmth and affection, now held the hollow glint of a man consumed by vengeance.

"Welcome back, Alex," he said, his voice a low growl. "Or should I say, Y/N?"

The familiar name, once a term of endearment, now sounded foreign, laced with a bitter edge. You remained silent, the weight of his words and the betrayal they carried settling heavily in your chest.

He waited, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something, perhaps a flicker of recognition, a spark of remorse. But there was only a void, a reflection of the shattered trust that lay between you.

"I've been waiting for a long time," he finally spoke, his voice devoid of its usual gruffness, replaced by a chilling emptiness.

You found your voice then, a mere whisper escaping your lips. "Why are you doing this?"

Bucky remained silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the burning car nearby. He took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving yours.

He reached out, his calloused fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of familiarity and fear.

"Don't you know?" he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I'm doing this to get your attention."

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Author Note:

My dear readers and followers,

Could you please share your opinions about this series with me?

If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear why it appealed to you.

If not, I would greatly appreciate your feedback and advice on improving the series.

Thank you!

[gojoulen03]

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

"MY DAUGHTER, THE DIVINE ONE"

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

A/N:

I'm saying this rn but this.. this blog is a literal mess. It's my first time posting this kinda uh.. yup. So I'm a little annoyed by it but I'm bored so I went through.. uh with it anyway..

I had an alternate version of this in Wattpad called 'Rose Thorns' lol. I'm still thinking of who will be the love interest for Y/n because this sht is similar to the usual SAGAU plot idk if I'm right though (correct me if I'm wrong lol).

Again, this is a mess. Idk if I posted this correctly.. but I tried anyway..

Sypnosis :

You are Tsukuyomi Y/n with a lovely daughter named Yuna. You've always dreamed of becoming a mother and decided to have one through artificial method (lol idk if that's real yet but I remembered a manga with that Soo YUp AND THIS IS FICTION so I had the power of making the impossible real here in this story LOL and yes you are rich in Earth cuz i said so ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)). You paid someone handsomely to give you the means to have a child without any sort of y'know lol- and finally had Yuna after so long of waiting.

You are deeply devoted to Yuna's well-being and promised to protect her no matter what.

But tragedy struck when you got involved in a car accident that claimed your life, leaving your daughter Yuna without her only guardian. Your own death left you feeling desolate and remorseful for not being able to watch your 5-year-old daughter grow up.

However, your journey took an unexpected turn when you found yourelf in a mysterious and unfamiliar world. You retained only hazy memories of your past life but resolved to forge ahead. Even in this strange new world, you couldn't let go of your fervent prayers for Yuna's safety.

You went on a journey in this new world called Teyvat. But what if your daughter follows you there - all grown up, so mature and with so many mysteries?

GENSHIN IMPACT X G/N! Reader

Warnings: Grammatical Errors, Lazy Writing, Possibly alot of errors again lol, MANY TYPOS idK, VERY OOC (I'mma not lie here), Y/n being the Cupid LATER lol, Yandere!Harem??? Obsessive Acolytes/Believers to the Divine One, MANY SIMPINGS ˛(ˊʙˋ)੭˒˒

CHAPTER 00

In the supposedly peaceful and beautiful world - Y/n, a beautiful God(dess) in a white robe and veil, had been engaged in a fierce battle to protect your city from marauding Gods. Your barrier stood resolute, deflecting attacks and safeguarding your people, but the more you fought, the more you felt your energy wane.

"Your majesty! Please, it's enough!" A voice was heard from behind. But despite the pleas of your beloved subjects to cease the battle, You remained unyielding, your bowstring singing as you sent arrow after arrow towards your foes. The Archon War had erupted unexpectedly, shattering the harmony among divine beings who were once friends. You couldn't comprehend why you were now locked in a merciless struggle for your nations' survival.

"You must be getting tired. How about resting now?" taunted by your enemy God, reveling in your weakening state. Undeterred, You glared back, refusing to back down. Your resolve was unbreakable; You were determined to defend your land until your very last breath.

"I will not! I will never back down until my last breath!" You yelled.

"Let's see about that, Goddess Y/n!" They said, as they were ready to launched another attack.

But just as you braced yourself for another attack, a familiar voice broke through the haze of battle.

"Ma/Pa.."

"Ma/Pa.. ma/pa.."

"Mama/Papa!!"

Startled, You gasped, your battle-weary eyes fluttering open. You found yourself in a small, warm room, and your attention was drawn to a tiny, innocent face—the face of your adorable daughter, Yuna.

"Mama/Papa! You're awake, right?!" Yuna's tiny hands shook you, urging you back to consciousness.

"Mama/Papa, it's time to wake up!" You blinked, the memories of your celestial battle fading into the background as you're fully awake now.

"Oh, Mama/Papa's awake now, dear Yuna," you whispered, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you lifted your daughter into your arms.

Yuna's innocent eyes widened with concern. "Mama/Papa, you were making scared noises in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?"

You smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Yuna's cheek. "It was just a bad dream, my love. Mama/Papa's fine now." You marveled at the contrast between the dream's fierce goddess persona and the reality of your role as a loving parent. How could such a powerful being in your dream world be the same person who cuddled with your daughter each morning?

"Let's focus on happier things," You suggested, ruffling Yuna's hair playfully.

"Hehe, okay! Let's eat breakfast now, Mama/Papa! I'm hungry!" Yuna's enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of your daughter's radiant joy. You dismissed the surreal images of your divine battle as a dream or perhaps the result of watching too many fantasy movies recently.

"What would you like to eat today, my little sunshine?" You asked.

Yuna's face lit up with excitement. "Pancakes, Mama/Papa! With strawberries!"

You chuckled, the remnants of the dream slipping further away with each giggle. "Pancakes it is, sweetheart. Let's make them together."

With a tender smile, You kissed Yuna's forehead. "And also good morning, my precious. I love you."

Yuna giggled, her laughter echoing through the room like music. "I love you too, Mama/Papa!"

Together, you both ventured into the kitchen, the aroma of pancakes filling the air as you expertly flipped them on the griddle. Yuna stood on a chair, her eyes wide with fascination as she watched her parent cook.

What had seemed like a fierce, otherworldly struggle faded into the background as you dismissed it as a fleeting nightmare. Perhaps it was the result of watching too many fantasy movies, you thought, trying to rationalize the vivid dream.

"Yeah, it must be a dream," You reassured yourself, embracing the reality of your daughter's laughter and the aroma of breakfast wafting from the kitchen.

"Mama/Papa, are you a superhero?" Yuna asked suddenly, her innocent curiosity sparking a twinkle in her eyes.

You paused, caught off guard by the question. You knelt down to Yuna's eye level, your expression tender. "Well, I might not be a superhero, but I'll always protect you, my dear. You mean everything to me."

Yuna beamed, her small hand reaching out to grasp yours. "I love you, Mama/Papa!"

"I love you too, my precious Yuna," You whispered, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

You prepared a hearty meal for yourself and for your precious daughter, Yuna, savoring the simple pleasures of your shared moments. As you both sat down to eat, Yuna's innocent chatter filled the room, momentarily pushing away the lingering thoughts of that dream you had earlier.

"Mama/Papa, what's your favorite story?" Yuna asked between bites of the pancakes.

You smiled, reminiscing about the stories you used to hear as a child. "My favorite story is about a brave god(dess) who protected their people from all the dangers of the world. They were strong, just like me, and they never gave up, no matter how tough things got."

Yuna's eyes widened with admiration. "Wow, Mama/Papa, you're like that god(dess), right?"

You chuckled, ruffling Yuna's hair affectionately. "I try to be, sweetheart. I'll always protect you and keep you safe, no matter what."

You only wished the best for your daughter.

That's all you need..

Those dreams probably meant nothing, right?

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, with You and Yuna sharing your lives in blissful harmony. You had put the strange dreams behind you, attributing them to a mere figment of your imagination, yet the memories of your battles as a god(dess) lingered, casting a subtle shadow over your peaceful existence.

It also arose so many questions..

Why do you have that dream?

What does it mean?

Is it a past life?

Why are you remembering it?

You're already happy with youe daughter. You don't want to be burden with a problem you don't even know about.

That was all just a dream anyways..

But one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found herself lost in thought on the porch of their cozy home. Yuna, now a bit older but just as radiant, skipped over, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"Mama/Papa, why do you sometimes look so sad?" Yuna asked, her voice tinged with concern.

You smiled gently, your fingers tracing the patterns of the wooden porch. "Oh, my sweet Yuna, it's just Mama/Papa's thoughts wandering. Sometimes, grown-ups think about many things at once."

"But you can tell me, Mama. I'm a big girl now!" Yuna insisted, her determination mirroring her parent's.

You sighed, realizing that your daughter was growing up and deserved to know the truth, or at least part of it. "Alright, my love. Mama/Papa had some strange dreams lately, dreams of battles and wars. It felt like I was someone else, someone powerful but burdened by the weight of protecting others."

Yuna's eyes widened in awe. "Like a superhero?"

You nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips. "Yes, something like that. But these dreams were so vivid, as if they were memories from another life. It's all very confusing, Yuna."

Yuna reached out and held her parent's hand, her grip surprisingly strong for a child her age. "Mama/Papa, I think those dreams are trying to tell you something. Maybe you're meant to do something important."

You looked at your daughter, marveling at the wisdom hidden behind those innocent eyes. "You're right, Yuna. Perhaps there's a reason I'm having these dreams. I just wish I knew what it meant."

You couldn't help but hug your daughter. Just how caring and smart is this girl? This daughter of yours is too perfect to be yours. She's far too wise..

Even you can't come out with such an advice. But your 5 years old daughter could.

"You're so mature, aren't you, my love?" You said, as you kisses your daughter's chubby cheek who giggled in return. "Hehe! Because I am a big girl!"

"Yes, you are a big girl, love."

Though you couldn't exactly shake the feeling of being a powerful god(dess) in that otherworldly battle, your memories of an archon war still vivid, despite the comforting reality of your daughter's presence.

"Mama/Papa, can I ask you something?" Yuna's innocent voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Of course, my sweet," You replied, setting your daughter to your side to give your full attention to your daughter.

Yuna looked up at you with those big, curious eyes. "What were you fighting in your dream, mama/papa? Were you super strong?"

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the complexities of your dream world to a 5-year-old. "Well, it was just a dream, dear. In the dream, Mama/Papa had to protect something very important, just like how I always protect you."

Yuna nodded thoughtfully. "Like a superhero, right?"

You smiled, relieved at the simplicity of Yuna's understanding. "Yes, like a superhero."

"Cool! I wanna be a superhero too!"

"Study first-"

"But mama/papa!!"

"Just kidding~!"

But as the day went on, you couldn't shake the feeling that your dream held a deeper significance. The memories of the archon war and the title of "God(dess) Y/n" haunted your thoughts, refusing to be dismissed as mere fantasy.

That night, after tucking Yuna into bed and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, you found herself unable to sleep. You decided to indulge your curiosity and did something you hadn't done in a long time-you opened your laptop and began searching for information about archons and the concept of divine beings.

But you found no information about all the things you remembers in your dream.

Is it just.. a dream?

Lost in thought, you murmured, "God(dess) Y/n... Archon War... it all feels so distant yet so real."

Yuna, ever perceptive, approached her parent out of nowhere, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Mama/Papa, is something bothering you?"

"Ahh!" You almost fell down your chair when you saw your daughter standing next to you. Gosh! She's scary sometimes!

"Gosh, you scared Mama/Papa, love." You said, as you sighed in relieved that it was only your daughter. Yuna shrugged her shoulder before climbing into your lap and sitting comfortably.

"Why aren't you sleeping, baby? Didn't Mama/Papa tucked you in already?"

"Can't sleep yet.." She respond, as she hugged her doll tighter before looking back to you.

"So.. what's bothering you, Mama/Papa?" She asked curiously.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for your sweet daughter's concern. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Just an old dream Mama had like i told you before-"

But as you spoke, a sudden jolt surged through you, a flash of memories and emotions that felt too vivid to be merely a dream. You saw yourself clad in divine armor, battling against other gods. Faces once blurred became clear in your mind's eye.

"The Archon War.." You whispered, the words heavy with realization. "It's like.. a reality.. I'm not sure.. but I felt like I've known about it like a long time ago.."

Yuna's eyes widened with wonder. "Mama/Papa, what's an Archon war??"

You shake your head, your mind racing to comprehend the implications of your rediscovered identity. "I don't know, sweetie.. but there was a war. But why? Why were we fighting? Why was i fighting? What am I protecting..?" You questioned, confusing the little girl even more.

"Ehh.. really, Mama/Papa? Maybe you died and got reincarnated? I saw a movie about that!" Yuna explained.

"Reincarnated? Wait- how did you know that big word?" You asked. Yuna giggled as she snuggled into her doll. "Hehe! I heard it from watching marvel!"

"Right.. Hawkman.."

"Hehe! I like Ironman and Hawkman!" Yuna said excitedly, as she raised her doll up like it was flying.

You sighed. "Maybe I made her watch so many movies.."

Still.. how can this be?

Why are you remembering all this memories now?

You already have a life with your daughter..

Why now?

As you navigated the bustling city streets, your thoughts were consumed by the anticipation of seeing Yuna's face light up with joy upon receiving the special treats you had bought today. The aroma of fresh donuts filled the car, tempting your senses as you carefully maneuvered through the traffic.

Your dedication to your daughter, Yuna, was unwavering. You juggled a demanding career as a high-profile fashion designer for a prestigious modeling company while ensuring that your daughter's upbringing was filled with love, happiness, and positive role models. Your decision to distance yourself from your previously abusive and greedy household was a testament to your commitment to providing Yuna with a safe and nurturing environment.

As you drove home, the box of delectable donuts sat securely on the passenger seat, tempting your senses with their sweet aroma. You couldn't help but smile, thinking about the joy these treats would bring to your little girl.

"I bet my baby would like the donuts I bought today," You mused aloud, your excitement palpable. "It's definitely the best ones I've tasted! I'm sure she'll like them."

With each turn of the wheel, your anticipation grew. The thought of Yuna's radiant smile and the delighted squeals of a child about to receive a cherished surprise filled your heart with warmth. There was nothing you wouldn't do to ensure Yuna's happiness and well-being.

She is your precious girl after all.

Who wouldn't want the best for their child?

"My precious baby... I so missed you, my Yuna. Mama will be spoiling you a lot this weekend for sure. Hmm... maybe I'll take her to the water park this Saturday?" Your thoughts were filled with excitement as you drove home, your anticipation growing with each passing moment.

However, in the midst of your joyful reverie, you failed to notice the fast-approaching truck until it was too late. The deafening impact sent shockwaves through your car, causing it to veer off the road and collide with the oncoming vehicle. The world around you blurred into chaos, and time seemed to slow as the accident unfolded.

Huh?

The world around you spun into chaos as the impact of the collision reverberated through your body. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the sound of screeching brakes filled the air. Darkness enveloped you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

When you finally regained her senses, you found yourself trapped in the wreckage of your car. Pain radiated through your body, and as you tried to move, you realized your injuries were severe. Panic welled up within you as the realization of what had just happened sunk in.

Your thoughts immediately turned to your daughter, Yuna. Fear clutched at your heart as you desperately called out to your little girl, but there was no response. Panic and anguish swirled within you as you fought against the pain and the wreckage that held you captive. I must go back to her! I still haven't given the donuts to my precious baby!

Pain shot through your body as you clung to consciousness, your first thought being of your precious Yuna. Panic continued to surged within you as you struggled to assess the situation.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you managed to unbuckle yourself and crawl out of the mangled car. Your vision was blurred, and your limbs felt heavy, but you had to go home to Yuna.

Your legs wobbled, panic turned to dread as you thought about Yuna waiting at home with the nanny, unaware of the accident. You had to get home, had to make sure your daughter was safe.

In the midst of the chaos, your thoughts were solely with Yuna. "I hope my Yuna is safe," you thought, your heart pounding with fear and concern. The seconds stretched like hours as you struggled to regain your bearings, your mind racing with worry for your daughter.

In the distance, you could hear voices shouting, the wailing of sirens approaching.

Your car's front end was crumpled, and the truck involved in the accident was equally damaged. The scene was chaotic, with concerned onlookers and emergency responders swarming around.

"M-my daughter," Y/n's voice laced with desperation. "Please, you have to help me. I need to get home to her."

The emergency responders arrived swiftly, their skilled hands working efficiently to extract you from the wreckage. All the while, your thoughts remained fixated on Yuna, your love for your daughter propelling you forward.

In the ambulance, amidst the blaring sirens and the medical team's urgent voices, you clung to consciousness. Your mind was a whirlwind of fear and determination. You couldn't let go, not when your little daughter syill needed you.

"It's gonna be okay, ma'am! Don't lose your consciousness! We're almost there!"

"We have to immediately take first aid!"

(Idk about this.. uh things so bear with it lol)

At the hospital, doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to stabilize you. Hours passed in a haze of pain and worry, but through it all, one thought persisted - your precious daughter, Yuna. You needed to be there for her, to protect her, just as you had always vowed to do.

As you lay there, pain coursing through your body, you felt a profound sense of urgency. The world around your became hazy, youe vision blurred. You knew your time was slipping away, like sand through an hourglass. The paramedics rushed to your side, their voices a distant echo in your ears.

In the midst of the chaos, you fought to find your voice, to speak your final words before surrendering to the abyss. With a tremor in your weakened voice, you whispered to yourself, aware that youe daughter, Yuna, remained oblivious to the tragedy that had befallen you.

"Yuna," you choked out, each word infused with a mixture of anguish and love. "My sweet, beloved daughter, I hope you can hear these words, even if only in your heart.."

As you felt the grip of life slipping away, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The pain and confusion consumed you, but amidst it all, you clung to your final thoughts, desperate to convey your love and remorse to your beloved daughter, Yuna.

Barely able to speak, your voice reduced to a mere whisper, your mind screamed with unspoken words. You yearned to tell Yuna how sorry you are, how deeply ashamed you felt for leaving your behind in this world, alone and unaware of the impending tragedy.

Blood pooled in your throat, choking your words and stealing your breath, but your thoughts raced with determination. With every ounce of strength you still possessed, you wished for your daughter's growth, for her to thrive in a world that you had only begun to understand.

In the midst of your pain, your love for Yuna burned brighter than ever. You wanted your daughter to know that your absence was never a choice, but a cruel twist of fate. Tears welled in your eyes, mixing with the blood that stained your lips, as you silently begged for forgiveness.

As the medical team continued to do their work on helping her, their urgent movements a blur around your fading consciousness, You held onto the image of Yuna in your mind. You whispered your final words, a desperate plea, hoping that somehow, in the vastness of the universe, your daughter would feel your love and hear your apologies.

In those fleeting moments, Your thoughts transcended the physical realm. You poured your heart and soul into a silent scream, a profound expression of love and regret that resonated in the depths of your being.

Through the pain and struggle, You fought to string together more coherent thoughts, desperate to convey your feelings, hopes, and apologies to your beloved daughter.

"My sweet Yuna, forgive me... I never wanted to leave you, my baby," you whispered in your mind, your voice quivering with a mix of love and anguish.

"I won't witness your first heartbreak... but remember, my darling, you are stronger than you know. You will rise above the pain and find love again."

"Yuna, my precious baby, don't let my absence hold you back. Embrace life's opportunities, explore the world, and chase your dreams with unwavering determination."

Her thoughts grow strained and weak, you continued, your words a fragile thread connecting you to your daughter's future. "I wanted to guide you, to be there for you... but circumstances have robbed us of that chance. You must find your own way, my love."

The tears flowed freely as your thoughts turned to the milestones you would miss. "I won't see you find your lifelong friends, those who will stand by your side through laughter and tears. But know that true friendships will enrich your life in ways I could never imagine."

"Yuna, my heart aches at the thought of not witnessing your wedding day. But when that time comes, know that I am with you in spirit, overflowing with love and pride as you embark on a new chapter of your life."

Your voice grew fainter, but your determination pushed you to utter one last plea in your head. "Promise me, my sweet Yuna, that you will live a life filled with joy, passion, and purpose. Seek happiness, embrace love, and never forget the strength within you."

As the darkness closed in, your final thoughts were consumed by your daughter's welfare. "Please, someone... protect and cherish my Yuna. Be the support and guiding light that I can no longer be. Love her as fiercely as I do."

With your strength waning, you held onto the hope that your whispered words would find their way to Yuna's heart. You longed for your daughter to know the depth of your love, the remorse you felt for leaving too soon, and the unwavering belief in Yuna's ability to navigate life's challenges.

And as your consciousness slowly faded, your final thoughts were a fervent wish for your daughter's growth, happiness, and the fulfillment of all her dreams.

"I love you, my Yuna.."

In your final moments, your thoughts were consumed by your undying love for Yuna, a love that transcended the boundaries of life and death. As your eyes fluttered closed, your last thoughts were of your daughter's smiling face, a beacon of light that guided you into the unknown.

You couldn't fight your dead..

Not again..

You failed again..

You failed protecting someone again..

And in that fleeting moment, as the world faded to darkness, you found solace in the knowledge that your love for Yuna would endure, an eternal flame that would continue to burn brightly, even in your absence.

'I'm so sorry, Yuna..'

Yuna played contentedly with her dolls, her imagination leading her on adventures only a child's mind could conjure. Her nanny and also Y/n's best friend, Kate, sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the little girl as she indulged in her imaginative play. Yuna was a charming but particular child, especially when it came to her food preferences. Yet, her undeniable cuteness made her nannies' hearts melt, rendering any minor inconveniences inconsequential.

Kate focused on the news broadcast playing on the television, its volume low so as not to disturb Yuna's playtime. But then, an unexpected news report abruptly seized her attention.

"A twenty-six-year-old woman/man was caught in a car accident," the news anchor announced solemnly. "The authorities have confirmed their identity. Tsukuyomi Y/n. She/He is a famous fashion designer for the Famous El Vera Company, who lives with their daughter, Tsukuyomi Yuna, in the..."

Kate's breath caught in her throat as she listened to the news report. Time seemed to stand still as the weight of the information sank in. Her eyes darted to Yuna, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, her innocent laughter filling the room.

She quickly turned off the television, not wanting Yuna to overhear the devastating news. Panic welled up within Kate as she contemplated how to handle the situation delicately. She knew she had to inform Yuna about her parent's accident, but how could she break such heart-wrenching news to a young child?

Taking a deep breath, Kate approached Yuna gently, crouching down to her eye level. She mustered a warm smile, masking the anguish she felt inside.

"Hey, sweetie," Kate began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "I have something important to tell you about your mom/dad."

Yuna looked up, her big, innocent eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it, Nanny?"

"Well, darling, your mommy/daddy was in a car accident," Kate said softly, her heart breaking at the thought of shattering Yuna's world. "They're hurt, and they're in the hospital right now, getting the help they needs."

Tears welled up in Yuna's eyes as she clutched her doll tightly, her heart aching with a profound sense of loss. In that moment, the world seemed to crumble around her, and the reality of her mother/father's absence began to sink in.

"But... but Mama/Papa promised they'd come back, right?" Yuna choked out, her voice breaking as she struggled to hold back tears. "They said they'd bring me donuts today... they can't be... they can't..."

Kate fought back tears, mustering all the strength she had. "Yuna! I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can to help them! But it's important for you to know that they loves you very much, and they want you to be strong and brave while they recover."

A flicker of fear crossed Yuna's face, and she clutched her doll tightly. "Can I see mommy/daddy?"

Kate's heart sank. She knew the truth had to be told, no matter how painful it was. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but right now, your mommy/daddy needs to rest and get better. The doctors won't let visitors in. But you can send them your love and thoughts, and they'll feel them, I promise."

Tears welled up in Yuna's eyes, and she buried her face in the safety of Kate's arms. "I want my mommy/daddy, Kate. I miss her/him."

Kate enveloped Yuna in a warm embrace, her own eyes filling with tears. "I know, sweetheart. I know it's incredibly hard. Your Mama/Papa loved you very much, and they'll always be in your heart."

As Yuna clung to her, seeking comfort, Kate whispered a silent prayer for strength and guidance. She knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges, but she was determined to be there for Yuna, to support her, and to help her navigate the difficult journey of healing and acceptance. She was only a little girl and she had lost her only parent. Isn't Y/n's family full of abusive people? Yuna will be in danger for sure..

Kate hold Yuna tightly in her arms, as she embrace the little girl and whispering comforting words to her.

'I promise to protect your daughter for you, Y/n..'

Taglist: ----

♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡

@gojoulen03

[savingsallow]

— Random Facts About Ale

[get to know this resident lover boy be why tf not]

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(1) Adept Duellist

Alejandro possesses a genuine passion for dueling, viewing it not just as a competition but as an elegant dance of strategy, timing, and skill. His dedication has earned him a reputation as one of the finest duellists at Hogwarts, where the thrill of the match pulses through his veins.

Professor Hecat, with her rigorous training and insightful teachings, is his favorite mentor, inspiring him to refine his craft and embrace the nuances of each duel.

—

(2) Nature Enthusiast

There’s a unique joy Alejandro finds in tending to plants, as it reflects a blend of patience, nurturing, and growth. His fascination began in childhood, where he would assist his mother in cultivating her garden of vegetables and herbs, learning from her both the joy and teachings that come from nature. This bond offered him an appreciation for the slow unfolding of life and the quiet lessons it holds.

In addition to his love for plants, Alejandro has an unwavering affection for animals of all kinds. His 'toxic trait' is his resolute determination to pet any creature he encounters, regardless of how friendly or fearsome it may be. This endearing quality often surprises others, as animals seem instinctively drawn to him, responding to his gentle demeanor and warm presence.

—

(3) Proud Muggle Heritage

Yes, Alejandro proudly identifies as a Muggle-born.

Coming from a religious family that viewed witchcraft with skepticism, Ale's journey into the magical world was complex and fraught with challenges. When his family discovered his powers, instead of rejecting him, they chose to embrace and protect him. They kept his magical abilities confidential from the outside world to shield him from the scrutiny and potential ostracism associated with their religious beliefs.

Once sorted into Slytherin, Alejandro faced the harsh realities of fitting into a house with a reputation for elitism. Enduring taunts of being called a "Mudblood," he worked tirelessly to prove himself in this new environment. His background instilled in him a strong sense of justice; he became a vocal advocate for those who faced discrimination, particularly his fellow Muggles. This commitment often put him at odds with the more traditional values of his peers, showcasing his bravery and integrity.

—

(4) Aspiring Poet

When he finds a moment of solitude, Ale often turns to his journal to express his thoughts and feelings through poetry. This creative outlet serves as a refuge, allowing him to unwind and examine the intricate tapestry of emotions swirling within him. Each poem becomes a reflection of his experiences, from the beauty of nature to the complexities of his relationships. This artistic side not only enriches his character but also offers glimpses into his inner life—revealing the layers beneath his charming exterior.

—

(5) Unreturned Affection

(shot by: @acslytherpuff ❤️‍🔥)

Alejandro's heart has long belonged to Val, a deep and unrequited love that shapes much of his emotional landscape.

His infatuation ignited during their fifth-year DADA class when Val triumphantly defeated Sebastian in a duel, a moment that left an indelible mark on him. From that point on, Alejandro yearned to be closer to her, and remarkably, they developed a close friendship that he cherished deeply.

(shot by and mc, alvin, on the left belongs to: @acslytherpuff )

In his quest to spend more time with Val, Alejandro enrolled in flying classes despite his lack of enthusiasm for the subject. His willingness to step out of his comfort zone speaks volumes about his dedication to her—he even joined the Quidditch team, knowing it was close to her heart. Through both joyous times and challenging moments, Alejandro has stood by Val’s side as a steadfast friend, offering support and encouragement, even as his heart ached with unspoken feelings.

Despite the clarity of his emotions, he has refrained from explicitly confessing his love for Val; instead, his actions often speak louder than words. Whenever she’s near, Alejandro is transformed from a suave, flirtatious charmer into a clumsy, endearing mess, making it clear how smitten he is.

His chance at romance nearly materialized during their sixth year, but Garreth's unexpected arrival complicated matters and ignited jealousy in Alejandro, whom he secretly despises. Nevertheless, Alejandro’s selflessness shines through—his newfound angst is tempered by the knowledge that if Val is happy and safe, that’s all that truly matters to him, even if he isn’t the one who makes her feel that way.

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[pretentious-blonde]

tw: alcohol, drugs

not to alarm anyone but i'm 6 months sober today!!!

and i just want to say to everyone, from the absolute bottom of my heart, thank you!!! you have no idea how much this all means to me!!!

this blog was started last summer when i was on, like, the nth rock-bottom and still using, as a way to escape from the shit show that was my life. i stopped writing at the end of the season to sort of get my life back on track and put real effort into recovery.

after christmas and nye i felt absolutely terrible, i couldn't go out and celebrate in the way i wanted to (without going back to square one), and lost a lot of people in my life as a result. we actually didn't have much in common, apart from substance use.

i picked this blog up again after making it my new years resolution, to actually do something, and have just been blown away by how lovely and wonderful everyone is on here and so so supportive. i have spoken to people all over the world who don't know anything about my life apart from the silly stories i write. and that felt so freeing.

idk, i'm crying and i'm being sappy, but i dont care. this has genuinely brought me so much joy being able to share this with all of you. every message and comment has reminded me that i actually can feel good about something again.

and to all of my mutuals, you guys have no idea the impact you have made on me, seriously. i'm always thrilled to see your notifications.

so now i have made cooking into a stable job, doing a degree in literature which i love, am back at a healthy weight, and carry all these wonderful people around in my phone wherever i go.

this sounds so stupid that writing for fictional characters is what got me through one of the hardest points in my life, but hey, it works so i'm gonna keep it up.

so tonight, i'm gonna go out to dinner with one of my best friends, we are gonna order food that is way too expensive and probably regret it when we see the bill. then i'm gonna wake up tomorrow, without feeling awful, and not panic as i check my phone to see what day it could be.

have a drink for me if you want, because i cant. and once again, i am thanking you all for taking your time to read and interact with this blog. it means the world, truly <3

[artist-issues]

Okay here are some questions that are all related but could have different answers depending on the slightly different phrasing.

Do you think that Paladin Strait is gonna be the point-blank end of the saga? The final message will just be, 'the cycle continues' and their next album will be totally something new? (gosh i HOPE not that would be the worst) But if they do this, do you think they'll 'justify' it to their fans?

If it does continue, how do you think THEY will continue/end it? (positively, what we [you + me and maybe others who have similar worldview] WANT)

If it does continue, how do you think THEY will continue/end it? (negatively, what we FEAR they will do)

How do YOU wish they would continue/end it? (99% sure i know the answer but im curious how you'll phrase it exactly)

What do you think the biggest strengths of the Clancy story have been?

Biggest weaknesses?

What are you still drawing question marks on for the whole thing?

About Paladin Strait:

Okay, I hope and tentatively believe that that’s not what they’re doing. I don’t believe they’ve ever been pointing to a big “You’ll Always Struggle Forever” theme. It’s been almost fifteen years, I just have never gotten that impression (until this last album, but I still don’t believe it.) But, if that is somehow the hopeless message they’re perpetuating? I don’t think they’ll have to “justify it” to their “fans” at all. The majority of the twenty one pilots fandom justifies everything the band does, for themselves. Unless it comes to the band refusing to speak on social issues that the fandom has decided are important, and unless it comes to the fans not getting to stand where they feel special in an arena. I’ve seen the fans demand an explanation for those sorts of “lack of action” from the band. But I’ve never seen the fans get upset about any song or performance. They basically make the songs mean whatever they want them to mean, like the majority of fandoms do. So they’ll say “that’s a beautiful message,” no matter what the message actually is.

I don’t know how they’ll end it. They’ve always stopped short of a resolution. They go, “There is a problem (acknowledge it;) here’s how I feel about the problem; here’s what keeps me in the problem; and here’s how I’m crying out for help with the problem—“ but they’ve rarely, ever, said, “here’s how that cry for help is answered, definitely.” Taxi Cab and March to the Sea get the closest (of their “canon” stuff.) Everything else ends with the cry for help, never the answer. So, if I were to respond to “what do you think the answer will be, if they finally tell us about the answer?” I would say: they’ll point out that it has to be “Someone Outside Yourself, Who Knows You Better Than You Do, Answers the Cry For Help.” I hope the Torchbearer will, in some way, save Clancy. Even if it’s pulling his body out of the towers after he’s defeated so it can’t be seized. Some kind of saving. Because that’s what Taxi Cab and March end with; the spaceship takes Tyler up and shows him who to follow instead of the Dead Line, but he has to keep choosing that New Direction every day until the march is over. Or the Three Men hijack the hearse, pick the lock on his casket, and take the Dead Man to the Morning Sun. See, even when the Cry For Help is Answered By Someone Outside of Yourself, they end it on “but the journey isn’t over.” But at least there’s new direction in those songs, not the same old direction. Death-to-Life direction. I don’t know, though, and that’s what has me biting my nails.

About How I Think They’ll End It (Negative)

I don’t love thinking about this because my emotions are real tied up in whether they do or do not step out in faith. But I will point out that the worst-case scenario is, just to answer this question: the worst-case scenario is that Josh has decided there is no One True Faith and he’s into Eastern pagan religion that he associates with Christianity now, and Tyler has decided that whatever might be true about Christianity, the organized-religion Church is wrong about it all, starting with the LGBTQ+ stuff, and so he doesn’t know what’s right but he’s happy with that because it means he can keep “searching” and “imagining.” Like the “journey is the destination, we’ll never really know,” stuff. Which is not Christianity. It’s not true faith.

C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Because faith is focused on something bigger than and totally outside of yourself, yet real and knowable. Faith in “I dunno what it is, but there’s somethin big out there I guess I believe in, but we’ll never know what it truly is” is just a cheap disguise for “faith in my own understanding and control.” If you don’t know exactly what the object of your faith is, then you can pick and choose the things you like out of vagueness. Whatever, I can make a post about that later.

But if that’s where they’re at—I am not enjoying thinking through this right now—then the thing that makes most logical-story-sense coming out of that mindset, to me, would be “Clancy becomes the new leader of the Bishops, but ushers in an era of sunshine and imagination instead of the cold bleak walls of the city. What they burn down is the organized-religion analogue aspects of DEMA.” I think that would be a super stupid way to end it but maybe.

That’s worst-case. I think second-worst case would be “the cycle continues.” Clancy wakes up in his old room, the Banditos are gone, the neon gravestones are glowing, and then he like looks down and sees a flower, indicating that the Banditos are still out there and he has the chance to re-start the cycle and do it all better this time… or give up based on the idea that nothing will ever be better. And we end on a twenty-one-pilots-esque “Pick One” ending. I think this is the most likely ending, because it’s not an ending at all, and it will keep the religious crowd and the secular crowd both happy. Plus, as far as the story describing Tyler’s wrestling match with doubt and dark thoughts? It would mean he gets to keep wrestling, which, I hate to say it, has produced lots of successful music so far. But you know what, so would a winner to the wrestling match, because truth is worth more than success.

Third-worst-case scenario—Clancy “dies,” taking down the Towers of Silence with him. And all the Glorious Gone zombies fall over Phantom-Menace-style, leaving battered Banditos standing. And they live to fight another day; Nico is still out there, probably ready to seize and rebuild; but the Torchbearer goes to Clancy’s body and looks somber and takes the mask off of him and carries it away, or some other type of nod to that old performance of Time to Say Goodbye—but the point is it’ll end with the idea that Clancy goes on, but “Clancy” was always a character, an idea, a belief, that anybody can embody if they’re willing to sacrifice themselves so that others can get their focus off of Dark Thoughts. You know, kind of like how Tyler Joseph gets them to focus their ability-to-hurt-myself-energy on him, as a performer, instead of on themselves (Guns for Hands.) This is semi-fine because it’s about some form of self-sacrifice, but I don’t like that the emphasis is on “if I just sacrifice myself for the hope that things can get better, it’ll somehow help people, even if I don’t know what the Hope is.” It would obviously be better if someone outside of Clancy brings about the resolution to Clancy’s story.

FOURTH-worst case scenario—as in, the least bad of all of them—Clancy fights and wins against Nico by using his ability to “seize” Nico, and burns down the towers, and dies or disappears doing it. This is good because Nico dies, and good because of self-sacrifice, and cool because he uses “seizing” his Dark-Self-Focus and puppetting it, rather than letting it puppet him, is very close to what they’ve always been saying: the Biblical Idea of Taking Your Thoughts Captive, and using art as an introspection-weapon. BUT it’s bad, because then it makes Music the Savior, in a sense.

I wish they would end it like this:

Clancy is seized by Nico, who pilots Clancy’s body over to the window of the tower and shows the Banditos, fighting, that their hero has been defeated and is being used. It’s super disheartening, because the implication is maybe this was always going to happen, Clancy was never going to escape, or worse, Nico knew the plan and it was always doomed to fail, because somehow Clancy was always under his power, and Clancy is doing some kind of demonic dance or demonstration with yellow eyes showing that he’s nothing but Nico’s vessel now—but Clancy’s still fighting Nico’s control, on the inside, mentally. (In a music video I guess they could cut-away, between what’s happening outside of Clancy’s head as Nico shows the Banditos that he’s been defeated, and then cut-away to Tyler singing and fighting a battle in Clancy’s mind, trying to re-take control.) But Clancy’s losing the mental fight, too. He just manages to get a kind of moment of control back—maybe his eyes go back to being their normal color instead of seized-yellow—and he basically does this as a cry for help. Then Nico takes over again.

Clancy is seized, he can’t save himself, he’s tried everything and followed the plan of the Banditos up until this point…and it didn’t matter. This defeat is where it’s led. He’s overpowered, seized, back in the same grip of the Bishops, and the Banditos could look, lose heart, and be disheartened, and lose, even after all this work. So he’s managing to fight off Nico just long enough to get that “I CAN’T DO IT” message to the Torchbearer. And the Torchbearer understands. Because he’s not down there on the ground with the Banditos. He’s up in the tower with Nico and Clancy, and has been all along, and now that Clancy flashes the help-I’m-in-here-but-I-can’t-do-it message through his eyes or however they want to do it—THEN Torchbearer saves the day. I don’t much care how, as long as Torchbearer saves the day. I think the best way for him to do it would be to straight-up kill Clancy and that kills Nico. Because they were always connected. And then it seems sad, like Clancy was always going to be the sacrifice, as DEMA burns up. But then at the last second in the music video (or however they end it) he opens his eyes, and the Torchbearer helps him up. And the Clancy mask is burning along with Nico’s robes in the background, something like that. Because if Nico is Self-Focus (which leads to anxiety, depression, and most of all insecurity) then Self-Sacrifice, death of the Self, so that you stop considering yourself so much, is the only cure. And we both know only Jesus can kill your old self and raise you up a new creation.

But they don’t have to do it exactly like that. Torchbearer could beat the Nico out of Clancy, like Jenna Joseph does in the Tear in My Heart music video. That would be acceptable, because it would go with the idea of “Someone Outside of You Who Loves You Despite Your Imperfections Can Beat Your Insecurity About the Imperfections Out of You.” You see, the reason I want Nico to seize Clancy is because this whole time, Clancy has been relying on his ability to seize the bad guys as a method of defeating them.

Using Music, getting inside your darkness and then making it work for you, is the closest twenty one pilots has ever gotten to a functional-savior in their story. But the truth is that only works for a moment. It’s just a bandaid solution. Music can help you see what’s wrong, and help you feel control over what’s wrong by virtue of understanding it and making it work for you…but then eventually, you know what happens? The thing you’ve created becomes what you place your faith in, and then it has power over you.

But in like layman’s terms I guess you could just say: “Boy Feels Darkness -> Instead of Giving in to Darkness, Boy Makes Music About His Darkness -> Darkness Works for the Boy; Others Hear and Like the Music -> Darkness Appears to be Controlled by the Boy as a Way to Connect, Inspire, and Be Successful -> Boy Can’t Stop Focusing on Darkness or Writing About Darkness, Because That’s What Made Him Famous -> The Darkness is Not Defeated, and It’s More a Part of His Identity Than Ever. Who Is He Without The Darkness, Now? It’s Not Gone, and It’s In Charge”

You see? I know I’m saying it five different ways but at this point I’m wishing I was saying it to him.

Demons don’t care if you think they’re powerful, or if you think they’re powerless. They just care that you’re not thinking rightly about them, either way. It’s not “Ignore the Darkness,” and it’s not “Make Everything About the Darkness,” either. It’s “There is Darkness, and it is powerful, and acknowledging that just makes the LIGHT LOOK EVEN MORE POWERFUL.”

So Nico has to seize him. When all along he thought he’d be doing the controlling. And then someone from the outside has to save him.

What do I think the strengths have been?

The idea of seizing. That is so good and perfect. Because creativity is what gives Clancy the ability to seize, but it’s not a perfect solution. The Bishops can use that, too—and guess what, they did, they used Scaled & Icy.

Even Trash the Dragon, who was supposed to represent limitless imagination, is the symbol of that Bishop-Propaganda album—which is interesting, because it makes limitless imagination look like a bad thing, if it’s being used by the bad guys. But also, it’s dead, because the dragon was able to be seized, meaning it was a corpse. So Limitless Imagination was dead all along? Oh but wait, its corpse can still be used—by Keons, who is a bad guy? No, because he betrayed the other bad guys and freed Clancy using Creativity to Revive Limitless Imagination for one specific purpose. And if it’s for one specific purpose, then it’s not limitless. Imagination shouldn’t be limitless, or else you can imagine you’re worthless. It should be used for one specific purpose instead—setting you free from the bad thoughts. UUUUGH that’s so good.

And the contrast between Natural Light (fire, which also happens to be destructive and can get out of human control) and Man-Made Light (neon, which is stale, sterile, and totally under human control.) Goes perfectly with the contrast between a wild, green continent called Trench—and a lifeless, concrete, circular (cyclical) city made by man.

Plus, of course, Torchbearer. Torchbearer being three-and-one. Torchbearer being the leader of a group who wear yellow, a color the bad guys cannot see—and he’s also only able to be seen by Clancy when Clancy’s imprisoned. But sometimes he’s not seen by Clancy and Clancy doubts. But ultimately Torchbearer has always been with Clancy, and always had a plan, and even the Bishops can’t escape being made part of his plan. Torchbearer having an X that lands over his heart made of yellow tape—which looks like a tilted cross. Torchbearer having tape wrapped around the knee where Josh Dun has Tyler Joseph’s name tattooed. Torchbearer having a yellow bandanna that covers his face in the same division mirroring where the Bishops have black smeared.

Also, the fact that Clancy, as a character, is never sure what’s going on. When the whole story is about trying to decide where to go, and why. It’s about a journey and whether or not the destination is worth it. And the main character himself wrestles with that so constantly. He doesn’t know if the Torchbearer’s plan is going to work. He doesn’t know if the Bishops are really all bad, or if the safety they provide makes up for it. He doesn’t know if he’s having dreams or if he’s somehow seizing vultures and seeing real things. He doesn’t know if he wants to leave the city, or stay—and when he figures that out, he doesn’t know how any of this could’ve been planned. He;s constantly trying to separate the good from the bad and figure out which side he’s on, where the attacks are coming from. That’s his whole character.

Polarize is taking your disguises Separating 'em, splitting 'em up from wrong and right It's deciding where to die and deciding where to fight Deny, deny, denial

Domingo en fuego I think I lost my halo I don't know where you are You'll have to come and find me, find me

I'm navigating, I'm navigating my head Give me some advice I am wasting all this time My, oh my Don't know how long it's been My, oh my

And then on the other side? Torchbearer’s role is to guide? They're the perfect pair. Clancy never knows what’s real or not real, what’s going to work or not work, who’s right or wrong, or even what his role is. The world is a dark map and he can’t find himself in the “You Are Here” Dot. But TORCHBEARER lights the way.

Biggest weaknesses in the Clancy Story?

I don’t know because I’m not sure what the Point is yet. I could try to pick apart where the story isn’t doing well with “form” (everything used to deliver the point, the mood, the character design, the pacing, the dialogue, all that) but this is a story embedded in a series of albums and music videos and lots of mixed media. So it’s told in basically the most engaging way it can be told, it’s genius, I have noticed no weaknesses.

…unless you want to say, “the story is too unclear and vague; you can’t understand what they’re trying to say because they’re not really saying anything.” You could make an argument for that. I would be able to pick that argument apart more easily than I would be able to make that argument, though.

Endings mean concluding. Conclusions mean a Point. You can’t end a story without revealing whether or not you had a point. So we’ll find out, I guess!

What Are My Question Marks?

What’s going on with Keons? I can’t figure out Keons at all. I can’t figure out why Keons betrayed the other bishops, what led to that, how he’s connected to Ned.

What’s the Car representing? The car at the beginning of Heavydirtysoul and Jumpsuit—it’s burning onstage for the whole Trench era. It’s a Cadillac, it looks like a charred up version of the one from the No Phun Intended album, so is it supposed to represent a former mindset? It keeps recurring, so it means something, I just haven’t figured out what. The closest I get is “that’s the music, or how he used to use the music.” But I’m not sure.

What does the smearing have to do with the Glorious Gone? The letters make it sound like it’s just for dead people, but Clancy’s been smeared in the music video for Levitate and in Jumpsuit. Am I supposed to believe he was dead all along and being seized by someone this entire time? If that’s the case, he hasn’t been aware of that, according to his letters.

Who was Clancy talking about in that one letter when he was captured by the Bishops and said “He was never there, I would have felt him?”

Above all, what does Tyler think of God now? Where’s he at in his faith? Is he still struggling with the same stuff I am or is it a different blend?

I think that’s all for now.

[leggerefiore]

What are your favorite characters’ approach to New Year’s Resolutions. Opinions, what kind of resolutions they make, how long they keep it up, that sort of thing.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to everyone!

▲Ingo▼

● The older Subway Boss is a man who leans towards ideals. He sees the world he wishes to make in his mind and pursues it without hesitation… New Year's Resolutions are genuinely right down his alley. Granted, he usually only sticks to realistic ones that he thinks he can achieve within a year's time. The concept is something he finds quite enjoyable, and he thinks everyone should try something related to it. Really, there should be some goal one attempts in his mind.

● His resolutions are mostly related to battles and work. He wants to continue to keep the trains in time so that no one has to worry about being late. There should always be new developments in his battle techniques and keeping up with new trends that appear in the scene. It really should be no surprise that he keeps these up for most of the year – barring unforeseen accidents in the train schedules. The battling one he always sees to the next year and reissues it. A personal one he makes is to continue to live happily with his brother. That one, of course, is achieved with ease. (Until a specific unforeseen accident occurs there, and that task becomes impossible.)

▽Emmet△

○ The younger Subway Boss follows truth – thus, he finds the concept a bit goofy. Logically, most people will say they will do something and ultimately give it up. He finds the pursuit of goals healthy and good, but the pressure of setting them at the dawn of a new year can feel daunting. Especially with ones that can not feasibly be achieved within a one-year time frame. That being said, Ingo encourages Emmet to make some. Despite his personal beliefs, he does indulge his twin by committing to a few.

○ Most of them are simple things he thinks can be done. Improving in his battling technique, managing the Gear Station to the best of his ability, and… Well, enjoying as much of the sweets that Nimbasa has to offer that he can. Oh, and maybe getting along well with Ingo. That can be done without effort, he thinks, though. The sweets will require focus and discipline. Battling, he will inevitably do as he loves it, and the managing is his job (which he also loves). He finds them reasonable goals. Emmet meets all of them, naturally, and never gives up.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The concept of New Year's Resolutions annoys Cyrus. He argues that everyone should just aim towards improvement without the need of holiday to act as encouragement. Not to mention how ridiculous he finds some people's goals. Irrational in most cases, or lacking the discipline to see them through. He is quite harsh – His world view is quite grim, after all. He thinks the only logical way to go about it is to set rational, mundane goals that anyone can achieve within a year's time while maintaining the ability to keep up with it.

☄️ He sets no resolutions. Cyrus simply refuses. There are already general goals that he holds on his life, and he intends to continue to pursue them rather than setting fleeting, new ones that he would rather not give any of his energy. Basically, making a new world where he is a deity is more important than something like reaching a personal goal in his life. (When asked in a situation that he is forced to answer, he lies and says something related to meeting a fitness goal.)

👑Lear💎

🪙 The prince finds the concept oddly… romantic? He refuses to elaborate. The idea of setting goals at the start of a new year… He finds himself intrigued when one of the many people on Pasio explains it to him. Lear was too focused on his studies to have time for such frivolous things, but nowadays, indulgence was all too much at his fingertips. When asked what goals people usually set, he feels disappointed. The mundanity shatters the romantic view he held. What a bland idea. He huffs at the very thought.

🪙 He makes far too grand resolutions in place of boring ones about keeping a gym routine or doing well at work. Lear will be king in the coming year –This simply must happen. His true love will be found – This also must happen. These are irrational goals that he absolutely pursues without any kind of doubt in his mind about meeting them. It is almost inspiring how dedicated he is to them, however. He never once hesitates about them. This simply is something that must happen. Whether they do, however, can only be seen by the next December 31st.

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 The idea of making a pledge towards something in the upcoming year tires him out. Why? He feels odd about making plans for a following day, much less the entirety of a year. It gives him a headache, and very much is not his style. Most of the usual kinds of resolutions do not interest him anyway. He lives to live most of the time, not much else to it. Though he supposes he likes hearing other people's resolutions. It gives him a bit of insight into what they are thinking.

🌑 Though, when Acerola asks him for one, he begrudgingly makes one up. Simple enough, to watch over Ula'Ula. When she huffs and demands one that he is not already going to have to do, he just shrugs in reply. Really, his time is mostly consumed with Kahuna duties and officer duties. He offers up helping more Meowth. That appeases her. With that, he supposes he will be helping more Meowth out. His horde grows.

🌿N👑

🟢 The green-haired man was deeply unfamiliar with this tradition, so having it explained to him made him curious as to what to do. The concept seemed nice to him. There was something genuinely nice about people making goals for the new year to often better themselves. N instantly wants to participate and probably will ask everyone what their own are so he can learn. Each and every one of them fascinates him to a startling degree. He thinks quite a bit on his own to make sure they seem to follow whatever guidelines he perceived.

🟢 To continue furthering the understanding between humans and pokemon, of course, is chief among them. It is his life goal, but it being a resolution here also seems to apply. To continue to travel the world and see many different places and pokemon also became another one. He never stops aiming for these goals and always makes some kind of progress. He feels that he met his resolutions by the next New Year's Eve.

[anzuhan]

happy new year!!! it's already 2025 over here in vampire land 🦇

anzu has had a very rough and bad start to 2024, but even past that, anzu still got back to it. you've all supported anzu through and through, and anzu has reached new heights anzu didnt even think of imagining...♡

though it happened a bit late into the year, anzu's life was also changed forever last november. and anzu will, possibly, never forget this either. there was not much time, but anzu still had the time of a month and managed to make the art for one MV ! anzu hopes to do a looot more work of the sorts in the future this year, and all the more anzu can related to len 💛

anzu's new years resolutions may be a bit dumb, dull and selfish because they're all so self centered on anzu's oshis ww but anzu is still happy to talk of them... well, not like they're anything you didn't expect ! they're already all on anzu's wishes list from anzu's infoblog, but besides those, anzu really hopes to unite len-high prison together again. dont think they ever drove apart since 2021's LKL, but anzu really hopes past having made yomorin get back, anzu can also further maybe drive them all back to make more songs... anzu hopes anzu can make them all shine and show their worth to the world ! anzu will keep on supporting them forever 💛💛💛 and hopefully, anzu can also show them off to the world ! anzu loves them all greatly and only wishes to help them further in their journeys, even moreso this year 💛