#this is meant with the best of intentions

[a-s-ter]

Can you please write the salesman next for the kind of guy?🙏🏻🙏🏻

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

The Salesman

— HES THE KIND OF GUY who never expected to fall in love—his life was far too consumed by duties and endless responsibilities. Love wasn’t even a consideration, not until you appeared like a sudden burst of color in his monochrome world. At first, it was your skill that caught his attention, the way you effortlessly bested him in ddakji, round after round, slap after slap. Frustrated but undeniably impressed, he handed you a card, feigning indifference. But as you walked away, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a quiet ache, a sense of loss he couldn’t quite place.

He tried to push it aside, burying himself in his work, recruiting others, and maintaining the facade of control. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Then, one day, he saw you again, sitting at your usual spot. You hadn’t joined the game, and strangely, he felt a wave of relief he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, asking for just one more match. The words came out almost on their own, a fragile excuse to see you again, to hear your voice, or maybe just to keep you close for a little longer.

— He’s the kind of guy who’s spent years trapped in a monotonous cycle—lonely, unfulfilled, and carrying the weight of a life that feels directionless. Every day bleeds into the next, nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold onto. But then, somehow, he acquires you. You, with your rare kindness, your quiet care, and the sweetness that seems to radiate from your every action.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done to him, how you’ve unknowingly become the one bright spot in his otherwise dull world. He starts catching himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening without his permission. It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you bring life into spaces that once felt empty.

And then there are those moments—when you laugh, or when you smile at something simple—that makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He smiles back without realizing it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels foreign but good. You don’t just make his days better; you make him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth living for. (He's in love)

—He’s the kind of guy who would boldly approach you, his intentions clear but unspoken. He’d ask to get to know you better, his flirting subtle at first—smiles that linger a little too long, looks that make your heart race without explanation. At first, you might be taken aback, unsure of his advances, but when he offers you something you can’t refuse, like money, your resistance crumbles. You agreed, but something in the way he looks at you makes you forget about the deal. Slowly, you start enjoying your time together more than you care to admit.

—He’s also the kind of guy who wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for a second. If anyone dared to claim you as theirs, especially some trash asking you out, he’d make sure they paid. He’d go to any lengths to protect what’s his, with no hesitation, no mercy. If it came to it, he wouldn’t think twice about making them disappear, just so they’d know—he was the first one, and that meant something.

But it’s not just about possessiveness. He watches over you, guards you in ways you’ll never fully see, keeping a close eye without you ever knowing. He’s always there, even when you don’t realize it—protecting you from this world that’s full of danger, keeping the darkness at bay as best as he can. It’s his silent promise to you, even if you never ask for it. He doesn’t want to see you hurt, not ever.

— He's the kind of guy who would soil his hands with blood, not hesitating for a second, if it meant protecting you from anything that threatens your peace.

— He’s the kind of guy who will make you fall for him as deeply as he’s fallen for you. He adores your smaller build against his, the way your petite hands fit perfectly when cuffed by his larger ones—it drives him wild. The contrast, the way you seem so delicate in his grasp, makes him want to claim you entirely, to make you his in every way.

But he’s not the kind of man to stop at mere affection. No, he’s the type who thrives on control. He’ll manipulate you carefully, subtly, until the thought of leaving him feels impossible—terrifying even. He wants you to need him, crave him, think of him endlessly. He’s meticulous in the way he weaves himself into your thoughts, ensuring you wake up and fall asleep with only him in mind.

And when he flirts with you, watching as your cheeks turn that irresistible shade of red, your voice faltering under his gaze—it’s everything to him. You turn into a hot, blushing mess, and he loves it. It fuels his obsession, makes him fall even harder for you, because to him, you’re the epitome of perfection. Cute, vulnerable, and entirely his.

—He’s the kind of guy who takes his time with you, the tension between you building like a carefully orchestrated symphony. When the moment feels just right—your faces close, the air thick with anticipation—he starts leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, ready to steal a kiss.

But then it hits you, the realization of what’s happening, and your face flushes a deep red. You turn away in a rush, looking anywhere but at him, your heart racing like crazy. He pauses, letting the moment linger, before chuckling softly. That low, amused laugh of his sends a shiver down your spine, and when you finally sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning.

“Cute,” he murmurs, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. Yeah, he loves teasing you—loves watching you squirm and stutter, loves the way your reactions only make you more endearing to him. And he’ll do it all over again, just to see that flustered look on your face that he can’t get enough of.

—He’s also the kind of guy who knows exactly how to manipulate you, slow and calculated, planting seeds of dependence and trust without you fully realizing it. He knows your vulnerabilities, your habits, and where to find you when you’re at your lowest.

So, when he spots you crying at your usual secluded spot, alone and trembling, he makes his move. Sitting beside you, his presence feels warm, comforting—like he’s the only safe harbor in a storm. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispers, “There, there, it’ll be alright. I’m here.”

As you cry into his chest, he murmurs gentle reassurances, “It’s alright, baby. Cry it all out.” His hand strokes your back, his touch deliberate and grounding, and he smiles. Not the kind of smile you can see—this one is hidden, smug, satisfied. His plan is working perfectly, and you’re falling deeper into his web. And oh, how he loves it—watching you lean into him, needing him, trusting him like he’s your savior. That’s exactly where he wants you.

— He’s the kind of guy who thrives on control, especially in moments of intimacy. The kind who, with practiced ease, unclips your bra with just one hand, never breaking the intensity of your kiss. And when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours, he’ll smirk and whisper in that low, teasing voice, “I’m not done with you yet.”

When you bury your face into his neck, trying to stifle your moans out of shyness, he doesn’t miss a beat. The scent of his cologne and aftershave lingers, intoxicating you further, as he lets out a deep chuckle, amused at your attempt to hide.

And when he’s got you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy, he makes sure you’re not holding back. He loves to hear you scream, loves the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. Even when a phone call interrupts, he doesn’t stop. Oh no, he sees it as a challenge, a chance to tease you further. He’ll move slower, deeper, just to hear your breath hitch as you struggle to keep your composure.

If you try to stay professional, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape, he’ll smirk, his pace relentless. “Go on,” he’ll purr, his voice dripping with mischief. “Try to keep quiet, baby. Let’s see how long you last.” And with that, he’ll have you unraveling, barely able to focus, completely at his mercy.

— He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just tease you with words—he lets his actions speak louder. Even in public, fully clothed, he’ll find a way to make you lose your composure. He steps in close, his large hands resting on your waist, pulling you just enough that his hips press against yours.

That’s when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, pressing firmly into you. His voice drops, low and dripping with desire, as he leans into your ear and whispers, “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me all worked up, and I don't think I can wait any much longer."

The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shiver through you, and his bulge pressing into you makes it impossible to think straight. His grip tightens slightly, and the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves driving you wild, even when you’re supposed to be keeping things composed.

— He's the kind of guy who leaves his mark on you, a silent declaration that you're his and his alone

— He's the kind of guy who would pin you against the wall, bite your lip, and pull your hair—taking control in a way that leaves you breathles.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll leave you completely undone, your body trembling as you take every inch of his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks while you beg for mercy. But he doesn’t stop—he thrives on the way you break beneath him, his voice dripping with a wicked mix of praise and degradation.

“You're being such an obedient little cum slut,” his hand tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Taking me so well like a fucking whore, like you were made for my cock. My perfect little bitch.” he said, his tone low and velvety, sending shivers down your spine as he continued to fuck his cock in and out of you. Your walls clenching hard around his massive cock as he fills you up with his fat load, still pounding into your hole not letting even a single drop of his release go to waste. (He has a breeding kink)

And if that's not enough. His thick, veiny cock would plunge relentlessly into your dripping folds, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he ravages your insides with unbridled lust while you're in a mating press. He is determined to make you the mother of his child, so he will pound your fertile womb over and over again until it's full of his cum. If his cum is seeping out of your pussy, he would pump it back with his fingers inside while he also plays with your swollen clit making you overstimulated as you beg him to stop. (he just fucking loves you crying and begging for him and only him. )

— Hes the kind of guy who craves more than just conception; he yearns to enslave your senses, to make your body crave the feeling of being utterly filled by him. He wants ypu to beg for his cock, to plead for the intense pleasure-pain of being stuffed to overflowing, regardless of your reproductive cycle.

The very thought of you, round and ripe with his seed, brings him unparalleled satisfaction. He delights in the idea of your addiction to his cum, to the exquisite bliss of having your cunt packed to capacity with his thick, hot essence. For him, there is no greater joy than knowing you're forever changed, forever his, your body and soul irreversibly marked by his possession.

[namism]

zoro or law accidentally falling into readers chest 👀👀

(you can skip this req if this is to suggestive)

turbulent seas, turbulent confessions | trafalgar law

➳ categories: canonverse, afab reader

➳ warnings: suggestive

➳ word count: 952

➳ summary: Law decides that he doesn't want to enter the New Year sad and single, so he finally mans up and confesses to you. Unfortunately, chaos ensues.

➳ notes: thanks for the request, and happy new year! wrote it as a little suggestive scenario instead for law since i got too many zoro requests 😟

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Would you please explain to me why you brought me to the janitor's closet 23 minutes before New Year's?"

If you told a young Trafalgar Law that he would grow up to be a single anxious man, he would believe you. That's why he was sweating buckets from the moment he asked to speak with you in private to the moment he weaved through crowds and locked the both of you inside the Polar Tang's janitor's closet, panting heavily and almost nauseous.

Law is currently wordless as he surmises a decent answer to your question. He was expecting it to begin with, so he prepared an answer beforehand—but the thing is, his nerves got the best of him so he doesn't remember what he even rehearsed in the first place.

"I have to tell you… something," he answers instead. "How do I say this?"

"If it's about Bepo's sweet tooth, don't even bother. I told Penguin to monitor his sugar intake."

"That... That wasn't it," he murmurs.

You blink. "Huh?"

Law sighs. His shoulders fall as he places his head in his hands in distress. You look at him worriedly.

"Captain?" You hold his arm. "What's the matter?"

"Ugh." He groans lowly. He can't believe he's doing this, but Law has a mission to accomplish. "What do you think of me liking someone, (Y/N)-ya?"

You freeze.

He likes someone? You think to yourself. A sharp pain shoots through your chest. Great.

Your hand drops to your side. Chuckling to yourself, you mask the hurt in your eyes.

"If you wanted to ask for advice, you could have just said so." You look around the dim room, nose scrunching up at the musty smell of age-old cleaning products and wet mops. "I would have appreciated it if you didn't take us to this stinking closet. It's so tight in here, and I can barely breathe."

Law grows sheepish at your complaints. He didn't think much about the venue of his confession. He's just had enough of waiting that he grew impatient and suddenly decided that today was the day. It was the final day of the year, and after 26 years of living, he grew tired of having zero luck in romance. If he can't ask you out, or worse, tell you what he truly feels today, he won't know what to do with himself.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Well? What do you think?"

You lean on the wall across him. You like Law, but who doesn't find their charming crew Captain that way? You aren't deeply in love with him, but it does make you jealous that he's asking you things meant for someone else.

"I think... it's good for you," you answer simply. "Whoever it is, you should shoot your shot."

"Then what do you think of me liking you?"

You shake your head. "What?"

Law steps forward, almost leaning in.

"I like you." As he looks at you intently, his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, then to your eyes again. "I'm into you, and I would like to take you out."

"U-Um..." you stammer. Law waits for an answer, but his stare pressures you. "Captain, I—"

Suddenly, the Polar Tang tips to the side as the sound of explosives ring about from the upper deck of the sub. Law jerks forward and stumbles into your smaller figure, the abrupt movement of the ship causing him to fall on his knees disgracefully. He tries to hold himself up, but buckets upon buckets scatter about in the closet, restricting his movement.

"Captain, you're, uh, you're pretty heavy—"

"I know, let me just—"

Law tries to stand on an empty bucket once he has a firm grip on the wall, but the submarine tilts a second time and he loses his balance. Your hands fly to his arms to catch him, but Law falls face first into your chest and groans. You moan, but it comes out as a combined sound of pleasure and disbelief as your body heats up in shame.

"Fuck," Law cusses under his breath as he kicks the buckets away and find some leg room in the tiny space. He scurries off you immediately and regains his balance.

"I-I'm going to kill them! What the hell are they doing outside?! It isn't even midnight yet!" you yell out of annoyance as you grip your chest protectively with your hands. You look at Law sheepishly. "Jeez, Captain. You got a free feel, but no offense, it kinda hurt my—"

"Enough!" Law hisses, covering his face with his hat. His cheeks are bright red, and you swear he's physically overheating.

He admits to himself that he enjoyed it. He secretly thanks the commotion outside for giving him an excuse to be that close to you, but he also feels disgusted that he's easy to please.

"I'm sorry. We should continue this another time," he eventually apologizes, deciding it's the best option at the moment. When you don't respond, Law reluctantly reaches for the door.

However, you stop him just in time. You splay your fingers across his broad shoulders, and standing on your tiptoes, you slowly kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, the skin closest to his Adam’s apple.

"I like you, too," looking up at him, you whisper. "I think it's great that we see eye to eye, Captain."

Law sucks in a deep breath, his mind going numb at your kisses and sincere eyes.

"My room, after we handle this," he orders. "We're going to talk. Got it?"

Smiling to yourself, you nod. You lead him out of the closet to handle the chaos outside, excited for what's to come afterward.

[pascal-princess]

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ the princess’ prayer ✧ ‧ ₊

dbf!joelmiller x fem!reader ‧₊ ♡ ‧₊˚

♡ ↳ dark!joel, manipulation, controlling dynamic, daddy/little girl dynamics, age gap (46+19), slight angst, mentions of smut (m!masturbation, somnophillia kinda,, mentions of cum), christianity themes, talks of church. lmk if anything missed…

Was there any part of Joel Miller that knew his desire for her was wrong? Of course there was… Joel had tried to hold back his temptations since the day she turned 18; watching her blow out her candles with that pretty rosy blush in her cheeks, his fingers tightening around his glass of whiskey.

He knew it was wrong how much he craved her; he wanted to own her, to possess her, to fill every fibre of her being with his existence. He wanted her to kneel before him the same way she did to her god, her dainty little diamond cross held gently in her closed palms as she prayed… why couldn’t he be her god?

He found himself growing jealous of any person who looked at her, any person who talked to her or even breathed in the same vicinity as her… even if that person was her father… Joel’s best friend.

‘She’s my little peach’ her dad, Andrew would remark as he would watch her pick pretty flowers in the garden. Joel would sit on the bench swing, newspaper in hand, eyes barely scanning the pages as he felt entranced by the way her sundress flowed in the summer breeze.

The obsession took over his life, he couldn’t sleep without imagining her beside him, tucked under his arm. He would lie awake at night, stroking himself to polaroids of her that he had taken… he remembered it perfectly; Christmas day, he popped over to have a drink and cigarette with her father when she ran over to him, excited to show him her new present— a polaroid camera. He got drunker than he meant to that night and when he found her sitting on the armchair clad in her pink pyjamas, her head tucked in a book, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Give me a pretty smile baby” he spoke, holding her camera in his hands. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling as they usually did, she offered him her sweetest smile and he felt his heart warm. He snapped the picture and after it came out and he had given it a shake, he swore he saw an angel.

“Lemme see” her soft voice spoke, he walked over to her showing her the polaroid, she turned her nose up slightly “Don’t like it”.

“Shhh, you look gorgeous, sweetheart”

It was clear she didn’t want the picture so he tucked it in his back pocket, never to be seen again apart from every night since when he would retrieve it from his bedside drawer.

When he came back to his senses he was a panting mess; his spill painted his stomach and the polaroid in his hands, he didn’t want the picture to be ruined but he couldn’t help but feel encapsulated by the sight of cum on her pretty lips— even if it wasn’t real.

As the summer drew closer and Joel got hot and bothered, he found himself becoming further entangled in her. He found himself sneaking up to her room whenever he spent the night, creeping into her bedroom and playing with her hair softly as she slept. His fingers would trace her pouty lips and scoop up the slight drool that rolled down her cheek.

One night it got all too much and he couldn’t resist the temptation of pressing his lips against hers, feeling the soft plushy sensation that awakened every bone in his body, that made his cock rise with intent.

He found himself spending more and more time in their house, and conveniently ending up in any room she happened to be in. He would stand in the garden, cooking up a barbecue as she would play with the stray cat that came by from time to time, her father sipping a beer on the bench. He burned way too many things to count as he was too preoccupied with watching her.

One night he was sneaking upstairs when he saw the flickering of candlelight in the cracks of the door, he could hear soft mumbles of prayer from inside of the room— the door was already slightly ajar and he couldn’t help press his side into it gently as his eyes flickered through the slight crack to try and catch a glimpse of something… anything.

“Please forgive me for my sins… i don’t even know if it’s lust or something else but it scares me god… it scares me to my core”

She was kneeling in front of her bed, her hands held together with careful precision, her little diamond cross laid gently over the top. Joel’s brows furrowed as he continued to listen.

“Maybe i don’t even see him that way, maybe this is just a passing phase… but i wanna be around him all the time, he makes me nervous and i-”

Joel felt his body burn with jealousy, his fists clench at the thought of the stupid little boy that had her in his clutches, it pissed him off beyond belief.

“I swear he came into my room one night”

His heart dropped.

“Maybe i was dreaming it might not have been real, but i can still feel the lingering tenderness of what i think was a kiss”

He began to panic— How did she know? how the fuck did she know? he swore he was careful, he swore he studied her face carefully enough to know she was in a deep sleep. Would she tell her father? He’d be sent to hell, the whole town would know. ‘Joel Miller, the man who preys on innocent 19 year old girls’.

“Please forgive me god, and guide me through this test. Please give me a sign of what to do next”

The door creaked as if on cue and she froze, a slight quiver in her spine. Her eyes moved slowly towards the source of the sound and she felt it in her gut— she knew it was him.

“Joel?” She whispered, willing it not to be him. Was this her sign? Was this god telling her this was right?

Joel stood on the other side of the door, breaths heavy and ragged— he was just as frozen. His mind running at 1000mph… did he go back downstairs? His body wasn’t letting him, it was running on overdrive. His temptations and lust too strong.

His body moved before his mind did, opening the door to find her sat back, clutching her cross tightly. He could see the confusion and inner battles going on in her mind.

“Were you listening?” she practically whispered, she was shaking with nerves, her insides on fire. What if she had been imagining everything and now he thought she was crazy, just a silly little girl with a crush on her daddy’s best friend. She knew how it sounded, she was terrified about the idea of a sin. But all of her friends were in relationships bragging to her about the taboo endeavour that was sex.

“Nah I was just umm” he stuttered, struggling on what excuse he could even come up with in such short space of time. His stalling only further confirmed her fears.

“Please Joel… don’t tell anybody” her eyes brimmed with tears. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, hey…” he walked further into the room, kneeling down beside her on one bended knee, stroking the back of her head with his large calloused hand. “What’s wrong babygirl?”.

“I’m embarrassed Joel” she sniffled.

He tried to hold back a smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed baby, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little schoolgirl crush” his hand was still stroking the back of her head, his large fingers becoming entangled with her soft locks.

“It’ll be our little secret, yeah?”

Joel knew those words had an effect the second her eyes locked onto his, he thought he might’ve been dreaming— he dreamed about this every night; about his lips locking onto hers, his hands dancing across her body… fuck it, he can pinch himself later.

He pulled her face towards him, his lips moving against hers in a blur of risk and meaning. She was frozen, her hands placed at her sides terrified at what was happening. He pulled away at her hesitation.

“This isn’t wrong baby, this isn’t wrong. It’s so right. You were made for me” He picked her up off the floor, her cross falling out of her hands and onto the floor… the same floor that supported her knees every night as she spoke her faith.

He placed her on the plushy covers, moving over her body and beginning to kiss her again. He knew she was so torn up inside— trying to forgive herself and willing god to forgive her for what she was doing.

“Joel, please” she whispered, softly in the candlelit room. Joel thought he was in heaven, these past 2 years telling him for so long he’d be going to hell for his obsession, his fixation. But here she was, below him and laying pretty and perfect just as he wanted her.

“Trust me sweetheart, I ain’t gonna hurt you” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Your god ain’t gonna be mad at you, he wanted this to happen. He wanted me to love you”

Was he telling her or telling himself? The lines were so blurred at this point he couldn’t even see sense anymore.

He spent the rest of the night kissing her and caressing her, deciding that her innocence could be saved for him another day.

She fell asleep tucked under his arm, sleeping soundly after tears about the idea of sin soaked his shirt. He held her tightly, his hands tracing circles on her spine as his eyes stared at the gleaming piece of jewellery on the floor— he swore he watched it taint, losing a flicker of shine that it had before.

-

♡ ↳ gonna write a part 2 soon if anyone wants to read it!! thank you so much for your time, i appreciate it sm

love, mila🎀

@roostersgirl-001

[monstertreden]

✦ BE(E) MY DATE? ✦

-Reader: FEM reader -TW: none, just an adorable bee -Character: Bumblebee (Transformers movie 2018) -Summary: Bumblebee is trying to get accustomed to earth traditions in order to impress his favourite human -Word count : 1448 A/N: This was an anonymous request of a while back. I went with the Fem Pov, but this could be read with a GN reader too. What a way to open this 2025! Wish you all the best things in the world!🍀

The evening sky was starting to feel more alive as stars emerged one by one. With no light pollution ruining this view, the atmosphere felt so relaxing, a quiet peak for living in such a peaceful town. Your home garden was glowing, illuminated by tiny star-shaped lights strung around the tree branches. In the middle of it all stood a cheerful, giant yellow bot. He fumbled with his radio, playing different romantic songs as he tried to find justtt the right one to set the perfect mood. Bumblebee was buzzing with excitement, unable to wait another hour until you got home from your job and spend the rest of the night with him outdoors. Today had been a little different. It had been hours since you’d left for work and you’d insisted on taking the bus to work, much to Bumblebee’s dismay. He’d watched you wave goodbye as he beeped sadly…but once you were out of sight, his little antennas perked up and twitched like bunny ears: if he couldn’t spend all day with you then he would make that night unforgettable! The thought had driven him all afternoon as he kept carefully arranging what he had gathered, it had to be perfect because you deserve nothing less!

A jazzy love song hummed through his speakers before he quickly cut it off again, second-guessing his choice, followed by an upsetting beep.

Postponing his final decision on the special song, Bumblebee turned his attention to the messy setup he had previously sprawled on the flower-patched blanket… one he might have “borrowed” from her bedroom through the window…ops, but it was one of his favorite too, one you often shared with him while watching some movies back in the garage, other than being soft, it fitted the romantic vibe he was striving for. Smothering the blanket again, having spotted a small wrinkle,  his digits fidgeted slightly with the patch of wildflowers he had directly plucked from the ground earlier, ensuring they looked intentional rather than, well… stolen. Were there enough flowers? Or were they too many? He tilted his helm as if reconsidering his choice, before turning to the unplugged microwave, that somehow contained various cookies inside and the carefully inclined projector screen propped up against the white wall of your home. The screen’s angle had been adjusted multiple times until he was satisfied, though he still glanced at it every few moments to make sure it hadn’t shifted.

It had taken him ages to figure out how humans got their movie setups just right, and, even now, he still wasn’t sure he had nailed it. Beside it, a wicker basket was overfilled with treats he’d seen you enjoy: chips, candies, and a variety of drinks, so many you wouldn’t go hungry... though he had no idea what half of them tasted like...Would you notice the missing bags of sour candies? He might’ve… tested one or two. For science. Did you have that many treats in your kitchen cabinets though? Of course not, the truth was that some, well, most of the items inside weren’t “exactly” yours. The yellow bot had borrowed, again, okay, maybe taken a few things from the local store storage without paying, but only because he still didn’t understand how human transactions worked. Plus, wasn’t food meant to be shared? You loved snacks! And he wanted the best ones for you!

“Cool and smooth!”. He echoed the phrase to himself, with the enthusiasm of a DJ who knew what they were doing. Excitement and anxiousness coursed through his circuits, he had seen countless Earth movies and TV series with you, how your face lit up when romantic picnics were on-screen. “Aren’t they adorable, Bee?” you’d sighed, smiling softly at a scene where a couple sat under the stars, and he was determined to give her exactly that.

The wildflowers kept sprawling all over each time Bumblebee tried to grab one, he didn’t bring a vase since he was scared of accidentally breaking one, so he decided with clumsy digits to open a soda can, yes..maybe that would do.. “Careful...”  Tipping the can towards his faceplate, he fussed over not being able to open it. Shaking it, hoping it would loosen, and when it seemed he had made it, it sprayed all over his faceplate, making him stumble over with a distressed beep. A wrong footing and there was a loud crunch. Bumblebee froze. Slowly looking down, he realized his foot had landed squarely on a package of cookies, reducing them to crumbs. “Dang it!” he buzzed through the radio, frustration laced with nervousness. He frantically crouched and scooped up the squished wrapper, already berating himself.

But Bumblebee wasn’t one to back down so easily. He straightened up, the crumpled pack of cookies still in his hand. Carefully, the bit tucked it back into the end of the basket, there were so many after all. Next, he picked up the empty soda can and went to toss it in the garbage bin, only for his gaze to land on a small empty glass jar you’d had left for recycling. That was perfect! It was risky managing glass, but it was his only choice. After arranging the wildflowers in the jar, he stepped back to admire his work. The bright blooms stood proudly in their makeshift vase; A triumphant beep escaped his radio.

However, waiting for you to get home from your job was the worst part. Bee leaned on the side of the blanket staring at the darkening sky, his pedes shifting restlessly against the ground as his optics traced the constellations beginning to shine above.

ᯓ★

The distant hum of the bus made Bumblebee buzz with anticipation as he scrambled quickly to double-check the lights and blanket one last time, his excitement nearly spilled over. Tonight was truly special, and he couldn’t wait to spend it with you, just the two of you, under the stars.

When you reached the garden, Bumblebee greeted you enthusiastically, using a series of radio clips to invite you, his favourite human, to sit down. “Isn’t She Lovely by Stevie Wonder” played softly from his speakers as he immediately handled the microwave, shaking its contents inside, beeping excitedly for you to open it.

A mixture of surprise painted your face “Aww Bee” You gently lowered down his servos so he couldn’t accidentally destroy your microwave and reached for him instead, your hands lightly cradling his side faceplate. His optics blinked rapidly in surprise, and his helm tilted curiously to the side as if trying to process your gesture. “This is..nice, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Thank you” For a moment, Bumblebee froze, his circuits whirring as if he’d been short-circuited by your words. His servos twitched at his sides, unsure whether to move or stay still. His radio crackled before settling on a slightly awkward but heartfelt clip. “You’re welcome my darling!!” Bumblebee immediately winced at his choice, but you only chuckled.

Your hands slipped away, and he missed the warmth almost instantly. You took a step back to take in everything he’d prepared, from the spread blanket, the slightly crumpled flowers, and the crookedly angled projector screen. You took a mental note to maybe teach him not to pluck bunches of flowers from your garden next time

“You went through all this… for me?” you asked, to which Bumblebee gave a small nod, his frame shifting nervously. His radio played hesitantly, “-It’s no big deal-” but the way he was fidgeting said otherwise.

“No,no ! it’s a huge deal,” Your smile grew as you crouched to fix the corner of the blanket. “Heck! You even got my favorite snacks.Look!” Maybe it was best not to ask him where the hell he took all of these goods, eyes lighting up when you spotted the assortment. “Bee, this is amazing. Seriously! After an exhausting day, this is all I need”

He melted at her reaction and his optics softened. Gathering his courage, he turned on the projector with a flick of his servo.  Soon, the screen lit up, casting a warm glow against the wall.

He beeped as if to ask “Shall we?”

Your grin widened. “We shall.”

Once you finally settled onto the blanket, patting the spot beside you Bumblebee carefully maneuvered himself, trying to sit without squishing anything else. He adjusted his position until he was beside you, his large frame curling slightly to fit in the cozy space. As the movie began to play, you leaned against him, resting your head against his cool plating. He was happy to start the first days of the new year with you like this.

“Next time, we’ll organize a date together”

[weirdocat83]

Idea for timebomb that would def be hard to pull off but incredibly funny, jinx becomes a firelight instead of ending up with silco, but Ekko has no fucking clue.

Instead of staying in one place and getting adopted by silco, powder runs off and hides. She forages on the streets for a while. Maybe even a few years. Then she hears of the firelights or maybe one of them picks her up off the streets. The thing is, she knows it’s run by Ekko. So she hides her identity. She already saw how Vi reacted to everyone dying and it was her fault so she doesn’t even want to know how Ekko would react. So she hides her identity. Maybe she dyes her hair or maybe she just covers up a LOT but either way, some people think it’s strange but it’s not like they have any room to question it. I’d imagine her voice is quite identifiable so she just elects Not To Talk until she gets her hands on a voice changer. After getting a masked outfit like we see most of the firelights in, she just starts wearing it everywhere.

She ends up really blending in and making friends despite her issues and in some cases, because of them. She’s definitely not the same as AU powder from S2E7 but similar. Definitely more chaotic and driven. She even talks to Ekko and re-befriends him. Powder would be seen as a more secretive person that doesn’t speak much, if at all. That being said, she definitely communicates her intentions and what she is going to do. A lot. She’s a very energetic person so I can’t imagine her staying silent about whatever she’s excited about, whether it be her latest invention or a successful mission.

And while she initially hid her identity out of fear of rejection (and even later still does to an extent) as they become closer it just becomes increasingly harder to bring up the fact that she is powder… especially when her and Ekko become closer and he starts confiding in her…

For a nice twist, you could have either Scar or Silco knowing. Silco could hold her identity over her head and have her make some tough decisions. What would she do to keep her identity hidden?

Scar on the other hand, is very close to Ekko, and knowing would create friction between not only Powder and Scar but also Scar and Ekko. Scar advising powder to tell Ekko and possibly helping her plan how exactly to go about that. Meanwhile Ekko would be wondering what they’re sneaking off to do and maybe he’d overhear and find out that they know where powder is but not who powder is.

The main thing that got me thinking about this idea is just the compilation of moments where powder ALMOST got caught and just BARELY was able to keep the secret. Also potentially dropping hints around the undercity that Powder is alive but never enough to really tell where she is (right next to him). Also Ekko being all like “Powder was my best friend and the only person who really Understood. I had a crush on her. She meant so much to me, I wish I had the opportunity to tell her how I felt and still feel.” Meanwhile powder, right next to him, is blushing under her mask and short circuiting because WHAT. And trying to act like she is still functioning as Ekko is continuing because if she showed a reaction it might give her away.

[faelorelia]

👆🏻‼️

Even though Will did kind of lie to Mike during his monologue in the van, it wasn’t with the intention to deceive or gain something for himself. Instead, it was an act of selflessness – a way for Will to make Mike feel better about himself, to make him feel valued, and, above all, LOVED.

Will lied during that monologue because, for someone like him, it wasn’t safe to openly express his feelings. He knew he could never speak up the way others do, so he resorted to the closest thing he could do to express his feelings – he hid behind El. He did this not only to comfort Mike but also to “save” Mileven’s relationship. Will sacrificed his own feelings and his chance at happiness for the sake of the boy he loves. Throughout S4, Will’s focus was entirely on supporting his best friend (aka the love of his life).

El never did that for Mike. Sure, they care for each other and have saved one another from danger, but that’s not what romantic love is about. Apart from their shared experiences fighting monsters, they have little in common. Who does Mike truly share so much with? Will.

“Stranger Things�� has shown us time and time again how Mike and El are incompatible and unable to give each other what they truly need. On the other hand, Mike and Will constantly support each other, share deep common ground, and are always there for one another.

It’s clear which pair is meant to be together. Byler endgame!

"and he doesn't deserve that."

aka the line that confirms byler endgame for me

why is will the one defending mike?? why is will the only one thinking of mike's feelings here?? why should will have to remind el that mike deserves better than to be lied to for 6 months and counting???

will is the only one thinking of mike's happiness and wellbeing. el did not consider this at any point, she only cared about mike blindly believing her lies. it's not important to her that mike knows the truth, meanwhile the opposite is true for will. he is honest with mike even if he feels it'll hurt mike's perception of him. because he loves mike too much to lie to him, especially to his face.

and even after the milkshake incident happened and el had lots of time to realize will was right, that mike did deserve to know the truth, and that mike was trying to come after her, she STILL asked angela of all people to lie straight to mike's face.

will was pissed of with mike and very hurt by his actions, and he was still the only one looking out for mike that day. because that's how much he loves mike.

so if el and will are both in love with mike...but mike is only in love with el....and mlvn are soulmates and are going to be together forever....why are the writers showing us that will cares for mike in ways el doesn't and is clearly the better match for him in terms of being treated well?

short answer: byler endgame

[kendraw]

To Exist is to be Seen Chapter 1: You can lead a horse to therapy but you can’t get it to open up about its parental issues!

Summary: Bill "talks it out" with his therapist in the Theraprism, and by "talk it out" I mean he loses his shit. (Post-canon)

Warnings: talk of death, swearing, talk of mental illness

Rating: Mature

Words: 3257

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Characters: Bill Cipher, unnamed therapist, Original Characters (If ya know ya know.)

Author's Notes: Fic I've been stewing on and cooking for a while, finally found it in myself to post it. Fair warning that it has... ORIGINAL CHARACTERS... OH NO! Happy New Year, everybody!

Chapter 1: You can lead a horse to therapy but you can’t get it to open up about its parental issues!

The mind of Bill Cipher was not one that many could grasp- not in its entirety- and this wasn't due to some imposed deepness or the fact that he was a notorious gaslighting liar. 

No… The reason that his mind was difficult to comprehend was due to his very existence. Bill existed in a state best comparable to the observer effect of physics, but through the myopic lens of fallibilism. He was a being whose experience with reality, physical matter, and relative existence was entirely dependent on observable data- ergo, if he himself could not observe something- it did not exist to him.

Bill Cipher was less of a schrodinger's cat and more of a falling tree in a haunted forest, a forest that people had been warned of and had been long since abandoned. When he was perceived- he existed. And if he could see it- then he could know it. The all seeing eye was- in some ways- accurate. But the title should have come with several annotations and a caveat: he only knew what he could see, he only saw what was shown to him. 

A drawing was not just a peephole for him, but a lifeline. Proof that he existed. Proof that he was REAL.

His relationship with humanity was comparable to a hostage situation.  He depended on them, he still existed because of them, and he knew them more intimately than he was willing to know himself. He couldn't escape them, and with how heavily he tied himself in their history, neither could they escape him. 

To look inward meant he was forced to face his own existence- and he didn't want to do that. He would rather have others look upon him and give him purpose. But he would never admit to that. 

Because his existence was predicated on his perception and the interactions beings had with him, his experience with time followed the same principles. Cipher experienced time based entirely on observable data and his own awareness of events and instances. Billions of years could flash in an instance for him until he was observing the moment. And to observe the moment, he had to be invoked. Right now, however, Bill did not want to be summoned, Bill wanted to disassociate and drift off into the liminal space of the void. It was unfortunate, then, that he found himself being the center of attention, something he never thought he’d dislike or shirk away from. His therapist sat across from him and folded their legs while balancing their laced fingers on their knees. “Hello Bill, How are you feeling today?” They said in an amorphis tone that was unreadable, it was also not something someone would call “relaxing.” 

Bill's eye rolled until he looked upon his therapist. Their form was foreign and unknowable, Bill could neither discern their thoughts, nor could he fully analyze their intent. All Bill could do was speculate, and the conclusion he came to was that therapists were condescending. All their questions, in his mind, were an attempt to get at him, to find his weak spots, to tear him down and then reconstruct him. He didn't like people putting him under a microscope, it made him feel unbelievably small and exposed. There was not just an absence of control, but ask him the right questions and he might reveal too much. Every question they asked him led to them knowing him- and the more they learned the harder it was for him to rewrite the past and twist the truth. 

Bill wasn't great at keeping a level head, he wasn't willing to realize nor change this about himself, but it could be exploited if someone knew what buttons to press. He was quick to anger, and anger led to over-sharing, and oversharing led to more weaknesses being revealed. Emotional fragility was a weakness. And Bill Cipher did not want to show weakness. But push him and poke him the right way, and he'd fold like a house of cards in the form of a screaming tantrum. That in itself was a defense mechanism. The screaming diatribes he'd go off on were a pathetic attempt at getting the last word in. A last ditch effort towards shutting the other person up and making them rethink ever questioning him.

"The answer should be obvious, shouldn't it?" He narrowed his eye "All you "doctors" do is gossip, so you already know full well what I've been dealing with." He imitated the therapist's pose in a mocking manner and smirked with his eye. "How about we switch it up? I could try asking YOU pointless questions!"

The therapist paused but didn't react beyond that- only their calm collected and inhuman voice replied.

"Alright, ask away."

Bill didn't like this, were they messing with him? It felt like a trap. He hesitated for only a second but his therapist took note. 

"Great! So we all know that therapists only go into mental health because they're too messed up to deal with their own problems and need to feel better about themselves by judging others, so! What messed up backstory do you have going on?" 

The therapist shifted in a way that, if looked at closely, could be seen as them thinking of a response. They finally answered. 

"I don't have much of a backstory myself, I just enjoy hearing about the lives of others and seeing beings improve and get better." They paused, "Do you feel judged, Bill?"

He knew this was bait, but he didn't care, he was going to give this crackpot a piece of his mind! 

"Of course I do! You all pretend to have my best interest at heart- but I know the truth! You're just trying to wear me down and reshape me until all that's left is a smooth blanched surface with no character! You're all threatened by what I could do so you need to take out the competition! But your brainwashing won't work on me, Jack! I've run cults before and I know what mental reconstruction looks like!" He tapped a space right above his eye and narrowed it at them "reincarnation? A better self? All lies you make up to get rid of any opposition! You can't fool me, I've been around the block and been in the minds of geniuses far greater than all of you."

"Are you opposed to the concept of reinvention and self forgiveness?" they asked, tilting what might be their head, he still wasn’t sure.

"What's there to forgive?!" Bill replied quickly  “I don't see why me trying to liberate dimensions is such a big deal! Have you seen what they do with their limited lifespans? They're miserable! I was doing them a favor!” He throws his cartoony arms up in the air as if to emphasize a point before he continues. “Everyone talks about how terrible my reign was, but if you took a peak at their political systems you'd agree that what I was doing was merciful, a kindness. At least I made things interesting instead of killing them with THAT mess.” He looked right at the therapist “Did you know most of them don’t even have healthcare? But no, I’m the bad guy apparently, just because I released some madness bubbles and reshaped the foundation!”

Bill huffed, acting like this whole Therapy thing was an inconvenience. He continued to excuse his past actions with an even tone and a confident flair. “They're so desperate for an escape that, to take their minds off their own suffering, they watch others to find entertainment in their suffering instead! Honestly I get it! Pain is hilarious, especially when you're the one causing it, but it's pretty sad that that's all they do for entertainment! Most of the time it's just watching others' problems and judging them vicariously!”

He pauses and his bottom eyelid lifts in a mock “smiling” sort of way. “Hey, kind of like you!” His voice was cheerful, but it was clear that something about the question made him uncomfortable and he was trying desperately to deflect.

"Is that the same reason for your actions in Euclydia?"

Cipher froze but was quick to rebound, his tone was sharper now, more biting. "All I did there was try and change some minds and rescue them from their boring, tenseless existence- so, yeah! Trust me, I did them a favor! They weren't doing anything of note or importance- they were all locked in a perpetual monotonous dance of mind-numbing, soul-sucking servitude to an uncaring universe in a boring story as B-list characters. I helped them see there's so much more! I gave them the opportunity to rewrite their stories- like me!" He folded his arms "it's not my fault that they lacked imagination and couldn't manage what I had- but I guess that's the cold truth of reality! Some people are born special, like me, and some people aren't." 

All Bill was willing to say about his past without rewriting and obfuscating the details therein is that he came from a place called Euclydia in the second dimension. Second dimensional forms, at their core- are ideas, thought experiments meant to give way to a better understanding of the universe. Time in the second dimension is a line drawn between two points- it is tenseless and only accounts for the past and the future, the beginning and the end. It would be more fitting to compare the second dimensions’ experience with time with a book. The entire universe and all of its facets exist within the pages, and when it is closed- it is done. This doesn't mean the death of the 2nd dimension, more so that everything that is and was is tied up neatly with a bow- you could return to it at any time and the inhabitants would be none the wiser.

And Bill had burned his universe's book.

"Do you think that someone being special allows them the right to live or die, then?"

"Of course! Some people get it and others don't- most don't. Special people change the world, after all. That's where all that mumbo-jumbo about "making the world a better place" comes from! That's a message to the specials. And the normies have us to thank for it- but what do we get in return? They try to hold us back! Because they're jealous! The world- the UNIVERSE would be more AMAZING, more FUN if they just gave in and let us do the talking and decision making." His voice was quickening "They instill all this moral jargon in us to hold us back and make us second guess ourselves- but it's all just a plot to control US and keep things 'safe' and 'familiar'. They're cowards. Too afraid to look at the big picture." With how he refused to look at the being in front of him, it was clear that he had someone specific in mind. The therapist noticed the faroff look in his eye. He was thinking about him again.

“You said you’ve been in the minds of geniuses, is there something that draws you to people like that in particular?” Without missing a beat Cipher stood up and waved his tiny little black arms around, there was a playful excitement in his movements as he started to divulge more details.

“Who else could get it?! It’s hard to find someone as intelligent as me, impossible even, but there’s some folks out there that can understand what I’m saying without replying with ‘what?’ every 5 seconds! Do you know how hard it is to have a conversation with someone when they don’t contribute anything to the discussion? They might be a tool for me to use in the grand scheme of things but I’d at least like to be stimulated!” He put his hands on his hips, the crack across his body flickering “It’s like telling a joke and the person not laughing because they’re too dense to get the punchline! Why go on stage for a bunch of idiots who won’t appreciate the performance?” 

“Is that what this all is to you? A performance?” They made a mark on their clipboard. Bill noticed. His eye widened, his expression becoming wild. 

“Oho! I know what this is! You think you’re so slick- but you can’t fool me!” His features became more jagged and uneven, the crack across his body flickering again, bright blue sparks emitting with feverish intensity. 

“What do you mean?” The therapist asked before being cut off by the paranoid polygon

“You think that I’m putting on some act, don’t you? That this is a cover to something deeper about me- that if you keep asking me asinine questions I’ll crack and expose some other level to me!  Well give it up! I’m not faking anything! I might trick humans and tell them what they want to hear, but I’ve got nothing to hide here!” His scream was shrill and distorted now “You think you can trick me by getting me to talk and tell you my weaknesses- just like those Pines’ did- well I’m no chump! I don’t have any weaknesses! They just got lucky- But luck runs out!”

“One day I'll get out of here- and when I do I'll show everyone how wrong they were!” He scowled, and looked at his hands as he spoke. “You all think you can change my mind and rip up those party invites but I've got news for you- you don't get a choice! It'll be a never ending soul siesta Fiesta!” 

He broke out into a manic, building laughter.

“It doesn't sound like you have much respect for what you deem as lower life forms,” The therapist said flatly, looking at the chart as if taking in some of the material with marginal interest. “You made a chair out of humans.”

Bill turned back to the therapist and rolled his singular eye before laying back in the chair lazily.

“Hey! A guy has to have a place to sit, right? And a throne made of people is the perfect centerpiece to command respect! It also serves as a great conversation starter- you try having a compelling conversation about your Chesterfield chair and see how far you get,” He sat himself up straight and closed his eye smugly “meanwhile I get to tell you all the hot Goss about Lazy Susan- and that's saying something since that chick literally disassociates and thinks about PIE all day.”

The therapist set the clipboard back in their lap and looked at him, he could feel their stare on him- he just wasn’t sure WHERE their eyes were...

“That doesn't sound like liberation, that sounds like subjugation.” They said, matter of fact “Are they not worthy of the party?” 

“Sure they are! They're the chair! What about that are you not getting?” 

“Do you enjoy deflecting and making a joke out of everything that has happened?” 

Bill looked at his hand, trying to lessen the discomfort he had with their gaze and tried his best to appear unbothered.

“What can I say, I'm a silly little guy! It's not my fault that most folks lack a sense of humor and can't appreciate my japes. Like most things, people take it all too seriously... life is a joke and you're the punchline, so you better start learning to laugh!”

The therapist leaned forward in interest, at least that’s what Bill thinks it was...

“Does that include yourself?” 

“Well I'm the one making the jokes- aren't I?”

“But are you a punchline?”

“I'm a triangle, Jack. Try to keep up.” 

They were silent, and Bill internally felt this was a win. Take that you pompous know it all! Once again my quick wit reigns supreme!

But just as he had thought the session was over, they looked back at his chart and took out their pen again before continuing their line of questions...  

“Speaking of triangles, I noticed that the majority of your drawings were red and blue triangles... Can you tell me about that?” 

He stiffened but managed to rebound quickly

“Well I'm not one to teach folks their colors and shapes- usually they understand those out the gate but if you need me to walk you through things, I guess I'll relent! So red is a color-”

The therapist, for the first time, was quick to cut him off and keep with their onslaught of inquiries. 

“Are they someone you knew? Maybe your parents?” 

Bill's face grew dark

“Do you draw them because you miss them?” 

The Therapist was met with another raging tantrum, this one more distorted, his crack flickering wildly as he looked pained, angry, embarrassed, and threatening. 

“I DON'T MISS ANYONE!” Why would he? They don’t miss him! Emotional connections were a weakness, and Bill was not WEAK.

“I DON'T NEED ANYONE!” HE didn’t. HE DIDN’T! Everyone has always let him down. Pathetic weak willed and weak minded- he only needed himself.

It was because of these irrefutable facts that he wasn’t all that surprised when his outburst, which was lunging at the therapist and trying to bite any possible limb he could grab, landed him in the Wellness Void. Ah the Wellness Void. 

He hated the Wellness Void. 

The void offered him little else but time to plan, but Bill was less of a “master planner” and more of a “It’ll all work out because I said it will, don’t ask questions.” sort of guy. That confidence got him a following, after all! If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! And who was broken? Not him, that’s for sure! That blue crack across his body was just a scar- scars were cool. They made you look tough. It was less of a residual fragment of him being shattered and scattered across existence by Stanley Pines’s fist and more… A statement!

It was unfortunate for Bill that the statement was: “Ow I got punched in the FACE!” 

Bill took a moment to reflect, not on his actions or anything of that nature, (why would he? He was perfect and had never done anything wrong in his entire life.)  But on something far more pressing: why the internal narration and dialogue suddenly took a more biting, cheeky, and critical tone towards him. He was the main character after all, shouldn't the narration and perspective of the writer be more favorable?

"ALRIGHT ASSHOLE SHOW YOURSELF. I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE!"

It was an odd request to pose, after all he was the all seeing eye wasn't he? If there was someone there, surely he could see them. 

"We're in a void, Jackass! What's there to see?!"

The permissive polygon made a fair point. But who's to say he wasn't losing his marbles? 

"Little late for that, buck-o! I'm insane! And if you haven't already noticed: we're in a nut house!"

Ah yes… Insanity. Perhaps that was why Bill had a habit of repeating history and doing the same thing over and over-

"Watch it!"

-But maybe if he had alternative options, different opportunities available, things would change for him...

"Eh? What the-"

Bill was suddenly surrounded by a blinding light, then seated across from a monochrome being, Three bright blue eyes with the hands of clocks held within looked upon him with rapt glee, a large smile stretched across nebulous features. 

"Maybe it’s time someone offered YOU a deal."

[lennadanvers]

The Heartbreak Chronicles

Eddie Munson x Reader

Edward The Freak Munson was your first love.

(He preferred to be called Eddie).

(That’s why you called him Edward. It was his father’s name, too).

He was also your first heartbreak. And the worst one yet.

It started in Hawkins. All the bad things in your life had started there. You couldn’t have been more than five years old, and Edward was almost adorable back then. He was fun, had an amazing imagination, and loved playing with you. You loved him, too.

You slew dragons and fought in the name of Queen Buttons- your stuffed hippo- for years, so when his first actual battle came, you expected to be by his side.

He didn’t, apparently. His mom was gone and his father abandoned him. Eddie ended up living with his uncle in a place that held little resemblance to a castle.

Of course, he didn’t tell you any of that. Instead, he described the infinite garden he had in his new home; how it was full of adventures and characters out of a tale. He told you about the dangers he faced- the monsters in the hallway, the darkness wanting to take him, the fae that stole his lunch. He explained that the way to his abode was long and full of traps and risks. He didn’t want you to venture into such a dangerous path.

So you didn’t. With Eddie, imagination and reality were always too close to see the difference. Besides, he was just as energetic as always. He even gained some weight; it was easy to tell.

There were other changes, though. Ones that happened slowly. Seamlessly. His favorite color went from red to black. He said once it reminded him of his mom, and proceeded to ask what colors you liked best in the same breath. His childlike interest for shiny things evolved into a collection of chains. They started appearing clasped onto every pair of jeans he owned. His laugh was louder every time you said something even remotely funny.

And his eyes were weaker and weaker.

They used to have a wild spark. Two dark bonfires, the promise of well-intentioned mischief. But his laugh was a gush of wind, and every time he opened his mouth it was like blowing at the agonizing embers.

It was a dark spell, a silent curse that poisoned him- or so you thought. He bailed on you one time, and you forgave him instantly. Who woulnd’t? He said he was sorry. And did it again a couple weeks later. Nothing to worry about. He hadn’t bailed in literal years; you could cut him some slack. Until there weren’t any more sleepovers or playdates, no more walks to find treasures by the forest or cheap ice cream listening to his stories.

Then came the summer break, and Edward disappeared. Not really, of course. You saw him once with his uncle at the grocery store. Once. He was alive and healthy, as far as you could tell. Then where had he been? Why hadn’t he been with you, as usual? You didn’t even remember summers without him.

The last day of vacation, you found a silly little dragon ring. It was most definitely made out of plastic, but it was gold and has two fake diamonds as eyes. With a little bit of imagination, it could pass as a dragon rider’s ring. It was meant for Edward, of course. Who, if not him, would wear it with pride?

But he never wore it. Not even to try it on when you gave it to him.

It was the first day of school, and, after years of friendship, the first day you sat alone in class. Which was stupid because he also sat alone. His hair was gone, and his eyes looked even bigger. It just made it worse when he smiled and nodded as a thank you, because there was no light in them. The fire had gone out, at last.

You had tried, alright. Over and over. But if the princess didn’t let his hair fall, then there was no way for you to climb the tower and save him.

You made friends with other people, life went by. It never stopped for things like this.

That was the first time Edward Munson broke your heart. At least, that time he had the decency to do it slowly, carefully. A death by natural causes. He didn’t have the same consideration the next time.

A/N: new series!! A little old, actually, but new for you guys! Hopefully it's at least entertaining. Chapters will be short but bitter, just the way I like my writing ;)) If you want me to, I can make a taglist (I have one for Pure Imagination, but I don't know if anyone will be interested in being tagged for this one), just comment or send an ask and I'll add you. Have a nice week! ♥️

[bluecapsicum]

But, but, I thought you were truly painting what you saw in the real world. I must have missed it when I followed you, but I really believed.

So, do you look up stock pictures and use that as inspiration? I always imagined you took your own pictures while out and about and then worked off of those.

I'm sorry you feel conned, it's never been my intention!

This has always been a fictional project about the journey of a reporter and an expert experiencing a wide spectrum of events together, which is why I always introduce it as meteorological fiction.

Most of the reports are based on things I've seen and pictures I've taken myself, but occasionally, usually for rare phenomena, I do take inspiration from other people's pictures. For instance, I've sadly never seen northern lights for myself, nor have I ever witnessed red sprites.

I always try to make sure the events are possible at the time when I draw them (the moon phases are always accurate), and for the vast majority of the reports, I speak from experience. But in the end, exactitude isn't the goal for me, it's storytelling, even if it's subtle.

I think the whole thing probably used to be more obvious, and I did make a text adventure game as part of this project in 2022, but I definitely wouldn't expect anyone to know the extended lore of Reports. I'm pretty sure a bunch of people still think they're photographs anyway.

Sorry again though! It's really meant to be a bit of fun. If it makes you feel better, I'm very invested in this weather stuff, so I do my best to imagine what it'd feel like to witness these things. Also, please know that if I had ever seen this in person, it would be all you'd hear me talk about to this day:

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer looked down at Adam, glad to see him finally asleep. He held him closer and smiled when Adam wrapped his arms around him. Lucifer felt like he couldn't get away, even if he wanted to.

He sighed as his phone started buzzing. He almost panicked when he saw Charlie's contact flash on the screen.

Lucifer: Hey, sweetie. Are you alright-?

Charlie: Alright? Sad, I've been calling you for three days! The sky cracked open and you were gone! What happened? Are you okay? Was it Heaven-?

Lucifer: Whoa, Char. Breathe hun. I promise you everything is fine, it was... an angel.

Lucifer smiled down at Adam, who hadn't stirred at all.

Charlie: An angel? But... Heaven was meant to stay out of Hell-.

Lucifer: They did, hun. Angels can still fall despite the contract.

Charlie: Oh... a fallen... are you with them now?

Lucifer ran his fingers through Adam's hair: I am. It's been rough, but their okay.

Charlie: Maybe I could redeem then, dad! A fallen angel being worthy of Heaven again!

Lucifer sighed, and he admired his daughters ambition, but he couldn't help but feel she was trying to make a statement of Adam. He knew that wasn't her intention.

Lucifer: Hun... once you fall, there's no way back to Heaven. No matter how much you repent or beg or change... once God has cast you down, that's it... you can't gain the father's holiness. And now that God's influence is gone, it damages the very soul. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the angel's still healing. And he's exhausted-.

Charlie: He? Dad. Who is it?

Lucifer: It doesn't matter who it is-.

Charlie: Dad, it does-.

Lucifer: No, Charlie, it doesn't! Besides, I don't feel that it's in his best interest for everyone to know, okay hun? Especially at the hotel.

Charlie: Why, dad?

Lucifer: Charlie, please-.

Charlie: ...We know him, don't we-.

Lucifer: Charlie! Enough! I won't speak to you about this anymore.

Lucifer sighed as Charlie went silent, though he could hear someone talking to her on the other end.

He was growing tired of this phone call. He loved hearing from his daughter, but he was quickly losing his patience with her and whoever else was listening their call.

First, her and Maggie snoop through his things and now this?

Lucifer: I'm sorry, Charlie. But I have to go.

Charlie: Dad, wait- I'll come over-.

Lucifer: No! No, not yet. Another time, hun. Okay? I'll give you a call another time.

He hung up and placed his phone on the bed, Adam hadn't stirred at all, still holding on to him tightly.

The Sin of Adam!au.

One more quick au before I fall asleep.

Adam falls to Hell after his death. But he doesn't wake up in Pride. He wakes up in Wrath. Adam is completely pissed off and just itching for revenge.

In this, Adam conquers each ring of Hell, growling stronger until he's on the same wavelength as Lucifer, power wise.

Lucifer has no idea what's going on. He's slowly losing contact with the Sins, and everyone is in a state of panic. That's until he returns home from a few days away, trying to find the Sins, that he sees his daughters hotel, and Pentagram city destroyed.

Thankfully, Charlie and her friends are fine. But what she explains is unbelievable.

Charlie: It was Adam, dad!

Lucifer: Adam? He's dead Charlie- I buried him myself.

Charlie: I thought so, too! He was looking for you! He's alive!

Lucifer gets his daughter to hide. Everything is in a state of chaos. He can't find Adam anywhere.

Until he returns home and sees someone sitting on his throne.

After a long, destructive fight, Lucifer realizes that Adam only absorbed the Sins. Their not dead

Adam has literally been taken over by the powers of Hell.

Can Lucifer contain and find a way to get Adam and the Sins back before he destroys Hell and everything undead thing in it??

How will Lucifer get Adam back??

Who knows 🤷

Adam: You can't defeat me now Lucifer!

Lucifer: Oh yes I can! I'm going to fuck the sins out of you!!

Adam: Wait what?

Ozzie inside: YEAH BABY!!

Sorry I'm feeling a little silly lmao 😂

[hellinistical]

☕Fem. reader x Xavier. College! au. angst. fake dating. awkward. comfort. addiction. harassment. sa. slow burn. masturbation. miscommunication.

synopsis: After swearing you wouldn’t let winter break drag you into a slump, you decide to treat yourself to some coffee—a little pick-me-up to break the monotony. But the new barista clearly isn’t great at his job; your order always comes out bitter, no matter how simple it is. Frustrated, you finally ask why he’s even working at a coffee shop when he so obviously has no passion for it. He shrugs, his expression unreadable: “My friend’s too busy.” And before you know it, you’re proposing an absolutely ridiculous idea: fake dating. He hesitates at first, but when you outline the benefits—his nosy family finally gets off his back, and you get someone to stave off the holiday loneliness—it starts to make a strange kind of sense. What could go wrong? Besides everything, of course.

chocolate divider by @kodaswrld

masterlist | playlist | taglist |next.

wc: 1510.

one: pity party

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and wood smoke, courtesy of a flickering candle set in an ornate holder on the dresser. A plush area rug sprawls across the wooden floor, its intricate patterns partially hidden beneath the legs of a bed that looks almost too inviting. The bed itself is a fortress of comfort, layered with mismatched quilts, oversized pillows, and a soft faux-fur throw casually draped at the foot.

Fairy lights strung haphazardly along the headboard add a whimsical touch, their soft twinkle mimicking distant stars. On the windowsill, a small collection of succulents and winter flowers struggle to soak up what little light remains, while frost edges the glass, muffling the noise of honking cars and hurried footsteps.

The room wasn’t quite the haven it aspired to be. Sure, it tried—a valiant effort, really—but the cracks in its attempt at cozy perfection were painfully obvious. The throw blanket on the bed was more threadbare than plush, its corners fraying where they had snagged too many times on the unforgiving springs of the mattress beneath. The fairy lights dangling along the headboard were half burnt out, leaving odd pockets of shadow in their wake.

Your vanity was a cluttered mess, its surface drowning under half-empty mugs, dried-out makeup wipes, and an alarming number of hair ties that seemed to multiply overnight. The candles scattered around the room were decorative at best; you hadn’t lit one in months, and a faint layer of dust dulled their once-vivid colors.

The heater in the corner made its presence known with a relentless clank every fifteen minutes, as though it were a poorly rehearsed percussionist trying to join in with the muffled sounds of honking and distant sirens from the street below. The burgundy curtains, a noble attempt at warmth, were slightly too short, exposing the cold, scuffed baseboards below the windowsill.

You scoffed, tugging off your scarf and tossing it onto the back of your vanity chair, where it joined your jacket in a heap. The chair wobbled slightly under the weight, its legs uneven from years of service. The dim bulb in the lamp cast a yellowish tint over everything, exaggerating the flaws, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You flopped onto the bed, ignoring the sharp creak of protest it gave.

Your eyes drift to the flowers on the windowsill, their once-vibrant petals now muted and drooping. Half-dead and pitiful, they leaned haphazardly in their ceramic pot, their stems buckling under the weight of bulbs that seemed too stubborn to wither completely.

You’d meant to dry them weeks ago—an ambitious little project, another “someday” task added to the pile of half-finished intentions. But life got in the way, as it always did, and the flowers had been left to fend for themselves. Now, they existed in a strange limbo: too lifeless to revive but not quite brittle enough to crumble into dust.

The soil was cracked and dry, pulling away from the edges of the pot in jagged lines, a quiet testament to neglect. A stray petal clung to the rim like it was trying to escape, while the others that had managed to fall lay in a faint trail leading toward the radiator.

You sighed, tilting your head. At least they hadn’t completely keeled over, sprawling on the floor like forgotten confetti. That was something, wasn’t it? You reached out absently, brushing a droopy leaf with your finger. It shuddered at your touch, as if even that was too much effort.

“I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” you muttered under your breath, fully aware you’d said the same thing yesterday—and probably the day before that.

God. Being single sucked.

Not that you had a boyfriend or anything—let's be real, the only thing worse than this boredom was the idea of trying to maintain something like that. But damn, was this exhausting.

You let out a dramatic sigh, grabbing your phone for the 20th time in the last hour. The whole “you-text-your-friend-they-don’t-answer-for-weeks” game was a special kind of aggravating. Like, what was the point? She’d swear up and down that she didn’t mean to ignore you, promised she’d “do better,” but deep down, you knew she wouldn’t.

Not that you were any better. When she had unadded you on 360 and Insta, you didn’t even notice. Not for a solid two weeks. And when you did, the weird part wasn’t the unadding itself—it was the fact that it didn’t even bother you. Shouldn’t that have been the moment? The glaring neon sign telling you to let it die, to let the whole friendship fizzle out gracefully?

But you didn’t.

No, you’d doubled down like an idiot, liking her posts, leaving comments, checking her stories just to remind her you existed. And for what? A halfhearted “sorry, I’ve been so busy” when she finally texted back two weeks later? You scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed next to you.

“God, I need better hobbies,” you muttered to the empty room. Because clearly, this wasn’t cutting it.

Well… that, and the fact that you’d let her borrow your shirt for her date night. Lord, what an idiot you were.

It wasn’t even a casual, “sure, take whatever” situation. No, you’d gone out of your way to dig through your closet, pull out the shirt—your favorite one, the one that made you feel like you actually had your life together—and handed it over like some kind of saint.

“For good luck,” you’d joked, masking the pang of reluctance with a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

And what did you get for your troubles? Weeks of radio silence. No texts. No calls. Not even a blurry mirror selfie with your shirt captioned “thanks, bestie <3.” Nope, just a whole lot of nothing. The shirt hadn’t made its way back to you either, which honestly stung more than it should have.

You sighed, staring at your phone again. The temptation to send a passive-aggressive “hey, hope your date was worth my shirt” text was real, but you knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere.

“Next time, I’m lending out something ugly,” you muttered, as if that would make any difference.

You clicked your tongue, shaking off the sour thoughts. This was no time to be bitter. It was far too easy to slide into a depressive slump, especially with winter break stretching out ahead of you like an endless gray horizon. Nothing to do, no classes until the next semester, and plenty of time to overthink.

Broke, jobless, car-less. What a loser.

Okay, maybe not on the car part. That wasn’t entirely fair. You’d gotten into a wreck back in September, and, well, life had a funny way of spiraling out of control after that. Between dealing with insurance, trying to juggle your classes, and just existing as a college student, replacing the car had fallen lower and lower on your list of priorities.

And it wasn’t like you could magically pull money out of thin air. College students didn’t just have the money lying around for major expenses like that. Not when rent, tuition, and overpriced textbooks already felt like a slow, constant bleed on your wallet.

You flopped back onto your bed with a groan, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t even that you wanted to go anywhere right now. But there was something maddening about the idea of being stuck, of knowing that even if you did want to escape for a bit, you couldn’t.

“Whatever,” you muttered to the ceiling. Tomorrow you’d figure something out. Maybe apply for a few jobs. Maybe clean your room. Maybe… anything that didn’t involve wallowing.

But for now? Wallowing it was.

You paused mid-sigh, the melancholic hum of Laufey filtering through your headphones like a bittersweet soundtrack to your wallowing.

Well, no wonder you felt like shit.

Her voice, all soft and aching, wrapped around your already fragile mood and dragged it deeper into the pit of self-pity. It was like pouring salt into a wound—but, you had to admit, it was a beautiful kind of salt. Still, it wasn’t helping.

You yanked the headphones off with a huff, tossing them to the side. The quiet rush of the outside world filtered in through the thick walls of your building: the distant wail of a siren, the faint hum of a neighbor's television, and somewhere far below, the unmistakable honking of rush-hour traffic.

“Okay,” you said to no one in particular, “we’re not doing this.”

No more sad-girl anthems. No more moody staring contests with the ceiling. You had two choices: keep spiraling or force yourself into some kind of productivity. Maybe not major productivity, but something small. A start.

With a deep breath, you sat up and looked around the room. It was a disaster zone, sure, but even tidying up a single corner might help. Or maybe you’d brew a cup of tea and pretend for five minutes that you were the kind of person who had it all together.

Anything to not fall into that kind of slump.

[the-crooked-library]

One similarity between Jonathan and '24 Thomas I'd like to point out is the "unclean" scene.

Jonathan saw and experienced all the nastiest most vile parts inside of vampires, and when she declared herself unclean and when holiness itself burned her he loved her despite it all, and resolved that if she became one of those monsters he would follow her. Thomas also saw all the horrifying darkness in Ellen, and when she too cried out that she's unclean he like Jonathan said that she's not and that he loves her.

I mean... I don't think these scenes are really all that similar - and again, this is to do with characterization, because on the surface level, they do follow roughly the same script. They're both extremely significant to the dynamics between Jonathan/Mina or Thomas/Ellen - but more so as a juxtaposition.

Mina believes herself to be unclean and damned because she has been bitten by Dracula and is indeed at risk of becoming a vampire as well; and as you said, Jonathan vows to join her in that cursed undeath. It is an expression of beautiful, intense, blasphemous, extremely gothic devotion, and it defines their relationship throughout the story.

By contrast, Ellen believes herself to be unclean because of her own psychic ability - because she was the one who woke Orlok in the first place. Thomas does try to reassure her, he tells her he loves her; and he is trying his best, but this reassurance ultimately falls flat for two reasons - 1) he cannot convince her that she is not unclean, because that perceived "uncleanliness" is an inherent part of her, rather than something foreign; and 2) he wants her to eventually be free of it, which she cannot ever be - because, again, the horror is a part of her.

Unlike Jonathan, Thomas is terrified of that horror. He does not recognize it as a permanent aspect of Ellen, and he ultimately is incapable of making the same vow that Jonathan Harker did; and this limitation is crucial to the undercurrent of that scene, because it is the reason Ellen lies to him about her final plan. Mina trusted Jonathan and co. enough to openly ask them to end her life in the event of turning, but Ellen makes the arrangements with Von Franz in secret, before sending her husband on a wild-goose chase. She cares about him, yes, and he cares for her; but he does not love all existing aspects of her. He would not be able to accept her if she turned. Their goals in life, their desires, their perspectives are fundamentally incompatible, and so the only thing she can do for him is leave him behind.

Thomas may have good intentions and a similar choice of career, but he's no Jonathan. It's not exactly his fault, it's just that he's really not meant to be a Hero. He's a Damsel in Distress and he's being forced into the wrong role entirely by a patriarchal world - the existence of which only Ellen appears to recognize.

[martian-astro10]

Nosferatu spent 2 hours trying to explain how count orlock is not someone who should be romanticised because he is a creepy ass pervert who does not understand consent. Now people are out there making hear me out posts for him, media literacy go brrrr

Attack on titan spent FOUR seasons trying to convey the message that there is no right or wrong in war, and that innocent lives are lost on both the sides and that you support the one whose side of the story was more accessible to you. Then aot fans made thousands of posts on how gabi was bad and eren was good, and vice versa. Media literacy again go brrr

The author of hunger games literally word to word explained how the people of Capitol were selfish pieces of shit who were consumed by superficial things and that led them to ignore the atrocities that were being committed in the name of "games". Then people made thrist traps of snow, saying they would join him in all the things he did since he was so hot. Media literacy AGAIN going brrrr

The author of Lolita literally saying that a young girl shouldn't be on the cover and that it's a story about pedophilia. The people romanticising the Lolita aesthetic and calling it a romance book. I'LL BANG MY HEAD ON A WALL

It's so incredibly heartbreaking when a piece of media does it's best to make a point and it completely goes over people's heads. We were just having a debate about this in the class and the opposition team made such dumb points like 😭 "let people enjoy things in the way they want to" NO, if a person reads a book from back to the front we call him dumb, because it's MEANT to be read from front to the back. The creator is explicitly stating their intention to make that piece and then people go, " well, actually.." IT'S SO ANNOYING

What's the point of reading and watching and studying if you MISS THE GODDAMN POINT. Every revolution In this world was caused by people reading and UNDERSTANDING, authors wrote stories in such a way that it didn't directly insult the monarchy but the message was there, a story about animals working together to drive away hunters from the forest, subconsciously the message was received by the people. If you don't understand and take the message seriously, then you're not even reading or watching anything, you're just looking, HUGE DIFFERENCE. You're looking at the words, but you're not understanding anything cuz BRAIN NO WORK 😭

So annoying Bhai so annoying, our team was so pissed with the opposition like what the fuck are you saying bro, it's not even...... IT'S INSANE. We need a better education system because this is simply not it. Do they even teach anything in schools anymore or what?

Or leave everything else, the comment section of a basic astrology post makes me want to cry, asking the same questions again and again, like bro, the person literally clarified what they meant in their post, JUST READ. They're so used to being spoon fed all the time, you have to direct people, "do this, do that, see that post", or when people are not able to connect dots, there is information available to you, combine that information, take points that match with your circumstances and create a new point that is applicable for YOU. "I don't resonate with this" OKAY, IT'S ONE FUCKING POSITION GOD 😭😭. I have seen such negative observations about my placements and THAT'S FINE, maybe they met people with those placements who exhibited such traits. Not every mars In 1st is going to be athletic, not every moon in 6th will have a weak immunity, you may have other placements to balance it out. The worst part is that they'll list down their placements and be like "what does this mean" LIKE I DON'T KNOW BRO, YOU SHOULD PUT SOME EFFORT AS WELL 😭 atleast TRY to reach a conclusion.

[intrasun]

Brutally Soft Lore #01

A lot is going on with my most recent (and first post back!) of Brutally Soft. It really is meant to be up to interruption, but I wanted to share what I was thinking symbolically with Wednesday's dream (for anyone interested in that kind of thing).

To start, I redid this post four times, trying to figure out the best way to tell the story. Although pretty cliche, I think this dream sequence was a good look into Wednesday's psyche.

If you're an anime fan, you'll see the obvious nod to Neon Genesis Evangelion. NGE is an allegory for loneliness and depression. Alongside the other religious imagery in this post, it was a fitting reference that encompasses Wednesday well.

Neither I nor Wednesday believe in a God. Rather I choose the ocean to represent a sort of godly entity. You could interrupt this as Wednesday praying to Mother Nature as a kind of God as well. Here is where you'll see the NGE inspiration. The crosses floating in the ocean are meant to, in this scene, imply that the ocean itself is representative of a God. I wanted it to look someone what ... punishing? Almost angry? Like her prayer will not be answered, or she feels like it isn't going to be. It's a hostile interaction.

In the picture of Wednesday crying, she's facing away from the sun and the reflection of the crosses is still behind her but now they are upside down. Almost like she is turning her back on God or has lost faith. You could also interpret this as Wednesday being somewhat "sinful" and that sinfulness even follows hers ie. it looming behind her. Although this post has nothing to do with faith (and Wednesday had none, to begin with), this really is just to show a loss of hope. I love how this came out and I hope people see this detail but if you didn't hopefully now you do!

Despite the sin references, I use the daylit scenes to represent good intentions. Here Wednesday is hanging her head before she breaks down, but I placed the sun here to represent a halo. She, although struggling with motherhood, is trying. She is a victim of hardship. The dark ocean scenes came to be more of how Wednesday views herself and her situation and the daylight scene represents more of how others see her. I didn't add Amelia to this post because it is about a mother and daughter, but you could imagine, in a way, she is the sun looking down on her brightly.

Oh, Drew. I always edit Drew with angel wings because I think she embodies pure good. She's a child, pure of heart. In Wednesday's life, she acts as an angel as well. But I won't get too much into that here. In a not-so-subtle way, I chose black wings. Not to say she's fallen but perhaps darkness could or has or will enveloped her. Alternatively, the all-black is a way to mourn Drew's childhood. In the last detail, Drew is looking at a raven (or maybe you saw a crow) a symbol for a bad omen, the one Wednesday is worried about bestowing onto Drew. This scene is during the day, in the same sky as at the beginning of the post. Although you could deduce that Wednesday is either cynical or broken, she has hope in the back of her mind (ie in the background) when she envisions her daughter.

The line "I pray that my daughter doesn't look like me, doesn't resemble me." I have always said that Wednesday not only doesn't, like her appearance but she'd hope Drew wouldn't look like her. If you've seen Drew, she looks a lot like Wednesday. The resemblance reminds Wednesday of herself as a child and she worries she'll also see Drew with the same pain.

I've always shown Wednesday to be stoic (almost to fault and a symptom of bad writing). That anger masks a lot of sadness, I believe anger is a symptom of deep sadness. This is Wednesday's mind, where it is not necessary to mask her emotions, there is no reason she should feel the shame of crying. In this space, she feels free to just let out how she feels, and that is by sobbing. I feel like this could make people sympathetic or view her as weak. Who knows! My goal isn't to make the reader sad (I want them to just feel how they feel) but to show Wednesday more honestly.

The line she says is derivative of a quote by Franz Kafka.

The text in yellow! As I am sure anyone could guess it is a song. It is Tell Me by Corbin. If you can take some somber music, Corbin is incredible. My favorite artist. The lyrics and who is saying them or who they are about are really up to the reader. It could read that it was a voice speaking to Wednesday, a more sympathetic voice than her own. I think you could think of Wednesday saying it to Drew. Even a voice like Amelia's or an omnipotent voice saying it to them both. It was very fitting and I wanted it to include it to provide an alternative perspective to the reader.

I spent a lot of time on this post and I am very proud of it. IDK if this new style of storytelling is going to translate to people. Hopefully, it does to someone! This is only the first post so I won't expect too much. I hope to one day get to a point where I can hear other people's interactions and theories on the story and characters. Till then! I'll be sharing mine here. Thank you for taking the to read this post.

[grlsbstshot]

Join us for the next chapter of NEON LIGHTS premiering Wednesday

(Don’t miss updates every Wednesday & Saturday for NEON LIGHTS, an original character fanfic. Chapters & Special Extras found on the masterlist.)

IMANI INVITES YOU TO READ HER DIARY By: Vanessa Lawton JAN. 2026

It’s been a year since Imani St. Cirie, the sultry and enigmatic singer-songwriter, made headlines for her surprise EP release, Diary. In the following months, she became an awards show darling. Winning Billboard, AMAs, and even a BRIT Award. It all culminated in a Grammy win in Best R&B Song for the top ten Billboard hit, Kitchen. But since then? Nothing. We sit down with the superstar to find out exactly what's on the horizen.

Exuding a quiet confidence, Imani sits opposite me in the PAPER magazine headquarters. It's a simple interview, one that shouldn't take more than an hour or so but she makes herself comfortable. Imani, dressed in a HOESMAD cropped tee, baggy cargo jeans, and black and white pair of Bathing Apes, there’s a softness to her demeanor that suggests it's been a long year for the superstar. "It's been a year of unexpected successes. I really didn't expect for Diary to be that successful, but I'm grateful. I think it did what it needed to do."

From the heartbreak that inspired her latest EP to the unexpected that has helped her heal, she’s unflinchingly honest. "Love is tough. It's complicated. I don't think it's meant to be easy, but whatever is real, you'll fight for it. No matter what."

This is a different Imani—one who’s no longer defined by her past but empowered by it. And as she prepares to step back into the spotlight, it’s clear that she’s not just reclaiming her voice—she’s rewriting her story.

VL: Diary was a huge success last year. How did it feel to see it resonate so deeply with your fans? Imani: “It’s so crazy because I just released that EP to let all these emotions I felt out. I never thought that so many people would like it. Like damn, y’all really fuck with me.”

VL: Your lyrics often feel deeply personal. Do you find it difficult to share so much of yourself through your music?

Imani: “No. Music is a release for me. I use my songwriting as a way to get everything out. The hardest part for me is releasing it to the world because like you said it is deeply personal.”

VL: What’s been the most rewarding moment in your career over the past year?

Imani: “When I won a Grammy for ‘Kitchen,’ like wow. I’m still in shock about that.”

VL: Fans have speculated about the themes of Diary. Was it inspired by personal experiences?

Imani: “Yes, but all my art is. Where else am I supposed to draw inspiration from?”

VL: You and James Lucas have a shared history in music. Do you think you’ll ever collaborate?

Imani: “I don’t know…that’s a question he should probably answer.” 

VL: What’s next for you musically? Can fans expect a full album soon?

Imani: “I wouldn’t say soon! I’ve been so busy with videos and promo for Diary that I haven’t gotten a chance to go to the studio but I’m always writing and I want to release something next year.” 

VL: You’ve been linked to several high-profile individuals this year. How do you handle the constant media scrutiny of your personal life?

Imani: “I try to ignore it because the media tends to think they know everything about Imani but I promise you they don’t know even know a quarter of me. So I try not to let it bother me.” 

VL: You’ve been very private about your relationships lately. Is that intentional?

Imani: “Yes, because it’s no one’s business but my own. After my relationship with my ex, I think I’m owed some privacy.”

VL: What’s been the biggest lesson you’ve learned about yourself in the past year?

Imani: “That it’s okay to sit in your sorrow sometimes. No matter how much you try, you can’t run from it. You can’t hide from it. So it’s okay to sit and wallow for a little bit.” 

VL: You’ve spoken before about the importance of self-care. What does that look like for you now?

Imani: “Right now? It looks like a day off with sleeping in, a bubble bath with a seaweed face mask, some pasta and a marathon of Sex and the City. I know that ain’t y’all ideal self-care but it’s mine.” 

VL: What role has your family or close friends played in supporting you this year? 

Imani: “My aunt has been the most vital part to Diary’s rollout. I told her what I wanted to do and what publications I wanted to. She handled it all for me.” 

VL: Are there any misconceptions about you that you’d like to clear up?

Imani: “Nah, take what you heard about me and double that shit!” 

VL: What’s one thing fans would be surprised to learn about you?

Imani: “That I’m really a happy person. They always coming up to me, asking me if I’m okay because they heard such-and-such song and are concerned but guys, I promise y’all I’m fine.” 

VL: How do you handle creative blocks or moments of doubt in your career?

Imani: “I try to write through it. Like even if the lyric is trash as fuck, I write it out just so I can get it out of my head.” 

VL: If you could give advice to your younger self, what would it be?

Imani: “Everything will be okay. I know things are looking bleak right now but you will be fine! Crashing out all the time ain’t worth it, girl.” 

The late afternoon sun was starting to set but a few rays spilled through the wide windows of Jameson’s New York brownstone, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floors. He sat at his kitchen table, the picture of comfort. T-shirt, jogging pants, no socks. The room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of the city outside. A glass of water sat untouched on the table beside him. His phone lay in his hand, the screen glowing with the headline of an article he hadn’t been prepared to see.

Imani Invites You to Read Her Diary

He stared at the cover for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the link. She looked gorgeous, the picture of perfection. Her eyes carried a calm he hadn’t seen in them before. Maybe he was imagining it but she looked...like she was thriving without him. He felt his chest tighten. It had been a full, agonizing year since he’d seen her. Since she’d walked out of his life. And now, here she was, staring back at him from his screen like a ghost that refused to stay buried.

He finally tapped the link, the words unfolding before him like a slow unraveling of a wound he thought had begun to heal.

"After my relationship with my ex, I think I'm owed some privacy." she’d said. He read those words over and over, the simplicity of them cutting deeper than he expected but she was right. They were high profile in the best ways but also in some of the worst ways. She deserved to keep her cards close to her chest. It didn't stop the blogs from talking about her...and Amir. And Vivienne. He'd seen photographic proof that she had moved on. It seemed that space had finally evolved to over for her.

His eyes scanned the article, taking in her reflections on the past year. She spoke of growth, of self-care, of understanding herself. There was a brief mention of him but she didn't dwell. Part of him was proud of her.

Jameson leaned back against the chair and waited for deep mournful pain to hit him. It always did when he imagined the rest of his life without her...but remarkably, it didn't come. He felt hurt when she had moved on. He drank and closed himself off, eventually began therapy when his grief had taken a worrying turn, and even moved across the country to get away from his feelings for her. After a year of pouring his emotions into his music and six months into some semblance of a relationship with Camille -- Jameson had finally stopped grieving.

He still loved her, that much was clear. But he had finally accepted that their lives wouldn't merge again. He could read the article about her, feel the pain, and then...simply trust in the knowledge that she was happy.

His doorbell rang and the sound startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He set the phone down, the screen dimming as he stood. For a brief moment, he considered not answering, but the ringing came again.

He hadn't been expecting anyone. Still, he got up and tried to leave thoughts of Imani in his kitchen -- and was met by the image of a pretty brunette on his front stoop.

Camille Lefevre.

Her long, brown hair was pulled up into a topknot, her usual style when she wasn't strutting down runways or covering magazines. If you passed her on the street, her beauty would be obvious and you'd immediately know she was a supermodel.

They met at an afterparty, amid his emotional spiraling. Imani was on her second new relationship in six months. He watched with envy, a sick gnawing in his gut. He hadn’t been able to escape updates. It ate him up to see her move on when he seemed stuck in a rut. His mother had been so concerned that she damn near moved into his home until he moved to New York. To stop her from coming with him, he promised to start therapy. He started going out more -- though he didn't enjoy it.

Camille had seen through his disgruntled demeanor. She made him laugh at a time when people didn’t even get to see him smile. She was bold, kind, driven. She wanted him and she was going to have him. Casual sex, late-night conversations, and dinner dates followed over the next few months when either of them had the time. They didn’t give it a name but it was something.

Jameson opened the door to find her holding a bag of takeout and wearing that bright, effortless smile he’d grown to appreciate. She was a steady presence in his life, a warm light that had helped guide him through some of his darkest moments. But right now, standing in front of her, he felt the weight of the article still pressing on his chest.

"Hey," she said, stepping inside and leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I figured you probably forgot to eat, so I brought reinforcements."

Jameson forced a smile. "That's cute. She came to feed me."

"Well, someone has to." She tossed over her shoulder before heading into the kitchen. She set the bag on the counter and began unpacking containers, chattering away about the upcoming party for his album, excitement evident in her voice. Jameson tried to focus, nodding and murmuring responses where appropriate, but his mind kept drifting back to Imani’s words.

Camille turned to him, her brows furrowing slightly. "You okay? You seem...distracted."

Jameson hesitated, the truth caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. His first instinct was to lie to her but he heard his therapist clear in his mind. 'Is this lie protecting you, or is it holding you back?' He sighed and told her the truth. "I read an article today. About Imani."

He looked at her then, really looked at her. She was kind, patient, and always there when he needed her. She deserved his honesty, but he wasn’t sure how to give it to her without hurting her.

Camille’s expression softened, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. "Oh."

She knew about him and Imani. Who didn't. When they first began, he tried to disconnect from Camille -- knowing he was still caught up on Imani but she let him know that she understood. She was taking a risk with him. It gave him the courage to take the same risk.

"It...caught me off guard," he continued, setting his chopsticks down. “I didn’t expect to see her face, to read about her life like that. I...It stung a little."

Camille nodded slowly, her hand resting on his. "It’s okay to feel that way, you know. You love her. That doesn’t just disappear overnight."

Jameson took a good look at her, lifting his hand from the counter and reaching up to brush a few tendrils of hair from her face. "It stung but it didn't...it didn't hurt me like I thought it would. I want her to be happy. Even if that's not with me. And I want to be happy with you."

Camille was quiet for a moment before she tilted her head, leaning against his hand. "You don't have to say that. It took a lot for you to get here. You've made a lot of progress. Feeling things for her doesn't erase that progress."

He wished she was a little less understanding. He wanted her to yell at him for feeling something for anyone other than her. That felt normal. But her simple acceptance of everything he was made him want to be more for her. Nothing he said or did would be good enough because he knew...she would always deserve more. She was getting half of a man. Why couldn't he just give her everything?

"I'm okay." "You are?" "Mhm. If I'm not, I will be. I'm with you. I'm good."

He watched her melt and felt proud that at least he'd gotten that right for her. Camille leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need."

"I know." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm grateful."

As Camille returned to her food, Jameson’s gaze drifted to his phone on the counter. He turned it face down, trying to push Imani out of his mind once again. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. She was a part of him, no matter how much time passed or how far apart they were. And that realization was both comforting and excruciating.

[this-life-was-amazing]

Polites listened intently, his expression a mixture of empathy and solemnity. "Luke sounds like he was an incredible person," he said softly. "A skilled warrior, a leader, and someone who meant a lot to you. It must have been heartbreaking to see him taken over by Kronos - and even more so to lose him in such a way." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "But what happened to him wasn't your fault. Kronos is a manipulative force, ancient and powerful. Luke was a victim of him, and so were you." Polites shifted slightly, his tone growing gentler. "You said you couldn't save him, but yet you tried. Sometimes, even our best efforts can't change the hands of fate. But that doesn't diminish the love or loyalty you have for him."

*I'm walking around the underworld. I had asked Nico to bring me here so I could be among the monsters I had become. Eventually I just sit down and break down crying, breaking the heart of one pancaked soul..*

- @thatposidengirly -

Upon hearing the cries, Polites begins looking for the source, which he finds to be a girl - one he hadn't seen down here before. "Excuse me?" He asks, his voice gentle. "Are you alright?"