#Final comment being

[divinekangaroo]

S1 teeters on overly dense but relatively entertaining, and despite the density of action/fact also feels quite shallow? Potentially the standardised plot/romantic expectation?

S2 by contrast feels like it doesn’t know what it is, but is way more entertaining.

Sabini (Noah Taylor) is utterly not my cup of tea and his Aussie-Italian accent should be cut from his mouth brutally because it’s awful; but S2 also sets up sooooo many good arcs for later on, and also contains a lot of truly hilarious moments (the glass of gin lolllll; a racehorse is a good investment lolllll, almost everything Tommy says to Campbell including calling him up about Grace’s booty call my God). I also wonder about Alfie and this fannish perception of his perceptiveness; from what I can remember of later series, and now this in S2, Alfie is nearly almost always losing total control of his business, and it’s Tommy that manages to somehow manoeuvre this self-destructive wildcard of a gangster into positions where they can mutually profit.

I feel, better than S1, S2 also shows the boundaries that Tommy consciously crosses and disrespects to get what he wants. The final ep pre-execution scene and his screaming at the sky was so honest, and even though he repeats these themes in later series as his motivation, in S2 I really believe it. He is fucking angry. S1 often felt like it was trying to sell him as a mostly good, petty criminal style man making the most of an opportunity gone complex and wrong; S2 clearly paints him as consciously choosing to abuse, albeit not entirely without sympathy/empathy, just not enough to change his path. And that scene in London where the brothers smash up a club, just the three of them, then go out after on the street absolutely high and bonded on the violence, uh the best. Let’s not forget that side of them, too.

I adore the thematic structure of that S2 final episode where Tommy fails all three of his women (four if you count Polly and that he had to let her sort it out herself).

I adore the emotional swings and roundabouts he has with Arthur’s suicide attempts, which also feels very, very real.

I felt that the sex scenes with May seem to have the camera focus on her orgasm/s, when pretty much every other sex scene in the series, the camera’s very focused on Tommy, and what that means in framing their brief and odd relationship.

I like Michael’s honest hunger for the life and the power.

I also find interesting that end of S1 had Danny (Flashback-Partner #1) die, and the start of S2 had Freddie (Flashback-Partner #2) die, and that all of S2 then has Tommy leveraging the good things war gave him — connections, colleagues, reputation, weaponry skills and tactical skills. He also says to Arthur that comment about ‘closing the door on the war’, which yes, starts to roar open again for Tommy in later series, but right now in S2 the war is almost put to bed for Tommy; part of that being S1 Grace let him see he could sleep/live without it for a bit, but I also think it has something to do with Freddie and Danny now both being deceased. The constant reminder of Danny’s volatility and Tommy’s sense of responsibility to him; the constant moral and ethical battle he had with Freddie about their mutual moral trauma, and Freddie’s constant quasi-suicidal language around Tommy (but putting the onus back on Tommy to execute him) suddenly gone.

In S1, what I carried away more of was character and symbolism rather than plot or theme. Polly hits Tommy around the head a lot, including once nearly with a poker; he allows it. In S2, he’s not allowing it any more. Tommy’s nearly monk-like at the start and there’s lots of symbolic monk references (eg, Monaghan means monk, red dust in Buddhism); in the whole of Episode 1 he doesn’t manage to get a single drink in; yet he’s human and vulnerable and drunk by S6. His white horse (his opportunity for balance against the black horse) and having to kill it himself because he did something not moral to win the horse, sacrificing his potential for balancing light and dark. The whole Monaghan Boy scam and how it’s structured to represent exactly how Tommy plays himself in scams (Tommy takes a hit/pays out so more people buy in; Tommy takes a bigger hit/pays out more so even more people buy in; then turn the tables and cash in when everyone’s gone all in).

Also I quantified the S1 guns in current day pounds:

Tommy’s original scam of four stolen motorbikes - about 50-60k in current day pounds

The value of the guns he finds - about 2.1 million current day pounds

Can totally picture him sitting in the yard staring at his unexpected loot just sweating bricks trying to work out how to turn it into actual money.

[jenanigans1207]

I just love the idea that Cas and Dean actually manage to be sneaky in the beginning of their relationship, keeping it secret not because they don’t trust Sam or are ashamed but because they need to feel solid in it themselves before they tell anyone. So they’ve actually done a spectacular job of keeping quiet and not getting caught.

And then one day Cas and Dean are sitting at the table in the bunker kitchen, half asleep while Cas sips coffee and Dean munches halfheartedly on soggy cereal, when Sam comes back from his morning run.

“There you guys are!” He says as he pulls his headphones out of his ears. “I’ve been waiting for you to get up!”

“Why?” Dean asks, dropping his spoon into his bowl and splashing a little milk over the side. “You find us a case?”

Sam shakes his head as he heads to the fridge for a bottle of water. “I think there’s something wrong with the bunker.”

“What kind of something?” Dean asks, casting a curious glance around.

The bunker had seemed fine to him. Nothing strange had happened. No weird noises, no strange smells, nothing creepy or daunting that was outside of the ordinary as far as living completely underground went.

“Well, the lights have been acting weird.” Sam begins, thinking. “And the electricity will just randomly short out. It’s like all the fuses blow at once, or something, even when nothing has changed.”

Dean, still half asleep and only a few sips into his own coffee, doesn’t immediately make the connection. But Cas seems to go incredibly still across the table from him.

“Huh.” Dean says, pushing his bowl away and reaching for his mug. “I haven’t seen any of that. When is this happening?”

Dean still hasn’t pieced it together, but Cas is sending him a solid, desperate stare over the rim of his own mug. Dean’s mind is trying to kick on, to figure it out, and then Sam says—

“Well, most recently was last night. You were already in bed. And Cas— I don’t know where you were.”

And oh. Oh. Dean understands now.

Because yeah, he had been in bed last night. It just so happens that Cas had been in his bed, too. And they were— busy, but sleeping isn’t exactly what they were doing.

Dean purposely does not meet Cas’s gaze.

“Weird.” Dean says with a shrug that he hopes is nonchalant.

“Yeah,” Cas finally manages to agree, his fingers tight around his mug. “That is strange, I haven’t noticed it, either. We’ll have to keep an eye out for it and address it if it’s an electrical issue.”

Sam, beautiful, sweet Sam, doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He shrugs. “Yeah, just let me know if you notice it. Maybe it’s just a weird fluke.”

And it will be awhile yet before Sam understands why this only happens when he’s alone in the bunker at night, why it never happens when Dean and Cas stay up with him to the early hours of the morning to research. Sam will live confused but peacefully oblivious for as long as they can all get away with.

[kirkwallguy]

extremely funny coming from writers whose characters return and play major roles in more than one game. yeah sorry guys we couldnt do anything interesting with the game because we had to protect our fans from the conflict we would write if we did <3

[unnonexistence]

hermann thoughts: if i discredit newton and his approach enough, the martial won't give him the equipment for his kaiju drift, and i can protect him from himself. if he despises me for it, so be it. there is little i wouldn't sacrifice to see him safe.

newt thoughts: this is a Best Science competition and i have to Win

[ziracona]

me when Ryuji

[midnightdemonhunter]

But don't worry. By then, he wants to.

(@romanromulus :D )

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

where you go, i go (2)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)

TW⚠️: angst, toji being toji, reader thinks about killing someone, gojo is in his tweaked out enlightenment era soooooo gojo a little creepy and eerie

Part 2 of what you see, i see

She had been going through the motions for the rest of the day, she hadn't even bothered to stop by her school clubs, until she arrived home. A sickly sweet scent of pastries attacked her senses the second she entered. Her house doubled as a bakery for the first floor. It was a popular hang out place for people her age especially for couples. There was a parade of them this time - cheerful couples were already sharing their coffees and sugary pastries.

The universe was laughing at her. It had to be. Why else would there be so many happy couples in the store right now? It was pointing and laughing hysterically on the ground saying: "That's what you get for ignoring me! That's what you get for resenting my gift to you!" Because that's what a soulmate was, a gift. A rare and wonderful gift that no one believed in, except for those who have experienced it themselves, and she had lost it; lost him.

She almost cried on the spot.

Her mother waved gleefully from behind the register, her daughter seldom returned it as she went up the stairs. She dropped her school bag in her room besides her desk and, face first, flopped on her bed.

She closed her eyes. Nothing, there was nothing.

Her lip quivered as tears began to sting her eyes, but she couldn't cry. Not when her mother was expecting her to change and put on an apron and help as she always did after school. She could silently mourn him tonight.

She let out a shaky breath. Did she even have the right to mourn him? She had never met him or talked to him. Everytime she thought of him recently was only to insult him or dismiss him entirely. No, she did not have the right to mourn him and she deserved to feel empty on the inside.

She put on a clean apron and slugged her way down stairs with a smile as she took over her mother's place at the register. Her mom kissed the top of her head and beamed at her with a thumbs up.

She never understood why so many people hated working retail, but now, she did. She had to force a smile and treat every customer kindly, all the while, she was dying on the inside.

A man had come in. Tall and insanely buff, a scar on his mouth. He ordered the cheapest pastry on the menu and handed her a wadded up yen. Her blood turned cold when their fingers brushed.

Her mother quickly took the money away from her as she gave her a quick command to check on the oven in the back.

She swallowed and listened to her mom. Her steps were quick as she pushed the double doors that led to the kitchen, she hugged herself.

It was him. It had to be him. That was the man who killed Gojo Satoru. She reached for a knife and gripped it tight. She should kill him. Her soulmate was dead and he was the reason why. She should try and avenge him.

Sheshouldsheshouldsheshouldsheshould-

The oven blared next to her. Her head snapped to it as the knife clattered on the ground, and with shaky mitted hands she opened the oven, and took out the fresh pastries.

Those were dangerous thoughts; thoughts she never thought she would ever have against anyone. She took off the oven mitts and looked outside the circle window of the kitchen - he was leaving and her mother was watching him like a hawk, even when the bell rang sharply with a muffin in his mouth as he walked outside with the rest of the crowd. She didn't know what possessed her to run after him, but she did. Maybe, all she wanted to know was why he had killed Gojo Satoru. Maybe, she wanted this man to kill her too, so she wouldn't feel empty inside anymore.

A blur of a conversation as the words tumbled out of her mouth: "Why? Why did you kill Satoru?"

She didn't register anything other than his gruff voice, "Ah, he had a soulmate. If I were you I'd keep that information to yourself from now on." Uninterestedly, he continued, "You wouldn't want the Gojo clan to know about you. No doubt, they'll try to marry you off to another member of the clan." and then, kept walking.

She didn't hear the interest in his voice when he said to himself, "But she would be worth a lot of money if I did take her to them." He would negotiate a price first to see if he was right about her being worth any money. He would worry about that later, right now, he had a star plasma vessel to turn in.

A sharp tug on her arm is all that stopped her from running after him again.

"______! What were you thinking?" her mother gritted out as she led her back into the bakery. Her mother's voice is strict and unwavering, "Go to your room."

And she did.

She tossed the apron on her desk and kicked her school bag. How was she supposed to live like this with the rest of her entire life half-full?

A sob violently escaped her.

This was how everyone else in the world lived, she realized.

Aching and alone.

Desperate and searching.

Wanted and unwanted.

Now, she was just like everyone else like she had always wanted. She supposed, she couldn't complain.

She laid in bed, wrapped herself in a blanket - trying to keep warm, but she doubted, she'd ever feel warm again as she cried herself to sleep.

She dreamt about Satoru. Flashes of a long chain, of red, of purple, of blood, of a crowd clapping, of someone wrapped in a white sheet, of a long dark hallway.

The universe was laughing at her again. Why else would it give her dreams about him?

An uneasiness settled into her bones. Someone was watching her. The grim reaper, no doubt wearing the face of her soulmate's assassin. If death wanted her, so be it.

She kept her eyes closed.

She saw herself sleeping soundly in death's gaze. She saw the time pass through her window changing from sundown to night as death continued to watch her intently.

Hours had passed.

00:57:39

She wondered at what specific time the grim reaper would take her.

1:13:01

Did it want her to open her eyes?

1:13:10

Probably.

1:13:15

The grim reaper has been patiently waiting for her.

1:13:17

Why keep death waiting then?

1:13:20

Her eyes fluttered open.

Beautiful, vibrant cerulean blue.

It was not death. It was -

"Satoru," she whispered.

"______," he whispered back.

Satoru was sitting down on the floor extremely close to her bed with his legs crossed while his hands rested neatly on his ankles. There was dry blood on his face and on his white dress shirt.

Her mouth moved but no sound came.

"You were crying," he said as he caressed her cheek soothing his thumb along the trail of stained lines that her dried tears had left, "alot."

So, he had seen everything.

She put her hand over his and gently rubbed circles.

Satoru scooted closer to her bed, "I didn't like seeing you cry," his hand trailed up to her scalp, "or frown," and gently ran his fingers through her hair.

He laid his head down on her bed and stared at her with those vibrant, sparkling eyes; eyes that could see everything she could never see.

She touched his cheek gently, "I didn't like not feeling you."

Her whole body shivered. Satoru was here, in front of her, and she was still cold.

"Are you still cold?"

She nodded.

Never letting go of her, he kicked off his shoes and climbed under the blanket with her. He wrapped his legs around hers as her arms wrapped under his uniform jacket.

With his hand still tangled in her hair, he said, "Better?"

His heartbeat had returned to her. They were beating in unison again.

"Better," she hummed. "You?" She asked.

His lips pressed softly on her forehead, "Much better." He tugged her in closer into his chest.

She smiled.

She was warm again.

@whatamidoing89 @mr-underhills-things

Part 1: what you see, i see

Part 3: you know i adore you

Part 4: i'm crazier for you

Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party

Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold

[aunmenosheteroenespanol]

6.01 Let the Games Begin

7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered

[moeblob]

As an attempt at a polite "going forward" comment...

I do not plan to draw for Three Houses or Hopes for a long while. I know a lot of my followers are from the past four years and I appreciate that you followed me at all! But if you are only interested in the art of those characters I wanted to be clear and say you can unfollow me at any point if what i draw no longer aligns with what you want to see.

I might draw for other FEs (like Heroes or 13/14/17) but I do not want to get involved with 3H any more. I do have other interests and across tumblr, twitter (now inactive), and sometimes on discord I've heard enough "I thought it was (FE3H character)".

This is not one person doing it and it is not simply one character being mistaken. I simply want to distance myself from 3H and have unfollowed a few people that reblog art of it because it just leaves a lingering bad taste in my mouth.

Thank you very much for your time and I hope you can find artists who can provide art for topics you like.

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

As much as the 'haha Takemichi went to save his husband after saving his wife, bisexual much?' joke is funny, people who seriously thinks Tokyo Revengers should've stopped when Hinata was finally safe and sound missed an important component to the plot.

Yes, it all started with Hinata - but since when was it all about Hinata?

Takemichi, kind-hearted Takemichi, should've just stopped everything after saving her? He got into Toman for this reason, yes, to get closer to Mikey and stop him - and Kisaki - from killing her, but he also sincerely got closer to Mikey. And everyone else. And he's supposed to simply leave them be when 'mission: save Hinata' is complete? As if the number of people he wanted to save didn't get longer with each timeline? Those are his friends why would he throw them all away.

To protect Hinata he decided to stick close to Mikey since he failed to prevent Mikey and Kisaki meeting each other - and he got attached to Mikey during that, as well as all of Toman. Each steps to save Hinata was also a step to save Mikey from corruption and self-destruction. It was all linked from the start.

There was a shift after Bonten, okay, whatever, the only thing that truly changed was Hinata's importance in it. New enemy? That happens in each arc (right, sure, there wasn't Kisaki anymore). Mikey being more and more violent? Again, each arc featured a moment of Mikey showing signs of being mentally unwell - and now it was aggravated because it was two years earlier than what Takemichi got used to go back to. Etc, etc. Toman may be disbanded, but its (at least main) members still meet and interact and they all kept in touch - Mikey aside. That just a change of mood, a mix of the present/future timelines with a more serious setting and of the past timelines with how young they are, despite not being as young as before. And future timelines have never been a problem - there's a lot of love for Manila and Bonten. If Wakui had had time and energy, Kanto Manji, all 70 and so last chapters of TR could've worked with its fanbase. For some reasons it didn't, and I don't get why by myself

[transk0vsky]

This game is like the sand pest and I’ve been infected

[fandomfrolics]

1x10 || 3x01

[menlove]

went from being "the cool dyke with the magneto icon and opinions about feminism and many hundred thousand note posts" to "the fucking beatles mutual again" and I will say this is 100% an upgrade I hate being broadly popular on here I need to be controversial with several dedicated haters but in a niche circle where we all know each other's names

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.)

In which Tyrus has some trouble with the whole drinking blood thing. Content warning for unspecified eating disorder and mention of SA.

~

Tyrus stared down the corpse of a feral street cat, his stomach aching at the sight—and yet his mind recoiling in disgust and fear.

“Freshly killed,” Astarion said, overly cheerful as he sat down next to him on the bed. “Found it rummaging in the rubbish bins outside the kitchen door of the Elfsong, darling, just a few minutes ago. No diseases, not even that bad-smelling.”

“Thank you,” Tyrus said, putting on a smile.

But Astarion didn’t nod and move away. He was trying but failing to act nonchalant—picking at his nails, casually crossing his legs, but clearly waiting for Tyrus to drink. Watching to see if Tyrus could prove everything was alright, after he’d failed to hide the rat he hadn’t drunk from a night earlier.

Maybe if he did this for Astarion, Tyrus bargained with himself, he’d be able.

So he picked up the carcass . . . and felt all at once nauseous, terrified, and disgusted with himself, the moment it touched his lips.

“It–it smells off again,” Tyrus tried, the same excuse he’d given about the rat, though he remained a terrible liar. When Astarion just gave him an incredulous look, Tyrus sighed and lowered the carcass. “Maybe there’s something wrong with my stomach. The thrombophilic blood still affecting it, or . . .” he shook his head. Or there was just something wrong with him, Tyrus didn’t finish.

Astarion gave him a very displeased look. “Just try a taste, love,” he scolded. “I’m sure your appetite will return to you.”

Tyrus held in a shudder. “Maybe later?” he offered.

But later came, and Tyrus still had no appetite. He blamed it on the blood being too cold, promising to not wait too long next time. Astarion only frowned at the excuse.

For the rest of their tenday in Baldur’s Gate, Astarion didn’t press the issue at least—but he did make pointed remarks about all the new animals and occasional criminals he was tasting, and suggested multiple times that Tyrus join him once they figured out that Polymorph could allow them to go out together. Frowning, every time Tyrus just nodded or gave a noncommittal answer.

It wasn’t until they were down in the Underdark, on the trail of the spawn horde, that Tyrus’s starvation became a liability.

Astarion had always been faster. But with the little rest his mind allowed him, and more than two tendays since he last drank—from a thrombophilic victim, no less—Tyrus was slowing them down terribly. His feet were quick to stumble and make noise, his magic was harder to access. Back at the palace, there were plenty of times he’d been much worse off than this, but few situations where it mattered. Now, in one of the most dangerous terrains in Faerun, he was a liability to them both.

So Tyrus felt a bit of hope, when Astarion went off to scout around the hollow they’d found for the night and came back tugging a deep rothe carcass with him.

“I drank half,” he said with a wide, blood-smeared smile. “The rest is for you, love.”

Tyrus quickly finished his Tiny Hut casting, kneeling over the creature with surprise and interest. The blood smelled rich and strange, but good. Certainly like nothing Tyrus had tasted before.

And yet, when he lowered his lips towards the bite mark Astarion had already made in its fur, Tyrus felt his insides twist with revulsion.

He thought of the rat Leon had used to trap him, that Cazador had spent tendays beating him over. He thought of the larger, festering one he’d hid in the drawer, that had put him in a tomb for a year. Worse, he thought of the rabbit, limp and twisted and deformed in his grip as Cazador raped him. He could still feel it almost, the blood curdling in his stomach the moment he realized what he’d paid for it.

And, much too viscerally, Tyrus thought of the gingery thrombophilic blood resting like lead in his undead limbs, clotting in his lungs, splitting pain in his abdomen and head.

Tyrus heard Astarion let out a small exhale of disbelief, as he pulled back without so much as wetting his lips. But he couldn’t do it. He needed to—but he couldn’t.

“I don’t think I’m hungry enough yet,” he murmured, sitting back up. “You finish it, love.”

When Astarion didn’t immediately answer, he made the mistake of fully looking at him—and felt his soul crumble at the confusion, worry, and heartbreak in his partner’s eyes. Things Tyrus had never wanted to see on Astarion’s face again, and all of it because of him.

Tyrus felt tears build in his eyes in return, and he buried his head in his hands before his face could fully twist with despair. It seemed like all he could do the last two tendays was cry or make problems. Shouldn’t he be happy, not a broken mess? Shouldn’t he want to drink all the blood he could, as he’d dreamed of for so long?

Couldn’t he at least force it down now, for Astarion’s sake?

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he whispered, just before he felt familiar arms come around him, pulling him into his partner’s chest. Tyrus collapsed into it, letting his tears soak into the ruffles of Astarion’s new silk shirt. “I know it’s fine now, and I’m hungry, I should . . .”

“Shhh,” Astarion hushed, holding him just a bit tighter. Kissing the top of Tyrus’s head, before he murmured, “You’re alright.”

After the tears passed, Tyrus shook his head. Sighing as he admitted, “I’m not. I’m slowing us down—we’ll never catch up to them, at this rate.”

Astarion gently pulled back from their embrace and met his eyes with a rather serious expression. “I don’t care when or if we ever find them, Tyrus,” he replied, reaching forward to wipe at his tears. “I’m worried about you. Is there something you would like? Or think might be easier to try, at least?” Astarion let out a sad chuckle, adding, “I’d track down a dragon for you, love, if I knew you’d drink it.”

That cracked a smile on Tyrus’s face as well. Then he sniffed, glancing down at the large creature. “It smells good,” he admitted softly. “Different enough I thought I wouldn’t . . .”

“Recall a bad memory?” Astarion guessed correctly.

“Many,” Tyrus nodded with a sigh—though it wasn’t just the memories, he knew. More accurately, it was all the terrible associations the memories had given him, compounded into one deep aversion.

An aversion he simply couldn’t afford.

“I’ll try again,” Tyrus tried to convince himself, pulling away fully to lean down towards the bovine creature. Focusing in on the differences he could smell in the dead animal’s cooling blood than anything he’d drunk before—more earthy and herbal, for a start.

“That’s it,” he heard Astarion sigh with relief, a hand grounding on his lower back as he pressed his lips over his lover’s bite and forced himself to try. And Tyrus felt a small thrill of happiness, both as the first taste warmed his tongue and when he heard Astarion continue to praise, “You’re doing so well, darling,” already pulling back Tyrus’s hair before he could brush it out of the way himself.

And for a while, he was doing well. Tyrus felt his hunger take over quickly, his instinctive need overriding the crackling static of fear and revulsion in the back of his mind. He couldn’t swallow it down fast enough, near choking with how fast his mouth pulled it in.

Then the carcass twitched, when he needlessly tightened his grip.

All at once Tyrus’s mind catapulted back in time again, now to the day Astarion had tried Polymorph to be fed from, and Tyrus hadn’t even been conscious of how much the lion was fighting him as he greedily drank, taken over by bloodlust for so long before he came to his senses and allowed Astarion to scamper away, bleeding and crying . . .

Tyrus pulled away from the carcass just before he gagged, blood revolting halfway to his stomach—choking out a large portion of it onto the ground.

“That’s alright,” he heard Astarion still soothing him, hands still grounding on his back as Tyrus huffed and gasped then stared blearily at the pool of blood he’d wasted.

But not all of it had been lost. Tyrus could feel his head clearing a significant amount, his focus sharpening, his limbs lightening. This harrowing memory couldn’t hold him for long—Astarion was right here, after all, free and healthy.

So Tyrus sat up straighter, licking absentmindedly at his lips as he turned to Astarion and murmured, “Thank you.”

Astarion gave him a feigned look of confusion. “For allowing you a small taste? This was nothing, darling—I could go and fetch us a whole second beast if this is what you can stomach—though perhaps cattle from the surface might go down smoother for you . . .“

“You are wonderful, you know,” Tyrus laughed, before leaning in and kissing him.

Astarion froze in surprise—and then he let out a pleased moan, kissing back with enthusiasm as he tasted the fruit of his labors on Tyrus’s tongue.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Hi. I've calmed down a bit, and I think it's better if I just take a break from Tumblr for a while. Right now, I don't feel the fandom to be the same chill and safe space as I felt it to be, so I'd rather take some time until I can feel comfortable again with posting. All my side blogs will be on hiatus too. I'm terribly sorry for any discomfort this may cause.

A deep, wholehearted thank you to anyone who reached out in the last hours in replies, asks and dms to share their support and love. Seriously, you can't imagine how much it meant to me, how meaningful every single message I got was to me. Yesterday I was really believing my blog didn't bring anything but negativity and hatred to the community; thank you for reaching out to tell me I was able to share a little happiness, too. Words cannot express how indebted I am to you; you made me feel again like the posting I made on my blog was worth it, for you alone.

I don't think I'll deactivate for the time being. The temptation is still very strong, but I've poured so much time and dedication and love on this blog, I don't think it'd be fair to delete it. I hope in the future there'll still be people who my posts can make happy.

Lastly, I want to apologize once again to the people for whom my posts evoked so many negative sentiments. I know it's impossible to avoid, but I'm still sorry that happened. I apologize to you.

Please, be kind to each other. Make some ss/kk posts on my behalf while I'm away :)

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, before Alejandro knew the truth, Noah would sometimes cuddle to the charmer while sleeping... Alejandro was amused and fond by this... But when Alejandro learns about Noah's true crazy colors and the sleeping Noah cuddles into Alejandro again, Alejandro is trying NOT to freak out! 😴

Wait no you're so right. Noah's sleep cuddling habit would've been seen as innocuous throughout the whole series, especially in World Tour when their sleeping arrangements were so cramped. Of course he'd always end up practically gluing himself to the nearest person in his sleep- who would usually ended up being Owen or sometimes Alejandro, as they were the two people Noah tolerated enough to spend most of his time with.

But as soon as everyone on the jet becomes aware that he's not nearly as harmless as he's portrayed himself to be? When he intentionally shows himself to be a threat to their safety/wellbeings?

Well, suddenly his "cute little quirk" has turned into a very volatile situation.

-

What is Alejandro supposed to do when he wakes up in the Economy cabin, not even twenty four hours after the London challenge, and finds everyone's fearful eyes trained on him. How is he supposed to react when he feels the familiar weight of the dangerous, downright vicious person they'd all watched snap someone's arms like uncooked spaghetti, draped over him like a blanket?

Especially when they all know that a Noah who's woken up before he's ready is cranky. And that was the Noah from before, who was apparently keeping a tight leash on his wilder instincts- now that he's given up on holding himself back, who knows how he'd respond to being woken up?

Oh wait. They all know how he'd respond- and it involves a lot of bloodshed.

He's trapped; waking up Noah is a guaranteed death sentence, and any movement could be enough to stir the other from his precarious slumber.

And the others know it too. Tyler and Duncan watch him like a hawk, their faces palid with pity and terror, though they thankfully remain just as muted as Alejandro himself. It's unnerving, being held under the terror-shrunk gazes of the two, but not nearly as unnerving as the soft steady breathing of the deranged bookworm sleeping on top of him.

For a moment, there's a tentative silence that hovers between the three of them like a sheet of ice over a frozen lake.

So of course, Owen's boisterous entrance to the cabin shatters it.

"Hey guys, Chef's serving breakfast in the-! Oh, did I interrupt something?"

Noah stirs from his sleep, and Alejandro's breath becomes an inmate in the prison of his lungs. He'd doomed.

"Wuzza'? Is it ch'llenge time?" The bookworm slurs, one hand wiping at his sleep-crusted eyes as the other finds purchase against Alejandro's shoulder. Noah pulls himself into a sitting position, his body subconsciously curling itself towards the nearest heat source- which just so happens to be Alejandro's terror stilled form- and the Spaniard in question internally prays to whatever God is listening that he'll somehow evade the psycho's inevitable ire when he realises that Alejandro is, in fact, not a pillow.

After a trepid second of inaction, Noah hums inquisitively against the warm mass beneath him, and blinks tired eyes up towards Alejandro's ashen face. A moment of incomprehension passes. Then another. And then realisation flickers over the bookworm's features like a dying ember.

Alejandro is so fucked.

Noah's face solidifies into something blank and unreadable- the complete lack of discernible emotion in is expression is almost eldritch in its uncanniness- and the latino doesn't know if its more or less unnerving than the unhinged, crooked smile he's graced the cast with yesterday. But then, unexpectedly, Noah wordlessly slides himself off of Alejandro's lap.

No broken arms. No stab wounds. Not even a threat against his person.

...What?

"Uh. Sorry for sleeping on you, I guess." The cynic says off-handedly, in his customary sardonic drawl, before he steps over to Owen and calmly asks what the blonde oaf was so excited about.

What?!

"It... is no problem, mi amigo." Alejandro chokes out, displacing the stationary air in his lungs.

Where is the vicious psychopath from last night? Why is Noah acting so... normal? Was his display of instability a fever dream or something?

No, both Tyler and Duncan shoot Alejandro matching looks of bewilderment from their seat on the adjacent bench. What happened last night was real, regardless of Noah's current docility.

Owen and Noah's conversation filters off into nothing, and the Archvillain spares a glance towards the pair. Only to find the both of them staring back at him, grinning; Owen's face scrunching up into his usual friendly smile, and Noah's smug smirk rapidly morphing into that same too-wide snarl he'd adorned on the bus- are those fucking fangs?!

"You make a pretty good pillow, Al."