#I tried to make an icon for it too! not entirely happy with it but I tried what I could

[starsmuserainbow]

There was a sudden loud crash in an alley. Not that she aimed for the alley, or to make as much sound; usually Blackfire would avoid any kind of attention when she arrives on a planet.

Right now, however, if one would come to inspect the scene of the crash, they’d find an unconscious tamaranean, just lying on the ground she left a dent in. Breathing, yes, but definitely not responding to anything or anyone; she was clearly to be out for a while.

[usuallydyinginside]

TLDR: Francesca Bridgerton is Autistic. Fight me.

Okay so I did not go into Season 3 of Bridgerton expecting to have any feelings about Francesca Bridgerton. We have seen her only in glimpses in the show and I have not read the books, so I knew basically nothing about her before binging the first four episodes.

But guys. GUYS. I will die for this autistic queen.

Okay, so starting with first impressions. We know that on her big day, Francesca went out of her way to avoid her nosy, loud family by having a very early, quiet breakfast by herself and then calming down via playing the piano (clearly a special interest of hers).

In her first balls, we see Francesca light up any time she talks about music (clearly her current or forever special interest) but as soon as men try to take it to a flirting place she IMMEDIATELY shuts down. It's clear that even as she states very matter-of-factly that she plans to marry this season, she also is baffled and uncomfortable any time someone tries to actually, ya know, court her.

At one of her first shindigs, she got attention and then went up to her brother and (while making almost no eye contact) told him (rather than asked him) that she needed a sec.

She then sat by herself in the side of the ballroom.

Later on, she left a ball in search of quiet and solitude to fix her sensory overload, so she went outside this time. (A thing that we know from pervious seasons is a HUGE no-no, particularly unchaperoned. But she was very respectfully near the door so maybe that's fine?) The point is that she cares very much about staying respectable so she can get this marriage thing over with and get people to stop perceiving her, yet she risks some scandal by going outside just so she can be somewhere quiet alone.

Enter: this absolute (also autistic) Prince Charming.

He says hello (so she knows he's not like trying to sneak up on her in the dark like a creep) and then just stands there. 10/10, no notes, best way to flirt I have ever seen in my life.

Seriously just look at this. I'm in love. Never before has there been a greater sign of love at first sight than in this "standing politely five feet apart in total silence in the middle of a ball and enjoying each other's company."

I need to go watch these first four episodes about a hundred more times, but I THINK this might be the first sincere smile we see from Francesca??!? I at least got the impression immediately that this is the first time she's felt genuinely comfortable and happy while not entirely alone this season.

Like, these nerds did not even exchange names. They barely exchanged a word. Yet you can see them falling head over heels in love right there in that moment. I don't even LIKE love at first sight tropes and they have my whole heart. They are the only exception.

Then, of course, you have this second absolutely iconic Scene of Silence where the entire Bridgerton family stares in neurotypical confusion a these two amazing weirdos. The way these two do not know each other but they DO know each other. The way they are both so happy and so comfortable but also still playing the whole society game the way they were told they had to?? I just don't have words right now.

LOOK AT HER SMILE, GUYSSSSSSSS.

Look how happy this tiny, silent moment is making her. How she understands immediately what he's doing and is absolutely delighted to participate too even knowing her entire family is hardcore judging them from not that far away.

And then you get this smug little look from him and it's like you can see his autistic ass thinking, "Yes. I calculated correctly. This was the correct romance option. Gold star to me." (Okay, maybe that's just how my brain works but shhhhh)

Which, of course, brings us to this absolutely hilariously awkward ND attempt at flirting. We start off with some fairly normal "whoops, I'm flustered cause you make me nervous" sort of moments, but notice how little eye contact she makes. How she only looks in his eyes very briefly and it seems like she almost has to remind herself to do so when she's doing the "polite" answers (OR later when she's genuinely interested in a topic).

So as soon as Francesca is like "oh shit, I ruined it. I forgot how to neurotypical. It's over" then she loses patience with the practiced social niceties.

I spent like 30 minutes trying to find a GIF and I should already be asleep so I'm not going to go learn how to make one BUT I needed to look up exactly what happens next cause it's basically the most autistic thing I've ever seen.

WHICH IS that in response to the second awkward silence after Francesca shares all of this, John's response is, "That is helpful. If you'll excuse me."

Then dude bro just WALKS AWAY WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD.

Like it would be awkward anyway but now Francesca thinks she misread a social cue so she's feeling sad, and meanwhile this absolute king is over here on a romantic mission no one asked him to do because he is that set on showing her he's listening and cares.

The man shows up at the ball and as soon as he had a paper we were all screaming "he wrote her a song!!!"

Again, notice the eye contact (or lack thereof). I think with period dramas and women, it's easy to just go "oh she's just shy" or "she's just being demure like she's supposed to" but like NO. This girl does not want to meet anyone's eyes.

Until she does. Because in moments where she's talking about music or enjoying quiet, it's worth it to purposefully meet his eyes and see how he's feeling too. To make sure he can see she's happy.

ANYWAY, it was so much better than him writing a song for her.

SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Because he didn't just give her any ol' music. He sought out the music they'd specifically heard in the street, and he took her exact specifications on what was "wrong" with the music, and he FIXED IT. He then put the whole thing on sheet music and handed her a copy with no further explanation than this.

Our autistic lass was so excited she basically sprinted out of that ball so she could find a piano. (Which, the fact that she does this rather than try to stay and flirt/dance with the man who just gave her this incredible gift ALSO says a lot, just saying. Daphne could never.)

So our girl finds a piano and GUYS. LOOK AT HOW HAPPY SHE IS.

I'm pretty sure this woman would accept a proposal right this second. Maybe make one herself. She is so head over heels in love with this man that it's absurd. We have watched her mask in these first four episodes, but the last two where she's interacting with John are the first times she seems genuinely happy and like the real her is shining through.

Like, does she enjoy her family? Sure. But it's obvious (and she even tells us) that she finds them overwhelming and generally to be A Lot. But these scenes? This gesture?

You can just get how seen she feels. How weird and wild and amazing it is to her that this man can see who she actually is and wants to join her there instead of making her play some part of the perfect Bridgerton who likes to be the center of attention.

(And even here - the EYE CONTACT. She glances at people when she's talking to them, but the way she looks at the sheet music is so much more intense and intimate and personal than anytime she's looking at the average person in the show. She still even in places she's most comfortable, such as sitting at the piano, makes very little eye contact and only at very specific moments.)

Anyway I'm going to sleep now but I'm sure I'll add more thoughts as they come to me. Feel free to add your own case for why Francesca is autistic and/or otherwise neurodivergent. I want to hear allllllll the thoughts.

[cherryredcheol]

"dove"

tldr: all the way minghao uses your nickname a/n: i really like this one

murmurs: in the early hours of the morning

“dove,” he pushed your hair back off your forehead as he tried to wake you gently. the combination of an early morning arrival at the airport and a long line at security had left you both tired when you reached the private lounge. settling into plush armchairs across from one another, neither of you said anything, happy to just relax before boarding. he didn’t notice you’d dozed off until he looked up.

“you should eat something before we board.” you’d been together long enough now that he knew you’d be very grumpy later if you didn’t eat breakfast. he also knew this flight wasn’t long enough for a meal to be served so if you didn’t eat now you wouldn’t until you were back home and by then you’d be starving and he didn’t want that. 

“come on, dove, let me see those eyes,” he felt bad for waking you when you clearly needed the rest, but he knew you’d thank him once you had food in your belly. the four hours it took to get from hong kong back to seoul could be spent behind the darkness of your eyelids but right now he was determined to get you breakfast. “they have your favorite…”

scoffs: when he can’t tell if you’re kidding

“dove.” he’s shocked. when you asked him so sweetly this morning if you could pick his outfit for the day, he didn’t think twice before telling you yes. he trusted your sense of style and knew that you knew what he liked to wear. he had total faith in you, excited to spend the day in clothes you picked specifically for him. he had an interview this afternoon and it thrilled him that he would be filmed wearing your outfit and no one would even know but you two. 

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” looking in the mirror he’s horrified. met with the sight of clashing colors, patterns, and textures, he knows he can’t go out like this. he’s not sure where it all went wrong. you have such good taste, it was one of the many things he loved about you, but came up with this? pulling his eyes away from the clothes, he met your gaze in the reflection and saw your smirk. 

he turned to you, incredulous over your prank but relieved that you hadn’t been sincere in your choices. he was worried he was going to have to hurt your feelings by changing. “i have to leave soon and you’ve wasted time on this silly trick. go pick me out a real outfit, dove.” he pointed to the closet and watched your smile widen at his teasing words as you crossed the room to pick something sincerely this time. “make me look nice!”

probes: because he thinks you’ve had too much screen time

“dove?” he knows you asked to be left alone but that doesn’t feel right when you’re so clearly stressed. he’d been at your apartment for 30 minutes and you had not looked up from your laptop the entire time. he’s pretty sure you haven’t looked up from it all day and he’s worried you might be starting to fuse to your desk chair. he came over for movie night, excited because it was his choice this week, but at this point, he’d just be glad to see your eyes. 

“have you eaten today?” he was going to be persistent about this. you needed a break and he was not going to stop until you took one for the rest of the night, with him. he knew you had a lot on your plate and there was a lot that needed to get done but running yourself into the ground wasn’t going to accomplish anything. he was standing behind you, hands rubbing gently on your shoulders, offering support but also letting you know he wasn’t going to be leaving you alone anytime soon. 

“save your work and let’s order take-out.” his tone is a little strict but he wants you to take him seriously and listen. clearly understanding this, he watches your cursor travel across the screen to the save icon and feels satisfied when you push the computer closed. he smiles when you turn in the chair and stand to greet him properly, happy that you were not becoming one with your chair. he wraps you up in his arms and presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “you’re going to love my movie pick tonight.”

marvels: as you walk through the door

“dove,” he’s rendered near speechless at the sight of you walking out from the bathroom. dressed in your comfy pajamas, he can’t tear his eyes away. scrubbed clean and glowy from your products, he swears you shine brighter than any star he's ever seen. suddenly the mattress he’s stretched out on feels a little too cold without you. 

“you look so beautiful,” he compliments you with so much sincerity, hoping to convey how much he means it, hoping you can feel it. you were his sense of calm in the craziness of his life. strong, steady, and always here for him, he aspired to be the same for you. seeing you so soft, lit from the back by the vanity light, he was so sure you were it for him. 

“come join me,” he pouts at you, already anticipating the comforting weight of you in his arms, too impatient to wait any longer. his pout morphs into a smile watching you scurry to the bed, flopping onto the empty side he’s saved just for you. he’ll save a side of the bed for you for the rest of his life if you’d let him. “come here, dove. give me a good night kiss.” 

teases: while trying to encourage a new career move

“dove” he sing-songs from the other side of the space, trying to grab your attention. it was late, or early depending on interpretation, and only the two of you were left in the practice room. he was fooling around with different steps and filming some challenges. you were more than content to sit and watch, never much of a dancer. 

“come dance with me,” he holds a hand out to you, palm open and facing up in an invitation. you eye him wearily, his smile a touch too manic to not be interpreted as mischievous. you heave yourself off the floor, crossing the room to him, accepting his outstretched hand. the music playing isn’t something you recognize but it’s soft and sweet and sets the mood perfectly as he draws you close to his chest, swaying gently back and forth. 

“you could be a decent dancer with a little practice. probably not as good as me though,” he whispers this, trying to preserve the serene, romantic mood that had been set. but your giggles shatter the illusion, breaking the quiet and dragging him into his own fit of laughter. the moment was ruined, but he supposed laughing with you was just as romantic as a slow dance. 

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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[twstfanblog]

hello! hope the new year has been going well so far!

i would like to make a request; can i ask for a Vil x reader, can be platonic or romantic your choice, where the reader is an artist that has drawn a portrait of everyone EXCEPT for Vil and he just tries to do everything to get the reader to draw him. like, posing more dramatically while doing mundane things or sets up dramatic lighting in a classroom

just to have the reader finally draw him after he gets caught in the rain or something XD

sorry if this is too much, feel free to change anything or ignore

Draw me, I demand it

Vil x Reader

Vil would insist he wasn't petty or Divine forbid, jealous. He was a celebrity, an icon, he knew his worth more than anyone. But to know one of the few people he'd ever dare call his friend seemed to be purposefully excluding him made him a bit...upset.

The prefect was a lovely person, fun to talk to and occasionally had an outsider perspective on the media he was engrossed in. While they didn't have the pleasure to talk often, he considered them fond of each other at least. He did anyhow. That was until he learned from Epel that the prefect was an artist, traditional in sense with the medium of simple pen and paper.

Such a fact had been made know because Epel had shown him a sketch the prefect had done. While it wasnt a masterpiece, Vil wouldn't deny it carried potential and clearly show cased a high amount of skill. It was during the conversation that Epel had stated the prefect had drawn all of them.

So the next day, when their paths had crossed, Vil had asked with a teasing edge to see one of the sketches they had done of him. Thats when he learned Epel was wrong. The prefect had done at least one sketch of everyone from their collective friend group, except him.

He'll admit, he was mad in the moment. But now, days later, he finds himself putting more effort into his makeup and hair in the morning. Wearing new tie and shirt combinations with various patterns and textures. Trying new shoe styles for the sake of the Seven. But nothing seemed to spore the prefect to pull out that damned spiral bond black book and annoyingly powdered yellow pen.

At some point, he had even enlisted Rook to plan and stage worthy environments to spark artistic creation. None of which worked, other than Rook appearing all too happy as he put together an entirely new scrapbook of his own.

It wasn't until the weekend. A torrential downpour had suddenly affected the campus, sending students flocking into buildings and dorms. Vil had been in the middle of another attempt to swoon the prefect into sketching him when the rain started. An hour of crafting a vine and flower arch ruined. By the time they had made it to Ramshackle, they were both nearly soaked through.

So now he sat in the lounge of the rundown dorm, a towel that smelled lightly of mothballs and holding an old mug of cheap hot chocolate being warmed by a fire. The prefect had just stepped in the lounge, mouth open with their own mug before they froze. Then they scurried away, returning with that forsaken notebook and started to scribble.

Vil raised an eyebrow, confused as to what they could possibly be sketching. Looking out the window at his side, Vil noticed in the sanctuary of an overgrown bush and the windows ledge were two butterflies. One noticeably bigger, wings packed with technicolor blues and purples, while the other was a simple silver-grey. He huffed, seeing the cosmic irony of the two insects cuddled together while he sat across the room from his own plain butterfly.

The rain didn't let up. It rained for hours at the same intensity it had started. With his drink gone and the prefect lulled to sleep, Vil finally stood to gently pull their sketchbook from their limp hands. Looking through the pages, he couldn't help but pout at seeing multiple sketches of the others and none of him. But on the newest page, he was met with a picture of him waterlogged, sitting by the fireplace and smiling into the mug of hot chocolate.

"..." Vil chuckled, looking to the sleeping freshman before slipping the book back into their hands, "Silly potato. At least you captured my beauty properly..."

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hello! I just wanna say that i love your hxh x reader fics especially with chrollo, you just characterize him so well that i also wanted to read your thoughts about chrollo meeting or with a reader whos also huge theater kid and a performer who enjoys the spotlight? If you have the time though lol thank you sm!

omg 🥺🩷 thank you so much!!!! chrollo is just a rat king who deserves rat characteristics ngl... i'll be happy to write something for you! <333

Warnings: Yandere themes, implications of future kidnapping, stalking, spoilers for Chrollo’s backstory (Sarasa), and mentions of past violence (not against the reader, it’s just what comes with the Chrollo territory lol).

*~*~*~*

Chrollo, despite everything he has done, is still a man, a human – just in some ways more than others.

The blood that flows within everyone’s veins is unchanging as a whole. There is mostly water – a mix of hydrogen and oxygen – but also proteins, electrolytes, vitamins, and nutrients.

His lungs need to breathe, and it sometimes gets a bit stuffy when cigarette smoke comes inside of them.

His skin wraps around his chest, his legs, his head; every part of him, and he takes excellent care of it every day and every night. His entire routine makes him not have a worry in the world when it comes to his body.

An ice pack while doing crunches. A deep cleanser lotion. 

A water-activated gel cleanser. A honey almond body scrub. An exfoliating gel scrub. An herb-mint facial mask. After shaving, he applies another lotion with no alcohol in it.

It’s all to appear like a man, a human, this shell that may as well be a carcass nowadays. That is if it was not for his still beating heart.

“O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.”

Chrollo’s television speakers are good, but your rendition of an iconic line somehow made the sound quality even better in his eyes.

Being an actor, being loved, and loving people who come to love you… such is memories of a past he won’t forget no matter what.

You remind him of her in some ways. On and off stage, you’re always smiling – and always trying to make other people smile as well. You remind him of himself in some ways. You’re a leader of that still failing acting department and trying your best to fix it up by yourself.

In the eyes of a man far from being a man, you’re a tool to have sympathy for. Chrollo knows you’ll never complete large things because he has tried them. He has tried many things to be a good person. They never worked. You won’t succeed.

But it’s alright.

He won’t help you… But he will garner some funds. An anonymous donation to that theater you try hard to uphold despite those loan sharks always coming after you. Money made from blood will only hurt you if he tells you. No one else will. He’ll make sure of that. He will be the one to tell you when your little waltz inevitably has you falling into his arms.

He won’t help you. He’s a selfish thing – humanity has far been erased from him. He can’t get it back no matter how many bodies he stuffs beneath the ground or has rot on the surface. He’ll still try. He’s tried already, but the humanity that has been erased from him is still missing after all these years.

Treasure your last months, he wants to tell you. I wonder how it will feel to hold you. I wonder how it will feel to be held too, in due time.

I wonder how it will feel to be able to land on.

To fall and rest.

To take good care of someone and have them stay.

To hold my hair.

They’re all selfish notions. They aren’t human – or at least what humanity pretends to be.

But it’s alright, he tells himself. Their humanity will be stripped from them soon too.

Then the bond will be formed, and you can’t leave. Not just won’t.

Can’t.

[moremaybank]

rafe mocking the reader about watching old disney channel (some of high school musical movies for example) but then gets hooked

please he'd try so hard not to watch but he could never deny his princess

"Baby, I love you, but I'm not really feelin' watching a movie about a whole bunch of teenagers singing at school. Let's watch a horror movie or somethin'," Rafe spoke. He poked your side gently with a crooked smile, "Promise I'll let you cuddle me if you get scared."

A pout formed on your face, pleading doe eyes and a jutted out bottom lip. "Please, baby? For me? Your girlfriend that you love so much?"

He ached to kiss that sulky look off your face. He knew he'd end up giving into you, just like always, How could he possibly say no to you when you were that sweet and beautiful? He wanted to give you everything, even if that included watching a stupid Disney Channel movie.

"Fine. For you."

You clapped and let out a squeal of excitement, smacking an audible kiss to his stubbly cheek. It was hard for him to remain annoyed when you were so happy. And even harder when you were kissing him.

"Thank you," you hummed. "I love you."

He chuckled at the way you dragged out that last word, almost sing-song like, and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. You set everything up, I'll go make the popcorn."

"Ugh. I love you even more, now."

The two of you embark on the journey of watching the High School Musical franchise. In the beginning, he was bored. The stereotypical high school cliques, the cheesy songs. He wasn't all that interested. The only thing that kept him going was your little dance moves, and the way you sang each song gleefully. You grabbed his hand and used it as a faux microphone, and then he couldn't help but laugh.

Then, the second movie kind of reeled him in. He slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close as he started to become invested. While Troy and Gabriella sang Gotta Go My Own Way, he almost looked upset. "They aren't really over, are they? I mean, they can't be, right?"

The wide grin (that he had failed miserably trying to hide) that took over his features by the ending when the two lovers had reunited made you so happy. He was enjoying himself, even if he'd deny it.

By the time the third movie came around, he would quietly shush you as he tried to pay attention. He'd mumbled a quiet damn when Sharpay made her iconic entrance, to which you smacked him in the chest for. He marvelled at Troy's Scream performance, loving the entire scene, especially when the school hallway was rotating. He was smiling from ear to ear when Troy drove to Stanford for Gabriella, and when you'd gotten to the scene where Troy revealed where he'd be going to college, he practically pulled you into his lap.

"I'd do that too," he said.

"Do what?"

"Go anywhere to be with you. I don't think I could survive being away from you, honestly. Need my girl always."

You gave him a smile. "So, I take it you enjoyed yourself?"

He shrugged, the corners of his lips curling up. "Maybe a 'lil."

"Good. That means we can get started on the Cheetah Girls movies. They're the best!"

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[cosmerelists]

If Cosmere Characters Were on Tumblr...

Sure, we blog about Cosmere characters. But what if they were here, blogging for themselves? Here is what I think it might be like...

1. Dalinar: Never changes the default icon

He gets blocked a lot.

Dalinar: How odd. No matter how many blogs I follow, my “dashboard” remains empty.

Renarin: I think they all blocked you because they think you’re a bot.

Dalinar: A bot? But I took your advice and chose a unique blog name: Big_D9762.

Renarin: ...

Dalinar: What?

2. Jasnah: Acts like Neil Gaiman

She comes on tumblr as a break from doing research and ruling, answers a few questions, and leaves again.

Anonymous asked: I love your work breaking down gender barriers in Alethkar by being queen and stuff! Do you plan to further erode unnecessary gender distinctions, like by letting women eat spicy food and show both hands?

Jasnah-Kholin: Wait and See.

3. Vin: Reblogs a thousand things in a mad fury and then disappears for days

She does not use the queue function.

Vin: Yeah...I don’t fuck with the the queue function. If you see me, you see me.

Elend: Hey Vin, did you reblog the crab rave like 15 times in a row?

Vin: I was feeling it.

4. Elend: Has a carefully curated queue

His “queue” tag is “Vin is a queue-T.”

Elend: The only exception I make are donation posts and political ones, since those need to be reblogged immediately.

Elend: But otherwise, the queue function is great for lovely, regular content!

5. Adolin: Runs a fashion blog

He has ALL of the Rosharan runways.

Adolin: It’s easy to let Alethi fashion dominate, but a REAL fashion blogger makes sure to have a wide variety of nations and fashions.

6. Shallan: Posts her art

And she tries not to be frustrated when her quick Kaladin sketch gets tons more notes than her very detailed sketch of the chasmfiend.

Shallan: It’s like, I get it--Kaladin fan art is ALWAYS popular.

Shallan: But that chasmfiend was very detailed!

Adolin: Maybe you should draw Kaladin riding it.

Adolin: Shirtless.

Shallan: ...

Shallan: I’ll take my three notes, thank you very much.

7. Tien: Always reblogs no-note art posts

And he always leaves a nice comment too!

Tien: The colors in this are so lovely!!

8. Navani: Considers herself a tumblr patron

She’s one of those bloggers who, if she reblogs your post, you know you’re about to make it big.

Navani: I don’t really make original posts, of course. I’m not a real blogger.

Navani: I just find other people’s clever posts and help promote them!

Navani (typing): "This...has...10,000...notes...to...me...”

Navani: You know they’re happy when they just respond “PLEASE NO”

9. Kelsier: Stirs up his followers with so. much. discourse.

Especially about Hoid.

Kelsier: Friendly reminder that Hoid (1) will let a planet burn to get what he wants; (2) beat up an innocent ghost (me) once; (3) is dating someone WAY younger than he is; (4) insults women.

Hoid: I insulted men too. I was the King’s Wit.

Kelsier: I’m adding you to my DNI.

10. Szeth: Very popular for his “shit posts”

Szeth, of course, is 100% sincere the entire time.

Szeth: It is odd.

Szeth: The vent post I made that simply said “my talking sword is a bad conversationalist” has like a million notes.

Szeth: ...

Szeth: Tumblr is a strange place.  

[jacarandaaaas]

What you hate about each Encanto character and what you love about each Encanto character?

oh this is such a fun ask! a hard question as I love all the madrigals and the fact they’re so flawed makes them more fun to follow!

alma: i love her commitment, how she vowed to protect all these people even sacrificing her own needs to provide for others, how she promised these people a place of refudge and was always there to provide.

dislike: An obvious one here but I dislike how controlling alma can be, how her need for perfection can blind her and lead her to disregarding her own families feelings as well as her own! Her generally dismissing a lot of the problems of her family like telling pepa to control her emotions or not realizing how hurtful her comments are to mirabel.

pepa: i love how emotional she is! when pepa loves she loves with her entire heart she pours her all into every interaction and she wears her heart on her sleeve! she’s so compassionate! pepa truly is an open book and I love her for it!

dislike: i would probably say how she can get irrational very quickly and cause situations to elevate fast! Although I really can’t blame her for this based on the circumstances!

julieta: i always describe julieta as warm and i feel like no other word can capture her comforting nature and gentleness. I just love her warmth and her soothing energy!

dislike: I would say how she tends to coddle mirabel a lot. I know it comes from a place of love but you can see it doesn’t help mirabel and only makes her feel more insecure because julieta doesn’t understand her.

bruno: for bruno I would say I love how selfless he is. It’s a big thing to sacrifice your own sanity like that for someone else and it’s touching how much he truly cares about mirabel to want to protect her like that.

dislike: i would have to say how he’s timid a lot of the time. It’s sad to see him become so resigned and almost accept his fate and stay in the walls possibly forever. He had no fight left in him.

felix: I adore how felix is just the epitome of life of the party! he’s so uplifting and I love how he never gives out to pepa for her emotions. He’s the best at cheering people up and a sunshine in everyone’s lives!

dislike: about felix? that’s hard to say I feel like we don’t see enough of him for me to really base my answer on anything so I’m just gonna say how he told pepa about the vision at dinner😭 dude that was the worst idea!!

agustín: i love how supportive he is! He continuously supports julieta he runs after luisa when she’s upset and he promises mirabel he would hide the vision to protect her! the fact both he and julieta tried to go after her when she ran for the candle too! He also fiercely stands up for mirabel in such an iconic way and he doesn’t back down!

dislike: I would have to say how he can often hammer in the fact he is also unexceptional to try relate to mirabel but it makes the situation worse.

isabela: I love how loyal isa is. She was doing everything for the sake of the family and was willing to sign her entire life away just to keep them happy. Her loyalty knows no limits and I just feel it’s such a defining trait for her.

dislike: probably how smug she can be at times a key example being the apologize scene! it is funny but it’s also infuriating how smug she was making mirabel apologize for something she didn’t even do. Also how she tells mirabel to shut up and her general rude remarks to her!

dolores: for dolores I would say I love how attentive she is! small scene but how she immediately notices alma needs help and goes to offer her support! She notices the small details even without her super hearing! Like how she points out how mariano talks loud even though she hears everyone’s voice his always stuck out to her <3

dislike: probably how she blurts stuff out without thinking it through! like we know she was trying to be helpful when she told the kids mirabel doesn’t have a gift but she didn’t consider how mirabel would feel about that.

luisa: I love how kind luisa is! she was always willing to lend a hand to the people who need her even when they absolutely could deal with a lot of issues themselves! She’s also very sensitive and soft and I love when she allows herself to be vulnerable!

dislike: this might be unexpected but for dislike i would have to say how she kept ignoring mirabel when she wanted to talk. I understand she was stressed and mirabels being irritating but she could atleast look at her, mirabels already ignored a lot already and all she wanted was to talk to her sister about an issue.

camilo: like how mirabel says in the opening song I love how camilo won’t stop until he makes people smile! whether it be through his humor or his compassion I get the impression he would always be there for people. the scene where he comforts pepa is such a key example of this!

dislike: he can be a bit too blunt at times where it’s definitely not called for! he also has a tendency to exaggerate the truth for dramatic effect!

mirabel: have always said this and always will mirabels core trait is her empathy! Her ability to see others perspectives and empathize with them is so important! I always think of the “I need you” scene as a key example of this. She put aside her own feelings and focused on supporting antonio making sure he’s ok! how when she learns of the other madrigals struggles she tries her best to help them or comfort them! empathy is such a strong defining trait for her!

dislike: when it comes to mirabels negative traits I would have to say her stubbornness is the most prominent. the entire scene in isabelas room is proof of this she would have rathered let that house collapse than apologize or even listen to isabelas struggles the fact she was supportive and empathic to everyone’s issues but isas (at first) she was too stubborn to put aside her issues with isa! but also her recklessness and impulsiveness tie into this as well.

antonio: I love everything about him he’s so sweet and caring and I love how he returns the support mirabel gave to him! he always believed in her and was her biggest supporter and best friend! also how offered his plushie to comfort bruno when he was nervous! antonio is just such a caring kid!

dislike: nothing literally nothing how can u dislike this baby?

[jovial-thunder]

Downtimes, module editor, water temple

Happy summer! There's smoke in Portland but it's not too bad. Bless firefighters. Work on Lancer Tactics continues apace.

This month has been mostly focused on the largest heretofore-untouched section of the game: downtimes and the module editor for designing the sequences between combats. We're not planning on doing anything particularly innovative or new in its design — if you've played Banner Saga, Fire Emblem (gameboy versions), or Rogue Squadron you'll recognize what's going on here.

Repair, level up, have visual-novel-style conversations with companions, do some light choose-your-own-adventuring, and pick & launch the next combat. All pretty standard downtime fare — games have pretty thoroughly explored these patterns as vehicles for narrative at this point.

The unique thing that Lancer Tactics is offering on this front is an editor to make your own entire campaigns. Classic games like Warcraft or Age of Empires had incredible scenario editors, but making anything more than a one-mission map was solely the domain of modders. Over the last few weeks, we've gotten a full basically-visual-novel-editor working ingame where you can orchestrate NPC story arcs, clocks ticking, branching paths, and triggered events for all the stuff that happens between combats.

All of the campaigns we ship with the game are going to be made with these same editors, which'll force us to really make sure that they're solid tools. I think it'd be very funny to someday see someone like completely ignore all the mech stuff and just make a visual novel in this engine.

There's no new preview game build this month because adding this big section of the game means too many things are under construction. I'm happy with how fast we've been able to get this going, but making ingame editors is a lot of unglamorous UI piping and data refactoring work. Fingers crossed that it'll come together enough that we'll be able to get the first version of this editor in your hands in time for the next update

Other Changelogs

Carpenter has started re-making the tutorial level from the demo in this new engine, which is pushing us to add a bunch of stuff to the combat editor. I added triggers for playing arbitrary effects on the map, moving the camera, storing arbitrary data to the battle/module states, enabling/disabling/triggering other triggers, AND/OR conditions, and putting execution limits on triggers.

Triggers can highlight UI or actions (so it can be like "use the boost to get through!" and the boost button becomes all shiny)

New "camera start" zone type

Added a "hotspot" zone type that has a little floating title, and plastered the names of other zones on the map (visual style stolen from some Foundry VTT modules)

Added water, whose level can be set via the editor or triggers.

Added unmounted pilots who can mount up into Shut Down mechs. We continue to plan to not have pilot combat be a part of the core game, but it'll be useful for scenario or scripted sequences.

Added activation pips and template icons to the mini healthbar on units.

A bunch more portrait editor assets from Martina, including facial hair. Here's a check Carpenter did where he tried to recreate some official Lancer art ingame. ✨

Schedule update

Taking a look at our original date for the "bones" of the game ("finishing the battle engine, basic character creation, 2 mechs per manufacturer, and an a 'instant action' mode"), we estimated being able to get it done by the end of November. The emotional milestone for me on this front is getting the game to a complete enough state that I feel OK about swapping it in on the itch.io page.

I've been saying that the 3D cataclysm has pushed us back back about 3 months, and I think that's still holding true. Carpenter and I haven't officially made the call yet, but I think it's likely we'll need that time to port more mech content; here's a graph they made that shows about where we're sitting on the PC and NPC mechs for the "bones" target in terms of mechanics and action icon/sprite. 

(This data is pulled from a big table they made that includes ALL talents/gear/traits where we've been marking things off as we've implemented them. Very handy for tracking where we are.)

That's all for now. Tata!

[bambi-kinos]

Would you like to answer a few questions about you opinions about Paul. Peoples read him very different and of course as a human he too has good and bad sides. What are the things that stands out to you the most: pros and cons besides being icon and music genius. Not from beatle historians or anyone else's opinions just your personal views? In the Beatles, pre and post Beatles. How do you view him today vs from decades ago? (Don't know how long you've been a fan) do you think he's mostly happy or sad in private. I'm asking you this because to me you seem like the one on line blogger that seem to "get him". Also would you say that you are attracted to him? Have you seen him live? What are you favourite songs by him both as a Beatle and beyond. I'm a super-Paul-stan fan and proud of it and nothing you say can change my own opinions of Paul but because nobody is perfect. Ok I'll let you go now.

Had to think about this one for a couple of weeks.

My opinion about Paul is that most of positive and negative feelings towards him are earned. He deserves the reverence but sometimes people take it too far like when his stepsister Ruth called him a god with feet of clay or whatever lmao. That kind of behavior is incredibly cringe and its very embarrassing that people can talk that way about Paul. But I think that he's busted his ass for over 60 years so truthfully he's earned the accolades and praise that he gets. There are some people that get really pissy and mad that he's revered so much and the only thing that we can say to them is "get a fucking life." Paul McCartney has been working his shapely ass off for decades to get where he is and is still slamming out music at in his fucking 80s. When you accomplish half as much as he has than you can think about whining that he's too revered and too worshipped.

On the other hand Paul has done a good job of earning all the negative emotions directed at him. He's egotistical and isn't graceful about wearing that praise. He tries to pretend he doesn't care but it's so transparent and see through that it's actively irritating, I think it's this more than anything that can get people to bitch. There is a phony veneer to Paul where he's clearly doing a bit of some sort and it's aggravating because it's not entirely clear what the bit actually is. Like all the posts making fun of him for pretending to be """normal""" are not coming out of no where, it's real aggravation that he's worked his whole life to get where he is and he tries to go "heehee I don't actually want it I'm just a guy like you <3~" like cmon dude really. For fuck's sake.

When it comes to Paul himself, my take on him, idk. I identify with Paul heavily. I like to think I'm more aggressive than he is but who actually fucking knows. I went through a life changing trauma at a similar age. (I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when I was eleven years old which is the insulin dependent diabetes that you hear about a lot on social media. BTW if anyone else has diabetes type 1 or 2 I'm available to talk, my dad and my partner are both type 2 and I know a lot about both.) I can identify with how your life is heavily bifurcated between Before and After. I also identify with how Paul really struggles to come to grips with his family life, while it's clear Jim and Mary did love him a lot they also simply were not stellar parents and a lot of their success with Paul and Mike lies in the fact that they gave their sons a steady home life without chaotic disruptions more than that they navigated the trials of parenthood well. I identify with that as well because diabetes makes my life very chaotic, and my parents did work to smooth those things over; but on the other hand my folks also had nasty and ugly moments with me just like Jim did with Paul. So I know what its like to love your parent immensely and be loved by them and still have a deeply resentful and distrustful relationship with them. And I never had a John Lennon in the mix to disrupt things.

I think it left me and Paul in similar places though our birth order is reversed with him being the oldest and me being the youngest. I realized a long time ago that I was completely on my own in terms of my diabetes and the rest of my life (my mother made some treatment decisions about my diabetes that nearly killed me a few times before I took control of it completely.) A parent can love you immensely, try to do everything right, and still damage you profoundly. With Paul having to endure physical blows and attempted emotional manipulation from his father, I think he too realized that he was totally on his own and that Jim could not give Paul what he needed. That is why Paul has such a strong self preservation instinct and why he comes off as two faced and why MLH remarked that he did not want to be in a dark alley with Paul if Paul did not like him. I've had to do some nasty things for self preservation and I think Paul has had to do it too. Some of them we know about but the majority we never will.

I think that it's hard to be the first born or the last born kid. You get so much of your parents attention but they screw you up in so many ways. I know middle children tend to feel ignored but I'm going to tell you right now, you're being shielded from a lot because you're not getting the Eye of Morder trained on you. Maybe we should all be thankful for what we have, idk. I have a lot more in common with my oldest sister than any of my middle siblings.

Paul is ruthlessly out for himself. I think John dying actually changed that a bit, it made him somewhat less vindictive and he was more open to letting people in but he's never not going to protect himself first. Or else he wouldn't have married Nancy in the first place, Nancy's first cousin was Barbara Walters and through Nancy Paul has a direct line to the news media which means he has yet one more string of influence so that he can control his public image. Nancy and Paul like each other a lot and their relationship is sincere, but Paul also benefits greatly by it. Do you see how this goes with him lol, he can invest in sincere relationships (and to be clear he does love Nancy) while still benefitting from it materially and immaterially. Note that a lot of the negative stuff about Paul started fading out of the press after he married Nancy.

Other fans often think I'm being negative and hateful about Paul when I point out that he is a manipulator and that he has a ruthless streak in him but that can't be farther from the truth. I sincerely admire Paul's ability to arrange his life in such a way that he is safe from most tangible threats and that he has such a way of moving chess pieces so that his hand isn't visible. I find that a great deal more admirable and amazing than John's bluntforce "let me squawk like a chicken to a reporter and they'll shit on Paul for me because I took a photo with them" thing. John was very blunt and clumsy with his sledgehammer and that did get results but I think that Paul is a great deal more artistic and beautiful with his media manipulation. The fact that he can carefully line up his pieces, get the results he wants, and then his influence is never seen (unless you extrapolate your way backwards from the results) is, to me, a great deal more elegant and sophisticated than the Lennono approach to bloviating during interviews.

Paul learned this during the initial Beatlemania rush when he had scads of heterosexual men all on their hands and knees begging him to let them fuck him. He does things exclusively through dangling something people want in front of them and then lets them take a course of action that suits him. And despite the fact that he is the architect of these movements you can never trace anything back to him because he does everything through influence and suggestion, not by out and out coercion or bribery. It's actually kind of incredible. Last week my friend remarked "I think Paul could pull off a bank heist and never get caught" and she's right.

That's what I admire about Paul. That is what I think is beautiful about him. Not necessarily the music or the lyrics or the insane life. Just the fact that he is a very patient and careful human being that doesn't lose his cool easily. I want to know more about him because I want that, you know? Being able to control facets of my life with that much care and harmony.

But that wasn't always the case. Paul was very clumsy during the 1970s because he let his feelings rule him when he should have crushed John like a bug. It wasn't until after John died that Paul started building the fortress, that was when he finally realized "oh shit, I need to build a persona for PR. I can't just be me anymore." Wings Paul is in some ways the most honest Paul, he vomits his feelings everywhere and we get a lot of insights into his mind and home life. That was before he had formed his own network of influence and political chicanry. 1980s Paul is when he's investing in that network finally and then 1990s Paul is when he started putting it into motion culminating in the divorce with Heather Mills. All in all I find it fascinating that Paul was not able to pull these disparate parts of himself together until he was in his 40s and Linda died. What is to be done with such a man?

I think that Paul has always had disparate parts of himself that he hasn't been able to reconcile. This is of course not unusual, it is the work of our lifetimes that we must see, accept, and internalize our contradictory natures. It's Paul's bad luck that he has to do this all in the public eye. No one envies him that. It's hell on earth and my heart breaks for him sometimes.

When it comes to Paul's moods in private, I think he is more or less "happy." Paul himself has said that he doesn't overthink his actions, he just decides what he wants to do and does it and whether it pans out or not is a different matter. I think that he's the kind of person that doesn't ruminate and he doesn't overthink what he's doing. And if he does do that then he goes to his guitar and does the "tell it all my problems" thing which is actually music therapy. It clearly helps him a lot and it clears his head so that he can keep his problems in perspective. I do that with journaling and my common place book, and I should do it more. It clearly helps Paul which is a good habit to have. All in all during his day to day life, Paul is happy and accomplished and has a big family with lots of grandchildren. Clearly loves Beatrice to bits and would do anything for her. The fact that we never hear anything bad about Beatrice is proof that she inherited all the right things from Paul lmao, she knows better than to get in trouble. Interestingly I think Beatrice is Paul's mini-me and considering Heather Mills is the same kind of personality as John Lennon, it makes me think that John and Paul having children together would actually have worked out very well for them.

On the other hand we know that Paul carries his share of anger and bitterness and old grudges. "No one knows the real me, do they." We're lucky that we live in a time where we can be relatively open about our personalities as well as our wants and needs. Paul did not grow up with such privileges and is only just recently starting to feel his way to the place we have inhabited our entire lives. He's suffered greatly for it. He's a naturally reticent person but I think John Lennon is the only person in the world Paul could fully express himself with; even Linda did not get full access to Paul considering comments made by others about Paul's controlling nature which belies anxiety. Why was Paul anxious around Linda, his soul mate? Because there were still parts of himself he didn't want her to know. And so on.

I think that in some ways Paul's lack of rumination and cheeriness is a choice that he's made for himself. He's been "tired" of negativity and hurtfulness for pretty much his entire life, he's always wanted to bring light into the world. John once said that Yoko painting "yes" on the ceiling of her exhibit was what he liked about her because it was positive, unlike the self absorbed 'woe is me' bullshit exhibits other avante garde people put up. I think John was attracted to Paul for similar reasons. Paul tries to take the sad song and make it better. Paul transformed John's life and he saved John from a much harder and painful path like the common belief that John would have landed himself in prison if he hadn't met Paul. I don't think it would have happened precisely that way but it was certainly a distinct possibility that John was aware of and he knew that Paul saved him from it.

Paul does it for himself as much as anyone else. I think he's actively trying to avoid the traps that many of us fall into. Rumination, bitterness, regrets. These are things that poison a person's life and even without therapeutic language Paul realized that he didn't want his life to be consumed by it. That doesn't mean he doesn't have his well of pain to tap into but he wants to live and be happy. He said once that John wouldn't want him to be hurt and depressed and he was right. I think if we all approached our lives with that kind of attitude, "I deserve to be happy and I'm going to do what it takes to get there," we would all be much better off. Paul is a role model in more ways than one.

Paul is a sport, a one off. There is no one else like him and when he dies there will never be anyone like him ever again. Treasure him now while he is here.

I have never seen him perform. When he has his next US tour then I'll go, I don't care what it costs.

Am I attracted to him: yes and yes. I find it more like an aspirational attractiveness but I think he's intensely beautiful and he became more beautiful as he aged (though there is something very special and breedable about 22 year old Paul McCartney. It's deeply depressing that he never got pregnant.) That's different from being handsome, all of the Beatles were handsome but Paul is intensely beautiful. It's the kind of thing that gets memorialized in Sumarian poems. If we were told he was descended from swan maidens or something like that, it would not be a shock. There's a story in that somewhere lol, imagine Paul bathing in a lake and John steals his feathered coat so that Paul will marry him or something like that. IDK. Paul is very intense.

Beauty is sovereign. Beauty triumphs over all things. Paul is one of those rare people that handles (almost) all of his affairs adroitly. Every little thing he does is magic.

I'm a big fan of all of Paul's work, I genuinely enjoy London Town for instance and I don't get why some circles make fun of it. Synth owns what is the problem here. Some of my favorite Paul songs:

With a Little Luck

Probably my favorite "John, I love you, I'm sorry, please come home" song. It's just very Paul, the very carefully arranged harmony, the minor key in an upbeat tempo, with the almost mismatched lyrics before Paul brings it back to a major key resolution. It makes me want to find my partner and kiss them on their lower lip. (My partner has a very pouty lower lip, easily one of their best features.)

Let 'em In

I have an entire animated music video in my head about this song. I've actually been looking up how to teach myself art because I want to pursue it. First learning to draw, then learning to animate and all because I want to animate this sequence I have in my head. Oh Paul. I adore you.

Rock Show

This one actually made me stand up and dance around my house which never happens anymore. I just love the energy and Paul's silly voices. And Paul's platonic fascination with axe wielders rears its head again! I wonder if Paul ever fantasized about killing people with an axe.

Another Day

This is the anthem of my life lmao. At least I have a romantic partner but we're long distance until I can emigrate to the United Kingdom so again I identify very heavily with this Paul piece. Ahhh…

When it comes to Paul's Beatle work, I don't really want to reference anything there because Beatles music was such a community effort, even Paul's songs aren't fully his once the other three got their hands on it. That's not a bad thing but it does mean the Beatles were an engine unto themselves. Paul never had full control of his songs. My choices are not particularly enlightened but they are true which is all I can provide.

This was a really great ask to get, thank you for sending it in. Very flattered if I'm someone who "gets" Paul. I think it's more like he makes a lot of sense to me and it's very rare that he does something that does not make sense to me. I'm probably projecting a lot but we all do that so who cares?

[purplesoulcollection]

Otherworld Fans

Do you even question your existence in world?

Yeah, i was the one asking that. This is not the first time I'm being this serious, but this one is the urgent question.

I realized that I was the only one who felt that this world was not my real world.

This place doesn’t feel particularly strange, yet my dark eyes seem to express a reality that feels out of place, as if it’s my eyes that are the odd ones.

It’s a world that mirrors my own, filled with modern conveniences like technology, smartphones, and Wi-Fi that connects everyone through the internet. Yet, it’s also a world plagued by air pollution that makes breathing difficult, and the sun’s heat can feel like it’s cooking people alive, just like in my previous existence.

Still, deep down, I know I don’t belong here. The world I truly belong to is the one where I spent my entire life, a place that wouldn’t change over a single lifetime.

Even if I have to die, my memories would reset, allowing me to experience life anew, as if for the very first time, in an endless loop.

But who knows which monarch that made the blunder of allowing me to be reborn with the memories of my past life intact, robbing me of the joy of living without the weight of knowing I’ve lived before, only to face death once more?

Ops, I let my bad thoughts wander for some reason. My rational and gloomy thought is always ruin for the fun. Sorry for the moody rant. But I have my reason too!

Do you think you will happy if you have to restart your life and study the fact that you already know in the world that mirrors yours?

Yeah, I'm glad at first, but now my gladness dropped 70%, not completely happy again. Why? Why I'm not completely happy, you asked?

Because you know...?

This realm is now the world of solo leveling ragnarok. Not the world of Solo Leveling instead.

It’s no longer the place where Sung Jinwoo was the main character, starting from the very bottom and rising to greatness through a mission system that sought to exploit him. Even though I want to see the live action even if it has to be in secret stalking.

I’ve lost the chance to witness the iconic moments from his legendary comics and novels. I can't even glance at the majestic event that i already memorized the order if sometime i being reincarnated into this world...

I’ll never get the chance to be the person that Sung Jinwoo secretly admires or like since we don’t even exist in the same time period.

Tears streamed down my face when I encountered Sung Jinwoo, now married with children. I can't stop it.

Literally, I cried the first time I saw him alongside Cha Hae-in when my father let me see him—those countless fanfictions I had devoured about Sung Jinwoo x reader shattered before me, leaving only the harsh truth. He can't be mine...

I can only see his worried face when i cried in front of him, he tried to persuade me to stop the tears by by promising to buy me snacks or make friends with his child.

Seeing no change in me, he urgently ask my father for the clue of my cries that my father also having no clue at all.

Sung Jinwoo is undeniably so handsome even when he already married and is already middle aged man … but sadly, he’s not someone I can ever reach; Even after I met him through my unrealistic second life…

then I felt someone's hand wiping my tears. The hand that made me look away from Sung Jinwoo's face and turn my gaze towards the hand that cleaned my face from my tears.

And I saw it. the next protagonist in this world. Sung Suho.

He was the one who wiped my tears with his innocent face. His little hand, which was slightly smaller than mine, still tried to wipe my tears innocently.

Seeing his face and recognizing Suho's face which had similarities in the eyes and nose to his mother made my nose clogged with snot and I ran out of Sung Jinwoo's house which I visited with my father.

I dashed away, tears streaming down my face, feeling embarrassed about my snotty nose. Why should I humiliate myself in front of someone I look up to?

My eyes stung, making everything around me seem hazy, but I was relieved to find the playground deserted, free from other kids.

I plopped down on the swing, staring at the ground, feeling exhausted and sad. At least if I looked down, no one would notice a little girl crying all alone in this empty playground.

Why am I even crying? He’s not a character meant to be with me.

I admire him from afar, and while he’s my idol, that’s all he is—just an idol. Sure, he’s incredibly cool, handsome, and exactly my type, but I have to accept that he’s out of reach if fate doesn’t align with my dreams.

and because I looked down I didn't see someone chasing me coming to see me sitting on the swing. he was panting after me who was emotional.

But seeing me sitting and not realizing that he was chasing me finally made him sit on the swing next to me.

the sound of the swing being shaken made me aware of someone's presence, I wiped my tears and wiped my snot with my hand, trying to appear fine even if I knew it would be useless if my eyes were red from crying.

When I saw the person next to me, I wasn't too surprised to see Suho chasing me. My father knew that I was a smart child to be able to come back to Jinwoo's house when I was done crying and whining, and both Cha Hae-in and Jinwoo were two people who could detect me in their own way, they're strong for the reason.

Only Suho was the one who bothered to chase me here alone.

He didn't look at me when I saw him, but I knew that he was aware that I was watching him.

"Why are you chasing me?" My voice was nasal from crying, not the sweet voice of a girl who can ask for anything sweetly and have her parents grant it.

Hearing me finally want to talk to him made him turn around and asked, "Why are you crying anyway?"

His probing eyes made me shy away from being angry with him. He thinks I want to cry in front of his father? NO!! I want to be the best daughter figure for him, but i can't control my reaction.

"I don't know why, so don't ask!"

I barked at him, still very frustrated with my current situation.

it's better for him to just leave until I manage to calm myself down. That would be better for both of us. I don't want to mad at him, he's innocent and know nothing about me.

But he's being the one who couldn't read the situation and didn't leave even after I barked at him. he just looked back at the sky and swung his swing.

Why doesn't he leave too? Is he insensitive?

We both fell silent, allowing the wind to blow and the warm sunlight to fill the quiet, which was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

Since I was starting to sweat from the heat, I finally stood up and suggested we head home together.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, trailing behind me as I walked away, he walking slower than me. Maybe that's why he couldn't immediately chase after me who ran away to the playground.

I scrunched my face, knowing I couldn't be completely truthful with him. "I don't know, maybe it's because your dad is just too handsome… and that makes me a bit jealous of your mom?"

His reaction was one of surprise; he lowered his arms from behind his head, clearly taken aback. "Do you like my dad?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

I didn't appreciate his response, which felt like it was prying into my embarrassment. "No, don’t joke about that! I’m just intrigued by him, not in love! I just hope to find a guy as good-looking as he is someday."

What I said was partly true but also a bit of a stretch. Where else could I find someone who matched my standards? Imagining someone perfect was my only option.

"Since you seem to like my dad so much, why not extend that to me?"

His question left me speechless, making me reconsider his character.

Wow, is Suho really the kind of person who can be this unpredictable? Shouldn't my mere glance at the comic be enough?

"Why do you keep making jokes? How can I like you when I don’t even know your name?"

Technically, I still didn’t know his name; we hadn’t introduced ourselves yet. Dad had only introduced me to Suho's parents before I ended up in tears.

"You can like my dad right away, so why can’t I?" He still insisted, he raised his hand while making a fist. Looks very serious in his opinion.

"You just can’t!" I shook my head firmly, dismissing Suho's illogical suggestion.

He fell quiet, awkwardly tracing his finger along his cheek before finally saying, "If you don’t know my name, I’ll tell you, but you have to share yours too!" He looked embarrassed and turned his gaze away.

Why is he looking away so awkwardly? Is he trying to be my friend but feels shy because our first interaction was a bit rocky?

feeling guilty because this was my fault I stretched out my hand to Suho, "Okay, my name is Name, satisfied now right?"

He looked at the outstretched hand in front of him, clearly taken aback. When I noticed he wasn't moving to take it, I thought about pulling my hand back.

But as if sensing my doing, he quickly grasped both of my hands. "I'm Suho, nice to meet you, Name!" he exclaimed loudly, causing me to jump a little from the unexpected volume.

"Why do you have to yell like that? You really startled me!" I loudly tell him. He only can shrunk because he knew he was doing something wrong.

"Well, you can't expect me to just stand here waiting for you to say something." he answered in a nervous voice. afraid of making me angry again.

"You took your sweet time, didn't you? Let's get home before my dad gets mad!"

He nodded, and we started walking home, completely unaware that we were still holding hands.

The End

[writerthatcannotwrite]

TROP SEASON FINALE SPOILERS!!!!!

Elrond, my baby, my little guy, my poor soul.

DWARF RANT:

King Durin, may you rest in the Halls of Aule with honor.

I've seen a common theme in this series: people who had lost their minds, but found them in the last moment of shocking clarity that was (almost) their last noble act.

Celebrimbor, cutting off his thumb to escape (Which was very "I'm honoring my Uncle Maedhros" core, which I very much appreciate) and saying, "Whose will is the mightier?"

I can go on another rant about that phrase and the implications, but that was last episode.

King Durin III awoke the balrog, literally Durin's Bane.

Prince Durin and Disa's kiss was iconic, fyi.

Prince Durin tried so hard to help his father, but in the end, he couldn't stop him. Well, he alone couldn't stop his father; what truly set King Durin over the edge was the knowledge that his son might die. King Durin saw the balrog, something that he had willingly called forth, and went, "Holy shit, get the boy OUT". And how did King Durin get his boy out of the balrog's fire? He sacrificed himself.

Throughout this entire season, I have seen nothing but poor parenting from King Durin; he never listened to his son's advice; he literally shoved him away, and into a wall (My first thought was, "CHILD ABUSE!!! CHILD ABUSE!!!! GO GET DWARF DFCS!!!"). But here, we see the true affection King Durin had for his son.

The cataclysm that brought King Durin clarity was not anything his son could have done by himself, but the knowledge that his son was helpless. King Durin was not going to let his son suffer something of his own making, so he charged the balrog.

And then died.

HUMAN RANT:

Okay, so Kemen (I finally learned his name, unfortunately) needs to get off of his swampy ass and tumble into a grave. It'd be so simple; Isildur just needs to *grab by lapels* *shift three spaces to the right* *drop in hole*. Simple! Easy solution! Would the Valar be very happy? Probably not, but hey! We'd get rid of Kemen!

And I do appreciate Earien's technically treasonous act for her father; by now, she is a pretty prominent figure in Numenorean politics; the right hand of the king's right hand.

And you know what confused me?

The way Pharazon---I'm not calling him Ar-Pharazon, he doesn't deserve that---gathered up all of the RELIGIOUS LEADERS of the Faithful and said, "Yeah, sorry you're conspiring with Sauron, aka the DEVIL so you and all of the Faithful are to be arrested. Sorry."

One of the main things that always strikes a cord for me is religious freedom; when these wrongs are shown in this show, it makes me SO angry, because people should be able to practice their faith freely, regardless of whatever religion the government favors.

The sacking of Nienna's temple, the prosecution of the Faithful in earlier episodes, and now the legit imprisoning of people who are Faithful.

Recently, I have been reading "The Crucible" in class, and we have been discussing the causes and effects of mass hysteria, one of the contributing factors of the Salem Witch Hunts. I feel like there might be bought of mass hysteria going around Numenor now; the king/queen-ship is a major dispute, the Faithful are being arrested, major political and social leaders of the community have been imprisoned. People can likely accuse others of being Faithful (Even if they aren't) because of petty rivalries. In the Crucible, Mr. Putnam accused George Jacobs, his neighbor who had lots of land, of witchcraft, so that he would be able to purchase his land.

How many people in Numenor would face a similar dilemma?

Would Mr. Smith the Sailor accuse Mrs. Johnson the Tailor of being an Elf-Friend because her tapestries looked a little too much like those of Vaire? But it doesn't matter that Mrs. Johnson's only daughter is of marriageable age and Mr. Smith has had his eye on her. But who would be watching that if Mrs. Johnson was an Elf-Friend?

All of these factors are the most basic ingredient for a good ol' bought of mass hysteria; my English teacher doesn't watch this show, but I'm tempted to tell her the similarities.

then, to Isildur.

I thought Theo and Isildur's hug was very nice.

Theo was like, "Ah, yes, I shall bid my friend farewell after discussing the traumatic deaths of our mothers. I wish him well!"

And Isildur's like, "Why is the kid who hated me yesterday wanting a hug???"

I always got bad vibes from Estrid. I get swearing servitude to Adar in exchange for your life, I get that, but.

I never felt comfortable with her and Isildur's relationship. I get that she wasn't able to decipher her feelings for Hagen, her betrothed, until she met Isildur, but seriously. I also know that Isildur has an "unnamed wife" (SCREW THE NOT NAMING OF FEMALE CHARACTERS IT MAKES ME ANGRY), so I know he's gonna get somebody EVENTUALLY, and before Numenor sinks.

But then, Isildur and Estrid started MAKING OUT in Theo's kitchen. Like, bro. THAT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE!!!! Do that ELSEWHERE!!!!! Better yet, don't even do it!

And then, that slimy bitch Kemen had to stroll up, all, "Yeah, we'll put the watchtower there, knock down a few houses to do it." And then, he tries to be all buddy-buddy with Isildur, who obviously realizes that something is a bit off.

Then, Kemen drops the ball, saying that his father is wanted for treason, Queen Miriel is no longer queen, and "low men" are not allowed in Numenor.

First off: very classist of you, go kill yourself, Kemen.

Second off: Isildur learns that the woman he saved from the fire is no longer queen; is he thinking that his sacrifice, everything that he's endured in Middle Earth, has been for naught?

Third off: Kemen mentioned Earien. Does Isildur know that his sister has gotten a little racist in his absence? How will he react to seeing his sister betray their entire family by literally trying to put them all in prison (Anarion, Elendil, AND Isildur)?

Kinda happy that Estrid wasn't going to Numenor. Don't like the circumstances, but I'm glad that she isn't going.

I also think that Earien is coming to her senses; she might not have wanted Miriel on the throne, but now, Pharazon's tyranny is affecting HER. HER family is being prosecuted. HER father is wanted for "treason". HER people are at risk. Earien is getting a rude awakening to this thing.

I also think that its interesting how that guard left when Earien told him to; it shows how people in power are STILL defying the law in Numenor, all because, "Oh, she knows the king's son."

Of course, Earien did this for a good reason, but it still demonstrates the corruption of Numenor's political system.

Then, Miriel and Elendil. As I was watching this my mom, I was like, "Hey, do you ship it?" and she was like, "Oh, yeah" and I was like, "Good, my assumptions are not unfounded."

So yeah, Anarion, Isildur, and Earien are going to be getting a step-mom, good for them!!

What messed me up was when Miriel was like, "No Elendil, you must go, I will stay." Like Elendil (And us) were under the impression that she would remain with the Faithful; Elendil draped the cloak over her shoulders and she didn't flinch, she listened to his plan, but when the time came to make the decision she stayed. Frankly, I don't understand WHY, but go off girlie, I guess.

ELVES:

Okay, so Galadriel getting the refugees out of Eregion, I really liked; in cannon, Galadriel and many of Eregion's fled Eregion and headed south. Then, Galadriel gave up the Nine to save the refugees (Iconic, Queen Behavior), and we see Adar, leaning against a fallen tree. Is he injured? Is he hiding? Has his hand been conveniently cut off by some guy on an eagle? What happened?

After dismissing the orcs, Adar turns around. At first, I didn't see any difference (I'm not very observant, sometimes, alright?), until I looked a little closer. His face was no longer scared and burned; his hair seemed thicker, cleaner; he looked less gaunt. The ring had healed him.

And then, Galadriel asked for his name, but he evaded the question, like a little BITCH.

"Adar was the name I chose for myself" blah, blah, blah, bah, JUST SAY MAKALAURE YOU IDIOT!!! Sure, there are some details in cannon that don't line up (Maglor wasn't strung up on Thangorodrim, Maedhros was) but here's the thing: not only has trop changed a few things, it made some things more accessible.

In trop, Elrond and Elros were found by Galadriel after the Third Kinslaying, not the sons of Feanor. Celebrimbor was supposed to be tortured for TWO YEARS before his death. Celeborn is still supposed to be present.

I also have a cannon-probable idea for Maglor being Adar; in Maglor's trauma and grief at loosing his last and first brother, could he have not clung to his brother, in all aspects? Maglor may have curated this story of hanging from a cliff because that's what happened to his brother, that idea is what keeps him close. The things about being with the orcs and Sauron, I can't really explain for this idea. That's just about as far as I got.

But Adar WILLINGLY returned the ring to Galadriel, proving that he truly meant to defeat Sauron with elven help. But then, there is an injured Uruk nearby, and Adar goes to help; he might not even be able to heal him, but he will be with that Uruk in his last moments.

And then.

The Uruk, Glug, I think? leapt up and stabbed him. All of the others followed suit. It was a mirror to Sauron's own death in the first episode: betrayed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed---

You get the gist.

By the end, Adar is well and truly gone. He raises his hand to touch one of the orcs, his children, and calls them such, but the orc stabs him again, one, final time.

The entire situation is disheartening; sure Adar might have been willing to risk his "children" in his hunt for revenge against Sauron, but he cared about them, well and truly. In exchange, the orcs killed him for his kindness.

In the end, I really do want to know who Adar was before his chaining to a mountain. Did he have a family? People he loved? He must have come from Cuivienen, so he probably did.

I also wonder where he would go after death. Now that his hroa (Physical body) is well and truly... extinguished, where will his fea (Spirit) go? Do orcish fear (Spirit, plural) go to the Halls of Mandos, or somewhere else?

Adar looked vaguely elven; he could walk in sunlight, unlike his children. I feel like he should go to the Halls of Mandos; he did many terrible things, but were they not in the pursuit of good?

Then, Celebrimbor's death (These are not in the order of the scenes, just what I remember).

We see streaks of blood on stone floor, and we know something has happened.

Then, there's Celebrimbor, BEING USED AS TARGET PRACTICE, with arrows in his arms. Sauron stand over him, grim, and he wants to know where the rings are. They bicker and banter, there's some (un)healthy badinage, and Sauron STILL says that Celebrimbor's pain is HIS fault, that Celebrimbor brought this upon himself. Even though Celebrimbor is well and truly destroyed, Sauron STILL wants to have Celebrimbor guilt-ridden and full of self-loathing. It sickens me.

And then, Celebrimbor has something to say. He says, "forsee", and Sauron stops. I doubt Celebrimbor has had many visions of foresight, but the line of Finwe is not without them; did Miriel not have a vision of foresight to name her son Feanaro? Was Galadriel not gifted in seeing versions of the future? So it is possible, especially since Celebrimbor is SPOT ON. It WILL be one ring that brings about Sauron's downfall, and Sauron will fall. Sauron realizes this, and runs him through with a spear. Celebrimbor is lifted onto the pillar (Which is what I think we're going to get as the Celebrimbanner, unfortunately; I would have loved to see his cannonical death) and finally dies.

Then, Galadriel and Sauron's duel. Sauron turns into different people to try and fool Galadriel, but by now, she is used to trickery. He turns into puppy-dog-eyed Halbrand (Annatar was literally just Halbrand in a heat-damaged wig and shaved, Celebrimbor should have seen that IMMEDIATELY). Then, he's Galadriel herself, depicting her darkest, most evil deeds and desires. Then, Celebrimbor, mocking her for her retreat. Franky, I thought he was going to be Finrod as well, but alas, it was not so.

And then, he stabbed her with the crown (rude) and Galadriel, salty to the last, PRETENDED to give Sauron the ring. Very slowly, just to watch the pride and greed flash in his eyes, and then, "If I can't have it, then neither can you." Not what she said, but what she MEANT.

And girlie does and Elwing. Too many people in season two have dove off of cliffs; Elrond failed to beat the mama's boy allegations by jumping off a cliff with an object of power (In this case, three). And I was wondering if these guys actually thought that Ulmo was gonna come in clutch and turn them into birds. I mean, he did it for Elwing, so why not her son? Why not some other random person jumping off of a cliff?

In the end, Gil-Galad approaches (I'll get to that part in the beginning with Gilly and Elrond, hold on) and knows that Galadriel cannot be healed. She has the Second Age equivalent of a Morgul wound. It festers with dark magic and cannot be healed.

But who do they have?

THE healer!

The top dog of his graduation class from Lindon's School of Magical and Physical Healing!! Elrond Peredhel Earendilion whatever other name you give him! He's THE healer! Just standing there!

So of course, Mr. Healer is all dramatic, like, "No, we can heal her" through the power of friendship of course, and perhaps these magical rings.

I do think it's interesting how the rings will heal scarring and a Morgul wound; I think they only heal physical wounds, not those done to the spirit (Fea).

And then, we appear in a grassy, bright area, with Gil-Galad watching over Galadriel. He says that it is safe, a sanctuary made by the rings. This is, of course, the beginnings of Imladris, Rivendell, the Last Homely House. In cannon, Elrond and refugees of Eregion fled north, and founded Rivendell.

The river down the center HAS to be the Anduin, I guarantee it.

When the offer of the sword or shield pops up, I though that Galadriel would choose the shield; after all, this series is basically about how Galadriel went from a brutish, hyper-angry, traumatized elleth to a proud, wise, kind Lady of Lothlorien. I thought she would choose the shield, protect what her people had lost so much of, but she remains silent. Gil-Galad chooses the sword.

That scene of the elves raising their fists in defiance felt odd to me; even the children were seen raising their hands. Elves reach their majority at approx. 100 years, so what are these children, who have never seen battle and bloodshed except for that day, doing, wanting to wage war? It reminds me of Feanor and the unrest of the Noldor; a people that knew no bloodshed, and in their innocence, went to their deaths. It worries me.

Alright, one of my favorite parts: Elrond and the Scrolls.

Elrond, Gil-Galad, and Arondir are brough to a city square and we see orcs piling scrolls to be burned. Elrond, who is obviously a scholar, I mean look at him, is outraged. Not only are these the last ties he has to his cousin Celebrimbor, they also hold invaluable scientific information; it's like destroying the elven version of the Library of Alexandria.

Then, my baby boy Gil-Galad is at sword-point (Very scary, but I know what his doom is so I wasn't THAT scared), and just barely saved. Ngl, I had thought Arondir had died in Episode 7, so it was good to see him still kicking!

My favorite parts were Celebrimbor and Annatar's scenes and Elrond's dismay at the scrolls. I would also like to say that I think Gil-Galad slayed in every scene he was in.

Well, then. I must go google when Season Three is expected to show up.

[outsideratheart]

I’ll be in the stands (Stina Blackstenius x reader)

A/N: This is set in the same universe as Very Important Person. Based off this request. I’m not sure how I feel about this one but I hope you all like it.

Wimbledon. It was the most iconic two weeks of the year. After Australia you had been playing the best tennis of your career so it made sense that you were one of the favourites going into the tournament. 

“Stina, I’m leaving” you shout up to your girlfriend. 

After supporting you in Paris, Stina invited you to join her on a friends trip then she travelled to London to support you before going to New Zealand for the World Cup. She had attended Roland Garros with your parents who unfortunately couldn’t make it to London which left two spare tickets. You gave them to your girlfriend who chose to bring Frido and Magda. 

“Good luck. I’ll see you on centre court” she shouted back down, no doubt still picking out what to wear. 

The Swedish Women had really enjoyed embracing the fashion at Wimbledon and spent most mornings working out who is going to wear what. Today would be their last game before leaving for camp in New Zealand. You had your fourth round game to play and then if you win you would be playing your quarter game whilst they were in the air. 

Dressed in white you walked onto the legendary centre court ready to fight for a spot in the next round. You had done your research on your opponent and knew how she would play and more importantly how to beat her. It’s why it comes as no surprise that you win the first set 6-2 and the second set 6-3.

As you thank the crowd your look lingers on the row that hold the three blondes with one of them capturing your attention more than the other two. You bring the S pendant on your necklace to your lips. After she gave you it for Valentine’s Day you never took it off and would kiss it after every match you played.

“Do you think she will win?” Frido asks.

“I do”

Stina had more faith in you that you did in yourself and whilst you loved her for it, it also added to the pressure because you didn’t want to let her down. The mental strength needed to be a tennis player was hard to explain to people outside the sport. Stina had watched you lose matches, not because your opponent out played you, because you lost your head a gave point after point away. 

The next morning the atmosphere in the house was full of sorrow. The girls were leaving and you wouldn’t see Stina for almost a month. It wasn’t the first time you’d be spending weeks apart but you had gotten used to her company over the past couple of weeks and hated the thought of being away from her.

“Don’t go” you whisper.

You and Stina stood on the doorstep, your arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Hjärtat I have to go”

Truth is you weren’t asking her to stay but you do wish her flight could be delayed a day or two.

“I love you, I have faith in you and I love you”

“You already said that” 

“Because I meant it. Good luck for your match, I’ll be watching on the plane”

You found little solace in knowing that Stina would still be supporting you from thousands of miles in the air. As her car drove away you felt emptier than you did just ten minutes ago but you knew that it was time for her to go, she too had a tournament to win.

Stina was a nervous wreck watching your match on the plane. You had won the first set on tie-break and she could tell that you wasn’t happy with your performance. The way you looked over to your box with a lost look on your face told everyone that you didn’t understand why the set went on this long. The second set was long but also ended in tie-break but this time you had lost. You sat in your area with a towel over your head as you tried desperately to gather your emotions. The fans at Wimbledon were known for cheering on the underdog and with you currently being number 2 and your opponent unseeded the entire arena was cheering her on instead of you.

You lost the final set 6-4. 

“She’s going to be ok right?” Frido wound down the window dividing her and Stina’s booth.

“I don’t know” Stina was already sending you a reassuring text “I hope so”

You felt like you let everyone down. Stina’s message brought a momentary smile to your face but then you remember the reason why she sent it and the smile was replaced with a frown.

The Swedish national team had landed in New Zealand 26 hours after your match ended and Stina’s phone remained glued in her hand but she still hadn’t heard anything from you. She tried calling for the 5th time but like every time before that she was met with your voicemail.

“Is she still not picking up?” Magda asked. 

“She does this sometimes. After a big loss she goes dark but she always texts me before doing so to let me know she’s alright”

At first she wasn’t worried but then her phone went off. She rushed to answer it not bothering to look at the caller ID. She assumed it would be you so imagine her surprise when you manager’s voice comes through the phone. She told Stina that you asked her to cancel all media for the next week and since then she couldn’t get a hold of you and she didn’t know where you were.

The team were given the next two days off in hopes that they could get over their jet lag before training starts. Most of the girls had organised to meet up and explore the city but Stina declined their invite.

She was watching Notting Hill on her iPad remembering how you took her there your first day in London before the tournament started. Her favourite scene had just started when heard a knock at the door.

There you stood with some flowers and half a smile on your face. She was just about to talk when you heard the movie playing in the background.

“The fame thing isn’t really real, you know?” And don’t forget i’m also just a girl standing in front of a girl asking her to love me”

You knew the entire movie word for word. It was your comfort film and since meeting you, it had become Stina’s too. Once your finished she flung her arms around you.

“Careful Älskling, someone might think you’ve missed me” 

She was happy to see you joking around but you had her worried sick since the end of the match and now here you are in New Zealand acting as if nothing had happened.

“Where have you been? We have all been really worried about you”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text. I knew I had let you down and I wasn’t ready to face you yet” 

Your joking expression vanished and the look of guilt took its place. 

Stina walked back into her room and laid on the bed.

“Come here” she held her arms open wide.

You laid between her legs with your head resting on her chest. She began tracing patterns on your back and for the first time in days your thoughts became quiet and your mind was calm.

“You could never let me down Y/N. I have learnt that Tennis can be a cruel sport and this week it chose you as one of its victims”

“Hmmm”

“Shall I put this back to the beginning?” She asks referring to the film even though she knew you wouldn’t see much of it. You were bound to be both physically and mentally exhausted. 

The blonde felt your heart beat even out just as Hugh Grant spills coffee over Julia Roberts. When she looks down your eyes are closed. She couldn’t believe you were here with her in New Zealand. She wasn’t sure how long you would be staying for so she chose to savour the moment playing out in front of her. 

A couple of hours pass and whilst Stina’s whole body was starting to go numb, you looked too peaceful to wake so she put on another film secretly hoping that you would wake up soon because she was starting to get hungry. Just as she was strolling through nearby restaurants the door swings open.

“Stina, Y/N’s here” Frido tells her but stops talking when she sees you fast asleep in her team mates arms or so that what she thought.

“We were at this coffee shop down the road and two girls were talking about how they had just met her” Zecira says not noticing you as she goes into the bathroom.

“Shhhh. She’s asleep” Stina scolds her team mates.

“No she’s not” you slowly sat up but not before placing a gentle kiss to your girlfriends lips.

You saw 4 Swedish woman looking at you and the awkward tension could be cut with a knife. All of them had watched the game and then saw the way Stina had been worried about you.

“Sorry you lost” Fillipa says earning a slap from Magda.

“Thanks but at least now I get to watch you girls play for the next month”

“You’re staying for the whole thing? You’re not going to play?” She was both happy that you were staying but also worried about you taking such a long break away from Tennis.

“I am. As for tennis, I think I need to take some time off but I can practice here when I’m ready because the courts are similar to New York”

Stina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The two of you just looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak. 

“So you Y/N Y/L/N are going to be a WAG?” 

“Yes, Stina Blackstenius I am going to be a WAG. I will wear my highlighter shirt to every game and cheer you on”

[lumina-shade]

Idk if your requests are open if not respond to the Privately but So idk if you actually feel comfortable writing for Luffy I am looki for one piece x reader writers who have the requests open and came across you anyway I request takes place after the time skip where reading I ask Luffy if next year they can celebrate Ace with Luffy aka next year on the day of his death instead of feeling sad they want me make sure Luffy is happy so they will spend the entire day doing things would love like eating us favorite foods and doing things he would love

I'm totally fine writing this! I'll try the best of my abilities to write what you requested. If you dont like it I can make another. Also I'll make it a Luffyxreader thing

First ever ask!!!!

"Changing a tragic into comfort" Luffy x Fm!reader

You knew this day exact day your lover Luffy brother died. It had traumatized him so much that on the next year he sat in his room and barely ate, concerning you and the straw hats.

This year was the day that Ace died and when you woke up to hopefully to find Luffy next to you, you find him at your desk his hat covering his face and when you realized it he was asleep as you brought a blanket and tucked him gently.

Your head was clouded as you went onto deck watching over the railing the ocean. How couldn't you helped your lover the time he needed it the most. Were you just a bad lover and spouse.

You didn't keep track of time that Sanji called for dinner and Nami had to call you over. You could tell everyone was quiet today aswell. The death of the Fire Fist Ace and the traumatic Luffy had effect them as you guys all ate silently.

You step slowly as an idea clicked into your mind. Why don't you guys make him a small party a supporting comfort party with his favourite food items. It was the best idea you ever thought of till now as you spoke up from the quiet dinner hall.

"Please excuse me but I have an idea on how we can help Luffy." You said as you wiped your hands with a towel.

"Help Luffy?" Chopper asked as his little hands ate a loli Robin gave him.

"How can we help Luffy, we can't just being Ace back" Zoro said as he kept eating he wasn't wrong so Nami didn't hit him.

"I've heard of these things for people who have went through a traumatic event and losing sombody, it's called a..-" you tried to remember the title of this party.

"An offer party, where people who have gone through grieving often remember that it is the person who offered reassuring hope, the certainty that things will get better, who helped them make the gradual passage from pain to a renewed sense of life." Robin offered as you nooded.

Everyone seemed to listen up as you continued talking of a party and probably it might be f everyone in the crew. You know everyone in the crew as lost a loved one from a trainer to a father figure ect.

"I hope we could make a kind of party self care I believe where we get our favorite food, items, games, drinks ect and get comfort from each other."

"..." it was silent in the room it made you sweat thinking of their opinion and thoughts about this party thing.

"Y/n your idea is....SUUUUUUUPERRR" Franky says as he does his iconic pose."also can we have cola and bugers there too" he adds as you all laugh.

"And cottoncandy!" Chopper says as he jumps off Robin laps.

"The great captain Usopp declares he will want a grilled fish!"

"Yohohohoho! I would be delightful to have some curry aswell too!"

"I can pick Mikans from my garden!"

"I would enjoy sandwhiches"

"Onigiris"

"Mozuku seaweed"

"Guess I should get onto cooking then if I'll have to make all this food" Sanji chuckles a he goes to start cooking.

The dining room was as loud as it usually was which is more comforting then that dead silence a few minutes ago.

Nami ordered around for decorations. Zoro messed up. Usopp getting some of his fairytails books. Brook being out his guitar and getting it ready to place with. Franky using his robot skills and Jinbei helping Nami with decor. Chopper grabs some small royes he holds in his bag to show. Robin using her devil fruit to help around.

You smiled as you saw everyone getting ready as it remind you, you had to get Luffy as you trolled into his room.

"Luffy?" You said as you peeked your head through the door.

You see him staring at the window as you went next to him.

"Everything's alright?" You asked as you rubbed his head.

"..."

You sighed as you kept looking at him and brushing away fallen tears of his and plopped his strawhat back on.

"You know Ace wouldn't want you crying over him, he called you a crybaby when we were younger remember? He wound want you to accomplish your dreams to be the pirate king not let an incident stop you" you say as you rubbed his head.

You hear him sniffle as he wobbly answers.

"You’re ri-right I should keep going no m-mattered what. Fo-far Ace"

"Yes, yes for Ace" you said as you slowly hugged him.

".....now how about we head outside? I think everyone wants you back as a captain? A crew can’t be a crew without a captain."

"Okay." Luffy said as he stood up as you stood up aswell grabbing a handkerchief wiping his tears as you lead him outside.

When you lead him outside onto the deck you could see his face light up at the celebrations with tables of food decor and the crew "helping" eachother.

"Luffy!" Chopper squeaked as he ran towards Luffy.

"Hey your back!" Usopp ran towards Luffy as well.

More and more people in the crew went to Luffy talking to him, showing him items they hold dear or giving him food

You could see him smile wide as he went around talking with his crew.

Usopp had a crafting stand and some childhood fairytale books

Choper has some little toys that Robin joined playing with him.

Sanji showed some childhood snacks he would make for his mother.

Nami opened her garden to anyone who could pluck a tangerine which was rare.

Franky shad a show to show off his robot abilities and skill.

Brook played songs for the crew.

Jinbei played around like a father being dragged to every station.

Robin teached some of an old language she used to know.

Zoro slept.

And Luffy laughed as he sprung around and also ate half the food.

You let out a breath as you saw Luffy happy again and enjoying the time with the crew.Everyone seemed so happy and joyous even when something tragic happened that turned into something joyus, and comforting.

Luffy wrapped his rubber arms around you thanking you for helping him and also letting him have party that is for everyone on the crew.

You loved this crew so much you would shake the world for them to be happy.

You couldn't hope for a better crew than this.

Shoutout to petalpetal for being my first ask I hope I did this the way you wanted this I really enjoyed writing this very much!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 31: Amnestic Syndrome

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

It has been a wonderful few days.

Leo has been chillin' like a king.

Casey got a suntan.

Raph caught a hermit crab while swimming and giddily showed it off to everyone.

Donnie started (and won) a squirt gun war.

Splinter has been napping nonstop, which is not exactly different from the norm but he's happy as a clam and has 100% been enjoying the seafood dinners.

Even Draxum has benefitted from this whole thing, having been reunited with Huginn and Muninn. He's even offered them their jobs back as his shoulder pads! Or whatever it is they're supposed to do.

And, of course, Mikey is having the time of his life running free and uncontained. Leo can't remember the last time he saw him so energetic and happy; it's like he's a little kid again.

Mikey has asked to go explore the heart of the island today, and so the four brothers are off on a hike into the beautiful jungle. Raph and Leo mostly lead the way, though Mikey runs off in different directions and they change course to accommodate. It reminds Leo of when they were turtle tots exploring the sewer tunnels. Raph would always take the lead as the eldest, though Leo (headstrong child that he was) would often fight to take charge or go a different way that looked cooler. Donnie and Mikey would walk hand in hand together until Mikey's hyperactivity went into overdrive and he'd start hooting and hollering and race up and down the tunnels excitedly. Leo would go chasing after him in a game of tag, Raph would cry because he was afraid they'd get lost, and Donnie would remain unconcerned. Ah, what good times they had...

Leo notices that Mikey had gone off in a certain direction not too long ago, but now can barely hear him. Scratch that, he can't hear or see him at all.

"Mikey?" Leo calls out. "Where are ya, bud?"

Donnie instinctively looks down at his wrist tech. Raph starts walking in the direction that Mikey's gone off in. He walks past the brush and flora...

Mikey comes bounding out of the bushes and pounces on Raphael, causing him to yipe in fright and topple over. Leo yelps at the literal jumpscare, but his fright turns to uproarious laughter at Raphael's face. Donnie smirks to himself and mumbles something along the lines of "I knew he was there."

Raph lays on the ground, gasping for breath as Mikey sits on his plastron with an enormous grin, tail wagging happily at the prank's success. Leo is on the ground cackling.

"Okay, okay, you got me," Raph sighs, picking Mikey up and off of his chest. "You can stop laughing now, Leo."

Leo, in fact, does not stop laughing for five more minutes.

The four press on.

Leo has to hold onto Donnie's arm for support after all that laughing. Dee isn't such a huge fan of that, especially with all the heat and humidity from the tropical climate. But he seems preoccupied. Leo happens to glance over and catches him looking at his wrist tech again.

"What are you doing?" Leo asks, leaning over to get a look for himself.

"Just checking something."

Leo notices several colour-coded icons.

"The trackers?"

"Yes. Since we are on a remote island and Michael has a tendency to just go running off when excited, I have been making sure that I know where he is at all times."

Leo looks back up at Donatello's face. His drawn-on eyebrows are furrowed, a crease on his fivehead and a stare of intensity in his eyes.

When Mikey first went missing, Dee would just stare at the tracking program and reupload new lines of code, debug it, update it, even turn the program off and then on again. He sat at his computer for an entire day, trying to understand what had happened. It worked fine for a few hours after Raph and Leo had reported Mikey MIA. But then, suddenly, it flickered and died out. Donnie didn't speak for the entire rest of the night, only staring at his screen and trying to get it back online. Leo had tried talking to him about it, But Donnie remained adamant that his tech and his ninpo were unparalleled. It would have taken massive voltage or some kind of mystic EMP like what the Krang had to deactivate it.

....Now, thinking it over, and after they'd discovered Mikey's altered DNA and the fact that he'd experienced severe electric charges, it began to make sense as to why the tracker was deactivated.

But it was like Donnie had said before -- it wasn't just deactivated, his tracker was removed. And though Leo and the others had considered it an invasion of privacy, Donnie's subdermal trackers came in handy more often than not, and Leo had found it was Dee's way of showing them that he cared about them all deeply. Not being able to know where Mikey was, or if he was alive... terrified him. Terrified all of them.

All that to say, Leo understands perfectly well why Donnie has been checking the trackers as often as possible.

Leo lets go of Donnie's arm, walking side by side with him.

The hike -- while being almost unbearably hot and through thick jungles -- is actually quite fun! Even with Mikey's occasional jumpscare pranks on the three.

Donnie goes into nerd mode, analyzing the flora and taking samples for later.

Raph is having fun chasing after Mikey and playing games with him. Mikey's memory issues and slight confusion make it seem like he's much younger than he really is, and Raph has missed being able to baby him like this. Some part of Leo thinks this might become an issue later on, but for the moment, Mikey is happy to have fun and Raph is happy to reminisce on days when his baby brother used to play with him like this.

And Leo is just happy to enjoy this time with his brothers. Even if he's constantly getting trampled by Michelangelo.

Speaking of which, Mikey is due for another jumpscare any minute now. Leo is on guard, listening for the little hunter. Mikey's inherited crazy impressive instincts from the added DNA. He somehow knows how not to make a single sound when moving, even in the tall grass and thick roots. He's fast, too, like blink-and-you-miss-it fast. You usually don't even realise he's stalking you until you're face-down in the dirt with him giggling on your back. Leo looks around cautiously for him. He sure is taking his sweet time...

Raph starts checking behind ferns and large flowers.

"Gee, he sure is hiding pretty well this time. I can't see him anywhere!"

Leo starts looking with him, checking the tree limbs to see if he's going to do another aerial ambush. But he can't see him anywhere.

"How does someone covered in neon yellow polka dots get so good at camouflage?? It's like he's not even here!"

"...That's probably because he isn’t, Nardo."

Leo and Raph turn to Donnie, who is looking down at his wrist tech.

"Mikey is several meters away from us. He ran off five minutes ago and has been stationary for quite some time. I suggest we go looking for him. The fact that he hasn't moved for five minutes is mildly concerning."

Leo and Raph follow behind Donatello as he leads the way towards a small clearing. Donnie pushes aside a group of monsteras, revealing a tiny river and waterfall hidden within the jungle. Large and exotic flowers grow around the clearing, almost fencing it in. The riverbank is made from volcanic rocks -- glassy obsidian and smoothed pumice and shimmering gabro. Leo and Raph ooh and awe at the scenery.

"Mikey is somewhere in here," Donnie says, looking around. "According to my GPS, he should be right around -- yipe!!"

Donnie yelps as he stumbles forward, nearly falling into a hidden pit just in front of them. The pit is obscured by the grass and alocasias growing around it, almost covering the opening completely. And to top it off, there is a short but unexpected drop-down from the area around the clearing, like an unexpected stair.

Both Raph and Leo grab Donnie by the shoulders and yank him back. He glances back with a grumble.

"What island has a secret hidden pit lying around?!"

From deep within the pit, they hear a chirp.

"Mikey!" Raph calls, stepping around the pit and looking down into it. "Is that you?"

"Hi, Raphie..."

"Are you okay?" Leo shouts.

"M'fine, just stuck."

"Stuck? Stuck how?" Leo asks, peering into the pit.

He can see Mikey sitting at the bottom of the pit, hands and feet doused in mud and muck. He looks awfully embarrased.

"Can't you just climb out?"

"Tried," Mikey answers. "Too slippery. Rocks are too wet an' slimy, Mikey just kept sliding on the mud!"

"Well, this is the time when I reiterate why we should always bring our mystic weapons with us when hiking," Donnie grumbles, crossing his arms.

"It was just a walk in the jungle! It's not like we were going to fight anything! Why bring them?" Leo refutes.

"Oh, I don't know, in case Mikey falls in a hole and we need to A: make a portal to get him out, B: Use giant elongated hands to lift him out, or C: create impossibly futuristic tech to get him out!"

"Okay, Einstein!" Leo growls. "It was just a suggestion! You could have actually brought your bō, I wasn't gonna stop you --"

"Can we stop shiftin' blame and get to helpin' Mikey already?" Raph yells, grabbing the twins' attention.

"Right right right," Leo stammers. "Well, Donnie actually gave me an idea! We can't really use our ninpo without our magic weapons, but you know who can?"

"…Mikey?"

"Exactly!" Leo says with a smile.

He leans down and calls into the pit.

"Yo, Mike! Just make a mystic chain and climb out!"

Mikey stares up at him, cocking his head in confusion.

"How?"

"Y'know, with your... mystic abilities? Your ninpo?"

"Whazza ninpo?" he asks.

Leo swallows. Both Raph and Donnie exchange glances.

"It's... it's like a superpower you have. It's a part of the family, you can do all kinds of cool stuff! Your ninpo is usually making these cool glowy chains... though, you were starting to do some new things, too... B-but, just try making a chain," Leo says, rambling awkwardly.

"How do I make a chain?" Mikey asks, slightly annoyed. "I can't make anything down here!"

"No, not like make it with your hands -- Make it with your mind!"

"My mind?" Mikey asks incredulously.

"Sorta, I'm not sure exactly how your mystic abilities work -- but for me, I usually just think of where I want to go and the portals take me there. Just try concentrating. Think about family, that might help. Your ninpo is powered by our family bond!"

Mikey stares blankly at Leo, as if he just told him his spots were purple and not yellow. But... Mikey trusts Leo, so...

He concentrates. He thinks hard.

"...Nothing's happening."

"Just keep trying!" Leo calls down. "I believe in you!"

Leo believes in him. Mikey trusts Leo. Family bond. Think about family. Make a chain. Concentrate...

Mikey's spots start flickering.

He squeezes his eyes so tight he gets a headache. He balls his hands into fists until the claws dig into his palms. His muscles tense.

"Woah, Mikey, don't hurt yourself! You're gonna give yourself a hernia or something --"

Mikey barely hears him. He growls and grunts and groans, blood vessels in his forehead popping from the effort as he tries.

He can't let them down. He can't let them know the truth. They're his FAMILY. Just... just... FOCUS!

Mikey's markings flicker once more... twice...

Something bright and glowing golden starts to form... shapes, materializing like dust in the air.

Think about family. Think about family. Think about --

Think about how you are not a part of their family anymore, no matter how hard you try to deny it.

Mikey's markings dim, the light goes out. The chains decay before they ever take solid shape.

He sighs, slamming his fists against his thighs in frustration.

"I-- I can't do it. I don't know how!"

Leo, Donnie, and Raph each look at one another.

"...Okay, Mikey. It's... it's okay, we'll get you out another way. Hey, Raph! Don! I think I saw some vines on our way in, let's try those..."

The three Hamato brothers leave Mikey alone in the pit. Alone with his thoughts. With his failings. With only his Instinct.

The trio are back within moments, having collected several vines and bound them together to create a rope for Mikey to climb up on.

They cheer when he emerges, but Mikey doesn't meet their eyes. The cheers simmer down, replaced by an awkward silence.

"So... Mikey," Leo sighs, placing a hand on his little brother's quilled shoulder. "I think it's time we had a talk..."

.

.

.

Mikey cleans the muck from his lower half before talking. He rubs the mud out from between his toes and talons, digging under his fingernails and doing his best to get himself presentable for the talk.

He's stalling. They all know he's stalling.

But Mikey has been dreading this conversation since the day they got him back from the labs.

Mikey's feet dangle in the stream, playing in the gentle flow of water. He wishes he could just stay here and stay quiet, never have this talk. It feels different from a scolding. Mikey doesn't mind scoldings, he's used to them from the labs. Though, his brothers are much nicer about their scoldings than the scientists were. But this isn’t a scolding, he can tell. It's something worse. It's a confrontation… As Mikey is marinating in dread and river water, Raph comes up behind him and rubs his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy? Ready to talk yet?"

Mikey shakes his head no.

"Do we hafta talk?" he whispers.

"I think so," Raph whispers back. "This is important."

"I didn't mean to do bad," Mikey says softly, pulling his knees close to his chest. "I tried my hardest! I really did! But... I-I couldn't do it."

Raph hums in response. He's not sure what to say.

"...Don't feel bad about that. You tried really hard, I saw. We just... wanna help you figure this out, okay?"

Mikey takes a deep breath and exhales loudly.

"Okay."

Mikey takes Raphael's hands and shakily stands up, his big bro helping him to walk normally over to where the twins are waiting.

"Hey, Angelo!" Leo greets with a nervous smile. "You all cleaned up?"

Mikey nods, sitting himself down, just outside of their circle. They don't let that slide; both Raph and Leo scoot out to make him a part of their formation.

"Great. So, uh... I guess you're all wondering why I called you here --" Leo starts.

"Skip the jokes and get to the point," Donnie interjects.

"Yeesh, tough crowd! Okay, okay. Look, Mikey, we've noticed that you've been... uh, how shall we say... acting oddly around us."

Mikey swallows. He tries not to let his anxiety rise any more than it already is.

"Odd? U-uh, how?"

"You threw away your chucks," Leo lists.

"You couldn't recall our names," Donnie adds. "And I've seen the way you react when we call you 'Angelo'. I suspect you don't know your full name is Michelangelo, and not simply Mikey."

"And April said you asked her why she cares about you, or why she didn't look like us if she was our sister," Leo reminds him. "And you reacted weirdly when Dad showed you our family photos."

"You also didn't recognize Draxum," Raph contributes to the list. "And you don't remember what the Prison Dimension or the Krang are, do you?"

Mikey thinks about bluffing. But his lack of response betrays him. He sees Leo flinch and go pale at the mention, Donnie shudders and squirms. Even Raph's body language shifts. But Mikey doesn't get it. He's caught.

"Casey talked about the future, and you had no clue. You get confused by inside jokes or references, and I'm pretty sure you have no idea that Dad is actually Lou Jitsu."

"He's who?!" Mikey asks, though it takes a moment for the memory of who Lou Jitsu is to process.

"See, that's what's concerning us," Leo exclaims. "Mikey, we don't mind that you're confused, but... you aren't telling us the whole picture. And what happened with your ninpo kind of confirms what we've been suspecting for a while now..."

Mikey's head buzzes loudly. He feels ill.

"Mikey... you don't actually remember us, do you?"

His eyes sting, blurring over. He hyperventilates, he can't catch his breath. His hands clasp onto his skinny arms, his legs fold close to his chest, his tail wraps around him. His limbs trap him in a cage, the spines and spikes and quills stand on edge to protect him from the panic attack. His brothers The others try to calm him, but Mikey can't hear anything over his weeping and wailing.

Mikey rocks back and forth, feeling like he might vomit. Raphael places a hand on his shoulder. Mikey screams, swatting the hand away in a panic. Mikey stammers and stutters, not even sure what he's supposed to be saying. He wants to convey how scared he is, how hard he's trying to hold it together, how bad he feels at letting them down, the terror he has at having been caught in the lie. But all he can hear himself say is 'please please please' and 'sorry sorry sorry'.

Hands take his own. Mikey looks up and blearily sees the colour purple.

"Mikey. Can you hear me?"

Mikey nods. It's hard to breathe. He doesn't say it out loud, but the deep and desperate gasps he's making are obvious indicators.

"Focus on me, okay? Follow my lead. In one --" Donnie makes an exaggerated inhale, posture arching. "-- out two." His exhale is loud and exaggerated, his stature relaxes.

Mikey tries to repeat him. His breathing is sporadic, he feels like he's failing him at the most simplistic of things--!

"Hey, hey, focus on me, right? Just focus on my voice, on my breathing. In for one, out for two."

Mikey follows his lead, eyes locked onto Donnie's.

"There we go. In for one, out for two. In for two, out for four. In for four, out for six..."

Donnie and Mikey do the breathing exercises until Mikey's lungs find a rhythm. He calms, hiccups and suck-ups following suit, but they slow soon enough. Donnie manages a tiny smile, an attempt to comfort. He pats the ground around Mikey's knees.

"Mikey, can you tell me what you're sitting on?"

Mikey looks down.

"G-grass...?"

"What do you smell?"

"Fl-flow-wers...? M-m-m-mud. W-water, s-sea water...! R-Raph..."

He hears Leo chuckle.

"Name three things you can see."

Mikey glances around.

"M-Mikey sees you... sees brothers... um, sees trees? And stream... is, is that three?"

"Yes, that's three. You're doing great. Now, can you tell me how we got here?"

"W-walked here. Mikey ran, f-fell in a pit..." he starts crying again. "I-I couldn't get out, I couldn't do the --"

"It's okay, stay present with me," Donnie soothes, rubbing his thumbs over Michelangelo's hands. "Just stay focused on the present moment."

Mikey sighs, tries breathing again. Stay present. Stay focused. Okay...

Donnie talks to him, asking simple and easy questions, such as 'what do you hear?' and 'what colour is the sky?' and 'can you taste this?' after handing him a honeysuckle. Mikey calms down quickly after that.

The other two sit at a respectable distance, making sure not to overwhelm him. After some time, and Donnie's calming techniques, Leo crawls towards them.

"You okay?" he asks cautiously, reaching out to hold Mikey's hand.

Mikey nods and hums a 'yes'.

'Sorry,' he signs. 'Got really scared.'

'That's okay,' Leo signs back. 'We didn't mean to freak you out. Just wanted to talk about it.'

"Can we still talk about it?" Raph asks gently, looking Mikey over. "I mean, if you're okay with that."

Mikey nods, crawling into Donnie's lap for comfort.

"Mikey ready..."

"Okay then," Donnie sighs. "Mikey, we need you to be honest with us so we can be sure to take proper care of you. How much do you actually remember?"

"Mmmm... not a lot," he whimpers. "Mikey remembers a few things... small things. L-Like random moments."

"That would be the brain sauce Draxum made doin' its thing," Raph nods.

"But other than that..?" Leo asks.

"But… o-other than that... Mikey can't remember anything before the labs," he shamefully admits.

"Mikey, why didn't you tell us?" Donnie questions.

"Scared to," he whines. "Didn't want to admit it, didn't want to disappoint you... Y-you all love Mikey so much, and I don't... I don't know why... I don't know who Mikey is, and I just... I wanted you to... be happy. I wanted to be Mikey for you."

Mikey feels Donnie wrap his arms around him and press his face against his head. He's shaking. Leo scoots in and hugs the two of them together. Raph joins in last, his arms just barely long enough to engulf them all.

"Miguel... we want to help you get better, we want to help you remember everything --" Leo states.

"B-but what if I c-can't?" Mikey sobs.

"Then we'll love you regardless. If you never remember us, or yourself... then that's okay. I mean, it'll suck, I won't lie. But it won't be like we've lost you. You're still here, you're just figuring out who you are again. And we'll help you."

"But I-I didn't want you to know!" Mikey wails. "I didn't want to tell you that I wasn't Mikey anymore! I wanted you to love me, I wanted to-- to-- I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Donnie pulls him tighter.

"Mikey... I do love you. Whether you remember me or not. Whether you remember yourself or not. I will always love you."

Mikey sobs and clutches the others his brothers tightly.

"Mikey... there's something we need to tell you, too," Leo sighs. "Something we probably should have told you earlier."

Mikey looks up at him anxiously.

"It's about your DNA."

Mikey nods slowly, prompting him to go on.

"Well... when we got you home and Donnie did the scan, we found out what you were mutated with. It was... a lot."

"Specifically it was jaguar, basilisk lizard, boa constrictor, baboon, mandrill, and proboscis monkey," Donnie interjects.

"Thank you, Brainiac Unlimited™ for that one."

Mikey nods again, seemingly unfazed for the most part. Leo wonders if he's still processing it all, or knew the information beforehand, or... maybe just doesn't care? He mentioned doing lots of tests at the labs, so he probably already figured he had multiple creatures' genetics inside of him now.

"Well, Donnie left out one crucial piece of info..." Leo mentions.

"Leo, I still don't think it's a good idea," Raph murmurs.

"We want him to be honest with us, we need to be honest with him. He has to know."

"Know what?" Mikey asks curiously.

"Leo is referring to how your DNA was primarily mutated with Krang," Donnie blurts before Raph can intervene.

The four are silent as Mikey processes.

"...So?"

"The Krang still don't mean anything to you?" Raph asks. "Not ringing any bells?"

Mikey thinks.

"You said something about Krang at the junkyard," he recalls. "And Casey mentioned them a little. The lab people talked about them, too. But I don't really know what they are..."

"They're aliens," Leo explains. "They're very dangerous aliens. They tried to invade Earth several months ago, but we fought them."

Mikey's eyes widen.

"Am... am I an alien?"

"Part alien," Donnie clarifies. "But we still consider you 100% Mikey."

"Dangerous aliens... you fought them... I-I remembered Leo said --"

Mikey pauses, eyes bulging and breath quickening as the realization hits him like a train.

"Prison Dimension. Did... was that because of the Krang? Of me??"

"No!" Leo says, unintentionally shouting as he grabs Mikey by the arm. "No, no! That was not you! You didn't do that, the Krang... the Krang didn't even do that, actually, it was --"

Leo sighs.

"...It was my choice. The Prison Dimension was made to hold the Krang inside, but they got free because of me. My stupid ego and my dumb mistakes. A-and... the only way to... I had to do something, and there wasn't any time to think of a better solution, and so... so I...."

"You portaled yourself and the Krang into the Prison Dimension and had Casey trap you both inside," Raph finishes.

"Yeah," Leo says, swallowing as he shakes. "That."

Mikey stares at Leo, eyes popping out of his head. He'd mentioned the Prison Dimension, he'd shows his aversion to it, and Mikey had even remembered scenes where he and his family dealt with the aftermath of it all. But... he didn't expect this. He didn't expect it to be because of monsters.

"...How did Leo get out?"

"You did that, actually," Leo chuckles. "With your ninpo."

"Mikey did that?" he echoes, looking around for someone to deny it. "With the ninpo?"

"Yep. Your mystic powers were growing, and Casey told us that you became the most powerful master of magic in the future! You didn't let that tidbit go, and you kept trying to make magic portals the whole time we fought, even though our mystic abilities were nullified by... the...Krang..."

Leo's voice trails off. The four exchange glances.

"The Krang had some kind of supersonic screech that deactivated our ninpo. Could it be that..."

"Is that why I can't do the ninpo anymore?" Mikey asks. "Because I'm... Krang?"

"I-I don't know, but it's a theory," Donnie suggests. "We'll talk to Draxum and Papa about it. We'll figure it out."

Mikey pauses, looking down at his hands. his claws.

"The Krang are evil... right?"

They don't answer, but their silence speaks volumes. Mikey looks up at them, trying to meet their eyes.

"Do... do you hate me because I'm Krang now?"

This is why I said it was a bad idea to tell him.

He deserves to know! And it might be tough, but --

"You dum-dums do know you're not talking and it's making Michael uncomfortable, right?" Donnie scolds, cradling Mikey a little closer.

"Oh!" Leo snaps back. "No! No, Mikey, no, of course not! Look, we were kind of nervous about the Krang DNA, but only because we weren't sure how you'd deal with the news."

"And I was concerned about the ramifications of modifying mutant DNA with alien genetics, but yes. Emotional stability was in question," Donnie adds.

"But you are not a monster just because you have alien DNA now. You're still our Michelangelo, and we still love you."

"...You love me now...."

Mikey remembered the conversation he and Leo had the other day, and how Leo had said he'd love him if you were a worm, or a regular turtle, and if he were a monster. Leo finished his little declaration by saying 'I love you now', and Mikey had found the wording strange. Not anymore, now he understood what Leo meant. He's a monster now.

And Leo loves him now, just as always.

Mikey cannot understand this. But he accepts it for the moment, resting his head against his brothers and just… stays here. Trying to understand why they don't hate him, why they keep trying to convince him he's not a monster when the evidence is starting to stack up against him.

But Mikey just accepts it. He'll understand it later.

.

.

.

The scientists have been very interested in Mikey's control of the human covered in pink parasites. They've been doing a lot of tests and examinations.

He's not required to move or do anything. He sits and lets them do what they want. They look him over, poke and prod him, lift his scales and scutes and quills. A doctor shines a light in his eyes, giving Mikey a headache. Another pricks him with a needle and syringe. They take his blood again. They take a skin sample again. They take a saliva sample again. They do everything three times over, again and again and again.

Mikey feels numb.

His mind wanders, helping him escape this room and find some semblance of serenity as he waits for these tests and exams to be done. He's so bored and tired. But compared to everything else they make him do here, this isn't so bad.

Mikey's attention comes back to him when he hears someone talking loudly by him. He flinches, thinking that he's being scolded or ordered to do something, but no. It's just Dr. Timothy getting enthusiastic over his mutations.

"I just can't believe it! The creature can control the zombies!"

"This is unprecedented. And I'm quite surprised, I've never seen Dr. Chaplin so intrigued and... dare I say?" Dr. Finn pauses. "Excited."

"This little abomination could hold the key to ending the Krang infections once and for all!" Dr. Timothy celebrates.

"But why stop there?" A third voice adds.

Mikey flinches again and cowers softly as Dr. Chaplin walks in and joins the conversation.

"This little mutant monster shows a higher success rate than any creature the TCRI has ever cooked up before. And it takes orders so well," he says with a sickening smile.

Dr. Chaplin reaches down and grabs Mikey's face, squeezing his thin cheeks and tilting his head to get a better look at him.

"Despite its age and emaciated figure, the little beastie has unprecedented strength and fighting ability. Just what we've been looking for. I do think our tests are nearly complete."

"Complete, sir?" Dr. Finn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He's shown excellence in everything thus far. Problem-solving, keen instincts, agility… I think it's time we move onto the next phase of our studies. The A.L.P.H.A. device is ready for testing, put him in the Interaction Room when you're done. Depending on how it goes, we may be able to move on to..."

Mikey zones out again. He's tired of this. He doesn't like being handled or tested or talked about like he's an 'it'. He's a Mikey! Whatever that is…

Mikey feels heaviness around his throat, followed by a yank. The collar and lead were placed on his neck while he wasn't paying attention. He's dragged back to the Interaction room for the test with this strange new 'A.L.P.H.A. Device'...

.

.

.

Mikey can't sleep. He keeps thinking about what happened earlier that day.

He can't shake the feeling that... something is wrong. He's missing something. His brothers love him, despite knowing that he doesn't remember them. They support him, despite knowing that he may never fully be Mikey again. But... why does he feel so distant? Why is he still so scared to be around them, but so much more scared to be without them?

In the labs, he never knew why he wanted his brothers. He never even knew they were brothers, they were more so figments of imagination, a distant mirage that he could almost touch. They were shadows. And now they're real.

So why can't he accept them? Why can't he accept that he's one of them?

Because you're a monster. KRANG, Instinct whispers. You are a KRANG. It is what I am, what YOU are. What WE have become.

...Are Krang monsters?

To the weak, yes. The weak always view the strong as monsters.

So Mikey really is a monster?

Did you doubt this? Instinct questions.

Mikey hoped...

HOPE IS A FOOL'S WEAPON, Instinct scolds. YOU CANNOT SURVIVE ON HOPE. ONLY STRENGTH AND FORCE. THE KRANG ARE STRONG. THE KRANG SURVIVE. YOU WILL DO AS I SAY AND YOU WILL LIVE.

Even if it makes Mikey a monster?

Does it matter?

Mikey doesn't know anymore... h-he wants to believe it does, he wants to believe he's not what Instinct says he is, he wants to believe that he is their Mikey!

Even if you were once "their Mikey", it hardly matters now. You are simply an amalgamation creature made to serve a purpose. The humans created you to be a monster. Too bad they couldn’t remove the ALL THE MIKEY FROM YOU.

Mikey throws the pillow over his face and screams into it. Stop talking, Instinct!

You know it is true. And your "brothers" confirmed it for you. Even THEY KNEW you were a monster. Why do you continue to fight this truth?

"Because I'm not a monster!" Mikey whisper-shouts, sitting upright and flinging the pillow into the wall. "I'm not! They said I'm not!"

You DO know what a lie is, don't you?

"But... but Mikey trusts Leo--"

Why? Haven't you learned by now? I thought you would have known better. The labs taught you nothing.

"Shut up!" Mikey shouts.

Weak, pathetic, useless, coward --

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Mikey screams, hot and angry tears running down his face.

Mikey tears his bed apart, shredding the blanket and ripping the extra pillows to pieces. He growls loudly, looking for something else to attack in lue of Instinct. He punches the mattress, his tail whips the wall and gashes the wallpaper, he grabs one of the lamps on the nightstand table and chucks it, pieces shattering and the lampshade flying off from the impact. In the flickering light from the dying lamp, Mikey sees something move in the corner. He runs and confronts it --

It's his own reflection in the mirror. Teeth snarled and fangs elongated, his claws extended, his quills raised and his tail spiked. His eyes burn brightly and the irises are nothing more than thin blood-red slits.

Mikey jerks back suddenly, terrified of his own image. His pupils and irises return to normal slowly…

You see? Nothing more than a monster. Accept it.

Mikey screams in anger and punches the mirror as hard as he can. The glass shatters instantly and his knuckles bleed.

The door swings open and nearly smacks into Mikey's back.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Raph asks in a panic, scanning the trashed room before he sees Mikey, shying away with embarrassment.

Raph calms, then panics again when he sees the blood and glass.

"Sorry," Mikey squeaks. "I got... I was mad, I..."

"Leo and I heard yelling and thought --"

"It was just me, sorry. I didn't realise I was being so loud... Instinct was making me mad."

"The voice in your head?" Raph clarifies.

Mikey nods.

"Humph. Well, I don't like this voice bullying my little brother. Come on, Mikey, let's get you cleaned up."

Raph hoists Mikey up and carries him to the bathroom. Mikey perches atop his shoulders again, tail wrapping around and hanging lazily over his shell.

"So, what was Instinct saying?" Raph asks.

"Um... just the usual stuff."

"Which is?"

Mikey's fingers curl nervously.

"Just... stuff about... fitting in, I guess."

Raph places a hand on Mikey's head and rubs circles onto his skin.

"I'm sorry about that..." he sighs. "I'm sorry about a lot of things..."h

Inside the bathroom, Raph sets Mikey down on the toilet seat and grabs the supplies he needs -- disinfectant, bandages, some swabs, cream, etc. Mikey holds his paw out for Raph to inspect.

Mikey is actually surprised by the gentleness of his big brother. Raphael's huge, strong hands are slow, soft, delicate; carefully pulling any remnants of glass out with a pair of fine tweezers. Mikey winces initially, but stays still otherwise. This is starting to remind him of the labs... he zones out as Raph tends to his cuts.

"...Mikey? Mikey," he hears.

Mikey blinks back to reality. His hand is bandaged.

"Oh, hi Raph," he murmurs. "Thanks."

"No problem, that's what big brothers do. Now, can you tell me why you punched the mirror?"

"I was trying to punch Instinct..."

"So, because you couldn't punch a voice in your head, you punched a reflection of yourself?" Raph surmises. "Makes sense."

"I know it sounds stupid..."

"Not really," Raph shrugs. "I used to do the same thing."

Mikey looks up and slowly recalls moments from his childhood where Raph would get so frustrated that he'd obliterate things with a single punch. Walking into bathrooms where the mirror had been cracked and taped over in a feeble attempt to fix it or cover it up.

"...Really?"

"Oh yeah," Raph says with a nod as he leans against the wall. "Raph had a hard time not listening to intrusive thoughts, and they make him really angry. I used to get so mad after Savage Raph would attack you guys. Do you remember Savage Raph?"

Mikey does, actually. Flickering images of his biggest brother growling, his eyes whited over and his teeth bared. Barbecuing villains in a sewer tunnel, attacking his brothers, calling them 'sewer monsters'.

"...Yes, Mikey -- I remember." Mikey looks up hopefully at him. "How did you stop it?"

"I can't say I've stopped it," Raph admits. "I still have moments when I almost lose control, times when my thoughts start to turn against me. But I've learned how to fight against those thoughts, take them captive before they take me captive."

"Why can't I do that?" Mikey asks.

"You can, though!" Raph assures him brightly. "Mikey, you're the one who taught me how to do that!"

"Mikey did that?"

"Yeah, bud!"

"But... I can't remember, I don't know..." Mikey pauses to think, before looking up hopefully at Raph. "Will you teach me again?"

Raphael smiles and cups Mikey's cheek.

"Absolutely. That's what brothers do."

He's not your brother anymore.

"Shut up!" Mikey growls, squeezing his eyes closed, and pressing his knuckles against his temples.

He feels Raph lift his face up. He gently opens his eyes and looks at Raph's concerned expression.

"What did Instinct say?"

"...That we're not brothers..."

"Well, that's 100% a lie," Raph says. "So just tell him that."

"But he'll fight back --"

"Then you fight back, too!" Raph encourages. "Say it out loud. Tell him he's wrong."

Mikey swallows and feels a little embarrassed, but he follows.

"Y-you're wrong."

No.

"Now tell him he's a liar."

Mikey fidgets.

"You're a liar."

What are you -- why are you listening to him? He doesn't know what he's talking about --

"Tell him you won't listen to him anymore."

I'M THE ONE WHO KEPT YOU ALIVE!

"But Instinct --"

"No, Mikey. You can't listen to him anymore. He's not helping you, he's not doing anything for you. He only wants to confuse you and hurt you. So what do we do with things that lie and hurt?"

"...We get rid of them?"

"Exactly. So tell him he's not welcome anymore."

NO!

"You're not welcome anymore, Instinct."

DO YOU REALIZE HOW STUPID YOU SOUND?! DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUS --

"And every time he tries to talk again, every time he tries to lie or make you feel bad, you ignore him. Confront him. He only tells you lies, so you can always defeat him."

Mikey nods, determination bubbling up inside of him.

"Instinct isn't welcome," he annouces.

Stop this.

"Louder!" Raph encourages.

You fool --

"Instinct isn't welcome!"

YOU CAN'T --

"Even louder, buddy!" Raph shouts.

YOU WRETCHED LITTLE --

"INSTINCT IS NOT WELCOME! MIKEY IS NOT GOING TO LISTEN TO INSTINCT ANYMORE!!"

It's quiet.

"...I... I think I did it," Mikey heaves. "I think I... I think he's gone! I can't hear him!"

Raph cheers with Mikey, and pulls him into a bear hug.

"I knew you could do it! And if he ever tries to weasel his way back in, just tell him off and tell him what for! And remember, he'll only tell you lies to make you feel bad. But they are NEVER true. And you can use that against him."

Mikey squeezes Raph around the neck as he laughs. He feels... free. A strange kind of freedom, one he hasn't felt even after leaving the labs.

It feels good.

"So... now what?" Mikey asks.

"Now we go to bed," Raph yawns, prompting another laugh from Michelangelo. "Though, your room is kinda trashed now, so you probably shouldn't sleep in there..."

"Turtle pile?" Mikey suggests, going into puppy-eyes mode.

"Absolutely," Raph nods, hoisting Mikey back onto his shoulders and taking him out and into their brothers' bedrooms to get them all together again.

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