#and even then he refuses to tell me most of the story

[hyperions-light]

Someone was being a fucking hater on my explicitly positive DATV post AGAIN (u all know I can see your tags right. They get delivered to me express mail style) so here’s an essay about how I thought the Grey Warden plotline was great:

First, it was extremely lore-consistent. I don’t know how to tell people this, but the Grey Wardens simply are sort of shady— it’s part of their charm. In DAO alone we found out they:

- kill anyone who refuses the joining

- are definitely using a blood magic ritual to induct people

- tried to usurp the throne of Fereldan

In DA2 they:

-Forced Malcolm Hawke to perform a blood magic ritual against his will to contain Corypheus, by threatening to kill his family

- Built a giant prison in the mountains they didn’t tell anyone about and that someone could wander into and not be able to escape

- the entire Corypheus thing. They didn’t even tell the other Wardens like what he was or how dangerous he was.

DAI:

- the demon army thing was pretty bad

And that’s not even mentioning any stuff from the books or comics or shows! That’s just stuff in the games!

So they’re shady. It’s okay! They’re my little woobie guys, idc if they’re sort of shady!

But the plot in DATV is about all of those previously established issues coming back to bite them in the fucking ass, as they should! Knock knock, it’s the consequences of your actions, baby! The chickens are home to roost

(Which is just good storytelling. Like if you set up a bunch of issues and then never pay them off or anything that’s bad.)

Destroying Weisshaupt was inspired! Firstly bc Davrin is Weisshaupt, metaphorically (bulwark against the darkness, etc, I already made a post) so it serves his character arc. But also because it strips away the pageantry and the grandeur from them; no more castle for you! No more myth!

Davrin explicitly tells you that the First Warden is a traditionalist; he represents the historical attitudes of the Wardens. They do not accept help, they do not give up their secrets, they are standing alone against the dark. And it doesn’t work! He’s fucking wrong (and very punch-able). Being secretive and isolationist is a mistake that costs them nearly everything.

But also, and I’m not sure how many people experienced this on the first go-around, the game does ultimately come down on the side of the Wardens always trying to do the right thing. You CAN talk the First Warden down, because in the end he’s a Warden, and he might be stubborn and curmudgeonly and miserable but he CARES about the world. He came to do good. He admits he was wrong and he helps you. Because the heart of the Wardens is about selfless service to other people. In Death, Sacrifice.

Stripping away Weisshaupt and the glory and pageantry leaves the Wardens at their most vulnerable and forces them to return to their fundamental principles: helping people. That’s what Lavendel is about. Helping individual people and preserving every life possible even if it doesn’t feel that glamorous or heroic. Lavendel isn’t a significant place; it doesn’t matter, but it matters so much.

And then, the Cauldron.

First off, do not at me about Last Flight. I don’t think people should have to read external materials to play this game and understand it. If the information is vital it should be presented to the player in the text.

The Cauldron is the repository of the Wardens’ secrets; it’s where the keep the bones of the Archdemons, the secret to the Joining, ancient and dangerous weapons, as well as the bodies of the griffons, which represents their most shameful errors. Isseya is the avatar of the Wardens’ mistakes; she’s been hurt by what they made her do, and her pain was never acknowledged by them. They buried her story and her suffering like they bury everything they don’t want to deal with and are ashamed of. They left the bones of the griffons, whose deaths they directly caused, to rot because they were too sad to acknowledge them.

But it was wrong to walk away, it was wrong to bury it. Isseya makes sure that they can never do that again, that they have to own what they did and take responsibility. By discovering who she is and by restoring her personhood to her, by reminding her of her love which drove her to her anguish in the first place, Davrin saves her and he saves the griffons. He doesn’t do it using violence, because another sin of the Wardens is just assuming that they can kill their way out of their problems, which the game disproves by revealing the origin of the Blight. You can kill as many darkspawn as you want, you will never fix it! The Titans’ dreams do not need to be slain, they need to be healed.

Isseya is in so much pain because of her incredible love for both the griffons and the Wardens, and because of her guilt. Look what she builds! An alternate Weisshaupt, a distorted reflection of her home. She entreats both Davrin and Assan to join her, because she doesn’t think she’s trying to destroy anything. She’s trying to save them! She wants them to come home. “I am their mother,” she says, and she’s right. She saved them, then, and she ends up saving them now! Because she made Davrin and the other Wardens look, unflinchingly, at what they had done, it will never happen again. She was going about it wrong during the game, but she was ALWAYS trying to save them.

Davrin, Antoine and Evka represent the Wardens’ commitment to being different. They let Flynn undergo the Joining without becoming a Warden, they reveal secrets to non-Warden Rook, they offer to help the Viper without asking for anything in return. They ask for help and offer it freely. If the Wardens are going to persist into a world without Archdemons, they HAVE to change. They can’t be what they were anymore. The game is asking what a Warden is when they have to be more than their oath, when they have to live. It’s a great exploration of and expansion on previously established lore.

Anyway, my advice if you hated the plot and the game and the characters is to a) make your own post b) don’t bother me about it, because I have the time and I will be loudly positive in response!

[zaczenemiji]

Tabito Karasu Headcannons

where reader is a hyper-independent eldest daughter of an Asian household who also happens to be the student council president

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

These HCs are based on my 5-chapter-long Tabito Karasu x Reader on AO3. I highly recommend reading that too as it contains all the emotions, details, and the full story.

✧ "What can I say? I've got a talent for winning,” he says whenever someone asks how he scored the student council president.

✧ After training, he’d go back to school to fetch you whenever you stay behind to finish your student council duties.

✧ Always insists on helping you—he doesn’t stop at the polite offer or the half-hearted “Let me know if you need anything.”

✧ He simply did things for you, without question, without hesitation, and without making you feel like you owed him anything in return.

✧ Brings you food at the student council room whenever you’re so caught up in work that you didn’t notice it was well past lunch.

✧ Then he would sit across from you as if it were the most natural thing in the world to keep you company.

✧ The list goes on: Karasu helps you review for exams, reminding you to take breaks when you were clearly overworking yourself, or simply showing up when you least expected it.

✧ He would take on tasks you stubbornly refused to delegate, even if it meant showing up early or staying late himself.

✧ But he doesn’t try to take over or do things for you that you could handle yourself. He simply… supported you.

✧ Hates seeing you put everyone else’s needs above your own. And he hates how no one seemed to notice—how no one insisted you take care of yourself.

✧ Wants to be the one you relied on—the one you turned to when the world felt heavy.

✧ He cares for you in ways no one else ever had—quietly steps in when you needed it most, without taking away the independence you valued so deeply.

✧ Karasu always finds excuses to stay with you a little longer together.

✧ NEVER lets you walk home alone. He listens to you talk about your day as carries your bag without asking.

✧ 24/7 tells you you’re beautiful—all the time, followed by a kiss—on your forehead, cheeks, lips, anywhere his lips could touch you.

✧ Whenever he hugs you, he’d hold you tight as if to make the moment last forever.

✧ To say that your family loves him is an understatement. He quickly became a part of it in ways that surprised even you.

✧ He’d play soccer with your younger brother and would lift your little sister onto his shoulders and swing her around until she was giggling uncontrollably.

✧ Sometimes when your schedule gets hectic, he’d offer to be the one to fetch your younger siblings on your behalf and they would end up picking you up instead.

✧ Always brags about you in front of his family. So when you first came over to his house, you were referred to as the girl he can’t stop talking about.

✧ He’s definitely a girlfriend’s boy—“Sorry, I’ve got plans with my girlfriend,” he’d say, unapologetic to his friends, choosing to spend his free time with you.

✧ His possessiveness came out in subtle ways—a hand on your back, an arm slung over your shoulder, or fingers intertwined with yours. He wanted everyone to know you were his.

✧ “Let them stare,” he’d say, smirking.

✧ Loves you so much—you are everything to him.

✧ So if he loses at soccer, if he doesn’t become the greatest striker in the world—it’s fine. Because he has you.

✧ That was his real goal. You were his greatest win.

@mianbaobaoo @thetwinkims @arlecchinoftl @karasuglazer @axjisai @egoistlino

[annawayne]

Hi, Ann! Hope you're having a good day. I wanted to ask—why do you think some people refuse to acknowledge that the sins of other characters in Attack on Titan are no better or worse than Annie's? Why does she seem to get more hate compared to characters like Bertholdt, Reiner, or even Eren? Annie is one of the most hated characters, along with Gabi. Do you think this could be because she's a woman? Her personality is similar to Levi's in different circumstances, yet she gets criticized heavily. People even accuse her of manipulating or bullying Mikasa. What are your thoughts?

Hello!

Oh, thank you a lot for asking! (and sorry it took me a few days to answer it)

There are a lot of wonderful metas on this topic, but I would be glad to contribute a bit with my thoughts on it as well, and thank you for the ask!

Here, a small disclaimer at the beginning: I'll talk only about my personal thoughts, focusing primarily on my reflections on why this intense hate comes from that are not related to the basic "I just don't like her" - it's all valid, and it's absolutely fine not to like a particular character just because, and it's nothing to do with plain hate.

I think that one of the main issues of Annie's hatred is not even about Annie as a character, but, unfortunately, by the way her character arc is built. We see her at the very beginning, and she is still the second-line character, even if she's EXTREMELY important to the plot. So, back then, we had her screen time, and let's be honest, not as much as I personally would love to have, primarily because she's an incredibly beautiful, interesting character with her unique points of view on the world and, as turns out later, one of the most prominent roles in the story as a whole. Still, till her reveal as Female Titan, we have some scenes with her, we have some impacts on other characters (also significant, like for Eren and Armin, for example), and then, the Female Titan arc happens and... she disappears for a VERY long period of time from the show, appearing much, much later, firstly, in flashback like a glimpse, and only then, with her whole come back during the literal apocalypse. So when the time comes to give us her backstory - I won't lie, it feels rushed, and I think, Isayma has a very great sense of self-irony when he articulates it through Hitch's mouth: "Wait, what is it a sudden sharing of your story?", all while on the background the Colossals take a march. I honestly think that Isayma also understood that it's definitely not telling enough to sympathize with Annie's character when it's presented like this (for me, personally, it was enough and I just simply would love to have more, since Annie's past in Liberio is one of the most interesting topics for me), but on the other hand, he couldn't reveal her story earlier because it would hint at her comeback FAR too obviously.

So, one of the main points is this large gap in her presence and a bit rushed exploration of her character due to the lack of time because of the situation around the characters. For example, we have a very detailed dive into Reiner's character, and still, I also feel like there's much more to explore with his character and his psycho, and what we can even say about Annie, who doesn't have such detailed exploration but has the same difficult and complex past which is undeniably important to understand not only her as a character but also more about the universe of AoT?

The next thing that plays the role here is linked to the previous one - due to the massive gap in Annie's presence in the story, many people forget many things about her. Primarily, her emotions. I think it's one of the most overlooked things regarding her character and in AoT in general. The way we see her tears IN HER TITAN FORM when she fails to capture Eren? Her tears when she was crystallizing herself? Her eyes, full of fear, when she woke up before the whole Stohess thing? Her genuine surprise, which she tried immediately to dismiss when Armin called her a good person? Her smile when Eren complimented her on her skills, which was also deleted from the anime but remains in the manga?

Here, I need to highlight an essential thing: Annie's Titan is the only Titan that is capable of showing emotions.

If we look closely, everyone else has their emotions relatively very firm, like, for example, Bert's and Armin's Colossals, caged and restricted by bones; Reiner, it looks to me, is not only the shield for others, but he's a shield from himself, completely forced to be armored in everything he feels; Lara's Titan also seems like covered in pristine white chains, and it's also interesting since she was, let's say, the shifter with a twist; Pieck's Titan also has a very permanent expression, which is compensated by her incredible endurance, just like Porco's or Ymir's Jaws lack of emotions are compensated by their mobility; Eren's Titan has always this emotion of rage as if it's the only feeling he could have going into attack. Zeke's monkey is the only other Titan with emotions, which is also intriguing.

So, back to Annie, her Titan is emotional: her tears from the failed attempt to catch Eren; like she was genuinely shocked to see people under the rubble when she fought Eren, and he threw her towards the church, leading to its crashing; like she smiled when she saw Armin under the hood; how she returned to the last battle, and how she screams in her Titan form - I genuinely here a lot of "human" in this tune, something, she doesn't allow herself in her human form. And yet, people focus a lot on the infamous "yo-yo" thing, on her battle with Levi's squad and other people, where, ironically, she attacks only when she has a direct threat to her identity or capture. If we look closely, Annie avoids fighting humans as much as possible till she's attacked directly - she runs, she screams, she tries to show off people not to touch her, and when it comes to the "fight or to lose" (which is also a remarkable parallel to Eren's character), she attacks, not to mention the obvious question - how else you act at war? Yes, back then, it wasn't something we could call like that specifically, yet she had a military mission, which, by the way, she was failing for several reasons, primarily because she's not so cold-blooded as her character is often reduced to. So, how else was she supposed to act? We don't see a lot of the same questions, for example, for Armin, who came to her hometown and blew up the port with many more casualties among civilians.

In AoT, everyone has sins. Everyone, with no exception, but Annie sometimes seems to carry the hate as if she's the typical antagonist that is supposed to be hated just because the genre demands (she's not even an antagonist either).

To sum up, Annie's character is simply very misunderstood. She's one of the most interesting characters in AoT, and I say it not because she's my fav, but primarily - she's my fav because she's much more complex than some people see her, starting from her mindset and views of the world to her development, which shows how unlovable, unwanted flower that was denied to bloom, grows through the cement and concrete, firstly, with the spikes not to let anyone close because she knows how it's to be hurt, and then, that uses these spikes, this strength to protect others and eventually leaving them be on the cold floor, and she - growing more and more into buyoant garden.

Her hands aren't without blood, and so are the others who have the same invisible tint on their skin, and yet, the same hands that only knew destruction and cold touch could also be soft and build something new, something much more powerful than her Titans kicks.

When Hitch asks her if she would do all the same, Annie says - yes, but I see it as only the mirror of Levi's "living with no regrets." Objectively speaking, Annie understands that it's impossible to turn the time back, and living among these endless what-ifs doesn't give any change - it's gone and cemented in history as it is. All these potential questions of "what would you do" are more of a mental trick to whitewash the ego. Annie doesn't do it - she understands that nothing of it was something to be proud of, and she never was, and at the same time, she doesn't know anything else. To do something differently from what point exactly? From her crystallization? Not to reveal herself earlier? Not to give Armin a chance to live twice? Not to go into the mission? Force Reiner to return? Not to listen to her father? Not to be born?

Where exactly could this point change something?

Annie doesn't lie to herself, and she doesn't look back with abstract thoughts of "How would it be," but when the time comes to actually take another action, she does it; she returns to the final battle before it becomes another "what if."

And it says more than anything else.

Annie is an honest character, primarily with herself, and she doesn't want to pretend to be better than she is. This makes her character much more human than some people try to make her look.

So, that's it!

It was quite a long read, and thank you everyone who reached this point, I appreciate your time on this!

Thank you a lot for asking, and have a good *timezone*!

[inubaki]

Taking What’s His

-Chapter 2

-warning for Adams x Lucifer smut-

-commissioned art by @sir-tater-of-the-tot and story by @libby-for-life! A gift for myself. -the bonus comic picture that tater made inspired by this. It’s so good, I still have to add it. Please check them out!!

Not gonna lie. I’m spoiling myself a bit.

—-

"W-what...what do you mean no?" Lucifer stuttered out, not quite believing what he was hearing. Adam looked down at him with an unreadable expression before shrugging, as if indifferent.

"I said what I said. We're done. It was fun while it lasted but you had to know that this was never permanent, right?" Lucifer could only stare at Adam with wide eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. "I mean, you're just a side piece."

Side piece...that's what Lucifer was reduced to? But...wasn't he being good? Doing everything Adam wanted? Why he was throwing him away?! He could fix it!

"I can fix it, Adam! Please!" Lucifer begged, falling to his knees. "Just tell me what I did—"

"You can't fix it, dumbass." Adam said with a roll of his eyes. "Look, my new wife will be back soon and I don't want her to see...this." He gestured towards Lucifer's whole body with a grimace making him flinch. "Just go." And Adam walked away, leaving Lucifer to cry by himself.

This couldn't be happening! Lucifer...was being replaced?! By a new wife?! A deep throated growl left Lucifer's throat, his once blue eyes bleeding into red permanently. His claws got larger as he clawed the ground in anger and his sharp teeth grinded together as they got larger and sharper.

His horns ripped out of his skin, blood pouring down as they grew into full height. His wings were the only thing left of his angelic appearance, though even that was mixed with red feathers amongst the blue. Lucifer didn't care though. He was far too angry. At Adam for leaving but most at this new...human who has come into the picture.

Who did she think she was?

He turned towards the direction of voices. Times to see what the fuss was all about. 

Lucifer spied on them for days, his anger and bitterness growing by the day. It was his new wife, Eve, that was in the way...Lucifer glared at her coldly. What if she was getting what Lucifer had? What if she was getting that pleasure that should have only been reserved for him? His teeth grinded together in his anger once more. He hadn't seen his reflection in a while so he hadn't noticed that his teeth were now dangerously sharp.

She needed to leave. Now. Tricking her was easy. He simply gave her the fruit and told her that she would know so many things with it. The same deal he had once been so eager to dazzle Adam with, he now used to entrap. Unlike Adam, Eve greedily ate the whole thing and Lucifer watched as she slowly realized what she had done.

Lucifer slipped away, knowing that Adam would no longer be with her and that the Archangel could swoop in and take her place.

He should have thought it out better. Should have come up with a different plan because then Heaven got involved making everything so much harder.

The Elders had said, "For your disobedience and your reckless behavior, you will be banished to the darkness you created." Lucifer's eyes widened. That meant...he would never see Adam again. He would never again get that feeling he craved with the First Man. He couldn't let that happen.

XxX

Adam stood amongst the host of angels, the radiant light of their wings creating a halo effect around him, yet he felt an unsettling tension within. He had hoped that the scene unfolding before him would evoke a sense of inspiration or, at the very least, a familiar indifference. However, everything felt different this time.

Before him stood Lucifer, once the embodiment of purity and celestial brilliance, now marred and twisted beyond recognition. In Adam's memory, he could easily bring to mind the angel who had once soared through the heavens, filled with joy and light. But now, Lucifer was neither the angel he once was nor the devil Adam had come to associate him with. Instead, he lingered in a shadowy limbo, exuding an aura of bitterness and resentment. The familiar spark of mischief in his eyes had been replaced with a cold, piercing glare, one that seemed to hold a weighty accusation. 

Lucifer didn't cry or plead as he once had, desperate for understanding or forgiveness. Instead, he stood there, a bitter smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, gazing at Adam with a look that was almost akin to betrayal. The air between them felt thick and charged, as if the very atmosphere knew the history they shared—both beautiful and tragic.

Eve, standing beside Adam, was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them. She cast wary glances at Lucifer, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion. It was almost unsettling to witness her normally composed demeanor disrupted; Lilith, too, was visibly shaken, her usually confident posture faltering. The sight of Lucifer seemed to rattle her, sending ripples of discomfort through her strong exterior.

In that moment, Adam should have felt safe, surrounded by his kin and sheltered by their divine presence. Yet, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, an awareness that the fragile peace they had once known was slipping through their fingers. The bond that had once unified them now felt brittle, threatened by the weight of betrayal and the remnants of a friendship that had transformed into something dark and complicated.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as the celestial beings observed the unfolding drama, their ethereal forms shimmering with anticipation. Lucifer, the Morning Star, was surrounded by an aura of chaos, his presence a stark contrast to the serene beauty of Eden. His gaze fell upon Adam, who was now acutely aware of the weight of temptation and sin lingering in the air, a testament to the treacherous legacy left by his fallen counterpart. Unlike the fateful narrative of old, Adam had never succumbed to the allure of the forbidden apple this time; Eve had not whispered sweet seductions into his ear, and the fragile balance of their existence remained unshattered—at least for the moment.

Yet, as Adam stood there, drenched in sweat and anxiety, an undeniable foreboding crept upon him. Every instinct screamed that upheaval was imminent. He clung to the hope that the tempestuous storm brewing around him would soon pass, that Lucifer’s wrath would not destroy the fragile peace they still held. He envisioned a future where Lucifer and Lilith would tumble from grace, where Eve would be cast out into the unknown, and Eden would return to its idyllic state, untouched and pure.

Unbeknownst to Adam, the winds of fate were shifting. When Lucifer learned of Adam's unexpected freedom from corruption—a purity that eluded even the mightiest of temptations—his reaction was perplexing. The scowl on his face, once a mask of all-consuming rage, began to fracture. Beneath the anger lay a glimmer of something deeper: a poignant sadness mingled with self-realization, all made raw by a primal instinct that clawed at his very being. 

Just then, the ground beneath them shuddered ominously, morphing into a quicksand of molten despair that threatened to engulf them all. In a heart-stopping instant, Lucifer lunged forward, seizing Lilith with fierce desperation before launching himself at Adam. He pushed Lilith away, sending her tumbling toward Eve, as he gripped Adam with a relentless death grip. The spears of judgment that flew toward him held no terror; he cared not for their piercing intent in this moment of primal urgency.

As the blazing earth caved in beneath their feet, it was as if all of Hell had opened up to swallow them whole, drawing them down into a maelstrom of chaos and sorrow. The air was filled with the cacophony of their struggles, the fierce clashing of intentions, and the chilling echoes of lost hope. The last thing that reverberated in the minds of those left above was the haunting sound of Lucifer’s laughter—sobbing and maniacal, it echoed through the chaos, a haunting reminder of despair, resilience, and the thin line between salvation and ruin.

—-

———

My birthday is tomorrow! And these came just in time! There will be a last chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it. Prevs:

[rei-ismyname]

What's Up, Doc? Storm #2

Storm #2 was super weird, zipping all over the place with zero interiority from Ororo. That obviously sucks, but the exchange with Doctor Daye left me scratching my head most of all.

- He doesn't treat X-Men, a volunteer team who have never heard of the hospital. Flat out refuses, won't even let them in the door. His only rule.

- He quotes all the donors, most of whom are billionaires. Charles Xavier is/was rich, but most of the X-Men have negligible income or assets.

- The miracle pills were for humans, dipshit. The resurrection protocols were for reversing genocide.

- Ororo doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, but he clearly has a massive chip on his shoulder. Only her Avengers ID card got her in the door.

- How did he stay out of ORCHIS gulags? The X-Men probably rescued his ass from that. If not, literally everyone else.

- Only when she hands over a priceless personal heirloom from her dead mother does he pocket it and relent. Straight up extorts this desperate woman. 'Uhm, thank you' as if he doesn't know he's gatekeeping lifesaving medical treatment.

- Okay so they weren't there when you needed them. Did you tell them? The X-Men did not exist at the start of Krakoa, there was a ~2 year period in universe where they were in an alternate universe, dead or disbanded.

- How did they fail you? Not funding this hospital that's super well hidden and was unknown to them? TF?

- He has all the power here and he's squeezing Ororo in every way he can.

- Including wasting her time and sandbagging her, carrying on about himself.

- When he knows she has less than 6 hours to live.

- What if she didn't have anything valuable on her? Was he just going to say no, fully aware she's about to die?

- 'I forgot again' what the fuck is wrong with you? You made your stupid point and your still going with your personal grudge when she's terminal?

I am truly baffled by the point of this scene. Is it meant to be taken as an actual failing of the X-Men? It's kinda what it sounds like but it does not make sense given the timeframe. If Chuck knew about this he would have donated millions - Pre-Krakoa he ran multiple philanthropic organisations and gave heavily to charities. If it is meant to be taken seriously it's not explained at all. 80% of the patients are mutants but he left Krakoa bc people needed him. For what, exactly? Krakoa took care of mutant health.

If it's not meant to be taken seriously then why is this prick even in the book? He's just being cruel. 'Thanks for the only physical reminder of your mother, you're going to die soon. Bye!' This was a disappointing issue but holy shit I don't know what anyone involved was thinking. An editor should have caught the absurdity of this story.

[hsnlv]

jealousy | s.jy

a/n: this is actually based on this tweet because honestly, i do see him as someone who WILL get jealous but whatever you say sim jaeyun🤭 oh and! if you read from my page often, it would be nice if you can leave some comments on what i should improve on and how!! ily have a great day ;)

(cut to story)

jake always had this self-assured air about him, claiming jealousy had no place in a relationship. “if you trust someone, there’s no reason to feel that way,” he’d say with a smug grin, like he’d figured out the secrets of love. right?

wrong.

this man is confident—too confident—but the moment he’s in love, he turns into a completely different person. sure, in theory, he thinks he can handle it. but in practice? he can’t even stand the thought of other guys existing around you, let alone looking at you like you hung the moon.

“jake, are you serious right now?” you groan, watching him sulk in the corner of your shared couch. his lips are pushed into the most dramatic pout, and while it’s usually cute enough to make your heart flutter, right now, it’s testing your patience.

“stop it, y/n,” he grumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “he was staring at you, practically drooling like some kind of idiot.”

“okay? and how exactly is that my fault?” you cross your arms, your glare fixed on his moody figure.

“it is your fault!” he whines, finally turning to look at you with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes that make it impossible to stay mad for long.

“how exactly?”

“you’re too pretty. what was he supposed to do? not look at you?” he stomps over to you like a sulking child, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world is on him.

you sigh, your annoyance slowly melting into amusement. “didn’t you used to say jealousy wasn’t a thing in a relationship? what happened to that wisdom?

“that was before!” he shoots back, throwing his hands up dramatically. “i didn’t know i’d end up dating someone like you! cut me some slack.”

before you can reply, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close until your back is pressed against his chest. his head rests on your shoulder, and you can feel his pout shifting into a soft smile as you instinctively reach up to cup his cheek.

“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, though your fingers move gently against his skin.

“maybe,” he says, his voice quieter now. “but you’re mine, my love. i don’t care what i said before. i don’t want to share even the air around you with anyone else.”

your heart softens at his words, and you turn in his arms to face him fully. his face lights up when your hands move to cradle his cheeks, his smile brighter than the sun.

“you’re not gonna lose me, okay?” you whisper, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i’m not going anywhere. i love you too much.”

he grins, leaning into your touch with that boyish charm that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

“promise?”

“promise.”

before you can say anything else, he dips his head to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips—so sweet and soft that it makes your toes curl.

“you better,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “because if anyone else even thinks about stealing you away, they’re in for a fight.”

you laugh, the sound light and airy, and his smile grows wider at the sound.

“fine,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “but only if you stop pouting every time someone breathes near me.”

“deal,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you it’s a promise he probably won’t keep.

[thcophagy]

while it had been easy at first to chalk lana's behaviour down to nothing more than some drunken teasing of a girl who'd finally been allowed to let loose for the first time in months, sully had been forced to quickly recognise that there might have been some seriousness behind her lingering touches and suggestive words. he didn't have a habit of fawning over girls her age, it was already rather rare that he have any excuse to interact with any and even then, despite his marriage problems he'd never had any real desire to seek comfort else where, though his fear for being deemed a bad father and ruining the lives of his kids had been the driving force behind that abstinence. it made little sense to him to see her so unabashedly flirting with him, especially when she'd had the whole night to find company with men her age. it was inappropriate on various levels but no matter how he looked at the situation, sully was the one who held the power over her and therefore it was his responsibility to approach her with caution, he didn't want to embarrass her with his reprimanding but the alternative was to let her carry on till they got to a point neither could return from. "lana-" her perfect mouth lingering close to his ear had him huffing out a shaky sigh, momentarily succumbing to the pleasure of having her close before he forced himself to straighten back up and focus, his hands tightening around the steering wheel with the amount of strength it was taking to not reach out for her. the combination of having not received any kind of sexual attention other than that of his right hand for months and being unable to escape lana acting like some nymph hellbent on breaking his loyalties, there was little hope of his body not reacting to her casual groping. she didn't have his hand on him for long before he moved it away but she undoubtedly would've felt his cock beginning to perk up just from those brief few seconds. he might've been trying to stay steadfast in his gentle refusals but his body was telling a different story, one of being desperate to be touched again, to be put to use after so long. the mention of his wife's name was like being hit with a splash of cold water, it reminded him of what should've been glaringly apparent in that moment but seemed to have grown distant from their little world within his car. his face grew warm at how casually she mentioned the conversation she'd overheard and he was quick to try and defend not only himself, but the state of his relationship. "that's- that's nothing for you to be concerned about." it was true but that didn't mean she had to do anything about it, he had long since given up trying to initiate any kind of intimate contact and had instead learned how to life without it, for the most part at least. it wasn't something that his nanny needed to be worrying about, it was for him and his wife to deal with when they both felt like they were ready and until then, he'd seek his respite alone when he needed to. her hand once again moved over to his crotch where the fabric of his thin pajama pants were doing very little to convince her of his disinterest and like before, sully reached down and pulled her away, though this time he left his hand wrapped around her wrist and tried not to think about how delicate it felt engulfed in his much larger hand. "lana, please. it's okay. you- you do plenty for me already. i don't want anything more. this is... it's inappropriate." as calm as he tried to sound, his face told an entirely different story. jaw tight, scruffy cheeks flushed red, he'd already looked less put together than usual considering he'd rolled out of bed to come get her but it was obvious she was worming her way under his skin.

lana wasn't used to men like sully, but, then again, men like sully weren't the sort who sought out her services. none of her clients who were married with kids had the level of care and respect for their families that mr. landry clearly did, most even viewing them with some level of resentment, as if they were to blame for a man's unhappiness. he wasn't the sort of guy she attracted in her real life, either— or, perhaps she herself wasn't as attracted to the sturdy, dependable types like him. he was obviously very handsome, but it wasn't until she saw the way he treated those around him that she really began to feel smitten. it was the sort of infatuation that made her a little crazy, never quite certain of just what she'd do in order to have him, and that potential for a loss of control scared her. she needed to feel like she was in the driver's seat of her own life, making her own choices and relying on no one but herself for her own survival, otherwise she'd swing to the other extreme and end up feeling like a helpless victim of the universe. it made sense, then, that she would have to be the one to take the first leap when it came to exploring a new side of her relationship with sully. "don't say that," she said with a playful giggle, gently smacking him on the shoulder. after taking a pause to wet her lips and let her gaze do one last trail up and down his form in the driver's seat, she leaned closer until her faintly glossed lips were very nearly grazing his earlobe. "i've got a real active imagination..." without delay, and as swiftly as if it had never happened, lana settled back into her seat, though she remained turned towards him with her touch ever present. had he been born later or vice versa, they might have had the chance to meet organically, and who knows what kind of connection they could've had in that case. she could've ended up becoming mrs. landry, or, more likely, he would've been just another in a long list of flames that burned too hot too fast and exhausted themselves within weeks. though the circumstances behind them meeting in this way seemed unfortunate, something about how unplanned it all was made her feel like maybe it was fate. when he didn't initially shoo her away, lana took it as a sign that he had accepted her advances, and so she brought her palm down to rest directly over his crotch, pressing down in order to get a feel of his cock through the flimsy fabric. "but i am worried, mr. landry! your wife—" becoming flustered by his gentle removal of her hand, she fumbled over her words before quickly correcting herself. "i heard her... on the phone... your wife, talking to her sister about how you two haven't fucked in seven months— that's before you hired me!" a fact she herself was quite reaffirmed by, as it was definitive proof that she wasn't the cause of any problems in their marriage. his attempts did little to derail her now that she'd gotten her mind set on tempting him, going right back to groping at him over his pajama pants. "d'you wanna find somewhere to park instead maybe? then i'll take care of you, just like you need..." her eyes darted from his crotch to his face, watching to see how his body responded to her touch.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

It's a good sign I'm recovering from my creative slump that I was able to brainstorm a story that makes me laugh.

[phoenixcatch7]

The One Fact Pact

I want to see a fic where the chain is rigorously keeping their secrets and stories hidden, but they've all learned to trust one another. Like, it's past time they should probably be sharing things because it's beginning to get annoying, they all agree, but it's sorta become a habit by now? They kept those secrets and now no one really wants to share first?

So, to keep things interesting and get some momentum going, they make a deal.

Whenever they come across something that reminds them of their travels, their quest - be it an item, a familiar name, a location - they've got to share ONE fact or story about it.

But only! When they're in other people's time, because otherwise it'll just be a staged tour and one person infodumping and that's exactly what they're trying to avoid (and it won't be a fun competition they can make bets about).

And then either they go through worlds slowly building trust and understanding of each other through a long drawn out and incidental series of tidbits....

Or they immediately get stuck in wild's hyrule for ages.

Everyone's arguing over who the latest ruin belongs to. Time and wind are getting into an argument about the kokiri. No one can agree on the zonai. Wars is taking immense pleasure in pointing out anything someone else might have missed. Legend is resolutely ignoring eventide. Twilight claims the entire faron woods until they step into the hot and humid jungle for the first time.

Wild thinks he's immune because it's his world so he legally can't answer questions, but everywhere they visit there's a piece of his own story in the rubble or on the wind.

Wild: *happily making tea and checking his slate with the other hand* okay, looks like tomorrow we can reach the breach of demise and to new serenne stable. Just past that- Sky: *choking on his drink* the what?? Wild: the breach? Sky, weakly: Why's it uh, called that? Wild: oh, it's an old story. Apparently eons ago it's where a demon godking came up from underground to the surface world... *suspiciously* Why? Sky: gimme the slate. *squinting at the shape on the map*... I can neither confirm nor deny. Wild:... What do you mean? Sky, remembering the One Fact Pact: I can neither confirm nor deny. What's important is that I killed him. The entire chain, variously: YOU KILLED A DEMON GOD?!!? Sky *recalling the hardest fight of his life*: what, like it's hard?

And then he just refuses to elaborate.

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[spotaus]

YEAHHHH!!!!!! >:D

Ancha I am SO glad you liked it because. Ough. I started writing it at like 11 at night and just. Kept going??? I was so so pumped!!!

I'm gonna try and follow where you went with the ideas, gimme a sec-

Okay so, yeah! Nightmare, at this point, views the training has his relax time! Kinda how someone can spend all their time doing work, say writing reports, and still enjoy writing stories in their free time! It still challenges him and interests him, but it's in a way with low stress. His knights can improve inch by inch now that their foundation is stable! And the training room is one of the most secure rooms in the castle, thanks to reinforcing it to withstand magic attacks!

And I really really wanted to take on idea of each of the guy's strengths! You got it perfectly so I'll try not to linger, but I kinda wanted to run off that original idea I had for the Knights knowing eachother and being in sync, but now it's more fitting to their personalities since I've gone into more depth with them! Killer has greatly influenced the others, in the way they fight and the way they act on the battlefield. It's like setting loose a feral animal on all these Knights who are Not Ready for dirty fighting. (Dust was used to diplomatic scuffles gone wrong, usually with the use of enchanted weaponry, Horror just. Did not fight prior to this. Abd Cross, as mentioned, was a muscle-memiry routine combat kinda guy!) And in the same breath, Killer learned from them too! Night might be their mentor, but Killer was committed to being a good influence on them, even if it didn't register to any of them-

A lot of that was also me trying to get a grip on how they'd behave in such a space alone with Night. Killer the most relaxed, Cross the most nervous, etc! And the little banter between them was fun!! (I also was trying to use technique I learned recently so combat reflection was a good opportunity for it, haha!)

One of my favorite bits in the beginning I think was, like you mentioned, Nightmare making sure they left training on a high note! I took the idea from your Q&A drabble actually, when u mentioned Night looking for ways to better keep hold of his knights? Yeah, he ensures to be even more vocal about what he noticed everyone doing well, just so they know! And Cross takes the praise the best visually, but he can tell the others at least seem pleased by it <3

Lastly!!! Yes, the bed-time was meant to be sorta a hint to the incoming turn of events, but it's also just meant to be a cute lil cameo too!! I think a few things never quite left his habits (like, his body getting more tired around Bedtime even though he regularly skipped sleep all together anymore) because. Y'know! Adult body still has Kid Night in there running the show! And because of the weird suspended state of his mind, it left him with odd quirks!

Okay, okay, hearing that you enjoyed the drama bit makes me SO happy, because this time I wanted to go with sonething that felt a bit more Nightmare-accurate. Night was always a quiet kid, a fawn rather than fight or flight, he kept his emotions tight to his chest because so few people cared in the first place. So, when his magic (the thing that made his moves for him, before he could freeze up or downplay or smother his feelings) Leaves? He's exhausted, and confused, and scared, and frankly out of it. He fawns again!

And the magic leaving, this time I wanted it to feel like it was in a moment of lull, no tension, no stakes (aside from a stinky Killer) and no sign for Night that anything was wrong. It all just dipped at once, and as it left his awareness it left him dizzy, disoriented, and!!!! I'm glad that you caught that he couldn't feel anything because the magic refused to work with him anymore!!! So the normal input didn't transfer to him!!! That weird lack of senses was also sort of my excuse to let the Knights start freaking out! Because idk how clear it was (intentionally not very if I did my job right lol-) but when Night's balance starts to screw up, Killer turns around. But it's Night initially who reaches out and grabs his arm, and then Killer has indirect permission to support his weight further and grab hold of him! Night subconsciously reached out to Killer, even if he didn't realize it in the moment. And ofc that's Killer being like 'oh that's not normal'.

And!!! Like in the og drabble, Dust goes on high alert immediately, but this time Cross and Horror hesitate! There's a part that Nightmare misses where Horror expresses worry and suggests he should grab the first aid and take a look, and Killer tells him no. Because Night (in that moment) is unresponsive, and Killer doesn't think Horror coukd help even if he tried. He might make it worse. And Horror tries to press his offer, before Night comes-to again to hear Killer snap at Horror to get Ccino! And like you said, Killer has no idea what's happening, but he's sure if anyone could help it would be Ccino! And in the meantime he just tries to keep Nightmare close, keep him steady. He doesn't like it one bit, but he knows he has to keep watch because Dust doesn't sense/see anyone, and Cross doesn't either as he guards the door!

And, ofc, Killer was horrified to find what was basically a babybones in his arms when all the goop left, but he was also shaken because. Well. That's the Prince from the tapestry. Night doesn't make the connection, but he'd seen images of Nightmare a few times, abd certainly images of his twin, enough to recognize that. Yeah. That's the same guy. And he can't explain it, but since Dust chimes in with magic loss, Killer makes some leaps in judgement. (Also!!! Dust isn't good with magic usually, but Nightmare's was so impressive it was always looming. The moment it was gone he spoke up. He's also OBNOXIOUSLY familiar with symptoms of magic loss. For. Obvious reasons 🙏)

Nightmare, in his fawning, couldn't decide whether the voice in his head reminding him that these Knights were kind, loyal souls was right, or if the instincts telling him to get away NOW were winning. He compromised in the firm of 'can't really move anyways so I'll sit here and be scared'.

And!!!!! I'm glad u liked Killer telling Cross to hold onto the magic! Killer's smart, and a fast thinker, and Cross was the nearest thing with any chance if keeping his king from??? Melting??? And to Cross' credit he DID grab it! He did great! (He feels awful about it after because from what *he* saw, it didn't help. It did! He just doesn't know!)

And. Ccino's piece in this was probably the part I was least certain on. Because Ccino assumed the Knights somehow set Nightmare into one of his worse episodes. Or, worse, he worried Night accidentally hurt one of the Knights and panicked. Horror was pretty vague about why he needed to hurry. And Ccino gets there and- well.

He hasn't seen that little skull in seven years, and it's got a big crack, and it's trembling, and one big eyelight is looking up at him. Nightmare was always his little brother, and yet all at once his instincts kicked back in. This was no powerful bomb waiting to be nudged just too far before exploding, not some otherworldly tyrant. This was his Nighty, somehow back to the way he was the day he protected his twin and swore into the prophecy. This was HIS Nighty.

So, for the first time in a while he drops pretenses. There's no effort to hide him away, Ccino knows well enough that trying to remove Nightmare from the Knight's vision right now would possibly get them both in hot water. So he does what he can, throws open his arms, and coddled his little brother tightly. So, so tightly. He has no idea how, or why, and obviously it's the same Night who'd spent the morning writing laws, but it was so surreal that he just had to get him close!!!!!

And Night, yeah, he just feels safe with Ccino, and irrational mind running off of a huge magic-drop? He deemed Ccino's arms a perfect place to shed some tears and then pass out-

If I had to do a follow-up it'd definitely be either a Ccino or Killer chapter following either the moment Night is free of the goop (Killer) or the moment he enters the training room (Ccino) and then the conversational aftermath! (I also think they move the whole party to Nightmare's room eventually, and somewhere along the line Dust brings up that lighter foods might help-) just lil silly details haha! But it's basically a force of nature making the Knights and Ccino agree to a pact of sorts just to agree to help Nightmare. He's still the king. He's just... young now. Again.

Okay I got a lil wild but- I'm just so so happy you enjoyed it!!! A healthy balance if shenanigans for the boys, panic for Nightmare, and an unexpected surprise for Ccino!!!!

New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

   The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

   Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

   The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

   So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

   These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

   His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

   A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

   Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

   It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

   Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

   He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

   "On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

   Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

   They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

   He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

   It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

   Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

   "Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

   Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

   "Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

   "Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

   That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

   "If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

   He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

   Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

   "Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

   Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

   "I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

   Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

   As far as he knew, he never did.

   "You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

  

   "Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

   Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

   He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

   Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

   And...

   He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

   It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

   His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

   The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

   Why?

   His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

   It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

   The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

   "Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

   Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

   No, it wasn't them.

   "Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

   For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

   "What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

   Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

   "Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

   The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

   "W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

   "Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

   Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

   He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

   Nightmare gagged.

   Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

   For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

   And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

   It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

   Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

    It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

   "My king?"

   Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

   Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

   He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

   He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

  

   "Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

   Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

   "My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

   "Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

   It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

   He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

   Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  

   "What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

   "We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

   Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

   As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

   Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

   "Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

   Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

   For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

   Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

   Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

   At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[weaselle]

i want to talk about real life villains

Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.

Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.

I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"

I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.

And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.

He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.

John Hammond.

probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.

If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.

Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.

book spoilers below.

In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.

He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.

In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.

THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.

I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.

In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.

I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.

Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.

And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.

I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.

Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

We NEED more soft!Rafe after the new season. He moved out and got a whole house to himself maybe he could ask his girl to move in? Becasue he wants her there and to be part of his life...his new life where he's a better person

Request: SOFT RAFE PLSSS

I don't know when I found time to write this, but enjoy soft!Rafe asking his girlfriend to move in with him! Feel free to send more requests, I'll write when I find time

Warnings: soft!Rafe, relationship moving quickly, mention of Ward's death

—

‘’Rafe, I truly can’t see. I’m not cheating,'’ you promised as you walked with Rafe’s hands over your eyes.  

He had picked you up in late afternoon and refused to tell you where you were going. Just that he wanted to show you something...and that you had to close your eyes during the whole drive. 

Rafe laughed a bit, trusting you. ''Okay, okay.'' 

You walked a few more steps, then he stopped and removed his hands from your eyes, revealing a large two story house. 

A frown formed between your eyebrows. ‘’Who's house is this?''

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. ‘’Mine,'' he whispered in your ear, giving you a gentle kiss on your jawline. ‘’As of this morning.'' 

Surprise filled your face. ‘’You bought a house?’’ 

Every time Rafe showed up to your place after a fight with his family — most often his father —, needing a bed to crash in for a few days, you tried talking to him about getting his own place. It would solve a lot of conflicts. But Rafe always said he wasn’t ready to leave the family nest. 

Behind you, Rafe hummed. ‘’I bought it with a part of my dad’s inheritance money. Sharing a house with Rose is not possible anymore. Too much has happened...’’ 

You covered his hands with yours in silent support. You’d heard the ugly stories about Rose and Rafe. He hadn’t always made the best decisions in the past, but Rose constantly blamed him for everything bad that happened to the family. Rafe may have deep personal issues, but it was wrong of her to villainize him.

‘’Do you want a tour?’’ he asked, his voice brimming with excitement, and the eagerness in his eyes made it impossible for you to refuse.

You followed Rafe up the steps to the porch of his new home. He fumbled briefly with the key before pushing the door open, but just as you were about to enter, he pulled you to a sudden stop.

“Wait,” he ordered, his strong arms wrapping around you as he effortlessly lifted you up.

You squeaked, startled by the sudden move. ‘’Rafe, we're not married, you know,’’ you said with a soft laugh, looping an arm behind his neck. ‘’You don't have to carry me over the threshold."

He set you down gently on the wooden floor of the entrance hall and shut the door behind him. 

Inside, the house felt big and empty, its openness accentuated by the sunlight streaming through the uncovered windows.

‘’I don’t know why, but I expected it to be fully furnished,’’ you admitted, glancing towards what you assumed was the living room. 

Rafe chuckled, his fingers lacing with yours as he guided you further in. ‘’Some people do buy them furnished, but this one wasn’t. You’ll have to help me pick out furniture because I suck at decorating.’’ 

The kitchen was massive and even had two ovens — a rich people thing. It was unfortunate Rafe didn’t cook. The backyard had a large patio where Rafe mentioned wanting to set a barbecue and a firepit, and maybe one of those large daybeds. He wanted his house to be cozy and feel like a home, not look straight out of a fucking magazine.

As he led you into the last room upstairs, the master bedroom, Rafe's voice grew soft. The words were burning on his tongue, but he didn’t know how to say them. 

‘’And here's our bedroom. I mean, the bedroom.’’ He made a mistake on purpose, just to see your reaction. 

You tried to hide the smile that spread across your lips, your heart beating fast in your chest. The slip of his tongue hadn't gone by unnoticed. Did he truly mean for you to live here with him? Was this why he took you to the house and insisted on making it a surprise? 

‘’There’s a big bathtub in the master bedroom, and—’’ Rafe continued, moving toward the bathroom to show you the bathtub, but you were not listening. 

Moving in with someone is a huge step in a relationship, not something you can decide on a whim. You and Rafe had only been together for a few months, so it felt a bit early to take that step. But then again, everything in your relationship had moved quickly from the start. He met your parents two weeks after your first kiss, and said ‘I love you’ after twenty-six days of dating — yes, you had counted them. 

When Rafe glanced back at you, he noticed you seemed deep in thought. ‘’Is everything okay?’’ he asked, an eyebrow raised in concern. 

You snapped out of your thoughts, shaking your head. ‘’Yeah, everything’s good,’’ you replied, smiling at him. ‘’I was just thinking of all the time it’ll take us to christen our house.’’ A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you walked toward him. ‘’Maybe we should start now. It’s a big house.’’ 

Rafe’s eyes flickered with surprise as he heard what you were implying. He expected you to refuse, to say it was too soon. 

‘’You’ll move in with me?’’ he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. 

You nodded, and a smile curled on Rafe's face. He's never been happier.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker   @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage   @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc   @pedrosprincess   @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb   @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom   @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey   @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld   @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble   @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696  @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius   @buckyswhxre @emerald-09   @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18  @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[mariamlovesyou]

tuned into Plestia's live with Rahma Zein's second account (she got shadowbanned). key moments:

plestia talked about her adjustment to living in australia. "it's 1:30am now and it's normal for me and many palestinians who live abroad to be awake hours into the morning. i am scared of sleeping. because of the time difference, i'm scared if i sleep i will wake up to bad news. in gaza i was scared of the sound of the bombs, here i am scared of the quiet."

contacting family and friends in gaza is near impossible. "sometimes i feel like a crazy person, calling 20 times in a row hoping that on the 21st time the call might go through."

on the destruction of entire communities and neighbourhoods: "i'm scared when i go back to gaza i won't recognise it anymore. someone sent me a picture of my neighbourhood, and i couldn't tell it was mine at first. all my favourite places, cafes where the aunties used to give me extra food and ask about my day, have been destroyed. i dread looking at my gallery or seeing snapchat memories because most of these people in the pictures are no longer alive."

rahma asked plestia to talk about one story that stuck with her. plestia said "i remember walking one time on the 'safe corridor', that's what they called it anyway, and i saw an older woman clutching onto a donkey cart where her son's body was, refusing to let go of it. i asked my colleague what the smell was, he said it's dead bodies under the rubble. it was the first time i familiarised myself with the smell. the son's body was decaying and the woman told me about cats and animals eating away at it. i've had children talk to me about birds eating away at their parents' decomposing bodies and not being able to chase them away."

"it seems so silly to go to hospitals for minor sicknesses now. i can't even think about how many palestinian children are going to be terrified of hospitals now. there was a girl who was taken to the hospital to get treatment for injuries by one of the bombs, and while she was in the bathroom another bomb landed nearby. the impact from that sent the ceiling crashing down on her.. she got another injury while getting treated for her first one."

"i hate how people talk about our resilience - as if it's okay that this is happening to us. we are only surviving because we have to, because we have no other choice."

rahma brought up the way family homes are set up in palestine and asked plestia to elaborate. "basically, there are floors. someone will live on the ground floor, and then their married son lives with his children on the floor above them, and then their successors above them and so on. so when family homes are targeted, they wipe out entire families. many families officially no longer exist."

"i used to wear my journalist helmet and vest all the time, felt naked without it, even slept with the vest on sometimes until i realised it only made me more of a target. they didn't give me any protection, only headaches and back pain."

"i am an optimistic person, i loved covering sweet sentimental things, like at my graduation asking parents of top graduates how they feel about their children graduating. that's what i love reporting on. i wanted to cover things like that when i came back to gaza, show the beautiful side of gaza that the media didn't really show, but i didn't have the chance." "do you think they'll give you right of return?" "i can only hope."

plestia mentioned how hard it was being a journalist with limited access to the internet, charging facilities, no mics, lack of equipment and how difficult it was uploading things. rahma asked her what's one story that wasn't really recorded or posted due to these constraints; plestia said "the evacuations. sometimes they informed us about them, sometimes they didn't. you have no idea how hard it was, everyone looking for their family members, making sure every one was there, taking to the streets in 5 minutes and not knowing which way to go. i remember i went to my friend's house for shelter for 30 minutes before the first evacuation was announced and we ran to another family's house, stayed there for 2 days before another evacuation was announced. me, my friend, and that family all evacuated together to another family's house. there were already so many people there seeking shelter, it wasn't just one family staying there. none of us knew how long we had in any place."

before october 7th, palestinians were used to limitations on electricity. plestia used to plan her day's tasks around when the electricity was working. "for example when the electricity was on from 12 to 4, i would say i will do my laundry and charge the phones during this time. life wasn't exactly 'normal', but all of us pray to have those days back in comparison to what we are experiencing now." plestia also said that cars are running on cooking oil now because there is no fuel.

on hygiene: "many pregnant women have to give birth without any pain medication or medical attention. once we ran out of medicine, that was it. women who had to get C-sections couldn't stay to recover or get followup treatments because someone else needed the bed. we have no water, no tissues, no pads, barely any bathrooms. in the shelter schools you have to wait an hour before even getting to use the bathroom because of how many people are there."

"something you don't hear about is how many people die because of sadness. there's so many ways to die in gaza, because of the bombardment, because of starvation, the lack of resources, but i also know many elderly people who died because their hearts couldn't take it anymore. i have been in gaza before and lived through 4 aggressions, but nothing compared to this one."

a recurring sentiment that was echoed in the video: "sometimes i thought to myself: who am i recording this for? because we've already shown everything, we've already talked about everything. everything has already been said, the proof is everywhere, nothing i talked about today is new." rahma said the first video posted about what's happening in palestine should've been enough.

she is 22 today. plestia's closing words: don't stop talking about us, don't stop boycotting, don't stop protesting, please don't get bored of fighting for palestine.

[fastandcarlos]

100% Whipped : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: lando is happy to do just about anything for you, which the other drivers are more than happy to remind lando about too

Lando looked around in confusion as sniggers came from around the room, his fellow drivers all looked at him in disbelief, many shaking their heads as he spoke once again. 

“There are other things we can talk about,” Max told him, smirking across at Lando opposite him. “We don’t constantly just have to talk about your girlfriend you know.” 

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion as several others nodded in agreement with Max. It was a habit of his, and one he didn’t realise he had either, but the rest of the boys were all too aware of just how much Lando loved to talk about you, to anyone who listened. 

They couldn’t help but smile at how fondly Lando spoke of you, the way his smile turned up and his eyes got brighter whenever the conversation was about you. As much as they loved knowing that Lando was happy, they didn’t need telling quite as much as they currently were. 

“I don’t just talk about her,” Lando argued, but as the others rolled their eyes, Lando wasn’t quite so confident that he didn’t talk about you as much as they all suggested. 

Although he would never admit just how much he adored you, Lando knew that he had been falling hard for you. He loved to gush about you and make sure that everyone else got to see what he saw in you, how kind, caring and funny you were. 

The rest of the paddock knew that anyway, but Lando liked to make extra sure that was the case with all of his stories about you. 

“Every time she’s not at a race you sit and complain that she’s not there and how much you need her,” Oscar spoke up, “she’s all we talk about on a race weekend.” 

“Or when she is there, you refuse to let her out of your sight because you want to make sure that she’s alright,” George added, smirking across at Lando, “you don’t let her lift a finger.” 

More and more stories came out as the boys all interjected with the moments that they’d experienced with Lando, seeing firsthand just how in love with you he was. 

“I’m just being a good boyfriend,” Lando tried to argue once they eventually fell silent, but even Lando was beginning to realise that he went above and beyond, constantly. 

“I think you know how she’s going to spend her day better than she does,” Daniel responded, unable to hold back his laughter. “You used to tell me every day exactly what she was up to, almost as if you knew where she was minute by minute.” 

“Really?” Lando asked in surprise, not realising quite how much attention to detail he paid when it came to what you were doing. 

“You don’t even realise that you’re doing it half the time.” 

Lando’s stature shrunk, sinking down in his seat. “I promise that I’m not as whipped as you guys all probably think I am, it’s not that bad.” 

“You are,” Carlos stated, sending Lando a knowing look, “but I guess most of the time it is quite sweet.” 

“Aside from the fact that you make the rest of us look like terrible boyfriends,” Charles added. 

Lando struggled to hold back his smile, although it wasn’t a competition, he knew that the two of you were a popular couple around the paddock. He felt like he was the standard, showing the others how to take care of your girlfriend properly and not care about what anyone else had to say about it. 

“I wonder if she realises how whipped you are for her or whether she’s just used to it all by now,” Oscar spoke up, looking pensively across at Lando. 

“I think Y/N is just as whipped for him as Lando is for her,” Daniel very quickly argued, “you should’ve heard some of the conversations we had about him when I was on the team.” 

A smile emerged on Lando’s face as some of the boys nodded in agreement again. They were used to listening to you talk about Lando just as much, talking through how amazing his races were time after time as if they hadn’t been there to experience it themselves. 

“Would you guys like me to stop talking about Y/N so much?” Lando asked them all. 

The group felt quite guilty as Lando stared seriously across at them all. They all knew that he meant it, glancing between themselves as their heads all shook back across at him. 

“We’re only messing with you buddy,” George assured him, tapping against his shoulders, “maybe we just don’t need to know every single last detail about her.” 

Lando nodded, smiling back across at George. “I’m sure I can tone it down a little bit, the last thing I need is you guys all thinking that I’m whipped.” 

“Mate, we all definitely know that you are though.” 

He could try to deny it all he wanted, but the boys all knew what he was like. It was something in him that they were never going to change, but as such a popular member of the team, it meant a lot to all of them to see how happy he was with you. 

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Max called out as Lando went to speak again, “wear it with pride, some people would kill to have the sort of relationship that the two of you have.” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Of course,” Max smiled back across at him, “you know we’re always going to find something to tease you about, you’re still very much the baby of the grid to all of us.” 

It didn’t matter how old Lando was, the boys were all very protective of him, and as much as they took every chance to make fun of him, they’d never let anyone else say a bad word about him. 

“You just continue to do you,” Carlos smiled as he met Lando’s eyes, “some of these guys are never going to even get a girlfriend, so at least you’ve got that over them at least.” 

“None of you can ever mention this to her,” Lando told them all, “do you know how embarrassed she be knowing that you guys see us as whipped for one another.” 

Just like Lando, you were very aware of how whipped he was for you, but if anyone suggested that you were whipped for him, then you would categorically deny it. You knew how much he’d do for you though, savouring the feeling of Lando willingly doing absolutely anything to support you. 

“We’ll keep it between us,” Oscar promised him, “unless she keeps stealing the chocolate I keep in the garage for once the races are finished. If that carries on, I’m making no promises.” 

“I’ll buy you more,” Lando assured him, “just don’t tell her how whipped I am, or how whipped you guys seem to think that I might be.” 

“Just admit it,” Charles laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Admit that you’re whipped for her, it’s not like we don’t already know it already.” 

“Will you leave me alone if I say it?” Lando asked them all. 

“We promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

“Fine, I am 100% whipped for my girlfriend.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗