#currently not very dangerous despite his potential actually

[system-architect]

my new guy; theka, the servitor! this isn't technically his actual body, just a hologram

[smug self-assured asuran krewe boss voice] yes you can grant our AI office manager executive control over the entire facility. it should definitely also serve as the jailer for the violently rogue other AI we inherited from the other krewe we subsumed. yes i absolutely want you to remove any kind of learning limiters from it and also not give it any lines of code that would make it forcibly power down its cpu tower if left to its own devices without any living interaction for a long period of time. what do you MEAN "that could be dangerous?" or "what if something happens to us and leaves our entire facility abandoned with a supermassively overpowered AI guarding it and it goes insane"? why would any of that happen? it's just a computer. do you want to get fired? i am very smart.

[pilferingapples]

Y'know I love Comedically Ineffectual Javert but I feel like. Mayhaps. Not enough emphasis is put on how he is actually dangerous to people on the barricade.

He's a government spy -- "A spy of the first quality, who had observed everything, listened to everything, and taken in everything, even when he thought that he was to die; who had played the spy even in his agony, and who, with his elbows leaning on the first step of the sepulchre, had taken notes."

He knows everyone who was there, and a good amount of who did what, who's the leader, etc. He recognizes Marius after the sewers . He took names. He could have given evidence against everyone on the barricades.

Including the five men who escaped.

Including anyone who survived the massacre.

Including the women who worked at the Corinth, who did in fact help set up and prepare the barricade for the fight.

In fact, we don't know that he didn't --we can assume that he had too short an audience with the prefect to give over any detailed info, or that he chose to withhold some things in his Valjean-induced confusion, or even that they threw out his info after his suicide. But it's also possible that five men who thought they'd escaped were rounded up and arrested that week, or that two waitresses were seized as insurgents, or captives were hit with some very specific charges. As Hugo examines in detail in Ninety Three, and hints at even in Les Mis, sometimes showing mercy to one person means condemning many others.

(This , combined with the then-current attitude towards spies --basically that they were the scummiest of scum, execute immediately-- all makes me wonder not why Enjolras wanted him killed, but why he insisted on letting Javert live so long. Especially after Prouvaire's death, when it's safe to say the idea of any potential hostage negotiation is nixed-- what is the point? They aren't really intent on saving a bullet, given Valjean has the go-ahead to shoot him. And after Five Less One More, there's no chance that, say, they'll win and get to let him go as being actually harmless to them with the new political situation. There's no real explanation given in canon so it's an interesting question!)

At any rate: whether Javert did or didn't actually deliver his info, Enjolras and the other barricade fighters choosing to execute him is a practical move totally in keeping realistic military behavior (and Hugo is trying to establish them as behaving like Honorable Military Men ! Which is a whole other topic ...) . Javert is dangerous to the barricade fighters , as his job is to be dangerous-- and despite how he comes off sometimes (and in some adaptations), Javert is actually very very good at his job.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie asked you on a date. Maybe. Possibly. But you definitely accepted. (5.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, mentions of sex, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, tipsiness, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter ten: this foolish lover's game

“I’m telling you: it’s a date.”

Nora flicked through the items on the clearance rack, searching for something in your size. She pulled out a floral shirt, wrinkled her nose, and promptly put it back. 

“It’s 1993. A guy and a girl can hang out without it being something romantic,” you retorted, trying to ignore the fuzziness that filled your head at the potential classification of your upcoming night out with Eddie as a ‘date.’

“Very true. But that’s not the case here.” Nora sighed at the limited clothing choices and at your stubbornness. She stalked over to a rack of regularly-priced skirts, evidently on a mission. “And you know it, too, which is why you asked me to help you choose a new outfit.”

You had done that, though you definitely regretted it now. It had been so long since you’d actually gone out with friends that you really did need new clothes, but you had no idea where to start. 

Enter Nora: best friend extraordinaire. She was just as great at finding clothes that flatter your figure as she was at being a study buddy. Her opinion mattered to you; it was necessary, especially considering the way you currently teemed with self-doubt. 

She plucked a denim miniskirt from the lineup and held it against your waist. “Go try this on,” she said. You reached for the price tag, almost certain that it was out of budget, but she clamped her hand over yours. “My treat. Now, go.”

There was no arguing with her, not while she was shooing you into the dressing room. She clasped your shoulders as she steered you towards a curtain, yanked it open, and shoved you inside. “I’ll wait here,” she said.

You closed the curtain once again, unbuttoning your shorts and letting them fall to the thin carpet below you. 

The skirt hung on its hanger, buttons all along the front, and it was impossible not to imagine Eddie being the one undoing them. His nimble fingers would dance across the seam as he positioned himself between your legs. You could practically feel his hands as they crept further upwards towards that dangerously sensitive part of you—

“Can we stop by the food court when you’re done? I’m dying for one of those cinnamon pretzels.”

The sound of Nora’s voice instantly cooled your heating skin. “Y-Yeah, sure,” you stammered. 

Focus on that, you silently reprimanded yourself. Focus on Auntie Anne’s or Orange Julius or Panda Express—not Eddie tracing his tongue along your inner thighs. 

You stepped into the skirt, warding off any lingering Eddie-related thoughts. Monday night would be like hanging out with Nora or Ben. There was no need to worry about your hair, or your clothes, or your makeup. Eddie was a friend, and only a friend, despite what absurdities your other friends planted in your head. 

With the last button fastened, you allowed yourself to glance at your reflection in the mirror. The denim hugged your curves delicately, providing just a hint of what laid beneath without giving too much away. It looked odd paired with the old t-shirt you’d thrown on this morning, but the right top would make a world of difference. 

Nora clapped her hands together the moment you opened the curtain. Her brown eyes lit up, and a soft squeal of excitement emanated from her throat. 

“You’re gonna have Eddie eating out the palm of your hand,” she declared, reaching out to give you a little spin. 

You gently pulled away from her as though it would offset the fluttering low in your stomach. “I told you, it’s—”

“Yeah, I know. Just two friends going to the bar, pretending they don’t wanna bone each other.” Nora rolled her eyes, already sick of the will they-won’t they song-and-dance. 

You ducked back into the fitting room to change out of the skirt. “He doesn’t wanna bone me.”

“But you wanna bone him?” 

It came out as a question, but you knew she meant as a statement. 

“First of all, stop saying ‘bone.’” You hissed, tugging your shorts back over your legs. “Second, Eddie and I are friends, and he’s taking me out for graduation. End of story.”

Nora’s sigh was audible from the other side of the curtain. “Not ‘end of story.’ You didn’t answer my question. Do you wanna b—have sex with Eddie?”

Your hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and though you couldn’t see her face, you were certain she was grinning when she announced, “I knew it!”

“It’s not like that,” you protested. The fitting room was suddenly far too crowded and depleted of oxygen despite you being its only occupant. You threaded the teeth into your shorts zipper and grabbed the skirt, now heavy in your hand. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute, but—”

“But nothing. C’mon, just admit it: you like Eddie.” You could detect a hint of exasperation in her tone. Frustration, even, or confusion as to why you continually denied yourself life’s small pleasures. 

You couldn’t answer that, either. 

Protest died with the subtle twitch of your lips that gave away the truth. You hated your tells, the ones that swiftly uncovered the feelings you worked diligently to stifle. And you knew that if Nora kept pressing you about this crush, you would eventually break down and divulge it all. 

Not just your burgeoning romantic feelings towards Eddie. Not the way you told bad jokes just to see his lopsided smile and the nose crinkle that often accompanied it. Not the multiple occasions when you caught yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and ached to kiss right along the hardened edge of his biceps. 

Once you said those thoughts out loud, gave them the weight of spoken words, they became real. Able to hurt you when he inevitably didn’t reciprocate them. 

And that terrified you. 

“You have a big ol’ crush on him,” Nora continued, “and he has one on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” you mumbled, purposely averting your gaze from hers.

Through peripheral vision, you could see her raise one brow. “Says who?”

Says the song lyrics about his ex-girlfriend. But that was too much to explain, so you slapped on a tight smile and shook the thought away. “Never mind. Let’s just pay for this.”

Nora swiped her credit card with an ease that only comes with the luxury of not having to worry about paying the water bill. She never had to dip into her own savings to keep the lights on. Buying her friend a miniskirt for a maybe-date wasn’t going to affect her grocery budget. 

“I have the perfect pair of Docs to go with this. You can borrow them,” she said, pointedly adding “for your date.” She was either oblivious or didn’t care that the cashier was eavesdropping on your conversation. 

“Not a date.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nora plucked the bagged skirt from the cashier, flashed her a grateful smile, and shoved it in your direction. “Just answer one question for me—are you gonna wear lace panties underneath this, or cotton?” 

When you once again failed to look at her, her grin widened.  

“That’s what I thought.”

On Monday evening, you found yourself poised in front of the mirror, still fogged from your shower. The inky blue sky leaked into your room through the time-worn blinds, the sun almost fully faded into nighttime, which meant that Eddie would be knocking on your door at any moment. 

The hem of your black fitted t-shirt met the waist of your skirt, the slightest gap between the two fabrics. It wasn’t scandalous by any stretch of the imagination, but it still conveyed one message: you wanted Eddie to look at you. Wanted him to notice your soft skin the way you noticed his flexing muscles, with awe and more lust than you cared to admit. 

Did it all reek of desperation? What if Eddie was wearing the sweatpants he’d donned to remove the wallpaper? Just the possibility of him looking at your own outfit, at the effort you put into your appearance, and realizing you’d interpreted a friendly gesture as a date had you cringing. 

No, this was a bad idea. You had to back out, now. Claim that you weren’t feeling well, maybe even take some ibuprofen in front of him, and promise a raincheck. You did feel the familiar throbbing that accompanied a tension headache, so it wasn’t a total lie—

Knock knock. 

Sweat overrode the antiperspirant you’d lathered on, flooding you with a nervous heat. You frantically wiped your slick palms on the bed sheet like a cat at its scratching post and opened the door. 

Eddie's eyes widened and his tongue brushed over his lower lip. There was no hiding the way his gaze dropped to your exposed thighs, drinking in every ounce of visible skin as though it was the only sustenance he’d ever need. His stare was hungry, if only for a moment, before his words broke the trance. 

“You look…good. Pretty.” He swallowed thickly and forced himself to meet your eyes. “Sorry…just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

Pretty. Eddie Munson thought you were pretty. The notion sent serotonin surging through you, a soft giggle passing through your lips. It was embarrassing, this schoolgirl crush, the way a simple word from him rendered you pathetically speechless.

A barrage of compliments perched themselves on your tongue, waiting to be untethered. He looked good, too; beyond that, he looked handsome. His cream colored shirt was baggy around his torso but clung to his biceps, drawing your attention to the vein that ran up his forearm. 

You willed yourself to say something, anything, to reciprocate his kind words.   

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring your nervous energy as he gently rocked from the heel to the toe of his Reeboks. “We should get going,” he said.

Opportunity slipped from your grasp; anything you said now would seem like pity. Your only response was a nod as you locked the door and started towards the lobby.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Mom stood behind the desk, flipping through the check-in sheets with the  cap end of a pen clenched between her teeth. She looked up, blinking in rapid succession when she saw you and Eddie approaching. You weren’t sure what surprised her more: you going out, or the man accompanying you.

“Well, don’t you two look nice!” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just getting a drink,” you said as casually as you could. “Celebrating my—the wallpaper.” It was a lame finish, one that Mom didn’t quite believe, but she lacked the energy to push further. 

Guilt panged in your chest, not just at the lie, but because part of you felt like you were taking advantage of her exhaustion. You couldn’t tell her the real reason for the celebration; bile rose in your throat at the thought. Instead, you smiled and promised to be home before the start of your shift. 

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Eddie added with a mischievous edge, not sexual in nature but still had your stomach doing somersaults. “I know she can be quite the troublemaker.”

Mom laughed at this, so pure and genuine that you were half-tempted to ask Eddie if you could stay here and talk with her all night. Maybe he could break the news to her, since they seemed to get on well enough.

You felt her watch as Eddie opened the door for you and gave the tiniest bow to let you pass, though you didn’t dare look back at her. Not because she wouldn’t approve—just the opposite. Looking at your mother would confirm what you already knew deep down: she’d be beaming at the sight of you going on a date. 

If that’s what this was. 

Eddie shuffled to walk right by your side, sneakers scuffing against the broken pavement. A flicker of hope ignited within you that he would do something to confirm that this was, in fact, a romantic endeavor and not just two friends getting a drink. Perhaps an arm slung over your shoulder or a hand laced with yours. 

There was only the gentle brush of his fingers against yours, knuckles grazing one another as they nearly slotted together. It was taunting, the way they could be a perfect fit if given the chance. 

You almost went for it, almost grabbed hold of his hand yourself, but fear had you in its own grasp. Even if the benefit outweighed the risk, you couldn’t stop picturing him tugging his hand away from yours in a humiliating show of rejection. 

“You okay? You’re not, like, mad at me again, are you?” Concern creased Eddie’s brows, and your heavy heart realized that the last time you were this quiet around him was after the argument. 

“Not at all. Sorry.” You shot him a reassuring smile. “Just lost in my own thoughts.” You sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate on those thoughts. 

Luckily, he just tilted his head towards you, his eyes taking on an even more doe-like quality than usual. “That’s the problem with you smart people: you’re always thinking too much.”

You laughed as you nudged him, your right shoulder colliding with his left. He stumbled slightly, quickly catching himself before he could fully lose his balance. 

“Hey!” He yelped, rubbing his upper arm. The muscles beneath it flexed at his touch. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I…” You shook your nerves loose and faced him, speaking before you fully lost yourself in his full, waiting lips. “I’d never damage merchandise as priceless as you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the compliment seemingly rebooting his brain. Was it too forward? No, it couldn’t have been; he’d called you pretty just moments before. And it wasn’t as if you’d been forward enough to say he was sexy (though he was) or accidentally emasculated him by pointing out how adorable his soft dimples were (another fact). 

His exhale was a disbelieving chuckle. “I, uh, don’t think anyone’s called me ‘priceless’ before. ‘Worthless,’ maybe, but…” He trailed off in an attempt to contain it as a lighthearted joke, but it was anchored by an undeniable truth. 

If you could, you would wash away the ego-marring stains left behind by those who hurt him. Scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine as though they’d never been tarnished by self-doubt. 

“Priceless.” You said it definitively, leaving no room for further argument. 

Eddie ducked behind his hair, letting the curly locks dangle over his mouth to mask his flustered smile. You were willing to bet that a blush was spreading across the apples of his cheeks. 

Curiosity loosened your inhibitions enough for you to reach out and tuck a few strands behind his ear. Sure enough, a delicate pink tinged his skin. You wanted to kiss it until your lips grew swollen from where his stubble scratched them raw.

Doing that would require something far more potent than inquisitiveness. 

There was a decent crowd that night, not as packed as the weekend would have been, but there were enough people that only one empty stool remained in front of the bar. Eddie gestured to it, offering you the seat just as he had on the subway last week. 

You tucked the denim fabric of your skirt behind your thighs as you sat. Eddie watched every movement, an unreadable desire darkening his expression, as if he wished it were his fingers on your skin. 

Your smile seemed to snap him from his trance. He waved down the bartender, who held up her forefinger to signal she would be right over. 

A shadow draped over you as you scanned the liquor-cluttered shelves, bathing you in a welcoming darkness. Protection. Eddie’s arms framed your torso, his hands planted firmly on the bartop. And when you lightly grasped his wrist, your thumb rubbing against the soft hairs on his arm, you could have sworn you felt the tension leave his body in one swift exhale.

“What are you gonna get?” The grainy pop music playing from the speakers and a cacophony of neighboring conversations muffled his voice, and he had to shout just to be heard. 

“A vodka tonic.” Simple, classic, and most importantly—not expensive. Though you probably should let him be the judge of that, considering it was his treat. “If that’s okay?”

Eddie laughed softly and nodded. “It’s your night, Heiress.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip. 

He ordered your drink first, then placed his order for whatever beer was on tap before declining to open a tab. Your chest went slightly concave; you should have followed his lead and ordered the cheaper option. 

As if sensing your guilt, Eddie pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “It’s your night,” he repeated, grabbing your short, stout glass and placing it in your hand. He raised his own taller mug, proposing a toast. “To a badass future social worker and all of the lives she’s gonna change. For the better,” he added quickly. 

Before he could clink his glass to yours, you locked eyes with him. The brown eyes that steeled themselves against you the night he first checked into the motel were now pillow-soft, beckoning you to fall. He may not have even been aware of it himself. 

“To the coolest rockstar I know,” you said, allowing the lips of your glasses to touch. “And the second-coolest guest to ever stay at the motel.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Second?”

“You really think you’re cooler than Phyllis?”

“Touché.” He relented with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink that left a foamy mustache on his upper lip. Without a second thought, he licked it away. 

The movement enraptured you: his tongue swiping over his skin, leaving no residue in its wake. That same tongue that peeked out from his mouth when he was focused, a simple muscle, but it held your attention for a beat too long. 

“Are you…” Eddie gestured towards your vodka tonic, and you realized you hadn’t even taken a sip. 

Cheers to embarrassing yourself ten minutes into the date. Non-date. Whatever it was. 

The vodka’s bitterness and the bubbles from the tonic water seeped into your tongue. You savored the burn as you swallowed. It had been so long since you’d had a drink, and just the first taste had you buzzing. If you didn’t pace yourself properly, you’d be tipsy far too soon. 

The sound system crackled and microphone feedback shot through the bar. You and Eddie winced in unison, each taking a gulp of your drinks. 

A man in his mid-thirties, balding with a goatee, stood at a makeshift stage at the back of the bar. “Welcome to Music Mondays here at The Brink. That’s right…it’s karaoke night!”

There was a smattering of applause that didn’t  match the emcee’s enthusiasm, but he remained undeterred. 

��Sign up here with your name and your song, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Drink that liquid courage and come on down!” The microphone screeched once more as he slid it back into the stand. 

You turned to Eddie, your eyes wide with mischief. “You’re gonna do it, right?”

Eddie scoffed. “Fuck, no. I’m not getting up there and making a fool of myself.”

“But it’s my night,” you reminded him. “You said so yourself.”

He looked poised to argue, one hand gripped tightly around the mug’s handle, his mouth ready to say no. But then you batted your eyelashes and pouted, all in jest. A dramatic showing that you didn’t expect would convince him. 

A wry smile betrayed his tough exterior as his thumb ghosted your lower lip. Lightning crackled at his touch, soft as it was, illuminating your bones and surging through your veins. When he pulled back, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a light red stain tinged his skin. If he noticed it, he made no attempt to wipe it off. 

“It is your night,” he mused, gaze flickering to your mouth before promptly returning to your eyes. When you lit up in anticipation of him conceding, he couldn’t help but grin back. “One song. And I’m choosing it.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when his touch still lingered on your lip. He disappeared for a moment to add his name to the list. As soon as he was out of sight, you took a much larger gulp of your drink. A trickle escaped out of the corner of your mouth, and you haphazardly swiped at it with the back of your hand, lest it ruin the shirt you’d picked out especially for the date. 

This isn’t a date. The reminder was as harsh as the vodka itself. You lifted the glass once more and drained it until the half-melted ice cubes clicked against your teeth. Whatever this evening was, you needed to relax. Enjoy Eddie’s company without reading too much into his every move. 

You turned your attention to the TV mounted above the shelves, engrossing yourself in the scrolling closed captions. A weatherman announced that this summer was going to be a ‘scorcher,’ and though he said it with a plastic grin, you inwardly cringed at the impact the air conditioning would have on the electric bill. 

“I’m up third.” Eddie’s voice broke in, turning the upcoming weather into a distant memory. He raised his brows when he saw your glass, now empty on the sticky bartop. “You finished that already?”

“Mhm.” Your smile was sloppier than you intended, your head starting to float from your neck as tipsiness crept in. 

Eddie breathed out, shaking his head with a glimmer of a smirk. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed, and you didn’t have time to ask before he waved over the bartender. “Just water, please.” He nodded his thanks when she slid it over. “Drink,” he said to you, and you dutifully obliged. 

“What song did you pick out?” Something that is supposed to be screamed more than sung, you assumed. 

He just shook his head again and swallowed more beer. “It’s a surprise.” His eyes twinkled when he said it, and you wondered if his choice erred more on the side of Madonna than Metallica. 

A woman got up on stage and began her rousing rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. 

Peppy? Upbeat? A great way to kick off karaoke night? Absolutely. 

On-key? Not even close. 

“If you ever start a new band, you should ask her to join.” You chinpointed towards the woman currently butchering the Cyndi Lauper classic. “She’s got that star power, I think.”

Eddie snorted but composed himself quickly to play into your joke. “I’m worried she’d outshine me.” He widened his eyes in faux concern. “Go solo and leave me behind, y’know?”  

“She’ll probably steal all of your groupies, too,” you added, tutting as if to say, what a shame. 

“Even you?”

You cocked your brow. “Who said I’m your groupie?”

He leaned his elbow against the bar, mouth slackjaw at your rejection. Disbelieving laughter left his throat in a huff. 

“I take you out, treat you to the best watered-down drink this city has to offer, and this is the thanks I get?” His curls brushed against his cheeks when he shook his head. “Who would you be a groupie for? Wait, no; lemme guess.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “New Kids on the Block? Boyz II Men?”

“I think I’d die if Joey McIntyre so much as looked at me.” You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The watered-down or not, the alcohol was certainly turning sober thoughts into tipsy words. 

Eddie chugged half of the beer, watching as the woman on stage finished her song and left with a triumphant bow. “Pretty sure your shitty taste in music is what plays at the gates of Hell,” he said to you. 

Your response was a mere flick of your middle finger. 

A man in a suit took the stage next, loosening his tie as he positioned himself behind the microphone. A group of similarly-dressed men started hooting and hollering obnoxiously the moment the opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ blared through the sound system.

You looked back to Eddie. If he was nervous about singing karaoke, he didn’t show it. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture much less tense than on the walk to the bar. Maybe the alcohol loosened him up as it had you. 

“What about you?” You asked. “Whose groupie would you be?”

“Easy,” he said, not missing a beat. “Joan Jett. Total badass, killer musician, and hot as hell.” He nodded to confirm his choice before leaning in and loudly whispering. “Bad Reputation was basically my secret anthem in high school.”

You laughed. “Did you imagine it playing in the background when you walked down the halls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Eddie grinned and polished off his beer. 

His confession warmed you—or maybe that was just the vodka working its way through your bloodstream. Regardless, you were intrigued by the glimpse into his past and found yourself hungry for more. 

“Can I ask you a non-groupie related question?”

“Shoot.”

Your tongue was heavy, the resulting slurring softening your words. “If your hometown is so shitty, why are you trying to go back?”

He loosened a chuckle, glancing at the shelves of booze before looking back to you. “My uncle still lives there. He, ah, he raised me after my dad split and my mom…y’know.” Eddie cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “Why? You want me to stick around?” 

The hair on his forearm tickled when he slid it over to nudge you, his pinky finger overlapping yours. 

Of course you wanted him to stick around. You’d smear honey all over the motel’s siding to lure more bees, tempt them to build their nests among the sticky sweetness, just so he would have a reason to stay. 

The man on stage belted out his final “don’t stop believin’” as his buddies enveloped him in drunken hugs. 

“All right!” The emcee bleated into the microphone. “Next up, we have…” He checked the sign-up sheet. “…Eddie! Let’s give him a hand, folks.”

A smattering of applause echoed throughout the room, the excitement of karaoke night already dwindling. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t show it. 

“This one’s for you, Heiress.” He winked and sprinted towards the stage. 

Eddie pressed his foot on the microphone stand, adjusting it so it was level with his lips. His fingers curled around its neck, dramatically tugging it closer as the instrumentals piped through the sound system.

Well, since my baby left me Well, I found a new place to dwell Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street At Heartbreak Hotel

His hips swung back and forth, the gyrations not quite as precise as Elvis’s, but he still snapped them in time with the staccato guitar chords. The right heel of his sneakers tapped the floor as he continued, voice dipping into his lower register.

Where I'll be, I'll be so lonely, baby  Well, I'm so lonely  I'll be so lonely, I could die

Free hand pressed to his heart, Eddie leaned in your direction and tilted the mic stand while he sang. The movements were reminiscent of how a man would dance with someone he loved, impassioned yet graceful. Charisma oozed from every pore, his natural command of the stage an enduring reminder of his brief foray into rock stardom.   

The other patrons faded into the background as his eyes fixed on you, a personal serenade rather than karaoke night amongst a sea of drunks. Easiness weaved through each note he sang, his body loosening and his lips curving into a smile when you let out a vodka-fueled whoop of admiration. 

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin'  And the desk clerk's dressed in black  Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street  Well, they'll never, they'll never look back

Eddie pointed to you when he referenced the desk clerk, the crowd following his every move. The heat of their stares only exacerbated the warmth that the alcohol already sent coursing through you, but you felt no need to hide. The rich timbre of his voice was a magnetic pull, drawing you in until it echoed deep in your bones. 

Although it's always crowded  But you still can find some room  For broken hearted lovers  To cry there in their gloom  Where they get so, they get so lonely, baby  Well, they're so lonely  They'll be so lonely, they could die

He ended the song with one final swing of his hips, one foot turned inward in an Elvis-esque pose. If anyone else applauded for him, it couldn’t be heard over the sound of your cheers. 

He made a beeline for you. “Did that live up to your expectations?” Sweat dripped from his flushed forehead and down his temples. 

“Exceeded them, actually.” 

The bartender slid over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “On the house,” she explained when you and Eddie looked at her in confusion. 

You shouldn’t. The TV set that broadcasted the news showed that it was nearly nine o’clock and you were already tipsy from the one drink. Adding a shot—and subsequently mixing liquor—was a recipe for disaster. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t wanna,” Eddie said. “I’ll take them both.”

With a shake of your head, you took the glass nearest you and downed it, the whiskey burning stronger than you had anticipated. Tears reflexively welled in your eyes, leaving you clinging to the hope that you had blinked them away before Eddie could notice.

He let out a soft, low whistle. “Well, okay then.” His own shot disappeared past his grimacing lips.

A familiar synthesized beat replaced the idle hum of conversation as a middle-aged woman began her song. Eddie threw back his head when he heard it, groaning as though the ‘80s hit left him in agony.

“You’re such a music snob,” you lamented, reaching out with both of your hands to grab onto his. If this is what liquid courage felt like, you were more than happy to ride that wave. “There’s more to life than heavy metal.”

“I just sang Elvis!” He protested, but his efforts were all in vain as you hopped off of the barstool and led him away from your empty shot glasses. “Heiress…” His tone was a warning, one that you promptly ignored.

You let your gaze meet his, the vodka-and-whiskey combination working overtime to stifle your nerves. 

“Dance with me.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy and I want you to dance with me.” 

“You wanna dance, huh?” He laughed again when you nodded. “All right; let’s dance.” 

Eddie’s hands slid down to your wrists and adjusted your arms so they draped over his shoulders, his curls tickling your fingers when they clasped behind his neck. He hesitated for a second before letting his own fingertips rest on your waist, careful to avoid dipping below the small of your back.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love  Never hesitating to become the fated ones  

The current performer was marginally better than the first two, but her voice wasn’t nearly as polished as Eddie’s. She kept getting too close to the mic, the lyrics muffled each time her purple-lipsticked mouth grazed the cover. 

You inched forward, your chest against Eddie’s as the two of you swayed in tandem. His fingers flexed before tugging you closer, evidence that you weren’t the only one affected by the shot. 

“Can’t remember the last time I heard this song,” he mused wistfully. “Probably my senior prom. The last one, anyway.”

“You had more than one senior prom?”

His cheeks, already pinkened from the liquor, flushed a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, it, uh, took me a few tries to graduate,” Eddie admitted. “But I did it.” A sheepish smile still held a twinge of pride. 

“You did it.”

“Yeah.” One arm reached back to grasp your hand and twirl you around, and you breathed an audible sigh of relief when the room didn’t spin with you. “But tonight,” he grinned, “is all about you.” 

You. Not the motel or its crumbling financial infrastructure. Not the guests or your parents. Not school or exams or term papers. Just you. 

An involuntary giggle wriggled its way up and you ducked your head to hide it, your forehead brushing against Eddie’s lips. Did he purse them slightly in a hint of a kiss, or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning and returning to some secret place inside  Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say  Take my breath away

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a smile in his voice.

“Mhm. Just happy.”

“Yeah? Good.” His forefinger tucked under your chin and tilted it upwards, granting him a better look at you. The tip of his tongue parted his lips and swiped over the whiskey-scented residue. “You deserve to be happy.”

You did deserve to be happy. You deserved joyful moments in your life, people who surrounded you in sunshine even when rain poured.

My love, take my breath away  My love, take my breath away

You deserved Eddie.

Standing before you, his eyes never strayed from your form, flicking from your face to where his hands gripped your waist. His chest rose and fell in time with the music. 

“I…” You swallowed your fear, already tempered by tipsiness, curling your fingers into the back of his ribbed t-shirt collar. 

Desire rippled down your spine and you leaned in to close that godforsaken gap, already tasting him on your tongue. 

But not before he pulled away. 

--

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[weebsinstash]

Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family

[brunchable]

Untamed Chaos [Request] || Doctor Strange x Scarlet Witch!reader.

Genre: Oneshot, Light-hearted romance, Teacher/Student Words: 5.4K The Request: a fanfic where the reader is Scarlet Witch and she is very insecure and afraid of her powers and Stephen Strange helps her control her powers. A/N: First request in such a long time. I mayhaps liked this idea a bit too much I got carried away but I hope it can make someone's day. Thank you to the GIF creator. For @honeymoon-salvatore

You've always been afraid of your powers. They are immense, unpredictable, and often seem to have a will of their own. It wasn't until the incident in your hometown that you truly understood the magnitude of your abilities. 

You had only meant to defend yourself, but in the blink of an eye, the entire street had been engulfed in a swirling vortex of energy, leaving destruction in its wake. The fear and confusion in the eyes of those around you still haunt your dreams.

Since then, you've kept your distance from people, isolating yourself to prevent any further harm. Your powers feel like a ticking time bomb, always on the verge of exploding. 

You can't control them, not fully, and the unpredictability is what scares you the most. One moment, you could be sitting peacefully, and the next, you could be unintentionally causing objects to levitate or shatter around you.

You've tried to manage them on your own, practicing in secret, but the progress has been slow and often discouraging. Each failed attempt chips away at your confidence, leaving you feeling more vulnerable and isolated. The frustration builds within you, feeding into the fear, creating a vicious cycle that's hard to break.

You often find yourself alone, both physically and emotionally. The isolation is a double-edged sword; it keeps others safe from your powers, but it also leaves you without support, without someone to reassure you that you're not a monster. You yearn for connection, for someone to understand your struggle, but the risk of hurting someone is too great. The potential destruction you could cause keeps you at a distance, even from those you care about the most.

In moments of despair, you imagine a life where your powers are not a curse but a gift, where you can use them without fear. But those are just dreams, far removed from your current reality. Every day is a battle against yourself, against the fear that one wrong move could lead to disaster. You live with the constant reminder that you are different, that you are dangerous, and that there might never be a place for you in the world as you are.

Despite the fear and the isolation, there's a flicker of hope within you. A hope that maybe, just maybe, someone out there can help you. Someone who understands what it's like to wield such power and can guide you in controlling it. This hope leads you to the doors of the Sanctum Sanctorum, but standing there, you hesitate. Your hand hovers over the grand door, and a wave of shame washes over you. What if Doctor Strange sees you as a lost cause? What if he thinks you're too dangerous to be helped?

× × × × 

As you approach the grand doors, your heart races with anticipation. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before knocking firmly. The sound echoes in the silence, and the massive doors creak open seemingly on their own, revealing the grand entrance hall bathed in dim, mystical light.

At the top of the sweeping staircase, Stephen stands tall, his presence commanding and imposing. His cape flows dramatically behind him, catching the light in a way that makes it seem almost alive.

“Ah, I’ve been expecting you,” he says with a knowing smile.

“Expecting me?” you ask, chuckling sheepishly. You can’t shake the feeling of shame that lingers, making you want to shrink away.

“Yes. I could sense your presence,” he replies, descending the stairs. “And besides, you’re not exactly subtle.”

You manage a small, nervous laugh, looking down at your feet. “I actually came to ask for your help, Doctor Strange. My powers… they’re out of control. I-I don’t know how to handle them.”

“Hmm.” Stephen nods, his expression turning serious but not unkind. “Come with me. Let’s see what we can do.”

As he turns to lead you deeper into the Sanctum, you can't help but blurt out, “Are we starting already?”

Stephen glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, we're going to have a tea party first. What do you think?”

You roll your eyes but feel a bit of the tension ease away. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” he replies with a smirk, leading you to the doors that lead to Kamar-Taj.

The morning air at Kamar-Taj is crisp and fresh, the early sunlight casting a warm glow over the ancient courtyard. Birds chirp in the distance as you and Stephen stand in the center of the tranquil space.

“First things first,” he says, “Do you know the true nature of your powers?”

You nod, feeling a familiar weight settle on your shoulders. “I know. But I don’t know how to control them. It’s like trying to tame a storm.”

He nods, seeming to have expected that answer. “Your powers are unlike any other. They’re rooted in something very ancient and very potent—chaos magic.”

“How do I control something that’s inherently chaotic?” You sigh, looking down at your hands, a flicker of crimson energy dancing across your fingertips. 

“By understanding it, accepting it, and learning to channel it. It’s not about suppressing your emotions, but rather, learning to use them to your advantage.” Stephen steps closer, his voice gentle but firm.

“That’s easier said than done.” You scoff, frustration coloring your voice.

Stephen raises an eyebrow. “Is it? Or are you just making excuses?”

You glare at him, but there is no malice in your eyes. “You’re really good at this comforting thing, aren’t you?”

"I try," he says with a smirk, “Look Y/N you came here asking for my help. I know the media doesn’t really paint you. . . gracefully. So, from now on try not to let your self-doubt eat you up.”

You look down. Even though that was a hard pill to swallow, he was right.

“Come with me.” He leads you to a secluded area of the courtyard, where ancient runes are etched into the stone floor. 

“This area should have ample space to practice powerful magic. It will be a safe place for you to practice control.”

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. 

“First, we’ll start with some basic exercises. Focus on your breathing, and let your mind clear. Feel the energy within you, but don’t try to control it yet—just observe.” Stephen begins to demonstrate, weaving his hands through the air, creating intricate patterns of golden light. 

You close your eyes, following his instructions. You can feel the familiar hum of your powers beneath your skin, a constant presence that you're trying to grow accustomed to. Slowly, you begin to breathe in rhythm with the energy, letting it flow through you without trying to shape it.

“Good, you learn quickly.” Stephen’s voice breaks through your concentration. “Now, open your eyes and focus on a single point in front of you. Imagine your energy flowing towards that point, like a stream of water.”

You do as he says, but suddenly, a surge of power rushes through you, causing your body to twitch while you attempt to contain it. Your eyes snap open in panic. Your powers spiral out of control. Crimson energy begins to swirl around you, leaves and dust spiraling  around leaving you at its center. The ground trembles, and a strong wind whips through the trees around you.

"Dammit!" you shout, sinking to your knees as you try to contain the chaos. "I can’t do this, Doctor. It’s too much."

Before you can even process what's happening, Stephen is already moving, his hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Golden bands of light appear, encircling the wild energy and containing it. Sweat beads on his forehead from the effort, but his eyes remain focused and determined.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he calls out, his voice straining as he tries to contain your powers. “You can do this. Focus on my voice.”

You try to calm your racing heart, taking deep breaths as you attempt to regain control. The golden bands tighten around the chaotic energy, slowly but surely bringing it under control. 

Finally, the room falls silent, the wild energy dissipating into the air. Stephen kneels beside you, his hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s okay to struggle. You’re learning, and that takes time.”

You look up at him, your eyes glistening, “What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt you in the process?”

“You won’t,” he assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Relax, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’m sorry, Stephen. It just… it just got away from me.”

He smiles reassuringly. “It’s all part of the process. Let’s try again.”

You picture the crimson energy within you, flowing outwards in a controlled stream. To your surprise, the energy responds, a thin tendril of red mist extending from your hand and touching the ground where you’re looking.

“Excellent. Now, try to maintain that flow, but gradually increase the intensity.” Stephen smiles, clearly pleased with your progress.

You concentrate, feeling the energy surge within you. The tendril of light thickens, glowing brighter as more power flows through it. You can feel the wildness of the chaos magic, but it no longer feels overwhelming—it’s like riding a powerful wave, guiding it with subtle movements.

“Remember, your emotions are your fuel,” Stephen reminds you. “Channel your focus, your determination, and your control into the magic.”

You nod, feeling a growing confidence. The energy flows more smoothly now, the thread of light dancing in intricate patterns at your command. It’s exhilarating, feeling the power within you and knowing that you’re in control.

“Alright,” Stephen says, taking a step back, his expression serious. “Now, let’s test your control under pressure. I’ll create some moving targets, and I want you to hit them with precise bursts of energy.”

He raises his hands, and several glowing orbs appear, floating in a precise formation. They begin to move, weaving through the air in unpredictable patterns. “Focus, Y/N. Use your emotions to guide your power.”

You take a deep breath, focusing on the first target. You extend your hand, and a tendril of crimson light shoots out, striking the orb dead center. It shatters in a burst of golden sparks.

Stephen nods approvingly. “Good. Now, try the next one.”

You move to the second target, feeling a surge of confidence. This time, you channel a stronger burst of energy, the crimson light brighter and more intense. The orb explodes, scattering shards of light in all directions.

As you continue, the targets move faster, their patterns more erratic. You struggle to keep up, the energy within you becoming harder to control. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your breath comes in shallow gasps.

“Stay focused,” Stephen encourages.

But the pressure mounts, and the chaos magic within you begins to surge again. One of the targets moves unexpectedly close to Stephen, and in a moment of panic, you release a powerful burst of energy.

The crimson tendril lashes out, striking Stephen’s arm before you can stop it. He stumbles back, a pained expression crossing his face as blood begins to seep from a cut on his arm.

“Oh my god, Stephen!” you cry out his name accidentally, rushing to his side. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Don't. It was an accident.” He grits his teeth, his hand applying pressure to the wound.

You remained quiet, even though guilt is a close friend of yours, it still felt corrosive. 

× × ×

The morning training session had taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated. Now, sitting in the quiet, dimly lit infirmary at Kamar-Taj, the reality of your lack of control weighs heavily on you. Stephen sits on a low bench, his shirt discarded to reveal a nasty gash on his arm, inflicted by your uncontrolled magic. 

His Cloak of Levitation hovers nearby, holding the first aid kit with its hem, seeming to watch over him protectively.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” Stephen says, his voice smooth despite the pain. He gestures to the hovering Cloak, which gently extends the first aid kit towards you. “Can you take the antiseptic and bandages?”

You quickly reach for the items, your hands shaking slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” he interrupts gently, a small smile playing on his lips despite the grimace of pain.

“Let me help.” You kneel beside him, the sight of the deep cut making your stomach churn. The Cloak hovers closer, as if wanting to assist but unsure how. Stephen takes the antiseptic from you, but you gently place your hand over his. 

He nods, relinquishing the bottle. 

You pour the antiseptic onto a cloth and carefully dab it on the wound. Stephen hisses, his muscles tensing under your touch. His skin is warm, the contours of his body highlighted in the soft light of the infirmary. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s hard not to notice how close you are, how vulnerable he seems.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He reaches out with his uninjured hand, gently tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. “Y/N, it was an accident. I know you wouldn't mean to hurt me.”

You nod, feeling a bit more at ease with his reassurance. Carefully, you finish cleaning the wound and reach for the bandages. The Cloak, as if sensing your need, floats closer, offering the bandages to you from its folds.

As you wrap the bandage around his arm, you can’t help but ask, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, you’re lucky I didn’t turn you into a frog or something.”

Stephen laughs, the sound filling the small infirmary. “I think I'd rather handle a few cuts and bruises. But I appreciate the concern.”

“There. All done.” You finish wrapping the bandage and tie it off, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer than necessary. 

Stephen flexes his arm slightly, testing the bandage, “Now I have a new scar to show off. Women dig scars, right?”

“Well, it certainly adds to your mystique.” You laugh, the sound a bit shaky but genuine. 

He chuckles, standing up and pulling you to your feet with his good arm, “Go get some rest and clear your mind. Don't wallow too much on this. Really, I'm fine.”

× × × × 

The days turn into weeks. You find yourself growing more confident in your abilities, but there are still moments where the fear and frustration overwhelm you. Stephen’s consistent support and guidance have been invaluable, and you've begun to see glimpses of what your powers could be if fully controlled. However, the road to mastery is far from smooth.

One afternoon, while practicing a particularly challenging spell, your powers spiral out of control. The room around you blurs as a surge of energy erupts from within, sending you flying across the room. You crash into a stone wall with a sickening thud, the impact knocking the wind out of you. Pain radiates from your shoulder as you realize it’s dislocated. Before you can even catch your breath, you hear a creaking sound above you and look up to see a massive pillar beginning to topple over.

Panic courses through you, but before you can react, a burst of golden light encases the pillar, stopping it mid-fall. You turn to see Stephen, his hands outstretched and eyes glowing with a focused intensity as he uses his magic to stabilize the structure.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice steady despite the obvious strain.

You nod, still dazed from the impact. “I... I think so,” you stammer, though the pain in your shoulder is excruciating.

He waves his hands, and the pillar rights itself, settling back into place with a groan of stone against stone. Only then does he turn his full attention to you, his expression softening as he kneels beside you.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he admits, “Let me see your shoulder.”

You wince as he gently examines it. “I think it’s dislocated,” you say through gritted teeth.

Stephen nods, his expression serious. “We need to fix this. It’s going to hurt, but I’ll make it as quick as possible.”

You brace yourself, biting your lip as he carefully but firmly maneuvers your shoulder back into place. A sharp, intense pain shoots through you, and you can’t help but cry out. But just as quickly as the pain flares, it begins to subside as Stephen’s magic soothes the injured area.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, tears of pain and relief streaming down your face. "Thank you," you whisper, leaning against him for support.

Stephen clenched his jaw when he suddenly felt his heart racing. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “You’re incredibly brave, you know that?”

You manage a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t feel very brave.”

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression earnest. “You are. You’re facing your fears and pushing through the pain. That takes real courage.”

“I couldn’t do this without you, Stephen.” Tears well up in your eyes again, this time from gratitude and the overwhelming emotion of the moment, “Thank you.”

He smiles softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’ll get you there.”

After that grueling session, you collapse onto a sofa in the library, exhausted. It was worth every sweat though as you felt being more in control compared to when you first set foot in the Sanctum. 

“Here, this will help,” Stephen joins you, handing you a cup of tea and sitting down beside you.

You take a sip, the warmth of the tea soothing your frayed nerves. “Thanks,” you murmur, glancing at him. “For everything.”

He smiles, his gaze warm. “It’s my pleasure.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the flickering firelight casting soft shadows around the room. The warmth from the fire is a stark contrast to the chill in the air outside, and you pull a blanket tighter around yourself as you sip the tea Stephen prepared. The aroma of the tea mingles with the scent of old books and the faint trace of incense, creating an atmosphere that feels both intimate and soothing.

You find yourself drawn to Stephen, not just because of his wisdom and strength, but because of the kindness and patience he shows you every day. His presence has become a source of comfort, a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of your emotions and powers. Yet, as the days pass, you've also become acutely aware of the growing attraction you have for him. Maybe because you never knew about this side of Stephen.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, admiring the way the firelight dances across his features, casting shadows that highlight the sharp angles of his face. There's a certain grace to the way he moves, even in the simplest of actions like turning the pages of a book or adjusting his cloak. You wonder if he's aware of how often your eyes linger on him, how your heart races whenever he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes.

Stephen breaks the silence, his voice low and gentle. “You've been making remarkable progress. You should be proud of yourself.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I couldn't have done it without you,” you admit, your gaze meeting his. “You've been my rock through all of this.”

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I'm just doing what any decent teacher would do.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “It's more than that. You've been patient and understanding, even when I wanted to give up.”

Stephen's eyes soften, and he reaches out, placing a hand over yours. The touch is light, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you. 

“You have an incredible strength within you,” he says quietly. “Sometimes it just takes someone else to help you see it.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to look away. You can feel the tension building between you, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The room feels smaller, the air charged with unspoken emotions.

"Stephen," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done."

He smiles, a tender expression that makes your heart skip a beat. "You don't need to thank me," he replies. "Seeing you grow and gain confidence is thanks enough."

The fire crackles, filling the silence that stretches between you. You can feel your pulse quicken, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. You want to tell him how much he means to you, how his presence has become a source of light in your life. But the words stick in your throat, your nerves getting the better of you.

As if sensing your hesitation, Stephen moves closer, his hand still resting on yours. "It's okay," he murmurs. "You don't have to say anything."

You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating, but you felt him drawing closer to you, his breath heavy and hot. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, your heart pounding louder in your ears. His eyes, intense and unwavering, locked onto yours, creating a magnetic pull that you couldn't resist.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions—anticipation, fear, desire—all blending into a heady mix that left you breathless. His presence was overwhelming, his scent intoxicating, and you felt an inexplicable connection that seemed to transcend the physical space.

Stephen’s hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His touch was both gentle and commanding, grounding you in the moment. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, mirroring your own. Despite the chaos surrounding you, this moment felt strangely right.

He leaned in, his lips just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this suspended moment of longing and vulnerability.

Just as his lips were about to meet yours, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room. You both jumped apart, hearts racing, as Wong entered, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wong said, raising an eyebrow. “But there’s an urgent matter that requires your attention, Strange.”

Stephen cleared his throat, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “Of course, Wong. I’ll be right there.”

Wong nodded, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile before leaving the room.

You exchanged a look with Stephen, the moment between you lingering in the air. He gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

“We’ll continue this later,” he promised, his voice soft and filled with a mix of regret and hope.

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As Stephen turned to follow Wong, you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The connection you felt with him was undeniable, and despite the interruption, you knew that this was just the beginning of something deeper and more profound.

The door closed behind Stephen and Wong, and the room was left in a charged silence. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his presence, the ghost of his touch on your skin. Your mind replayed the moment over and over, heart racing of anticipation.

You sighed and turned towards the window, trying to steady your breath as you watched the city lights twinkle below. The weight of what had just happened, what almost happened, settled over you like a warm blanket. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

A few moments later, you decided to distract yourself by focusing on your training. You knew Stephen would handle whatever urgent matter Wong had brought to his attention, but you needed to regain your composure. The Sanctum's library was quiet and filled with ancient texts and artifacts, a perfect place to lose yourself in study.

You selected a tome on elemental magic, hoping the intricate spells would keep your mind occupied. As you read, the words began to blur, your thoughts drifting back to Stephen. His intense gaze, the way his touch had sent shivers down your spine, and the unspoken promise in his eyes.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door brought you back to reality. You looked up to see Stephen standing there, his expression a mix of determination and something else—something softer.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “Sorry about earlier. Wong has impeccable timing, as usual.”

You chuckled, setting the book aside. “It's okay. I understand. Is everything alright?”

He nodded, taking a seat beside you. “Yes, just some minor mystical disturbance. Nothing we couldn't handle.”

A comfortable silence settled between you again, but this time it was tinged with a palpable tension. You could feel the unresolved moment hanging in the air, drawing you closer together. Stephen reached out, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring.

“I meant what I said,” he began softly, his eyes locking onto yours. “About continuing this later. I don't want to rush things, but I also don't want to ignore what's happening between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sending a rush of warmth through you. “I feel the same way, Stephen. It’s actually, kind of. . . really hard to ignore. . .”

Stephen stood and offered you his hand. “Come with me. There's something I want to show you.”

Curious, you took his hand and followed him through the winding corridors of the Sanctum. He led you to a secluded terrace, the city spread out below like a sea of stars. The cool night air was refreshing, and the view was breathtaking.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said, leaning against the railing. “It's where I come to think, to clear my mind.”

You joined him, the two of you standing side by side, looking out over the city. “It's beautiful,” you whispered.

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. “You make it even more beautiful,” he said softly.

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The world around you seems to vanish as his lips move against yours, firm yet tender, igniting a fire within you. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent and intense. Stephen's arms wrap around your waist, drawing you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with the crackling energy of your powers, which glow softly around you both, bathing you in a crimson light.

His lips part slightly, and you take the opportunity to explore his mouth with your tongue, eliciting a low groan from him that sends a shiver down your spine. Stephen's hands roam your back, his touch firm and possessive, as if he never wants to let you go. Every touch, every movement sends waves of desire coursing through you.

You press closer, the feeling of his body against yours heightening your senses. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. The intensity builds, and you feel as though you might melt from the heat of it all.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Stephen's lips trail down your jawline, planting soft, lingering kisses along the way. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, and he takes full advantage, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. His warm breath against your skin sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but moan softly

“Stephen,” you whisper, your voice breathless and filled with longing.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he gazes at you. “Y/N, I need you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

Without another word, you pull him back to you, your lips crashing together in a passionate kiss. You pour all your pent-up emotions into it, the fear, the longing, the love. When you kiss Stephen, the energy around you seems to respond to your emotions, wrapping around the two of you in a protective cocoon of light. His hands grip your waist, and you feel the familiar surge of your powers, the crimson The light shimmers and sparkles, creating a captivating dance of colors that is reflecting the intensity of your connection.

Breathless and flushed, you finally pull away, resting your forehead against his. His eyes, dark and filled with emotion, hold your gaze, and you see your reflection in them, your powers glowing softly around you both.

“I'm so happy you came to me,” Stephen whispers, his voice low and sincere, “And now that I have you, I never want to let you go.”

You smile, feeling a warm sense of certainty. “You don't have to, l'm yours.”

He kisses you again, this time with a gentleness that speaks volumes. It's a promise of unwavering support and love. The crimson energy around you pulses gently, a testament to your newfound control and the harmony between your powers and your emotions.

As you stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you realize that this is just the beginning. With Stephen’s guidance and your own growing confidence, you’re ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. 

The night air is cool, but the warmth between you keeps the chill at bay. You lean into Stephen, your heart steady and sure. With him by your side, you know you can handle anything the future holds.

Stephen pulls back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know,” he says with a smirk, “if you wanted to spend more time together, you could have just asked instead of throwing books around.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so now my out-of-control powers are just an excuse to see you more?”

He raises an eyebrow, still smirking. “I wouldn't put it past you.”

“Well, maybe next time I'll aim for the kitchen. Then at least we can have snacks while we train.” You roll your eyes playfully. 

Stephen chuckles, pulling you closer. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep the chaos to a minimum.”

“I'll try,” you say, grinning. “But no promises.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “That's good enough for me.”

Together, you step back into the Sanctum, ready to embrace the future and the challenges it brings, knowing that with each other, you are unstoppable. 

As you walk through the grand halls, Stephen's hand remains firmly in yours, a silent promise of support and partnership.

“So,” Stephen begins, glancing sideways at you with a sly smile, “what's the next item on our agenda? More power control exercises or should we finally tackle the mystery of the enchanted teapot?”

You laugh, the sound echoing softly in the spacious hallway. “I think the teapot can wait. Besides, I’m pretty sure it's been spying on us for weeks.”

“That would explain a lot. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Stephen chuckles.

You squeeze his hand, feeling a sense of normalcy and contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. “You know, this whole training thing isn’t so bad when you have good company.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Good company, huh? I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Doctor,” you tease, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “But seriously, thank you. For everything.”

Stephen stops walking and turns to face you, his expression sincere. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I could help. You’ve shown incredible strength and courage, Y/N. And I’m honored to be part of your journey.”

A warmth spreads through you at his words, and you lean in to kiss him softly. “Well, you’re stuck with me now, Sorcerer Supreme. Hope you’re ready for that.”

He grins, a boyish charm lighting up his features. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

What would your direction be for The Collector? I find the show did a very hard retcon by turning him into an uwu fandom baby, despite the fact that he was shown to be astute in his earlier appearances. Actually, what's the point of his character beyond providing Belos the keys to that genocide spell on the Day of Unity?

This one will be another two-fer.

For the first question: If I were Dana, and I just received news that my series was going to be cancelled and I only had 3 long episodes to wrap everything up, I would have done one of two things: either not include the Collector or actually make him the Final Villain.

Obviously, Dana did neither of those things.

His overall role is to provide powerful magic to Belos and hint at what happened to the Titans. If we're not going to include the Collector, then just have Belos be the one to have made the Day of Unity Spell since he spent hundreds of years studying magic, it's logical for him to have come across different and more powerful forms of magic. The mysterious fate of the Titans would then be left for the fans to speculate.

But if we are to have him, then he has to provide another angle than Abused Baby Character Is Yet Another Victim of Belos that we've seen multiple times already. If Belos represents the dangers of oppression and not allowing the Individual to reach their full potential, then the Collector has to be the thematic opposite. He needs to demonstrate how unlimited freedom for one person can be dangerous if the effect it has on others are not considered.

Belos is defeated with the power of individualism and self-expression but the show could have examined the other side of the coin. Freedom does not mean getting to do whatever you want. People still have roles and responsibilities to play if society is to function. Relationships don't function if it's all me-me-me. The Collector could have been that other side of the coin with his disregard of other's opinions and focus on things that entertain him. That would force Luz to actually realize that she can't choose herself every single time, that she has to be responsible and considerate of other people. It would be a great arc for her character and a fitting resolution for her to teach someone else about growing up. Otherwise, there's no thematic purpose for the Collector, who's currently just there to act as a Decoy Antagonist until the Real Villain can reestablish himself as a threat again.

Second question: If I had a full season 3, then the Wittebanes would definitely have their own episode. But even with the cancellation, Thanks to Them should have been a more Wittebane-centric episode instead of being crammed into the final 10 minutes.

I would avoid the Good Brother-Evil Brother trope like the plague; Philip is the younger brother here, he's going to look up to and emulate Caleb. They both became witch hunters to fit in, which implies that they were somehow different and this was the only way to gain community acceptance and safety. Philip is the most "unusual" of the brothers and is fundamentally dependent on Caleb, so he has more to lose if the community turns on him, thus he embraces witch hunting more readily. Caleb can outwardly fit in but the stress of raising his kid brother are taking its toll and he's growing disillusioned with the town's culture. Meeting Evelyn allows Caleb to relieve some of his stress but it also makes him blind to how radicalized Philip is becoming. The town loves his little brother! He can leave for a little bit and his brother will be in good hands :) I can finally be my own person! Pip is fine....he's fine....it's fine...

Except that we know the truth. Philip tied his grief over losing Caleb to the witches because it was ingrained into him that they're all evil and destroy lives. It's much easier to accept that reality than the one in which Caleb willingly left him.

The Wittebanes should be a tale about how young people are radicalized and how communities can fail vulnerable children. How grief can destroy us if not processed properly. Not "guess lil' bro got mad that big bro got a gf, lol!"

Finally, Belos' backstory needs to play into his ultimate demise. The Titan can reveal the full story while Luz only got the legend the first time around. She can remind Belos that he wasted his life for nothing, that killing everyone won't change anything. That he brought this hell onto himself and he's the only one to blame.

Basically this.

[anghraine]

i just saw someone say that faramir is infuriating because he's self-aggrandizing in claiming that he won't act in any way that doesn't befit his status, and on one hand - i understand the root of it? he does have a courteous, almost formal style of talking. he does openly claim that he would not take this mysterious power (before he knew about the ring) if it was on the highway. he agrees to denethor's characterization that he wants to appear noble like a king of old.

but on the other hand i'm straining at the bit to defend my baby because - infuriating?? when he lives up to the words he is saying?? when the text shows over and over that he's loved by his people, that he genuinely tries to live by those standards (and seems to succeed) - him not killing even animals unnecessarily, him riding back for his men. even his proclaimed dream to see gondor's tree bloom and peace restored, is supported by him seemingly making that transition from steward to king as smooth as possible?

maybe it's because i instantly liked him so much. it just caught me so off guard because this particular criticism never ever crossed my mind. so funny how people will interpret the same thing differently. to some internet user out there, his words are self-aggrandizing. to me, his words are straightfoward and supported by actions - dreamboat central.

Hi, anon! I'm pretty much with you on this one. I've seen the occasional post like that, and I can understand finding his style grating (though I personally love it) or disliking the general baggage associated with Tolkien's handling of Númenóreanness (there's a considerable degree of classism and racism built in to the presentation of Elves and peredhil/Númenóreans in LOTR in particular, while later texts like "The Mariner's Wife" are relatively more nuanced).

But the idea that Faramir is essentially just performing the appearance of high virtue as a sort of imitation of Númenórean cultural values without actually possessing those values or the virtues of the best of them just seems a profound misinterpretation to me. He has flaws, but he's not a hypocrite and he does not fail to live up to his presentation of himself at any point.

He's exactly what he appears to be, a stern and intelligent young man out of step with the current trends of his culture, who still cares deeply about his people and their allies. He's potentially highly dangerous in the way of Denethor and Aragorn, and like them, his personality is hard and unbending when it comes down to it, but he's also gentler than either—the combination of his willingness to act on the threat he represents if necessary and ethically justifiable, with a deep compassion and sympathy for others (even animals), is distinct and really interesting.

I think there's a very important distinction between Faramir performing virtue and gentleness and putting on the persona of a great Númenórean lord in times of peace, and Faramir presenting himself as he truly is and then suiting actions to words, despite the fundamental antipathy between his temperamental inclinations and the circumstances he's been placed in.

[interrogatormentors]

hey Kanaya, did you design everyone's outfits? and which one was your favourite to make?

A Propaganda Machines Cogs Cannot Spin Without Anything to Gander At If I May Use Such Crass Highblood Terminology In My Own Metaphor And As Such I Have Taken It Upon Myself To Appoint Myself Chief Totalitailorian Of The Rebellion In Addition To My Duties As Rebel Cavern Liaison

How Are We Supposed To Recruit Rebels To Our Cause If They Have Worn The Same Six Ragged Crewnecks Since Pupation I Asked Our Great And Benevolent Leaders

Maybe Our Words And Deeds And These Knives I Found They Say

So I Slave Away And By The Sweat On My Brow And The Blood On My Teeth I Clothe The Masses And Does Anyone Show Me Any Appreciation For All My Thankless Work To Keep Our Forces Presentable

No

Only Fucking Equius

In Any Case My Favorite Outfit To Design That Was Not Purely To Be Mass Produced By Various Sewing Machines Across The Network Is A Close Tie Between Dear Karkat and Sollux

The Former Because It Was Quite A Whimsical Time Wrangling Him Into Something That Showed A Splash Of Color To Actually Showcase Him As A Proud And Dangerous Operative On The Field And Taking Into Consideration The Need For Stealth When Necessary Not To Mention The Historical Significance Within Said Color Choices

Sollux In Comparison To Me Is The Equivalent Of Giving A Striped Multifaceted Roarbeast Ground Grubloaf Within Some Sort Of Spherical Gourd As Every Decision Is Informed By Trauma And Designed To Both Mitigate It And Provoke It When Appropriate

He Requires The Ability To Hear At All Times So A Flexible Hood Is Required But Should An Environment Become Too Stimulating He Needs To Be Able to Tighten That Hood Without The Use Of A Drawstring That Could Be Used to Harm Himself

Or There Is The Fact That Bare Shoulders Tend To Improve His Posture Which While A Joy To See His Horizontebrae Transforming Into Proper Vertebrae He Becomes Far Too Bitey And Touchy So I Am Currently Musing Over The Potentials For Tear Off Sleeves Or At The Very Least Colored Ones To Give Off The Illusion For Some Much Needed Vibrancy And Some Sort Of Familiarity Without Exposing The Skin

The Thickness Of The Garment Is Also Important Because Too Thin And His Teeth Start Chattering Despite A Lack Of Chill Even For One With As Low Of Blood As He Which Leads Me To Suspect His Training Involved Some Sort Of Deep Freeze Conditioning And Is Making Me Muse Over The Possibility Of Clothing As Therapy If I Can Throw Enough Different Outfits At Him

I Could Go On And On About It If I Wasnt So Focused On Getting Nepeta To Put On A New Fucking Hat

WOW, M1SS SUNNY M1NT CHOCOL4T3 CH1P! T3LL US HOW YOU R34LLY F33L, WON'T YOU?

Do You Want A Fucking List

[pastelpaperplanes]

How did Optimus get the scar on his chest?

also for a knight he doesn’t really have a lot of scars which could mean he’s either really good or really inexperienced (or both)

The scar on his chest is from this incident right here!

Granted this AU doesn’t have a linear plot in mind organized, I‘ve just used this event as a major conflict Megatronus and Sir Orion face. It would take place not long after Optimus finds out ‘Megatronus’ is actually King Megatron himself. Obviously this reveal wouldn't go down so well, making their partnership out of convenience so much more high stakes now that Optimus knows that this mech he’s shared his journey (and his heart) with isn’t after a bounty on the sacred Allspark at all–but has every intention of securing it by any means necessary to save his own people.

In the height of all this drama, Megatron leaves Optimus’ side per the Knight’s wishes, soon after facing a near blinding blizzard and getting ambushed by a hoard mercenaries who caught word of the mission and had every intention of taking both down getting everything they knew about the Allspark out of them. Optimus ends up following after Megs (those damn FEELINGS) and ends up taking a couple of very nasty hits by the straggling few Megs managed to miss after he was finally brought down! Here is where KOBD shows up to pull the near frozen mechs out of the snow and drag them along to the Dinobot Isles where they eventually recover

He doesn't have many scars, but the arrow wounds definitely are the worst of them.

And you're right, it's a bit of both!

Optimus, Sentinel and Elita were all knighted about a decade after the Great War. The Council found themselves in need of a lot more Guard leaders with the looming possible threat of the Decepticons making a return, as well as the dire need for spirited and eager to serve young mechs to venture out for their kingdom to recover the Allspark, wherever it may be. All three nobels were set on the fast track for knighthood due to their status, as well as their prowess on the training grounds.

There were few things that could keep Optimus’ mind occupied from the weight of being the last member of House Orion, pushing his skills and body to the limits in his training seemed to work best. Out of his partners, Optimus was without a doubt the most experienced and promising of all.

Knight Elita’s untimely death was a terrible loss for both the Guard and Council, as Iacon lost one of it’s most promising potential command units which quickly fell apart due to grief. Sentinel and Optimus never emotionally recovered and the rift between them was to great for even the Council to make attempts to amend, such wasted potential…..Knight Optimus was promptly demoted from his station after claiming fault for the incident, however, he still holds the title of Knight for ceremonial/status purposes despite being removed from official service.

Since all those years ago, he does not lead any guards whatsoever and he mostly helps to train young and plucky new guards in basics. (He is the favorite instructor of just about every soldier that comes his way) So no, Optimus has not seen true battle nor faced much injury in his time as a ‘glorified’ Knight within Iaconian walls. Again, grueling training, and now his ragtag group of unlikely friends, Bulkhead, Bee, and Ratchet, are some of the few reasons that gets Optimus up in the morning.

Currently though, the quest to recover the Allspark is his sole purpose in life so that he may pay his penance to his Kingdom and Elita. He’s faced a lot of danger throughout his quest, but with Megatron watching his six, very few have come close to touching him.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Nobody bays an eye at the fact that MK's mom is a very much male presenting person. They live in a world where shape-shifting is the norm, and there is literally a famous story about a kingdom with a river that can make anyone, no matter the gender, pregnant. Its not an impossible thing to imagine for them, especially since they suspect MK to be a demon at that point anyway, which means his mom is guaranteed to be one too. No, the biggest surprise in regards to Wukong's pregnancy comes more from who Wukong is rather than any sort of gender he presents as, but it's rather easily explained away. After all, there's no reason for Wukong to hide the fact that Stone Monkey pregnancies are often fatal and result in many complications, so as the stronger and more durable between himself and his mate as well as the one with mor most layers of immortality, it's simple logic that he'd be the one to bear their young.

At least, that's how Wukong describes it later. What he neglected to realize is that just because the specifics of Stone Monkey pregnancies have become somewhat common knowledge amongst the celestials, the mortals do not share in that knowledge and hus rather blase attitude in regards to potentially dying in childbirth does little to ease DBK, Pigsy, Tang, or Sandy's concern. PIF is a little more understanding of Wukong's position, having gone through similar complications with Redson's birth, and actually applauds his willingness and bravery in bringing more children into the world, even whilst almost losing his life to bring his eldest into the world.

prev post.

That and they don't want to assume anything in case MK's mom is a trans person. Wukong is fine with both Mama/Baba titles, and if he carried the kid it only makes sense to him to be "Mom" to them.

In a world of demons, trans people, shapeshifting, and rivers that make your pregnant, you just grow up knowing that sometimes a dude gets pregnant.

Regular Stone Monkey pregnancies aren't anymore fatal than say wild monkey statistics, but the Stone Egg method is super dangerous. Stone Monkeys basically donate so much of their life energy to the world around them that there's very little left over for themselves. The "Boulder" atop FFM is even described as spreading orchids and mushrooms into the earth around it.

PIF admires and envies Wukong a little for his success, despite the terror surrounding little Xiaotian's arrival. She wonders if DBK hadn't been imprisoned, if they could have had such luck.

Wukong very simply explains to the Noodle Gang that he's like the healthiest demon around, and his mate is slightly more fragile than him (literally born in the anaerobic enviroment of the moon = no immune system), so he takes over for baby-incubating. The gnag are super intrigued!

Tang: "So when did you decide to have MK?" Wukong, laughing: "Oh, that was a happy accident! A happy, kinda-scary, 14 year accident." Noodle Gang: (*all nod on understanding/awkwardness*) MK: "Yeah, thats why I grew up being told never to bury myself under a mountain." Noodle Gang: "...wut?" Tang:, JTTW brain activating: "Wait. Did you say 14 years!? As in during the Journey!?!"

Wukong pretty much pulls out corkboard of crayon drawings (like in "The Plan Man") to explain the process and how Macaque accidentally left Wukong "rock pregnant" under Five Finger Mountain - a collage crafted specifically back when MK had first asked about the "Birds and the Bees". The Noodle Shop Gang are horrified - and so is MK for having to re-live it.

Everyone comes away from that specifc lunchtime knowing a little too much about the reproductive habits of Stone Monkeys.

Hilariously I can imagine a situation like with the Eclipse Twins in the TMKATI au (both monkeys got el-pregante with either twin) happening here.

But with the current day. Remember how I pointed out that out of all the Nodelets, one shadow planet was missing? >:3

Once the LBD situation is dealt with at the end of S3;

Guanyin: (*gently grabs Macaque by the scruff of the neck*) Guanyin: "How long were you going to run around getting into danger without telling him [Wukong] you were expecting as well?!" Macaque, honestly confused: "Pardon???" Wukong: (*GASP!*) "Hypocrite!" Macaque: "In my defence, I didn't know that could happen."

MK barfs just *a little* at the announcement (MK: "I TOLD you they were being gross!").

Que the last Lunar Nodelet; Ziqi being made. This time via a very nervous Macaque.

Shadow monkey is on 24 hour lockdown pretty much to watch out for health complications, a reasonable punishment for his little disappearing act. Complications arise only because Mac was away from FFM for an appointment with Lao Tzu when a certain Scroll got found...

[just-animaxiz]

Boss Finn Headcannons

Out of every citizen out there besides Sylvia, Boss Finn often hangs out with Corsac. Not only Boss Finn finds not only Corsac's electric aura steady and risky for such a brave face, but he's the only one who appreciates Corsac's naturalist jokes... As long as it's water-related.

They do share a common hatred and fear of Dolphins. Finn hates it when they chase him around like a toy, steal his jewelry and collection, or even whip him hard enough for a big groan. Corsac, on the other hand, knew that sharks aren't as vile as dolphins, who were the actual tormentors of the sea. They are unpredictable and can be aggressive even when Corsac thought they were gentle and quiet. Whenever people spot Dolphins, they to stare at awe; however, Corsac and Finn only glare.

Boss Finn likes to scare Mint. It's like a big brother and little sister thing, and Mint finds it annoying. When he scared her at Halloween, she wished she could have a real scythe and slice him down like sushi. Boss Finn thinks she looks like a small pufferfish by the way her cheeks puff up at him.

Boss Finn canonically lives in a seaside shack, but that's his "Land" home while his real bed is in a lovely cavern beneath it. It's not a total wreck, but it's not too fancy either. He has the shack there to store his collection, TV, his pictures, one of sylvia's robes that she left after watch TV with him and he loves it so much like a blankie.

Boss Finn has many siblings, like Luna and Mint; however, due to their lack of parental figures and shark behaviors, they went out in their separate ways. They do write each other letters about their lives, and those who didn't.. Were probably dead.

Boss Finn used to spy on humans when he's young. He observes their behaviors, their rich goals, their fancy interests, and anything to give him a boost to the top of the human food chain. When he became a member of the underworld, he observed criminals and cons' predatory tactics to do the same.

Despite being big with ego, Boss Finn is very self-conscious of losing. His old group remind him constantly that winning is everything, and if a big shark like him fail at one thing, he's washed out. After Sylvia made him realize his new path, Boss Finn isn't afraid of losing anymore.... Especially if he has to deal with a blocky, cunning negotiator like Quinn a lot.

Boss Finn has a good talent on everything, including Make-up. He loves to put them on for Halloween, maybe some for tests, and when he and Sylvia became a thing, he put some on her as a gift! She gives him back with lipstick markings around his face~

Boss Finn is the leading champion of his people's swimming competition. They have to race across various reefs, dangerous currents, and life-threatening monsters, and those who aren't competitors cheer for the winner. This is one of the only competitions Boss Finn wouldn't cheat because he's a natural.

The only thing about the competition is that it's just a three-yearly thing and not some regular event. That's why Finn wants to pursue a business he wants to make for himself daily.

Boss Finn is a magnet to the underwater ladies and gents. They leave him offerings, try to flirt with him, and even would kill each other for him. After he became Sylvia's BF, Boss Finn tries to negotiate a plan to lessen the potential murders and jealousy... And lessen the attraction from other shark men who kept their predatory eyes on his girl.

He got into the Itsy Bitsy Kaiju obsession when he spied on a couple of teens talking about the cards and their costs. Finn then went to a hobby shop, and while searching, he discovered a pack of cards that smelled different from the rest. After opening it, he discovered a very rare card and was so proud of it. He still kept it in his binder to this day and TCG became his thing.

Boss Finn always has his hair tied cuz it takes him a long time to get it combed without tangles, and it's easier for him to comb a hold of his hair without a single loose strange on his forehead. He also likes it when Sylvia smothers her face in his hair, commenting how soft it is. He does use the best quality of shampoo and conditioner.

Finally, Boss Finn really wants to break the cycle of how shark parents aren't there for their kids. After he and Sylvia became a thing, he had dreams of having kids with her and giving them the best lives. He would spoil them, protect them, playfully scare them, and most of all... It felt like he can say "I'll always be there and I'll always love you." whenever he tucks them to sleep... Because for once in a shark's life, a father will be there to raise his kid.

[indigo-constellation]

so have you already heard about daniil's madness meter? i want to talk about madness meter. it's so amazing. daniil's fun steppes into madness. the potential of clara having one too

I HAVE

we've known about that his mechanics would be different from 2022 so I'm really excited to see it actually happening, and I'm wondering if it's something you have to keep balanced between "apathy and psychosis" as they say, because oh boy does it feel like you have to do that sometimes. I was watching the stream with a few friends and I was constantly saying that the meter on the top was the mental health one, and it's interesting to see the effects it has on him. I don't like some of the language about it but I'm choosing to believe it's awkward translation stuff.

I also love how Danko's hand shakes when he has to shoot, no more trigger happy dangerous bachelor you will be sorely missed, but I think that this change does work very well for his character.

For Clara I don't think she'd have those mechanics at all. A friend of mine is currently playing Changeling route for the first time and I think that adding a mental state meter wouldn't make the game any better. I think that a Pathologic 4 would have completely new cult mechanics tbh. Because Clara isn't a mind character like Daniil despite her being the most magical one, I think her game will have something about miracles and something about her powers of truth and her lies becoming true if that makes sense.

[cherryfennec]

¿What is Dimentio's relationship with each of the members of Team Bleck? ¿Does he really consider them friends? ¿What does he think of them? ¿Do you like doing activities with them? And if so, what activities would they be?

I'm not really much of a character writer in my eyes but personally I currently kinda see his relations like this:

O'Chunks

Dimentio likes to humour O'Chunks and his way of thinking. He tends to be more open towards people that are prone to suggestions and the big guy is a fine example of that. He shows more of his playful side with him and tones down his wordplay just for the guy ("Mmm... I do enjoy a good chunking…”). O’Chunks is an open book to Dimentio that he doesn't need to explore, he has enough information about him and there isn't a lot that he could get him to do for his own benefits (that is until the Floro Sprout experiment). O’Chunks is very loyal and focused on the Count so Dimentios schemes would have little potential wiggle room with someone with such one-dimensional motives. In the end O’Chunks isn't really worth a lot in his eyes but he still treats watching and listening to him as a form of entertainment. They don't really spend much time together outside of meetings.

Mimi

Mixing the fact that Dimentio likes to poke into peoples secrets, be it for gathering dirt or curiosity for knowledge, and that Mimi has a bit of a brat personality, you're left with somewhat of an ‘annoying sibling relationship’. He likes catching her on lies and correcting them, even if the truth is embarrassing. He knows how much she wants to impress the people around her and how much she hates his jokes, which makes it more rewarding for him to follow and annoy her. However since her pride wouldn't allow ignoring even subtle mockery, she actually responds (most often with the first reply she can think of). Then the cycle repeats. She's someone with no benefits to him, just like O’Chunks, however in contrast to the warrior she actually makes it worth the trouble by acting on what he says. Other than meetings he probably follows her in the Castles hallways.

Mr.L

This one is neither like O’Chunks or Mimi. Mr.L is someone who is both valuable to Dimentios visions and entertaining to spectate. Since he's a person required to achieve the magicians goals, Dimentio tends to listen carefully to what the man says. He gathers ‘ammunition’ and then confronts the mechanic in his workshop or hallways, poking him for more information. Mr.L is a person who actually does respond to Dimentios inquiries, but instead of always saying whatever is at the tip of his tongue he can at times reply either with a different intriguing question or a self aware sentence. It's a fun game to Dimentio, he found someone else just as talkative as him who also isn't a total moron despite having moments of acting like one. He would follow Mr.L around the hallways and even into his ‘workshop’, that is until a little accident.

Nastasia

Dimentio finds her a little annoying. She's not very talkative, somewhat smart, and treats her duties with focus. He knows that she doesn't trust him so he doesn't talk to her unless he needs to. She’s a potential danger to him as she has eyes everywhere and doesn't take his words at face value. She knows something is up and tries to subtly to make whatever the jester is trying to do harder. At one point she started dragging Mr.L around with her, due to a certain event, just so he couldn't be left alone with Dimentio in a room. But in the end it doesn't matter as shes just another small inconvenience he will overcome. He does find it a little amusing that she tries though.

Count Bleck

To Dimentio the Count is worth as much as The Prognosticus he holds. He's hard to talk to and let's his emotions dictate his actions. He would be a threat if not for the fact that after the Void is opened he starts caring less and less about what people around him do and waits for the script to finish. Dimentio does sometimes try to get a reaction out of him just for kicks (such as asking if the name Timpani rings a bell). He takes pleasure in bringing people down and the Count, despite his looming demeanor, doesn't fight back.

Would he call any of these people friends? Not genuinely. Dimentio seems like the type of person who makes friends for benefits rather than because he has emotional attachment. The same goes for hanging out, if he ever participates it's to entertain himself either by mocking or spectating (he tends to easily fall for his curiosity). But that's just my perspective!

[yuri-is-online]

After reading a translation by Yuu Rei on twitter, I’ve been thinking about Book 7 and how this could potentially end. I know there’s been a lot of discussion of how this may need to be ended with a peaceful resolution since Malleus is so powerful and/or Idia’s plan is looking too much like Henrik’s very successful take down of Maleanor. Personally, I actually want to see Idia’s plan succeed to a degree and think it would be fun to defend why.

I’ll link it for reference here if you want to read the thread too: https://x.com/yuurei20/status/1672514883215331328?s=46

1. I personally would find it narratively fitting. History repeats itself when no one learns from it, and it was a previously mentioned lore tidbit that fae history is not well known among humans. And let’s be honest, anything that does exist on the human side for history would not be completely truthful on what happened with Maleanor if her fate is even mentioned. There has also been a lot of buildup with how overblots are dangerous to the health/wellbeing of the overblotter, and using Malleus to pay it off would both parallel Maleanor’s fate and nerf him for Book 8. A necessary action in order for the plot to not be immediately solved by Malleus’s ridiculous might.

2. I think it works with Malleus’s portrayal so far. He does have his good moments and traits, but I haven’t forgotten his tendencies to steamroll the opinions and perspectives of others. Take the Spectral Soirée for example, when Malleus decides to freeze time and kidnap a significant part of the student body simply because he sees himself in the lonely ghosts. No concern whatsoever for harm to his classmates or how it would look for an entire chunk of the student body to suddenly go missing. Or his dorm uniform vignette, where Malleus remains stubbornly insistent that it is the fault of the other housewardens or circumstance that he does not attend the meetings despite very reasonable measures to remind him having already been taken. Followed by a complete disregard for what’s polite/acceptable by summoning the other housewardens using magic reserved for objects because he doesn’t want to miss another meeting. The point I’m making here is that a massive rebellion like Idia gathering up his peers may be what it takes to get through to Malleus that what he is doing is not acceptable behavior just because he was afraid of Lilia leaving and didn’t want to be alone.

3. The last two books set a precedent for the shift from teaming up with solely the current and previous dorm to defeat an overblot to joining forces with students across various dorms. Combining that with the opportunity to build characters further by showing the NRC boys being capable of working together it would make sense for the big overblot battle to involve the other cast members like Idia’s plan intends to.

But I’m also kind of Malleus hater so take it all with a grain of salt. - 🦐

I am also kind of a Mallues hater and think his relationship with Yuu kind of gets overplayed by the fandom to an annoying extent at the cost of the character development and friendship of all other characters in the game by the English speaking fandom. In fic anyway, in game I appreciate him for what he is specifically for reasons like this, he's an interesting character.

I sort of disagree about Idia's plan looking too much like Henrik's take down of Maleanor. It might look like that on the surface to a fae who was there at the time but there is a big difference between Maleanor defending her territory and her child and the temper tantrum Malleus is throwing. To compare the two is disingenuous at best, which is why it is so narratively fitting that they might go down the same way.

I sort of get the sense that what happened is lost history because the fae eventually destroyed the human kingdom/ the kingdom destroyed itself. There is a reason Silver is an orphan and the fae keep to themselves. In a way Briar Valley seems sort of bad at history education? Which makes sense in a weird way, if you don't reproduce often and everyone lives for an age you sort of just expect to remember things and you don't always think to explain important stuff to kids. The point about needing to nerf Malleus for Book 8 is such a good fucking take I would be so surprised if the health complications angle didn't come up. I wonder if the consequences are worse for fae due to them being made of magic?

Malleus does seem to understand that his power is great and that it is meant to be used to bring people happiness... he just does not seem to see other people as. Well. People nor does he seem to understand the concept of dreams. In a way the ideals of someone like Azul are completely foreign to him because he's never had to work to be good at anything he's needed to do. Sure he might like learning to do mundane things like use a washer and dryer, but he doesn't need to do it and that's the only reason why he likes it. If he had to do it every day he would find that exhausting so yes, this plan does seem like the only way to get through to Malleus. He needs to realize he is treating people not like his subjects but his toys, just because Sebek is ok with that doesn't mean everyone else is.

Agree. I feel like the real threat in Twisted Wonderland, whatever it is, will need every student to work together in order to face it and not just a handful of students from one or two dorms. We still need to find out what's up with Grim and Crowley... and RSA if we're lucky!

[sannylity]

Here’s a really cute involvement of Slimeriana in QSMP’s current lore.

You know how ever since they saved Cellbit and Felps from the Federation, they’ve been skeptical about having a traitor between them. And it’s not just Baghera or Forever being skeptical with Jaiden working with Cucurucho but they actually have a couple people in mind.

Baghera wants more information regarding the people who hasn’t been seen at all to get a lead, which would include Wilbur, Spreen, Charlie and Mariana.

They haven’t heard of Charlie and Mariana in a while but word has it that they’ve been living in complete solidarity distant from everyone else since their daughter’s passing. On one hand, BBH thinks they should leave them alone since they are a grieving couple, on the other hand, Baghera and Forever seems to agree that no one should be an exception from being a suspect, grieving or not.

And so, they invite the couple over, to which they turn them down, saying they want to be left alone, that they just want to live in peace.

Unfortunately, with the help of Roier, they are taken into questioning.

Imagine how their separate interrogations would be.

They’re smitten over questions asking about each other. How they met, why they got married, what they’ve been up to, etc etc. They go batshit insane and unhinged about certain topics like infidelity, veganism, doing things for both an angel and satan…

Charlie gets flustered over questions about meeting Mariana, embarrassed over the fact that he had a crush on him first. He still gets extremely jealous when Foolish is brought up and he keeps insisting he wanted to go home because Mariana is cooking a new recipe for dinner.

Meanwhile, Mariana is totally enamored talking about Charlie, admitting that he thought Charlie’s a little crazy for his taste but eventually realizing he had a thing for his craziness. He gets too in depth and in detail about their sex life without even being prompted, probably scarring Forever and Baghera for life. But hey, if that would make the interrogation process much faster, he’d gladly talk about that one time he spat in his husband’s mouth.

Though, when they made the wrong move of asking about Juanaflippa, both Charlie and Mariana react the same way. It’s like being with different people. They turn serious and dangerous all of a sudden. Despite BBH telling them that the couple is not a threat, Forever and Baghera contemplate about reaching for their swords when they are warned to choose their next words very carefully. BBH had to diffuse the situation somehow before they were let go.

They are thanked for their time and they leave. Unfortunately for the couple, their display of tenacity only makes them more suspicious.

Somewhere in the distance, Mariana is complaining about the long trip back home and Charlie offers him a piggyback ride.

While people make them out to be potential villains, they are actually just the most unbothered couple on the server, living their best life lol

[atopvisenyashill]

genuinely, what do you think happened to daena the defiant after the birth of her son? as much as it sucks that grrm likes writing women off of the page once they gave birth to historically significant people, I think that if he was planning to include her in the build-up to the blackfyre rebellions as a sort of alicent hightower figure, her involvement would've been mentioned in twoiaf.

and even though i'm pretty sure a rebellious girl like her would've been pissed off that she got passed over in favor of her uncle, the fact that she didn't announce daemon's parentage after viserys ii died and aegon iv ascended makes me think she wasn't actually trying to crown her son to vicariously live through him.

so my current theory is that daena died before aegon claimed daemon and that aegon specifically ordered a secret hit on daena (probably a "hunting accident") so that he could claim her son as a potential heir (whether or not daemon is actually his, it doesn't matter as long as he has an alternative to daeron).

Interesting theory!

I more or less agree - I think Daena died before Aegon claimed Daemon Blackfyre and I think Aegon only claimed Daemon after she died because she didn't want him to be claimed by Aegon. I tend to lean towards Daena feeling so scorned after not getting to be Baelor's queen, being locked up for a decade, and finally being passed over that she didn't want Daemon to have anything to do with the crown. Not dissimilar to Rhaenys Velaryon, in that she's just resigned herself to the fact that she's never going to get it. BUT. Unlike Rhaenys, I think Daena was likely happy to be a menace, a sort of living ghost in King's Landing reminding everyone that her claim was set aside despite it being better under normal circumstances than Viserys' (and Aegon's). It's not that she wants the crown, nor does she want to put Daemon in danger, it's that she's just like, deeply pissed off and bitter. If her pissy attitude makes Daeron nervous about her intentions, well, that's his fucking problem as far as she's concerned.

I also think - this is part of my Daemon Ballfyre theory but it works even if Daemon is Aegon's - that Aegon at least marginally respected Daena's choice to keep Daemon out of everything. I'm not trying to blorboify him here, but my read on them has always been that like...Daena is the only relative he's ever respected. She's wild and untamed and rebellious and bitter as fuck, and he's always been enchanted by that part of her, especially surrounded by the very religious and dour Aemon, Baelor, and Naerys. So while he's scheming to overthrow his own son, instead of claiming Daemon, he tries to make his own bastard heir and switches from random women as his mistresses to noble born virgins; I think this is partially a power and control thing, he likes the fact that he's the king and he can bed a noble virgin and no one can stop him. BUT. I think it's because he knows he needs a noble born mother for his bastard heir. Except things with the Brackens blow up quickly, so Aegor is out. Melly gives him an albino ~freak of nature and two girls, so she's out. I think he might have wanted to try with the Butterwells, but they're not quite noble enough, they have all girls, so he gives Lord Butterwell a dragon egg for his troubles and he's out. He's getting old, he's getting unhealthy, Daeron is out here having sons and making friends, so when Daena dies, he seizes the opportunity and just...claims Daemon. Similar to him not implying Daeron was illegitimate until after Naerys and Aemon are both dead, I think Daena would never have allowed this - but now she's dead.

Is he capable of killing her? I mean, it's not unlikely, he's actively trying to get his own son killed, he rapes his sister to death, he potentially poisoned his own father, so sure why not. I will definitely be interested to see what their relationship looks like when F&B part 2 comes out.