#even though they're four different colours

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Thai Communal Wardrobe item #3

Don't Say No ep 5:

Bad Buddy ep 5:

Enchanté ep 10:

Even Sun ep 6:

Vice Versa ep 8:

The Eclipse ep 8:

The Three Gentlebros ep 1:

The Eclipse ep 11:

A Boss and a Babe ep 4:

My Dear Gangster Oppa ep 3:

Middleman's Love ep 1:

[woso-dreamzzz]

Carnival

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: Mary takes you to the carnival

Lockdown was both the bane of Mary's existence and the best thing in the world.

The worst thing because it meant confusion and fear and no football for a while. The best thing because it brought her you.

She fostered at first before moving to adoption when she found that she couldn't be parted from you.

With the lockdowns tentatively over now, things had started opening up again.

Like the carnival.

"They're rigged," You tell her.

You're still little but you speak well for your age, well advanced when compared to any of your peers.

"Rigged?" Mary laughs," Where've you heard that word?"

"I read it," You say," In a book."

"Oh. I forgot I was taking a genius out."

You make a little noise of acknowledgement before turning back to the carnival game.

It's most definitely rigged.

All of them are.

This one is one of those basketball toss games where you know the ring is only just wide enough for the ball to get through. If the throw isn't perfect then it'll hit the rim and bounce away.

Mary is looking at it with concentration though and you snag her belt loops, tugging lightly.

You hadn't meant to stop in the first place but you'd caught sight of one of the prizes.

One shot in got you a keychain.

Two shots got you a little inflated ball.

Three in meant the prize was a small toy.

Four was a medium sized toy.

Five was a big toy.

The big toys are displayed at the very top of the game. A lot of them a bears or big puppies but a handful of them are birds. They're in lots of different colours.

Yellow seems to be the most prominent colour but then it's pink. The one that caught your eye is blue though.

You like the look of it a lot but you also know the odds of winning it are slim to none.

Five perfect shots in a row is very difficult especially when the backing board behind the hoop is angled at a way that means if the ball hits it, it won't go into the hoop in the slightest.

"Mary," You say, tugging," Let's go."

Mary doesn't move though. "You want the bird?"

"Yes."

"Then let's try."

"No."

"You don't even want to try?"

You shake your head, scuffing your foot into the dirt. "It's not worth it, Mary."

"Would it make you happy though?"

"Yes."

"Then let's try."

"But-"

"Come on, birdie," Mary says," We'll try a few rounds and if we get it, we get it but if not that's fine too."

It costs five pounds for five balls and Mary fails abysmally for her first round.

It stokes something in her though, especially when your eyes dart away from the toy with every missed shot.

You've had a rough go of it, Mary thinks as she pays for another few rounds. Before her, you'd had a failed adoption. The couple had wanted you but then the wife had gotten pregnant and they realised what they actually wanted was a biological child.

It had fallen through and you'd bounced for a few days before being fostered by Mary.

She'd worked hard with you on understanding that she wasn't going to abandon you. She'd worked hard to get you to accept her as a maternal role in your life.

But that illusive word still evaded her.

She didn't need it, not truly. She knew what you thought of her and you knew what she thought of you.

She'd do anything for your happiness, including draining her bank to win you this stupid blue bird.

Your eyes had lit up when you'd seen it but you seemed fairly realistic for such a little kid.

These games were rigged but Mary refuses to let that stop her.

You want this stupid bird.

She'll get you this stupid bird.

Her hands are sweaty as she grabs her last ball. The others, surprisingly, have all gone in after nearly fifteen rounds of this stupid carnival game and it slowly dawns on her that this is the last shot.

She wipes her hands on her shirt.

"Mary?" You say and she looks down at you," Are you okay?"

"I'm just fine, birdie. One last shot and we can get your bird."

You glance down bashfully, fingers still threaded around her belt loop. "It's okay if you can't make it. We can go on the teacups instead."

Mary frowns, dropping to her knee so she can cradle your cheek in one of her big hands. "You don't want the bird?"

"I do," You say," But...I don't want you to feel bad if you can't get it in."

"Trust me," Mary says," I just want to make you happy."

You look into her eyes, searching for any hint of untruthfulness in them but you find none. You nod. "You should move slightly to the left," You say," And spread your fingers out a little more."

"Thanks, birdie."

She does as you've said and shoots.

The ball goes in and Mary breathes out a sigh of relief, already leaning over the counter to talk to the poor minimum wage worker that's had to sit through all her attempts.

"Yeah," She says," The bird. The blue one. Up top. Yeah, that one."

He has to get a big stick with a hook on the end to get it off and Mary takes it from him triumphantly.

She presents it to you and you gently stroke your hand over the fur.

She's still holding it but you bypass your new favourite toy completely, moving to hug her as tightly as you can.

"Thank you, Mummy."

Mary tries not to let you finally saying the 'm' word affect her, forcing back the tears that want to fall as she hugs you back, raining kisses onto the top of your hair.

"It was my pleasure, birdie."

[luveline]

steve!! i miss him too :( what about a cute kbd christmas fic?

kbd —the harrington's start preparing for christmas. mom!reader, 2k

When you get home to absolute silence, you assume your kids have been abducted and your husband murdered. When you find the laundry baskets have been moved off of the stairs and the mountain of little shoes by the door has been lined up neatly, you guess the killers must've cleaned after it happened. 

You forget the stiffness of your back and pinched toes. Arms full of grocery bags, you shoulder into the living room with your tongue between your teeth. “Oh,” you say, breathing out, “good. You're alive.” 

Your girls are sitting in a wavy row. Avery lays with a long leg hanging over one couch arm, littlest Wren by her side swaddled and propped with pillows. Dove sits at Wren's other side with her rainbow Teddy bear in her lap. Bethie, precious sweetheart, is sleeping smushed against the opposite armrest with Steve's sweatshirt over her lap.

“Hey, honeys,” you say quietly, so as not to disrupt their mild moods, “everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, mom,” Avery says without looking away from the TV. 

“What about you, Dove? You okay?” 

“Yis,” she says shortly. 

You turn to the TV, confused. What could be interesting enough to hook them both? Even Wren seems to be watching the TV, her tiny face demure. 

“What's this?” you ask, squinting, before a familiar white beagle takes to the screen. “Oh, it's A Charlie Brown Christmas!” 

“Mommy, can you please be bit quieter, please?” Dove asks. 

You snort and hurry past them to the kitchen. The smell of homemade cinnamon rolls envelopes you, the heat of the oven warming your wind-nipped nose. “Hey,” you say, though you can't actually see your husband anywhere. 

He pops up from behind the kitchen table with water dripping down one wrist, a rag in hand. “Hey!” he says, ditching the rag in a bowl of suds, quick to wipe his hands dry on his chest and stand. “I didn't hear you. You forget how to yell?” 

“And disturb the peace?” You sigh in relief as he takes the heavier bag from your wrist to push onto the clean countertop. “Thanks.” He takes the other bags. “Thanks, baby.” 

“Y'welcome,” he says easily. He looks like he's had a long day in that his shirt is wet in four different places and in three different colours, but he looks happy, cheeks a red hue and almond eyes creased with a familiar fondness. 

Steve's pretty much always happy to see you. You lay claim to at least two of his smile lines, and you love to feel them with your fingers to affirm that they're really there, he's really happy, in this life you made together. (An exhausting, lovely life.) You raise your hand to his cheek and cover one such wrinkle with your fingertips, tilting his face into one palm. “You've been busy today,” you say gently.  

“So busy. All the bedrooms, the bathrooms. Soon as I wipe down the baseboards in here, I'm done.” 

“Want me to do it?” 

“No way. You'll take all my glory.” He presses his smile into a flat line, though the love stays behind in his eyes. 

“I'm gonna look at everything just as soon as I put the groceries away, I can't believe it,” you say, kissing him chastely, then the corner of his mouth before pulling away. The soft brush of his lips lingers on yours, but nothing feels as good as the way he looks at you. “You didn't have to do it all, baby, I would've helped.” 

“Christmas will be here before we know it,” he says with an unbothered shrug. “It creeps up on us every year. I figured I better get the jump on it if I was gonna get it done, but then they've all been so weirdly well behaved. Dove hasn't cried once.” 

“Bethie's sleeping, you know?” 

He takes your arm before you can turn away and works you into a hug. 

“I know,” he says, cupping the back of your head. “Was Wren alright?” 

“Best big sister is looking after her.” 

“God, we don't deserve her. She's not stressed, is she?” 

Avery loves being a big sister, but you're both wary of how she might feel responsible for things she shouldn't have to be responsible for. “She looked fine. They were watching TV.” 

Steve gives you a steady, soft squeeze. You press your nose down into his shoulder with your arms curled around him to breathe him in. He smells of disinfectant, the sugary Christmas one that the girls can't get enough of. Avery begs him to spray down the bath before she gets in so it'll smell nice, and every time he promises her he'll buy her a bottle of bubble bath, but a little disinfectant isn't bad for her, anyways. From over Steve's shoulder you can see he's used it well, every surface sparkling clean, no corner or speck of grime left to survive. 

You kiss his shoulder. “You really didn't have to, Stevie, but thank you. It's amazing in here.” 

He hums into the side of your head. “I love you.” 

You totally, totally get it. You'd clean a hundred houses for him, even with four girls badgering you as you go. 

“Love you too. You finish the baseboards, I'll put the groceries away, and we'll sit down before they realise they're being well-behaved.” 

Steve likes your plan, leaving you with a last little squeeze to get done cleaning. You sort through what's in the fridge, throwing away stuff past due, noting on the whiteboard stuck to the fridge what's about to go bad soon, as well as the dates for the meat. What you've bought today should last for at least two weeks, but it never really does. 

You keep some of the Christmas goodies on the counter and hide the rest away atop the cabinets out of sight. 

Avery runs in as you're taking off your shoes. “Mom, Bethie's crying about something.” 

“Oh no. Thanks, babe, I'll be right there.” 

You sneak a peek at Steve before you go. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscle of his upper arm tenses and releases with every scrub of the baseboard. It's… Well, you married well. 

Beth cries on the couch, she and Dove pulling at the same dark blob of material while Wren looks on in quiet confusion. She's too small to sit, laid on her back, but she's started turning her head, following people and their movements, and when she sees you, she smiles. It's a very Steve-like expression. 

“Hello,” you say, picking her up carefully, kissing her little head. “Let's get you out of the splash zone, sweetheart.” 

“Mom, she took daddy's hoodie!” 

“I want it!” 

“What if I go get another one of daddy's hoodies?” you ask, attempting a swift defusing. “How's that? We can all have one.” 

“I want this one,” Beth insists. 

“I want it,” Dove says, glaring at her older sister. 

Bethie is a gentle soul that won't pull it out of Dove's hands, even when she maybe should. She cries and balls her hands into the fabric to stop from losing it completely, sending you a desperate frown, “Mom, please, I had it first.” 

“Yes you did, honey. Dove.” You look her straight in her little face, knowing this won't end well. “Bethie had it first, okay? You can have it later, but until then, I can go get you one for yourself.” 

Dove hates that. Wren hates that Dove hates it, and everybody starts crying. Avery didn't follow you out of the kitchen, likely kept behind by Steve to save her from the coming massacre, but she'd probably start crying too from the sheer overwhelming volume. 

Can't have everything, you think. 

“Dove, don't make me call daddy in here. Take your hands off of daddy's sweatshirt. Now, please.” 

Dove shrieks and lets go of it, throwing herself down off of the couch to cry into the beanbag instead. She kicks her legs, and Beth looks shocked at the outcome, any victory overwritten by guilt. She climbs off of the couch with her arm already held out to give Dove the sweater, but you stop her. 

“That's yours, baby, you keep it. Daddy gave that to you.” 

“I'm not being a good sharer,” Bethie says. 

“There's enough to go around,” you promise her. Dove's just showing off ‘cos you've said no, not because there's something special about that sweatshirt. Sure, it has a reindeer on the chest, but Steve has tens of Christmas sweatshirts. 

You get to a point as a parent where the crying becomes white noise, and you can manage one at a time or none at all. Bethie nods, and you lean down to give her tearstained cheek a kiss before turning to Dove with Wren grizzling in your arms. She can't decide if she's upset or not, it seems. 

“Dovey, don't be angry at me, please? Let's go get you another one. Okay? You could even have one of mommy's, if you wanted.” 

Not good enough. She cries and cries and cries until Steve enters the room, his confusion dramatised as he holds out his hands to her. “Dove! What's wrong, sweetheart?” 

“Mom won't– mommy won't–” She sobs. “I want that one.” 

“Mommy's just doing what I asked her to,” Steve says, bending down at the waist to meet her eyes. “So be mad at me, okay? Mommy didn't do it, I told her that that one's for Beth. How about we go and get you another one?” 

Dove immediately takes his hand, appeased now she has someone on her side. You flop down on the couch as they walk away together with one last child to soothe. Wren goes down easy. All she wants is some shushing and back patting. 

“Is it over?” Avery asks, tiptoeing back into the room. 

You laugh. “Yeah, it's over. Sorry.” 

“I'm sorry for hiding,” she says. 

“There's nothing wrong with sitting somewhere quiet when things are too loud, bub. You gonna come and finish your movie? We can get dad to rewind it for us.” You hold out an arm. She sits in front of it with a smile like she's been given the world. 

You really don't deserve your girl. 

Steve and Dove return changed. Steve's in clean pyjamas with wet cheeks, Dove drowned in one of Steve's snowman sweaters. He rewinds the movie without being asked, and he squeezes in beside Avery, and everyone lets out a simultaneous sigh of relief. 

He finds your shoulder across the back of the couch, feeling along it like he knows every curve and divot. It doesn't take long for you to settle in and relax, soothed as the girls had been by a touch of comfort. Your attention flickers between his peaceful face and the baby as she snores on your chest. 

“Snoopy is sooooo bad,” Bethie whispers happily, looking to her big sister for an agreement.  

“He's mischievous,” Avery says. 

“That's a big word,” you say, “where'd you learn that one, honey?” 

Steve pats your arm. He doesn't say anything, just lets you know he's there with you. 

“We're reading a book about Santa at school and they said all the mischievous kids end up on the naughty list.” 

“That's not necessarily true.” You kiss her forehead. “You girls are mischievous, but you're still good girls.” 

“I'm not mist-jiv-us,” Beth denies. 

“You're the most mist-jiv-us,” Steve says, “I know what you're up to, Bethie bear. I always know.”

“I'm not up to anything!” she denies, giggling at his accusatory tone. 

“I am naughty,” Dove says. 

You and Steve laugh at the same time. “Only a little,” Steve says. 

“A lot!” Avery says. 

Dove just laughs and lays back against Steve's chest. Avery languishes between you and Steve like a princess, propping her leg over your thigh, and Beth snuggles into your arm. You breathe in the smell of Wren's hair, totally relaxed in the squeaky clean depths of the living room, your family finally in one place. 

Steve deserves a great, huge, heaping thank you, but you don't have anything to give him. You turn to him over Avery's head, trying to think of what to say to him to express how grateful you are for all that effort and love, years of it, but when he meets your eyes you know he already knows what you want to say. 

“Can we pretend there's mistletoe or something?” he asks, looking down to your lips, his own pursed into a longing pout. 

“Yeah, Stevie,” you say, lifting your chin invitingly. “Wow, look, there's mistletoe! You know what that means.” 

You can feel the shape of his smile when he kisses you, and though he keeps it short and sweet, that evening his hand stays on your arm for hours drawing hearts between iterations of your name, one loving letter at a time.  

[conflictofthemind]

holly wheeler - who/what are you? an informal post about all of the holly oddities I've discovered so far.

where do I even begin with this one? I'm just going to jump into it and show you all the weird connections I've found that mostly relate to holly-el/jane, holly-alice and holly-sarah. I have no real conclusions so far so I invite everyone to take a look and share their thoughts.

oddity one: the hair

All four are blonde girls, and three have pigtails or twin braids, reminiscent of rabbit ears.

oddity two: the rabbits

terry ives' home, inside what should have been jane ives' room:

holly wheeler and her rabbit lite-brite:

alice creel and the dead rabbit:

And why the rabbits? Well, they're all a reference to Alice in Wonderland. The first rabbit in the painting in Jane's room is just literally the rabbit from AIW, fitted with a pocketwatch.

Alice in Wonderland:

Just check out #whiterabbitgate for more on the two above, the song 'White Rabbit' is also connected to El and just general HNL activities.

The Rainbows:

(above is the Terry Ives flashback from season two)

Holly's outfit in Season 5 is incredibly colourful and there are at least 3 different rainbow items inside her room.

The Flowers:

^ Holly even has yellow red and blue flowers on her bicycle basket.

My questions have already been: why is Vecna/Henry seemingly interested in her enough to not only lure her but continue 'playing' with her for multiple scenes? Why is Holly suddenly relevant?

I'm also a BTVS fan, and the idea of a younger sister suddenly introduced had me thinking of Dawn. Dawn was Buffy's younger sister introduced suddenly in Season 5 (literally out of nowhere) - until it turned out that she wasn't a fully real person, but a powerful energy turned into a human that was sent to the Summers' house where they would protect her. She never existed until she was fourteen, but they all believed she had with false memories. Furthermore, she becomes the target of that season's villain which Buffy has to protect.

So then we get to Holly's room:

Most notably for this post are ALF and the 'A Royal Pain' book. Let me just show you the plot summaries for both, starting with ALF:

I initially thought the ALF reference was just a reference to El (and it very much could be a dual thing). But considering the strangeness.... and the parallels that are coming to light between them.

A Royal Pain:

There has already been baby-switch precedent in the show. In fact it's a major theory about Jane Ives and El - that they aren't the same child. But when it's been specifically brought up, it's been in relation to the Wheelers. Karen, was your other daughter swapped in the hospital? Or something even crazier?

I'll get to more when my ideas are less of a mess. But there's also something interesting @bylerposting has brought up - the way that Mike has this whole interesting out of place dialogue with El.

But what if it wasn't about El - what if it was also subtext for Holly? She came into the family even though she wasn't a biological daughter. The Wheelers were like her new parents, and Nancy was like her new sister.

And there's so much more I'm thinking of but can't get to right now, like Holly with the lights and her perception of the supernatural before others sense it. I just want to get this ball rolling for real.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Brownies

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You let James and Sirius try your brownies. Warnings: Chronic pain, marijuana usage Series Masterlist

The evening unfolds like a sigh of relief, tension ebbing away as the night draws near. You're nestled in your room with Sirius and James, the three of you lounging on your bed. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls while its warmth seeps into every corner, warding off the chill of autumn that lurks outside.

"Another Saturday well spent," Sirius remarks, stretching his long limbs out before him. His eyes are half-closed, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "D'you reckon we could make this a tradition?"

James chuckles from where he's sprawled nearby, propped up against headboard. He runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it stand up even more. "Only if Y/N promises to keep providing the snacks."

Your room is spacious for one person with its double four poster bed draped in red and gold curtains, a self-adjusting fireplace that keeps the temperature just right no matter the season, and an ensuite bathroom complete with a large bath. It's become something of a sanctuary within the castle’s ancient walls—a place where laughter rings loud and worries grow quiet.

Tonight, though, it's not just the allure of good company or the promise of a reprieve from homework that has drawn them here. Earlier in the week, they'd learnt about your marijuana usage, and now both boys were eager, albeit slightly apprehensive, to see what all the fuss was about.

Sirius is all too willing, of course; the very idea of trying something new and seemingly forbidden ignites a spark in his grey eyes. His life has always been a dance between rebellion and seeking approval—from his family, from society—and so, when faced with an opportunity to push boundaries, he never hesitates.

"Alright then," he says, sitting up straighter, anticipation colouring his tone. "Let's see what these treats can do."

"Patience," you chide, a hint of laughter in your voice. You summon the box from your shelves, setting it down between Sirius and James who lean in closer, their curiosity piqued. With a flourish, you lift the lid, revealing the brownies nestled together. They're unremarkable at first glance—just squares of baked chocolate—but there's an unmistakable scent wafting up from them, something earthy underlying the rich sweetness.

Sirius reaches out almost instinctively, but you pull the treat away before his fingers can close around it. His brow furrows, confusion lining his face until he catches sight of your smirk.

"I have to make them last until Christmas," you explain, placing the brownie back into the box. "They need to be rationed properly."

James' hand hovers over the opening, as if debating whether to snatch one for himself. But your warning gives him pause. He withdraws, settling back on his heels while watching you with renewed interest. It isn't often they see this side of you—the one that plans ahead, that tempers impulses with reason—and though it's different from their usual recklessness, they find themselves drawn to your resolve.

"Alright then," Sirius concedes, leaning back. There's still a glint of mischief in his eyes, but it's tempered now, held at bay by intrigue. "So how do we go about this?"

"First things first," you begin, reaching for a knife on your bedside table. The blade glints under the firelight as you slice through the soft texture of the brownie, cutting it into smaller pieces. "You’ll start with half each. Any more than that... well, let’s just say you'll be begging for Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up Potion come morning."

The two boys exchange wary glances before turning their attention back to you. Their playful bravado seems to have faded, replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"And remember," you continue, your tone serious despite the faint smile tugging at your lips, "the effects are not immediate. You might feel nothing for a while, but don’t eat more thinking it didn't work. Give it time."

There's silence as they digest your words, the gravity of the situation sinking in. For all their daring escapades and mischievous pranks, they've never quite ventured into territory like this before. It feels both thrilling and daunting—a line being crossed, yet also a door being opened.

"Are you nervous?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

"A little," James admits, running a hand through his unruly hair once more. His gaze doesn’t leave the brownie piece you’ve set aside for him.

"Excited," Sirius corrects, grinning despite himself. "It's not every day you get to try something so... unconventional."

With a roll of your eyes, you pass them their portions. "Just remember what I said."

Sirius takes his share with a nod, studying the morsel closely. Beside him, James does the same, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

On any other night, such seriousness would be out of place. But tonight, it fits. Tonight, they aren't simply Gryffindor boys seeking their next adventure—they're explorers standing on the brink of unknown territory, maps unfolded and compasses pointing toward unseen horizons.

After Sirius and James have eaten their portions of the brownie, the three of you wait for the effects to start. The anticipation is palpable, an electric current that seems almost alive in its own right.

The mood in the room shifts from anticipation to something softer and more intimate as the minutes tick by. Sirius leans back against the pillows on your bed, his usual smirk still present but there’s a tenderness in his gaze as he watches you and James. It’s a look you’ve seen before, often followed by some mischievous comment or playful jab, but tonight it feels different—less guarded, more genuine.

James settles beside you, his arm wrapping casually around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His touch is familiar, comforting even, yet it sends a jolt of excitement through you each time. There's a certain thrill to being this close, surrounded by warmth and the faint scent of chocolate lingering in the air.

There’s a moment of quiet as the three of you sit together, the warmth of your bodies pressed close in the soft glow of the fire. The setting of your room, with its self-adjusting fireplace and the large bed, adds to the intimate atmosphere. You can’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you, a feeling so overwhelming it nearly takes your breath away.

"Feel anything yet?" you ask after a while, breaking the silence.

James shrugs, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Maybe. It's hard to tell."

You watch him closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. His movements are slower, more deliberate as if he's taking care to savour every sensation. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a soft grin, and there's a certain lightness in his eyes that wasn't there before—a calmness that seems to radiate from within.

"Hmm," Sirius hums, his voice low and steady. He blinks slowly, almost languidly, and leans back against the pillows propped up behind him. There’s a quiet ease about him now, a stark contrast to the playful energy he usually exudes.

The tension in the room begins to dissipate, replaced by a wave of warmth and comfort that envelops the three of you like a blanket. You can’t help but let out a content sigh, leaning back against James, who wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side.

For a moment, you simply sit there, basking in the closeness and the peace that has settled over the room. You glance at Sirius, whose eyes are now half-closed as he lounges comfortably on your bed. A lazy grin spreads across his face, and for once, he doesn't seem to be plotting any mischief or planning any pranks. Instead, he looks... relaxed, truly relaxed, something you realise you've never seen before.

And then there's James. Despite being naturally laid-back, there's always been an underlying restlessness to him, a constant need to do, to act. But now, all traces of that have melted away, leaving behind a tranquillity you didn't know he was capable of. His arm around you feels heavier, not with pressure, but with presence—steady, grounding, real.

"Y/N," Sirius' voice is softer now, a low murmur that barely penetrates the silence. You turn to look at him, and he's already moving closer, his hand reaching out to gently slide along your waist, moving James’s arm out the way.

His touch sends a shiver through you, not from cold but from something else entirely—something warm and thrilling that starts in your belly and spreads outward until it reaches every corner of your body. He leans in then, his lips finding the crook of your neck with an ease that speaks of familiarity yet holds a certain novelty that has your heart racing.

His breath against your skin sends goosebumps trailing down your arms, and even the faintest brush of his fingers feels electrifying. It’s as if all your senses have been heightened, attuned to every minute detail—the way his chest rises and falls against your back, the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of him filling your nostrils.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your hands find their way into his hair, tangling into the dark strands as you angle your head to give him better access. You can feel the tension draining from your body, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment.

Sirius pulls away slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, a clear sign of the drug taking effect, but there’s something else there too—a depth of emotion you didn’t expect to see. And then he’s leaning in again, capturing your lips with his in a slow, languid kiss that makes your heart flutter.

James, sitting beside you, watches this interaction with darkened eyes. His gaze is intense but tempered by the effects of the marijuana brownie. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't make any sarcastic comments or tease Sirius about his newfound tenderness. Instead, he remains quiet, observing.

You feel James' hand on your shoulder, pulling you back towards him. You turn your head to look at him and find yourself caught in his gaze. His hazel eyes are soft but hold a depth that makes your heart flutter. Then he's leaning in, closing the distance between you until his lips meet yours.

The kiss is slow, deep—the kind that makes you forget everything else exists. The warmth of his mouth against yours sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you lose yourself completely. It's different from the playful kisses you're used to sharing, less hurried and more... meaningful.

James' hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. You let out a soft sigh, parting your lips further as you lean into his touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only the three of you in this intimate bubble where time seems to stand still.

"Y/N," James breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper. There's an intensity to his gaze that matches the fervour of his earlier words. "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls himself closer to you, erasing the last bit of space between your bodies. His fingers trail along your jawline before coming to rest on the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring your mouth with a boldness that leaves you breathless. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

It's intoxicating, the way he consumes all your senses, leaving no room for anything else. And despite the fear creeping at the edges of your consciousness—because how could something so wrong feel so right?—you can't bring yourself to pull away.

Instead, you press closer to him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his breaths, the taste of his lips, the reassuring solidity of his chest against yours. A low moan escapes you, muffled by his mouth, and you can feel him smile against your lips—a small victory in this game that neither of you are quite sure how to play.

James pulls back from your lips, a grin spreading across his face as he brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. "You're amazing," he murmurs, voice low and rough with emotion.

His gaze is soft, unfocused—the same look he gets when he's lost in thought or simply enjoying the moment for what it is. You can't help but smile back at him, leaning into his touch as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin.

Sirius remains close, his arm draped around your waist and his hand tracing small circles. Every so often, his lips find their way back to your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine despite the warmth radiating from both boys.

There's a quiet intimacy in these shared moments, a sense of closeness that goes beyond physical proximity. And even though you know this isn't how things should be—that there are lines being blurred and rules being broken—you can't bring yourself to care right now.

James leans in closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can't help but lean into it. "We've got all night," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

Sirius chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest against your back. "James is right," he agrees, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. "We're staying."

"Feels nice," James admits, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks further into the mattress. A smile plays at the corners of his lips, revealing just how much he's enjoying the effects of the joint. His usually restless energy is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a languid calm that matches the slow rhythm of the music playing softly in the background.

Sirius lets out a low hum of agreement, his eyelids heavy as he rests his head against the pillows. His gaze remains fixed on you, though, half-lidded and full of admiration. "More than nice," he corrects, grinning lazily.

There's no denying the intimacy of the situation—the way their bodies curve protectively around yours, the faint smell of musk and cologne, the lingering taste of James' lips on yours...

But beyond the physical sensations, there's something else too—a sense of belonging that warms you from the inside out. It's in the way they look at you, not as some piece in a game of rivalry and one-upmanship, but as someone they genuinely care for and want to share this experience with.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to fully relax, sinking deeper into the embrace of the two boys who have somehow become an integral part of your life. Your mind still buzzes with questions and uncertainties, but for now, you push them aside, choosing to focus instead on the present moment and the undeniable connection you share with James and Sirius.

[moonchild701]

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Dream Demon

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Summary: Incubus Dabi comes for a meal

Pairing: Incubus!Dabi/Human Fem Reader

Content Warning: R*pe/Noncon, Dubcon, DARK FIC, Aphrodisiacs, Incubus Dabi, Nightmares, Sleep Paralysis, Paralysis, Mutilation, Genital Mutilation, Blood, Gore

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This is for a Halloween Challenge in one of the communities here on Tumblr. I used four prompts from the challenge, plus my own for funsies, so I'll be posting every Thursday up to and including Halloween.

Promt: Incubus & Nightmare

As always, cross posted on AO3

Happy Halloween and Enjoy!💕

My Masterlist

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You're used to the haunting nightmares. Of things from your past, of all sorts of horrible possibilities, of people and things that scare you, that could hurt you.

Sometimes they're so vivid and realistic, when you wake up, you mistake it for reality.

Sometimes they're so hazy and random, you can barely remember them.

Sometimes you wake up jolting upright, scream tearing from your throat, voice hoarse afterwards.

Sometimes you wake up frozen and stiff, unable to move but wide awake. Breathing is hard, and you swear you see shadows, hear whispers, feel puffs of breath on your skin, raising goosebumps in their path. You don't know what is real, what is dream, how to breathe, how to move.

It lasts mere minutes that feel like hours, and when it's done, you feel drained.

You don't know how to explain this to someone in a way they can understand, so you don't bother.

You are accustomed to it, have accepted that it's simply another aspect of your life.

And then something shifts.

At one point, you swear you see the silhouette of someone hovering over you in your paralyzed state. It was towards the end of it, for maybe two seconds, and then you could breathe and move, and the silhouette was gone.

You dismissed it as a trick of the light.

How naive.

It kept happening, for longer periods of time, randomly. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it isn't.

And now, today something changes.

It's a vivid dream, vivid nightmare, vivid memory. Something you've dreamt about and relived over and over, and nothing ever truly changes. Not the dark, the moon, nor the cold.

Except for this time.

Because this time, you feel the warm pressure on your chest.

It's almost pleasant at first. Something different, something warm in the cold loneliness and fear that usually saturate your dreams.

And then it gets warmer. And warmer. And hot. Hotter. Your very blood boils, your skin blistering, the fear of your nightmare fading to the pure terror of burning up inside out from the unknown source.

Your surroundings are so heated you can see the heatwaves in the air around you, yet your bones are cold, heavy to the point of weighing you down and pinning you to the spot. You can't move.

You try to find your voice, to scream and get this to stop, but it feels like there's a hand wrapped around your throat, blocking your air and your voice. You want to scream, to cry, but you can't.

A near blinding flash of a pale blue light forces your eyes shut instinctively, making you stumble and fall backwards, but it only lasts a second. You snap your eyes back open only to be confused and even more terrified, which you didn't think was possible.

Because though the scorching heat subsides back into a low warmth, there's someone looming over you, his hand on your throat.

A pair of glowing twin flames of blue stare at you. The slitted pupils are unnerving, the intensity of them overwhelming.

The skin below his eyes are an inky purple, almost black, and a gradient of the same colouring creeps along his jaw and cheeks, down his neck and collarbones. There's the same dark pigmentation creeping up his arms to his biceps, piercings seeming to hold the colour to pale skin. You can see more of the same colouring and piercings on his bare lower torso.

The low light illuminates the silver littering his face, body and pointed ears, and the gleam of sharp teeth in his wide grin.

Tall, sleek black horns that curl up and back from within his dark hair, and large leathery, batlike wings on his back are surely a hallucination.

The hold on your throat mercifully loosens as he leans in to whisper into your ear.

"Oh, you're going to be delicious." His voice is low, smoky and deep, the words a saccharine whisper, his warm breath hitting your cheek as he traces a short, sharp claw along your other cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

You shudder, in both fear and something else that scares you even more, as you stare up at him when he pulls back.

He grins that wretched grin as he coos, "I can smell your interest, Sweetheart." Leaning in, his forked tongue licks up the stripe of blood on your cheek, the cut stinging. "I can taste it."

He can taste the tang of despicable arousal that mixes with your fear, and you hate yourself that bit more for it.

You try to move, try to scream, but nothing happens. Nothing moves but your eyes as they frantically look around for the nonexistent way to escape.

So lost in your terror, you don't notice him move again, until you feel the soft brush of lips along your throat; that forked tongue following the touch, hot and wet against your skin. 

His claws tear through your thin clothes with frightening ease, before heated hands start to move over your now bare body; up your sides and across your chest, toying with your nipples, while his mouth roams your skin, leaving bites and licks, and marks and bruises in its wake as he makes his way down the length of your body.

The stimulation sends betraying heat through you, down to your core. You feel yourself getting aroused, the wetness between your legs mortifying.

Yet, it is tempting. Hypnotizing.

The desire to just give yourself over to that heat, to let this creature do what he wants, make you feel good with whatever he's doing to your body, be it here in your dreams or in the waking world, is vicious and strong.

But the moment that thought barely even occurs, instead of the hands bringing soft touches and treacly pleasure, there is agony.

Searing and blinding as his claws drag slow and deep into the flesh of the sides of your thighs, yet you cannot scream. Warm blood pours out of you as the gashes weep, tears stream down your cheeks as you try and fail even to sob.

He chuckles darkly.

“How rude of me,” he murmurs, biting into your inner thigh, just enough to leave a deep bruise. “I forgot my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. You may call me Dabi. I want to hear you scream my name, after all.”

There's no time to process what he said as your autonomy is returned, though barely. You immediately let out a ragged sob, in pain and terror, as you uselessly try to escape.

He wastes no time in going right back to playing with your body, with the places where you're sensitive. His hands alternating between pinching at your sensitive nipples and pressing along the tender edges of your wounds as he licks a stripe up your wet folds, to your clit, making you gasp, writhe, and moan.

His tongue feels like hot velvet, your cunt tingling from his aphrodisiac-laced saliva, and you can’t help but cry out his name when he slips the slick appendage into you; and you find that it feels like a curse and a plea on your tongue, your pussy dripping.

“Mmm that’s it,” he growls against your drenched heat, the sound distinctly not human. “Let me hear you scream my fucking name.”

You're delirious and disoriented as the contrasting sensations of terror, pain and pleasure writhe under your skin, soaking your brain and heart.

You let out a broken, whimpering sob as you feel something wrap around your thigh and force your legs open a little wider, tight around the gash he left there, making it bleed even more, the blood pooling beneath you.

Looking down, you notice that it's a long, spaded tail, the colour of his marks, that's holding you open for the demon. 

Because that's very obviously what this thing is. A demon.

Spread wide enough for clawed fingers to press against your—no.

No, no, no, no, NO!

You thrash and scream, but the hot hand and tail around your thighs tighten to keep you still, and clawed fingers tear their way inside, no matter how slowly they go.

The pain is blinding. Nauseating.

Pain radiates through your entire being, and the trembling and sobbing certainly don't help you, only furthering your mutilation as he spreads them wide, stretching you out.

Warmth trickles down your legs, the mixture of your previous arousal and blood soaking your skin and the surface below you.

And oh.

You forgot that that was only the entry.

You forgot to prepare yourself for the exit, and so you scream as he tears you open freshly when the fingers leave, your eyes clenched tightly, and then something much bigger presses inside your unwilling body.

That sensation paired with the pulsing pain of his tail around your injured thigh has you letting out a sobbing scream as your eyes fly open.

The sound is abruptly cut off as you wake up, with terror soaking your mind and soul, hazy with disorientation, and nothing moves but your eyes, and your throat that spasms for air. For a moment, your body is locked up and paralyzed again, feeling like a volcanic rock rests on your chest, and just as your ability to move and see clearly returns, the barely shaken terror of your nightmare slams back into you with full force.

Because it was not simply a nightmare.

If the pulsing pain coursing through you isn't evidence enough, the glow of the demon's eyes in the dark of your room as they look at you, illuminating his markings and piercings around them with the little light being cast, certainly is, and you give a broken sob.

But the sound breaks off into a traitorous moan when his hips rock into yours; your fear-saturated mind finally realizing that the pain is rapidly going away, making way for heady pleasure.

You can feel the way your skin knits back together until the only evidence left of the wounds are the blood soaked sheets, and the smear of crimson on your skin.

A low, breathless moan escapes you as Dabi rolls his hips, and you tremble and writhe beneath him for a whole different reason, as you feel how full you are of the demon's cock and the treacherously delicious stretch of your cunt around him.

Heart pounding in your ears, you feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of your forehead as he pumps into you, slow and deep, hitting your sweet spot on every thrust; the fear and arousal swirling as one in your stomach. His pace gradually picks up, until he's fucking into you mercilessly, and your eyes roll back.

Your pleasure builds and builds, and you can do nothing to stop it, you don't even know if you truly even want it to stop, and then you feel something inside of you, alongside your approaching climax, shift.

It's a foreign sensation, like something is under your skin, tangled along your veins, moving. It doesn't hurt, but it feels strange. Your heart is racing, and you're sure that he can hear it.

You're on the edge, so, so close, and then, you feel that strange shifting thing start to crawl up; into the back of your throat, and spilling out into your mouth, though you can't taste anything on your tongue, as your orgasm crashes over you with a sob, wisps of blue spilling out from your lips. Your cunt clamps down around him as you shudder and pant.

His eyes glow a little brighter as he grins, a monstrous, depraved thing, sharp and cruel and mocking, as he coos, "Thank you for the meal." His voice is a low purr, the tone all dark pleasure he leans in close, bracing his weight on one arm, his other hand catching your chin and forcing your mouth open, as his hips slow to a deep roll. Your fear spikes sharper as you once again can't move, as the thought that this man, this thing, is going to kiss you, and your eyes sting with tears, as though he hasn't already taken your body.

But no, he simply leans in close, enough for your noses to brush.

You see a faintly glowing blue cloud of mist pour out from between your lips, almost the same shade as his eyes, as he opens his mouth, sharp fangs bared, shotgunning it, and you can do nothing but lay there in your terrified confusion and let him do what he wants to you, whatever it is he's doing to you.

He groans, deep and guttural, as he swallows the mist, his hips moving a little rougher. You're sensitive and overstimulated, a whine stuck in your immobile throat.

You feel his cock twitch within you, his eyes rolling shut as he spills his release deep inside you, filling you with his hot cum; a confusing heat settling into the skin of your lower abdomen.

And when the fog finally stops pouring from your lips, and he gets his fill, he smiles; indulging in your fear and whatever he just took from you, be that the fear itself, your nightmare or your very soul.

You take a shuddering breath as control of your limbs comes back to you, but they feel like lead and you still can't make yourself move.

Glancing down, your breath hitches as you see the cause for the heated sensation in your abdomen.

Just below your navel, above where the monster's cock is still buried inside of you, is an intricate mark, a tattoo, the colour of his eyes etched into your skin, and your tears finally fall, because deep down, you know what it means.

Branding you as his, there is no escape.

And you want to fight, to scream, to do something, but exhaustion is taking a hold on you.

"Go to sleep," he instructs, his voice is a whisper, yet seems to echo, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. A futile effort, as you don't manage anything else before the dark is swallowing you back up in a blissfully dreamless slumber.

The last thing you hear is his haunting voice chuckling,

"Time for seconds." 

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[rallamajoop]

The Complete Guide to Eye Colour In Resident Evil 7

An addendum to my guide to eye colour in RE8: here's everyone from RE7 too! Getting close-ups of these was way harder than for RE8, because RE7 does not come with a model viewer, so I'm stuck using in-game screenshots and promotional images.

Once again, we'll start with the cheat-sheet version:

The whole Baker family: Blue (except when...) Mia: Brown (FOR NOW) Eveline: Green Alan: Hazel/green Deputy OneSceneWonder: Brown Chris: Hazel/brown (FOR NOW) Clancy, Andre and Peter: Brown Ethan: Still hazel

But it can never just be that simple, can it? So, further notes below.

The Baker Family

The Baker family all have blue-grey eyes. In fact, post-infection, they all have the exact same blue eyes (see top line in comparisons below). You could maybe put this down to genetics for Zoe and Lucas, but when Jack and Marguerite have the same eyes as each other too, that's when you start wondering just how many backwater-hillbilly-stereotypes are in play here.

Mind you, they do have slightly different eyes in the pre-mould flashback that is the Daughters DLC, which you can see in the second row above. All are brighter blues, pre-infection, and Jack gets smaller pupils while Lucas gets a slightly larger iris (Zoe gets nothing, as she's the viewpoint PC and we're not redoing her face if you're not going to see it). So maybe we can hope there's some genetic diversity in the Baker-clan (renders of their eyes in their actual faces also look a little more distinct, but maybe that's a lighting thing). Either way, the Bakers = blue eyes! Got it!

And then we meet Uncle Joe in the other DLC who... has hazel eyes?

IDEK, maybe Uncle Joe's real dad was a different mailman.

Once we get deeper into mould-monster territory though, things do get a little more interesting.

Both Marguerite and Lucas appear with much creepier whitened eyes later in the game ‒ Marguerite's during her boss-fight transformation. Lucas, however, remains steadfastly human-shaped throughout the main campaign, but his eyes are whitened in his video message to Ethan, and in his (pre-monstrous transformation) DLC appearances too. Jack, by contrast, doesn't seem to get new eye textures even after blowing off the top of his own head, or in the boss fight that follows (monster!Jack from the fight in the boat house has completely different eyes, of course, and more of them). Mia, too, has her own set of creepy-alternate-mould-monster-eyes, but they're completely different again.

So what's the internal logic here? I could speculate that Lucas' eyes-only transformation is a sign he's in control of himself in a way Jack and Marguerite aren't, but it doesn't quite add up. If anything, those eyes make more sense as something Lucas was given because we never see him transform like Marguerite, or blow pieces of himself away like Jack: Lucas may look human, but the eyes are there to remind us he's not. There'll always be some details that end up being more about effective storytelling than cohesive lore.

Interestingly, though they don't appear in the game, there are also promotional pics of all four members of the Baker family with glowing white/silver eyes, which are definitely a supernatural feature. It's tempting to try and associate the effect with Rose's glowing eyes from the Shadows of Rose DLC, or perhaps even the general pale-grey-eyes of Miranda and the Lords (more on both in my post on eyes in RE8). But that's territory that really needs its own post or we'll be here all day.

Clancy, Andre and Peter

These are the three ill-fated crew of the Sewer Gators tape you'll encounter early in the game. You may notice Peter (rightmost in the pic above) seems to have even more dilated pupils than the majority of the cast. Amusing as it might be to theorise that he's just on drugs or something, I think there is an explanation: the closest shot we see of his face (and the first shot of the tape) is a close-up into a camera while the team is outside in the dark. His pupils would naturally be dilated in this sort of environment.

So why aren't Andre's dilated too? Well, the closest look we get at his eyes (also pictured) are the final shot of the tape, where he's already dead, and his eyes are covered by a red film. Medical plausibility aside, dilated pupils presumably didn't add to the effect here, so Andre gets regular pupils.

Speaking of assets, there is actually one photo of the three of them in the game, from the pamphlet you can find in their van at the start. You can even almost make out Clancy's face!

Clancy's own eyes are their whole own kettle of worms, but we'll get to that below.

Chris Redfield

Is an odd one: I can't share an eye-texture asset for Chris, because he doesn't actually have a character model at all in the main RE7 title. And explaining that one is gonna take some context.

While RE8 renders nearly all cutscenes using in-game models, RE7 stores far more of its major cutscenes pre-rendered in .wmv format. The opening is pre-rendered, video messages from Mia and Lucas are pre-rendered ‒ even the big moment when Eveline blows out the windows of the tanker and throws Mia into the river is pre-rendered. Not all cutscenes work this way, but basically anything that would require loading a lot of assets that aren't needed in gameplay (eg. the view of the river and tanker for outside) seems to have been pre-rendered as a video instead.

And since Chris' only scene in all of RE7 is in the pre-rendered ending sequence, he doesn't have a model at all (or at least, I couldn't find it). We do see Chris in openings and endings of the Not a Hero DLC as well, and the End of Zoe ‒ but these too are just .wmv files, presumably for all the same reasons.

Now, obviously, Chris is also playable in the DLC, so he does have a character model there. But we still don't get eye textures for him for a couple of reasons: firstly, he wears a face-concealing mask that only comes off for opening/ending cutscenes. But even without it, we might just hit other weirdness surrounding player character models...

As I've already noted, both Chris and Mia get completely different new blue eyes in RE8, but back in RE7, Capcom seemed a little more aware that brown or hazel eyes were a real thing regular white people do have sometimes.

A note on player-character models

Although we mostly just see the hands of whoever we're playing as (usually Ethan), gameplay still uses a full-body model, presumably to aid in rendering dynamic shadows, and give enemies something to cover in blood. Things get weird around the character's head, which isn't actually visible so it can't get in the way of the camera floating inside it, but will still cast shadows and still has textures associated with it (though usually in much lower resolution than other models we'll actually get to see). There are three playable characters in RE7 proper: Ethan, Mia, and Clancy (from the video tapes) ‒ each with their own model and textures.

Ethan and Mia also have more detailed 3rd person models, since we see plenty of Mia playing as Ethan, and a little of Ethan playing as Mia (if only from behind).

Why does this matter? Well, distinct as the three PCs are otherwise, their player models all have the same eyes ‒ top row above shows Ethan, Mia and Clancy, in that order. And they look nothing like Ethan's and Mia's eyes have ever looked elsewhere, which you can see in the comparison below.

I mention this mostly because it's pretty easy to find Ethan's player-model in the game files, note those generic-hazel eye textures with it, and go, "hey, you got his eyes wrong!" But these aren't the same eyes that come with his higher-res texture, or the ones that were copied over into RE8. In fact, the existence of the player-character-default-eye-texture back in RE7 is one of the reasons why I do tend to take full-res Ethan's eyes as 'canon', even though we never see them in either game: someone took the time to repaint Ethan's eyes for his full-res model, and make them distinct from the low-res default used for everyone in 1st person mode. That at least suggests there was some real, intentional effort put into deciding what colour eyes Ethan was supposed to have.

This does leave poor Clancy in more ambiguous territory, however: as he's never seen by any other character, he has no high-res model, and thus no eyes but the default-hazel that Mia and Ethan are rendered with in that mode too. So is this to be taken as Clancy's official eye colour? It may as well be, I suppose. We see so little of Clancy in any form that I was genuinely surprised to find out his he's actually got a player model which is completely distinct from anyone else in the game, with curly greying hair, a neckbeard, and a baseball cap worn backwards.

Render by nightsatkendalls over on deviantart.

I do not have the skills to produce a render of this quality myself, but I can tell you that the cap he's wearing has the logo for the RE Engine on the front (the in-house game engine behind all the modern RE titles, and many other Capcom games).

You'll never see it in game, of course ‒ you'd need both a freecam mod and a mod to make his head visible. But it's there as a weird little easter-egg nonetheless.

Eveline

Eveline is perhaps the only character whose model may not have been updated at all for RE8, but given she's only a hallucination or ghost, that stands to reason. In RE7 though, she also appears as her aged 'grandma' self, who pops up around the house in her wheelchair looking spacey. Grandma-Eveline has two different eye texture assets ‒ one far more washed out than the other. There's next to no good official pictures of her, but fortunately, since she doesn't move around or attack you, she was one of the very few characters I was able to get a decent close-up shot off with the free camera mod. And inasmuch as you're ever in a position to look her in the eye in game, only the faded version of her eyes ever seems to show up. Is the clearer version actually used somewhere I didn't catch? I have no idea.

What really stands out about granny-Eveline's eyes, though, is that they don't look anything like her child-self's eyes do. Child-Eveline is basically the only character in either game with distinctly green eyes. But Granny's are hazel, and not even a particularly similar shade of hazel.

In fact, they look far more like the generic-default hazel of the player character textures than they do like her younger self. Close-up comparisons below.

You could speculate that it was deliberate that Granny-Eveline's eyes don't look anything like kid-Eveline's eyes to avoid tipping off the player that they're one and the same ‒ but realistically, no-one without free camera mods is ever going to get a good enough look at either of them to notice. And it's kind of a shame they didn't just take young-Eveline's eyes and apply the same kind of distortions they seem to have applied to the generic-hazel template to age them up ‒ that would've been a lovely, creepy little detail to find in these textures. But no, generic old hazel it is.

Then again, whatever the real logic at play, the fact Granny-Eveline's eyes are effectively a faded, distorted version of the very same eyes the player themselves never does get to see in the mirror is a pretty creepy idea itself. And intentional or not, that's what I've got to leave you with.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part nineteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

-

Finally, finally, finally, after the shopping has been done, and his stupid signature leather jacket has been adjusted, and Genesis has given his final bitchy warning about not acting out of character, finally… Sephiroth can have some peace and quiet.

Some day off! Not that the sparring wasn't great, and the clothes were frankly desperately needed, even if he couldn't make his usual colours fit right. All that aside though, he really needs time to himself! There's still so much to figure out! And he really needs to meditate. He needs to sort himself out! And he also, probably, needs to make use of Shinra's archive and records and study some history.

He also really needs a proper mirror in his little single room apartment. The bathroom mirror isn't enough to appreciate the new clothes. To think he used to hate dressing up formally as Shen Yuan. The difference of a few years as Peak Lord makes! And admittedly, Shen Yuan could've never looked anywhere near as good as Sephiroth in a suit like this. Sephiroth, really, looks just too good. Fit for a thousand magazine covers. Which is fitting because he's pretty sure Sephiroth has been on magazine covers back on earth! Which is kinda weird from this perspective! Famous in another world sounds like a damn isekai light novel title. 

Ah, but then his whole life is a mockery of the genre.

Dropping his shopping bags by the wardrobe and his new coats over its door, Sephiroth throws himself on his couch and sighs, running a hand through his long bangs.

He has clothing, his room still needs some improvements and will never be Qing Jing Peak, but it will do. Those were the easiest things to cover, really, and now that they're done, now that he's spent several hours getting used to this body and how it looks and who he's supposed to be… the world he's now part of…

Is he really just going to be Sephiroth from here on out? Is he supposed to forget PIDW and Binghe and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Just go on being Sephiroth, and put Shen Qingqiu behind him?

… He really isn't sure he can, actually! In a way, Shen Qingqiu had suited him better than Shen Yuan had. Well, once the OOC restrictions had come off and he was free to be himself, anyway. Being a soldier, a super SOLDIER at that, with alien DNA and the lifeblood of the planet in his guts… 

Resting a hand on his stomach, Sephiroth tugs at the blood red shirt he has on.

It's… really a bit like he's Binghe now. He's an alien hybrid thing here, so it's kind of like being a half demon! Or, ah, weirdly accurate biblical angel? What with the angel wing motif these games have going for themselves… Sephiroth's final form was kinda eldritch, from what he recalls. Wings sticking out every which way. Ridiculous and over the top in a way only Final Fantasy can be!

Damn but he hopes he can grow wings at some point. That would be just so cool, he doesn't even care how ludicrous it would get. The whole thing about wings being cause for existential monster angst is a thing he probably would need to consider, but, seriously. Wings! Yes, please, thank you!

It's the lifeblood of the planet that bothers him the most. Not just because of the oil allegory.

It's also how the local reincarnation cycle works. Though it's more like a spiritual composting rather than straight up reincarnation - but still! The energy pumped into his veins comes from the souls of dead things.

Yeah, he can't ignore that anymore.

Sitting up, Sephiroth gets out of the dress pants he'd bought and the button up shirt, switching back to the more comfortable pyjama pants and t-shirt he started the day with. He takes a moment to put purchases away and tidy his room up to peak Feng Shui before sitting down on his bed.

The energy in his gut is thick, massive and near immovable. He'd read up on Mako as much as there was to be read on his phone. The cycle went something like Lifestream to Mako to Materia - so, in the right conditions, the stuff actually crystallises. So, in a way, Materia is spirit stones! And that's kinda what it feels like in his gut - like his energies are condensing, hardening under pressure… crystallising. Except not into a golden core, nah, just one big shapeless lump of dead-weight-energy.

Well, not on his watch!

Relaxing and breathing in and then slowly out, Sephiroth thinks about all the Cultivation tricks he learned cultivating with damaged spiritual veins and incurable poison. Here he kind of has the opposite problem than with Shen Qingqiu, though - Sephiroth's spiritual veins aren't worn and fragile, they're hardened, like… scar tissue. He really feels a bit burnt on the inside!

Shinra's method was all quantity over quality where it comes to this stuff. Brute forcing their way into a semi-functional magic system, and who cares if it scorches the earth when there's instant profit to be made!

What a truly subtle metaphor.

Well… Shen Qingqiu has worked with worse - and at least there's a lot to work with! So as long as Sephiroth manages to avoid the Qi-deviation of the century, he will have one hell of a golden core! Just gotta not burn himself inside out! No pressure!

Qi Condensation stage - done! He couldn't have done better himself.  Foundation Establishment, however… yeah. Sephiroth really has a great body, but it is not prepared for a Golden Core Formation. His energy flow is all whack.

No wonder he cracked like an egg at the slightest bit of mental pressure… a bit like the original goods Shen Qingqiu, really, with his many Qi-deviations.

Right. Never mind that! He has a lot of work and not all the time in the world, alas. No seclusion training in this world!

Time to get to it.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #3] Coffee

warnings: hangovers, language

soundtrack:leave (get out) - jojo, coffee - bts, hangover - woosung

wc: 2k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

"No you don't understand, I'm actually dead," Hoseok groans into the staff room fridge, where his head is currently resting on an empty shelf. His eyes are closed, and he's been in there so long that the fridge door light has cut out. 

He's not been in the fridge since last summer's heatwave, so you know his hangover really must be as bad as he's making it out to be.

"Stop," you lightly scold him, shooing him away so you can grab the vitamin drink you'd put in there at the start of your shift. You swear by it as your favourite hangover cure, and in fact, it's your second of the day. Something about the ache in your head just won't budge. "You'll let the cold out, Hobes."

"Good," he huffs. "It's a sauna in here." 

It's spring, and summer is yet to fully ripen. There are far hotter days to come, but Hoseok's body is trying to flush the alcohol from his system in the easiest way possible: sweat.

"Whatever was in those little purple shots was lethal," he whines, slumping down onto the single chair in the kitchen. It's cramped, and really not big enough for two people - windowless, but at least there's a vent. 

It doesn't really matter what the staff room is like. You rarely spend any time there; always front of house instead.

For the past two years following graduation, you've been working at Pot & Paint - a painting cafe downtown, where people paint canvases while enjoying a fresh brew. 

Time passes by slowly within the four walls, but peacefully. The fumes get you a little lightheaded sometimes, but for the most part it's a dream of a job. Easy money. Hoseok had taken you under his wing in your first week, and had been stuck to you like dried acrylic ever since.

Days are relatively similar, and yet always different thanks to the customers. You have your set jobs - make coffee, clean brushes, fill water trays - but it's seeing what the customers create that really makes the job so much fun. 

You and Hoseok place bets on which half of the couple will be the better artist, on colour combinations, whatever you can think of. Neither of you ever win anything of much value ("Drinks on me", "I'll make you a coffee", "I'll empty the bins") but it's a way to pass the time, nonetheless.

You rank the best to worst of the day's paintings, but only ever out of earshot of customers. At the till, you will always smile and enthuse over their creation. What's important, you think, is that they're creating at all. To diminish someone's endeavours in such a public manner would be cruel. Art is subjective, after all.

What is objective, however, is how fucked up you both managed to get thanks to Purple Starfuckers. The bartender really hadn't been kidding when he said they were delicious. 

"Amaretto..." you begin to list, but trail off, for the fact you don't have a clue. Can barely remember how you even came across such a delicacy.

Mortifyingly, though, the events in Jimin's apartment are mostly crystal clear. The sex? Meh. A bit iffy. Not much to write home about. The disruption you caused, only to summon a topless bartender? Yeah, a lot more to write home about - but also far more cringe than you can bear to deal with when your head is so tender. 

Hoseok is none the wiser.

He'd crashed at your place and had been woken to a very grumbly rendition of Jojo's Leave (Get Out) when you found him passed out on top of your bed. He'd refused, and so you'd climbed beneath the duvet, him on top, dead to the world until Danbi came through a couple of hours later wrapped up in a blanket of her own.

"Tried calling you," she'd groaned, flopping down onto your bed. "Wanted to order breakfast but apparently neither of you seem to know how to answer a bloody phone."

"Mine's dead," Hoseok had mumbled beneath a pile of pillows. He'd migrated to below your duvet by this point, the pair of you still in last night's clothes. 

You hadn't even showered - the whole reason you'd excused yourself from Jimin's. 

But maybe it was a lie, after all. Maybe you didn't really care about making yourself decent. Maybe sharing a bed with him would have just felt too similar to sharing a bed with your ex. You weren't ready for intimacy, no matter how meaningless.

The beauty of Hoseok was that he'd kicked you fourteen times within thirty minutes. You couldn't fool yourself into thinking there was anything intimate about it.

You'd fumbled around, hunting under your pillow for your phone and almost thought you'd found it. Was about to pull it out when you realised it wasn't your phone at all. Thanked your lucky stars. Would have had no choice but to simply die if you'd started waving a vibrator around in front of Hoseok.

Still, no phone, though. Your clutch was in the kitchen, by the front door, so you assumed it must be in there.

Not checking until after you'd consumed your body weight in hangover waffles, you were confused to not be able to find it anywhere. Your clutch, your bra, your bed, the kitchen, the bathroom - you'd checked them all and yet it was still nowhere to be found. 

"You get a cab home? Might have left it in the taxi?" Danbi had suggested, which was entirely plausible. 

"Maybe," you hummed with a small pout. "I'll call them later."

Later came, and later went - still no phone. The taxi company hadn't had one handed in, which left only one location it could be. One you really hadn't ever planned on returning to:

Jimin's place.

"I don't even know his name!" You cringe when Hoseok asks you about it a little while later.  "Well, no. I know his given name, but fuck knows his family name. Wouldn't be able to find him even if I had tried."

It's not the paint fumes making you feel lightheaded today - it's the roasting coffee beans. The idea of drinking it makes you feel like you're gonna hurl, but you know your body will probably thank you for it later.

"And you're sure he was called Jimin?" He asks, staring down at his phone. He's crouched behind the front counter, not willing to deal with customers but knowing he needs to be semi-present in case the boss pops by. "Sure he wasn't called Jeongguk?"

You hum a little in confusion as you take a sip on your americano. Tastes like shit. "Jeongguk?"

"Yeah, Jeongguk." Hoseok grunts. "Jeon? Ring any bells?"

Oh, how you wish it didn't. You also wish you never made coffee, but hey, bad things come in threes, right? An awkward encounter, a mind-splitting headache and now a terrible cup of coffee. No more bad things.

Except you're forgetting the fact you also had a shit shag, so the quota of three had already been met. Your coffee's just started the cycle all over again. One down, two to go.

"Er, I think so?" You shrug, playing things so cool that Hoseok notices your change in demeanour. There's a smirk on his lips as he glances up at you. 

"He messaged me. He's asking after you."

It's at this point that you think your hangover will catch up with you, and you'll actually be sick. Right on the counter, maybe. There's a sink behind you, but you're already mortified so what would the harm be?

"Let me see him," you say almost instantly, pushing away vomit-inducing thoughts. You just want to check. Make sure it is him, and not some weird coincidence. 

Hoseok passes you his phone, and there he is: Mr Purple Starfucker himself. 

His Instagram is sparse in recent updates, but there's enough of a back catalogue to clue you in on an idea of 'him'. Beach pictures, sunsets, the kind of generic shit everyone likes, but there's something about the way he captures such scenes. Makes them infinitely more breathtaking, you think.

The gym selfies? Yeah. Leaving you a little breathless, too. That's neither here, nor there, though. You'll blame it on the hangover.

"Yeah, yeah, guy from the bar," you reply all nonchalantly, before clicking back into Hoseok's messages.

JustJK: Hey - I work at Dionysus. Think your friend left her phone there. Just let her know I have it and for her to get in contact with me if she wants to come by and get it.

Hoseok thinks nothing of it as you begin typing back - trusts you not to be doing anything untoward. Also is dying too much to care.

seokshine:  hii!! sorry it's me (the friend lol), hobi just gave me his phone!!

JustJK:  Disco Ball?

seokshine:  disco...ball????

JustJK:  You were dressed like a Disco Ball.

seokshine:  thank you?

JustJK:  You're welcome.

JustJK:  I have your phone.

seokshine:  life saverrr, thank you so much <33

JustJK:  I'm at work tonight so you can swing by the club. If not I'll be at the gym this evening? I go to one downtown so it's easy to get to. Just let me know and I'll make sure I have it on me.

The idea of going anywhere near alcohol given your current state repulses you - but equally, so does the idea of going to a gym.

The only plus side would be that you'd maybe get to see his a-

No, no, no, you mentally reprimand yourself, and cover the thoughts of his torso with mental images of Jimin - sexy, charming, average shagger Jimin - because he's the one you hooked up with. 

You'd just been reeling from the sex when you'd seen Jeongguk last night. Easy to let the hormones take over - but he'd been shirtless and -fuck - his tattoos had been so intricately carved into his skin that all you wanted to do was study them and -

Get a grip, girl.

"So?" Hoseok asks.

"So he has my phone. Left it at the club," you lie. "Says I can either get it from the club tonight or he can take it with him to the gym. My choice."

"So... watcha gonna do?" Hosoek asks, none the wiser of the mental hoops you've been jumping through from such a simple decision. Not like it's life or death. It's gonna be mortifying regardless, having to do a second walk of shame in front of Jeongguk.

And so you sigh, and type through a message back to him.

It won't be long, you figure. You won't have to stay. Just get in, get your phone, get out. Never see him again. 

Cool, Jeongguk replies. See you then. 

When you hand your phone back to Hoseok, he raises a brow. "Really? This is the decision you made?"

And unfortunately, all you can do is say 'yes', before you excuse yourself to the bathroom so you can hurl in peace.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 31: Amnestic Syndrome

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

Prev || Next

It has been a wonderful few days.

Leo has been chillin' like a king.

Casey got a suntan.

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

Donnie started (and won) a squirt gun war.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The four press on.

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

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

"Just checking something."

Leo notices several colour-coded icons.

"The trackers?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raph starts checking behind ferns and large flowers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From deep within the pit, they hear a chirp.

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

"Hi, Raphie..."

"Are you okay?" Leo shouts.

"M'fine, just stuck."

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

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

"Can't you just climb out?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…Mikey?"

"Exactly!" Leo says with a smile.

He leans down and calls into the pit.

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

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

"How?"

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

"Whazza ninpo?" he asks.

Leo swallows. Both Raph and Donnie exchange glances.

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

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

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

"My mind?" Mikey asks incredulously.

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

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

He concentrates. He thinks hard.

"...Nothing's happening."

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

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

Mikey's spots start flickering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

"Hey, buddy? Ready to talk yet?"

Mikey shakes his head no.

"Do we hafta talk?" he whispers.

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

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

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

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

Mikey takes a deep breath and exhales loudly.

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Odd? U-uh, how?"

"You threw away your chucks," Leo lists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikey's head buzzes loudly. He feels ill.

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

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

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

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

"Mikey. Can you hear me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikey looks down.

"G-grass...?"

"What do you smell?"

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

He hears Leo chuckle.

"Name three things you can see."

Mikey glances around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikey nods and hums a 'yes'.

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

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

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

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

"Mikey ready..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Donnie pulls him tighter.

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

Mikey sobs and clutches the others his brothers tightly.

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

Mikey looks up at him anxiously.

"It's about your DNA."

Mikey nods slowly, prompting him to go on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Know what?" Mikey asks curiously.

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

The four are silent as Mikey processes.

"...So?"

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

Mikey thinks.

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

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

Mikey's eyes widen.

"Am... am I an alien?"

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

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

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

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

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

Leo sighs.

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

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

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

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

"...How did Leo get out?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Krang are evil... right?"

They don't answer, but their silence speaks volumes. Mikey looks up at them, trying to meet their eyes.

"Do... do you hate me because I'm Krang now?"

This is why I said it was a bad idea to tell him.

He deserves to know! And it might be tough, but --

"You dum-dums do know you're not talking and it's making Michael uncomfortable, right?" Donnie scolds, cradling Mikey a little closer.

"Oh!" Leo snaps back. "No! No, Mikey, no, of course not! Look, we were kind of nervous about the Krang DNA, but only because we weren't sure how you'd deal with the news."

"And I was concerned about the ramifications of modifying mutant DNA with alien genetics, but yes. Emotional stability was in question," Donnie adds.

"But you are not a monster just because you have alien DNA now. You're still our Michelangelo, and we still love you."

"...You love me now...."

Mikey remembered the conversation he and Leo had the other day, and how Leo had said he'd love him if you were a worm, or a regular turtle, and if he were a monster. Leo finished his little declaration by saying 'I love you now', and Mikey had found the wording strange. Not anymore, now he understood what Leo meant. He's a monster now.

And Leo loves him now, just as always.

Mikey cannot understand this. But he accepts it for the moment, resting his head against his brothers and just… stays here. Trying to understand why they don't hate him, why they keep trying to convince him he's not a monster when the evidence is starting to stack up against him.

But Mikey just accepts it. He'll understand it later.

.

.

.

The scientists have been very interested in Mikey's control of the human covered in pink parasites. They've been doing a lot of tests and examinations.

He's not required to move or do anything. He sits and lets them do what they want. They look him over, poke and prod him, lift his scales and scutes and quills. A doctor shines a light in his eyes, giving Mikey a headache. Another pricks him with a needle and syringe. They take his blood again. They take a skin sample again. They take a saliva sample again. They do everything three times over, again and again and again.

Mikey feels numb.

His mind wanders, helping him escape this room and find some semblance of serenity as he waits for these tests and exams to be done. He's so bored and tired. But compared to everything else they make him do here, this isn't so bad.

Mikey's attention comes back to him when he hears someone talking loudly by him. He flinches, thinking that he's being scolded or ordered to do something, but no. It's just Dr. Timothy getting enthusiastic over his mutations.

"I just can't believe it! The creature can control the zombies!"

"This is unprecedented. And I'm quite surprised, I've never seen Dr. Chaplin so intrigued and... dare I say?" Dr. Finn pauses. "Excited."

"This little abomination could hold the key to ending the Krang infections once and for all!" Dr. Timothy celebrates.

"But why stop there?" A third voice adds.

Mikey flinches again and cowers softly as Dr. Chaplin walks in and joins the conversation.

"This little mutant monster shows a higher success rate than any creature the TCRI has ever cooked up before. And it takes orders so well," he says with a sickening smile.

Dr. Chaplin reaches down and grabs Mikey's face, squeezing his thin cheeks and tilting his head to get a better look at him.

"Despite its age and emaciated figure, the little beastie has unprecedented strength and fighting ability. Just what we've been looking for. I do think our tests are nearly complete."

"Complete, sir?" Dr. Finn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He's shown excellence in everything thus far. Problem-solving, keen instincts, agility… I think it's time we move onto the next phase of our studies. The A.L.P.H.A. device is ready for testing, put him in the Interaction Room when you're done. Depending on how it goes, we may be able to move on to..."

Mikey zones out again. He's tired of this. He doesn't like being handled or tested or talked about like he's an 'it'. He's a Mikey! Whatever that is…

Mikey feels heaviness around his throat, followed by a yank. The collar and lead were placed on his neck while he wasn't paying attention. He's dragged back to the Interaction room for the test with this strange new 'A.L.P.H.A. Device'...

.

.

.

Mikey can't sleep. He keeps thinking about what happened earlier that day.

He can't shake the feeling that... something is wrong. He's missing something. His brothers love him, despite knowing that he doesn't remember them. They support him, despite knowing that he may never fully be Mikey again. But... why does he feel so distant? Why is he still so scared to be around them, but so much more scared to be without them?

In the labs, he never knew why he wanted his brothers. He never even knew they were brothers, they were more so figments of imagination, a distant mirage that he could almost touch. They were shadows. And now they're real.

So why can't he accept them? Why can't he accept that he's one of them?

Because you're a monster. KRANG, Instinct whispers. You are a KRANG. It is what I am, what YOU are. What WE have become.

...Are Krang monsters?

To the weak, yes. The weak always view the strong as monsters.

So Mikey really is a monster?

Did you doubt this? Instinct questions.

Mikey hoped...

HOPE IS A FOOL'S WEAPON, Instinct scolds. YOU CANNOT SURVIVE ON HOPE. ONLY STRENGTH AND FORCE. THE KRANG ARE STRONG. THE KRANG SURVIVE. YOU WILL DO AS I SAY AND YOU WILL LIVE.

Even if it makes Mikey a monster?

Does it matter?

Mikey doesn't know anymore... h-he wants to believe it does, he wants to believe he's not what Instinct says he is, he wants to believe that he is their Mikey!

Even if you were once "their Mikey", it hardly matters now. You are simply an amalgamation creature made to serve a purpose. The humans created you to be a monster. Too bad they couldn’t remove the ALL THE MIKEY FROM YOU.

Mikey throws the pillow over his face and screams into it. Stop talking, Instinct!

You know it is true. And your "brothers" confirmed it for you. Even THEY KNEW you were a monster. Why do you continue to fight this truth?

"Because I'm not a monster!" Mikey whisper-shouts, sitting upright and flinging the pillow into the wall. "I'm not! They said I'm not!"

You DO know what a lie is, don't you?

"But... but Mikey trusts Leo--"

Why? Haven't you learned by now? I thought you would have known better. The labs taught you nothing.

"Shut up!" Mikey shouts.

Weak, pathetic, useless, coward --

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Mikey screams, hot and angry tears running down his face.

Mikey tears his bed apart, shredding the blanket and ripping the extra pillows to pieces. He growls loudly, looking for something else to attack in lue of Instinct. He punches the mattress, his tail whips the wall and gashes the wallpaper, he grabs one of the lamps on the nightstand table and chucks it, pieces shattering and the lampshade flying off from the impact. In the flickering light from the dying lamp, Mikey sees something move in the corner. He runs and confronts it --

It's his own reflection in the mirror. Teeth snarled and fangs elongated, his claws extended, his quills raised and his tail spiked. His eyes burn brightly and the irises are nothing more than thin blood-red slits.

Mikey jerks back suddenly, terrified of his own image. His pupils and irises return to normal slowly…

You see? Nothing more than a monster. Accept it.

Mikey screams in anger and punches the mirror as hard as he can. The glass shatters instantly and his knuckles bleed.

The door swings open and nearly smacks into Mikey's back.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Raph asks in a panic, scanning the trashed room before he sees Mikey, shying away with embarrassment.

Raph calms, then panics again when he sees the blood and glass.

"Sorry," Mikey squeaks. "I got... I was mad, I..."

"Leo and I heard yelling and thought --"

"It was just me, sorry. I didn't realise I was being so loud... Instinct was making me mad."

"The voice in your head?" Raph clarifies.

Mikey nods.

"Humph. Well, I don't like this voice bullying my little brother. Come on, Mikey, let's get you cleaned up."

Raph hoists Mikey up and carries him to the bathroom. Mikey perches atop his shoulders again, tail wrapping around and hanging lazily over his shell.

"So, what was Instinct saying?" Raph asks.

"Um... just the usual stuff."

"Which is?"

Mikey's fingers curl nervously.

"Just... stuff about... fitting in, I guess."

Raph places a hand on Mikey's head and rubs circles onto his skin.

"I'm sorry about that..." he sighs. "I'm sorry about a lot of things..."h

Inside the bathroom, Raph sets Mikey down on the toilet seat and grabs the supplies he needs -- disinfectant, bandages, some swabs, cream, etc. Mikey holds his paw out for Raph to inspect.

Mikey is actually surprised by the gentleness of his big brother. Raphael's huge, strong hands are slow, soft, delicate; carefully pulling any remnants of glass out with a pair of fine tweezers. Mikey winces initially, but stays still otherwise. This is starting to remind him of the labs... he zones out as Raph tends to his cuts.

"...Mikey? Mikey," he hears.

Mikey blinks back to reality. His hand is bandaged.

"Oh, hi Raph," he murmurs. "Thanks."

"No problem, that's what big brothers do. Now, can you tell me why you punched the mirror?"

"I was trying to punch Instinct..."

"So, because you couldn't punch a voice in your head, you punched a reflection of yourself?" Raph surmises. "Makes sense."

"I know it sounds stupid..."

"Not really," Raph shrugs. "I used to do the same thing."

Mikey looks up and slowly recalls moments from his childhood where Raph would get so frustrated that he'd obliterate things with a single punch. Walking into bathrooms where the mirror had been cracked and taped over in a feeble attempt to fix it or cover it up.

"...Really?"

"Oh yeah," Raph says with a nod as he leans against the wall. "Raph had a hard time not listening to intrusive thoughts, and they make him really angry. I used to get so mad after Savage Raph would attack you guys. Do you remember Savage Raph?"

Mikey does, actually. Flickering images of his biggest brother growling, his eyes whited over and his teeth bared. Barbecuing villains in a sewer tunnel, attacking his brothers, calling them 'sewer monsters'.

"...Yes, Mikey -- I remember." Mikey looks up hopefully at him. "How did you stop it?"

"I can't say I've stopped it," Raph admits. "I still have moments when I almost lose control, times when my thoughts start to turn against me. But I've learned how to fight against those thoughts, take them captive before they take me captive."

"Why can't I do that?" Mikey asks.

"You can, though!" Raph assures him brightly. "Mikey, you're the one who taught me how to do that!"

"Mikey did that?"

"Yeah, bud!"

"But... I can't remember, I don't know..." Mikey pauses to think, before looking up hopefully at Raph. "Will you teach me again?"

Raphael smiles and cups Mikey's cheek.

"Absolutely. That's what brothers do."

He's not your brother anymore.

"Shut up!" Mikey growls, squeezing his eyes closed, and pressing his knuckles against his temples.

He feels Raph lift his face up. He gently opens his eyes and looks at Raph's concerned expression.

"What did Instinct say?"

"...That we're not brothers..."

"Well, that's 100% a lie," Raph says. "So just tell him that."

"But he'll fight back --"

"Then you fight back, too!" Raph encourages. "Say it out loud. Tell him he's wrong."

Mikey swallows and feels a little embarrassed, but he follows.

"Y-you're wrong."

No.

"Now tell him he's a liar."

Mikey fidgets.

"You're a liar."

What are you -- why are you listening to him? He doesn't know what he's talking about --

"Tell him you won't listen to him anymore."

I'M THE ONE WHO KEPT YOU ALIVE!

"But Instinct --"

"No, Mikey. You can't listen to him anymore. He's not helping you, he's not doing anything for you. He only wants to confuse you and hurt you. So what do we do with things that lie and hurt?"

"...We get rid of them?"

"Exactly. So tell him he's not welcome anymore."

NO!

"You're not welcome anymore, Instinct."

DO YOU REALIZE HOW STUPID YOU SOUND?! DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUS --

"And every time he tries to talk again, every time he tries to lie or make you feel bad, you ignore him. Confront him. He only tells you lies, so you can always defeat him."

Mikey nods, determination bubbling up inside of him.

"Instinct isn't welcome," he annouces.

Stop this.

"Louder!" Raph encourages.

You fool --

"Instinct isn't welcome!"

YOU CAN'T --

"Even louder, buddy!" Raph shouts.

YOU WRETCHED LITTLE --

"INSTINCT IS NOT WELCOME! MIKEY IS NOT GOING TO LISTEN TO INSTINCT ANYMORE!!"

It's quiet.

"...I... I think I did it," Mikey heaves. "I think I... I think he's gone! I can't hear him!"

Raph cheers with Mikey, and pulls him into a bear hug.

"I knew you could do it! And if he ever tries to weasel his way back in, just tell him off and tell him what for! And remember, he'll only tell you lies to make you feel bad. But they are NEVER true. And you can use that against him."

Mikey squeezes Raph around the neck as he laughs. He feels... free. A strange kind of freedom, one he hasn't felt even after leaving the labs.

It feels good.

"So... now what?" Mikey asks.

"Now we go to bed," Raph yawns, prompting another laugh from Michelangelo. "Though, your room is kinda trashed now, so you probably shouldn't sleep in there..."

"Turtle pile?" Mikey suggests, going into puppy-eyes mode.

"Absolutely," Raph nods, hoisting Mikey back onto his shoulders and taking him out and into their brothers' bedrooms to get them all together again.

Prev || Next

[conkreetmonkey]

idk if I've posted this before, but an UT/DR headcanon I have and don't see in others often is that humans in those worlds are not the same as the humans from ours. They're definitely more similar to us than the monsters are, but they're not the same "species" as what we'd consider to be a normal human in our world.

For starters, they can have bright yellow skin. That is straight-up canon. While we've never actually seen two humans interact in canon unless you want to count the end of genocide (which I won't because I interpret it as Chara talking to YOU, not Frisk), the fact that we now have two separate individuals with this skin tone does sort of imply it's normal. It's not a colour it's possible for a human to naturally be in our world; even when one has jaundice, it's not bright-ass Lego minifigure yellow. These kids are the colour of poison dart frogs. They're the colour of a hazard strip. That's not normal.

Given both this hint that these humans are different and the fact that all 3 humans seen in canon are universally addressed by they/them pronouns and are completely androgynous, I have a headcanon/theroy:

Humans in these worlds have no male/female sexes, no concept of gender, and no differing sexually dimorphic traits.

I do not think these humans have men and women. I think all humans are born as genderless, completely androgynous beings, and have no concept of gender within their societies. I have no idea how they'd reproduce, but I imagine them as having either no genitalia, or all having the same "set," and what it looks/functions like I have no clue. Honestly, I'm kind of leaning towards mitosis.

I like this idea for the following reasons:

Mettaton EX being so androgynous despite his identifying as a binary male would be a thing he lifted from humans, being such a fan of them and all. The thing with the four, five and six fingered gloves heavily implies he wanted his body to appear as human as possible, and I suppose that could mean combining what we would consider to be masculine and feminine traits into one metal genderbeast.

It adds a touch of "gremlinous creature" vibes to all 3 human characters; "inhuman" anatomy despite being explicitly, plot-importantly human.

The confusion about reproduction and just how tf not having gender or bio sex would work I and you are feeling right now is EXACTLY how monsters, the main in-universe demographic of both games, would feel.

Feels kind of Homestuck troll-ey, which is always a plus in any Toby Fox project because it solicits groans.

Things I percieve as flaws in this headcanon:

Kind of discredits the non-binary identities of the human characters, especially Kris, whose themes of identity, control over one's body and teenage angst are strongly complimented by a trans identity. If these characters were born non-binary, though, they wouldn't be trans for continuing to identify as such, for the same reason Mettaton and Mad Mew Mew are trans for being born genderless yet having a binary identity.

While opening narrative doors, also closes them... this is again very Kris-centric because they're older, but I've just seen so many portrayals of Kris as a non-binary kid stuck in a perisex body going through puberty that are really interesting and compliment their angst. Binders, facial hair, periods, voice changes... can't do anything with that anymore if these humans don't go through puberty as we know it, and that makes them less relatable.

It just feels bad to hc away canon trans rep like this, yk? UT/DR certainly wouldn't be hurting for it without human trans characters, but they're canonically trans, non-binary playable characters in a mainstream game. That is INSANELY rare. I cannot think of a single other example. Trans mcs are rare enough in mainstream media as a whole, let alone non-binary ones. To strip these characters of that to non-binarify their entire species feels a little... tradeoff-ey.

[poppetsisters]

Now that my rage over the Doomcasting has simmered down, I just wanna gush over the Fantastic Four comi con stuff.

I'm not joking, when I heard that Michael Giacchino was doing the score, I SCREAMED. Not only is he famous for scoring The Incredibles, but he also did Speed Racer from 2008 which, if you haven't heard that score, it is one of the best scores for any film I've seen.

The period accurate footage is such a treat. I figured Matt Shakman's work on Wandavision was going to be indicative of what the Fantastic Four was gonna look like and yet it looks even better. I was nervous that Shakman's lack of feature film experience was gonna be a detriment, but his decades of work on TV gives him amazing instincts for character dynamics, which is one of the most important assets when making a Fantastic Four movie.

A lot of what we saw is pre-vis and may not actually be in the movie, but the retro-future vibe of the movie is perfect. The fact that MCU Fantastic Four is taking place in its own separate pocket away from all the bullshit really helps me feel excited for this movie. For once, the disconnectedness is something I'm EXCITED about, go figure.

Again, because it's pre-vis, not a whole lot of glimpses at The Thing's rocky form, in fact none of the powers were shown off for understandable reasons. I have no worries that The Thing is going to look good. As bad as Fant4stic was, The Thing looked pretty good in that film. Korg also never looked outright bad to me either, and they're probably gonna put more effort into how he looks anyway. Sue's powers are probably gonna be represented well seeing as invisibility is a really easy power to do VFX for. Fire graphics have come a long way as well, and that concept art makes me thing they may take a very stylised approach to his flame effects. Reed however is the one I'm really worried about. The only time stretch powers looked good was The Incredibles 1 and 2, but those were both stylised 3D animated filma. Live action has a much higher bar to clear with a heavy risk of uncanny valley Pedro Pascal. If you can make that man look bad, then you know you fucked up.

The Fantasticar is nice. We had the Dodge in Rise of Silver Surfer and the Bathtub in Deadpool and Wolverine, and though I like the Silver Surfer one (despite the shameless product placement) I get that they wanted a car that looked like a mid-century man's idea of what a flying car looks like. The only think is that I wish it could split apart into four sections, it doesn't look like it can do that. Oh well.

The spacesuits look good, the colours are exactly what I imagined they'd be on the concept art, but I'm waiting for the proper super suits to be shown off. Hopefully they have less interlocking parts and resemble the slightly thick and comfy spandex we saw in the concept art.

It looks like Pedro is keeping the moustache, which normally I'm not a fan of Reed with facial hair, but I also think it gives Reed a sorta Howard Hughes look that helps him blend in with the aesthetics of the world. The grey around the temples is good though, and it seems like he's also doing a transatlantic accent which frankly is very surprising.

I thought that Ebon wasn't doing an accent until I rewatched him during an interview. He appears to be toning down his natural tendency to draw out his A's and E's. It was only two lines of dialogue so I don't know, but what is very apparent is that he's not going for the outrageous brooklyn accent The Thing is legendary for in the comics, but something a little more subtle and believable.

Vanessa Kirby and Joseph Quinn are both different flavors of British, and though Joseph only says one word, it's pretty clear both are foregoing their natural accents. That said, Vanessa's choice of, what I can only guess is a slight mid-western accent, is very interesting. I was not expecting that choice.

They added a subtitle to the movie. Fantastic 4: First Steps. I think they didn't need to add a subtitle, but since they did. I'll just give it a cursory analysis. I think you can derive FOUR meanings from the title: First Steps calls to mind humanity's first steps on the Moon, fitting for a space age tale. First Steps also feels like a good title for their first adventure. First Steps works metatextually as their first steps into the MCU (which isn't technically true with those two cameos in MoM and D&W), but the most important theory I have for First Steps is in relation to a baby's first steps. I think that Franklin is going to be in this movie as a major plot point. Serving what purpose, I'm not sure.

To finish things off, we only get a look at Galactus through a window, so not much I can comment on in terms of appearance, but I'm very happy that it's an actual dude and not shadows within a cosmic cloud. He looks very imposing and I hope we get more perspective shots like that to sell how big this guy is.

[luveline]

steve zombie!au…. maybe in this new camp the reader is placed to do the scouting for supplies/ protecting the camp while steve is the one that has to stay in the camp and starts worrying over her a lot? love your writing jade 🫶🏼

thanks gorgeous! —you and steve settle into your new jobs. he worries, you dote. fem!reader, 1.3k

You watch in mild frustration as another firework shoots up into the air and pops. It doesn't break the treeline, but it's loud. 

"Should we really be doing this?" Joyce asks. 

Hopper grunts in annoyance and begins a spiel you've had the misfortune of hearing twice already this morning. The fireworks are going to be an alarm, a code in case another undefeatable foe crosses the proximity line. Newly appointed guard and on duty, if someone were to approach now, it would be you that lights the firework. 

You kind of hate your new job. You haven't met the new and elusive leader of the camp you've merged with, but you've met his underling Wendy, and she assigned you a job. You're on guard duty and potential runs, Steve's on childcare, and when he asked if you could switch, she said point blank No.

Steve's less than pleased, though he likes being with the kids. 

"What use is a warning if we draw other people?" Joyce asks. Frustration must be in the air. 

"Kid," Hopper says. It takes you a good handful of seconds to realise he's talking to you. "You can go. Take the evening off." 

"Are you sure? Wendy's kinda stern." 

"I can deal with Wendy." 

You pat the pommel of your sword and nod, starting back through the trees toward camp. Hopper's more than capable of looking after himself despite the argument that awakens as soon as you're far enough away. 

Walking back into camp makes you feel weird. More than half the people you see are strangers, cleaner, happier than anybody from The College, though they're starting to merge. You weave between a procession of runners back with a literal wheelbarrow of cans from the grocery store a half a mile east from here. They spray painted on the windows that the place was full of geeks months ago and it remains untouched. Sneaky trick, but one you can appreciate if it keeps all the kids alive. 

You can hear them as you approach one of the portables. They aren't truly portable buildings; if you ever wanted to move further into Michigan, they'd stay behind. But they have walls and ceilings and it makes the world feel a little less alien for the kids, who mostly grew up for the last year, nearly two, in The College. 

You put your sword against the side of the wall and run up the silver metal steps to ease the door open. 

Steve's sitting at the back of the room with four other adults, a little girl in his lap, her head on his chest. She can't be older than five. 

At the front of the room sits Sarah, reading from a big storybook. There are no lights on, but she has a torch with different coloured crepe papers taped to the front, and she shines them when different emotions come into the story. Right now, the story is sad, and a light blue light kisses the cheeks of the children in the front row. 

They barely notice your arrival. Steve, however, heaves a visible sigh of relief, the arm he's wrapped genially over the little girl's back moving up incrementally at the sight of you. 

"Hello," you whisper, sitting down next to him quietly. 

"Hi," the little girl whispers. 

"Hi," you say back. She isn't one of The College kids, you'd know her face. "Who are you, honey?" 

"I'm Mabel." 

"Hi Mabel, I'm Y/N." 

"Y/N's my girlfriend," Steve whispers, grabbing your hand for a squeeze. You squeeze back. 

Mabel looks up at Steve with a smile. "Do you kiss?" Mabel asks. 

You laugh, startled, and half the kids turn their heads to see what's so funny. Steve shushes you like a proper teacher, finger over his lips until they all turn back to their story. 

"We do sometimes to say hello," Steve whispers, quieter than before. "Why?"

"My boyfriend is a bad kisser," she says. 

You tamp down a smile badly, amusement colouring your words, "Honey, I think you should stick to holding hands." 

"I think so," she agrees. 

Steve pats her shoulder to show his agreement. She cuddles in and turns her attention back to the story. Steve meets your eyes over her head and you both laugh with closed mouths, hot breaths pushed out of your noses. 

When the story's finished and the room is too dark to stay any longer, Jonathan arrives to cart off his boat load of fostered brethren, as do the other adults. It's nice to see how many of them accept children who aren't theirs with open arms. Steve carries Mabel until the very last second when Julie, Mabel's older sister, comes to collect her. 

"Did you know she has a boyfriend?" Steve asks Julie. 

"Is that what she said?" Julie asks fondly, tapping Mabel on the tip of her nose. "You're silly. No boyfriends until you're ten, at least." 

Mabel blushes and hides her face. 

"Will she forgive you?" you ask Steve as they leave. 

He hugs you close, suddenly. At the doorway of the portable with the other 'teachers' still inside cleaning up the kids' mess, you aren't expecting him to be outwardly affectionate. 

"I'm her favourite, she'll forget by tomorrow." Steve hugs you tighter still, prompting you to hug back. He groans as soon as you do, as though your touch is a great relief. 

"Is everything okay?" you ask. 

"I worry about you when you're gone." 

"I know, but it's no different than yesterday. They didn't even need me, that's why Hopper sent me back. It's not dangerous." 

"It's obviously dangerous." Steve's cheek pushes against the side of your head, almost nuzzling you. "It's the best part of my day when you come back to me." 

You feel heat rise to your face, a hot flush of embarrassment that licking over every inch of skin. "Steve," you mumble. 

He squeezes your waist and has you take his weight on your chest, bending you backward. "I love you." 

"I love you too," you utter.

Steve pulls away from you, something sweet and soft in the set of his mocha brown eyes. "I know. I think that's why I freak out so much." 

"You'd miss being adored," you tease. 

"By you, yeah." He gives you a long look. You know before he's moved even a millimetre that he's going to give you another thankful hug, lips at your ear as he confesses, "I'd miss you more than anything." 

You hug him back with your own relief —you've loved Steve for a very, very long time. It's an unexplainable feeling to know he loves you back, and fiercely. Somewhere in the past is a girl laying in his lap in the woodland bordering an endless intersection highway, wishing he'd want you back. You can't tell her that everything will be okay, that you'll get through it safe and sound, but you could at least tell her that there's something worth living for at the end of the seemingly insurmountable. Someone who worries about you when you're less than 100 yards away. 

"You worry too much," you say, pushing his chest gently to separate your hug. You look him straight in the eye. "We're good at finding each other again. And I'm not going anywhere in the first place." 

Steve exhales slowly. "Good. I hate when you go places." 

"Me too. Let's stay here forever." 

You both know it's an impossible thing, but the hypothetical is nice. You can see the weight of the worry Steve carries on his shoulders, worry in his eyes, but he's carrying a lot of love too. You wish it wasn't all so heavy. 

[alice-the-demon]

Curious to know more about peddito in your au, whats his backstory, how'd he come to be what he is? Does peppino know about him? Have they met? Is he like a mindless beast or are his thoughts more human-like? Can doise even be killed by peddito in this au if doise is already a demon? I mean you can't die twice, can you? Very curious, would love to know more!

Before I get to your questions it's time for

Hell Tower Lore

So that I can give more context to my answers

Hell is situated in a dimension parallel to Heaven, and it's represented as a huge yet claustrophobic cave with cities in it, and it's divided by four sections in which different stages of Demons end up.

The first stage is Imps, recognizable for the claws, fur, tail, horns and pointy ears. They're the kind of Demons that maintain most of their human traits, and they have different powers depending on the Sin they're most recognizable for. They were humans who, in their earthly life, did some bad/questionable stuff and/or have their moral compass a little junked, but they can be redeemed and become Angels through the help of an Archangel assigned to them.

The second stage is Hell Animals, they lose most of their human traits and become anthropomorphic creatures. You reach this Demon stage or in a direct manner (when you did major bad stuff on Earth) or you get transformed when your behaviour gets worse during your stay in Hell (Pokémon evolution style). They're more difficult to redeem, mostly because they can be extremely rude with everyone and old habits are hard to kill. But through willpower and time they can go back to become an Imp and get them a place in Heaven.

Finally there's the third and final stage of a Demon: the Hell Beasts. They were humans who did unforgivable things (like genocides, destruction of various properties or other stuff) or Hell Animals who sank too deep in their Sin to reel them back in. The Angels call this transformation "the point of no return", for these kinds of Demons there's no chance to redeem them. The Beasts are horrifying, dangerous and gigantic creatures, some with claws or hooves so big to leave prints and others with quills, scales or tusks so big to leave damages wherever they go. They have no love nor compassion in them, their only thought is attack and eat anyone who had the misfortune to meet their black pitch eyes or was stupid enough to venture in the forest with no defence.

The Seven Deadly Sins are the rulers of this infernal place, more powerful than anyone else in Hell but weaker than some high ranked Angels. Together Satan, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Mammon, Leviathan, Belphegor and (the self proclaimed leader of the bunch) Lucifer rule over the whole Hell, representing the worst in human kind. They all live in a castle at the center of Hell (even though most of the time they fight for the stupidest reasons), their job is to feed the Beasts (to avoid that they exit the forest and eat everyone in Hell) and directing the places each one of them built, which I've talked about previously.

I'll talk about the 7 Deadly Sins in more detail and the creatures born in Hell (Cerberuses, Lava Spirits, Golems, ect) in future posts.

Now, onto the questions you've made:

I don't have a precise backstory for how Peddito became a Beast (mostly because, at least for how much I know, we don't know much about him). So I'll just say that he did some inhuman things.

Peppino doesn't know about Peddito existence.

As I explained before, Beasts have no human thoughts, they only care about survival and eating.

There are two ways to kill a Demon and erase them from existence: or you expose them to the sunlight for a while (unless they're a Deadly Sin, they're immune to the sun's rays) or you badly injure them classic style (the Heaven weapons hurt them more than Earth weapons though).

Fun fact: Angels and Demons blood colours are different from humans, black for the Demons and golden for the Angels.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, November 18th, 1975 - Queen Story!

Bristol, UK, Colston Hall (two night)

'A Night At The Opera Tour'

This article chronicles the second show in Bristol.

🔸Sounds, November 29, 1975

Queen triumphant

Report by Jonh Ingham, pictures by Kate Simon

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'

➡️ keep reading on http://jonh-ingham.blogspot.com/2007/02/queen-riot-at-opera.html?m=1

[leelreallylikespersona]

Jose's connected to Yaldabaoth somehow and here's why I think so. Because I think about this occasionally and it's fun

I haven't played P5R in years so it's totally possible I'm missing stuff/misremembering things oops. I'm gonna try and keep things brief

Appearances

Yaldabaoth has somewhat-vague bird imagery. Okay yeah it's feathers because he's an angel, but also his face markings make it look like he has a beak. He's a bird.

Jose's "hair" looks like an egg shell. Birds hatch from eggs. I rest my case.

The more serious connection though... Yaldabaoth is very mechanical and robotic, a quick look at Jose and it's obvious that he isn't human either. His "hair" looks metal, or at the very least isn't real hair. His ears too (and maybe his nose but it may just be shading) look like they're a separate piece attached to his head. These two have similar colour schemes too, mostly silver/white with some gold. Even the placement of their colours is similar? Most of Yaldy's body is bright silver, with darker metal underneath. Jose is wearing a white coat with dark grey under that. Yaldabaoth has gold around his neck, Jose has his gold-ish goggles around his neck.

Mementos

Jose never leaves Mementos, so it's reasonable to assume that he was born there. It can be argued that Yaldabaoth was either also born there, or his creation lead to Mementos also being created, either interpretation works. It can be assumed, then, that Yaldy can manipulate Mementos however he pleases. Jose can do the same, but on a much smaller scale. This is odd, why can Jose manipulate the palace of the masses??? If he was related to the very treasure of Mementos, then it would make sense.

This is were my memory is foggy, but during the third semester, I'm fairly certain Jose is upset by new Mementos. It seems like he prefers Yaldy's Mementos, and now that he's not around, it upsets him. This is probably a huge stretch, but I'll explain later why I think it's Yaldabaoth's absence that's upsetting to Jose.

Personalities

Obviously these two are really really different. Yaldabaoth is malicious and controlling, while Jose is very sweet and is very curious about humans. Yaldabaoth is controlling because it's what humanity yearns for. Humanity unconsciously caused Yaldy to manifest, now he is his own entity who, even though he says he is only doing what humanity wants, he could probably do whatever he wanted. He has free will, he can speak, think, etc. So that brings me to the question:

What is Jose?

I think it's super fun to take all of this and interpret Jose as being a part of Yaldabaoth that is much much nicer. His own curiosities and intrigue of humanity manifesting into a small robotic child who's in awe of mankind. Jose appears more human than Yaldabaoth because of his desire to learn more about them. Jose doesn't like new Mementos because part of him is gone, the area is now unfamiliar and hostile towards him.

It's possible that I'm looking wayyyy too far into the parallels, but it's a fun thought nonetheless! I don't think the person Jose talks about is Yaldabaoth (though that would be fun if it was), mostly because he describes him as being "harsh but nice". Yaldy's definitely harsh, but he isn't nice. At all. I don't see him having a soft spot for Jose either, if he knew of his presence he'd probably be really annoyed, but that's me speculating

I may have missed some things, or misremembered something entirely. Regardless, there are my thoughts, shout out to the maybe four other Yaldy fans, here are more of my crumbs for you