#i hate knowing who wrote i fic

[louiseyesinsky]

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[happypeachsludgeflower]

Who wants to bet Peerless Cucumber has an entire fan base within the pidw’s fandom? Potentially even bringing in a portion of pidw’s readers who just want to enjoy shen yuan just loosing it in the comments.

Like sure, some of the fandom’s definitely there for the toxic masculinity and papapa, but I guarantee you there’s an entire section dedicated to gleefully watching the fandom sewer rat being feral.

[bleedingoptimism]

It’s a little after eleven when Eddie finally manages to get Tarja to bed. It’s hard for her without her plushie. And really, Eddie is very thankful having a hyper-fixation with her toy seems to be the only ‘consequence’ of having divorced parents Tarja seems to have right now. He always worries if having two homes and constantly moving between them is good for her or not. Especially with Tommy being Tarja’s other dad, but against all odds, he’s good to her. So their kid is doing just fine. She’s happy. And if she’s happy, Eddie is happy.

He’s getting ready to open a beer and relax when there’s a knock on the door. He smiles, assuming is Steve bringing Toothless over and almost knocks his beer to the floor when he opens the door.

Steve looks… well he looks amazing, dressed to the nines. Must’ve been date night. But his eyes are red and puffy, his face covered in dark blotches, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them too much.

He’s hugging Toothless to his chest and he smiles at Eddie when he sees him, but he looks so sad it breaks his heart.

Eddie throws the beer behind him, sure it will land on the couch and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, “What did that asshole do?

Steve leans into his touch and shuts his eyes for a moment before sighing and stepping away from him, walking inside and sitting on the couch still holding Toothless like a lifeline. 

“Nothing, he was just-” Steve shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “He’s just so mean,” 

Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and dips his head to look Steve in the eye just like he did that day in the park.

“Break up with him,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Tommy doesn't deserve you, Steve. You are worth so much more than what that asshole makes you feel. You deserve better. More. Everything,” Eddie pleads, placing his hands on Steve’s knees and squeezing, “If it’s because of Tarja, we’ll figure something out, ok? Lots of people keep in contact with their parent’s significant other after they break up” He rushes, the speech he didn't have quite prepared last week coming out of him in a single breath, “We are friends, right? So you can still visit and see her. Visit me. You don’t have to stop being a part of our lives.” 

Steve is staring at him right now like Eddie just gifted him the moon and he’s so beautiful it’s kind of hard for Eddie to keep eye contact, but he squeezes Steve’s knees again to ground himself and does. Steve needs to know he’s very serious about this. About him.

Eyes shining, Steve takes a deep breath and nods slowly, a tear falling down his cheek that Eddie follows with his eyes and watches until it hides under Steve’s v-neck shirt.

“Hey, even I didn’t put up with Tommy's shit for Tarja’s sake and I birthed her,” he jokes awkwardly, trying to make him laugh and feels like doing a little victory dance when Steve snorts cutely,

“Okay,” he hiccups.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles back at him, relieved.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “Fuck Tommy.” And drops back on the couch, looking exhausted, “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks in a whisper, like he’s afraid Eddie will say no. As if.

“Yeah, of course,” Is what he answers, and has half a mind to invite him into his bed but knows it’s a terrible idea. So he lends Steve his favorite flannel pajamas and sets blankets and a pillow on the couch and they say their goodnights.

And if he does a little dance when he closes the door to his room, no one is there to see.

In the morning, Steve stays for breakfast. And attempts to kill Eddie by making his heart explode, cooking it himself from scratch with Tarja’s help, who is so happy she won’t stop running around the kitchen making Toothless fly and sing about ‘happy family breakfast time’.

It’s actually hard to tell if she’s happier to have her plushie back or that Steve is there. Eddie, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s happiest about. Death by tenderness. Is that a thing? He amuses himself thinking about a couple csi’s with sunglasses saying it, 

“He died because he witnessed something too cute,”

“Ah yes, death by fondness. I’ve seen it before.”

After, Eddie walks him to the door and Steve smiles sweetly at him, and holds his hand, squeezing it once before letting go, “Well, see you. I guess,” he says bashfully and there’s a moment there, a second where time stops and Eddie thinks he should kiss him. Wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Because Steve is still dating Tommy, and just because he said he was going to break up with him doesn’t mean he wants to start something new with Eddie.

Eddie himself called him his friend for the first time last night for christ sake. ‘Fucking chill’ he thinks to himself.

🧸

And then a week goes by without hearing a word from Steve. But Eddie doesn't hold it against him.

At first, he figures he needs time to think but then he starts to wonder if he really is going to break up with Tommy. Four days in, he gets paranoid about it. Maybe Steve got brainwashed into thinking Eddie is bad for him. Maybe Tommy told him Eddie was putting ideas in his head, that he shouldn’t talk to him anymore… With him telling Steve to break up with his boyfriend and all... 

He’s well aware of how manipulative Tommy can be and has seen the way he belittles Steve to keep him around, so he knows it’ll be hard for Steve to actually go through with it.

And he can’t exactly show up at Tommy’s and steal Steve away, no matter how appealing the idea might be. The only thing he can do is just think of Steve, wish him well, and send him strength to do what he needs to do. At the end of the day, it needs to be his decision. His choice.

As Tommy’s week with Tarja approaches he starts getting more and more anxious, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Tommy who picks her up.

When the day finally arrives, and the doorbell rings, Tarja runs to open the door and Eddie peeks his head through the hallway.

“Daddy!” Tarja screams.

“Hey, Tata! You ready?” Tommy says and Eddie steps into the hall to greet him too.

“Not yet!” Tarja chuckles and Tommy smiles at her,

“Okay, go get ready. I’ll wait here,”

Eddie walks to the door and leans on the doorframe, “Hey,”

“Hi. Long time no see,” Tommy says and then adds, “You look great,”

“You don’t,” Eddie answers, because it’s true. He looks like shit. Greasy hair, bags under his eyes, chapped lips, wrinkles on his clothes, “What happened?”

“Steve broke up with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he smiles, he doesn’t even try to hide it, “He did?”

“Don’t smile, fucker,” Tommy says but there’s no heat behind it. He knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, not sorry at all.

“Stop,” Tommy whines because Eddie’s smile is actually getting bigger,

“Sorry,” he repeats and then clears his throat, “Did he tell you why?”

“Because I’m a horrible person,” Tommy groans.

“Hey, the first step is to ad-”

“To admit it, yeah, yeah. I know” Tommy interrupts him, groaning again.

Eddie sighs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder lightly, “Look, Tommy, I’m just going to say this because, well… you are pathetic. You need to do better.” And then he points to his back, to where Tarja’s disappeared to get her stuff, “She’s going to grow up and realize you are an awful person and she’s not going to want you in her life. And I’m not going to dissuade her from it, because I already don’t want you to be in mine, you know that, right?”

Tommy looks at him seriously and then nods once, fast and hard. Like he gets it. Like he agrees and is determined to change. And Eddie hopes for Tarja’s sake he is. But knows, deep in his heart, that either way, she’s going to be fine.

“Also, just a heads up. I’m in love with Steve and I’m going to ask him out,” he adds in a rush when he hears Tarja running up behind him.

“You are shitting me,” Tommy whispers, shocked and clenching his teeth.

Eddie laughs, “Nope,” he says, closing his lips loudly around the P.

“Eddie,” Tommy warns him like he’s waiting for Eddie to say he's joking.

“What? I hear he’s single,” Eddie smirks.

“You motherfuc- Hey Tata!” Gathering Tarja in his arms, Tommy drops the subject but he glares at Eddie as he kisses Tarja’s cheek goodbye and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ as he’s leaving. Eddie closes the door and starts laughing at the look on Tommy’s face.

He needs to call Steve.

He tries a couple of times but he doesn’t pick up and he starts worrying Steve might not actually want to talk to him, and then there’s a knock on the door but Eddie, too preoccupied with his anxiety, opens without looking, thinking Tarja forgot something.

When he doesn't hear her, Eddie looks up from his ‘ignored calls’ screen to see nonother than Steve standing there, looking nervous and like a fucking dream with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. A fucking bouquet of flowers. For him. For Eddie. All different shades of red, because he knows is his favorite color.

Eddie just blinks at him a couple of times and Steve flushes even more and drops the hand holding up the flowers, scratches the back of his neck nervously, “This was stupid, the flowers were fucking stupid. They are stupid. I’m stupid, right?”

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie and he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him inside. He closes the door once they are both in and slams Steve against it, crushing their lips together. Steve circles his arms around Eddie and holds him close, instantly returning the kiss with fervor. 

They kiss as if it were fate. They kiss until it's hard to breathe and Eddie pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Not stupid,” he murmurs between kisses and feels Steve’s smile against his lips.

Eventually, Eddie takes a step back and lets Steve into his home properly, “Hi,” he says cheesily.

“Hi,” Steve says back grinning, then he lifts up the bouquet again, which is now completely ruined by him still holding it strongly while they made out like crazy, and his smile drops,

“Shit,” he pouts cutely, god Eddie wants to eat him. He laughs and takes the flowers anyway, putting them in an empty glass bottle, because he doesn’t own a flower vase, because he’s a normal human being. ‘Who the fuck owns a flower vase?’

“Come here,” he says, holding out both hands for Steve to take and follow him.

Steve takes his hands but doesn't move, instead swings them from side to side, “Wait, let's talk,”

Fuck, yeah. They should. That’s a good idea. Fuck. Damn, Steven Whatever-The-Fuck-Is-His-Middle-Name Harrington and his sensible and very logical choice…

Eddie huffs exaggeratedly making Steve chuckle and redirects them to the couch, where they sit still holding hands, “Alas,” he says dramatically, “You are right, we should talk. I actually wanted to ask you out properly, not debauch you the second you walked through the door. Sorry about that” he lies, not sorry at all, again.

Steve blushes and smiles, drawing little circles with his thumbs on Eddie’s hands, “Yeah me too. I wanna do this right. Ask you out. Go on dates. I think we should take this slow,”

Eddie makes a face and groans at that. He doesn't want to take it slow. He wants Steve to move in right now or something. Steve rolls his eyes amused at his interruption and keeps going,

“I came here to ask you out the right way because I want you to know I’m committed. But we should think about how this will affect Tarja… and Tommy too. We should go out a few times, spend some time alone, and I want you to meet my friends and my parents and I want to meet your friends and your uncle too and just do this properly and-”

Eddie interrupts him with a kiss, he can’t take it anymore, he’s been dying to kiss Steve for months now and he’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes Eddie insane, makes him feel like he needs to ruin him, but in a nice way, like with devotion and love.

Steve lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him until he’s straddling Steve. Eddie leans his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, and buries his hands in his hair, pulling and messing with it.

“Okay but have you considered having hard, hot, wet sex, and then maybe we do what you said?” He asks panting against Steve’s lips and actually feeling how that punches the air out of him.

He hugs Eddie closer to his chest and whines, “Yeah okay, we can do it your way,” and gets up, lifting Eddie with him as if he were weightless. Eddie squawks and laughs all the way to his room.

🧸

They spend the week together, talking, eating, drinking, laughing and fucking. Except it’s more than that because when Eddie is inside Steve, with his tongue, his fingers, or his strap, it feels like more. It feels like love. Like fate.

Steve, still determined to take things slow, doesn’t stay there all the time, going back to Robin’s where he moved back to after breaking up with Tommy. He actually brings her over one day and the three of them spend the afternoon together. Eddie decides they are going to be best friends immediately because Robin is hilarious and merciless. When Steve gets back the next day he kisses Eddie so good and hard his knees almost give out on him and tells him he has Robin’s seal of approval. Something he knows Tommy never got.

When the week passes Eddie says goodbye theatrically as if they were cross-star lovers in a bad soap opera and Steve chuckles and calls him ridiculous but kisses him so passionately that Eddie drags him right back inside and they say goodbye again a few hours later.

They had decided to wait until Eddie talked to Tarja about her feelings over Tommy’s and Steve’s breakup and whether she still wanted Steve around or not before having him over again.

But when Tarja gets back home she’s gloomy and silent. She hugs Eddie in greeting when she arrives and then spends the rest of the day lying face down on the floor and occasionally sighing loudly, obviously trying to make Eddie ask her what’s wrong.

And really, Eddie shouldn't find it as funny as he does, but he thinks about calling Wayne and telling him he gets it now when Wayne used to tell him he had too much personality.

Eventually, he lies on the floor next to her and asks. Tarja looks at him with big sad eyes and says, “I haven't seen Steve in a million years! And Daddy said he is not his boyfriend anymore! So I’ll never see him again and I miss him”

Eddie coos at her, “I’m sorry you miss him little dragon, but you can totally see him again! Would you like me to call him? Since he’s my friend too?” Already trying to strategize on how to tell her they are more than friends.

Tarja lights up and jumps off the floor and onto Eddie, punching the breath out of him, “Yes! Yes! Call Steve! Steve smiles more when he’s with you than he did with daddy anyway. Why don’t you boyfriend him instead?”

Well… that was easy.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “That’s a great idea sweety, go grab my phone,”

Tarja runs and grabs Eddie’s phone off the table and hands it to him, he doesn’t bother getting off the floor so she kneels beside him listening attentively as he dials Steve’s number. 

“Hi, handsome, you talked with Tarja already?” Steve greets him after it rings twice.

“Yeah about that, turns out Tarja talked to me, actually,” he chuckles, “Hi, by the way”

“Hi,” Steve repeats lovingly and laughs, “What do you mean?”

“She had this awesome idea!” he says winking at her and she covers her mouth with her tiny hands to hide her giggles, “That, since you are not with Tommy anymore, you should be my boyfriend instead,” he continues, voice going soft and chuckles when he hears Steve's breathless ‘oh’ on the other side of the line, “Come over?”

“Of course, gimme an hour? I'm with a client” Steve hums and Eddie whispers he’ll give him anything he asks for and hangs up.

An hour later Tarja is still lying on the floor, only now it’s with papers and crayons spread all around her when the doorbell rings. She looks up at Eddie excitedly and he nods at her, “Go on then”

Tarja runs to the door and opens it wide to reveal Steve standing there as beautiful as ever, giving Eddie a deja vu of the first time he saw him.

“Papa Steve!” Tarja yells and jumps up to hug him.

Steve gasps and falls to his knees with her in his arms and looks up at Eddie with shocked wet eyes.

‘So much for taking it slow,’ Eddie thinks with a smirk.

Fin.

☝️first part

☕🥐💕?

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝…? ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟷: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙴˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 💗)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟽𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢….𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎 *𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎*

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙼𝙶‼️‼️‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Dreams were one thing. 

Mikey loved dreams. 

He adored dreams in fact. 

It was…his escape from reality; sort of like drawing in a sense. Except, when he dreamt…he didn’t have to do a single thing.

He could do anything he wanted…whenever he wanted without having to get the 'a-okay' from anyone.

And plus, the best part about dreams was that if there was an ice cream cat barfing up sprinkles…Mikey wouldn’t question it oneeeeee bit. 

That was the magical part about dreams. 

But…there were always two sides to a coin.

…Nightmares…were the opposite of dreams…

…And they were a whole other thing.

They could turn your most happiest memories and moments into horrid and scary ones.

It could turn the most greenest of valleys into nothing but dry ash, blowing away in the wind and fluttering and intoxicating the air. 

Or…perhaps…maybe nightmares were just…lonely. 

Perhaps…it was just lonely to be alone, watching you sit in your room as you break into cold sweat, the darkness weighing you down like a ton of bricks. 

And maybe the nightmares wanted you to be there with it…so it wouldn’t have to be alone…

'I could be lonely with you' as Beach Bunny would say…

But back to the initial topic, Michelangelo always hated having nightmares.

But what he hated more was not even remembering what said nightmares was about. 

It was terrifying for sure— I mean— he woke up from it so it must’ve been really…bad…right?

The box turtle sighed loudly, running a tired and shaky hand down his face.

…He should probably get some water while he’s awake; his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

Or, better yet, Mikey could go find his brothers.

Well…one of them. Or at least see if anyone was awake.

The light scarlet eyed mutant hopped down from his bed, hugging himself with one of his blankets as he made his way towards the hallway, the darkness almost consuming him in the process. 

Even as a little kid, the box turtle was never fond of the dark. 

…You could never see beyond it. 

It was cold and…just, well, dark in general if that makes sense. 

Michelangelo never understood the appeal some people had to it.

The only time he did welcome darkness, though, was when there was light occumpining it. 

Like the moon. 

Or the stars. 

Or even car lights! 

It was Mikey’s small reminder that no matter where he was, there was always some glow or gleam with him…

So relitavley speaking, he should head to where the nearest light was…which was his immiediate older brother’s room. 

The smallest turtle opened Leo’s car door ever so slightly, peeking inside to see a very sound sleeping slider. 

The youngest buried down his disappointment as he quietly closed the door, going back into the darkness once more.

Leo barely got any sleep as is…

…And besides…the chance of accidentally waking him up was waaaay too high. 

It was fine, anyway. Mikey could try going to Raph’s! 

Michelangelo dragged his orange blanket with him, putting it around his shoulders as he tip-toed to Raphael’s room…surely he was awake, right? 

“Raph…?” The youngest called out quietly, looking into his older brother’s room. The smallest mutant wasn’t greeted with a small grunt of acknowlgemnt nor a kind Raph greeting.

What the light scarlet eyed teen was greeted with, though, was a loud, ear pierecing snore from the snapping turtle. 

Mikey snickered softly at his brother’s loud noises, going into the room and giving him his favorite Squishmello that was on the floor.

The alligator snapping turtle smiled in his sleep, squishing the plushie to his chest and his tail wagged slightly. The smaller turtle giggled at the action, walking out and closing the car door.

Alright…so the odd’s on Donnie being up…were…rather…slim but it was fine! 

Quite very much fine.

If the softshell was asleep, the light scarlet eyed mutant would just hed back to his room…alone; in complete darkness. 

…But it would be fine…!

Probably.

The box turtle quickly and quietly shimmied to his purple loving brother’s room buuut not before tripping over his own feet and stumbling in front of Donnie’s train car door.

And Mikey was supposed to be a ninja…pfft, yeah right. 

The youngest turtle got up on his feet, brushing off his knees and shoulders as he grabbed his blanket from the floor. 

Maybe if he just stood perfectly still until the crack of dawn…Donnie wouldn’t wake up…!

Besides, it’s not like the softshell heard him or anything.

“I can hear you trying to be quiet over there, Mikes.” The second oldest deadpanned, turning around of his bed so him and his little brother shared eye contact.

Well shit…

The youngest’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned on the doorway nervously, “Oh! H-Hey, Dee…sorry…did I wake you up…?” Michelangelo asked guiltily. 

“Eh, kinda. But it’s alright.” Donatello yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his bed, reaching for his desk as he put on his glasses. 

“…Are you going to come into my very humble abode or are you just going to continue to stand there?” The taller turtle asked, squinting into the darkness where the youngest was almost being consumed by.

Mikey shook his head ever so slightly, closing the door and hopping into Donnie’s bed with his blanket. The elder hugged the smaller turtle tight, rubbing his shell gently as Michelangelo melted into the embrace. 

The box turtle buried his face in his older brother’s chest as the other rested his chin at the top of the smallest turtle’s head, “Mhmmmm…your warm as fuck…”

Donnie bit back a loud laugh, instead, smiling faintly as he rolled his eyes fondly. 

Typical Mikey…

The second oldest wrapped his younger brother tighter in the hug, “Your literally using me as a blanket right now. I’m not your own personal heater, y'know.” 

“Ehhhh…you kinda are to be honest.” The other snickered. 

“Oh? You're just using me for my body heat, huh? And here I thought you loved me for me…” Donatello sniffled theatrically, wiping away a fake tear for dramatic effect.

“I do! But I also love you for your body heat.” The younger turtle giggled snarkily. 

Donnie scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he smiled; he couldn’t help but chuckle faintly.

"You're such a dunderhead, y'know that?” The older said as he scribbled at the youngest’s sides, grinning as Mikey almost immediatley squealed with laughter. 

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, being all sentimental and caring...and all you care about is my toasty body heat.” Donatello fake seethed, scribbling where the younger’s plastron met his shell. 

Michelangelo screeched loudly at his brothers squiggly and wriggly fingers, hugging his middles before turning around so his shell faced the young scientist. 

The light scarlet eyed turtle squealed, kicking his legs from under the bed sheets as his brother continued to tickle him, “N-NohoHAH! D-Deehee cahahome ohon dohon’t doohoo thihihis!” He squeaked, pulling on Donatello’s arms. 

“And where do you think you’re going, little brother?” The taller turtle asked, wrapping one arm around Mikey’s chest so his arms were at his sides. “You’re not going anywhere~!” Donnie grinned before scribbling his free hand all long the younger’s stomach. 

“OHO FAHAAAHACK! DEEHEE NOHO STAHAP!! THAHAT’S SOHO SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” Michelangelo screeched whilst laughing loudly and hysterically, kicking his legs so much that the blankets soared high in the air and fell on the floor. 

'And she was a fairy' ahh moment…

“I’m going to tickle you foreveeeeer! Eeheevihil lahahaugh!” The purple hoodie wearing mutant announced as he nibbled the crook of his baby brother’s neck.

Donnie laughed along with the other, his mind flashing back to times when they were very little…

…When they would lay together in the dark with fairy lights hung around the ceiling, infodumping about shows and movies as he would hold his younger brother close to him to keep him warm…

…It was just like when they were little kids.

Well, almost like when they were little kids. 

In their early childhood years there was definetly less hyena cackling…that was for sure.

“GAHAHAD DAHA— squeal NOOOHOHOHO!” The younger mutant squealed, shaking his head as a faint blush spread to his cheeks.

“Yeeeeeeees~!” Donatello playfully cooed, “And stop your loud Tom-foolery! You’re going to wake up the entire lair!”

“THEHEN STAH— squeal!! GOHOD— squeak SCREHEHEW YAHA— YOHOU! STOHOHAP TIHICKLING squeak MEEHEEHEE!” Mikey yelled through his laughs. 

“But you looooove it~!” The other smugly countered. 

“DEEEEEHEEHEE! PLAHAHEASE! YOHOUR GOHOHONNA KILL MEEHEE!!”

“Kill yohou?” The elder mutant asked in awe, pausing the tickling for a split second before mercilessly prodding where the other’s ribs would be.

The reaction was almost immediate as Michelangelo let out a loud, genuine scream before descending into hysterical fits of laughter. 

Mikey thrashed and squealed helplessly, throwing his head back on his older brother’s shoulder. “DOHOHAHA— squeak DOHOHAHANNIE!!”

“You are conversing with Donatello; yes?” 

“PLAHAHAHEASE!”

“Please what~? Pleeeeease keep tickling you~? Pleeeeease tickle tickle your oh-so ticklish ribs~?” 

“N-NAHAH! THAHAT IHIS NOHOT WHAHA— squeal IHI DIDN’T MEEEHEAN THAHAAAT!”

The softshell chuckled lowly, holding his baby brother’s wrists above his head as he lightly nibbled his ribs. 

The box turtle squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back once more as he could do nothing but happily laugh. 

“D'awww~! Are Mikey’s wittle wibs tickwish~?” Donnie teased, using his free hand to flutter along the orange cladded turtle’s neck.

“AAAAAHAHAHAH— SQUEAK!! NONONOHOHO! DEEHEE DEEHEE NOHO— SQUEAK SQUEAK— NAHAHA— SQUEAL— NOHO MOHOHORE!!!”

“No more~? Are you sure~?”

“YEHAHAHAH! YEHEHES YEHE— SQUEAL YEHEHES!!” 

Donnie gave his brother one last poke at the rib before stopping and hugging him from behind, resuming the gentle shell rubs. “I guess I really am nothing more than your own personal heater, hm? Just a walking furnace at your command…”

The box turtle mutant groaned loudly, flicking the taller turtle’s forehead slightly, “Deeeehee yohou knohow damn wehell thahahat’s nohot true.” Mikey pouted, snuggling in the embarce. 

"Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. You supposedly love me for more than just my body heat.”Donatello said as he let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. 

The elder wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, resting his chin on the orange cladded teen’s head once more. 

The smaller turtle giggled at the action before yawning, snuggling into the other’s plastron, “Lohove yohou, dorkwad…”

“Pfft— dorkwad? Is that the best you can do? Really?” The softshell snickered. 

“Is ahass faced Atomic Lahass fuhucker good enohough fohor you?” The box turtle asked snarkily. 

“I’ll stick with dorkwad, thanks.” The older giggled. 

“That’s whahat I thohought.” Mikey grinned as he yawned, resting on his face on his brother’s chest, “Lohove you, Dee.”

“I love you too, Angelo.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[smoosnoom]

corollary

“Okay,” Mike echoes. “So, I was – thinking. We should sleep together." Will, for some reason, still looks lost, but he looks cute – sweet, like that, pink cheeks and eyes wide and glossy and the slight furrow of his eyebrows like Mike has given him something outlandish. “I,” he starts, “don’t understand.”

Mike proposes a sleepover.

Unsurprisingly, no sleeping is done.

[casualdadnomad]

in every fic about sokka jet shows up as competition trying to steal his man/woman and at the end of the day this all comes down to zukkas impact

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[tantumuna]

what's crazy to me is multiple times i've received encouragement to start drawing again, even when i mention that the only reason i've considered drawing again is as a desperate ploy for attention

but whenever i talk about my writing i either get ignored or told to "write for yourself"

like just tell me you don't value writing as an art form. it'll be easier than having to dance through whatever the fuck this is

[mossyinkynebulous]

Guys, I have to admit something. You may think less of me because of it and I understand if you leave, but felt it best to be upfront with it than not.

I...was in the Hetalia fandom. I know a tragedy. It's been years since I moved on. I was really in the fandom during 2015/2016, which dwindled in 2017. I wrote and read fics for that fandom, drew fanart that I never posted online and never will, and made ocs. I've become a better person since then, but I cannot say that present me wouldn't be where I am today without it. I cosplayed one character from the show, Iceland and had casually worn his fit to school. I wasn't a part of that side of the fandom, I didn't even know about it until years later.

I have since grown to know that the show is extremely problematic and harmful and have since distanced myself from it and the fandom. I thank the it for the few short-term friends I had made through it and the Wattpad dms, but I will continue to bash the show if ever brought up in conversation.

For those who read all of this, thank you. Also, this is meant to be a joke. I feel that fandoms people were a part of when they were kids don't define a person for who they are today or even a fandom someone was in over 5 years ago. Like I was a fan of Blood Lad in that same time period, thought it was so cool; My partner and I watched it this year and it was funny, but in a 'it's so bad it's funny' way. People grow and they change. I'm not the same person I was 2 years ago, much less 5.

[aerodaltonimperial]

I'm really not used to people paying attention to me, I just sort of lost most of my wrestle fandom friends in the past year or so, and I guess I just want to say hi? Thanks for being here? I've gotten more followers in the past week than I've gotten in several months. 💚

[anonyanonymouse]

🙈

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Hiii! Great job on finishing your WIPs by the way! 😁

For requests, I'm curious as to how you'd write tmnt 2003, so maybe lee Mikey, if you're up to it? (Ler can be anyone, your choice!! 😘)

I hope you're doing well! 😊

~ 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚃𝚅 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎! ~

💙🐢🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @savemeafruitjuice 💙🐢🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚈𝙾𝙾𝙾 🩷💓!!! 𝙷𝙴𝚈𝙰 𝙹𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙴 🤩💕💘💕💘!!! 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟹 (𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚕) 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝙾𝙾𝙲 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚔𝚢 🥲💔. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚛𝚘 😗💖— 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝙷𝙸𝚃 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 😅…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟺𝟽𝟽

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚔? 𝟷. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝟸. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝? 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘’𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜…

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @itzsana-kiddingmenow @saturnzskyzz @tmntalways

@shut-up-jo @someone1348 @rice-cake-teen10 @turtletimewriting

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 😵‍💫…𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟹 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 🫶🏾💖💕💗! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 😌👍🏾💓 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙵𝙵!!! 🌚𝙾𝙽𝙴🤪𝚃𝚆𝙾👁️𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴💅🏾𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁🌝˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Leeeoooooooo!!! Come watch TV with meeee…” Mikey whined loudly, resting his head on his eldest brother’s shoulder as the other sat quietly on the dojo floor, meditating. 

“I’m obviously doing something here, Mike.” Leo said calmly, trying to concentrate on his meditation. 

Which…was kind of hard when his little brother was literally breathing down his neck. 

The orange banded turtle huffed, hugging onto his brother’s arm like the clingy koala that he was, “I thought you loved meeee…”

The slightly taller turtle sighed longly, stopping his meditation for a quick second as he opened his eyes, looking down at his brother, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I love you.” 

Mikey smiled at the slightly defensive response, hugging the other’s arm tighter, “If you love me so much then watch some TV with me!!!” 

Leonardo fondly rolled his eyes, squeezing the freckled faced teen in a side hug, “I’ll watch TV with you later, okay? I promise.” The blue banded turtle exclaimed as he went back into the sitting position he was in beforehand. He put the both of his hands in his lap, closing his eyes as he tried to concentrate quietly. 

Mikey sighed loudly, resting his cheek on his older brother’s shoulder, causing Leo to stiffen slightly. The taller turtle opened his eyes once more, glaring at the other as the smallest turtle just grinned back, batting his eyelashes dramatically. 

“Mikey.” Leo hissed. 

“Yes~?” The younger sang innocently as his free hand started to squeeze at his big brother’s side. The blue banded teen’s eyes widened, biting back down the laugh that was bubbling in his throat. 

The youngest snorted at his brother’s reaction, raising an amused brow, “What’s going on, man? I thought you were concentrated with meditating.”

“I. Am.” The other said through gritted teeth.

“Really? You sure about that, bro?” The younger asked teasingly. 

Leo sighed knowingly, cracking his knuckles at he took one more glance at his baby brother. 

So this is the way Michelangelo wanted to play? Fine by him. 

If he was going to interrupted during his personal meditation/training session, he should at least take what he’s learned to good use, right? Right. 

The elder quickly and swiftly got out of the hold the youngest had him in. And as soon as he did, Leonardo pinned his brother’s arms on the dojo floor as he sat on his legs effortlessly.   

The orange banded turtle’s eyes widened in panic, his cocky demeanor immediately crumbling as he realized the situation he practically dug himself into.

But the eldest did take notice how his younger brother wasn’t really fighting and/or resisting all that much.

If Mikey really wanted to get away, Leo would’ve gotten punched in the gut right now.

“Waha— wait wait wahait!!!” The smaller turtle squeaked out, kicking his legs behind his brother “C-Cohome ohon— cahan’t we tahalk about thihis first…?”

“I don’t even know why you’re acting so surprised. You knew this was going to happen, Mikes…” Leo said as he couldn’t help but chuckle at his now flustered brother. 

“Buhut Ihi— *snort* Leeheeo!!” Mikey whined, shaking his head back and forth repeatedly as his giggles raised an octave due to the fact that his mean brother was wiggling his fingers above him teasingly. 

Okay…well on the bright side of things, Leo and him were hanging out now!

Although, them 'hanging out' was just Mikey about to get his shit absolutely wrecked, but hey! Maybe Leonardo would go easy on him…?

I mean, Mikey might be the smallest turtle out of the four, but he was also by far the cutest out of all of them (April definitely said so at one point in time so therefore it’s automatically correct), so Leo couldn’t and wouldn’t be…that malicious, right?

If he would, the youngest would file a restraining order. 

“What? You what, Mikey? You saw I was meditating and I said I would watch TV with you later. And yet you still persisted on bothering me.” 

“I-Ihi’m *snort* sohORRY, okAHAY?! Juhust pLEHEASE *snort* d-dohon’t—“

“Please what?” 

“TIHICKLE MEEHEE!!!”

“Tickle you? Oh, whahat a wonderful idea.” Leo mused as he scribbled his free hand against his little brother’s side. Michelangelo shrieked at the sudden sensation to his sides, squirming and wriggling as he tried to get out of the hold.

“Gehet *snort* oHOFF *snort* OHOF meehee!” The youngest whined loudly through his laughter, kicking his feet on the ground repeatedly. 

The eldest turtle huffed out a small chuckle, letting go of both of his brother’s hands and letting them flail around before digging his fingers into his brother’s underarms. 

The orange banded teen let out a loud squeal, putting his hands down as he pushed on his brother’s arms, “GOHOH *snort* A-AWAHAHAY!” 

“Your snorting already? I’ve barely done anything yet.” 

“S-SHUHUT *snort* *squeak* UHUP!” 

“Ehexcuse me? What did you just say?” Leonardo asked, ceasing the tickling for a second as him and Mikey rustled and tussled with each other’s arms.

“NONONONOHO— *snort* PLEHEASE DOHON’T!!!”

“Then moohoove your hands, Mike!”

“IHIHI *snort* CAHAN’T!”

“Then you put this upon yourself…” Leo said as he leaned in and blew a raspberry in the crook of his baby brother’s neck while kneading his hips.

The younger basically screamed in loud laughter, throwing his head back as happy tears shined in his eyes, “EEEEEHAHAHA!” 

“Wow. This must tickle really bad, huh?” 

“BEEHEE QUIHIHIET!!!” 

“If you really want me to stop, you can just say stop, y'know.” 

“NAHAHAH— *snort* SHUHUSH SHUHUSH!!” 

“Unless…” Leo hinted teasingly, his fingers clamping down on the other’s thigh as he squeezed it mercilessly, still blowing raspberries on the orange cladded turtle’s neck. 

“JAHSHHSJAKAHAH!!!” Mikey stuttered through his laugh. 

“What was that?”

“MABSGHAJAHAH— *snort* *snort* JDHDHAHAH!!!” 

“Oh, you don’t say…”

“MANSHSJWKAHA— *snort* *squeal*!!”

“Really? Wow. You don’t hear news like that everyday.” The blue cladded turtle joked, going back to squeezing Mikey’s hipbones.

“NOHO *squeak* STAHA— *squeak* IHI— *snort* L-LEEHEEHEEO!” 

“Yes~?”

“PLEHEHA— *squeak* PLEHEASE NAHA— *snort* STAHAP I-IHI CAHAN’T!!!” Michaelangelo cried as happy tears ran down his cheeks. Leo couldn’t help but giggle at the adorable sight of his younger brother completely lost in his own cackles. The eldest stopped, sitting to the other side of Mikey so the youngest could catch his breath. 

The orange banded turtle slumped on Leo’s shoulder once more as the eldest wrapped him in a comforting hug, “Yohou’re freeheeaking *snort* evil…” 

The leader in blue snorted softly at the remark, “Ahand yohou’re annoying as hell.” 

“Tahakes one toohoo know one, dear ohold brohohother ohof mine.” The orange banded teen grinned, the two enjoying each other’s company in comforting silence before the eldest spoke, “What TV show did you want to watch with me anyway?”

“Star Trek! Dad brought new DVD’s and—“

“AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” Leonardo basically screeched, leaping unto his feet as he quickly helped his brother up, taking his hand and almost dragging him to the living room. “I-I just said I wanted to watch TV with you!” Mikey yelled as he was being dragged along the hallway, “I didn’t know Star Trek was that important to you—“

Leonardo stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to his brother, “Star Trek is very important to me.” He explained, turning back around as he saw the TV starting to play his favorite Sci-Fi show. The blue banded teen sat down next to his Father on the couch, becoming almost entranced by the television. 

Not so far from where the leader in blue was sitting, Raph was leaning on a wall as he was talking to the second youngest. Mikey approached the two with a big, happy grin on his face, putting an arm around Donatello.

“You got Leo to come out of his meditation cave, I pressure?” The scientist asked. 

“Yessir!” The youngest said happily, “But I just don’t understand how he meditates for, like, three freaking hours. I can barely do one!!! It’s impressive honestly…” 

“More like concerning.” Donnie added on.

“Well…impressive or not, Fearless over there needs to take a break every now an' again. So thanks for doing what you did, Mike. We all appreciate it.” Raphael said, a small, embarrassed blush appearing on his face as his little brother’s looked at him teasingly. “Awe…Raphie you looooove us~!” Donatello grinned.

The red banded teen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “I take back everythin' I said about lovin' any of you dunderheads…” He muttered, although his voice lacked his usual snarky and cocky tone— which the two youngest turtle’s definetley took notice in. 

“My sons, are you going to come and watch the space alien science fiction show with me and Leonardo?” Splinter asked the three teens. “Sure, Sensei.” Donnie said as they walked over.

“SHHH SHHH!!! IT’S ON MY FAVORITE SCENE!!!” Leo hissed as he was still looking at the television.

“But…every scene is your 'favorite scene'…” Raphael laughed.

“SAME. DIFFERENCE!!!” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[bright-and-burning]

stuck trying to figure out if i should orphan my first ever published fic or smthn bc of c*dy k* allegations... like is that fic very Good exactly? no. not even a little. is it still my first ever fic on ao3? yeah...