#if the race were more boring then i'd understand

[perlen-gold]

Of Fairest Flame

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY on time for this (wait, it's already November you say?!) but this is something I've been working on for @ainurweek for Day 9: Melkor I Mairon

(I have something for Day 1 - 8 too... just not yet finished... it's a good thing I'm never late.)

Read on on AO3 or under the cut as it's so long 😆 (and also totally unrevised ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated ❤️ though I can understand if you're too bored to read!

Also, I'd like to thank the people here on tumblr who encouraged me and assured me this was a nice fandom. Having been a wholly silent part of this fandom for years and years this is the first thing I have picked up the courage to share and I want to tell you, guys, THANK YOU! ❤️❤️❤️

At Mairon’s feet the whole world was made of gold.

When he passed, even the black-oblivion, obsidian-sleek walls of Utumno lit brazen-bright. Pits of bonfires woke beneath the iced rocks, and gilded flame-tips licked at his limbs from the sheer walls of Angband, polished to hot embers and glowing coals in his presence.

Wherever he trod was the flame of his hair. However dark the night, its lustrous strands wove glowing rubies into the roaming night. Whatever darkness he summoned around him was pierced by the golden gaze of his eyes.

His shadow dissolved into a golden crown when his fairness shone forth as he willed it to as leaping water over steep stones and cleaving rocks.

And I saw him take it, this heated glow of his as he had taken the rising crown from my hands. Oh, I had stared at him, harder and deeper than any mountain flesh or gaping chasm. I could have struck him down, torn him asunder as easily as I called spitting heights and depths to my biding. And yet his flame never even flickered in my direction. Not even when scornfully he took the gleaming jewels, heady with his disdain, from me. For my little flame did not shape mountains and chasms.

Gilded iron was his alloy and will his anvil.

It was beauty alone that Mairon shaped.

Patient, or as patient as I would, I watched him call forth in the forge the spearing splendor of my crown and the hideous shape of Orcs under the skies just as meticulously.

There is a fearsomeness in unpleasing appearance and Mairon knew it well. The dread Orcs inspire in the common man was of his design also, naturally.

So was the stronghold of Angband. A rock-hewn fortress of efficiency, warfare and secrecy, I never tired to wander its complexity, wondering and, with all my heart, occasionally longing to fell it just to see how Mairon would rebuild and recreate its terrible beauty all over again, though I never told him so. He knew anway, of course, and kept his keen golden eye on me like a wolf guarding its prey.

Yes, ghastly they were, the creatures Mairon unleashed upon his foes, the heinous Orcs and gruesome goblins, mountain-trolls and blood-teethed wolves, swathed in the blinding darkness of my Balrogs and fire-drinking dragons.

Mairon, however, ceased to be fair in battle.

Oh, he could have seduced most of his adversaries, forced onto week knees with his sorcery many more and all the rest. But a cobra will not feed upon limp flesh, the cheetah must race, the falcon swoop to pierce the songbird onto its claw.

And so, with his flickering flame-smile, Sauron, as they called him, set a different trap entirely to spring.

The light upon his face was an uncanny ally of his.

Illuminating the finest of his bones to marble-cutting flawlessness.

Chiseled heights, darkness and light were there ought to be neither, glowing shades and whisper-gleaming rays of sunlight beneath a blackened sky.

His voice rang the air like silvered iron, mellifluous and haunting at once, as commanding as a furnace and as tender as a caressing hand, his laugh bright sunlit pearls and cruelly suffocating ashes.

At the dawn, on the shore of battle, the highest elven kings, fiercest queens and most spirited warriors rode for him without hesitation. Sauron, the cruel, they murmured stern-faced among them, and he was indeed wickeder than any Orc or Balrog of mine.

They set out and rode and stroke to earn their place facing him, swords held aloft, their steadfast resolve soaring to shield their people and beloved ones and let detested Morgoth’s lieutenant perish at last.

What they met utterly unnerved, unrooted, unhinged them.

Comeliness.

Handsomeness.

Fairness.

Pulchritude.

Beauty.

Those are mere words. Spoken tumbling winter-leaves struggling to paint a hail storm.

He was all and naught.

And more.

And more.

And more of it.

Both women and men trembled in mesmerized dread and eerie, bloodcurdling want, gaping upon him. Intoxicating pleasure rose in them when they first caught his eye. It was like pain to them.

 By then Marion’s battle-born strides would have become languid-long strolls. The few who still had any morsels of wit left about them tried to break away their eyes from the light-infused apparition frantically, searching for the malice of his mace, gripping their swords with their sweat-slippery fingers.

It always charmed him into the smallest, most dazzlingly curving smile. They almost never realized that to Mairon the sword tip’s deadly dance was just another art, another craft to design and shape.

The most valiant were always wild on their obedient horses to shoot like arrows at him.

Towards the end, they all fell, crawled, cursed, glowered, quivered under the tip of his iron-clad foot. I have always thought him nearly never more beautiful than when he coaxes his cruelty like a lover’s kiss before the bite.

Around them their friend’s torn faces and daughters’ and sons’ smeared lips, honeyed with crimson blossoms and singing gold flowers. The unnatural light painted the blood-gasping ground and changed their fallen comrade-in-arms’ gruesome wounds to crimson-cold brocade.

Mairon had them between his teeth till they died of bliss and horror alike.

Until they sighed and shrieked and moaned and wept.

 “You are Sauron,” they would utter, staring, accusing, spitting at him.

Oh, yes, Mairon said. Smiled. Oh, yes, yes.

Sometimes the very young ones, well-trained boys and girls, would beg him then. Then, Mairon’s rose-soft, velvet-curling lips smiled even more beautiful.

Around him the thrusting, piercing, blood-lilting, iron-soaked air was limned with gold. In this pause, this endless biding of time against the grey-spraying portrait of misting blood and blooming battle he liked to pull off his helmet at last. Slow and delicately this one, rapidly in a great sweeping arch the other time.

It is the last thing they always see.

The reaching length of his hair curling into sunlit waves of gleaming water ripples, his sun-shaming light pouring as endless waterfalls.

The pinkish tip of his tongue a glimpse between his curving gold-dusted lips in the moment of his kill.

In the blink of a startled eye, Mairon’s beauty rippled into a haunting, living, wraith-like phantom.

The high-browed elven lord’s eyes always widened and their lips spit on the ground before his last smile.

Before he opened them as ripe figs bursting on touch.

When I came forth from my fortress, the ground shook with satisfying anticipation and a rumble swept through our armies, his and mine, mine and theirs. As I stepped forward without forewarning, the roiling battle was surging under Mairon’s sway as usual.

A draught of wind … I could listen to the softness of Mairon’s petal-perfect skin in it. I could savor the unnatural shadows illuminating his brow and cheekbones in the exact, precisely perfect way whispering across his features and taste the whipping of his hair in my mouth, scarlet-sizzling as coals. On his flaming head his crown – for it was more iron crown than helmet – was a smooth black somehow enlightening the flawlessness of his features even more. His iron-slinking armor, sharp as curving wolf teeth, clung to the virtue of his shape. His fiery hair, tamed in the forge only, was afly like shimmering birds. I saw it whip through the air as Mairon turned abruptly around even before the roaring Orcs next to me blinked at my sudden presence.

At once, I saw the flare in him bright as sunlit gemstones as I set foot on the battle field, his intricate thoughts shooting like spider’s webs into a myriad of calculations at once.

The mind of any other Valar and their servants are like lily-bedded ponds. Deep their water runs but slow, and the pebble thrown barely bounces across the surface. The ripples are soon gone.

Mairon’s mind, however, darted like fire prancing, dazzling to watch its hundred and thousand swift flickers.

I seldom partook in battle and, oh, hard it was becoming already to stifle my laughter.

Promptly, I could see his clever embers stirred in their battle-focused ash-bed, swiftly and instantaneously.

Ah, how often had I thwarted his meticulous plans in the past before for no obvious reason – not obvious to him, that is – at all?

Sometimes I had leapt into action when he would have stalled my impatient hand, sought to preserve what I annihilated and at other times I had cherished what Mairon had deemed worthless.

So wary was his gaze as it first flew into my direction like a sleeping volcano’s first spark that I could sense a thousand thoughts ignite into a hundred interweaving sparks at once. He knew I was seldom to do what he bid me to and never to follow a plan to its end.

Oh, but he was a quick-bright little flame, and whatever havoc I wrought upon his elaborate schemes he would never be surprised nor deceived twice and what could scratch upon the perfection of his composure once never did even reflect on the polished marble sheen of his features ever again.

Oh, but he knew me so well indeed as the fire knows the logs it steadily consumes. It had become increasingly hard to catch him unawares, to make mark any impression upon his clever, ever-calm countenance.

A thousand wiles I had played upon him through the ages already and a thousand predictions and presumptions were lapping at his iron-clad feet now.

As soon as I set foot on the ground it trembled and Mairon’s gold flame hair was afly.

Instantaneously, his face turned in the direction of my arrival and, though he was far away on a lone hill, in the midst of battle, a commander of forces who would be commanded by none other, I could see his shimmering beauty whip around.

Belike, I would seek his advice or perhaps I would undo all his careful webs and sunder all his admirable designs upon a mere whim of mine –  he was fascinated and loath to watch me do it.

So, as the ground rumbled beneath my iron-clad footfalls and even the darkest creatures of my armies shrank away in fright, I could see him not step back like them but instead devise and foretell a thousand things to be prepared for me, to predict my wisdom – of which he doomed little upon me – and envision the chaos I could wreck.

Bright could I see the light of his mind as he drew it, keen as the nimble blade he was wilding.

A lesser being he was, yes, so much more fragile and less mighty than I. But none of the other Valar, let alone their servants, possessed his mind’s spark-gleaming quickness, second only – or so I hoped to believe – to my own infinite-stretching mind.

Golden thoughts sparked within it, darting as light, trying to decipher the cause and – more important in Mairon’s glittering mind – the ends of my wild stepping into battle.

Again, I almost burst out laughing.

My hammer, however, dragged a gaping gorge behind me. I did not lift it nor unleash its deadly power and that, I think, a brimming in my chest, is what drew Mairon’s suspsicion most.  

From my path, my army swayed, Orcs and darker creatures shrinking back.

But I am a god and it took me scarcely more than a few strides before I reached him.

Mairon’s face was like marble showing neither dent nor impression whatsoever. If I had knelt at his feet his splendid expression would have shattered – but in my mind the idea I carried within me was of another kind and I brimmed with the anticipation of it.

Ah, how unearthly, uncannily, unrelentingly beautiful he was!

Mairon, His sword reluctantly held, raised his gold-infused gaze at me.

Inside the dazzling gold there were cold calculation and smug disdain aglitter.

Ah.

That potent mixture of mocking smugness and complacent taunt.

I have never told him that, though lesser in being, immortality and power, Mairon’s visage bore one fruit none other in Eä could offer.

In all other beings I had seen and sniffed it, beasts and birds, elves and orcs, wild things and god-like creatures alike. The other Valar, too, I had seen the sheen of it upon them – why, even Manwë – and it had filled me with glee unimaginable.

Not him, though.

Never him.

Forest of giles, oceans quick as arrows and mountains sharp as knives, I could see a whole world blazing in his aureate eyes.

Even smug disdain, if he had the nerve for it – and Mairon almost always did. Even, in those rarest moments when he was most unguarded, trust.

Amidst the tides of our forces I stood still in front of him. On Mairon’s flaming hair his crown – for it was more iron crown than helmet – was a smoke grey, somehow illuming the brilliant symmetry of his features even more, his iron-slinking armor sharp as wolf teeth clinging to the sculptured fairness of his shape.

That fierce serpent beauty flashed. Yes, my lord? What is it that drives you forward to my meek reign?

The scarlet flame of his hair tangling around him in a windless breeze, a luscious bow, mockingly coy, of curving lips and white teeth. I could hear his voice tingle in my head.

Having left your hideout, is there something you ask of me?

Ah.

Insolence and impudence. Arrogance. Amusement.

A whole world but never fear.

I could have wrapped my hands around his slender neck and squeezed without even a gleam of scare in him. I could have lifted my hammer, torn the earth beneath his feet, dictated the skies to strike him with thunder and lightning.

Ages and aeons ago, in the sweltering gleam of Aulë’s forge, he had spotted me among the darkness long before I revealed myself. His eyes shone in the dark brighter than any cat’s. Instead of raising his voice, crying wolf and havoc for help, he watched me and I could feel his gold-gaze lingering.

I went back to my underground halls that day, pondering that brazen insolence just to return the next night trying to break his unwavering gaze.

“How do you know I will not smite you where you stand?” I asked him upon the next day in the deserted forge when I let go of the shadows at last to bend over him.

He cocked his head like a bird and returned, smug as a raven:

“How will you know I will not betray you where you sit?”

The cheek! I was a poisonous viper and he was another and, oh, how fiercely I wanted him to be mine, mine, mine then and mine alone!

His soft neck was between my hands before even he could elude me. Instantaneously, the gold in his eyes sparked with realization and horrified shock of what I was about to do in a split heartbeat ere I was upon him. His lustrous hair whipped like gold ribbons in a wind where there was none, his skin was iridescent in his otherworldly apparition-beauty.

His gilt-rimmed pupils dilated but it was already too late.

I pressed my mouth amidst the surging battle forces upon his pearly lips and kissed.

Flame-swift, Mairon’s rage was so instantaneous I had to swallow my cackling laughter just to prolong the touching of our lips a little longer before he could defy me.

A conflagration met my mouth and I, made of ice and fire, allowed him to singe me till I felt actual pain for I burnt and grinned now beholding the utter outrage in Mairon’s gold-limned eyes.

I could not fathom what incensed him more – the fact that I would do this outside the secrecy of his sweltering bed chambers or the incidental truth that I had accomplished to take him yet again by utter surprise.

Suddenly, the hot-white rage came, ever more terrifying and beautiful than a thunderstorm.

He looked like he might have struck me down then and there, me, in front of everyone.

Then Mairon turned – not because he could not but would not strike me – and away he  went like a conflagration to ravage the battlefield, descending upon our enemies as the sun, golden-bright and blind-burning, veiled in the light of stars and comets, and I watched him, his beautiful blaze transforming into a wraith-like furnace which he cast upon the enemy so that neither elven nor mortal survivor – if they survived – would be able to look  at a beautiful face, be it fair maiden or lovely lad or sweet rose, and bear it ever again.

As my thunder-laugh broke from my chest the ground around me shook and shuddered.

Pierced as though scorched, the swelling of my lower lip seared.

Oh, I was looking forward to golden vengeance he would spin to wreak upon me.

I laughed.

[mourning-again-in-america]

weird not seeing any nat'l coverage of the chicago mayoral election. maybe it's just too far away and i'm not a national news junkie anymore but compared to the NY mayoral race, or the attention paid to SF/DC local politics, it seems like nothing for the third-biggest city in the US

[whattheheckmidoriya]

A Million Tomorrows

Description: Change was inevitable. Levi couldn't deny he felt it coming, nor could he deny the dread pooling his stomach at the thought of tomorrow. You seem to have a way of easing those fears off his shoulders.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Post-war Levi x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: AOT s4 spoilers, survivor's guilt. Let me know if I've missed something!♡

Author's Note: Hi, my loves!! It's been so long since I've had something to share with y'all, and I'd been working on this piece for a while, so I hope you all enjoy it!

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Something in the air told him change was coming.

It unsettled him, the idea of not knowing what was to come in this new chapter of his life. How could the tides shift and the seasons change so effortlessly while his tortured mind remained in the past? How could he be expected to turn the page when there was still so much he didn't understand?

Levi Ackerman didn't fear many things in life, but change terrified him. He wasn't ready for it, at least he didn't think so. The world's orbit seemed to speed up just enough to leave him behind, alone and abandoned. He couldn't keep up, couldn't keep a steady enough pace to remain one with the times.

He was falling behind and didn't know how to cope with the fact. Humanity's Strongest had withered away the second war was no more and Levi Ackerman didn't know how to pick up the pieces, didn't know how to move on now that he no longer bore a soldier's purpose over his shoulders.

He was nothing but a hopeless man, aimlessly stumbling through this life, yet something bloomed within him now that his nights were spent by your side. Indeed, he was hopeless— hopelessly in love and devastated by the fact. How terrifying, to get lost in the warmth of your touch and seek refuge under your sweet embrace— to slink away from the world to satisfy his greedy desires of basking in your love.

You'd created something in him, something so beautiful it chilled his blood in fear. How exciting; how terrifying.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the warm painting of an afternoon sky slowly being consumed by the rolling of darkened clouds. Levi sighed, nursing a cup of tea in one hand while the other absent-mindedly traced patterns over the arm of his chair. His healing leg bounced over the wooden porch floors, almost impatiently.

Sitting idly always made him anxious. Though he always appreciated being able to savor his alone time, he often found himself seeking comfort in your presence. He'd picked up little habits that reassured him everything was okay— that you were okay. Holding your hand would subtly turn into his fingers sliding over your wrist, searching for your steady pulse. Caressing your cheeks allowed him to be close enough to feel your breath fanning over his skin, easing his nerves. He shyly started offering to bathe together, taking the opportunity to look over you, easing his mind with the knowledge that the scars on your skin were slowly fading with the passage of time.

The war hadn't taken you from him, yet he feared you'd vanish if he dared look away.

Music streamed from within the house, a melody you had claimed to be your favorite the moment you heard it on the radio. He had to admit, he liked it too, the familiarity of it enough to distract his racing mind. If he listened closely enough, he could make out the sound of your voice softly following the words to the song. The corners of his lips quirked into a tiny smile.

Love had made him soft.

Levi waited for you to join him on the porch, the tea in his hand now lukewarm. He cringed. He never liked the taste of cold tea.

A puff of air rushed past his lips as the sky opened up its gates, allowing for the land to be cleansed with a fresh wave of rain. He hummed nonchalantly. He never cared much for the rain, always despising how his shoes would sink into thick puddles of mud in the aftermath.

What a bother, he thought as a chilling breeze nipped at his skin and tousled his hair.

The former captain perked up at the sound of footsteps, relief pooling his chest. You'd finally decided to join him. As the door swung open, he turned in his chair to greet you but wouldn't get the chance to as you sped past him, leaping off the steps of the porch and into the rain.

A breathy laugh spilled out of your mouth, something beautiful and free."This is so nice!" You beamed, spreading your arms wide as the rain soaked your clothes. Wonder twinkled brilliantly in your eyes, your grin a wild thing that made your lover's chest ache.

He wondered, had your smile always been this big? No, he doesn't think so. Something was different— it felt new. A quick tug to his heartstrings had his mismatched eyes following you attentively. He could feel it in his bones, dripping down his stomach, pooling around his toes. Today's different.

Levi gaped at you, shaking his head. "Get out of the rain," he urged, wheeling his chair close to the porch railing. "You'll get sick."

He remembered having this conversation with you years before, both of you clad in torn uniforms, brandishing green cloaks, and worn-out boots. The scene was all too familiar, but your laughter was now wild, void of shame. Too many were the times he had to usher you back into the barracks, scolding you for being so careless. He could no longer count how many times he'd had to rush out of his office to drag you away from the ruthless downpour of a storm, nearly having to toss you over his shoulder to get you somewhere dry. You always said there was something about the rain that made you feel brand new. He always said you were crazy. But he couldn't say no to you now, not when something devilish and daring lingered in your gaze.

You merely turned to him, sticking out your tongue in retaliation. He scoffed.

Thunder roared a little closer now, and your smile only widened. You hollered in response, and your arms stretched up to the heavens. Oh, how sweet the taste of freedom, so fierce and lively.

"C'mon," Levi called after you, setting down his cup of tea. "It'll only get colder." He could already feel a chill crawling up his spine. Perhaps he should be seeking some towels to wrap you in— some warm blankets, too.

Instead of heeding his wishes, you ran further into the growing storm, your boots splashing into every puddle your feet stumbled upon. Mud splattered onto your ankles, tainting the dress that fell just past your knees. You jumped and twirled, laughter spilling past your lips with a joy so raw it seeped into your lover's ears like a sacred melody.

"Wait," He shouted as lightning struck, his heart pounding in his chest. Flashes of white and blue cut through the sky, their impact booming through the air. "Don't go too far!"

But you couldn't hear him anymore. You danced with the wildflowers, bending to the wind, each stomp and clap in rhythm with the crack of thunder. The drumming of rain kept the pace of your beating heart, so full of life and renewal. The heavens were the musicians and you, their valiant performer.

And Levi couldn't just sit by. No, because as lightning sparked through the heavens and the wind bit his nose with a chill, his heart only ached for you. Mismatched hues followed your every move, a pang of longing knocking on his chest.

Wherever you were, he was never too far behind.

"Damn it," he cursed. There was no time to go searching for his cane, the forsaken thing collecting dust in the back of his closet. With whatever strength he had within him, he latched onto the wooden railing before him and began pulling himself off his chair, his limbs protesting at the effort.

The former captain stumbled down the steps, his footing unsure, uneven. The aches in his leg scurried away as he stood a bit taller. Renewed confidence filled each stride once his feet landed on soppy mud. A new chill settled in his bones, something foreign and exciting.

"Come back!" He shouted, yet found himself going after you before he could think twice, his limp carrying him as best as it could. He felt like a madman chasing after falling stars. "Damn it, wait up!"

As if the wind had carried his voice to you like a sweet melody, you turned, a new giddy feeling tickling your heart as he slowly stumbled towards you. Something electric coursed through your veins, sweet and addicting. You laughed and cheered, kicking up more mud with every hop of excitement. Pride swelled in your chest at the sight of him, your heart threatening to chase after your lover.

A clap of thunder broke through the steady drumming of rain, almost as if urging Levi to keep going— he needed to reach you. His legs moved clumsily, the gap between you growing smaller. His hair stuck to his face in a sloppy mess, his clothes clinging to his healing body. Tints of pink dusted his scarred cheeks, nearly stinging his skin as the wind whispered sweet nothings into his ear. And though his bones whined and protested, the wages of war clear on his skin, he felt stronger than he had in a while.

"I'm coming!" Your voice rang through the air, almost as loudly as the chorus of booming thunder that followed.

And you ran to him.

A tug in his heart propelled him forward until he couldn't anymore. He tripped over his footing, his knee giving out and letting him meet the ground. And for once, he didn't care about the dirt under his nails or the horrendous state his clothing was in. Levi let himself get pulled to the dirt by the wind, his back to the ground. Facing up at the sky, he reveled in how the rain kissed his skin.

He's never felt more free.

How unusual, the feeling bubbling in his chest, a crazed little thing that pulled his lips into a smile. As a kid, he always dreamed of the sun, of feeling its warmth sink into his bones and fill his belly. He nearly laughed. How strange to find comfort in a raging storm.

You came like a dream. The dress hugging your body spread around your legs like a flower in bloom as you plopped down in the mud. Cold hands cupped the sides of his face tenderly, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. Cradling his head, setting it over your lap, you brushed his hair out of the way. Was he aware of how beautiful he was? A smile graced your lips, amusement clear in your eyes as he gaped at you, like a man drunk on stardust and hope.

The storm felt so far away now, though Levi was sure it had grown exponentially. But he couldn't focus on that. No, he was too enraptured by the sight of you to worry about such a thing. You, who kissed his scars each night, mapping them out like uncharted constellations. You, who thought his eyes were the most lovely combination of jewels. You, who now laughed so freely it made his heart stutter. He couldn't be any more in love.

"I love you," he breathed, unsure if you'd heard him. A trembling hand, gentle and cautious, reached up to you, wiping away the mud sprinkled on your cheek. His words came in a choked breath, scarred lips quivering under the weight of such sweet emotion, "I love you so damn much."

Something sweet bloomed in his chest, foreign yet familiar in a way he couldn't quite understand.

Even under the rain, Levi could see the tears swelling in the corners of your eyes, your smile so bright and warm. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. How had he managed to find such love? By no means did the odds ever feel to be in his favor, but perhaps the moon and the stars had conspired on his behalf, shifting the tides so that, at the end of it all, it would be you and him.

It didn't make any sense; there was no way for him to understand it. The mystery of this love was too big, but he stopped questioning things long ago. He stopped believing in coincidences. Some things, no matter how impossible they seemed, were meant to be. Like the way your hand perfectly fits in his or how his name resembles the songs of angels when spoken by your lips.

He never thought this life would ever be kind to him. Levi had only known hardship for so long; he'd learned to wear his grief and anger like a second skin. But the way you smiled at him, the way you held him as if he would shatter under your touch— it all made him think that maybe life had some hidden jewels waiting for him to uncover.

"You make this life a whole lot less shitty," His voice came in a hush, raw and flooding with emotion. Stormy eyes fluttered as you caressed his cheeks so tenderly, so gently he felt his chest tighten in an achingly beautiful way. "Thank you."

You smiled, choking on a tearful laugh. Levi seemed lighter. The sharpness of his eyes had softened with time, his infamous scowl slowly replaced by a small smile. His shoulders sagged, no longer tight under a soldier's promise of bloodshed. His knuckles no longer strained around the hilt of a sword but caressed the apples of your cheeks with sweet reverence.

He wore freedom beautifully.

"My sweet love," you mused, your voice like honey to his wounds, balming over the ghosts of battles past. "Thank you for staying."

A breath, sharp and unsteady, rushed past his lips, his chest caving in under the weight of raw emotion. His eyes widened, something new glossing over them. The man cradled in your touch crumbled, his lips quivering as he surrendered himself to the vastness of your love. A broken cry tore through his chest, his breaths uneven as he hiccuped.

He didn't think himself worthy— never believed it should’ve been him who rose with the sun each morning, basking in the warmth of a life others never had a chance to experience. A man forged by the wages of war had no right to savor the sweetness of this life, to have his wounds cleansed by the downpour of the heavens. Sometimes, his mind would drift off, and he'd wonder what this newfound freedom would've been for you had you not been held back by the prospect of nurturing him back to health. Would you have left? If things were different, would you have parted ways? His stomach overflowed with dread at such thoughts. He sometimes wished he'd been pulled into the cold clutches of eternal slumber, to have been whisked away into an abyss he could never escape from. Maybe then you wouldn't be burdened with the cards he'd been dealt with. Yet through his doubt, through his fears, your voice echoed in his heart, offering tender reassurance.

Thank you for staying. His heart ached, overwhelming him with tears he couldn’t seem to restrain. His scarred hand clung to yours tightly, almost as if your touch alone tethered him to this life. What had you done to him? How could you devastate his heart with such sweet love?

Your eyes softened as he cried. Softly, your free hand worked to brush strands of ink away from his face. The man before you was no longer the deadly soldier many feared; he'd retired his blades long ago. The man before you had been in hiding for far too long, holding himself together for longer than should've been asked of him.

Your lover was gentle and kind, and he feared what the future held. He hated not knowing what the sun would bring with its rising and falling— hated feeling uncertain of what his days would look like. But it all seemed a bit clearer now, a bit less fearsome. Something new glimmered in his eyes as his cries boomed louder than the crack of thunder.

Hope.

Change was in the air. He could feel it in his lungs, feel it in the soft breath that carried your words straight to his heart. It crackled all around him, loud, wild, and full of anticipation. It sent shivers down his spine.

Indeed, change was in the air, and, for once, Levi would beg the heavens for a million tomorrows if it meant he could live them all with you.

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[bexdrey]

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The sun was setting and Drakken had just landed the hovercar. Another failed attempt and this time Drakken was at his wits end. He got so focused in his own thoughts he had forgotten Shego was with him briefly. She'd tried a few times to get his attention but failed. This confused Shego, normally Drakken would go on and on about how next time would be different. He'd immediately try delving into another plan, but this time was different. This defeat felt worse than the others. Drakken found himself walking down parks path, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes fixated on the ground. Until he paused, lowered his arms and looked up at the sky. "I have failed time and time again. I've done countless plans, some... worse than others, but some of them were brilliant!" Drakken suddenly spoke. "And yet every single one of them end in some kind of failure. Heck, I can't even convince you to come with me to Karaoke night anymore." He didn't meet her gaze and only kicked at the ground slightly before furrowing a brow. He didn't even feel Shego's hand start gently stroking his shoulder. There was a good long pause before he finally spoke once more. "Shego... why do you stick around?" He questioned, his tone unreadable. "With every failure, you complain and tell me everything that went wrong, everything I should've done instead. You'd probably take over the world on your first try if you wanted to." His gaze finally lowered. He stared at the ground for a moment before looking over at Shego, who looked stunned and who's hand had stopped moving. "So why do you keep helping me?" His gaze bore into Shego's, desperately looking for an answer, something that made sense. Shego's hand finally left Drakken's shoulder and she began to run her fingers through her hair. She glanced away, her heart racing. What did she say to this? Did she even know why she stuck around? It was true, she probably could successfully take over the world if she wanted... and yet she didn't have the desire. Something about the thought didn't sit quite right. It was almost like some form of Deja Vu when she thought of it. So then why did she stick around? "Well..." She began before clearing her throat and glancing to the ground, a brow furrowing. "Unlike other villains... I can trust you. I can sleep comfortably at night knowing you aren't gonna try and do something to me while I sleep." She couldn't meet Drakken's gaze as she spoke. She wasn't entirely sure why this was so important to him, it was incredibly rare for Drakken to get like this. Normally she'd give some snappy response, such as the pay being good and her having a free room to bunk in every night instead of some shady hotel. She gave a little shudder at the memories of hotel jumping. "Not to mention you give me my own space to sleep." She muttered slightly. "And you know, you're really fun to bicker with. Easy to mock. Someone like... I dunno, Killigan or Monkey Fist either don't give me good responses or just don't respond at all. You make it interesting." She felt herself relax a little as it seemed she was beginning to understand, herself, why she stuck around. "And you aren't lazy. In fact, I'd say you work a little too much. You're creative, so even though plans fail, there are some that even I fully believed would work." She had stopped playing with her hair at this point and was gesturing with her words. "But I think... I think I stick around because I trust you. You think I'd trust someone like Dementor to help pull off a proper heist? He's too loud! And he doesn't think." She finally met his gaze and Drakken looked surprised. His brow was raised.

"I can't trust anyone else." She stated, matter-of-factly. She remained silent for a moment, trying to garner some expression off Drakken other than processing. "Now, are you gonna mope around the rest of the night feeling sorry for yourself, or are you gonna turn around, get back in the hovercar, take us home and start planning the next 'take over the world' scheme?" With this, Drakken blinked and smirked. "Yeah! You're right, I'm an evil genius, not a sad... lazy... erm.. man!" With this, Drakken turned heel and ran towards the hovercar, but not before grabbing Shego's hand and practically forcing her along. "Come Shego, we've much to do." Of course, at this point, Shego expected these sudden grabs. A part of her even liked them. She'd never admit this though.

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Weee story and picture :D Mindless doodles turned finished lol

[estapa-edwards]

PROM - R. LEONARD

paring: Ryan Leonard x reader

word count: 4.2k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The sound of my alarm blaring at 6:30 AM dragged me out of a restless sleep. Prom was just around the corner, and the pressure was mounting. All my friends had dates, and I was the odd one out. Desperation was starting to set in, and the idea of going alone was unbearable.

As I got ready for school, I couldn't help but think about Ryan Leonard. Ryan was a big deal at Boston College, playing hockey and living out his dream. We had grown up together, shared countless memories, and yet, I hadn’t seen much of him since he went off to college. Could I ask him to prom? Would he even agree? The thought made my heart race.

"Y/N, you're going to be late!" my mom's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Coming!" I grabbed my bag and headed out, trying to shove my anxiety aside.

School was the usual mix of boring classes and the buzzing excitement of prom. My friends, if I could really call them that, were chattering about their dresses, dates, and after-parties. I felt like an outsider looking in.

"Hey, Y/N, who are you going with to prom?" Sarah, one of the self-proclaimed leaders of our group, asked with a smirk.

I hesitated. "I... I haven't decided yet."

She laughed. "Better hurry up. You don’t want to be the only one without a date."

The bell rang, and I practically ran to my first class, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. As the day dragged on, I kept thinking about Ryan. Maybe this was crazy, but he was my last hope.

---- --- --- 

Back home, I paced my room, working up the nerve to call Ryan. My mind was racing with a hundred different thoughts, each one more anxious than the last. Finally, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number, my heart pounding with each ring.

"Hello?"

"Ryan? Hey, it's Y/N," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

"Y/N! Wow, it's been a while. How's it going?"

"Good, good. Listen, I need a favor," I blurted out, already feeling the nerves creeping in.

"Sure, what’s up?" he asked, his tone warm and friendly.

I took a deep breath. "Would you... um, would you go to prom with me?" The words tumbled out faster than I intended. I immediately started overexplaining. "I know it's short notice, and you're probably really busy with hockey and school and everything. I just—well, you know how it is, all my friends have dates, and I didn't want to go alone, and I thought maybe since we grew up together and always had fun, it wouldn't be too weird, but if you can't, I totally understand..."

"Y/N," he interrupted gently, a smile evident in his voice. "Calm down. I'd love to go to prom with you."

Relief flooded through me, but I still felt the need to clarify. "Really? I mean, it's next Saturday, and you probably have a lot going on. I wouldn't want to impose or mess up your schedule."

"Next Saturday is perfect," he reassured me. "I'd be honored to go with you. It's no imposition at all."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you, Ryan. Seriously, this means a lot to me."

"Anything for you, Y/N," he said softly. "I’m looking forward to it."

His calm, steady response eased my anxiety, and for the first time in days, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. "Me too. Thanks again, Ryan."

"Anytime," he replied. "See you next Saturday."

After we hung up, I collapsed onto my bed, feeling a mix of excitement and gratitude. Ryan Leonard, my childhood friend, and now my prom date. Maybe this prom wouldn't be so bad after all.

--- --- --- 

The news that I was going to prom with Ryan Leonard spread through the school like wildfire. No one believed me. My so-called friends laughed it off, convinced I was making it up to save face.

"Yeah right, like Ryan Leonard is going to show up here," Sarah scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stop trying to get attention, Y/N."

I tried to brush it off, but the disbelief and mockery didn't stop there. In the cafeteria, I overheard them talking about me while I was in line for lunch.

"Did you hear Y/N’s story about bringing Ryan Leonard to prom?" Emily giggled. "What a joke."

"I know, right?" Jessica chimed in. "It's so obvious she’s lying. Probably doesn’t want to admit she couldn’t get a date."

During gym class, they continued their taunts. As we were warming up, Sarah walked past me and smirked. "So, Y/N, how's your 'boyfriend' Ryan doing? Is he flying in on his private jet to take you to prom?"

Her friends laughed, and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm.

The worst was in English class. Mrs. Thompson asked us to discuss our plans for the weekend, and when it was my turn, I hesitated. I didn’t want to give them more ammunition, but I couldn't lie.

"I'm going to prom," I said simply.

"With Ryan Leonard," Sarah interjected loudly, rolling her eyes. "Isn't that right, Y/N?"

The class erupted into laughter, and Mrs. Thompson had to call for order. I sank lower into my seat, wishing I could disappear.

Even in the hallways, the whispers followed me. "There goes Y/N, the girl who thinks she's going to prom with a college hockey star," I overheard one girl say to her friend.

"She must be delusional," her friend replied. "No way he’d come back for a high school prom."

I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on getting everything ready for the big night. I bought a dress, arranged for hair and makeup, and counted down the days until Saturday. Despite the constant doubt and ridicule, I held onto the hope that Ryan would come through for me.

As the day approached, the tension only grew. My so-called friends couldn't resist one last dig during lunch on Friday.

"So, Y/N," Sarah said loudly enough for the whole table to hear, "ready for your big date with Mr. Imaginary?"

"Yeah, Y/N," Emily added with a smirk. "I hope he doesn't stand you up. That would be so embarrassing."

I took a deep breath and looked them straight in the eyes. "You'll see," I said quietly but firmly. "He’s coming."

They all laughed again, but I could see a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to wonder if I was telling the truth.

I spent Friday night in a flurry of preparation, my excitement mingling with nerves. As I lay in bed, I couldn't help but replay the events of the past week in my mind. All the doubts, the mocking, the disbelief—I just hoped that when Ryan showed up, it would be enough to prove them all wrong.

--- --- ---

The night of prom arrived, and I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My dress was perfect, a deep blue that complemented my eyes, and my hair was styled in loose curls. I looked... different. More confident, maybe. But inside, I was a bundle of nerves. My heart was pounding, and my stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies. I couldn't shake the anxiety that had been building all week.

"Y/N, are you ready?" my mom called from downstairs.

"Almost!" I called back, taking a deep breath and smoothing down my dress for what felt like the hundredth time. I glanced at my phone, checking the time and wondering if Ryan would actually show up. What if something had come up last minute? What if he forgot?

I shook my head, trying to banish the negative thoughts. Ryan wasn't like that. He said he'd be here, and I had to trust him. I grabbed my clutch and headed downstairs, my heart racing with each step.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a car pull up outside. My heart skipped a beat, and I rushed to the window. Ryan was there, leaning against his car, looking as handsome as ever in a classic black tuxedo. Relief and excitement washed over me, and I took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Coming!" I called out to my mom, my voice shaky. I opened the door and stepped outside, my heart pounding in my chest.

Ryan's face lit up when he saw me, and he smiled that charming smile that had always made me feel special. "Wow, Y/N. You look amazing."

"Thanks, Ryan," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He opened the car door for me, and as I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but start babbling. "I can't believe you're actually here. I mean, I knew you would be, but still, I was so nervous all week. Everyone at school kept saying you wouldn't show up, and I started to doubt myself. But you're here, and it means so much to me. I know you're really busy with hockey and college and everything, so I really appreciate you taking the time to do this. It's just... thank you, Ryan."

He chuckled softly as he got into the driver's seat. "Y/N, it's really no big deal. I’m happy to be here with you. And besides, prom is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

His calm, reassuring tone helped soothe my nerves, and I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. As we drove to the venue, my mind was racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Would my friends believe me now?

--- --- ---

When we arrived at the venue, the parking lot was already filled with students dressed in their finest. The school had transformed the gymnasium into a glittering wonderland of lights and decorations. Ryan parked the car and came around to open my door, offering his hand to help me out.

As we walked toward the entrance, my heart was pounding again. I could already see some of my classmates milling around outside, and I knew they were watching us. The whispers started almost immediately.

"Is that really Ryan Leonard?"

"I can't believe he actually came."

I held my head high, gripping Ryan's arm for support. As we entered the gym, the room fell silent for a moment, heads turning to stare at us. The music continued to play, but all eyes were on us.

Sarah and her friends were clustered near the punch bowl, and I saw her eyes widen in disbelief when she spotted us. She quickly composed herself and walked over, her expression a mix of skepticism and forced friendliness.

"Well, well, Y/N. Looks like you weren't lying after all," she said, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the surprise in her voice.

"Why would I lie about something like this?" I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed that her predictions had been wrong. "Whatever. Have fun, I guess."

Ryan squeezed my hand, and we moved to the dance floor. The music was loud, the lights were bright, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. I glanced around, seeing the looks of shock and envy on the faces of my classmates. It was a small victory, but it felt good.

--- --- --- 

As we swayed to the slow, melodic rhythm of the music, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just Ryan and me on the dance floor. The soft glow of the fairy lights above us cast a warm, ethereal glow, and I found myself relaxing into the moment. Ryan's hand was steady on my waist, his other hand gently holding mine.

I looked up at him, feeling a mixture of gratitude and nostalgia. "Thank you for coming tonight, Ryan," I said softly. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

He smiled down at me, his eyes warm and sincere. "I'm happy to be here, Y/N. It's been a long time since we’ve had a chance to catch up."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I missed you. Things just aren’t the same without you around."

"I missed you too," he admitted, his gaze never leaving mine. "Life's been so busy with college and hockey, but I always think about the times we spent together growing up."

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. "It feels like everything changed so quickly. One minute we were kids, and the next, you were off chasing your dreams. I guess I felt a little left behind."

Ryan's expression softened, and he pulled me a little closer. "I'm sorry if it ever felt that way. You were never left behind, Y/N. You've always been important to me."

His words sent a warm feeling through my chest, and I found myself smiling despite the tears that threatened to spill. "It’s just been tough, you know? With everyone at school and feeling like I don’t quite fit in. Having you here tonight... it makes everything better."

He squeezed my hand gently. "You deserve to feel special, Y/N. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise. Tonight is about having fun and celebrating you. I'm just glad I get to be here with you."

We danced in silence for a few moments, the music surrounding us like a comforting embrace. I felt safe and cherished in Ryan’s arms, a stark contrast to the way I usually felt at school. It was as if all the doubts and insecurities melted away, replaced by a sense of belonging.

"Do you ever miss it?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Being home, I mean."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I do. Boston College is amazing, and I love playing hockey, but there's something about being home that you can't replace. The familiarity, the memories... and people like you."

I blushed at his words, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I’m really proud of you, you know. Seeing you live your dream is inspiring."

"Thanks, Y/N," he said, his smile genuine. "And you? What about your dreams? What do you want to do after graduation?"

I hesitated, the question feeling both exciting and daunting. "I’m not entirely sure yet. I have some ideas, but it’s hard to know for certain. I just want to find something that makes me happy."

"You will," he said confidently. "Whatever you choose, you’ll be amazing at it. I know you will."

The song began to wind down, and I realized that for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about the future. As the last notes played, Ryan leaned down, his forehead resting gently against mine.

"Thank you for this dance," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

"Thank you for making it unforgettable," I whispered back, feeling a sense of connection that words couldn't fully capture.

--- --- --- 

As the night went on, I started to relax, enjoying Ryan's company and the magic of the evening. We danced, laughed, and talked, just like old times. But, of course, it didn’t last. My so-called friends couldn’t resist making snide comments and trying to undermine me.

"Look at Y/N, acting like she's all that just because she has a famous date," one of them whispered loudly enough for me to hear.

"Yeah, it's probably just a pity date," another added.

Ryan stopped dancing and turned to them, his eyes blazing with anger. "You know what? Y/N is amazing, and she's way better than any of you who think it's okay to tear someone down just to feel good about yourselves."

The room went silent again, and I felt my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. No one had ever stood up for me like that.

"Let's get out of here," Ryan said softly, taking my hand.

We left the ballroom and walked outside into the cool night air. The stars were bright, and the tension of the evening seemed to melt away.

"Thank you, Ryan. For everything," I said, my voice filled with emotion.

He looked at me, his expression serious. "You deserve better than how they treated you, Y/N. Don't ever let anyone make you feel less than you are."

--- --- ---

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and conversation. We drove around the city, talking about everything and nothing, just like old times. It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

After leaving the prom, we got into Ryan's car and drove away from the venue, the city lights twinkling like stars around us. The air was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by our sporadic bursts of laughter and the hum of the car engine. Ryan turned on the radio, and we sang along to old songs that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

"Remember when we used to ride our bikes to the old park and play until it got dark?" Ryan asked, glancing over at me with a nostalgic smile.

I laughed, the memory warming my heart. "Yeah, and how we’d always get in trouble for coming home late. Your mom would call my mom, and they’d both be waiting for us at your house with that look."

He chuckled, nodding. "Good times. Simpler times."

We drove past our old elementary school, the playground now empty and quiet. "It's strange how everything looks the same, but feels so different," I mused. "We’ve grown up so much, but these places hold the same memories."

Ryan pulled over near the school, turning off the engine. "Let's take a walk," he suggested.

We got out of the car and strolled down the familiar paths, the cool night air refreshing against my skin. The playground was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling activity it used to have when we were kids. We walked over to the swings and sat down, gently swaying back and forth.

"Do you ever wish you could go back?" I asked, looking up at the stars.

"Sometimes," Ryan admitted. "But then I think about all the things we’ve experienced and learned. Growing up is hard, but it shapes us into who we are. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. "I just miss the simplicity of it all. No drama, no expectations. Just us, having fun."

He reached over and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can still have that, you know. It might be different, but the connection is still there. Tonight proves that."

We sat there for a while, lost in our own thoughts, the silence comfortable and familiar. Eventually, we got back into the car and continued our journey through the city. We drove past our favorite ice cream shop, and Ryan impulsively turned into the parking lot.

"Want to get some ice cream?" he asked with a grin.

"Absolutely," I replied, my excitement genuine.

The shop was nearly empty, and we ordered our old favorites—mint chocolate chip for him, strawberry for me. We sat in one of the booths, savoring the sweet, cold treat and reminiscing about the countless times we’d done the same thing as kids.

"Do you remember that summer we tried to make our own ice cream?" Ryan asked between bites. "We made such a mess in your kitchen."

I laughed, almost choking on my ice cream. "My mom was so mad! We got ice cream everywhere except in the bowls."

"It tasted awful, too," he added with a grin. "But it was fun. One of those memories you never forget."

We stayed there until the shop closed, then got back in the car and drove aimlessly, enjoying each other’s company. We talked about our hopes and dreams, our fears and uncertainties. It felt good to open up, to share parts of ourselves that had been hidden away for too long.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the edge of town, near the lake where we used to go fishing with our families. Ryan parked the car, and we got out, walking down to the water's edge. The moon reflected off the surface, creating a serene and almost magical atmosphere.

"I used to come here to think," I said quietly, staring out at the water. "Whenever things got tough, this was my escape."

Ryan nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I get that. Everyone needs a place like this. A place to find peace."

We sat down on the grass, side by side, the silence speaking volumes. After a while, Ryan turned to me, his expression serious. "Y/N, I’m really sorry about what happened at prom. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

I shook my head, placing a hand on his arm. "Ryan, you didn’t ruin anything. You made it better. I’m glad you stood up for me. It showed me who my real friends are."

He smiled, relief evident in his eyes. "I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I might have made things worse."

"No," I said firmly. "You made it perfect. Tonight has been everything I could have hoped for and more. Thank you."

We stayed there for a while longer, the peacefulness of the lake surrounding us. Eventually, we knew it was time to head home. Ryan drove me back to my house, the conversation still flowing easily between us.

Ryan walked me to my door, and we stood there, neither of us wanting the night to end.

"I had a great time tonight, Y/N," he said softly.

"Me too. Thank you for coming with me. It really meant a lot."

He smiled, that same smile that had always made me feel special. "Anytime. Let’s not wait so long to see each other again, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Ryan."

I turned to unlock the door, but before I could step inside, I felt his hand gently grab my arm. I turned back, surprised, and saw an intensity in his eyes that took my breath away. Without another word, he leaned in and kissed me, his lips soft and warm against mine. The world seemed to stop in that moment, and all I could feel was the electricity between us, the connection that had always been there but now felt stronger than ever.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless. I stared up at him, my heart racing. "Ryan," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "would you... would you stay the night? Not like that, I mean. Just stay. I don't want this night to end."

He looked at me, his eyes softening with understanding. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice tender. "I'd like that a lot."

I opened the door wider, letting him in. The house was quiet, my parents long since asleep. We tiptoed upstairs, careful not to make too much noise. Once in my room, I grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, offering them to Ryan for the bed.

"You can take the bed," I said, gesturing toward it. "I'll sleep on the floor."

But Ryan shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "No, Y/N. You take the bed. I'll be fine on the floor."

I hesitated, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Are you sure?"

He smiled, his expression gentle. "Positive. I'll be more comfortable down here."

Reluctantly, I accepted his offer, settling onto the bed and pulling the covers up around me. Ryan arranged the blanket and pillow on the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible.

"Thank you, Ryan," I said softly, feeling a warmth spread through me at his selflessness.

He looked up at me, his eyes soft and sincere. "Anytime, Y/N. I'm just glad to be here with you."

I smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. It felt strange, having Ryan here in my room, but also strangely comforting. We had shared so many memories in this space, and having him here now felt like coming full circle.

"Hey, Ryan?" I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Would you... would you like to share the bed? Like we used to when we were kids?"

He looked surprised, but a hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, feeling a sudden rush of courage. "Yeah. I mean, if you're comfortable with it."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his smile widening. "I'd like that, Y/N. I’d like that a lot."

We rearranged the blankets and pillows, making room for both of us on the bed. As we settled in, side by side, I felt a sense of closeness that I hadn't felt in a long time. It felt right, having Ryan here beside me, sharing this intimate space.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with warmth.

"Goodnight, Ryan," I replied, feeling a sense of peace settle over me as I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his comforting presence. It was a night I would never forget, a night that marked the beginning of something new and beautiful between us.

sorry I haven't been posting. I took a break and it was well needed! but im back should be putting out requests this week.

[montimer]

Joker x hero!reader

Him being ur number one fan (and ur his ;])

Reader in denial and bit dummy

(Could be any ver)

-Back in the hideout-

He jumped to the television when he heard your name. He left whatever he was focusing on, now sitting excitedly infront of the tv. Eager to see you, hear your voice.

An interviewer managed to get you to talk infront of cameras. 'If this is what you all want so bad..' you thought. 'Can't be that bad right?'

While she was introducing herself, his eyes never left your form. Ignoring her, he would get bored if you wouldn't be staring at the camera. "Silly you, you look adorable as always" he says.

"..and today here we are with (heroname)! Say how does it feel like to be one of Gotham's best hero?"

One of? Why they are number one! The best of all.

"Ahah, i wouldn't say that.."

Sweet, as you are always huh?

He kept on watching the show. He focused on every word you said, deeply acknowledging them. Getting worked up whenever the interviewer said something that he didn't like, speaking out loud, correcting her. Talking to no one but the box infront of him.

But one specific question made him go quiet.

"There's this one villain that seems to be very attached to you. You know who im talking about don't you?" The question made you wordless. 'Why yes he sure has been acting weird with you, but its not like that..right?' You tried to calm your nerves. After an awkward second you answered.

"Uh, yeah? Who might that be?" 'Just act dumb, just act dumb'

"The clown prince of crime of course, haven't you noticed?"

You chuckled awkwardly. You kinda felt this coming

"Soo, what do you think of such criminal? C'mon the world wants to know!" She asked you half begging.

Your mind begin to race through options.

'If i say nice things about him, they'll think im on his side, but if i don't, he might get mad' but why do you care? Do you happen to-?

"(Heroname)?"

Oh oh right, answers

"Well uh, well- he's sure is hard to deal with,,but ya know at the end of the day justice always wins!..well expect those few times he got away.."

"Hmm interesting but i'd like to hear more of a, personal opinion"

You tried your best to stay formal, now what? They say honesty is one way of heroism

"Hmm, i'd say he's a genius, just think of the things he builds, the toxin he makes. He's also pretty funny, i mean when he's not hurting others of course! What i ment was..his jokes are great. You gotta have lots of creativity to tell a joke. He's quite a looker too, his costume is nice and all..mmm was that personal?"

The interviewer looked both surprised and amused.

"Yes, that was definitely personal!" She said excitedly.

The amount of eyes made you even more nervous than before. You tried not to face palm. Instead you excused yourself, waved at the camera and flight away.

The interview came to an end.

'Gosh i just hope he wasn't watching' oh but he was, every single second

And there in the hideout he stared at the empty screen. Unmoving, processing slowly what you said.

Hey what did you blurt out just now? Genius,funny,handsome?

He begin to smile wide. Jumping up and down laughing excitedly. Acting like some teenage girl having a crush on a celebrity.

He knew it! You loved him just as much as he loved you! And here he was worrying you were gonna say something mean. Nonsense, why of course with his genius mind-as you said- he could figure it out in a snap of a finger!

He went to pick up the little plushy of you, cuddling up to it. He had every piece of merch he could get his hands on.(and photos he took of you while you weren't looking)

He usually steals them from local shops, and sometimes feeling jealousy upon seeing people cuddle up to the tiny form of you, he burns the rest. No one can touch whats his! He's sure they understand (incase they don't they should know whats coming to them)

In his mind its special and only he can have it, after all he is your biggest fan.

[dearestspirit]

don't die

-> diluc ragnvindr x gn!reader

-> fluff

-> wc: 486

-> note: diluc's birthday art knocked me on my ass so here we are, a day later

you sigh, watching as diluc rummages through his drawers, getting dressed for the day. sitting on your shared bed, you're carefully propped up against a comfy mountain of pillows. yesterday, you had sustained a few injuries during a commission you accepted. unfortunately, with some broken bones and heavy bruising, recovering enough to get back to your work as an adventurer would take some time. diluc, however, had reassured you that any leftover commissions you had, he'd take care of. he knew you wouldn't want to disappoint the commissioners, even though they'd likely be more than understanding of your current physical state. while it was very sweet of him, and you appreciated his efforts to nurse you back to health, part of you also ached to keep him home.

"i wish you didn't have to go," you mumble, easing yourself down into a lying position. "i'm going to be bored all day."

diluc chuckles, shaking his head. "i know, love. i'd stay home if i could. it won't take very long, though."

"any time without you is too long, isn't it?" you quip, playfully pouting.

"don't try to charm me," he tuts, coming to stand at the side of the bed. he cradles your face in his palm, the metal of his rings cool against your warm skin. tenderly, diluc's thumb grazes your cheekbone. "then i'll really stay home."

"promise?" you smile.

"i'll be back as soon as i can be." he steps back, shrugging on the last layer of his clothes.

groaning a bit, you hook your legs over the bed to stand up. diluc is quick to race to your side, holding your waist to keep you steady. "hey, it's okay, i'm alright. i just wanted to say goodbye properly." you hum, head leaning on his broad chest.

"okay, but then i'm putting you back to bed," his lips leave a kiss on your forehead. "i'll see you when i get home."

"alright," you move back, hands settling on his abdomen. "don't die out there. or else."

your scolding amuses him, his head tipping back with a laugh. it makes you smile too, wrapping your arms around him.

"i don't think your commissions were that deadly, dear," diluc exhales, and you can see the faint remnant of his smile on his lips. "let's get you back to rest."

diluc's hands effortlessly take hold of you, lifting you by the waist. settling you on your back, he goes through the motions of adjusting your pillows and checking that you're comfortable. tucking you into the blanket, he leaves the hem of it just under your chin. satisfied that you're content with it all, he takes a step back, but not before planting a kiss on your cheek.

"i love you." he mumbles against your skin.

"i love you too." you tell him quietly, drifting to sleep as you hear the click of the door when he leaves.

[milflewis]

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

Telepathy au pls

fic ask game

the way this isn't even an actual fic. let alone one that has deleted scenes. i don't think about it apart from when i'm like what should i write for mark lol. but! my forensic lecture was so boring yesterday that i spent the hour thinking about if it WAS a solid fic then what would be a scene i'd chew over and probably end up deciding nah this doesn't work or say what i am trying to have it say. so. long story short here is valtteri and george talking about fucking and being mind-bonded with lewis but fucking doesn't actually mean fucking or smth like that

"What?" 

Valtteri's voice is hammered flat and low. This is the time for George to brake. He is about to end up in the wall, missing the racing line, tyres spinning.

He keeps going.

“Did he have sex when you were, uh, bonded with him? Or be with anyone?”

It is a little embarassing that he stumbles over Valtteri being bonded with Lewis, and not, more normally probably, his teammate and friend having sex. George tries to be glad that he actually gets the question out at least semi-coherently this time.

Valtteri stares at him unblinking. It is a heavy thing, heavier even than Toto’s. His eyes really are blue, George thinks, a touch hysterically, blimey. 

He feels like he sometimes does after a particularly hot shower; raw and cooked and unpeeled at the edges, like a frog.

georgie, Alex texted him once, sick of George talking about sharing his mind with Lewis, or more accurately, sharing-but-not-sharing, it could be worse yeah.

And then: just think about it mate

Alex believes proper punctuation, or really, any punctuation at all, only belongs in things like job contracts and historical romance novels.

u could be paired w bottas

Oh, fuck off.

George remembers that now, blood gone cold.

Valtteri blinks. 

“Are you really asking me this?” 

George doesn’t think he’d understand Valtteri any better if he shared a mind with him. Not that he understands him at all now.

He can see Lewis laughing from inside the garage, surrounded by his mechanics. George and Valtteri are tucked away in a walkway leading off of it. Perhaps not the best place for a chat like this but the question, well chewed over, slipped out before George could help himself. When Lewis first spotted them, the sea in George’s head didn’t even ripple as Lewis made a questioning face at him. George only shrugged back.

“I just,” George starts, and then stops again. He is crossing a line, he knows he is, even if he doesn’t know exactly where or what that line is. This is something he should probably only be asking Lewis, if he is allowed to be asking at all in the first place. George’s head spins. His throat has gone dry. “You don’t.”

He inhales deeply, and lets it sit in his chest before breathing out. He does it again.

He glances over in Lewis’s direction to see him trying to make eye contact.

“I don’t get him,” George admits finally. It feels like he is showing Valtteri a hole in his chest and shining a light through. “I’ve tried – but, it’s just. He is just, I don’t know. Is he holding back because of – Is this how he is?”

The sea in his head wavers, shivering.

What George didn’t tell Alex is that sometimes it feels like he does share a mind with Valtteri. He isn’t sure someone could be in Lewis Hamilton’s head and not feel connected to Valtteri Bottas.

George knows he is crossing a line, mentioning this to someone other than Lewis, but this is Valtteri. He can hate it all he likes, covet it in a way that he wishes he never found out he was capable of, but it is true. When it comes to Lewis, Valtteri doesn’t really count. Or maybe, he counts for more, somehow.

George has never forgotten the sting in his hand after smacking that helmet, or the plane rides before and after. He once woke up two seats over from Valtteri with a blanket tucked around his knees, despite having fallen asleep without one.

“It is not you,” Valtteri tells him like that is not the best and worst thing George has ever heard. “Lewis isn’t.” He frowns here, careful. There is a slight colour to his cheeks.

George might actually be dying.

“This is not what Lewis does. He tried, I think, before, but it didn’t suit. He needs, um.” Valtteri rolls his eyes fondly. “It’s not about you. He is just Lewis. This is how he is.”

“Okay.” George clears his throat. “Okay, okay. Yeah, alright.”

“Alright,” Valtteri says, only a touch mocking.

“Yeah,” George continues, ignoring him. “I can work with that. Okay.”

Valtteri rolls his eyes again. George decides it is still fond.

[vro0m]

Brocedes hasnt been brocedes all year. Its just a lot more ovi now. We got a certified nico lewis situation at merc. Toto picking the wrong guy once again. Whats new?

Okay first of all I wanna say this can't be a Nico - Lewis situation. There will never be a Nico - Lewis situation again. But I guess what you mean is there's an open, direct rivalry at Merc again. Which. Yeah sure. That's usually what happens. I'm not surprised it's happening, we mentioned it before.

(long post)

I'm not sure what you mean by 'Toto picking the wrong guy once again'. If you mean in the context of hiring George, I disagree because George is a very good driver. If you mean in the race, I highly doubt Toto is the one making the strategy calls in the middle of things. At the very most, the strategists tell him the options and he might green-light one of them.

They've been having strategy issues for a while now. That's also something we've talked about before. If anything, I'd say the issue lies with the strategy team rather than Toto or George. We've said the bad calls were hidden by the good car performance before but also I do think it's gotten worse. Back when it was announced that Vowles was leaving, I said not directly replacing him was bullshit. They claimed the rest of the department would just divide Vowles' workload between themselves. Toto said they'd been doing it already during the '22 season (when did the strategy issues ramp up? idk). What I said at the time was "someone is going to have to make the final decision on strategy" and "otherwise it's not gonna work". It might just not be working.

One thing I'll give credit to George for is that he's trying things. Hasn't there been a convo in the last few weeks with people (including me iirc) saying Merc is too conservative with the strategy? That they need to stop acting like they're at the front, defending rather than behind, chasing? Also isn't it kinda boring when the team doesn't give the car that's qualified behind a chance and only uses it to support the other? (Also with his quali performances lately, wouldn't that do more harm to Lewis than George?) I guess it's just the way being a fan goes, but I feel like every race weekend I see fans of either driver defending what or complaining about what they were complaining about or defending the previous race, depending on who they're rooting for the most. It's okay when it's their blorbo only (which again : just being a fan).

Anyway props to George for being a driver, and asking for more. That's his job. Sometimes it annoys me ngl. Sometimes I feel like he's acting too entitled during the races. But as I also said before, it's not particularly unexpected from a young driver. Lewis was really not that different in his days lol. They all have a chip on their shoulder and they are all essentially starving egotistical cunts. The older ones might just have learnt to hide it slightly better through the years. Slightly. Is Lewis being more of a team player? On track, probably so, props to him for that. Don't know how long it's gonna last in these conditions though, given that he's also a starving egotistical cunt. Off track, he's complaining very loudly and unsubtly about not being prioritised by the team in a not-so-great way imo. I'm repeating myself yet again but it's not as easy as just saying here's what needs fixing with the car, then claiming they're not listening to him when it doesn't suddenly work. Merc is truly fumbling with the development, and patience is not Lewis' greatest virtue lol. He's clearly getting frustrated with the performance, understandably so. I'm simultaneously pretty sure that's true for the whole team, not just him. So him saying they're not doing their best and voluntarily just not doing what he wants is probably not helping.

I do think that the team is gonna have to find a way to make it work between them two on track before they take each other out or straight up disobey team orders out of hunger or frustration. But well. Do I have to link the essay again? (Sorry for bringing it up 10 times a week.) It's not that easy managing intra-team rivalries and I see some people claiming they should pick a n°1 driver but how? Right now, Lewis and George are on par in quali (8-8). George has less points for sure but you also gotta take into account that he's had four terrible races in the year, not always by his fault (although sometimes yes). Outside of these four races, their results are very similar. This is not a Max-Perez type of gap by far. Lewis is most probably not gonna stay for 10 more years despite what he sometimes likes to pretend, George might. I'm still rooting for Lewis first and everybody else second but if you look at this realistically, it's not as simple as saying to George "look we're betting on you for the future, someday, but until Lewis retires you'll always be a second thought to us. But you know, still stay with us and take it lying down. Toodles!" He's completely right about it, but it's easier for Lewis to say "we're fighting for the team not for driver points" when he's the one ahead in the standings. Because what? You always always have to do better than your teammate. (Again, sorry for bringing it up constantly.)

In some way the issue with both of them is impatience. Lewis is impatient to have a good car again and he's starting to somewhat take it out on the team which isn't ideal. For all they looove saying we win and we lose together, that's not a supportive behavior claiming publicly they're just not listening to him. George is impatient to get track position and to beat his team-mate and he's rushing the racing too much, making rookie mistakes in the process (see Singapore) and demanding sometimes more than his due during races.

So yeah I think they need to rein them both in — one off track, one on track — but also without rejecting all new ideas and all questioning, both when it comes to the car and when it comes to the race strategy. It's not gonna be easy, but it's definitely gonna be very interesting.

[ape-apocalypse]

Road To The Kingdom - Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes Film

I remember seeing the trailers for Rise of the Planet of the Apes, shaking my head at yet another remake of a long-ago franchise. In 2011, we were hearing rumors of a new Spider-Man coming to replace Tobey Maguire and now I was looking at Harry, son of the Green Goblin, becoming a scientist and creating a drug to make apes smarter. On the other hand, Andy Serkis was getting a main role, more screen time than Gollum in Lord of the Rings, where I adored him and was eager to see him again. I was going in with some hesitation but decided to just turn my brain off for a summer action movie. 

I was surprised with how much I enjoyed Rise. Many fans seem to put this as their least favorite of the reboot trilogy. I can understand why; it doesn't have nearly as much action as Dawn or War and runs at a slower pace. But what it did have was fantastic character building in Caesar, which is needed in this trilogy. I would not be as engaged with these movies if I didn't love Caesar. Seeing him start as a little baby with his human family living a carefree youth, and then grow into a mature ape questioning his place in the world really filled out his character. He could have easily just been a random lab chimp who got smarter but I think the slow-build really fleshes him out. You empathize with him when he protects James Franco's father to the point of biting a neighbor. The human world completely turns on him and Caesar is forced to realize his true nature as an ape. 

Andy Serkis is truly allowed to shine in this role. Gollum was fun and had the two different sides to play with but there is such a powerful subtlety to this performance. Though Caesar can sign, it's mostly not translated into subtitles; only in two conversations with Maurice does the audience get a translation. The majority of the film and Caesar's story is carried out entirely through his expressions, gestures, and body language. Look at the tall confident walk he has when directing Rocket to give cookies to the other apes. The heartbreak I felt as Caesar's expression falls when his human family says he can't go home. The wordless fury when Buck the gorilla sacrifices himself on the bridge to bring down the helicopter and save the escaping apes. Even when the story can get bogged down a bit in the constant science explanations, I immediately perk up when the focus switches back to Caesar and can soak in the incredible performance of Andy Serkis.

Rise is much less action filled than its sequel films because it has to cover a lot as set up for the apocalypse to come. That set up is good, but again the science is a lot and can be a bore. However I think the pay off works. The horror of a simple graphic of the Earth, where one line splits and becomes many more, spreading across the planet, was very effective for me. I've heard people who didn't like that the apocalypse that destroys the human race is done in the credits, that it feels more like an afterthought. But for me, I think it was a powerful hook. Halfway through watching the film for the first time, I'd forgotten that this was Rise of the PLANET of the Apes. So I was excited for Caesar and his apes to escape, just happy that they'd gotten their freedom. Then the sick pilot and the spreading sickness animation hit me like a ton of bricks like "Oh shit, I forgot the humans have to die for the ape world to happen!" This probably didn't happen for everyone, especially those familiar with the original movies, but I liked the ending, undercutting the triumph of the apes with the doom of humanity.

Other than Will and his father Charles, the rest of the human cast is mostly forgettable, servicing the story where needed. Tom Felton of Harry Potter fame is a bit fun in his over-the-top hatred of the apes. When he gets to say the iconic "get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape", my movie theater laughed at how forced the line felt, which I'm sure was not the intention. The weirdness of the line was swallowed up by the excitement of Caesar speaking for the first time and leading the apes out of the shelter, but I still remember the laughter of the audience when rewatching this movie. 

Overall, I think it's a great start to the series. Not the most exciting of the films, definitely dragged down by a lot of science exposition and unremarkable human characters, but a good intro to the world, setting up the apocalypse and making you root for a bunch of apes over the humans. You probably could jump directly into Dawn and War if you wanted, just knowing that humanity was wiped out by an illness that made apes smarter and Caesar is the leader, but I think getting to know Caesar makes it worth a watch before the more exciting films.

(Note that this is the only movie in this trilogy that does not have a novelization, likely because it was the first film and they didn't know how well the trilogy would do. It's a shame because I would have loved to read the thoughts of Caesar finding his place among both humans and apes.)

Intro / Next

[pomplalamoose]

If you are ever down I would love your take on a Luke with a ND partner, maybe one who isn't expressive or picks up on social cues. says what ever comes to mind. Takes things a little too literally, is blunt in conversations. Like someone who struggles with their tone so people think they're bored or mean when they really have constantly racing thoughts and new ideas and are always open to new relationships.

I'm pretty sure it has never taken me this long to answer an ask before, but I wanted to make sure I'd put the same time and effort into yours as I did with every other one so far. Sadly I never seemed to get the free time to do so until now, so I REALLY want to thank you for your patience, anon, and hope you're happy with the result🩵

Please note though that for requests like these I'm only able to draw from my own experiences which possibly differ from those of others.

Accordingly nothing I said about "you" is meant to impose any kind of insinuations about behavioral patterns on those reading this, nor is it my intention to criticize or sound harsh in any way.

It goes without saying that Luke, as a friend as well as a partner, couldn't be any more wonderful to be around and I believe that especially for someone on the neurodivergent spectrum it's basically a dream come true to date him.

(Apart from that he's definitely that one friend who listens to you when you think nobody else does and waits for you when you need to stop to tie your shoe laces.)

He's empathetic and sensitive to the emotions of those surrounding him and thus would never make you feel like you don't belong, are weird for acting a certain way, or like you'd be better off pretending to be something you're not to "fit in".

And while Luke's connection to the Force certainly adds a lot to the fact that he has no trouble reading you, he would manage to just as well without it.

Still there's no denying how useful his abilities could prove themselves to be in a relationship, especially should his partner struggle with expressing themselves.

I won't go into much more detail though, because many of the things I already talked about in my other posts regarding his understanding and supportive character can be applied here as well.

(e.g. Master Luke Skywalker headcanons, Luke with a partner on their period, Luke x a reader with mental health issues, breaking down in front of Luke)

However I think it'd be really interesting to take a look at his initial reaction to getting to know a neurodivergent person with the behavioral features you described since I believe they differ depending on which Luke era we're talking about.

• ANH Luke wouldn't even bat an eye

• on Tatooine everyone has to put up a rough exterior in order to protect oneself

• it's not a place of friendly conversations and common niceties; people know they're better off minding their business and staying on their own

• you're very blunt and speak your mind?

• you seem unfazed, even bored during most encounters?

• good for you, it's not easy to navigate this corner of the galaxy and much safer to hold others at a distance

• growing up Luke came across a wild array of all kinds of beings too, one more interesting (and really scary) than the other

• he's not put off, instead even used to supposed unfriendliness

• also he doesn't know anything about where you're from and your people, maybe that's just the way they are and how you were raised?

• he probably thinks you're very cool too

• because surely you have seen a lot? Been on great adventures across the galaxy?

• he really wants to do the same

• if you come across as mean without meaning to it's not a big deal, it only makes him want to spend even more time with you

• ("if mean, then why friend-shaped??")

• most importantly ANH Luke judges a person more by their actions than their words, so there is absolutely no need to worry about how he may perceive you

• it's safe to say you're not getting rid of him as it's nearly impossible to shake him off once he decides he wants to be someone's friend

• he's more than delighted once you get to know each other better and it turns out his intuition was right!

• ESB Luke, on the other hand, may be a bit slower to come around

• not necessarily because he dislikes you but because he doesn't have the time nor the patience to put effort into really getting to know you

• people talk and so he probably heard a thing or two that has him eyeing you curiously

• most likely he won't pay you much mind as he's gone most of the time anyways

• generally speaking though, I think you'd get along pretty well, Luke is a friendly and open minded person after all and would surely grow fond of your quirks before even knowing about their source

• still there's a possibility of the two of you butting heads should it come to an actual meeting

• nothing really severe, of course, but still I can see Luke growing easily frustrated at, for example, your lack of expression, or at your questions when you don't quite get something and want to make sure you understood everything correctly

• and while he's not going to show it or tell you outright that he thinks you're a bit annoying, he's not that good at surpressing dramatic sighs or a roll of his eyes

• HOWEVER if you catch him off guard with blunt words said in a tone that could come across as mean it could definitely get a rise out of him

• after all we get to see that he has developed a certain attitude; he's snippy, quick to talk and slightly judgemental

• (mainly towards Han and Yoda but I can see him acting this way quite often because of all that he's being put through)

• I'm sure that under different circumstances Luke wouldn't react as strongly but with how things are during ESB he might hurt your feelings without meaning to

• once the dust settles and he has a quiet moment to himself he'll feel awful though and most likely seek you out to make amends

• naturally RotJ Luke is a different story altogether

• (the character development this man went trough is absolutely crazy, and I'm amazed every time I do comparisons like these)

• before even taking to you for the first time he'd regard you with a warmth and patience you seldom get to experience

• he quietly smiles to himself when he overhears you having a conversation in that special way of yours or when he senses something sparking an idea

• he appreciates your bluntness

• maybe at first you'd think he's laughing at you but don't worry, he just thinks you're cute

• he feels you in the Force, senses your excitement, your curiosity

• it draws him in

• he is able to see you as a whole, not just what you present on the outside, and so isn't deterred by what others would view as a potential attack or criticism

• (take notes ESB Luke)

• once you've grown closer he's always there to point out social clues you might have missed and/or walks you through certain situations to explain how your behavior might have looked to others when it's something you're worried about

• often he knows what you're going to say before you do and, if that's what you want, gives you a sign you agreed upon, letting you know if maybe it'd bet better for you to be silent instead

• (he absolutely explains dumb sexual jokes to you when you don't get them and I don't care how self indulgent this is, I could really use someone to do that for me, thank you very much)

[hereandnowhere-onboards]

Off the Beaten Track ep 2

I had a great time with episode 1, which mainly dealt with Max's GT3 racing team. However, I found ep 2 kind of depressing and boring, for a range of reasons.

I think it's useful to understand the incredibly intense commercial demands on Max's time, because it's such a huge part of his life. It's also the reality of modern F1.

Max describes in the episode how he takes his brain down to 1% during marketing commitments so he doesn't need to use too much energy, which is a pragmatic way of dealing with it. But watching someone quasi-dissociate through an endless series of commitments while surrounded by huge numbers of people was vicariously stressful to me, more than I think was intended. (This may also be a Current State of My Brain thing.)

I'd really enjoyed how relaxed Max's talking heads seemed in ep 1. The talking heads in Vegas in ep 2 seemed far more like his boilerplate PR responses – however, given that they were filmed at night during the chaos of the Vegas race weekend, they were never going to have the chill vibe of ep 1, even if the topic hadn't been his beloathed marketing.

As Max says in the episode, the interviews he has to do are so repetitive that he's almost able to answer each question before it's asked. I feel that this episode fell into the same trap – the way Max's talking head interview was structured meant that Max was effectively giving PR boilerplate responses, which didn't manage to bring anything new to it for me, and (ironically) I found it boring.

Max has been very publicly doing this for a long time and for anyone who's taken an interest in him, his disdain for marketing has been thoroughly covered, so I'm not sure how you'd actually introduce a novel or more interesting angle here. (Is the doco just fundamentally aimed at a different audience to me?)

In the past Max has been more engaged when it's been a joint interview with a sympathetic foil (eg Alex, Daniel) and more checked out when it's just him alone in a room with an interviewer (DTS). A joint interview probably wouldn't have worked so well in this context (myth-building documentary series with an individual focus) but it might have given Max 'Yes-And' Verstappen some more yes-anding to do. Some more enrichment. Although if he's really needing to conserve his energy maybe he doesn't want that enrichment.

While watching, I also reflected on my own attitudes and practices towards F1 drivers in general and Max in particular. Because I am part of the problem – that insatiable demand for Content that drives the marketing machine. I don't have any good answers for this but it's always in the back of my mind.

The other thing that bothered me about this episode was that the content didn't quite feel enough to fill the running time – it felt a bit repetitive to me. I wonder if they really needed a full episode for what they covered, or if they could have instead broadened the scope. I felt that some of the episode's focus was perhaps over-dictated by access that the documentarians had been able to get, particularly at Heineken.

All of that said, there were a couple of instantly iconic moments:

Max stripping out of his pants ('trousers' for the Brits) on camera

Max's Grindr joke

Camera angle that I hadn't seen before on the Daniel stroopwaffel hand-feeding incident in Zandvoort.

Aside from that, people who are more interested in Max's other commercial deals and the business of F1 may get more out of this episode than I did.

NOTE: In the later stages of the episode Max is shown on camera using 'disabled' as a throwaway insult – it's unfortunately consistent with what I know of his previous conduct, so it's not really new information about him, but it still sucks.

[oscolotlxzooxx]

As Long as We're Here

Summary:

Lee Know spills out his thoughts to his four trustworthy members, who all want to look out for him.

Warnings: angst | sensitive topics | sewerslide thoughts | Panic attack descriptions | heavy emotions |

A/N: this is a very basic, very bored, and very emotional??? Fanfic??? If you cringe at this, I'd understand 😔 I have more on the way, however ✍️ enjoy! (This fic was from another blog that I own.. So if this fic looks familiar, YOU DON'T KNOW ME!)

Divider credits

・link

A blissful hue of the sunset’s beauty shines in the reflections of the dorm windows, showing the beautiful scenery of the inside of the member’s home- A few stayed inside, talking about some things that were of concern for tomorrow's plans, and as for the rest: Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, and Felix, they were all sitting outside to admire the sky before it turns into dark.

It's not all the time that they get to enjoy themselves like this. The piles of work, especially for Bangchan, has left the group with more stressful and agonizing nights with no free time to catch up on how everyone's been doing. Speaking of which, there was a reason as for why the four members were sitting outside..

"How come you've never brought this up to us before, Hyung?" Felix had asked. He looked down upon the older who was looking anywhere but Felix and the rest. The aura around Minho was of a sorrowful soul who couldn't seem to accept to throw his burdens onto his members-his friends.

"I don't know.. I guess I thought my feelings didn't matter up until now." Minho spoke the truth, who continued to look down at the ground for what seemed like hours since they've been outside. He couldn't face them all. He didn't want them to see how truly hurt he was. He just couldn't do that to them.

"You know you have us right here for anything that might be on your mind, right Minho? Just because we're busy it doesn't mean we'll brush your thoughts and feelings away." Chan said, in his usual "dad" tone of a voice.

"I know, but.." Minho choked on his words. He started to breathe heavier now. The thought of letting out his feelings was always so hard for the dancer to muster. He took a quick breath, and as he did, he wiped his own tears that were daring to fall out of his sockets.

Changbin saw this, and Instantly put his hand on Minho’s shoulder for some sort of comfort. "It's okay, Hyung.. You can let it out, we won't judge you. That's what we're here for, right?" Changbin said, trying to get Minho to look at him.

Although he appreciated his members' kind words, Minho couldn't bear to talk anymore.

Every small breath he took, it just wasn't enough for his lungs to be satisfied. His eyes darted to every corner of the balcony floor, instinctively counting the rough, bumpy lines that proudly showed.. 3 lengthy lines.. Over 10 sharp ones with a lot of bumps.. There were even a piece in the floor that was breaking apart, creating this "black hole" that Lee know liked to call it,, He then closed his eyes shut, and opened them back up again to reveal the tears that were desperate to get out. Realizing that his members were seeing him this way, even though he insisted on telling them to let some sort of emotion out, he buried his face in his hands to hide himself from them all; to the sky, the stars, the cracks and lines on the concrete. He wanted to hide himself from everyone and everything from the world in that moment. He's mind was racing with thoughts that weren't relevant to how he was feeling either:

"They aren't real, you're talking to yourself."

"you will always be alone."

"You have no one to tell your feelings to."

The thoughts were overtaking his brain to the point where he was obligated to curl himself up to try and make the thoughts go away.

Worried as they were, Bangchan was the first to get up to crouch down in front of Minho. He slowly and gently moved his hands to grab at Minho's wrists to gently pull them down, which thankfully Minho allowed him to do so, quite easily. Bangchan invited himself to smile sweetly at Minho, who took in the smile with everything that he could, due to his eyes being all puffy and the bottom of his eyelids covered with awaited tear drops to fall gracefully down his cheeks.

"Can you breathe with me, Minho? Deep breaths, okay?" Bangchan said sweetly for Lee know to easily follow.

Though he struggled to catch a breath, he did everything he could to follow through with his hyung to take a big deep breath in, and then a deep breath out.

Again. Deep breath in, and a deep breath out. And again. With every breath that they took, Minho could tell that it was getting easier to take in calmer breaths, thanks to the oldest.

He never took his eyes off the oldest, either. He was afraid that if he took one glance away from his silhouette, he would loose him in an instant. Every last one of his members, he would feel as though that if he looked away for just one split second, they would all disappear somewhere, leaving him all alone. But Bangchan stayed. He stayed close, too. The familiar touch of Chan's hands being comfortably intact with his wrists made him believe more and more that he was really right in front of him.

Minho started to smile a bit, knowing that he was really there with him. He then started to look around too. He saw Felix, who gave him a sweet smile that said that he's there as well, along with Changbin being next to him, who had the same readable smile. He turned his gaze over to Chan again, who delivered him the same smile as before. And with one last deep breath in and out, Lee know was relieved. He was still anxious, sure, but he's more calm now, thanks to his leader.

"Good job, Minho, I knew you could do it. Will you be able to tell us what had you so worked up earlier?" Bangchan kept his talk simple, but serious as well. Never leaving his hands off of the dancer’s wrists.

Oh. Right. The reason why he was outside, desperately trying to let his feeling be heard. But first..

"You’re,, real.. Right? all of you are real?" Minho said with clinginess in his eyes. He looked at bangchan, then Felix, and changbin as well, then back to Bangchan.

"Yes, Minho, we're real. We've always been real." Bangchan said with truth. He squeezed Minho's wrists every now and then for him to take into account that he is really right in front of him.

Lee know never took his eyes off him. Even though the light from behind them radiated only a small light, he could still see how clear and beautiful Bangchan's eyes were. Big, brown, comforting eyes that could tell a fortune of sweet nothings if it ever were to reach that point. Though it’s usually hard for Minho to look into somebody's eyes for a very long time, Chan's were an exception for Minho.

The sweet moment was then on drawn by a voice who, apart from Lee know, seemed to be in a playful mood.

"You really think we're not real, Hyung?" Felix asked.

This left Minho speechless. He had thought he had upset Felix, so his face turned into worry more than disbelie.

"I gotta say, hyung.. If I weren't real, then could a figment of your imagination do~ This?" Felix darted his hands at Minho’s sides only to scribble lightly so as to not overwhelm the poor man who was already in such a state.

This made Minho flinch and jerk backwards, but thankfully he and bangchan caught his fall before he could tumble to the floor. With a panicked chuckle, he mustered up the strength to grab a hold of Felix's hands, even with Bangchan still holding onto his wrists, and successfully pushed them away.

"I guess not." Lee know said, a little star struck by how quickly that started.

Bangchan thankfully made sure that Felix wouldn't do that again, not that Minho minded; anything to deflect the harsh atmosphere, but they were outside for a reason, afterall.

And that's when Minho poured his heart out.

"The overworking and stress made me isolated so much that it's starting to take a toll on my thoughts.. I get voices where they tell me I'm not doing well enough, or that you guys aren't real, or that I'm disappointing you guys.. I didn't know how to tell any of you, or if this even makes sense, but I thought that if I had bottled it up a little longer, I might've.. You would've seen.. Something might've-" Minho was cut off by Bangchan Suddenly Hugging Minho, instantly.

"Oh,, Minho” Changbin said, realizing what the poor boy was trying to say. Hearing this made his stomach turn, not much less as Felix’s as well. They never knew this was going on, they wanted to stop all Minho’s worries.

“I know what you mean, Minho. And I appreciate you telling us this. It's hard to let those feelings out to people, I get it. You did good though, Minho, I'm proud of you for telling us." Bangchan said, effortlessly. He soothingly rubbed Minho’s back to try and calm the dancer the best he could.

This caught Minho by surprise. He returned the hug, but he had always thought in the back of his head that they would have left him if he showed any true emotion. He was relieved, but also felt stupid for how long he's kept it in.

"..You're not leaving after hearing all of that?" Minho said, still in disbelief.

"We're staying right here, Minho. We're not going anywhere." Bangchan said, rubbing his back to comfort Minho once more.

The boy all but cried on his hyungs shoulder. He didn't want to believe that they were staying. His mind had him all twisted that he thought he would end up being alone. But now that he had a talk with all of them, he wouldn't have to think like that anymore. He was truly relieved, and thankful for their comfort. He truly loved them for how hard they always try to make him happy.

"Yeah, hyung! As long as we're here, you'll never be alone. You have us now, whether you like it or not!" Changbin said, ruffling up Minho’s hair, who would later scold him about doing so. But nonetheless, he took his word for it.

'As long as we're here.' those few words replayed in the back of his mind. He let himself smile at those words.

As long as we're here.

[thepaintedlady00]

Nepenthe

Character Intro | Chapter 2

Chapter One: The Hanged Man

TW: blood, gore, some very intrusive and vividly dark thoughts about murder killing and so on, this ones gonna be a dark fic so if that's not something you're into steer clear y'all! But, all in all, first chapters pretty tame for the Dark Urge character. I'm going with a Durge that slightly differs from game Durge as she always has a hesitancy to killing and actively "fights" her dark urges from the start which isn't how I feel the in-game character was potrayed, but it's how I wanna do this series so 🤷‍♀️, I also really wanna let everyone know I'll be taking some creative liberties with the story and I'll be making the villains a bit more "redeemable" (mostly Gortash) they'll all still be the villains and they'll still do the evil shit but with Gortash in particular I wanna add some hints of regret and remorse for his wrong doings so I can give the asshole a happy ending! Because I am a whore for redemption arcs and happy endings! 😅😂

nepenthe • \nuh-PENTH-ee\ • noun. 1: a potion used by the ancients to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; 2: something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.

I had been called many names. Thief. Urchin. Whore. Murderer. Assassin. Monster. Demon. They all held some modicum of truth; after all, how else was one such as myself supposed to live? I bore no family name and held no lands or titles. All I had was a dagger and the blood on my hands. All I had to guide my path… To help me understand who… What I was was but an ember. A word whispered on hushed, fearful tongues.

Bhaalspawn.

It was a myth. Some horror story told by parents to keep their children in line. I knew there could be no truth in it… knew there could be no chance of it being a reality. I'd hunted down every piece of evidence I could over the years, and all of it told the same story. The spawn of Bhaal were long dead - all of them.

I could not be this. And yet the word echoed in me, rattling against my skull almost as loudly as the call for blood. And so, I continued hunting this rumor to the ends of Faerun. Hunting and hoping and killing and running. It was a hideous, pathetic life, but it was all I had. All I'd ever have if I stopped searching now.

Most would find the prospect of being some murderous creature horrifying. Most would have stopped searching when it became possible, but they didn't have this hunger. They didn't feel their skull burning, their whole being screaming for blood. They weren't like me.

From my rooftop perch above the city, I watched the people live their boring little lives. The marketplace was full of bodies, bags of flesh and bones and blood, hurrying and shouting and laughing without a care in the world. Sheep. A pen of them, mindlessly baaing to one another, completely unaware of the wolf lurking above them.

How I longed to leap down from that roof, to slither in what shadows I could find and circle them. My mouth went dry as my heart began to race in my chest. All sound faded, replaced by the symphony of rushing blood and beating hearts. I'd pick the one furthest from the group, the blacksmith. He smelt of salt and metal, a large man with a round belly that was practically begging to be sliced open. The edges of my vision darkened as I stared into the forge. He looked strong, but he'd be slow - much slower than he'd need to be to kill me before I did him. It would be easy.

My body drifted forward, leaning over the ledge of the rooftop. Every inch of me hummed as my fingers wrapped around the hilt of my dagger. So easy… Giggling children broke me from the dark fog. They ran through the streets together, playing whatever games normal little children play, as their families watched with a bright look. I'd studied that look often, how they smiled and their faces creased with joy. It was a look I had never known.

I remembered then the simple house with the green door. I remembered how it looked splattered with their blood - blood that oozed between the floorboards and dripped down the steps. The humming of bloodlust ebbed inside me as I pictured the bodies that littered the cobbled path to the house. Their eyes were dull and lifeless, not a spark of that bright thing… Not a spark of anything. The last one still breathing had crawled back inside, not strong enough to run but still not weak enough to just lay and die.

When I'd followed after her, dagger in hand and blood dripping from me like rain, she'd looked at me with a dark expression. Disappointment mingled with fear and disgust. That was the look I knew, the one she'd always looked at me with. As I got closer, the woman who called herself my mother spat her blood at me and growled out one last word before I watched her bleed out, "Monster." 

That house - my house - had been the first. The first time, I'd let the hunger, the insatiable thoughts of bloodshed, win. The family I massacred that day had been my own, but I never regretted killing them, not for one moment that followed. They'd only been the first of many… Too many.

My rancid blood whispered to me: kill, kill, and kill again. This body of mine craved only death. Not my own, but that of others - everyone. In the beginning, I'd hoped it would fade, yet with each death, each lifeless body I left behind, the hunger only grew. The longing to kill again was never far from my mind, and it terrified me. 

What kind of person… What sort of thing had this urge? A dark, twisted urge so powerful it consumed me, possessed me until I satisfied it with the blood and death it craved. My lungs filled with the cool city air, and the blurred edges of my vision slowly faded, replaced by the pain at the base of my skull growing as the urge festered, unsatisfied.

A heavy sigh echoed beside me as the rooftop shingles shifted under the unpredictable steps. "Restless already, young Master?" 

"I just…" My mouth tasted rancid, the intrusive desire to snap my teeth down on my own tongue making the words difficult to get out.

"Which of the lovely little sheep calls to you this time?" He hummed, turning his head to look out into the crowd with an almost gleeful smile. "The baker?" He giggled, jumping in excitement. "No! The shopkeep! He looks like he'd make a particularly fascinating corpse!" Turning, his beady eyes bore into mine again as he examined my expression. "Not him either? One of the children, perhaps?"

"No!" I bit out, trying not to linger on how that prospect appealed to me. "The blacksmith."

The Butler turned his head eagerly and wiggled his fingers, clacking his claws against the shingles. "Oh, excellent! He'll be no match for you, my dear Master. So big and slow, with a copious amount of blood and viscera to work with. A most excellent choice indeed!"

My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides as I forced my lungs to fill with the fresh air. "I'm not killing him. I'm not killing anyone."

"Not this again," The Butler chided. "Young Master, you must–"

"You do not tell me what I must or mustn't do!" My voice was low but a whisper in the wind, but Sceleritas heard it. He heard it as though I'd screamed it at the top of my lungs. For a fleeting second, it looked as though he'd been hurt by my words and my dismissal of him. With a sigh, I shook my head and knelt beside him. "Sceleritas…"

He made a tsking noise and combed his claws through my hair, delicately brushing it back into place. "I live to serve you, young Master. Whether it leads to glorious blood and viscera or not, I live to serve."

I held his hand for a moment. "Thank you."

"I do wish you'd be true to yourself," he said carefully. "But, if you wish to fight your urge, I'll bite my tongue and let you make your own mistakes."

"Sceleritas," I scolded with a half smile.

He quickly shut his lips tightly and bowed. "Since we're not killing anyone, may I inquire as to what we're doing among the sheep?"

Rolling my eyes at his theatrics, I looked back out to the crowd. "Rumor has it this city has been plagued with worshippers of Bhaal. People -" Sceleritas gave me a confused look. "The sheep," I clarified, earning a toothy grin from him. "Are saying there's an old temple somewhere nearby."

"And you intend to find it?" He asked, pride and mischief filling his tone.

"If anyone will have answers for me, it'll be them." I looked down at the odd little goblin-like creature that had been by my side since I first woke, covered in blood. He had leathery skin and a small hat lined with the bones of a snake I'd killed. He kept his clothes neat, even amongst the blood. Sceleritas was still quite the mystery, and everything about him, right down to how his beady eyes watched me with that sparkle of darkness and his claws clicked together as he idly thrummed his fingers together, making it seem like he knew more than he let on. "Unless you, dear butler, know anything about this temple?"

His hands splayed across his chest as his mouth fell open in surprise. "Why, me? Young Master, I've been ever at your side! I know only what you do."

Narrowing my eyes, I watched his lips turn upward in a grin. "Hmm, we'll see."

"Enough chatter!" He plopped down on the rooftop, kicking his feet over the ledge. "You hurry on with your questioning. I'll be waiting right here when you're done."

"I'll be back before nightfall," I assured him, lifting my hood.

"Of course you will. Unless… perhaps, you find a worthwhile distraction," he said, eyes turning away from mine to stare down at the blacksmith, whose full belly jiggled as he laughed.

That longing hum… That dark urge made my head swim for a moment. Kill him, it demanded. Break his bones! Bathe in his blood! Take his life, for it is yours to take! I shook my head and quickly turned away. "I will be back before nightfall."

"As you say, dear Master."

I dropped into a dark alley, my ill-fitted boots doing little to save my knees from feeling the force of the ground solidly meeting my feet. The alley stank with piss and rotting food, a stench that hung over the poorer districts. It was stripped bare of the fragrant roses and perfumers of the upper city. Stripped of everything, with people still demanding more be taken in the name of their lords and ladies and their fine parties and expensive silks.

Baldur's Gate. A beacon of hope and second chances. So many poured through the city gates with those big eyes, spilling with joy and relief, and it would be those eyes I'd see months later devoid of all that sparkle. Joy is a difficult thing to nurture when you're starving and flea-ridden. Baldur's Gate. The city where any and all are welcome to live and create a new life for themselves. A lie.

As I stepped over the multitude of beggars that no longer whispered pleas my way or anyone else's, I held onto that bitter feeling that had festered since I'd stepped foot here. My hands bore the blood of thousands, innocent and guilty alike, but even I was above the cruelty of this city. I was a killer, to be sure, but this city… The cursed Baldur's Gate was just as much a killer as me. At least I didn't pretend to be something else.

I moved among the crowd, ignoring that tingle that sent shivers up my spine at the sight of so many opportunities to slit someone's throat or tear their stomach open. Keeping my head down and my hood high, I kept my feet steadily moving. "You hear about this, uh… Shipment… That arrived late last night?"

"Which one?" The butcher replied, trying not to seem so interested. I slowed, lifting an eye towards them as they stood beneath the canopy of the butcher's stall.

"The metals," the twitchy man continued. "The ones that went straight to that abandoned church."

In one quick slash, the butcher's blade buried into the wooden board before him, slicing clean through the thick red meat. "What 'bout it?"

The twitchy man scratched his neck. "Rumor has it one of the smugglers is a madman. Er'yone that's seen 'im says he's makin' some kinda beast."

"A beast 'O metal?" The butcher laughed, waving off the man with a slab of meat in his hand. "Yer nutty if you believe that! Now get out me stall! Scarin' away payin' folk with yer twitchin'."

I watched them bicker for a moment longer before the twitching little man scurried away. Gossip and rumors were prevalent on the streets, necessary for anyone with no money to their name. Information was just as valuable as gold, but using such currency often required more than one's word. Proof came in various shapes and sizes. Eyewitness, a crumb of physical evidence, or even mentioning names… People higher up on the social ladder than anyone dwelling here. This system served me well. Though plagued by the constant urge to maim and dismember, my mind held information like a vault.

As I walked the streets, it quickly became apparent the well of gossip revolved around some useless arms dealings. I half listened, filing their names and the vague details away in my head while changing my path. If I wanted more than the current babblings today, I'd need to go to the source.

Baldur's Gate held many rivers that information flowed through. The servants working in the Upper City would flow down from those rich establishments and find whatever little pocket of people they belonged to. Taverns, inns, brothels, all little wells collecting information like buckets. Wells that I found most useful in my hunt for the truth. Past the layers of boring city gossip of who fucked who or who wore what lay the drops I required - the drops that would finally satiate my thirst. It was a simple matter of extracting such.

The Elfsong Tavern was bustling with people and flowing with drinks. It was a gem of the Lower City, though its outward appearance did not reflect anything grand or unique. It had ale and wine and clean rooms, which was enough for most people. The chatter that met my ears was akin to that of insects. I brushed past everyone else and quietly stood beside the bar, waiting for a cleaning to speak with the elf behind it.

The barkeeper and owner of the tavern was a soft-faced half-elf, Alan Alyth. He had dark hair and light in his eyes, still hopeful of his future within this city. Unlike the other patrons, he heard everything and saw all, and he wouldn't waste my time with idle chatter. Alan knew nothing about me, but he knew how much I hated talking.

Our eyes locked as the bodies cleared away from him, and he sighed. "What can I get for you?"

"I heard a rumor about Bhaal worshippers and a ruined temple."

Nodding, the elf wiped up a spill. "Few nights ago, two men came in spouting about it."

I set a single coin down on the bar. "I need the details."

Alan examined me for a second but took the coin and continued to speak, "Dunno much, but they said they believed the entrance to this temple or whatever was somewhere near the docks."

Without a word of thanks, I turned and exited the establishment, my feet moving quickly and my heart pounding steadily in my chest. I longed for this to be the one - for this rumor to lead me somewhere. The docks were even busier than the tavern, with shipments coming in and out, people selling fish right out of the barrels, and captains and crews inspecting their vessels. 

I could catch a ride on one of the ships, I thought. It would be easier to sail away from this horrible city and find a secluded place to live the rest of my days alone. Still, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away no matter how far I sailed. I would still always wonder what I was… If I belonged anywhere.

I remained near the docks, listening, watching, and even searching for hidden doors or loose stones that could have contained a clue, a hint even. There was nothing. No talk of Bhaalists or odd symbols. Nothing but the stench of fish and the annoying voices of the sheep. As the sun set, it became increasingly clear that this had been another dead end.

Waste of time, I scowled as I walked the now clear paths of the dark city. It'd been foolish of me to believe that anyone would have anything of substance. Why would idle gossip lead me to some long-lost hidden temple? It was foolish. Hopeful. 

My body roared with disappointment and anger. The feeling of it made my skin itch and my limbs ache. Curse that damned hope, I thought as I neared the rooftop where the butler would be waiting. I felt more breathless with each step, a sickening feeling washing over me as the edges of my vision swam with shadows. 

Don't fight it, that dark part of me urged. The bellows of nearby fire sparked in my ears, accompanied by the clash of steel. I sucked in a deep breath, halting my steps to try and regain control of my thoughts - of my own hands as they shook. Give in. A tang of ash and a tingling of metal filled my mouth. Give in to yourself. I stumbled, my feet shuffling of their own accord away from the rooftop towards the hazed orange light. 

Kill.

My fingers curled around the hilt of my dagger.

Kill.

My body hummed as the heat of the fire washed over my face.

Kill.

My lips curled up in a happy, satisfied smile.

The stone ceiling of the blacksmith's workshop was coated in billows of dark smoke and embers. They danced along the top of it for a moment, sparkling and crackling before being swept up in the midnight breeze and lifted out the tall open windows. My chest heaved with each breath, the air tasting sweet as I drew it deep into my lungs. I felt lightheaded, exhilarated, and satisfied. My mind felt clear for the first time in weeks, and my skull didn't throb. 

The sensation of thick, sticky liquid rolling down my neck pulled me from the enjoyment and relief. I lifted my hands to touch it but found them to be wet. All at once, my mind became my own again, and the sweetness of the air suddenly became heavy with blood. My fingernails dug into the skin of my neck as quiet whimpers filled my throat.

"Oh, how inspired!" Sceleritas purred with gleeful claps. "Artistry as always, my dear Master!"

My neck strained as I lowered my eyes to the corpse I straddled. The blacksmith lay lifeless beneath me, utterly unrecognizable. His eyes, filled with playful mirth and pride this morning, were now raw pits of exposed blood and muscle. The dark hair that once filled his head was scorched off, still smoking and singed with embers. One of his arms had been torn off, hanging from his anvil where the hand had been bludgeoned until the bones turned to dust. Long, intricate cuts lined his remaining arm and torso, leading to the gaping hole in his stomach. His insides were strewn about the room, hanging like dripping vines. And there, plunged into one of the many stab wounds in his chest, my dagger gleamed in the firelight.

I wanted to throw up, to scream and deny, but all I could do was sit there and stare. A prideful feeling simmered in my gut, finding beauty in the gore surrounding me. It was wrong… Beyond wrong… It was demented, deranged, sickening. Yet the feeling remained just like it always did. Sceleritas dug my dagger out from the blacksmith's chest and smiled as he held it out to me with a bow. Then, he noticed my grip on my neck and quickly tutted.

He placed my dagger back in my sheath and gently pried my hands from my skin. He dabbed the angry welts left by my fingernails with a small cloth. "I'm a monster…" I whispered.

Sceleritas' claws poked my cheek as he forced me to look at him. "You are perfect, Master." He combed his fingers through my hair, tucking it from my face. "Absolutely, positively perfect."

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears as the surrounding houses awoke, likely coming to see what the noises had been. They'd come, they always did, and they'd find me covered in the blood of an innocent man, a friend even. From there, things would be exactly as they always were. I'd be forced to flee, vanish, and always be apart like the rest of the monsters.

"Come, we must go," Sceleritas whispered, moving to check the streets.

With quivering breaths, I blinked away tears. What was the point of fighting if the urge would win out eventually? What was the point of any of this fucking life? Pushing myself to my feet, I wiped my hands on my shirt, as if it'd help clean them of blood, before turning to follow Sceleritas when a blink of movement caught my eye. 

There, standing in the doorway to the home attached to the workshop. His eyes were fixed on the body, the guts that hung from the room, filled with fear and despair at the sight of the larger man's lifelessness. Guilt and disgust warred within me against the satisfied bloodlust and pride. The child's lips quivered as tears began to stream down his cheeks. "Pa…"

Sceleritas' hands gently wound around my arms, tugging me away from the pitiful scene I had orchestrated. "Away, young Master. Come away."

The streets blurred together as I followed Sceleritas' sure-footed steps. I could hear the angry shouts and the calls for justice as the sheep turned to wolves. Tears burned my eyes as I considered stopping and submitting to my fate. I deserved it. I deserved to be torn apart just like I'd torn the blacksmith apart or any of the others before him. I was a monster.

Sceleritas turned then and slid to a halt just beneath an old archway. He scrambled, clawing the debris and dirt away from the small sewer cover. "This way!" He hissed. "We will find safety with the others!"

"With the others?"

"The worshippers of the Lord of Murder, of course!"

 "You knew where it was from the start," I bit out, glaring at the creature. 

"We haven't the time for this conversation, Master. Quickly! Come!" He screeched, desperately waving me towards the sewer entrance.

The ground shook with the rushing footsteps of the mob, a thundering anger filling the air like lightning. Grinding my teeth together, I slid through the small, dark opening and landed in the muck. The butler followed close behind, closing the opening just as quickly as he'd uncovered it. I could see the shadows of the mob pass overhead.

Sloshing through the putrid liquid, Sceleritas kept moving forward. I glared at him, using my anger to ignore how the smell burnt my nose and threatened to choke the air from my lungs. "Where are we going?"

He turned, teeth glistening in the low light. "You wished to find the temple, did you not?"

I followed him a few feet forward, watching as he flicked his clawed fingers, and an array of resting magic forced the stones ahead to part, revealing the ruins behind it. Sceleritas bowed, gesturing towards the opening. "After you, young Master."

The dark path forward appeared to be part of the city once, blocked off and locked away… Left to crumble and decay. The air hung heavy with a feeling of hopelessness, death whispers filling every crack and corridor. I followed what paths I could, weaving past fallen stone and broken statues. What had it looked like in its prime? I wondered as we passed through one intact doorway.

Stones shifted beneath quick feet, alerting me to the presence of others surrounding me. The darkness had eyes that watched me as I continued to the second door. If whatever creatures took issue with my presence, they didn't make it known. I could feel Sceleritas' excitement. "Friends of yours?"

"Friends of yours, Master," he replied. "Soon to be subjects if all goes to plan."

I turned my head to glance at him, so many questions wanting to rise from my throat, but none of them could. How many years have you led me astray? I wondered. How long was spent pulling at my strings for this plan?

A shallow river of sewage split the large room in two, forcing me down the right-hand path that looked to have been patched up with wood scraps. Whoever it was that had taken up residence here had clearly put work into trying to remain inconspicuous. The twists and turns should have confused me, but my feet felt steady… Like I already knew the way.

As I stepped out into a larger clearing, the stench of sewage faded slightly. Water trickled from cracks above, and the ruins grew more solid. "This was the Undercity," I observed, peering up the old stairs that had long been barricaded off. 

Sceleritas stood beside a circular platform, flicking his fingers again and lighting two hanging braziers. "A wretched place." He hummed carefully. "But, like most ruins, it wasn't always such." Waving his hand, I could see a marvel in his eyes. "It was a glorious temple once. A place of the highest caliber! Worshipers would come from near and far to pay homage, and many found a home here."

"What happened?" I asked, a wave of solemn sorrow softening my voice.

Sceleritas shook his head with a bitter sneer on his lips. "Many things. The worshipers of Bhaal have been culled many times throughout the ages."

"Like the Bhaalspawn." I shook my head and looked at the butler with teary eyes. "Is that what I am?"

"You are-"

"Perfect," I interrupted him. "I know, you've said that before. But answer me this, please, Sceleritas?"

With a humble nod, he finally replied. "You are one of the last living Bhaalspawn. The Lord of Murder's flesh and blood."

My teeth ground together. All this time I'd spent searching, looking for answers, and the one person that had been with me from the start had them all along. "Why not tell me this from the start?"

"You were not ready then," he replied with a sigh. "You may still not be ready."

"Well, what happens now?" I asked.

Sceleritas only grinned. "You open the door."

The tall door blended in with the surrounding stone, only really noticeable but the too-perfect cracks where the two sides met, tightly sealed. As I approached, I had an itching feeling that this would not be as simple as my loyal companion made it seem. Pressing on them with my hand, nothing moved, but a voice echoed around us in a soft but powerful whisper.

"Do you have proof of your faith to our lord?"

"Proof?" I questioned with furrowed brows. "How does one present proof of faith?"

Sceleritas cleared his throat and pointed to my still-bloody dagger. "You've all the proof you need, dear Master."

I unsheathed it, grimacing at the sight of the blacksmith's blood. The image of the weeping child filled my mind. I didn't utter a word nor lift the dagger higher than my eyes, but the door saw it as if it had looked through my eyes. "A small thing, but a show of faith nonetheless. Walk in blood."

The door cracked, and the path forward appeared before me, along with a choice. I could turn back and face what I'd done. Or I could continue on this path, wherever it led me, and finally learn the truth. Sceleritas took hold of my hand and squeezed. "The choice is yours, Remora, my dear Master. I can only urge you not to run from what you are." He smiled. "I can only assure you that you are perfect, just as you are."

Bloodshed, death, murder… None of it appealed to me beyond that itch of my darker urges, but I'd killed so many. My hands were forever stained in blood, and nothing, not even facing judgment, would clean them. I'd kill again. I knew it to be true. What choice is there? I asked myself. Nothing will change unless you see this through. "It'd be a waste to turn back now." I smiled down at him and squeezed his hand back. "Besides, what would I do without my most loyal butler?"

We walked hand in hand down the decrepit staircase where the abandoned stone building came into view, nestled overtop a straight drop into nothingness. Sceleritas led me over the bridge of fallen pillars and through a low archway. I held his hand tightly in mine, using his presence as some reassurance to ease the fear and hopelessness rising in my chest. No matter what I found here, Sceleritas would be beside me. He always was.

Bright red lights illuminated as we traversed the winding, bloodstained path. Statues spoke to me, but I couldn't grasp their words beyond the sound of my heart hammering against my ribcage. The bridge stretched across, lit with fire and dark magic. Up a small set of stairs, another door stood closed. Sceleritas released my hand and skipped up the steps, turning to bow before me. "Oh, my Master! Welcome! Welcome to your royal home!"

The doors opened behind him as if on their own accord. Now or never. I ascended the stairs and walked through the doorway with my head held high. From the high ledge, I could see every corner of the room, the lights and the bodies of people gathered, but what I noticed most was the large pool of blood that stood on the opposite side of the room where a skull with bleeding eyes had been carved into the stone. 

Bhaal. My father, if Sceleritas had spoken the truth. With another deep breath, I moved past the robed figures and down towards the center of this congregation. As I passed, the cultists whispered praises, words of great joy at my arrival. Sparing Sceleritas a glance, I quickly asked, "They were expecting us?"

"You, Master," he happily replied. "They've been expecting you for quite some time."

"Praised be the Lord of Murder!" One of them softly exclaimed. 

An odd feeling of warmth suddenly erased the fear from my body. Never before had I been waited on… Met with soft words of joyous welcomes. They wanted me here. They felt some kind of love for me, and I enjoyed it. "They… like me?”

Sceleritas scoffed. "They adore you, Master!"

At the bottom of the steps, all the cultists bowed their heads. "Welcome home, Bhaalspawn. We have waited a very long time for this day."

"What day?"

The woman, who seemed to be the eldest, chuckled. "For you to ascend and take your place as Bhaals Chosen, of course!" She turned, gesturing to the pool of blood. "Go on, submerge yourself, and all shall be revealed."

By my side, Sceleritas urged me to go forward into the blood. My dark, featherless reflection hovered over the thick liquid. There was a moment of hesitation, a moment where I knew deep inside me that this wasn't what I wanted. Sceleritas' voice was soft as he seemed to answer my deepest fears. "Do not deny what you are, Remora. For it is beautiful, beloved, holy. You are perfect, just as you are."

I took the first step, giving into the deepest desire to be loved and accepted. Maybe this was the only way for something like me to achieve such. Maybe this was always what I was meant for. As the blood enveloped me, I felt warm… Safe… Powerful. Flashes of bodies torn apart and skulls growing from trees filled my vision. "Child of blood, go forth with divine purpose."

When I emerged again, the first thing I heard was Sceleritas clapping. Then, all that stood before me bowed. "All hail Bhaal's Chosen!"

This was my future - my life. All the years I'd spent trying to be anything other were wasted. Thief. Urchin. Whore. Murderer. Assassin. Monster. Demon. All those years of fighting, scraping, bowing, resisting… It had all been futile. This was what I was, who I was. Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal's Chosen.

[author-main]

It does make me feel a little sad and alone at times, being in this fandom. I often worry that I'm one of few brown or black people in the community. And that most people, even my friends/mutuals, won't or don't understand the ways I feel towards LU and tLoZ as a whole.

In some ways I understand and don't want to make a big fuss about it. I don't think I have the heart to get so mad. I don't have the heart to say this to anyone's face in particular. But I really do just want to speak my piece. So please forgive me. I don't go into a big ol' critique or breakdown, I'm not good at talking. This is word salad. This is feelings.

I think the fact that, canonically, Link and Zelda are European-coded and Ganondorf is dark-skinned (most definitely Arab-coded) deters many black and brown people from franchise as a whole. Of course, there are still plenty of us here who can love all of these characters despite this. We love Link and Zelda, we love Ganondorf, we love the Gerudo. But we do wish for changes. Even though I'm here, I don't feel seen. And in the crowd of the fandom, I can't see anyone else either.

The LU cast is all white. That doesn't necessarily bother me on the surface. I'm very used to a casting like that. I did get bored of it very early on when I started ALUW. I wonder if you could understand why I would be bored. I love how diverse this fandom is when it comes to the LGBT+ community, disabilities, mental health etc. In those ways, I do feel seen. But I wish we were more diverse with race, too.

Key word: Wish. Because I know it would nor could never happen. I feel no ire towards anyone for that not even Jojo. If there was anyone I'd be angry at, it would be Nintendo. This started from them, not us. I can't and don't expect anyone to be able to truly change anything unless they were actually part of the Zelda team. Other than that all I really feel towards it is neutrality and a strong, maybe unjust yearning for more.

I don't know. I've been writing the Shadlink slow burn fic. The way I've been planning to write Shad has just... brought something out in me that I don't think most non-black-and-brown people would understand. Maybe they would. I also worry that, because I'm a hermit, maybe I don't fully understand the struggles people who look like me go through.

Maybe I'm not even right in my feelings. I don't know, it feels like this is the first time I've ever vented like this. I wish in the next Zelda game we can customize Link more.

[blusical]

i wanna talk/rant about nascar for a moment because nascar, particuarly dale sr (RIP), is on the brain. i completely get where NASCAR fans (and ex-fans) are coming from when they say "NASCAR hasn't been the same since dale sr died". Because yeah, the sport has changed drastically. And there are some changes I am definitely not the biggest fan of! But I think what some fans fail to understand is that NASCAR 'changing' might be a good thing in the long term. Keep in mind the HANS device was not enforced, despite it becoming incredibly popular. And Dalr Sr refusing to wear it is what ultimately led to his death. The HANS device was enforced not long after he passed. The Car of Tomorrow, while criticized (and rightfully so sometimes), was created and was intended to be a much more safer car compared to the previous generation. SAFER Barriers were installed the year after Earnhardt's death. Since those installations, no NASCAR driver has died during a race. I can't say NASCAR is completely safe even with those changes. I don't think any sports league can be 100% safe. Injuries due to wrecks can still happen, and sadly the injuries did increase with the introduction of the NextGen car. And unfortunately, just because there hasn't been a driver death in a NASCAR event since 2001 doesn't mean it probably won't happen again. There's always going to be safety risks no matter what you do. But still, the safety has still highly gone a long way from 2001. You could argue that the closest we've gotten to a potentially fatal crash was Ryan Newman in the 2020 Daytona 500, though thankfully he sustained non-life threatening injuries and was out of the hospital after just two days (In fact, you can even argue that *he* saved his own life by pushing for a safety feature, now known as the "Newman bar", years prior), or more recently Ryan Preece, who got out of his car under his own power after a particularly violent flip, and was able to race again the next week (which in my opinion he... probably shouldn't have), albeit with some uh... very bruised eyes a la Davey Allison. And NASCAR is *still* making safety changes. Have those changes impacted the sport and how the races go? Definitely. NASCAR isn't what it used to be, and you could even argue that some of the races have become boring, something that I personally disagree with. But even so, I think i'd rather stick with "boring" racing then witness another driver die because of a severe safety flaw. This isn't me complaining about the 'boomers', this is moreso me asking that we be slightly more grateful, because while NASCAR has changed, some of those changes happened for a reason. Even if some of those changes aren't always great or favorable.