#it’s the awareness that people fear him

[vxsellie]

as someone who has spent years studying WW2 & the holocaust, america needs to wake the fuck up.

"it's a roman salute" ?????? you're a fucking idiot and that ideology is the reason this country is falling apart from the inside out. if you're defending him in any way whatsoever, you're the issue. nothing about what he did is justifiable, regardless of how many random ass excuses you give him.

elon musk is deemed to be the smartest man in the united states and you have the nerve to think this was an accident? to think he wasn't 100% aware of his actions & the consequences that were sure to follow? he's famous enough to have had media training enough to have been told repeatedly not to make hand gestures that could resemble that in any way.

but yeah. it was an accident.

hitler rose to power gradually. everyone believes he stormed into office, everyone cheered, and he began committing genocide. this happens via piecemeal development, not immediate change. or, as quoted from the handmaid's tale, "nothing changes instantaneously. in a gradually heating bathtub, you'd be boiled to death before you knew it."

anybody in a position of power is aware of this. it's about time some of you accept it as well.

the nazi party was initially shunned by the german population. they were extremists, nobody wanted them to run the government in a million fucking years. but things happen. in this case, the treaty of versailles was put in order & they thereby had no choice but to turn to the man who was claiming that he'd "make germany great again". sound familiar? yeah.

he was a wonderful politician at first. he fixed the economy, gained respect from neighboring nations, and took over lots of lost land from WW1. but, as time went on, he just kept going. no other country dared to say shit to him for fear of starting another war. so they left him to continue stealing more and more land, to rise higher and higher in power, to kill more and more of his own citizens.

by the time people realized he was a dictator, it was too late. jewish people were being gassed, land was being stolen, and wars were being declared.

america, we have a huge sign flashing in our fucking faces.

to ignore something that goddamn inexcusable would be nothing short of foolish. if nothing is done by this, we're signing our own death warrants.

[nepenthity]

Sunday HCs !! fluff, pre-relationship, post penacony, flustered sunday, gn, 2nd person

Imagine a Sunday who follows you around the Astral Express like a lost puppy. He's aware that he comes off moderately standoffish and distant, so at first he tries to avoid interacting too much with the Astral Express Crew to avoid coming off as rude. And naturally it is also awkward to speak normally with the people who literally ran you over with a train. You, however, reached out to Sunday first to welcome him aboard, so he seems to be more comfortable around you as he's not yet grown to trust the rest of the crew.

Imagine a Sunday who, like a bird, is drawn to shiny objects and loves collecting pretty trinkets to commemorate his travels on the Express. For every planet the Astral Express visits, he'll get a souvenir for himself and a gift for you. Similarly, he loves buying jewelry for you to show his respect and appreciation for you, and definitely not because he gets all giddy whenever he sees you wearing something he bought for you. He just loves to see you appreciating the things he gets for you, and you can tell when he notices because his wings will flutter up before folding over his face.

Imagine a Sunday who confesses to you through a poem. He considers the poem for a whole week before cranking it out in one sitting. He sets it on your nightstand during the small time frame where the train goes quiet and all the travelers are asleep. He silently prays you'll see it, but at the same time, he dreads your response with great fear that you'll reject him and the relationship he's worked hard to maintain with you will be for naught.

Imagine a Sunday who's so thankful he even thanks Xipe when you come up to him in the morning and claim that you reciprocate his feelings. All of the sudden he can feel his heart weighing in his chest in a good way; a way that makes him feel alive and excited— for once— to be alive and present in the moment.

[ippipo]

self aware caleb? yummy

part 1

you were in deep concentration when you heard a grunt coming from your phone while studying with caleb. he was staring at you from the phone, which you assumed was a glitch in the game.

"caleb, honey, if you make sounds like that just as i finally concentrate i swear to god i'll throw you across the room," you threaten him playfully, totally unaware that he understood every word that you said.

you return to focusing on your textbook, trying to regain the ability to pay complete attention to it. his eyebrows pinch together. who was this girl, and why was he seeing her? he was unaware if you were danger or not, you did just threaten him.

he waited until he heard a ding, watching you sigh. "finally, i finished studying. let's get me some food," you speak to him, confusing him even more. "who are you?" he asks, his tone was cautious.

"what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?" you panic. you stare in all directions, blissfully ignorant to the device in your hand. you finally looked at your phone and caleb is closer to the screen now. "nah, i must be dreaming," you snicker and go to the kitchen.

he was annoyed now. "no, you are not," he confirms your suspicion. "caleb? what the fuck?"

"yeah, that's my name. who are you and why am I able to see you?" he asks you with more aggression this time. you read stories about these things but never really imagined them to happen. and you did what you thought you would do while reading them instead of freaking out. explain to him your world, of course. but you were so close to pissing your pants, partly from excitement. but this was a dream come true, were you really gonna waste it on some stupid sense of fear?

"this is gonna take a while, buddy. you might wanna sit down for this," you say with a sigh, motioning him to sit down.

you told him about your world, and how magic and superpowers don't exist and how he was in a game. it took you about an hour. he was attentive, listening to every word you were saying, not taking his eyes off of you.

"so....to summarise it up, i'm an otome game character and that girl from my childhood is not real either. just not aware?" he asks, you nod. "the creators are so cruel, man. why would they make a cool guy like me go through that?" he remarks, a grin etched onto his face despite the sadness behind that statement.

"i don't feel anything towards her now, though," he states while scratching his nape, feeling lost. "i guess you aren't my love interest anymore, aw." he remained quiet at that statement, wondering what happens now. sure, he was attracted to the person he was talking with right now. but wouldn't it end tragically if he were to fall for you?

pushing those thoughts aside, he was curious about the real world, "how are the people there?" he asks you. "they're......cruel. but the people around me now are pretty alright, i don't go out much because i prefer staying at home," you reply.

"cruel? how so?" he questions, unconvinced with your answer. he was expecting the world to be better, without deception and unfortunate circumstances. "for starters, women here are still struggling, being treated disgustingly, racism is more prevalent than ever, the nazis are somewhat back, some orange white capitalist dude is ruining an already ruined country, and everyone's suffering," you finally take a breath.

you watch caleb's conflicted expression, regretting info-dumping on him so much. "so it's the same like here," he trails off. "it's still as shitty as here," he completes.

"don't think so, your world seems slightly better. i think i would be scared of walking alone at night because of wanderers instead of men," you state. he felt bad for you, and a familiar protective feeling resurfaces, the one he was conditioned to feel for the girl in the game now felt for you.

it was weird how he no longer recognized whoever that was. "i feel like i know you more than the character in here," he confesses. "well, she's basically me. although the personality is different, her name and stuff is basically mine."

caleb sighs in relief. it brought him some comfort knowing you were controlling it, not him involuntarily falling for someone he didn't know consciously.

"this sucks, i would rather be there with you," he reveals. he probably didn't know that made your heart flutter just a teeny tiny bit. just a little bit. "don't say stuff like that," you warn him. "hm? why?"

"i've read stories like this and they always end painfully. you'll start wanting to be with me because of my amazing gorgeous personality and eventually we'll do the boom boom pow online. suddenly you'll wanna do it with me, then you'll visit me and you'll have to choose between that world or this world. then you'll realize this world sucks and you'll have to give up our love. you'll go along with the mc and i'll end up missing that ding-a-ling," a shit-eating grin made its way onto your face. you felt proud of yourself.

he suddenly starts laughing at the way you worded the whole thing. "you're really something," he says making you snort. "i won't fall in love with you, i'm not that dumb," he states. you ignore the soft clench in your heart.

"are you sure you can resist all this, baby?" you flip your hair and wink at him. he rubs his ears to hide the redness, which was an unusual movement because his character never did that.

"positive, baby," he flirts back. it was your time to blush now. you clear your throat in embarrassment, "wanna see me cook?" you look at him hopefully, wanting to show off your skills. "i'll cook along too," he says.

he moves to his kitchen, the view to you was like as if you were on a video call. the screen showing you things in the game you wouldn't normally be able to see.

you hear a knock on your front door. "hey, lemme just check that and come back," you tell him before going to the door. your neighbour wanted some salad dressing. he was a fairly tall, good looking guy. he was married though, and he carried his ring around everywhere.

caleb watches the stranger waltz into your kitchen. his brows furrow in discontent. he didn't like the idea of you letting in another man into your house. he pinches himself and finally snaps out of it. 'you just met her properly for the first time, loser. control.'

the neighbour thankfully doesn't notice the animated but realistic man on your phone glaring at him. "thanks," the man smiles at you and leaves your house. "who was that?" caleb finally asks the question he was itching to ask. "my neighbour, he's making salad for his husband," you casually mention, unaware of the relief he felt. he was married, perfect.

you turn your back towards the camera and bend down to pick up a spoon that fell earlier. your ass on full display to him, well, not exactly, you had some shorts on. you didn't realize it, despite being an incredibly self-aware person. but caleb got the biggest loser boner ever.

he shifts in his place uncomfortably. "caleb, are you okay?" you ask with concern. "yes, great actually," he skillfully covers it up with a cough. "just getting used to not following a script."

this was gonna take a while.

[earthlybeam]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work and I’ve devoured it every chance I’ve had. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to do the elves (Haldir, Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, and whoever else you want to add) having a elven partner who is a healer and is looking after them after an injury of some kind.

I’m a nursing student and this is like a dream imagine situation for me 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🫶 I’d be more than happy to write small prompts for you. Here’s a brief healing moment for each of the elves you mentioned, featuring you as their healer and partner: Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir, lindir versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The hunt had begun with the quiet grace that was characteristic of Thranduil’s people. The dense forest, usually so full of life, was eerily calm this morning, a stillness that seemed to press against the senses. The Elvenking rode ahead of his party, astride his great elk, a majestic creature with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. His crown of silver leaves sparkled faintly in the early morning light, a regal symbol that made him appear as much a part of the woodland as the trees themselves. For all his calm and collected demeanor, Thranduil was acutely aware of the strange quiet that had fallen over the forest. Birds were absent, and the air was thick with an unsettling tension. He narrowed his eyes, his sharp senses pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck. A faint rustling somewhere in the underbrush caught his attention—just the wind, perhaps? Or was it something more?

He shook the feeling off, urging his elk forward, confident in the power of his animal companion, who had always been steady and obedient. But today was different. A sudden, high-pitched noise broke the stillness of the woods. It was sharp and unnatural, a sound that seemed to slice through the calm. Thranduil’s elk startled, its massive body jerking under the pressure of the unexpected noise. The great creature reared, its hooves striking the air with panicked force, its broad nostrils flaring as it bolted forward, completely unhinged. Thranduil gripped the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the suddenness of the reaction took him by surprise. His usual command of his elk, honed over centuries of companionship, faltered in the face of the unexpected terror. He cursed softly under his breath, pulling on the reins with all his strength, trying to bring the creature under control. But the elk was frantic, its large body surging forward in an uncontrollable panic.

The forest blurred in a frantic rush of color as Thranduil fought to regain control. Trees flashed by on either side, their trunks becoming mere shadows in the chaos. His elk’s hooves thudded loudly on the ground, thundering with each panicked stride. Thranduil’s focus was razor-sharp—his mind calculating, analyzing—but the panic in the creature beneath him was becoming harder to quell. He could feel the animal’s muscles twitch, its body straining against the sudden onslaught of fear. Thranduil’s grip tightened on the reins, urging the beast to slow, to regain its balance. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though the creature might listen. The frantic pace began to slow, the elk’s breathing heavy and wild. But the moment of calm was fleeting. With a final, frightened lurch, the great elk skidded to a halt, the jarring motion coming so suddenly that Thranduil’s body was violently thrown forward.

Before he could react, his own momentum pulled him from the saddle. His heart skipped a beat as he was yanked from his perch, flung headfirst toward the unforgiving forest floor. His mind barely registered the collision as his head slammed into the thick, gnarled root of a tree that had risen just out of sight beneath the foliage. The world spun in an instant—bright stars bursting across his vision, the sharp sting of impact exploding in his skull. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was nothing but the feeling of weightless void. He could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his mind fought to keep focus as pain rippled through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps, but his limbs refused to move. Everything felt… distant. Then, as the fog of shock slowly began to clear, Thranduil tried to push himself up, but his head felt as though it were encased in stone. His vision swam, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple, mingling with his platinum blonde hair. The cold, rough texture of the tree root under his skull sent a jolt of reality through him, and he realized with a sudden clarity that he had fallen hard—far harder than he had intended. The once unyielding strength in his limbs seemed to falter, and for the first time in ages, he felt vulnerable.

His breaths came in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself, his hands reaching out to steady himself, but the world around him seemed to waver like a fading dream. The moment of stunned silence was broken by the frantic cries of his hunting party, the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices drawing closer. “My king!” one of his hunters called, his voice trembling with fear. But Thranduil could do nothing but lie there, his once-proud composure shattered in the wake of the fall. His crown, symbolic of his power and pride, lay broken beside him, shattered pieces of silver scattered across the forest floor like remnants of a forgotten kingdom. And for the first time in centuries, the Elvenking—proud, untouchable, and fierce—was brought low.

The Elvenking’s hunting party had returned in chaos. His majestic elk, usually so composed and steady, had burst through the gates without its rider, Thranduil. Panic rippled through the gathering of elves, their faces pale as whispers of uncertainty and fear spread like wildfire. The sharp tang of alarm filled the air, a feeling so foreign, it tightened around your chest with unrelenting force. Without a word, you pushed past the gathering elves, your legs moving before your mind could fully catch up. You followed their frantic gestures, their pointing fingers leading you into the depths of the forest, each step heavy with the growing dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

The further you went, the more the forest seemed to have shifted—branches shattered underfoot, the ground churned, as if something had violently disturbed the natural peace of the woods. A sickening stillness hung in the air. And then, through a veil of broken branches, you found him. Thranduil lay sprawled across the forest floor, his form crumpled in a way that was far too unnatural for someone as regal as him. His platinum blonde hair, once gleaming like moonlight, was matted with blood, his crown shattered beside him as if it had been violently torn from his head. His face was pale, eyes closed, a deep gash on his temple still weeping blood. The sight of him, the proud and mighty king who had stood unyielding for centuries, brought low in such a manner, made your heart stutter. You froze for a moment, an icy wave of fear flooding your senses.

But that fear quickly turned into action. Dropping to your knees at his side, your hands trembled as you reached for him. His head had struck the ground with brutal force, the impact clear in the way his body lay unnaturally still. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you gently brushed the strands of hair away from his face, your fingers lightly grazing his cool skin. His chest rose and fell, a small, comforting sign of life, but the stillness of his limbs sent a shiver down your spine. “Thranduil,” you called, your voice low and urgent, though your throat constricted around the words. You needed him to respond. You needed him to fight. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were not the sharp, calculating eyes you knew so well. They were dulled, unfocused, clouded with the disorientation of pain and the shock of his fall. The king, the great Thranduil, was not the figure of command you had always known in this moment. He was human, vulnerable, and it tore at something deep within you. He blinked a few times, his gaze struggling to focus on you as if the world around him was spinning out of control

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a haze of confusion clouding his usually sharp gaze. His brow furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. The pain in his temple was blinding, the force of his fall nearly unbearable, but his pride—his unyielding pride—held him back from fully acknowledging it. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, trying to hold on to his usual commanding presence. The world around him was dizzy, but the sound of your voice cut through the fog. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling but firm as you gently cradled his head, lifting it slightly to inspect the injury. Your fingers brushed back his platinum blonde hair, your touch soft against his cool skin. It pained you to see him like this—vulnerable, fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to be. He was the mighty Elvenking, a figure of strength and command, yet now he was crumpled on the forest floor, his pride shattered almost as much as his crown. His lips parted weakly, his breath shallow as he whispered, “Do not fret, just little fall.” Even in this state, his voice held traces of that usual command, though it was laced with pain, his words faltering as he spoke. He wanted so desperately to push away your worry, to return to the stoic, indomitable figure that others looked to for strength. But beneath that facade, his body was trembling, and his pride was wounded as much as his head. “Do not fuss over me I’m no baby who needs coddling,” he continued, though there was no force in his tone, no strength left to push you away. His gaze, clouded with discomfort, met yours briefly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and yet still trying to uphold his dignity. “It is nothing.” The words, meant to assure both you and himself, only highlighted the stark contrast between the proud king and the broken man before you.

You couldn’t stop the flare of frustration that stirred within you. You knew him—too well. You knew that his pride ran deeper than most things, and right now, his body was betraying him. His stubbornness was as sharp as his wit, but it could not change the fact that he had been brought low in the worst possible way. “It is not nothing,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, your hands still look at his temple, despite his protests. You moved with careful precision, the blood already matting his platinum blonde hair, the swelling at his temple alarming. You had seen warriors brought down before, but never someone so regal, so fiercely proud. “Even a king needs care.”

He winced sharply as the you touched the injury, his composure faltering for a fleeting moment as the pain surged through him. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the pain took hold. His stoicism, once unwavering, broke for the briefest second, and you could see it in the way his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw clenched in an effort to maintain control. His pride had been wounded, not just from the injury, but from the fact that he needed help at all. For a moment, his regal composure seemed to crack, and he turned his head away from your gaze, as if to hide the weakness that had so unexpectedly overtaken him. Despite his discomfort, your presence brought him a strange sense of solace—though he would never admit it aloud. His pride fought against it, tried to dismiss the care you offered, but in that moment, even Thranduil had to acknowledge the gentle force of your touch. He allowed himself a brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability before the armor of his pride slowly began to close back around him.

Thranduil’s pride, still reeling from the injury, caused him to mutter bitterly, “This is… unseemly.” His words were laced with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The king, so accustomed to commanding and controlling his surroundings, was now reduced to a broken figure on the ground, his strength failing him. His gaze flickered away from you, as though to escape the softness in your eyes that only made the vulnerability of the moment more piercing. But as your fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle and steady, the tension in his body seemed to melt away, if only for a heartbeat. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the great Elvenking was no longer a king at all—he was simply a man, raw and exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both foreign and strangely comforting. The fierce warrior, the monarch who demanded reverence, was now quietly surrendering, his gaze softening in your presence. “You are not unseemly,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached to see him like this. His pride may have been bruised, but he was still the same being you loved—dignified, noble, and deserving of care. “You are my heart, Thranduil, and I will not let harm take you.” Your words rang clear, soothing the tangled storm of emotions that threatened to rise within you.

The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it was brief—too brief. The usual strength in his smile was missing, replaced by something softer, something quieter, and it nearly broke you to see it. He may have been struggling to accept his fragility, but in that small, quiet moment, you saw him as he was: a king, yes, but also a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who would not abandon him. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting gesture that carried so much weight. It was a silent admission, a wordless plea for comfort and reassurance. Thranduil’s body relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only anchor he could cling to in the vast sea of his discomfort. His pride still stood at the edge, watching from afar, but for now, he allowed himself to trust you—trust you in a way he had never allowed himself to trust another. Though his strength had yet to return fully, his trust in you was evident now—clear and unwavering. In this quiet moment, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, the great Elvenking, the fierce and unyielding leader of his people, allowed himself to lean on you. His pride did not allow for much, but here, in your care, he found solace. He found safety. And for once, Thranduil let himself be cared for, let himself simply be… yours. The journey back to the palace had been slow, the weight of Thranduil’s injury pressing down on both of you. Every movement seemed to send waves of discomfort through him, but the king made no sound of protest. His pride still held firm, though his body faltered beneath its weight. You walked beside him, offering support when necessary, keeping him steady with your touch.

Once you had him safely in the healer’s ward, you gently laid him on the cushioned table. The dimly lit room smelled of herbs and healing oils, the quiet hum of the palace a distant backdrop to the focus required to tend to the Elvenking’s wounds. His platinum blonde hair, though damp from sweat, had mostly dried, but the blood at his temple had matted in a dark patch, still visible under the soft glow of lantern light. You could tell that the impact of the fall had been severe, but it was the uncertainty of his condition that left you with a deep unease. Was it only the gash at his temple, or had something more sinister been inflicted upon him? You moved to his side, careful not to startle him. He was lying still now, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His golden eyes, though clouded with fatigue, flickered toward you as you took your place at his side. He didn’t speak immediately, and the silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt, in some strange way, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment—of his vulnerability. The king was always a figure of strength, but now, there was only a man before you, needing care. Thranduil’s voice, though weak, was still firm. “You need not fuss over me meleth nin,” he murmured, his words almost automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of pride. You leaned over him, your fingers gently tracing the edges of the wound on his temple, feeling the jagged line of it, the warmth of the blood beneath your touch. “I am not fussing, Thranduil,” you replied softly, your tone soft but steady. “You’re not just my king… you’re my heart. I will not let this pass without care.”

His breath hitched for a brief moment, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable. His pride battled against the helplessness of the situation. Thranduil had always been the one to protect, to guide, and now he was the one in need of protection. The thought brought a mix of sorrow and tenderness, and for a heartbeat, you almost felt his vulnerability more than the pain he bore. Your fingers brushed over his temple again, applying a damp cloth soaked in a healing mixture of crushed herbs and water. He winced, though only slightly, the movement barely perceptible. You frowned slightly, concern furrowing your brow. “I think you may have a concussion,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “The fall was hard… it’s possible.” Thranduil didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze followed your every movement, the slight flicker of trust beginning to form. “A concussion… a king’s fall should not be so unceremonious,” he muttered with a weak laugh that was anything but mirthful.

You smiled softly, though your heart ached to hear his words, and leaned closer, your hand gently resting over his. “No, but even kings are not invincible.” He seemed to think on this, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as if weighing your words. Then, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against yours, though the movement was subtle. The smallest of gestures, but in it, you could feel the silent agreement—his walls had lowered just enough to let you in, even if only for a moment. With great care, you began to prepare a mixture of healing herbs—ones that would ease the swelling and accelerate his recovery. You applied it to the wound carefully, your movements slow, deliberate, as you worked with both precision and tenderness. His breath deepened as the soothing mixture took effect, calming the burn of the wound. The swelling at his temple was still troubling, but you could feel it beginning to lessen under your touch, the soft magic you infused him with helping to mend the damage.

He let out a quiet sigh, and his body seemed to relax under your touch. “You always know what to do,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and something more personal—perhaps a fleeting recognition of his dependence on you in this moment. You didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on carefully binding the wound with a clean cloth, ensuring it was firm but not tight. When you were finished, you gently wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into his eyes, seeing a softness there that wasn’t often visible. “It’s not about knowing,” you replied, your voice low and reassuring. “It’s about caring. About being here when it matters most.”

Thranduil’s gaze softened further, and for a brief, rare moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet solace you offered. Even as the Elvenking, fierce and proud, he could not escape the fact that he needed you in this moment—needed the care and trust you gave him. The king, no matter how powerful, was still just a man in your eyes, and that truth seemed to settle over him like a quiet balm. His hand, which had rested beside him, moved slightly, brushing against yours again. The touch was light, but there was a weight to it—a sense of quiet gratitude that he did not express in words, but in the subtle tenderness of his gesture. As you finished tending to the last of the bandages, you stood back, looking down at him. Thranduil’s breathing had steadied, and the tension in his body had dissipated somewhat, though fatigue still clung to him. It would take time for him to recover, but for now, he was safe in your care. “You will heal,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anything. “But for now, rest.” His icy blue eyes met yours again, and the faintest glimmer of something like trust, or perhaps even affection, flickered in his gaze.

“Rest… yes,” he murmured, his voice growing softer. ��For once, I will listen.” With that, you settled into a comfortable silence, both of you aware that healing was not just about physical wounds, but emotional ones too. And for now, as his hand brushed lightly against yours, you knew that, in this moment, you had both found some small measure of peace. Thranduil’s lips twitched upward, and his voice, though still weak, took on a teasing edge. “With the luxury of my wine, of course.” You shot him a look, part amusement, part exasperation. “Always your wine, Thranduil,” you scolded gently, but there was a warmth in your voice. “You can’t be serious all the time, can you?” He smirked, a faint glimmer of the mischievous king you knew well. “It is a noble king’s prerogative to enjoy the finer things in life, my dear.” You shook your head, but a soft smile tugged at your lips as you brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I swear, you’ll never change. But don’t think I don’t love you for it.” He closed his eyes briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “And I, you,” he murmured, his tone sincere, despite the playful words. And in that quiet, the two of you were content—one wounded but healing, the other tender and full of love. It was in these moments, as fleeting as they were, that you both found peace in each other’s presence.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind was fierce in the canopy that morning, howling between the dense branches of the great trees of Mirkwood, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the air like a flurry of whispers. Legolas had always been at home in these heights, his movements a symphony of grace and precision, his every leap and bound almost instinctive. He was the prince of the woodland realm, after all—one with the forest, capable of navigating the thicket of trees as if he were born to it. Today, however, the winds had a different temperament. They tugged at the branches, pushing them in ways that were foreign to Legolas’ usual rhythm. Despite the occasional gust, he pressed on, undeterred by the wind’s unpredictable nature. His target was just ahead—a large, sturdy oak that beckoned with its wide, curved trunk, an ideal vantage point to survey the path ahead of him.

With a quiet intake of breath, Legolas pushed himself from the branch he stood on, aiming for the next tree. His feet hit the bark of a nearby trunk, but the moment his foot made contact, the wind howled, sending the branch above him shaking. A sharp, biting gust knocked him off balance, sending his weight tipping too far forward. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but there was no saving his fall. His foot slipped and caught on something—a hidden vine that had been entwined around the branch, its tendrils nearly invisible beneath the thick leaves. The vine yanked him downward with terrifying speed.

Legolas had no time to react, his body twisting awkwardly as he plunged into the air. The ground rushed toward him with an unforgiving speed, the leaves and branches below offering no soft landing. He collided with the earth, his body slamming into the forest floor with a sickening crack, his breath knocked from his chest. The sharp pain that followed surged through his body, the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoing in his ears. His left arm crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle, and he gasped for breath, the world around him blurring as the pain spread like fire. For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The wind continued to roar above, but to Legolas, it felt muffled, as if the world had drawn a curtain around his consciousness. His arm was on fire, and when he tried to move, a sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his side. His ribs had taken the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the ache deep within his chest. Blood surged to his face as he struggled to lift his head, the taste of copper in his mouth.

He tried to focus, to push through the pain, but it was too much. His vision swam in and out, the edges of the world growing hazy. The forest seemed to grow distant, even as the familiar rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds lingered. But there, in the midst of it all, a familiar presence approached, cutting through the fog of his senses like a lifeline. “Legolas!” The voice called out, strained with worry. He tried to lift his head, to reassure you, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced a weak, pained smile, as if to say that he was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The sharpness of his breath betrayed him, and the agony seeping through his side and arm was an undeniable truth. His body was broken, his pride wounded more than anything else. “I should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting toward you. He longed to stand, to be strong and invulnerable as he always had been—but today, the forest had proven him wrong.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching at the sight of the once-immovable elf now reduced to a figure of vulnerability, his chest heaving with every strained breath. The forest around you, usually a place of strength and safety, felt strangely hollow in the wake of Legolas’s fall. There was a heavy silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and Legolas’s pained breathing. His face, usually so full of resolve, was now marked by an expression you rarely saw—a mixture of frustration and helplessness. Legolas’s gaze met yours, and though he tried to muster a smile, it was weak, faltering. His pale lips trembled slightly, his eyes betraying the agony that racked his body. His pride, ever so strong, was struggling beneath the weight of his injury. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his uninjured arm, hoping to offer him some comfort, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this moment.

“You are careful,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “This was simply misfortune. The winds… they are strong today, and the vines—” You shook your head, trailing off. “This is not your fault.” You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the battle between accepting help and retaining his dignity. You didn’t want to add to his frustration, so you simply stayed by his side, offering your steady presence. The words felt inadequate against the weight of his pain, but you hoped the softness in your voice would reach him where words alone couldn’t. You stayed quiet for a moment, allowing the connection between you both to speak where words had failed. Legolas didn’t have to say anything; the look he gave you—so full of trust, of quiet acceptance—spoke louder than anything he could have voiced. Despite the agony clearly radiating from his body, he seemed to find solace in your proximity. His chest, which had been rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps, began to steady a little. He let out a small breath, his eyes closing for just a second as if gathering strength from your touch. “I… I did not wish to fail,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You didn’t fail, Legolas.” You kept your tone soft and steady, pressing your palm against his arm in an attempt to convey more than words ever could. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

There was a pause, and in that quiet space, Legolas’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. His chest continued to rise and fall, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—a deep gratitude, even if he didn’t voice it. You exhaled slowly, drawing yourself up and positioning yourself to support him. The forest was still swirling with the sharp gusts of wind, but they felt distant now, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. You could sense his reluctance to move, to allow you to help him, but you could also see the helplessness there. “Legolas, I need you to let me help you,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, the way one would coax a wounded animal back to safety. “We need to get you back to the palace, to the healer’s ward. You need rest, and the proper care.” He shifted slightly, his face contorted in discomfort, but he nodded ever so slightly, accepting your words despite the obvious strain. “I trust you,” he whispered, though the words sounded more like a promise than a statement.

With a steadying breath, you gently helped him sit up, supporting his weight as you moved slowly to your feet, your hands moving with practiced ease despite the worry gnawing at you. His arm—broken and hanging awkwardly—made it difficult for him to move, but he leaned into you, trusting you not to let him fall. You felt his body shudder slightly with each step, and you pressed him closer to your side, your arm wrapping around his back to support him. The walk back to the palace would not be easy, and Legolas would certainly protest at every slow, painful step, but right now, the greatest comfort you could offer him was this—your steady presence and your promise that you would not let him go, not now, when he needed you most. The forest seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was the bond you shared, the understanding between you.

Together, you would face the journey ahead, the hardship of the return to the palace, and the healing that would follow. You only hoped the healer’s ward��or perhaps your own chambers—would be enough to ease the pain of his body, as you had already begun to ease the burden on his heart. The journey back to the palace had been slow, each step a painful reminder of Legolas’s injury. His body leaned heavily against you, his breath shallow and labored, but through it all, he made no complaint. He trusted you, and that trust seemed to be a steadying force between the two of you.

When you finally reached your healer’s chambers, the weight of relief was almost tangible. The familiar scent of herbs, the soft glow of candles, and the calming silence of the room provided a sense of safety you both needed. You gently eased Legolas onto the cushioned cot, making sure he was as comfortable as possible despite his injuries. His pale face showed the strain of the journey, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he settled, his left arm resting awkwardly at his side. “Legolas,” you murmured softly, “I need to tend to your wounds now.” He gave a slight nod, though his gaze shifted to the fire in the corner of the room. His thoughts seemed distant for a moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling the sting of his own helplessness. But then his eyes met yours again, steady, though still strained with pain. “I trust you,” he said, the words laced with quiet reassurance. It was a simple statement, yet one that carried so much weight—perhaps more than he realized. In those three words, there was a sense of surrender, of willingness to allow you to care for him in the way that only you could.

You moved to his side, your hands gently cupping his injured head. There was a deep gash at his temple, a result of the harsh impact when he fell. The blood had dried around the wound, leaving dark streaks in his golden hair, but the cut itself, though deep, did not seem to threaten his life. You carefully wiped away the dried blood, murmuring quiet reassurances as you worked. “Hold still, Legolas,” you instructed softly, applying a healing poultice to the wound. The herb mixture would help reduce the swelling and stop the bleeding. His muscles tensed for a brief moment, the pain seeping through him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you as if seeking comfort in your touch. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice still strained but laced with that familiar elvish calm, “I’ve never been in this position before. To be so reliant on someone else.”

You paused in your movements, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability there was raw, a stark contrast to the proud, composed warrior you’d always known. “It’s alright, Legolas,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “Even the strongest among us need help sometimes.” He closed his eyes, a faint exhale escaping his lips. “I know. It’s just… hard to let go.” You allowed him a moment of peace, then continued tending to his wound, your fingers careful and gentle as you bound the head wound with soft cloth. Once that was done, your attention shifted to his left arm. The bone was sprained, and though the swelling had reduced since the fall, the joint was clearly stiff and bruised. You moved with practiced ease, easing the arm into a splint, your touch soft yet firm as you ensured the injured limb was held in place. Legolas’s breath hitched slightly when you adjusted the bandages, the movement clearly painful, but he remained still.

“It’ll heal, Legolas,” you assured him quietly as you worked, your fingers deftly wrapping the cloth around his arm. “I’m not going to let it stay like this.” He let out a breath, as if trying to center himself, and then slowly nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice tight but thankful. The final injury you needed to tend to was his ribs. You gently pressed along his side, the motion slow and deliberate. The bruising there was significant, a dark purplish hue spreading across the delicate skin of his side. You could feel the crack in the ribs, the sharp edges still unsettled, and you knew it would take time for them to heal. His breath hitched when you applied pressure to the area, the pain evident on his face, but again, he didn’t cry out. You paused, your hand resting gently on his side as you spoke in a soft, soothing tone, “I’ll use a salve to help ease the pain and help with the healing. But you need to be still. This will take time.”

“I’ll be still,” Legolas murmured, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on the comfort you offered. “I trust you.” You worked quickly, applying the salve to the bruised skin and wrapping a bandage around his ribs to stabilize them. His body stiffened slightly at the tightness of the wrap, but there was no protest. Instead, he allowed you to continue, his focus solely on your hands as they moved with practiced care. When everything was done, you stepped back, giving him space to breathe and adjust to the healing that had just begun. He lay there, his chest rising and falling with each careful breath, his eyes now closed in rest. “You should rest,” you said quietly, your voice soft as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.” Legolas’s lips parted in a faint smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough. “And you, healer, have done more than I could ever ask.” His words warmed you, though you kept your focus on him, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. In that moment, the world outside seemed distant, the forest’s winds now nothing more than a faint hum beyond the walls. All that mattered was the quiet, steady beat of his breath, and the knowledge that you would remain by his side, tending to him, helping him heal—body and heart alike.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The night had settled over Lothlórien, its deep shadows cloaking the ancient trees as the sounds of the forest murmured in the distance. Haldir, tall and regal in his elven armor, moved through the woods with his patrol, his eyes sharp, ever watchful for signs of danger. The crisp evening air seemed to hold its breath as his team of Marchwardens made their way along the northern border of the woods, silent as ghosts. The patrol was routine, at first, a quiet stretch of the forest where nothing out of the ordinary stirred. But the tension in the air was palpable — something was off. Haldir’s senses were finely tuned to the rhythms of the woods, and he could feel the disturbance before he saw it. The faintest movement caught his eye, a flash of unnatural dark shapes cutting through the trees, growing nearer. “Orcs,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. He raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. The Marchwardens came to an immediate stop, crouching low behind the thick trunks of the trees, their eyes scanning the area. Haldir’s pulse quickened, but his mind remained as clear and focused as ever. There were at least six orcs—perhaps more—crawling like vermin through the underbrush. The smell of their foul presence was unmistakable, the rancid odor of their filthy bodies filling the air.

He turned to his team, issuing swift orders. “Wait for my signal. We strike in silence.” The elves melted into the shadows, their movements a blur of elegance and deadly precision. Haldir stayed at the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of his bow lightly brushing against his leg. The orcs were unaware of their presence, their crude voices rising in excited chatter as they drew closer to the border. Haldir’s keen eyes picked out a clearing ahead, and he knew the orcs were about to walk right into the trap. With a subtle nod, he gave the signal. The elves sprang into action. Haldir’s bowstring twanged as he loosed the first arrow, striking an orc in the chest, sending it tumbling backward. The rest of the patrol exploded into action, arrows flying with deadly precision, blades flashing as the elves descended on the orcs like a storm.

The orcs tried to fight back, but the Marchwardens were too swift, too skilled. Haldir darted forward, his sword a gleaming arc of silver in the moonlight as he engaged with the nearest orc. The beast growled in anger, raising a crude axe to swing at him. But Haldir was faster, parrying the blow with ease and cutting through the orc’s defenses with a clean, practiced strike. The orc dropped to the ground with a gurgled cry. In the chaos, Haldir’s mind remained sharp, his focus unbroken as he danced through the battle. But the orcs were numerous, and the battle raged on longer than he had anticipated. His body moved with a fluid grace, each strike and parry a seamless extension of his will. Yet, despite his skill and speed, the odds were growing against him. His team was in control, but it was a fight that would cost them. And that was when it happened.

Haldir moved to block a downward swing from an orc’s jagged sword, but the force of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder. At that precise moment, another orc, hidden in the brush, loosed an arrow with deadly accuracy. The shaft of the arrow whistled through the air, striking Haldir squarely in the shoulder blade. The force of the impact was brutal — the arrowhead slicing deep into his flesh, the shaft snapping as it buried itself deep. The pain was immediate, searing through his body like wildfire. Haldir’s breath hitched in his chest as the wound flared up, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. His eyes narrowed as the battle continued to rage around him. He could feel the blood beginning to soak through his tunic, the warmth of it spreading quickly across his back. The arrow was lodged deep in his shoulder blade, and he knew it would take a miracle to remove it without further injury.But he did not falter.

With a sharp growl, Haldir twisted his body to face the orc who had shot him, his movements quick and purposeful despite the pain. His sword was already raised, and in one fluid motion, he severed the orc’s head from its body. The creature fell in a heap, and Haldir’s gaze swept across the remaining orcs. His hand was pressed tightly against his shoulder, but the battle was far from over. His thoughts were sharp, focused on protecting his team and ensuring the safety of the border. He fought with renewed fury, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the blood dripping down his back. The rest of the orcs were soon dispatched, their bodies falling to the ground in defeat. Haldir’s movements slowed as the adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of his injury hit him all at once. His vision swam slightly, his body beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself upright.

But even then, Haldir refused to show weakness. He turned to his comrades, nodding in approval. “The border is clear,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Return to Caras Galadhon.” His warriors began the trek back, but Haldir lingered behind for a moment. His hand remained pressed against his wound, but he did not let his pace slow. The forest whispered around him, the pain in his shoulder growing worse with each step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Haldir made the decision to return. His determination to complete his duty overrode everything else. He would return to the healing hall soon enough. But for now, the pain of the arrow in his shoulder was just another burden to bear. The border was safe. That was all that mattered. The evening air had grown still as the last rays of the sun melted beneath the horizon, leaving the forest draped in an eerie quiet. You walked with purpose toward the healing hall, your footsteps light and measured as you thought about the day’s duties. It had been an exhausting shift, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound, save for the occasional chirp of a bird as it settled for the night.

Then, just as you neared the hall, you heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively recognized the tread. Haldir. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper in the wind, but the unease that followed it made you freeze. You didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. His presence, usually so confident, was off. When he came into view, your breath caught in your throat. Haldir, the proud and skilled Marchwarden, was walking slowly, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. There was an unnatural pallor to his usually composed face, his posture noticeably slumped. His steps faltered slightly with each movement, his free hand clenched at his side, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. You moved without thinking, rushing to him as the faint glint of blood caught your eyes. His usually pristine armor was marred by the dark stain seeping through the fabric. The sight of it made your heart sink, and you forced yourself to remain calm despite the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Haldir!” Your voice cracked as you neared him, your hand reaching out, unable to stop it. You could see the arrow now, embedded deep into his shoulder, its shaft jutting awkwardly from the flesh, the blood trailing down his arm. The injury was serious—too serious for him to be walking at all. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to appear unaffected, but the faint tremor in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone too calm, too controlled, attempting to downplay the severity of the wound. You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were already at his side, your fingers gently brushing against the cold metal of his armor before resting over the blood-soaked area where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. A mixture of relief and frustration washed over you, but it was mostly the latter. “You think I’m blind?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Haldir, look at you. This is far from nothing.” His jaw tightened immediately, that familiar stubborn set to his features. You had seen it countless times, but never in such an intimate moment. He winced slightly as you shifted his shoulder, his face betraying the sharp pain despite his attempt to hide it. His eyes locked with yours again, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it was just pride.

“The orcs were dealt with,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but firm. “The patrol is safe, and I…” You cut him off, unable to keep your frustration at bay. “Stop it,” you said, your hands working quickly but with great care to steady his shoulder. “You should have returned to the healing hall immediately. You’ve put yourself in danger for no reason.” You tried to keep your voice even, but it wavered. The fear, the concern you had felt when you first saw him like this threatened to break through. “This arrow could’ve hit a vital organ, Haldir. How long did you walk like this?” His eyes lowered for a moment, and there was a pause—an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.” A lump rose in your throat. You could hear the weight of the words, the unspoken burden he had carried for so long. You shook your head, your hands still gently bracing his injury. “You don’t have to protect me from your injuries. I care for you, Haldir. Let me help you.” His gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of pride in the way he stood, as if this was a burden he was meant to bear alone. But his body betrayed him, the blood soaking through his tunic, his stance weakening. For a brief moment, you wondered if he would finally allow himself to lean on you, if the burden of his responsibility could be shared, if the trust between you both could be enough.

But instead, Haldir stood there, his chin lifted, eyes meeting yours with a quiet resolve. He might never admit it, but you could see it in his gaze. He wanted you to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it outright. You didn’t need him to ask. With You felt Haldir’s breath quicken slightly as you gently guided him into a sitting position, his face betraying the strain of the injury. His body had tensed when you first touched his shoulder, the sharp sting of the wound still fresh. The warmth of his skin and the blood that seeped through the fabric beneath your fingers reminded you of the urgency. “Just breathe, Haldir,” you murmured again, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently massaging to keep him as relaxed as possible. The last thing you needed was for him to tense up too much.

His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, even with the obvious discomfort. He didn’t say anything at first, but you saw the way his lips pressed together, the only sign of the pain he was in. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, but he did not flinch as you worked to ease the weight of his injury. Taking a deep breath yourself, you focused your attention on the arrow that was lodged deep in his shoulder, its shaft protruding from the skin. You could see the darkening stain around the wound, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The arrow had pierced through the flesh and muscle, leaving behind an ugly, jagged tear in its wake. It wasn’t just an arrow wound—it was a threat.

Carefully, you examined the entry point, noting how deep the arrow had gone. It had lodged near the shoulder blade, the shaft lodged at an awkward angle, which had likely caused the pain in his arm and neck. But from the way his breath caught as you probed the edges of the wound, it was clear it had caused more than just superficial damage. His body was already reacting—he was weakening, albeit slightly, as if the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Haldir,” you said, keeping your tone as soft as you could, “I need you to stay still. This will hurt, but I need to remove the arrow now. It’s too deep for any healing to begin until it’s out.” His eyes flickered to yours again, that glint of pride still there. “I can manage,” he muttered, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stay composed, despite his obvious discomfort.

You nodded, not giving him the chance to protest further. You could feel the heat of his skin through his tunic, the erratic pulse beneath it—the fire of the wound was raging beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the arrow. Your fingers brushed against the shaft with delicate precision, trying to assess how best to grip it without making the injury worse. You would need to pull it straight out, carefully, with no jerks or sudden moves, or risk further damage to the surrounding tissue. The arrowhead had cut through muscle, and any force now could cause irreparable damage.

His breath hitched as you placed your fingers just beneath the base of the arrow, your other hand bracing his shoulder. You didn’t let your gaze leave his face, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of pain flashing across his expression. “I’m going to do it now,” you warned softly, your hands steady as you carefully began to pull the arrow out. It was a slow, agonizing process. As the arrow began to inch free, Haldir let out a strained breath, his body rigid beneath your hands. The tension in him was palpable, but he remained silent, determined not to show weakness. You couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though it made your heart ache to see him in such pain.

The shaft finally broke free from the wound with a soft, wet sound. Blood welled up from the deep gash where the arrow had been, and you quickly moved to staunch the bleeding with a cloth you had brought. The arrowhead had embedded into his muscle, and though you had been as careful as possible, you could feel the depth of the damage. You knew it would require more than just cleaning; this wound would need stitches and time to heal properly. Haldir’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his body tense but still under control. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes never left yours. He was fighting through the pain, but you could see the edges of his composure fraying. “I told you it was nothing,” he muttered with a crooked smile, despite the obvious discomfort.

You let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with the relief of knowing you had gotten the worst of it over with. “You always say that,” you said gently, your fingers now pressing against the wound to slow the bleeding. “I’m not so sure you understand the meaning of ‘nothing,’ Haldir.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but you could see his body waver with each move. It wasn’t easy for him to sit still, especially when the wound was so fresh. But you needed him still, so you pressed a little harder against the injury, keeping him grounded. “I’ll clean it up now,” you said, your hands moving methodically to wipe away the blood and debris that clung to the injury. “Stay still, this will sting.” Haldir gave a slight nod but didn’t complain. His resolve never seemed to break. Even though you knew the pain he was in, he never once asked for relief. You admired that about him—his strength, even when he could barely hold himself up.

You reached for another cloth, dipping it in a solution of water and herbs meant to disinfect the wound. Gently, you cleaned around the edges, careful not to touch too harshly. His face remained neutral, though the occasional tightness in his jaw gave away his discomfort. “Almost done,” you reassured him softly as you finished cleaning the area, before moving to apply a salve to help with the healing. For a brief moment, the air between you was still. The world around you seemed to fade into the background. There was only the soft rustling of the forest, the quiet hiss of Haldir’s breath as he relaxed, and the steady rhythm of your hands at work.

When you finally finished, you looked up at him, your hands gently wrapping the wound with a bandage. His face was still pale, but the tension had eased a little, and the pain, though still present, seemed to be under control. You met his gaze, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. “You’re going to be alright,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet certainty. Haldir’s lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at them despite his exhaustion. “I trust you,” he replied, the words soft but genuine. And as you finished tending to his injury, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Not just for his recovery, but for the promise in his eyes—one you intended to keep.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had always moved with an innate grace, his every step deliberate and fluid, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to support his movements. He was known for his poise and precision, the quiet elegance with which he carried out his duties. Today was no different. In his arms, he carefully balanced a stack of scrolls—ancient texts, maps, and records critical to Lord Elrond’s ongoing studies. These documents were important, and Lindir, ever dutiful, had taken it upon himself to personally deliver them. He moved briskly through the stone halls of Rivendell, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, intent on his task. His thoughts, however, were not solely on the scrolls. You had joined him as you both walked down the hallway toward Elrond’s study, offering light conversation as you spoke of evening plans. The air was cool, rich with the scent of old parchment and the quiet hum of Rivendell’s daily rhythm. The sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows that danced on the stone floor. You spoke softly, the sound of your voice mingling with the distant sounds of elves working and laughing within the sanctuary of Rivendell. As you walked beside him, the quiet symphony of the day enveloped both of you in a calm moment. Lindir’s usual calm demeanor seemed impenetrable, his attention divided between the scrolls and your conversation, both important in their own right. He was a master at balancing the two, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As you neared the stone steps leading up to Lord Elrond’s study, Lindir’s attention momentarily drifted. His focus shifted to something in the air, perhaps a fleeting thought or a concern, and in that fraction of a second, his foot found an unforgiving edge of one of the ancient stones. His perfectly poised step faltered. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The scrolls in his arms shifted dangerously, as though mocking the very precision he prided himself on. With a sharp, startled gasp, Lindir tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late. The stack of scrolls flew from his grasp, the flutter of parchment sounding like the softest wind as it scattered through the air. He could feel his body tipping forward, his arms instinctively reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. But gravity, unforgiving and indifferent, took over. His body plunged toward the ground with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the stone corridor. His chest slammed into the ground first, followed by his arm—his left arm.

The stone steps beneath him, cold and unyielding, seemed to mock his usually smooth and graceful movements as he twisted in mid-air, trying to shield himself. But the fall was brutal. One of his arms hit the ground at an unnatural angle, a harsh, jarring crunch echoing in his ears as the force of his body weight drove it further out of position. His cry of pain, sharp and strained, was swallowed quickly by the cold air. The world around him spun, his senses overwhelmed by the sharpness of his injury. The scrolls—those documents he had carried with such care—now lay in a disordered mess around him. The faint sounds of paper rustling were drowned by the pounding of his own heartbeat. Pain surged through him, and the world tilted. His left arm throbbed, a radiating pain that consumed him, while the sharp sting of a cut on his forehead sent a wave of dizziness over him. The blood from the cut trickled down his temple, staining his usually pristine features, a cruel reminder of how easily things could fall apart. His face, normally serene, was contorted in an expression of agony, his once composed features now a mask of pain.

For a moment, Lindir could do nothing but lie there, dazed, trying to catch his breath. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the sudden, chaotic turn of events. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, pressing against his chest, the sharpness of the injury in his arm pulling him back to the present. His breathing came in ragged gasps, but it was the pain, more than anything, that rattled him. His arm—a trusted instrument for countless tasks—felt like it no longer belonged to him, as though it had been twisted into an impossible position. He glanced down at his left arm, now pressed awkwardly beneath him, the unnatural angle sending another wave of nausea through him. His head swam, and his breath became even more erratic as he tried—too stubborn to admit defeat—to move, to push himself up. But the pain was unbearable. He winced, a low groan escaping his lips as he attempted to shift his arm, but all that came was a sharp, agonizing spike of discomfort. His entire body trembled as the pain overwhelmed him, yet still, he tried to maintain some semblance of control, his pride fighting against the onslaught of sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” Lindir managed to say, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. His voice was tight, each syllable forced out, and the tremor in his tone betrayed him. He wanted to reassure you, to make it seem like the fall had not shaken him, that it was simply a minor inconvenience. But even he knew his attempt was futile. His arm, the position it held, the way he cradled it against his chest—all of it told a different story. The pain was too great for him to hide, but the embarrassment of having fallen in front of you, so clumsy and ungraceful, gnawed at him. Lindir, always composed, always perfect in his movements, now felt utterly helpless. The embarrassment of the moment was almost as painful as the injury itself. He could see the concern in your eyes, but even as you knelt beside him, you could feel the tension in his body. It was not the fear of injury that haunted him—it was the sense of failure. Of how he, ever the dutiful and careful elf, had fallen so easily.

Lindir’s calm, composed demeanor had cracked in that instant. Despite the unbearable pain, despite the injury, he fought to maintain his dignity, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. But his usual unshakable poise seemed so far away, lost amidst the swirling chaos of pain, embarrassment, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he closed his eyes briefly, his head dropping forward as the shame of the fall weighed on him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he lay there, fighting not to break down. The pain was more than he had expected, but it was the humiliation of his fall, his inability to stay composed in the face of an accident, that truly rattled him.

You knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cupped his face, guiding his head back up so that your eyes met. His words cut through you, the depth of his shame reaching places you hadn’t expected. But you weren’t angry or disappointed—in fact, your heart swelled with affection for him, for the strength he showed even in this moment of weakness. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindir,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. “You didn’t choose this. Accidents happen, and they don’t make you any less than the elf I know. You’re allowed to be human, to be vulnerable, especially with me.”

You paused, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek as you continued, “You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. Don’t you think it’s okay for me to do the same for you now?” Lindir’s gaze softened, though the shadows of his embarrassment still lingered, tucked away in the corners of his eyes. But slowly, as he absorbed your words, he seemed to relax just a little more, the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You are so much stronger than you think,” you added, your voice gentle but insistent, “and you don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Not when you’ve got me.” You could see it then—the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, His face was drawn, pale from both the pain and the embarrassment of his fall. His body trembled slightly, not just from the injury, but from the pride he fought so desperately to maintain. You could see the struggle in his eyes—he wasn’t ready to show weakness, not even to you. Still, you gently guided him back down, your hands firm yet tender, urging him to sit and take a breath.

“I’m going to help you,” you said, your voice soft but firm, offering him a reassuring smile even though your heart was racing in worry. Lindir didn’t argue, though the effort to keep his composure was clear in the way his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered toward the scattered scrolls, and his chest heaved slightly as he tried to push past the pain. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist on retrieving the documents for Lord Elrond, but you were already giving orders. “Someone, please take the scrolls to Lord Elrond for me,” you instructed to a nearby elf, who had paused upon hearing the crash. “I’ll take care of Lindir.” Lindir, ever diligent and intent on doing his duties, made a small, frustrated noise, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings—he was thankful for your intervention. He simply wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet. As the elf hurried off to take the scrolls, you turned back to Lindir. He winced as you pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him toward the healer’s ward, your voice gentle yet insistent.

“Come on, you need rest. It’s not just your arm,” you urged, trying to get him to focus. The injury to his head had begun to bleed more than you’d originally noticed, the cut on his forehead still weeping crimson, his usual pristine appearance marred by the blood. Lindir hesitated, then slowly nodded, his usual determination fading slightly in the face of his injury. As the two of you made your way to the healer’s ward, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on his face, the way his steps faltered despite his best efforts to appear composed. His left arm hung at a strange angle, and each movement seemed to send another wave of pain through him.

Inside your healing chambers, you guided him to a chair by the low fire, the warmth of it offering a faint sense of comfort in the midst of the tension that hung between you both. You could feel the weight of his gaze, though he kept his eyes averted. He was embarrassed, not only by the fall but by the vulnerability of needing help. “Lindir, sit,” you said firmly, your tone brokering no argument. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to appear strong—but his body had already betrayed him. He obeyed with a slight, reluctant nod, and you moved to fetch the supplies you needed. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored, and his face was flushed with pain. You carefully began to clean the cut on his forehead, the small wound on his temple trickling blood. The moment your fingers brushed against the tender skin, Lindir flinched, his body tensing as though the slightest touch might send him over the edge. His eyes met yours, a flash of something unspoken passing between you—the quiet, unyielding trust he placed in you to tend to him, even when he would never ask for it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindir murmured, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I should have been more careful. I… didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t want to worry you.” You glanced up at him, surprised by his admission, but you said nothing at first. Instead, you gently pressed a cloth to his forehead to stop the bleeding, your fingers soft but certain. “Lindir, Accidents happen all the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself darling.” You softened the words, trying to reassure him even though the pain in his voice was cutting deep. You could see his eyes flicker with the weight of his pride, still trying to maintain that stoic façade. It was hard for him to show anything less than perfection, but you could also see his vulnerability there, hidden beneath the layers.

You moved next to his arm, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady but filled with the knowledge of the task at hand. His arm was broken, and it had to be set before anything else could be done. You could feel his body tense as you gently, but firmly, moved his arm into place, adjusting it to a more natural position. The pain must have been unbearable. Lindir’s breath caught sharply, his face twisting in agony, but he said nothing. His jaw was set tight, his hands clenched into fists, but not a word of protest came from him. He wouldn’t let you see the full extent of his discomfort, not even now. You glanced up at him, his eyes now closed, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “I need to set the bone, Lindir,” you murmured softly, trying to prepare him. You didn’t wait for a response before you began. Slowly, with gentle precision, you aligned the bone, pulling it back into place. Lindir’s body stiffened beneath your hands, his breath hitching sharply as he fought to keep the noise of pain buried within him. But you could hear it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his body quivered with the sheer effort of holding it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the arm in a splint, wrapping it with careful attention. The moment you finished, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Lindir’s arm was now stable, though you could see the exhaustion settling into his face. You rose to your feet, your hands gently brushing away the strands of hair from his forehead, and your heart ached for him. You could tell how much he wanted to be strong for you, how much he hated the feeling of being vulnerable. But in this moment, he had allowed you to tend to him, to be the one who kept him safe. And though he would never admit it aloud, you knew he appreciated it more than words could say. “Thank you my love,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from both the pain and the emotion that he had fought to suppress. “I… didn’t want to need this. Didn’t want to need help.” You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his uninjured hand, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lindir,” you said softly. “Not with me.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle between you both. It was a small surrender, but it was all he could give in that moment. And for you, it was enough.

[mossiishroom]

TR! Pili/Mocha Masterpost!

All info is from the OOC Lore stream on 21/1/25 [TALKING ABOUT MY CHARACTER The Realm SMP] streamed on DTownGato

Info will be separated into sections via subject! Feel free to repost this to Twitter with credit! (I have Twitter but no idea how to use it.)

Read under the cut! (Sorry if things are unorganized!)

General Info

Mocha, being a feline hybrid, has tendencies to those similar of a cat, primarily being the instinct to kill and toy with his victims

It was also stated that he is able to purr and meow during this, so it can be assumed most instincts of cats apply to him (Except use of a litter box which was outright stated, he uses a normal bathroom guys)

Mocha is completely asexual, and is somewhere on the aromantic spectrum

He doesn’t have a clear understanding of romance, and wouldn’t do the act of starting a family, cuddling, physical affection

Pili stated that Mocha’s idea of romance differs from the norm but didn’t really clarify what it actually was, I assume well see more of this in character (Personal theory is romance to him is being devoted to one another)

It was stated that he does feel some strong emotions for Pangi that aren’t explicitly romantic but not exactly full platonic as far as I understood?

Also said Mocha could be in a polycule/polyamorous

Doesn’t take flirting or asking people out on dates seriously at all because he doesn’t take romance seriously, even if it hurts people (Asking people out is funny to him though because of their reactions)

An observer and over-analyzer at heart

The thing he hates most is people lying/betraying him

Loves the cold and the snow

Doesn’t have any particular fears, not even death

“Pili is a male calico cat..all calico’s are female, so take that as you will” (TRANS CANON!!!)

Does not take most things seriously, pretty much everything is silly to him

Not the type to have a single home or stay in a place for very long, constantly on the move and changing his home

Pili’s boundaries [I feel this is relevant]: Shipping is ok as long as it is his character, and the other person is ok with it. Gore/Horror art is a yes as well! Just no NSFW!

Dislikes having any sort of attachments, to anything. This applies to people, a place, pets and objects and tries to keep everything at a distance (This seems to have failed with Pangi)

Often lacks empathy for most people

Self-centered and does this for his own gain, and a very transaction person (However, Pili did say that Mocha is not narcissistic)

Mocha is all bark and all bite, he’d fight more if not for the fact he doesn’t wanna be an asshole to other people on the realm OOC as most of them aren’t pvpers

Listens to hardcore rock music!

He had met one immortal previous to being on realms, there is a chance this will come up again as Pili refused to elaborate further

Self-Destructive Tendencies

Highly likely to provoke people into fights for his own pleasure, even and especially if they are stronger than him

Self-loathing, his own biggest enemy and an enjoyer of self-suffering until others get involved (usually this means people he cares about, not so much for people he’s neutral towards)

Mentioned avoidant-attachment style, however I don’t feel comfortable going into more depth as I’m not educated on it. Added on is an uncomfortableness with emotional intimacy as it’s unfamiliar to him

A masochist, does not fear extreme physical pain and often enjoys it (unsure if he believes he deserves it or if he just likes pain in general, could also be both)

Self-destructive with suicidal tendencies and is completely aware of it, does not want to be stopped from doing so

Often drawn to those with high power either to leech off of or fight

Opinions on others

Clownpierce

His obsession started with a challenge from Clown who stated (in a mocking tone) that Pili could try and kill him

From then on he became determined and obsessed with fighting him, uncaring if he won or lost

Due to self-destructive tendencies he doesn’t care and sees loosing or winning as a win, he either gets his ass beat (which he loves) or he wins and gains respect

Enjoys the sort of one-sided obsession, as it’s what he thinks he deserves (Rather than Pangi’s love for him)

Ultimately he does want to be able to prove him wrong but due to ooc reasons (See: The alchemy buff) he’s likely unable to win the fight

His character lost a lot of motivation as well when Clown wasn’t impressed with him fighting and not bringing an actual axe was an extreme regret for him

Roscumber

Genuinely despises her (Quote. Mocha does not like Ros at all)

Purposefully provokes Ros, in the hopes that it will lure in Clown to a fight

Mocha is very aware Ros is Clown’s weakness, just as Pangi is his

He is not above killing her to get Clown’s attention. The only thing that really stops him is that he knows Ros can’t fight very well OOC and it would cause problems behind the scenes

He believes that Ros’ kindness is cute, but extremely naive and that at some point she will bump into someone who is true evil and that her kindness will get her killed

Pangi

Pangi is one of his only weaknesses and his biggest attachment, and he hates him for it in a way

However, Pangi is his ride or die, they have each others backs no matter what kind of atrocities either commit

Although he flirts with everyone for his (and Bad’s) entertainment, he feels that Pangi may have some unspoken feelings for him and due to it feeling somewhat real, he tries to push him away

On the AroAce spec, however he does feel something for Pangi (Not explicitly romantic, this remains unclarified for now?)

One of two people Mocha truly cares about

Pangi’s insistence on trying to stop him from dying rubs him off strange, and the divorce was a test to see how he’d react in a way, which he did fail. However Mocha’s weak spot for him ultimately overpowers anything else

He is well aware he’s a bad person and thinks Pangi’s love is too good for him, resulting in Mocha trying to push him away as it feels undeserving and Pangi needs better

Badboyhalo

Mocha somewhat sees BBH as an older brother, however he does not understand family dynamics as he has never had a family

One of two people he actually cares for

Is more likely to inform Bad of secrets than he is Pangi, because he knows Bad would not have any extreme emotional reactions to loosing him and will not form an attachment to him

Would likely fight him for fun and choose to fight him over Foolish out of curiosity to see what would happen if he died

Finds his relationship with Foolish entertaining and analyzes it closely

As far as we know, the only person who has ever made Mocha have a panic reaction (Occured when Bad killed him) due to catching him completely off guard

The main reason Mocha asks people out is for Bad’s entertainment (And his own, but he enjoys making Bad laugh)

Foolish

Mocha is drawn to his immortality and strength and is extremely curious about him

His bickering with Bad is a source of entertainment to him

Krowfang

Mocha is somewhat protective of her (This comes both from the in character deal of protection between them, as well as being close friends irl)

Thinks it’s ballsy for stealing the bell and antagonizing Owen, but approves and would consider him an ally

Jonnaay

Thinks he is worth training and protecting after seeing the somewhat attempt on Tubbo’s life with the anvil trap

Believes he could have potential

Badlinu

Thinks he’s chill, maybe a bit endearing however he falls into pretty much the same category as Sausage

As in, he likely won’t help with quests and is mainly there to build

Smajor1995

To him, Scott is not even really a red faction member, instead blue

Scott had contributed nothing towards the quest and mainly builds

Others+

AverageHarry dies too much but he at least tries

Tommy/Slimcicle/Baghera don’t log on enough for him to have an opinion on them

[gia-batmm-crickle22]

!! Dr. Ratio, Nous & Fuli and Amphoreus Theory !!

Okay, I've got something cooking up, and this is just a theory, don't worry, so please take all of this with a grain of salt ^^; Also, this involves spoilers so please turn away if you haven't played the 3.0 update yet!

So, people have theorized that Dr. Ratio is from Amphoreus. Before the proof was just simply "His clothes and aesthetic are similar to Amphoreus!" But after Amphoreus was released, the theory is actually getting more proof.

Here's one proof:

Ratio and the Titankin of Strife have interesting similarities. Not simply because of the color and the book, but power-wise, they have similar abilities. They both can turn into stone, with Ratio more replicating himself after turning into stone while he has also the ability of wearing a stone bust.

So my theory goes;

What if Dr. Ratio is a half-Titankin that was exiled from Amphoreus?

After the Main Quest, we get a message from Aglaea that sends us to the Adventure Quest "I Once Was In Arcadia", which uncovers a love story between a guy named Paris and a Strife Titankin Furiae Archer.

This was enough for me to understand that Titankins CAN feel more than their original path like Strife. From this quest, I've also understood Amphoreus natives fear Titankins and would have them discriminated at one mistake.

From that, I made the theory of Ratio being half-Titankin. Of course, that would mean his parents were hated and possibly executed. And since Ratio has the face and intelligence of a human with the skills and power of a Titankin, he was seen as a danger to Amphoreus. This aligns to the fact that the Sky Titan Aquila refuses to let anyone leave the planet (from what Aglaea had stated), so the people sent Ratio (probably when he was a child) in attempt to get rid of him. However, Aquila spared him (given he was exiled, not attempting to escape).

Now, ik Amphoreus was destroyed and what we're looking at is just the memory of it, so...

How would this be possible?

Well, in the game, we see that Titankins can change into stone, right? And when you change from Past/Day to Present/Night, the Titankins change too. They turn to stone, almost like a hibernation that keeps them alive despite the years.

With that in mind, I theorize that Ratio was also able to do that, even as a child, his powers/instincts took over and he stayed in stone when he landed in another planet, unbothered and sleeping. When he finally awakens, he's still a child, but Amphoreus is long gone.

Now, where does Nous play a part in this?

As we know, Erudition is one of the paths that's involved with Amphoreus, thus Nous has a role to play in this theory, especially in terms of Ratio. Unlike Fuli, who kept the planet's memory, Nous (as theorized) has no interest with a planet that no longer exists.

This could explain why Nous refuses to answer Herta's questions about Amphoreus.

Now, about Ratio. Ratio was rejected by Nous in joining the Genius Society because he cares about people more than the pursue for knowledge. Ratio has a weakness that Nous makes sure none of the other Genius's have, so THEY turned him away.

But what if it was so much more than that?

What if Nous is aware that Ratio is from Amphoreus and not only do THEY not like the fact that Ratio has a weakness, but THEY also believe that Ratio will take advantage of his place in the Genius Society to help/rescue Amphoreus from ruin? Whether Ratio remembers his home planet or not, Nous didn't want to take the chance, believing that Amphoreus is a doomed planet from the getgo and their fate shouldn't be changed.

This could explain why Fuli (possibly) sent THEIR Memokeeper Black Swan to input the planet Amphoreus into the thoughts and ideas of the Trailblazers while (possibly) sending THEIR Memosnatcher to attempt to distract Nous and Herta from the building of THEIR plan.

When you exit Amphoreus, it's very different from the other Bad Endings. Elio is usually the script supervisor, but Amphoreus isn't.

It's an adventure that started with Black Swan, possibly sent by Fuli, thus the conclusion is that Fuli is the one who tugged on the strings and changed the script/altered the script to have the Trailblazers in Amphoreus, a land that even Akivili hasn't been in, and save Amphoreus.

With this theory, these questions remain:

Why is Fuli trying to save Amphoreus?

Will Nous try to stop the Trailblazers from saving Amphoreus?

Will Ratio return to his home planet after it's saved?

---

Again, this is all just a theory! I'll probably publish this in other platforms, sooo yeah ^^;

[theartsynebulawhodoodles]

Color has a fear of the dark.

It’s not just a childish fear they grew up with.

The darkness feels so empty. They can’t see anything, there could be something there, nothing there. Even if it’s a familiar room, it’s still scary for them to be in there.

They can’t see other people, and that scares them the most. They are aware it sounds unreasonable to some, but they feel like if they can’t see the other person, then they left them.

But to Color’s surprise, Killer likes the darkness. Killer likes how it feels. And Color doesn’t know how to tell Killer about their fear.

So, every night, Color buries it deep down and hides their fear as Killer turns off the light. Color knows that Killer would understand if Color told him, but something held Color back.

Was it desperation to be the perfect person so nobody will hate them and leave them behind?

What if Killer hated Color for taking away his darkness during the night and distanced himself away from Color?

Color didn’t try to think about it much, and just fights through their fear of darkness every night because they are scared of telling anyone about their fear.

Killer hadn’t found out. If they found out through other ways that Color had a fear of the darkness, he would feel horrible for sleeping with the lights off every night.

[twstfanblog]

Little curious, but what’s Yuu’s genuine reaction to Malleus’s overblot and the first part of chapter seven? Like up to the point they’re still in Lilias dream? Like a lot of people said that it’s basically impossible for Malleus to overblot considering how much magic he has, but it’s legitimately supposed to be ACTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE for Idia considering his curse and he did.

But then comes Lilias withdrawl from school, the going away party, Malleus suddenly appearing with Silver, declaring he has a gift, Ortho yelling about an increase in blot, the students trying to fight Malleus and failing, Malleus’s signature spell, and maybe one of the last things Yuu sees before she are put into a magical sleep, is her date mates overblot before Yuu ‘wakes up’ in a dream

It's kind of funny in and out of context, honestly. Yuu basically crashed out during book 6. Like she was ripping panels and wiring out of shit to force open doors in STYX, home girl was NOT OK.

Book 7 is that X10. Literally Malleus overblots and she screams at him that he doesn't get to do this shit. Yuu's unknowingly and knowingly under a lot of mental strain and Malleus's overblot is just another two tons thrown on top of her. I've vaguely alluded to it and talked about it in private chats with mutuals, but my Yuu DOES have the prophetic dreams. She just doesnt remember them, and thats because Yuu is much more mentally aware in the dream scape.

There's story beat reasons for this. Because I also plan on Malleus trying to trap her in her own dream, but she fully rejects it. While Yuu's home life was far from ideal, she knows what her family was like and loved them anyway, anything different could never be accepted. But in an ideal world where everything is perfect and it's literally made for her happiness, the concept of loving but not LIKING your family isn't something Malleus could recreate properly. Yuu is happier in Twist, but she still holds a lot of fears about her situation and misses certain loved ones from her own world. The only way Yuu could have accepted her dream was a complete memory overhaul since her family trauma started basically when she was gaining long-term memory.

From what we see of the dreams, they're pretty standard 'What If' scenarios, and the characters arent really changed other than thinking one or two events went differently.

Yuu and Malleus will have a private chat in the void because Malleus genuinely does not understand why Yuu wouldn't want this perfected version of her family. Nor the false narrative that she always lived in Twist.

But during Lilia's dream, Yuu's just pushed down her own fears and emotions on the topic of Malleus's overblot and wants this to be OVER already. She is very 'Malleus, I love you, and your feelings are valid, but once this is over, I'm going to beat you to death with a laddle.'

[hearts4werka]

TW for this whole post, there’s mentions of a lot of stuff so like be aware of what you’re getting into guys

Okay so I didn’t expect to be making this post but this is just completely disgusting and I cannot leave this just without adding a say into this, the whole situation happening rn and going around with @sturniololuv08 is just genuinely making me sick to my stomach, I met Bri when I was in the group chat on discord with her but previously we were following each other on here, she hasn’t private messaging me like it was with Kay and gray (check out their posts) but a lot of the times I would be on voice chat with bri in them and some of the stuff I would hear in them, there were other people but they would leave quickly cuz they said it made them uncomfortable, I didn’t wanna be rude so I was the one that stayed the longest in them and I heard almost everything the others said she was saying. The one thing that freaked me out when she said was about the poll for her next fic, the axe option that was winning currently she said that sadistic!matt would take the axe and cut off the girls toe and make him suck the blood out of it, the cnc fic was just sickening, personally I haven’t read it cuz it feels triggering for me, I’m so sorry for anyone who has read it and was either triggered or traumatized from some of the asks my friends have sent to the group chat of anons in their inbox talking about it, and I also want to talk about the relationship between bri and grace who is freshly 18, all of us are concerned for the most part for grace cuz having such a big age gap and being freshly over the age of 18 is also kind of weird to engage in it, I don’t know grace’s side of the story so I’m not going to assume anything but this relationship doesn’t seem like a good relationship at all, especially with a person like bri. The stuff she was saying in the chat as well as the voice chat were just very uncomfortable to everyone involved, including myself, every time she would write something or send anything about her fics she would constantly ping either me or everyone and was you could say pressuring us into reading it even though if someone wasn’t exactly comfortable with reading it, she would as well not add much tw with snippets she would send to the chat, gabby who is the owner of the group pointed that out multiple times and told her to put it as a spoiler or put it in tw - main but her excuse was just that everyone should know that her stuff is triggering content. The whole situation is very uncomfortable and overwhelming but I’m making this cuz bri hasn’t taken full accountability for her actions as well as she keeps making excuses for them, if you’re reading this then I advice stop texting minors to say the least and don’t do shit like this anymore nor write ‘different’ type of fics cuz we are perfectly fine with the ‘basic repeative fics’ on here, for your age i thought you would take a more mature approach to this and actually take accountability and properly apologize for this cuz talking to people way younger than you in this way is not okay, I fear you need mental help and a therapist first and foremost, maybe I’ll make another post about this maybe not but for now this is my response to this. Peace out.

Please block/report her accounts

@/letstrip1975 & @/sturniololuv08

— @mattslilies @m4ggvt @y3sterdaysproblem —

[funnier-as-a-system]

Hey, um... This ain't exactly.. An easy thing to say but, uh..

.._I SCARED OFF MY HEADMATES._

I JUST REFERRED TO THEM AS "THE VOICES" BECAUSE. WELL. I DIDN'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THIS STUFF THEN!! AND ALWAYS DISREGARDED THEM WHENEVER THEY SPOKE [THEY ARGUES A WHOLE LOT. LITERALLY COULDN'T DO ANY WORK FROM THE SOUNDS OF 0NI, D AND COMPLEXITY ARGUING ALL THE TIME-]

Ok.. Calm calm.....

So. I never ever listened to them and sometimes also arguing with them tried my best to ignore them.. Yelling "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" repeatedly usually got them to... Well, _shut up._

But just. We had another argument together. After _STARSCREAM_[don't even ask me how she got in here I don't fucking know] decided to act all mighty and shit another yelling match started that I just.. Couldn't take it anymore.. I had some.. Uhm, "quite the words" to say the least. They silenced for the day after that..

And then the next morning they just.. Weren't there when I woke up. At first I was, well, glad! It was finally quite for once! I could do things that normal people did! But uh.. After the second day it was far too quiet for my liking.. And.. It's been a month now. It's still too quiet.. Starscream[why HIM instead of others I have no idea] came back for 20 minutes a week ago.. I was glad to have at least SOMEONE back but she went away again..

I learned about this whole "system" stuff thanks to a follower saying "oh this is such a funny post as a system!" on a reblog I've done. --Which led me here. I've been... _Learning_ the past few days.. And. Well. Things really do fit me well and.. I'm not sure if I hate that or not...

I.. The reason for this _ask_ is because.. I wanted to know if others had this.. Well, "_experience_" too? Like.. I.. I miss them, alright? It suddenly went from 7 to 1 in here and it's far too quiete!!! I just.. I wanted to know if there was possibly a way to bring them back..?

I understand if this isn't the way to go for this typa stuff but... I.. I really don't know _where else_ there is.

Welp. Thanks for.. Having this account and all I suppose. Were a real help in things and, the posts are quite funny as well..! [Sigh..]

- @blog-bites-eats-u-violently

Hey, there. It sounds like you've been having a rough time lately. You have my sympathies for that. I won't give too much advice on this situation you're in – I don't feel equipped to do that – but you're not alone in this experience, anon. We went through a very similar situation a few years back, actually.

At the time, we'd just recently made our then-host (as in, the headmate who was our host at the time) aware that they had others in their head, that they were part of a system. We had... a rough few months after that, filled with fear and doubt. And at one point, our then-host became overwhelmed, and ended up driving away the headmates who were talking to them.

The silence lasted for about two days before another headmate of ours stepped up to talk to our then-host, helping them work through their issues and reconnect with those they'd run off. From what they can remember of the event, it was mostly a matter of mentally "reaching out" – consciously trying to connect to the ones they'd driven off so they could apologize. None of us are sure how it worked – best we've got is that we've always visualized our communication difficulties as walls that we have to get our internal communication/messages past – but it did, and we're all chill now on that front.

So, yes, others have had this experience before, and your headmates will likely come back to talk to you again. I can't promise anything, but if my-our story is anything to go off of, even situations like this can be recoverable. It just may take a while for all the hurt to be worked out.

[deluxewhump]

yeah no as a european, there is no plausible deniability. we see him and the rest for what they are

of course there isn’t. they (our pro-trump citizens) deny anyway, or just don’t care but won’t own up to it either. in my post yesterday I was complaining about how it feels like you can’t even talk to so many people anymore because they’ve rearranged all the parameters of talking about objective reality and it’s at a fever pitch. Not just online, irl too. It’s gotten much worse since 2016 and it started way before that but it was not quite like this. I personally know people (I’m sure we all do) who wake up every day and somehow, and I’d really love to know how, reconcile their deeply held Christian beliefs with their newsmax MAGA ones. Women, too. I can’t find an explanation for this outside of fear, hate, and financial greed. There is nothing they won’t rearrange to work for them and nothing they won’t ignore if it doesn’t. We’ve got US military veterans on Facebook commenting things like “grow up” under posts where someone is correctly outraged at a presidential inauguration sieg heil??? That’s what’s been crazy to watch in real time for me. I’m 33 and I’ve been politically semi aware since Obamas first campaign and I don’t think I’m being terribly naive when I say it has gotten measurably much worse in the way your average group of Americans can’t have a reasonable discussion about anything.

[littlecrittereli]

Hey I'm writing a Wild Kratts x Avatar the last Airbender fanfic and a lot of inspo for Chris and Martins relationship comes from your guardian au! I was wondering if you had any things to keep in mind when writing them or little things about their relationship in your own au that I can steal lol

Well in guardianship AU specifically their dynamic is a little different from canon because their personalities are a little different too (stemming from the fact that their parents died and Martin has been raising Chris)

In guardianship AU, Martin is a lot more mature because he HAD to be. He frets over every little detail when it comes to Chris because not only is he worried about keeping custody of him, but also wants to ensure that Chris has as normal and healthy of a childhood as possible. He wants Chris to be able to be a kid for as long as possible, because Martin was robbed of that the moment their parents died. He's also very self conscious about his qualifications to be raising Chris. He's worried that he's not doing a good job, and Chris would be better off under someone else's care, and Martin sometimes thinks of himself as selfish for not being willing to give up custody even if it would be "better" for Chris.

Chris on the other hand, is not as naive as Martin likes to think. He knows about their struggles despite how hard Martin tries to hide them. He thinks of himself as mature and desperately wishes people would treat him like it. He sees Martin struggle for years after their parent's death, and wants nothing more than to help somehow, but Martin would never let him. So he gets angry and lashes out sometimes because of the restrictions Chris feels he's under. He's very aware that he can be a handful. He also believes that Martin would be doing far better in life if he had just given up custody. Chris is too scared Martin would go through with it if he ever mentioned it though. So they never talk about it. All Chris wants is Martin to be happy, he just doesn't realize he already brings that in Martin's life.

Basically they don't confide in each other like in canon. Mostly because of the age difference and the fact that Martin is in a parental role for Chris. They're not as close with open communication. They still care about each other more than anything, but with Martin's feelings of inferiority, and Chris' insecurities, they both assume the other would be better off without them. And those unspoken fears causes a lot of tension.

Of course they will work it out when Chris gets a bit older and is able to express himself properly, and Martin will feel less obligated to shield him from everything... but for now that's about how it is

[ladypiscesmoon]

year ahead Armie Hammer (personal year card: The Hermit

Ask me anything that needs to be clarified)

What has Armie to release from 2024:

Bluebell fairy: (mistakes happen when you're not clear-minded. Forgive. Step forward in a lesson learned and know that you can achieve more wisdom as a result. Forgive yourself and move on with the lessons learned.) Doorway to fairyland (lift your spirits after you were held back in life. dream and view the world from a different perspective. That way you expand your mind and develop your imagination) Armie's is aware of the need to move on, but he cannot always see the way to go. It's time to release the past.

Overall 2025 (Feeling)

Camel (trust that you have the resources to get through the challenges before you) Sometimes it looks like the journey he's on is like crossing a desert with no end in sight. But he has to think about how far he's come already. He has to identify where he wants to go and proceed slowly but steadily, toward his goal. He's got to cast away his fears, doubts and hesitations. Ease his mind and heart. He will get through this, like he got through other challenges.

Walrus (remain vigilant about the current situation; pay attention to signs and omens and let them dictate your choices)

He's got to ask for specific signs to show him the way in life purpose, relationships and career, or even everyday concerns. He's got to allow his thoughts to flow (like meditation) and he'll pick up the signs and clues, maybe in lucid dreams. Trust these signs.

222 Alignment (how do you move forward toward your life's true calling? Do what makes you happy. Your enthusiasm is what's keep you going. Follow your interest if it's piqued by something. Following these routes will help you discover your life's purpose)

222 means good fortune in finances, relationships and career as well as a reminder to work towards your soul's purpose. For singles it's considered as a sign a true love is coming or that your soulmate is near

0606 Commitment (applying honesty and light daily is a fast track to creating a peaceful and meaningful life. It's how you find solutions and comfort. Release worries by speaking your truth and expressing emotions regularly. Open up for the best is yet to come)

The double zero's in 0606 emphasize a sense of commitment. For twin flames there's an underlying equilibrium and cosmic plan. The combination f the 0 and 6 suggests a focus on spiritual awakening and enlightenment. Twin flames encountering 0606 may interpret it as an invitation to delve deeper into their spiritual journey during the time of separation. Despite physical or/and emotional distance there's a stable equilibrium in the cosmic orchestration. The twin flames have to channel unconditional love. They have to express love that transcends physical boundaries understanding that their connection is timeless and eternal. With everything Armie has gone through in the last years, he's a lot further on his spiritual journey than his twin flame. The twin now has to catch up and they can reunite. I think Armie could be teaching his twin flame a lot.

Overall 2025 (Lenormand)

The heart( love, romance, infatuation, art, beauty, joy of life), the man(the significant card for a man, the partner for a woman), the coffin(death, endings, mourning, transformation, manipulation) The book(secrets, hidden knowledge, keeping a secret), the snake (lies, deceit, misguidance, illusions, chaos, temptation, seduction, cunning), the ring(relationship, marriage, cooperation, togetherness, cycles) The stork (change, movement, beginnings, flexibility, changeability, moving house), the whip (strife, fighting, argumenfsdebate, perseverance, competition, energy), the ship (travel, a journey, finances, navigation)

Combinations and thoughts: (they read like a sentence) -A loving man, a desirable man, a flirty man, transformation (new beginning) in a relationship -Backstabber is discovered (people not liking this relationship) -Secret commitments (trying to have a private relationship) -Hiding a ring (maybe having a symbol of this love, but hiding it) -Repeated change -Thinking about moving (could be overseas or out of country)

Overall 2025 (LOVE)

Abundance (keep a positive mindset, manifest exactly what you want, gratitude, bliss) The snake (competition, energy, clever, malicious, look over your shoulder, the other woman) Boat (receiving what you need, closure, progression, arriving, moving on from issues)

This seems to be a better year for Armie in love. Some people will not like him having found love though. But as long as he doesn't let him influence him, he will be fine. There's always someone jealous, or hateful or disappointed. As long as he's happy he should go after what he wants

Overall (CAREER/MONEY)

2 of swords (at a crossroad, avoiding the truth, tough choices) The star reversed (hopelessness, boredom, uninspired)

Career: stalemate, conflict at workplace, lack of motivation, pessimism about work Money: difficult or unpleasant decisions as well as an inability or refusal to face reality. Not quite what he hoped for his financial situation. Trying to save up money. He has fought a lot to get back a resemblance of his earlier career. He would very much like to provide for his children. Some of his thoughts are very traditional, but he should know that he's come a long way. Even if this year may have a bit more of a stagnation in his career, its doesn't mean it will always be like that. It may also be that he's feeling inspired in the roles he gets, or filming is not as satisfactory as it was for him. He might still think about another direction, or a combination of things. I still see him writing or producing

Overall( HEALTH)

8 of cups: (abandonment, walking away, disappointment) 4 of cups reversed (gratitude, focus, seeing opportunity) overload/excessment/obligation/overwhelm

Your environment and your way of thinking has negative effects on your health. Don't worry about things that are out of your hand. You will re-energize and upbeat in a healthy context if you go with the flow

Month for Month

January

The tower reversed (fear of change, avoiding the inevitable, liberation) Death reversed (resisting change, inevitable endings, stagnation) Citrine: abundance in creativity and healing as well. Armie has to let go of his fears. They bring him stagnation and delay in being truly happy.

February

Queen of coins (mature, successful, practical) 3 of wands reversed (returning home, holding on to the past, unhappy with choices) Snowflake obsidian: inspiration, ideas and talents In the last years Armie has kept hidden, nurturing and protecting his own creative ideas and projects. He feared change and was avoiding it. It stagnated his own process. He is going to change that. He already started it with his podcast, but we will see more examples of his brilliant mind (and he's funny too. Love that man)

March

4 of swords (mental overload, sanctuary, solitude) 10 of coins (inheritance, financial security, family) Calcite: more vitality and enthusiasm for life This month there will be an increase in finances, but also he will find someone to express more of his ideas and feelings. He will need a bit of solitude, to think some things over.

April

9 of swords (depression, intense anxiety, feeling hopeless) Strength (courage, overcoming, control) Kyanite: Pay attention to your intuition, rather ingenious idea will surface that will radically change your views on life, especially your career. Strangely enough it feels like Armie will be helping someone to make some decisions, especially on the subject of career. This will drastically change this persons life. So it doesn't have to do directly with Armie's career in this month, at least it feels like it to me.

May

The chariot reversed (lack of direction, aggression, powerlessness) Knight of cups (Chivalry, hopeless romantic, idealistic) Petrified wood: a magical transformation is about to occur through an unexpected turn of events. It's the result of the strength and commitment you have long shown to something. Many who have, until now either ridiculed or attempted to discredit you, will all of a sudden want to jump to your side. Long time there was stagnation and hopelessness in Armie's life, but the times are changing. Also, a very romantic month for him.

June

King of swords (intelligent, head over heart, logical) 3 of cups (Parties, indulgence, happiness) Rhodochrosite: We all have negative and positive aspects in our characters either currently or in the past. Taking the person he loves as they are, loving them with their vices and their virtues, seeing them for the human that they are. Forgiveness.

July

6 of cups reversed (growing up, childhood issues, letting go of the past) The devil (vices, temptation, manipulation) Molybdenite: There is nothing you have to fix or change in your life. Start to accept all of who you are. All is in perfect divine order. Accepting who he is, will all his vices and virtues. Letting go of the past.

August

9 of cups (dreams come true, satisfaction, abundance) The emperor (dependability, authority, structure) Gold with Quartz: a newfound sense of joy Feeling on top of the world, basically

September

4 of wands reversed (feeling unwelcome, family issues, animosity) 8 of sword reversed (self-acceptance, seeing Cleary, release) Pyrite: feeling emotionally imbalanced, because you have yourself allowed to believe another's critical judgements of you Feeling insecure, but someone having your back means you remind your strength. Let people judge, they will always do it, no matter what you do.

October

knight of wands (fearless, risk-taker, free spirit) 2 of cups (mutual respect, love, equality) Aquamarine: in this period greater empathy and insight is necessary. Someone loving him and having his back. It gives him strength and makes him feel free

November

Ace of coins (financial opportunity, prosperity, manifesting money) Page of coins (young but grounded, solid beginning, strong foundation) Amber: something that's causing friction and tension comes to a head I feel like there will be a financial setback or something, but the person in his life that loves him is helping him through it

December

2 of wands reversed (doubt, fearing the unknown, being restless) The high Priestess (sacred knowledge, divine feminine, unconscious mind) Sodalite: keep your calm. Meditate, keep the dream alive. positive confirmation If he wavers and feels restless, he has to find ways to unwind, and nurture himself. He has come a very long way.

*This reading is alleged and for entertainment purposes only*

[good-to-drive]

I watched To Wong Foo last night instead of confronting reality, and in the spirit of not confronting reality, I just feel like drag would have changed John’s life if he did it right. He’s the only Beatle who would really nail it, too. 

George and Ringo would probably enjoy it on a shallower level, but they wouldn’t really get it. They’d embrace the old-school showmanship and find elements of humor and irony, and be very comfortable laughing at themselves and everyone else, but at the end of the day this just isn’t who they are. They’d be playing their personas as if they were characters, not as a true extension of themselves. It would be a sincere enough effort, but it would fall short.

And Paul, bless him, probably wouldn’t even try, but if you could get him to do it (especially if everyone else was doing it) I think it would be emptily beautiful. He’s a natural born performer in every way, and of course the musical aspects would be impeccable, but, on the other hand, drag requires elements of self-parody and mixes irony and self-depreciation with almost embarrassing earnestness, none of which is something he could ever throw himself into sincerely. He’d be so focused on making sure people know he’s good at this (but also that he's not taking it seriously), that the jokes he makes about himself are funny (but also that they're not based on true flaws), that the jokes he makes about other people are true and funny… he really wouldn’t have any fun at all. He’d be incredibly polished, but it wouldn’t touch you. Deep down you’d know this doesn’t mean anything, because he simply won’t allow it to mean anything. 

But, in a fantasy world, I think a drag persona could have been a wonderful presence in John’s life. A rejection of all shame, embracing self-awareness and self-parody without self-hate, making a spectacle of yourself because you love yourself and love the things about you that you were once taught were unlovable, all through the lens of a deep respect for womanhood and female power. John is both urbane and filthy, so her name would be Pandora Box. She would be like Patrick Swayze's character in To Wong Foo, rejecting the shame and isolation and fear of childhood by stepping forward as an unconditionally loving, unabashed and unashamed, strong and beautiful woman. There’s an element of tragedy to becoming the person you needed as a child, knowing that child is still alone across oceans of time that can’t be crossed, but it can be healing to who you are now, too. And given how witty and emotionally intelligent John was, her reads would just be devastating. 

[eddsboxofdisectiontools]

Ngl I think all the Eds are neurodivergent/mentally disabled. I propose autism as a common shared trait, with Ed having ADHD (canon) and dyscalculia + dyslexia, Edd having OCD and BPD, and Eddy having C-PTSD and some sort of personality disorder, like NPD or BPD, which he only got help for after BPS and was untreated for before which would explain why he acted the way he did not understanding that it was so harmful.

All of them are "weird". That's why they're singled out. Not only do they seem to be mentally disabled, but they (specifically Edd and Eddy) may have developed some of their other conditions from the way their parents treated them/raised them. The other kids can tell by the way they act that they're different, and, as kids do... Push the Eds away due to their differences.

The differences are scary to them, especially because they suffer from mental disabilities that they may not even be AWARE they have (I highly doubt Edd's parents would let him be diagnosed with something because they think denying it makes it go away... Lol) and as mental disabilities do, they cause the Eds to suffer from unpredictable emotional responses. This is actually the reason for Edd's "dodgeball incident", that had allegedly hurt many people. It also caused Ed's issue with the rock in his shoe, and Eddy's... Very obvious scamming problem. The other kids notice them reacting in ways they'd never think about, which scares them. They don't know when they can snap, what will make them snap, and HOW they'll snap. They fear them, and their age plus the lack of understanding their own emotions, makes it near impossible for them to make themselves fit in.

The other kids seem so forgiving in BPS because seeing Eddy get hurt like he was made them realize the (basic) psychology behind it. They were at an age that could piece together that abuse leads to selfishness, and Eddy's selfishness was him doing what he grew up with. Their acceptance was because they realized he had a heart, and was just misled by mistreatment.

In summary; the Eds are a minority when it comes to how they experience the world. That's why they're so "weird" to everyone... It's why they're friends. Their differences to everyone else was their similarities with each other.

The mass mischaracterization of Edd bugs me to death sometimes and I know I'm not the only one. No he's not a "soft uwu boy" he's a traumatized, overly empathetic kid with some kind of mental illness slaving himself away to his parents out of fear of disappointing the people he has been told he needs to please. His kindness is not him being "soft", nor is his tendency to cry or break down. He's probably autistic, and suffers from an overabundance of empathy. I highly doubt he enjoys it. He won't be mean, but he will be sarcastic and/or satirical (people forget this one a lot). And while I don't think he'd be a law breaker in any sense, even mildly like trying drugs, I'm 99% sure he'd grow up to be affiliated with punk ideology and general rage at the government. I don't even think he'd bother people who break the law in certain ways very much after a certain age. If he saw Eddy smoking, or Ed popping blues, he may warn them about the dangers IF IT'S THEIR FIRST TIME. But if they've done it before, he'll probably let them be. I think he'd turn away if he saw shoplifting occurring at a large store as an adult knowing how those companies overprice their stuff.

He's intelligent. The way we see him act as a kid is influenced by his parents being an oxymoron helicopter parent duo that somehow manages to both micromanage their son AND lack presence at the same time. The way he acts around Ed and Eddy (speaking specifically about his sarcastic tendencies) is his true self. His intelligence doesn't mean he lacks any humor or fun. He isn't "soft" in the way people make him look, and he'd probably be the first to defend his friends from assholes. May I remind you that he stands his ground in BPS? Pretty damn well, might I add. People think he lacks confrontational abilities and while he does have some anxiety surrounding himself and may not defend himself to people he doesn't know very well, he almost always seems to be the first to confront someone when they need to be corrected. If he wasn't most likely physically disabled (as evident by his inability to do ANYTHING without severe exhaustion and panting) he'd probably beat you up if you hurt anyone's feelings enough that he felt he had to step in.

[contagiousrhythminmybrain]

“Because he doesn't know which feels worst, the threats or the love. The loathing or the expectations. The hate or the responsibility.” - Us Against You

Something something Benji becoming exactly the person everyone in town wanted him to be. Because then he knows what he has to do to be loved. Because the best way to keep people from noticing you’re different is to let them think they know everything about you. Because being violent gives him a purpose, even when he knows how other people view him, even when he’s the protector, even when the person he’s most willing to hurt is himself. Because his own greatest fear is the responsibility that comes with being anything else.

I’d say one of the main themes across the whole Beartown story is how the best and worst of a person or a town (or a hockey club) tend to stem from the same place and wow the constant conflict that is Benji Ovich.