#it's just titles nothing more.. i feel like I'm trying to prove to myself that i can do this but i don't need to prove anything

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Terrible work ethic, as in putting in too much work

[bi-bard]

We Ain't Angry at You, Love, You're the Greatest Thing We've Lost - Dream of the Endless Imagine [The Sandman]

Title: We Ain't Angry at You, Love, You're the Greatest Thing We've Lost

Pairing: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless X Dream!Reader

Based On: You're Gonna Go Far

Word Count: 1,638 words

Warning(s): Morpheus being a dick, mention of bullying/mistreatment

Summary: After the events with the Corinthian and the Dream Vortex, many thought that Morpheus may have run out of any remaining kindness and leniency. However, they were gravely mistaken. It simply took a well-intentioned dream to prove it.

Author's Note: I think I've changed this song's story about four times. I'm sorry. Everything just felt repetitive.

STICK SEASON [WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER] - NOAH KAHAN WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

------------------

After Morpheus went missing, I had been consumed by a deep fear that I would never be able to find a sense of purpose for myself.

It wasn't until a few years later that I finally allowed myself to leave the Dreaming behind me. It was terrifying at first. It was still largely unknown to me. I had to adjust and learn. However, once I started to do that, it was as if all of the puzzle pieces snapped into place.

I had never known peace like I did during my time on Earth.

For nearly a century, I had crafted myself a perfect home. I had established relationships and connections. I had become a fixture.

For the first time, there was a purpose for me that did not feel forced. One that did not leave me feeling burnt out or angry. I was able to merely exist and be enough for those around me.

Yes, there were hard times. I didn't age like humans did. There were times when I would need to move in order to avoid them figuring that out, but then I got to find a new web of people to connect myself to.

It was everything to me.

I had thought about what my life would have been like if I hadn't been confined to the Dreaming, but getting to actually experience it was... perfect.

It was a shame that my perfection was so cruelly interrupted.

I had no indication that anything was wrong as I walked into the small place that I had grown to call my own.

Maybe that was my fault. Maybe I hadn't been paying enough attention. Maybe spending my time in this realm had left me blind to the signs of my old one.

That was the only explanation I had for not being prepared to see Morpheus standing in my living room.

I jumped when I saw him. It had been a century. I had been under the impression that he wasn't coming back. I had convinced myself that I was perfectly safe here because Lucienne hadn't tried to stop me and I had spent so much time here.

It may have sounded foolish, but I wanted to believe it.

"Morpheus," I said quietly, still trying to grapple with the fact that he was alive and standing before me.

"Hello, (Y/n)," he replied.

I stepped inside quickly, shutting and locking the door behind me. "What are you doing here?"

"You abandoned the Dreaming."

"So did the Corinthian," I countered as I set my stuff on the dining room table. "Surely, he is of more importance than I am."

Morpheus's jaw clenched. "I have a plan to take care of the Corinthian and the harm that he has caused."

"The Corinthian has done nothing short of living up to the limits and purpose that you defined for him," I continued. "His work extended to the world of the waking, but you are the reason that he has been able to do such a thing."

"He is not important at this moment. You returning to the Dreaming is."

"Did you not also abandon the Dreaming," I asked, ignoring his statement almost entirely. Delaying the inevitable, but I had no interest in calling it that at the time.

"I was imprisoned," he corrected. "I had no escape for a century. You chose to run out of selfishness."

"Yours was due to imprisonment, mine was out of necessity,"

"Lucienne was watching over the realm. You were safe there."

"I was not when you were in power. Your absence did not change that for better or worse. All that changed was the crumbling of buildings."

He paused for a moment. "I do not understand."

"You never wanted to," I muttered. I crossed my arms and stood in front of him.

"Explain it to me. Tell me why you felt it was so necessary to abandon any and all responsibility that you had."

"Your other dreams and nightmares tormented me as much as they tormented the humans that they had been assigned to," I said bluntly, stepping forward as I did so. "Are you truly shocked that I decided to leave when I knew that it would be safe for me to do so?"

Morpheus had no answer to my question. His jaw merely clenched and his back straightened, as if making himself taller would cause me to step down from this argument.

I shook my head. "You need to go-"

"Regardless of the reason, you have a purpose in the Dreaming," he replied. "You will not abandon it."

"You have been gone for a hundred years, you have no right to demand things of me-"

"It would be wise of you to remember your place," he cut me off. I felt as if the blood in my veins ran cold. "You may return on your own or I will ensure that you do."

"Lord Morpheus," I scoffed. "How could you possibly be so selfish-"

My words were cut off as a cloud of sand surrounded me. It felt as if I had no opportunity to realize what was happening before I was suddenly standing back in the Dreaming.

It was darker than I remembered. Colder. It was clear that some work had been done since it had started to crumble to pieces years ago, but something was still very clearly wrong.

I would have been more worried about the state of the realm if I had not been so consumed by my anger.

I still had a million things to say to Morpheus. Explanations and accusations and pleas. All of them equally important... and all of them going equally unheard.

I had relented to bothering him and Lucienne. I had been told over and over that there was no time. That I needed to get back to what I had been created for.

But I had experienced so much beyond that now. I couldn't just let it go.

I was upsetting them. I knew it. It was a shame that I didn't feel any guilt over that.

It wasn't until the dust settled around the Corinthian's actions and the Vortex that Morpheus ever decided to speak with me.

I walked into the main hall with my heart almost in my throat. I tried to calm myself down. It wasn't going well. I had been so angry before this. So focused on his refusal that now that I would be able to talk to him, I lost every argument that I wanted to make.

Terrified felt like both a word that was too intense and not intense enough.

When I made it there, he was standing at the top of his stairs, staring up at the large stained-glass windows in the room. I took a deep breath.

"You asked to see me, sir," I called.

Morpheus turned around and began walking down the steps. "Yes. There is a discussion that needs to be had."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What about, sir?"

"About your place here in the Dreaming," he replied.

"Oh?"

"When I sent you back to the Dreaming, I was focused on rebuilding the realm," he explained. "It had fallen apart during my absence, and I knew that returning the dreams that had escaped would aid in returning it to where it was meant to be.

"I understand now that my actions were selfish. My assumption that the world would be the same as it was before my imprisonment led me to ignore the wishes and knowledge of those who cared for me and the realm as a whole. The results were heartless. Blind."

I didn't respond. I was still uneasy about the meeting. He stepped forward a bit.

"The Dreaming was never as kind to you as I wished it to be," he muttered. "I am sorry for not addressing that. For not protecting you as I always should have."

"Thank you," I murmured. Having him acknowledge it would have been enough for the time being. However, that was not the only thing that Morpheus had to say.

"I wish to send you back," he continued. "Back to that life that you had made for yourself in the waking world. If you will allow me to do so."

I felt tears fill my eyes. "Sir, are you being serious?"

A small grin formed on his face. "Yes."

I let out a breathy, shocked laugh before quickly moving forward and hugging him as tightly as I could. I had forgotten any formal behavior or respectful actions in that moment. I almost pulled back and apologized but was stopped by him hugging me back and chuckling to himself.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"You have nothing to thank me for."

I stepped back slowly, smiling fully at him. "When can I leave?"

"Whenever you are ready."

"Now?"

"Are you ready now?"

"Yes."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of sand. "Well, then I believe that the only thing left is to wish you good luck."

"Thank you, Lord Morpheus."

He nodded to me once before holding out his hand and blowing a handful of sand at me.

I closed my eyes as the sand swept up around me. As the wind died down, I opened my eyes again. I found myself in the hall of my apartment building.

I smiled again before rushing to the door. I found my spare key under the welcome mat and quickly made it inside.

I let out a sigh as I looked around. Everything was exactly how I'd left it. It was all perfect. Not a speck out of place.

I chuckled to myself as my tears filled my eyes.

I had never known peace like that before.

And I would never be more grateful that I was finally given the chance to experience it.

------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[mommieswithmuscles]

Dom!Reader x Sub!Abby

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

Collaboration with @tojisboy

CW: Breeding kink, brat behaviors, orgasm denial, double ended strap on, mention of injury/infection but not detailed, sprinkle of angst, unresolved ending because I like it the way it is

Title: Big Talk

"You can run your mouth on patrol, but we get home and suddenly you're quiet? What's wrong?" You kick your door shut, locking it behind you.

"Nothing's wrong." You don't meet Abby's eyes.

"Really? What happened to you saying how you could fuck me if you wanted to? You have me alone again, yet you haven't tried anything."

"Not in the mood." Abby backs off.

"I'm sorry baby. Should we go to the cafeteria? They have burritos again." You shrug.

"Babe?" Abby looks at you. "Talk to me."

"You're cocky and it's getting on my nerves. I try and prove myself and you push back, and I'm left sat like I'm incapable of being a top."

"I wouldn't say incapable. You are. You're just very submissive and I like fucking with you about it. If it bothers you, I can let you lead without the bratting." Abby pauses.

"You won't get the same fun feeling though. And that stupid smirk and grin and-" she sighs, digging her palms into her eye sockets.

"Let's go eat so we can sleep." You watch Abby fumble with the lock before making her way to the cafeteria.

-

"I got this for you." Abby hands you her bag, fresh from patrol and sweaty. You're in your medical tent helping Nora patch up Alice. "Open it when you get home. I'll be back late. Manny and I have a meeting with Isaac and I don't want you left waiting."

"Thank you." You press a kiss to her lips. Abby kisses you back.

-

You get home before Abby as was expected. You put her new loot in the chest at the end of her bunk before finding the gift she left you. It's a strap on harness that has an extra dildo for the wearer on the inside. There's a tube connected with the exterior dildo. It's a goddamn breeding strap.

You try it on, gasping at the way the insertable sits just right inside you. It's comfortable enough to move around in, but not so comfortable you don't get pleasure from it moving around.

You get dressed in Abby's cargo pants and bomber jacket to sleep in, unable to find your sweats.

-

"Sorry baby." Abby whispers as she climbs under the covers with you. "You look cozy."

"Mhm, am." You yawn, curling more into her chest, welcoming her warmth.

"Sleepy baby?" Her arms close you into her chest, lips pressed against your forehead. You nod. "Ok sweetheart. Get some rest."

-

"Anderson!" You snap, slapping your hand down on the table. Abby jolts, knees hitting the surface. She winces.

"What? Why? What did I do?" She's exhausted, but you don't care.

"You're not listening! You need to go see Nora or Mel before your infection turns septic!" You gesture to her poorly dressed forearm. "Your dad was a wonderful surgeon, but you're shit at medicine. Go."

"Fuck that. And fuck you, you don't need to be a bitch about something as stupid as this!" You're both shocked at what she says. "Baby I'm sorry-"

"Go," you growl. She leaves.

-

"What did she say?" You glare Abby down as she approaches the bed.

"That I should have come in sooner." You nod. Abby sits beside you. "I'm really sorry about what I said. You didn't deserve it."

"Damn fucking right I didn't. And you ignored me on top of that."

"I was in my head. I hate how dumb I am about medicine. I watched my dad and can do basic things, but I should know more. I should be capable of more. It wasn't ok I took that out on you."

"And it wasn't ok you took it out on yourself. Talk to me." Abby shakes her head.

"Not that easy."

"I know baby. Come here?" You pat your upper chest, she shrugs. "Abby?" You raise your eyebrow at her.

"You're too good for me." She slowly allows herself to relax into you. You rub your hand under her shirt, tracing her spine and muscles.

-

"How long have I been out?" Abby peels herself from your drool slick shirt, muttering a small "sorry" before sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"A few hours. You needed the rest." You wipe the drool from her face with a tender palm. She flinches at the contact before leaning into your touch.

"I'm really sorry baby."

"I know love." Abby turns to face you. "Can I make it up to you?"

"I'll let you redeem yourself. As long as you promise that'll never happen again."

"I promise." Abby bows her head, hands fiddling in her lap.

-

"You ready?" Your hips adorn the newly gifted strap.

"Please?" Abby is sprawled on her back, legs open and shining with slick where you left her.

"Ok baby. You sure?" You make sure Abby has the chance to opt out before starting.

"I'm sure. Please." Abby's eyes glisten with want.

You're slow with her, taking your time before pressing in. She hisses in pain so you still, feeling the way she flutters around you. When she gives the go ahead, you press until you're fully in, hips resting against hers as she pants in your ear and neck.

"Feel good?"

"Mhm!" Abby gasps as you start rocking your hips slow, picking up the pace as her body adjusts.

You use her sounds and the way she grabs at your ass, boobs, and back for leverage to know if you're doing what she likes.

"Right there?" and "This ok? You like that?" whispered into Abby's ears. She always hums, pleading, mouth gasping and eyes fluttering as she answers. "Don't touch yourself. If you try, you don't get to cum."

It's not long before your pleasure takes the reigns. "I'm close, are you ready?" You never last as long as she does. Abby's legs quiver when you bottom out for a final time. You fumble around with the tube, having completely forgotten to undo the cork. She giggles into her free hand as you stare down at her. "Haha, so funny," you roll your eyes with a smile. "Ok, are you ready this time?"

"Always ready, my love." Abby's eyes are gentle as you lean down to kiss her. You release into her and filled her. You gasp as she moans against your lips. You pull out and rest on her chest. There's cum trailed from her hole, up her clit, and what remained in the strap is now pooling on the plane of fat sat above her pelvic bone.

"Look at that pretty girl, you're all messy now." You kiss her forehead, brushing the messy stray hairs from the front of her eyes.

"You really think so?" Abby's breath hitches when she plays with some of the cum drooling down her clit.

"What did I say?" You slap her hand. She flinches.

"But I held myself for you to cum? I thought it was fine now!"

"Changed my mind." You pull the harness off, whimpering at the way the insertable pops out.

[itskattkm]

New York New Rules Pt. 4

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Sorry for bad writing. I'm using a translator and hope you guys can enjoy it. Also, this is going to be a slow burn

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

I'm 11 minutes away and I have missed you all day

I'm 11 minutes away, so why aren't you here?

I think I missed you callin' on the other line

I'm just thinkin' all these thoughts up in my mind

Talkin' love but I can't even read the signs

I would sell my soul for a bit more time

You stain all on my body like you're red wine

You're the fuckin' acid to my alkaline

Stupid. Frail. Perplexed. Fearful. Offensive. Sharp and Hurt

„Y/N you rather feel nothing again" I said to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my room. I've probably been lying here for 15 minutes because 11 minutes ran at least three times in a row. In fact, this was one of my favorite songs. But why actually? I know that I have a feeling for the darkness. But why were pain and suffering so self-evident for me? No matter which movie I watched or which series. My darling was always the villain.

There are really people who just hate them because they have the title of villain. But why are they trying not to understand? What about Katherinen Pierce from the Vampire Diaries? This woman suffered and that only because she wanted to be loved and loved? She lost her family. Her child and was hunted for centuries. The man she loved hated her and didn't believe that the love between them was real. Maleficent... rejected and hunted because she was different? Kylo Ren, Star Wars... who let a big wait on his shoulders... not to forget that Luke wanted to kill him. Wanda Maximof... one of my favorites. What was wrong with creating your own world in which you could be happy? Especially if you had lost everything you had left.

Was I the evil one? Did I want to be the bad one? Sometimes I'm not sure but the feeling I felt when Tara looked at me and asked where I was during the attack... I won't forget this so quickly because at that moment I felt like one of the bad guys. But I also felt misunderstood.

Did Tara hate me? How did Tara think about me in general? Since I've been friends with Mindy, I've met her maybe five times. And we didn't talk much to each other. Most of the time our conversations were about the university. I tried to get closer to her. However, I always had the feeling that I was always failing with her. One second I thought I had full self-confidence but then a look into Tara's eyes and my brain shuts down. I had really never felt something like that before. Especially not towards a woman.

I always stayed away from relationships or physical contacts. As soon as it went in this direction, I always pulled back and hid in my bubble. However, there were days when I would have liked to go to the next bar with my dirty thoughts and have been looking for someone for a hot night.

But as I had analyzed myself so far and with the help of Dr. Stone, I knew what my problem was.

The music in my headphones stopped. I looked at my cell phone and saw that my alarm clock that I had set after talking to Sam was now active.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

"Fuck it," I said to myself and made my way to the Blackmoore. I would prove to them all that I am not Ghostface and if they do not meet me then I will also permanently delete these people from my life.

Slowly I played with the ring on my finger. It wasn't special. I didn't like fancy jewelry either. But this ring carried good memories with it and that's why I always wore it with me. When I saw the carpenters and their friends in front of the Blackmoore, I hesitated slightly. Everyone was sitting on the benches of the university and Mindy seemed to be holding a monologue. She was the only one standing in front of them and gestured around like crazy with her hands.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" I asked myself desperately and approached the group. Drier than I thought, I said "hi" when I entered the inner circle and drew all attention to me. There was a free place next to Quinn, so I sat down with her just as she opened her mouth but Tara was faster and said "you came?" I avoided her gaze and looked coolly at Mindy who looked at me with pinched eyes " Y/N Perfect timing..."

Mindy went to explain the rules and that we were in a franchise. I really famous myself to listen to her, but the voice in my head was too loud.

Don't look at Tara. You must never look her in the eyes again. Is she looking at you? Are the others watching you? Do the others know what happened at the police station? Do they know about my state of health? Did they thought I was Ghostface?

"Am I gonna die a virgin?"

Wait a minute? My full attention was back. I looked at Ethan and then at Mindy.

"Weird overshare but that brings us to our current suspects. Ethan! A shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky"

So I wasn't the only suspect? I felt a slight feeling of relief.

" Quinn! The sexy sluty roommate"

Quinn looked at Mindy slightly irritated

"Sex positive but thanks?"

"How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" She asked but Sam answers "we put an anonymous ad online"

And Tara replied "and her dad is a cop"

Mindy took a step towards Tara and said in an aggressive tone "and that makes it more likely that she is the killer because having a cop that is a great cover! Do you not remember how this movies work Tara?!"

Now Mindy gave everything. That reminded me too well of the many discussions we had about movies. Then Mindy even suspected her own girlfriend. Like wow… this whole thing was really serious.

"Never Trust the Love interest..." she said coolly and her look was serious. Suddenly there was a tension in the group. That sounded pretty deep... I mean in the first stab film it was also the love interest, among other things.

"Y/N!" Mindy called and smiled at me dirty. I sighed, pinched my eyes briefly and looked away from the group but Mindy came one step closer to me. "my dear friend Y/N... you are also new to our group," she began.

Did she say group? What did she mean by that? Was I part of the group?

"As your best friend, I know that you are going to therapy"

Oh no Mindy, please don't. Not again. Not again. Why me? Why?

"But you never told me why you are going to therapy... would you share the reason with us?" I avoided her eyes and looked nervously at the floor. My heart was beating so fast that I felt the pulse pounding in my ears. Again I played with the ring in my finger "Mindy she doesn't have to tell us anything..." said Tara after a short silent, low-key.

Surprised, I looked at her and our eyes met.

Relief. Relief? RELIEF!!! The first word that went through my head. Did Tara just defend me? Why had she done that? And there she was again. This gentle darkness, and the little white lights, like a light at the end of the tunnel that rested me to tell me here you are safe.

Stop it. I tore my eyes off her and stared at my ring. "okay then tell us at least where you were during the attack..." I looked at Mindy "home... and you are welcome to ask Maria when I entered the building and when I left it last. As I know her, she can even tell you the exact time" Mindy nodded in agreement to me, she knew Maria "okay. Good alibi. Nevertheless, you are suspicious. You don't like to socialize and maintain the good girl, reading books and sitting at home image"

Confused, I looked at Anika, was that something good or bad?

Anika said "that's not fair, if then we are all suspects, including you"

Mindy agreed with her and said to Sam "especially Sam" confused I looked to Sam, I had the feeling of not knowing something and because of the looks of the others I could see that I was right.

After that, I turned on the conversations of the others and tried to look at everyone unobtrusively. I started with Quinn. Quinn's emotions were neutral in order not to be completely present. Anika seemed very calm and attentive. Sam seemed tense. Chad hmmm I don't have to worry about him, he was fully focused on taking notes. I wanted to skip Tara and see Ethan directly, but our eyes met. Had she been watching me? After not even a second, I broke off the look of contact again by looking at my ring. Suddenly Quinn got up, then Anika moved to Mindy. The group disbanded.

"We have to stay together, that's the only way we are safe and can rule out who the killer is," said Mindy, "you could all come to us" said Sam and now also stood up.

Did she mean me with everyone, too? How exactly did they think of all this here now?

Confused, I asked her as if I hadn't even been present at Mindys Monologue "I don't… wait, I don't look through. What's the plan now?"

Chad replied when he got up "we're going to Sam and Tara... stay together... and try not to be killed" he didn't give me more information when he left. Chad, were you serious? Confused, I looked after the others when they were almost gone.

And then I suddenly noticed a person next to me. Before I could turn around, there was a hand on my right forearm. And then I was back in the tunnel... tried to get to the light. "Come to us tonight and we can tell you everything," Tara whispered to me, slowing down my nervous pulse. I could listen to her for hours when she talked to me like that. It was so reassuring. Warm. Pleasant. Right.

Her eyes fell on Sam when she nodded in agreement with Tara "maybe you can bring another pizza right away," she said and slightly raised the corners of her mouth. Tara pressed my arm slightly and looked at me at with bright eyes "by the way thank you for the pizza... after this hangover I needed it".

What was that feeling at once? Joy or nervousness? I had to smile unconsciously and nodded "special wishes?"

Tara snapped her finger and began to list different toppings and looked at Sam to see if she agreed with her "The main thing Jalapeños... registered" I said and stood up. "You have our address?" Sam asked again and I nodded in agreement. She raised the corners of her mouth again before putting her hands in her jacket and set off. Tara followed her.

Before my brain realized what my body was doing, I grabbed Tara's hand and hoped she would turn to me again

"Why did you help me earlier?"

And again this pure placid and sweetness to recognize in her face "what happened in the police station was just fucked up" we both had to laugh about her word choice and Tara's dimpels came to light.

Damn, how could Tara be so beautiful?

Okay, pull yourself together Y/N! How was that again with Tara? Never looking into the eyes again? Now I just wanted to sink into them and that even though I could never keep eye contact. Simp

"And I wouldn't want that either... if I imagined that someone would have done that to Sam..." she looked back briefly to the her. Sam stood a few meters away from us and waited for Tara "and see that as a leap of faith Y/L/N... don't spoil it" dryly I laughed and shook my head "I wouldn't even have a good motive" she squeezed my hand briefly.

Did we hold our hands all the time? How could I miss that? I mean... with this face you forget everything, she gave me a grin with sharp eyes and whispered "but there's always a motive" and then she disappeared.

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Your Song

Written By: Elton John & Bernie Taupin

Artist: Elton John

Released: 1970

Cover included: Ewan McGregor for Moulin Rouge!, 2001

The song was composed and performed by Elton John but the lyrics were written by Bernie Taupin. It originally appeared in his self titled and second album. Elton John hadn’t come out of the closet yet, but Bernie Taupin knew, which is part of the reason why the lyrics avoid using gendered pronouns. In a 2013 interview with Rolling Stone, Elton John said: “What can I say, it’s a perfect song. It gets better every time I sing it. I remember writing it at my parents' apartment in North London, and Bernie giving me the lyrics, sitting down at the piano and looking at it and going, ‘Oh, my God, this is such a great lyric, I can’t fuck this one up.’ It came out in about 20 minutes, and when I was done, I called him in and we both knew. I was 22, and he was 19, and it gave us so much confidence. ‘Empty Sky’ was lovely, but it was very naive. We went on to do more esoteric stuff like ‘Take Me to the Pilot,’ of course, but musically, this was a big step forward. And the older I get, the more I sing these lyrics, and the more they resonate with me.”

[Verse 1] It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside I'm not one of those who can easily hide I don't have much money, but boy if I did I'd buy a big house where we both could live [Verse 2] If I was a sculptor, heh, but then again, no Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do My gift is my song and this one's for you [Chorus] And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you're in the world [Verse 3] I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss Well, a few of the verses, well, they've got me quite cross But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song It's for people like you that keep it turned on [Verse 4] So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen [Chorus] And you can tell everybody this is your song It may be quite simple but now that it's done I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you're in the world [Outro] I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Demolition Lovers

Written By: Matt Pelissier, Mikey Way, Ray Toro & Gerard Way

Artist: My Chemical Romance

Released: 2002

The Demolition Lovers are the couple seen on the cover for MCR’s next album, Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. This song, along with much of the album, is a prequel to the story of Three Cheers… in which a man makes a deal with the devil to get his dead lover back by killing 1,000 evil men and giving the devil their souls in exchange for her. This song is most likely where the lover dies. The two “Demolition Lovers” are featured on the cover of the album.

[Verse 1] Hand in mine, into your icy blues And then I'd say to you, "We could take to the highway With this trunk of ammunition, too" I'd end my days with you, in a hail of bullets [Chorus] I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know just how much you mean to me And after all the things We put each other through and [Verse 2] I would drive on to the end with you A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full And I feel like there's nothing left to do But prove myself to you, and we'll keep it running [Chorus] But this time, I mean it I'll let you know just how much you mean to me As snow falls on desert sky Until the end of everything I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know how much you mean As days fade and nights grow And we grow cold [Post-Chorus] Until the end, until this pool of blood Until this, I mean this, I mean this, until the end of [Chorus] I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know how much you mean As days fade and nights grow And we grow cold But this time, we'll show them We'll show them all how much we mean As snow falls on desert sky Until the end of every… [Interlude] All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this [Guitar Solo] [Bridge] As lead rains will pass on through Our phantoms forever, forever Like scarecrows that fuel this flame We're burning forever and ever Know how much I want to show you You're the only one Like a bed of roses There's a dozen reasons in this gun [Outro] And as we're falling down, and in this pool of blood And as we're touching hands, and as we're falling down And in this pool of blood, and as we're falling down I'll see your eyes, and in this pool of blood I'll meet your eyes, I mean this forever!

[thetavolution]

They Fell From the Sky

Bruno x OC

a/n : I have so much to do and I've been depressed. I've been hyper-fixating on Encanto and Bruno. I decided to let myself just be a dork and write this.

I headcanon that Encanto takes place in 1949 based on the idea that the triplets were born on October 17, 1899. I was slightly inspired by this. I stumbled on the idea for this fic by accident. I brought my OC Bex along for this ride.

I played with the idea that the characters speak English and Spanish. If they're speaking English, I put entire sentences in Italics to help indicate it. If anyone has a better title suggestion, I'm all ears!

Plot: A plane crash brings a group of strangers to the Encanto, bringing new dangers to the village.

Chapter 1

Bruno had a vision.

Smoke would billow from the mountains around the Encanto as fire erupted from the wreckage of a plane. The ground would shake from the impact. There were blood stains on the grass as survivors rose from the ashes, descending to the village below. The townspeople were anxious, not sure what to expect from these outsiders. It wasn’t clear how many there would even be. As leaders of the community, the Madrigals prepared themselves for what was to come.

They would help these strangers or, if they proved dangerous, protect their village from them.

There had been talk about trying to intercept the crash by sending people out of the Encanto to find nearby civilization. They would try to radio any nearby planes to tell them to turn back. That was easier said than done, given how far off the beaten path their town truly was. Mariano volunteered to try for the closest town, although many people feared it was inviting trouble to their home. The odds he would intercept the plane in time were so low that the villagers didn’t believe it was worth it.

The Madrigals focused on preparing for the strangers’ arrival. They were ready for every possible outcome.

“What if they don’t speak Spanish?” Camilo wondered.

“We’ll figure out something,” Mirabel answered, confidently. “We’ll just have to be patient with each other.”

Mirabel was the backbone of the family. Everyone stood taller and stronger because of her, and Bruno couldn’t be more proud. He would have sworn off giving prophecies if Mirabel hadn’t encouraged his gift. She could see the good in every vision. She helped him to finally feel like he was truly gifted.

“We made a temporary shelter on the edge of town.” Mirabel set a cup of coffee down in front of her grandmother. It was tradition for the Madrigals to eat breakfast outside, weather permitting. They’d catch up and discuss what was in store for the day. The Madrigal women ruled the roost and Bruno liked it that way.

“They’ll have somewhere safe to stay when they get here,” Mirabel added. The whole family had agreed it would be too dangerous to house the newcomers at the casita.

“Thank you, Mirabel.” Alma trusted Mirabel to help oversee a lot of the preparations. They had a new understanding between them. It was a lot easier for Mirabel to get things done when people believed in her. 

Bruno said nothing. He rarely jumped into family conversations, preferring to be a fly on the wall. A decade of watching in silence will do that to a person.

“I’ve been gathering ingredients to make sure there’s plenty of food,” Julieta added. No one needed a doctor when she could cure their ills with an arepa con queso or two. “We should also be ready for when some of them….”

“Don’t survive,” Alma finished. 

Julieta nodded. “It’ll be devastating for them,” she said. Julieta had boundless empathy for those around her. It broke her heart to know the trauma that these complete strangers would endure.

“Do we know when it’s going to happen?” Isabela wondered.

There was a long silence. It took Bruno a moment to realize everyone at the table was waiting for him to answer. He sat up a little flustered he had missed his cue. “No, no, it wasn’t clear,” he answered, nervously. “My visions are never that precise.” It was a drawback to the gift. He could never say when it would happen, just that it would.

The family finished up their breakfast before getting to back to work. They would get their answer to Isabela’s questions that same day.

It happened just after nightfall.

The flames that engulfed the Ariel Star lit up the night sky. The wreckage was high enough that the village was safe from the initial contact, though the ground shook fiercely. It woke Antonio from a deep slumber, sending him running to his mother’s arms. There was only some debris that Luisa quickly dispatched of. The search party was at the ready and headed up the mountain only minutes after the crash.

Everyone who remained in the village was beside themselves with worry, and Bruno couldn’t blame them. He had a follow-up vision that showed anyone sent up the mountain to help would return safely. It quelled one fear the villagers had. Still, the Encanto had been isolated for 50 years. Bruno himself had reservations about being exposed to outsiders. He tried to remain open-minded. His nieces and nephews helped with that. They were bouncing off the walls with excitement over the idea of meeting new people. They had all sorts of theories on what they might be like.

Luisa had, unsurprisingly, offered to go up. Her parents had firmly rejected the offer. It was far too dangerous for them to send their little girl. Neither Julieta nor Agustín said it aloud, but it was also clear they knew there would be casualties. They wanted to shield their children from the death that the rescue party would come face to face with.

Félix was part of the search party, but Agustín was, kindly, told to remain in town to help Julieta. They feared that the accident-prone man would get himself killed. Julieta needed the extra hands to help care for any injured survivors. It was already a miracle people lived at all, it’d be impossible for them to be unscathed. Pepa helped Julieta and Mirabel when she wasn’t pacing, terrified about Félix.

“What if he gets hurt?” The cloud above Pepa’s head boomed with thunder.

“Bruno’s vision showed us that everyone will be alright,” Mirabel reassured her. 

Pepa nodded. She was able to get herself to stop pacing. She continued to help move supplies, allowing the cloud above her head to storm. She’d gotten better at just feeling her feelings. Mirabel squeezed her tía’s shoulder. She noticed that it helped calm the storm for a nanosecond. 

It took hours before the rescuers returned with dazed and injured survivors. Julieta had been given plenty of time to cook healing arepas and empanadas. The Madrigal children were kept away from the process of bringing in the injured and healing them.

Mirabel had been sent home long before the survivors arrived at the makeshift camp. Back at the casita, she couldn’t sit still, frustrated.

“I should be down there helping,” Mirabel lamented. The desire to help everyone ran in the Madrigal blood, but Mirabel truly embodied it.

Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. He had stayed behind to keep the children occupied. “It’s better you don’t see it.”

“How can they expect me to stay on the sidelines?” Mirabel exclaimed. “I’m practically an adult! I should be there.”

Bruno smiled, weakly. Was it tradition for 15-year-olds to see themselves as ‘practically an adult’? He remembered thinking the same thing at her age. He knew that in few years time, she’d realize she wasn’t as adult as she thought.

“Mirabel,” Bruno gently redirected her attention. “You’re needed here.” He nodded his head toward Antonio.

When Mirabel’s eyes landed on Antonio, she softened. Bruno knew that would be the thing to convince her. If he couldn’t talk her into staying away for her own good, she’d do it for Antonio.

“Alright, you win. This time.” Mirabel knew what he was doing. It still worked so, yes, he did win.

It would be hours before anyone returned home. The decision to make the children stay behind turned out to be warranted. Pepa and Félix were the first to return, looking haggard. Bruno approached, quietly. His eyes met Pepa’s and she silently pleaded, ‘Please, don’t ask.’

He wouldn’t learn more until Julieta returned. Out of 30 passengers, only 14 had survived. Even with Julieta’s gift, it was bloody and grim. Her magical gift had also lead to panic among the survivors. None of them had ever encountered magic before.

“Fortunately, most of them seem to know Spanish, even if they aren’t very good at it,” Julieta said. “I was able to explain what was happening. There was a boy with them who helped translate, too. He was Colombian so it was easy to talk to him.”

“How did they take it?” Bruno asked. “Your gift, I mean.”

“When they realized I was saving their lives, they took to it very quickly,” Julieta managed a smile. It was a smile that was meant to comfort her baby brother. “I have to go back soon, but we also wanted to give them some space to mourn.”

It had to be devastating, Bruno thought. He didn’t even want to try to put himself in their shoes.

“Some of them have a clear head,” Julieta said. “They seem to be the ones taking the lead. We’ll be helping them find a way to get everyone home.”

Bruno could understand their urgency to get home. It would also make the village feel safer, knowing that they were already planning their departure.

“We were right to leave the children at home,” Julieta added. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve healed a lot of broken bones and wounds in my time, but some of them came to me completely mangled. The children should never have to see that.”

Bruno carefully took his sister’s hand in his, pulling her closer to wrap his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, needing the embrace.

“How are you feeling, hermanita?” Bruno knew that people often forgot to check in on Julieta. She was the eldest daughter who always had to hold it together for everyone else.

With that one question, Julieta let loose a stream of tears. She clung to her brother for dear life. Bruno let her cry, patting her back for comfort. It was all the answer he needed. They remained like that until Julieta’s tears subsided. She stood back and cupped her brother’s face in her hands.

“Thank you.” She then lowered her hands, wiping away any lone tears still on her face. “I need to get back to work, but I very much needed that.”

And, as if nothing happened at all, Julieta went back to work, darting around the house. Bruno would always admire her strength and courage, wishing he was more like that.

It would be a few days before Bruno would even meet any of the survivors. They had been struggling to process the loss of 11 passengers and the 5 crew members of the plane. As Julieta said, only some of them were able to move forward with a clear head at the moment. Their de facto leader, Edward Gruber, had arrived at the Madrigal home, accompanied by their Colombian guide, Guillermo Muñoz, and a woman named Bex McQuoid. She’d been brought along to be a mediator of sorts for Edward and Guillermo, who had no lost love between them. Guillermo didn’t seem to be much older than Mirabel and Camilo, but it was difficult to gauge how old he was on sight alone.

Having a fellow Colombian with the survivors definitely helped ease some fears. He was the most accepting of the Encanto. It didn’t take long for him to fit in among the villagers, although he had a clear Rolo* accent. He was definitely a city boy and, while he fit in, he definitely was missing the comforts of home.

They had arrived in time for dinner. The family gathered with their guests in the cozy dining room with a meal lovingly prepared by Julieta and Isabela. The family allowed Abuela to steer the conversation. She still ran the show, after all.

“Señora Madrigal, we’re hoping to be out of your hair very soon.” Guillermo was a polite young man. He seemed rocked by the events of the crash, yet he was a strong and resilient lad. “I imagine you must be very worried about all these strangers in your home.”

“We had concerns,” Alma sat tall at the head of the table. She was a powerful presence. “Our village has never had outsiders.”

“This is probably a pretty traumatic way to get your first visitors,” Bex noted. While she seemed to be putting on a brave face, Bruno had a suspicion it was for Guillermo’s benefit rather than her own. 

Guillermo and Bex shared a look. It seemed to be a silent language between them. It reminded Bruno of the silent conversations his family could have with just a glance. The two seemed to have a familial relationship, although Bruno couldn’t really discern if they were actually related. They didn’t look anything alike, but that didn’t prove or disprove anything.

“We have no intention of bringing anyone else here,” Guillermo reassured the Madrigals. “Once we leave the Encanto, you’ll never hear from us again.”

“Bex, tell the boy not to be so dramatic,” Gruber cut in. He seemed to have no reverence for the dead. It felt like having a salesman in their house.

“Call me crazy, but I think he can hear you without my help,” Bex took another bite of her dinner, disinterested in Gruber. Guillermo smirked.

Gruber quickly changed the topic, “You live in such a beautiful and vibrant town. It’d be a shame to just leave and pretend we’d never been here at all.”

“We prefer our privacy,” Alma stood firm. Her only concern was to protect her family. Gruber’s alleged charm would have no effect on her. “We offer our hospitality to you, but we do ask that you leave as soon as possible. We would prefer if you did not return.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, Abuela,” Mirabel said. “I don’t think we have to completely cut off the outside world.”

Alma gently touched her granddaughter’s shoulder. “We will speak on that another time, Mirabel.”

Mirabel bit her tongue. Alma and Mirabel might not discuss everything in the moment, but there was an unspoken promise to discuss it later. Alma simply didn’t want to do it in front of strangers.

“We very much respect your wishes, Señora Madrigal,” Guillermo promised.

“Seconding the kid,” Bex said. “You got a nice thing going here. I wouldn’t want us messing it up either.”

“We wouldn’t be ‘messing it up’,” Gruber argued. “I’m suggesting we simply come to some sort of agreement, like a trade agreement or alliance.”

“Trade agreement?” Alma sounded skeptical of the suggestion.

“Yes!” Gruber became more animated as he spoke. “You see, Bex and me come from a place called America. It’s just above—”

“I’m aware of what the United States is,” Alma cut him off. Bruno noticed a smirk cross Bex’s face at that. She enjoyed Gruber being put in his place. “We’re not the fools you imagine us to be.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Señora!”

The way he spoke Spanish was like nails on chalkboard to Bruno and he couldn’t explain why. While Bex had an accent — a fairly thick one — he didn’t mind listening to her speak. Perhaps it was because she took corrections on grammar and pronunciation from Guillermo in stride. She lacked the defensiveness Gruber had over his Spanish.

“Then how did you mean it?” Camilo asked, dubious.

“I wasn’t sure how much outside knowledge this village had, that’s all,” Gruber said. “You said you were isolated. It was an honest mistake.”

Alma was unimpressed, but allowed him to continue.

“We have a lot in common,” Gruber addressed Alma. “You’re a mother. I have a kid! She’s back over at the little huts you have us staying at. She’s about this one’s age.” He pointed directly at Mirabel. “And I’m sure she’ll pop out a grandkid or two eventually, so I’ll eventually get around to the abuelo thing. And back home, I’m very respected in my community, like you are!”

Guillermo grumbled something Bruno couldn’t hear at that. He made a mental note to ask Dolores what he said later on.

“I think my company has a lot to offer the Encanto,” Gruber said. 

“What kind of company do you run?” Mirabel asked.

“I’m in real estate,” Gruber exclaimed. “I’ve been buying properties in Florida and the Bahamas for a while now. I’ve started expanding my business to South America and I knew Colombia was the perfect place to start….”

As Gruber droned on, Bruno struggled to focus. His social battery was draining faster by the moment. It didn’t help that something felt off about this man. Bruno’s anxiety was starting to bubble up, causing him to fidget. He would pull at a string on his ruana before telling himself to leave it alone. He was too nervous to eat so he didn’t know what to do with hands. His fingers went right back to that string on his ruana. 

He felt someone was watching him. He looked up to see Bex had noticed his movements. Great, now he was even more anxious. He gave her a jittery smile, trying to be polite. She gave him a much more confident smile in return. She turned her focus back to eating, giving Bruno some reprieve. He was used to watching other people, not being watched.

He felt a hand squeeze his. He looked down to see Antonio holding his hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Bruno’s anxiety dissipated in an instant. He whispered back. “Thank you, Toñito.”

“I’ll let you think about what I said.” Gruber wiped any food remnants off his mouth before getting to his feet. Bruno had missed every word of his sales pitch. “Maybe we can continue it after you’ve slept on it.”

Alma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “My answer will remain the same.”

What had Mamá said? Bruno wondered, regretting tuning out.

“Now, Señora Madrigal, you don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

“I should remind you that there are people in your group who are still in mourning,” Alma reminded him. Bruno was reminded of the black shawl that used to grace his mother’s shoulders, as if she would mourn his father forever. It took her 50 years to finally take it off.

She must have been disgusted with his disrespect for the dead and those who mourned them.

“I don’t understand,” Gruber admitted.

“She’s trying to tell you that you’re being tacky,” Guillermo switched to English. Bruno didn’t catch a word of it. Did any of his nieces or nephews learn English? He’d have to ask.

Gruber’s grip tightened around his fork. When the wave of anger passed, he let out an amused chuckle. “Life must go on, as they say,” he said. “But we don’t want to wear out your welcome. Thank you for dinner and my compliments to the chef.”

Julieta smiled although Agustín placed a protective hand around her waist. It felt like a threat to have this man even just speak to his wife. “Thank you,” she said.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some of these recipes from you before we leave the Encanto,” Bex said to Julieta.

“It would be my pleasure,” Julieta said, happy to teach people how to cook traditional Colombian food.

The goodbyes between the two groups were clunky, but the Madrigals remained polite in seeing them out the door. Félix helped guide them back to the survivors’ huts. Bruno watched as they headed down the pathway. He had a bad feeling about all of this.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mirabel nudged him.

“Huh?”

“About that guy?”

Bruno nodded. “Something’s not right with him.” It was really saying something for Bruno, of all people, to say that about someone else.

“So…?” Mirabel was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him.

“So?” He wasn’t picking them up.

“Have another vision! This time, about Señor Gruber.”

Bruno took a deep breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to have another vision.

--------

*The Rolo accent is a Colombian Spanish dialect that's spoken in Bogotá and other major cities. Guillermo is from Bogotá so he has a Rolo accent.

[sunnirayss]

An Introduction... ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I've had this blog for like 8 years or so, but never actually posted my own content until this week. I may post more frequently going into next year (or not), but if I do it seems fitting to make a post formally introducing myself and this blog.

I go by a few names but you can just call me Naj. I'm 22 and also genderfluid, so go ahead and use whatever pronouns you think fit best :)

I'm a reality shifter who also practices/has a great interest in all things:

manifestation

law of assumption/the teachings of Neville Goddard

lucid dreaming

astral projection

meditation

the void state

various kinds of witchcraft (especially chaos magick)

the occult

other esoteric and spiritual practices

I found shifting back in May 2022 but wouldn't actually make any progress until 2023 after looking into law of assumption.

I've already shifted and also plan on respawning in the not-so-distant future. I have a lot of DRs (like probably around 60+ at this point?) but my main ones are a waiting room and a better CR.

I will make the occasional posts, but expect a lot of reblogging (shifting/LOA stuff, fandom stuff, and cute animals).

My Boundaries (may change)

Be kind, or at least respectful. If you wouldn't say it someone in real life, don't say it someone online.

Don't try to debunk or insult my beliefs, experiences, or practices. It doesn't make you sound smart, just like an asshole

Feel free to ask me for advice or my perspectives on things. As long as you're respectful and clear with your question, I'll probably answer it.

DMs are open if you're 18+, just be respectful

DMs are closed to minors, but feel to interact with the blog since there's nothing NSFW on here

Do not ask me to shift you, manifest for you, make you wake up in the void, or anything similar. I'm not going to spend my time or energy just manifesting things for complete strangers on the internet, and you shouldn't be depend on a complete stranger to make your dreams come true.

Do not ask me to somehow prove shifting/manifesting/etc to you. Even if I did, people would only focus on painting that proof as fabricated somehow and we'd be right back to where we started.

Do not ask for my takes on controversial shifting topics such as "race changing" or morality (shifting to "bad" DRs to do immoral things). Any debates on these topics quickly devolve into petty arguments and name calling from my experience, so there's zero point in trying since most people have already made up their minds (myself included).

All shifters are welcome, except anyone who wants to be judgemental. It makes zero sense to police what other people do in their own DRs, focus on your own!

Other Socials and Helpful Documents

Reddit: u/sunnirays

Spotify: naj cymin

I made a lot of posts on Reddit and before I left the shifting community, I compiled a document with links to the most helpful ones + plus some other resources that really helped me learn how to shift. Then I copied all of my posts into a seperate document in case something happens or people just want to read them offline.

You can find both in the pinned post on my Reddit and linked below:

dividers by @cafekitsune

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Scars To Your Beautiful - Legolas Greenleaf X GN Reader

Title: Scars To Your Beautiful

Legolas Greenleaf X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Orcs (Mentioned)

Requested by @micheleamidalajedi!

WC: 927

Warnings: Reader's insecure about their scars, anxiety, nervousness, fighting mentioned, battles mentioned, insecurities, slight angst, and fluff

Rivendell was quiet at night. The light of the moon and stars shone brightly through a window into your room, illuminating it in a silvery glow. Your gaze shifted to Legolas, who sat beside you, fiddling with his arrows. Your eyes passed over his skin, pale and spotless. Smooth and soft. From his hands, to his neck, to his face. He was perfect. You were envious. Envious of your own soulmate. Oh, how you wished your skin was as blemish free as his. Yet, your scars marked your skin, as did the few freckles that dotted along you. But your scars... They were the real problem. You hated them. They reminded you that you were too slow. You weren't fast enough to move away from your opponent's blade.

Legolas seemed to have noticed your faraway look and how quiet you were being. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle as always. The softness made him seem even more ethereal. You loved him so much. You would do anything for him. You wanted nothing more than to kiss his cheek or run your fingers through his hair. Anything to feel close to him. "Nin mel?" He tried again, finally grabbing your attention from the bedsheets.

"Yes, Legolas." You finally answered, "I'm alright." You tried to convince him, but it didn't seem to work. 

"Where were you?" He asked as you scrunched up your nose in confusion.

"What do you mean, my love? I am right here."

Legolas shook his head, "No, nin lote," He sat down his arrows, fully facing you. His hand gently caressed your cheek as he stared into your eyes, "You were so far away. In the depths of your mind." He paused, his gaze intense, "What is the matter?" He reached his other hand out to hold yours and squeezed it reassuringly. You could only stare back at him helplessly. "What worries you so?"

"Oh, Legolas…" You mumbled softly, your eyes welling with tears. "I worry myself so." You answered. Legolas looked on at you confused but let you continue. "I feel... Imperfect. I have so many scars upon me to ever think I am beautiful." You confessed quietly, "My body looks like a monster... And yet, when I look at you, I find you most beautiful of all."

Legolas frowned, "You are beautiful." He insisted. "When I first met you, I thought you came from The Valar themselves." Slowly, Legolas reached out to you, his long fingers gently ghosting against the small scar on your shoulder. Your oldest scar, from fighting during the Battle of the Five Armies. You shuddered, his cool skin touching you. "You're more beautiful than any of them. More beautiful than me." He whispered, "More beautiful than anything you will ever see." His words were barely audible and yet, you heard every word. You felt yourself smile, his warmth seeping into you.

"Your scars," Legolas began, making your chest tighten anxiously. "Your scars just prove how brave and powerful you are. How strong you truly are." A small smile graced his lips, as his fingers trailed down your side, resting over the scar on your side over your soft Rivendell clothing. "They tell me and others that you are a courageous fighter. That you don't need others to protect you." You could only gape at him as he continued, "I am in awe of you." He finished, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, before pressing your foreheads together. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, and smiled. "Please be kinder to yourself."

"I will try, my love." You breathed out, trying to reassure him, your heart swelled with so much love for the Elvin Prince in front of you. He always knew what to say, surprising you each time. His words seeped into you, warming you soul, and opening your mind.

Legolas gently took your hand in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to the scar on your upper arm. One you had gotten in a fight with a nasty orc. Setting your hand down, Legolas cupped your face and pulled you closer to his face. You melted into the kiss. When he broke away after a moment, you opened your eyes. You gazed into his blue eyes filled with concern and care. "Promise me you'll never forget this," He said, his thumb tracing the line of your scar, "This is what defines you, not who you are." He brought his hand to hold your cheek, "And these scars remind you that you aren't weak. This is a testament of your bravery and strength." You could hardly believe what he said. You were speechless. It was hard to believe the sweet, caring Prince sitting beside you would say such words. "Do not let yourself doubt yourself. Do not doubt how great you are. You deserve everything good in life." His tone was serious now, almost threatening, "You are beautiful."

You nodded slightly, unable to find the words to respond. "Now get some rest. We've got a busy day tomorrow." He smiled fondly, kissing your forehead once more. You nodded in agreement and slipped beneath the covers. Legolas tucked your sheets around your body and leaned in to give you a final kiss on the lips. "Goodnight, Y/N." He whispered, then blew out the bedside table’s candles,  and slid under the blanket next to you. You curled up next to him, resting your head on his chest, and sighed happily. 

[stelliestell]

gonna ramble a bit here

hearing all these allegations against Lily still hurts in a sense. i don't like Lily, and haven't for roughly ~2 years, but i really was a fan of her! i even was working on drawing her and Mikaila a while ago (permanently unfinished in part because it was on my old phone)

("trans women series" refers to me drawing all these trans women creators i like after seeing a crap ton of disgusting terf posts)

Lily greatly influenced the way i thought and, in a sense, still does. i think some of her older videos still hold up! (Blame and groom being one i still appreciate, I'm pretty sure Base Breaker was the eye opening one for me esp. i remember showing my mom a clip from it saying something in disagreement to it only for her to say she pretty much agreed with it)

Obviously, Lily is untrustworthy. This is just a fact; she constantly changes her stories and lies about things (whether purposeful or unintentionally) such as details in Steven Universe or creating false arguments/problems. Things are also factually correct, such as her writing Stockholm. Multiple things prove this. Because she's untrustworthy and blatantly lies about the truth, that's why I can't really trust what she says. That's why I believe Courtney. That's why I believe Britt.

Despite this, I find myself struggling to believe all these claims against her. I wasn't 100% sure on her being nooblord9001, and I think we all know that she actually isn't. Seeing people talk about her faking cancer or being abusive to Mikaila, it's hard for me to really get behind that. Stuff like that is EXTREMELY hard to prove or disprove, and I don't really know how to feel about it. This is not me trying to claim I believe Lily is truthfully a good wife and had cancer, but it's hard for me to really get on board with those claims.

In a sense, I also feel bad for Mikaila. I'm not sure if any allegations are against her, but before and after I was a fan of Lily, I really liked Mikaila. She seems sweet and I liked watching her videos occasionally. After seeing a recent post of hers, it kinda made me reflect. She discussed how people who claim Lily abused her haven't reached out to ask if she's okay, and I honestly believe her. I believe there's more than that, but i feel guilt. It's kinda like MO is a prop, and I feel bad about that.

I don't want to constantly hate on Lily Orchard. I do not like her, I find her extremely dangerous, and I honestly believe she is a predator. I greatly dislike the fact that she is still on the internet and has an influence over people. It's hard for me to listen to these horrible allegations that I fully believe and it's really hard for me to hear critics of her disagree. I don't want to be in an echo chamber. That's not to say I don't trust these people, it's just tiring. Everything about this is tiring. Claiming your "stalkers" are only hating on you because they are transphobic is exhausting. It seems pointless. I don't want it to be.

Around a year ago, I started a video script called "Lily Orchard has backed herself into a corner." Like practically all my other projects, this one will remain unfinished, and while I still think she backed herself into a corner (this title referring to her denying writing Stockholm), I'm losing hope. People have been critics of her for so long and basically nothing has come of it. It's frustrating. I hate being pessimistic, but I'm worried that nothing will come of this. In all honestly, I hope Lily sues her critics just for them to provide evidence against her.

Feel free to correct me on anything. I'm willing to be change my mind and I obviously want to know if something I believe is false. I'm tired.

[captain-america-tho]

Hello, sorry i don't know how to use this app xd I want to ask about ur reply, " he became cap for bucky" It's been awhile since i seen the movie last time, can u please explain to me where and how ? 🥺 thanx!

Hi!!

Ok, so this is only my interpretation and it has been a while since I saw the movies myself so I hope this makes sense <3 

– – – 

Obviously “became cap for bucky” is a bit of a shortcut. Steve’s decision to join the army, his personality (his heroic qualities), his decision to undergo the supersoldier experiment - all the things one could argue made Steve into Captain America - had nothing to do with Bucky. 

I meant that thanks to Bucky Steve had the push to become Cap rather than play the role of Cap. 

Since becoming a supersoldier Steve performs on various events helping the government raise money for the army and boosting morale (or trying to). At this point he is physically a super soldier, and he is referred to as Captain America. But it's just that - a title. A role he is playing. He feels like a circus monkey, performing for somebody’s entertainment, no more useful than a prop to take photos with. He is called Captain America, he is playing Captain America, but he is not Captain America.

Learning from Peggy what happened to the 107th - and that Bucky is presumed dead - pushes him on a solo suicide rescue mission. And I think that this is the point at which he becomes Captain America, the hero. He makes the decision, he takes the risk and he saves not only Bucky but the whole division, and thus proves himself in the eyes of the colonel. 

And he went there because of Bucky. Because the colonel thought he was dead, and Steve believed he was wrong - that Bucky was alive (he told the rescued prisoners that he was looking for Sergeant Barnes).

Now, obviously Steve has always been heroic ie he possessed the heroic qualities. He is brave, loyal, has a strong moral compass etc. His mom raised him right. So I'm not saying he wasn’t heroic/a hero before the rescue mission. I’m saying he wasn’t Captain-America-the-Hero (as opposed to Captain-America-the-Girls-Choir-Prop) until the rescue mission. 

Then in Civil War Steve leaves behind the shield and thus rejects the title/role of Captain America (the Hero). In Infinity War we see him as Nomad - he is still a hero and he does what is right  because he will always be a hero.

But he became Captain America and he stopped being Captain America for Bucky. Thanks to Bucky. Because of Bucky. 

also side note: the movie is titled Captain America: The First Avenger and there is exactly one point at which Steves wants to avenge someone - Bucky, precisely his death. Narratively speaking Steve (the character) didn’t need to undergo an internal change (like for example Tony had to in IM1) to become a hero - he already is heroic. But there is a point at which Steve (the character) does change internally: he changes his stance from “I don't want to kill anyone; I don't like bullies, I don't care where they're from” to “I'm not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.” And that is also because of Bucky.

God I love them. 

[femmebambi]

oh? you’ve trained yourself to stay quiet? so if i slowly fucked you with my tongue, you think you could keep quiet? you think you wouldn’t need to cover your mouth with your hands when i take your clit between my lips and push my fingers into you, curling my fingers against your sensitive walls at the same time as i suck on your clit? you think you could handle all that and stay quiet at the same time?

and how am i supposed to bury my strap inside you when you can only take two fingers? i know you can do better than that sweetheart…

as for edging yourself, i would love nothing more than to watch you get so close only to pull your hands away at the last second, chest heaving and teeth clamped down on your red, swollen lip to stop it falling open and releasing all those pretty moans. i want to see you writhe and tease yourself, slowly getting more frustrated without release. but you won’t let yourself cum because you know i’d be disappointed if you didn’t work yourself into a needy, mindless frenzy first. and when you think you can’t take anymore and your neck is straining against the pillows, i’ll take over and edge you some more. i’ll tie your wrists together and tell you not to move them or else i’ll stop. i’ll make you feel so good with my fingers, my tongue, my strap, whatever i want really. and when your cheeks are wet with tears and you’re begging me to let you have just one, i will ruin you. i won’t stop making you cum until i’m happy with how well you take me. until you’ve earned the title of my good girl. i’ll leave you shaking and numb and so so sore, and you’ll love every minute of it.

and if you really want me to come off anon and dm you, you’ll earn that too. go on babygirl, beg for it.

- 🧸

yeahhh see, I don't know if I could be quiet in that situation. Need to feel you so bad. I'm so needy tonight 🥹. I could probably take 3 if I'm feeling turned on enough..and probably after I've cum once. Maybe I'll try it tonight just for you love.

I'd edge myself for as long as you wanted me to. Want to prove that I'm your good girl. I want whatever you have to offer. I'd cry and beg because you're just making me feel so good. I want to be left sore so my body remembers how well you fucked me just as my brain does. I actually thought about you fucking me against a wall so much today. Like I need you so bad.

I don't want to beg for something that you'll be uncomfortable doing :(. I will happily beg to you, but only if you actually want to do that.

☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

[bleedingcloud]

9/19/24

Anyone who knows me knows that for one, I always say I'll be succinct, and I never am.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm a very reserved person. Someone once told me that I'm the queen of deflecting. (If you see this, ily).

Truthfully, this has been one of the worst years of my life.

Irreconcilable grievances amongst a myriad of conflating factors have cast over the wonderful things that I have encountered and experienced this year.

I have always attempted to be a kind and altruistic person. My intentions have always been a pure display of my intrinsic desire to put action behind my words, show up in a multitude of ways for others, and prove to them that there are people who care. It is meaningless to me the amount of time I have known an individual. I will always go out of my way to bend over backwards to disprove theories of isolation.

Regardless of how hard I try, I cannot change this value. I am a problem solver by nature and I want to help. I would drop everything and anything to drive hundreds of miles to be there to show you that you're not alone.

The weight of my endeavors has never felt as fruitless as they have felt this year. This is not to say I have felt any regret over anything I've done. I am a firm believer in people doing things because they want to, not because of some arbitrary obligation.

There are people dependent on me. I don't mean in a "my friends need me!" kind of way, but rather dependents that require financial, emotional, and physical presence. My survival is contingent on the dependency of others.

I feel like this year I've had such a disconnect in reconciling my past and future in this weird space of purgatory.

In spaces of academic elitism, I struggle to connect, having gone to a Title I-funded public school system for the duration of my youth. I make attempts to cut through the class gaps and prove my worth as an academic. These efforts find me in good faith with my professors, but studying alone for hours is nothing more than an outlet to distract from the fact that I am alone. Academia has always been my coping mechanism. I can throw myself into hours of reading and work, and the academic gratification feels fulfilling.

I turn to those I miss and love, but at times, it feels there are these unspoken distances or spaces between, or maybe I have grown away. I am incredibly appreciative of those still in my life that I do love and care about.

My family is a mess I wouldn't attempt to touch in this venting session, but know they're always on my mind, in the most gut-wrenching and painful way.

I've felt this year has just been me being squeezed for juice and there's nothing left for me to give. My cup has not been refilled. My attempts to fill my cup have been going back to my previous mention of ensuring others don't feel alone.

I have been told you cannot martyr yourself, but I cannot conceivably conjure up an alternative purpose. My life is not for me - it is simply a vehicle to help others. That is what gives me purpose.

I have loved and I have lost so much this year. I have reached out absent any responses. It has been incredibly difficult for me to reconcile how I could have so much love in my heart and yet feel so innately alone. I have committed social suicide with the potential intent of committing the real deal. I have attempted to drown the weight in my heart with any means necessary to make it go away. I have screamed and cried and pleaded with G-d or whoever else would possibly hear my cries and tell me it was going to be okay.

I have done some incredible things this year. I have loved and enjoyed and indulged and learned so much. I would not write this with the intent to paint a false image. People have done so much for me and shown me so much love. I'm just trying to keep moving forward. I am searching for alternative means.

The most gut-wrenching pain I have encountered this year has been my expression of love and care in its entirety to those around me and receiving not an iota of love back. Giving my all to someone or something and being met with disillusion and moments of exclusion. I’ve always felt marganilized in various spaces throughout my life, but never as much as I have this year. I am not enough for spaces of elitism, but how could I not be enough or maybe even too much for camaraderie? This is my elegiac moment. I ask for nothing. I should expect nothing.

I'm going to keep pushing through because I know my love isn't wasted and I know my efforts might be fruitless, but they mean something to me. Despite how different I crave to be, despite how much I want to absolve myself of altruism, I cannot. These factors are far too intrinsic to erase.

Hearing someone tell me how much my words, actions, or efforts meant to them make it worth it - gives my life meaning.

If you need me, you know where to find me.

[neon-rhapsodies]

On not writing

A few weeks ago I wrote in my notes app: "Do you still want to write?" I then turned that note into a post, also in my notes app, that read: "What's the point of writing if nobody reads it?". I came back to that post the other day. I copied that question and pasted it into Google. A lot of stuff came up saying that, if you like writing, you should do it anyway. You should do it because you like it. You should do it for yourself. Basically, you should do it because it's worth it; you should do it because it has value to you. This is the tricky bit. I'm not sure my writing has any value to me anymore.

There's another post, in my other notes app, titled 'On writing'. In that post, I shared the story of how I'd always been good at writing, until I had an accident at university, and now I struggle with writing. The post was a much shorter version of another series of posts, again in that same notes app, in which I explained how I used to be good at writing as a child, then got gradually worse as a teenager, then struggled through university, then had my accident at university, and now I have trauma from that experience and feel sick whenever I try to write anything.

The truth is… none of this is true. At least, not entirely true.

I've always been good at writing, and I still am. I know I am, because I've been told by many people over time throughout my life. I was told by my teachers in primary and middle school. I won prizes and awards in secondary school. I scored several first class marks at university with my essays, and I even got a first class in my BA degree and a Merit in my Master's. When I was first looking to apply for a PhD, I once wrote a proposal over 10 hours of hyperfocus-induced writing, and my potential supervisor, who is now a professor, told me that it was great, and he wished he was as good as me at writing.

I should note that I am actually a very humble person in real life, and that that paragraph was one of the hardest things I've ever had to write in my entire life. But I had to! I had to write it down to make it real. Make it real to myself, as much as I keep saying that I struggle with writing, that there is a fair amount of evidence suggesting that, historically, when I've written something, it has usually been good, and I should keep that in mind.

As for the question of what's the point of writing if nobody reads it… that's more complicated. I have a blog. I've had a blog for many years. I've been asking myself that question for about as many years as I've had a blog . And yet, despite everything, I've kept writing. But behind everything I've ever written, there was a deep need to connect, to belong, to be part of something; to share a piece of my soul and see it reflected in that of others. All that stuff before university, I wrote it because I knew that it was going to be read. And that is a fact, because I have plenty of ideas for stories or posts or research that I never wrote about in my spare time, and that's likely because of that question. Because for me, writing, at least in prose, for some reason, has always been about being read. Not to prove my worth or anything. But to be seen, and to see myself being seen. And I don't know why that is, but I know it is, and that's the way it is.

When I started writing on this blog proper, I had just finished university and I was looking for a way to connect, to find my community, having just lost my fellow community of Classics students and aspiring researchers. I thought I would go through my ideas and start writing on them one by one, but it never happened. First, for a very true, very good reason -- I actually had trauma. I was actually unwell, feeling sick just at the thought of writing, and there was nothing I could do about it -- I had to stop. But also… no matter how hard I kept working on the form, the format, the way to put my writing into existence, I never quite managed to make it happen. All I could do was keep writing about the writing itself and all the circumstances surrounding it -- all the issues with academia, with Classics, the Classics community as a whole, etc. And as I look back at that list of topics I wanted to write about… now, I don't know what to think. They don't look so great to me anymore. I'm not sure.

This is why I started this post the way I did. Because, after I spent some time examining the question "what's the point of writing if nobody reads it?", I realised that the actual question was the original one, and that is, "do I still want to write?". Do I still want to write about this stuff? Do I still want to write about these topics that I do find fascinating in their own right, but I would never want to venture into, knowing that I would never have anyone to share them with?

Which takes me back to the other issue of me no longer being good at writing. The problem is not that my writing has gotten worse over time. The problem is that I've had fewer and fewer people to share it with. And granted, that can also mean that one's writing gets worse over time. But historically, for me, that has not been the case. Instead, what has changed? Simple! I am no longer a student. I work full time. I don't have time to write. I can't make time to write. And I don't have anyone to write for, so, I find it more difficult to get motivated. Because, at least in prose, I don't write for myself. I write for others.

I should definitely note that I know this is not right. I know that there is definitely something going on here, something to do with my self-esteem, my self-worth, and how it is tied to how others perceive me. I know it, and I get it. But also, the fact that I do know this does not make it any easier. And I'm not going to get over my perfectionism, anxiety or imposter syndrome about writing anytime soon. It does help that I understand it. But again, it doesn't solve the issue. It just tells me what works and what doesn't. And right now, this… this doesn't work. I can't write for myself. I can only write for others. At least in prose.

At least in prose, I keep saying, because verse, instead… it's a lot easier.

I've been writing poetry for years now. I have a lot of stuff in my notes apps. Some stuff I even put out online when Poetizer was a thing. Now I'm thinking of posting it on a sideblog on Tumblr. Otherwise, my main craft would be songwriting. I have written a few songs in the past, with some success, and ideally I would like to go back to writing songs on the main. That includes recording and performing them live. In theory, I see myself as a musician, with a dash of poetry on the side, and a few stories written here and there. But at the moment, I am doing nothing. Literally nothing. This is because I've had a few issues in my life, and the issue with writing has taken over everything else, poisoning any other form of creativity -- because how could I possibly find it easier to write songs or poems, when 'serious' writing had always come so natural to me?

I suppose it has something to do with feeling alive. Poetry, music… they make me feel alive. Writing, however… when I think about how the word itself makes me feel, I see so much death. Death of the self. Death of my worth. Death of… well, actual death. Near-death experience. Yeah. I've had that. And it was because of writing. It was because of the pressure that that 'serious' thing that writing is can put on you. Granted, it was me who did it. I put the pressure on myself. But it was all about the writing. And I don't want that anymore.

When I try to visualise that kind of writing, the one that once got me down so bad, I see the faces of all the people who had such high expectations of me, and whose trust I betrayed… whom I let down. Again, all in my mind. Remember when I said that I've always written for someone? I also meant them. Not just the readers in front of the page, but all the people behind it -- my family, my friends, my lecturers. A huge crowd of people looking in, checking in, making sure I'm doing alright. Ah, the pressure! Unbearable. But with music or poetry, I've never felt that. I have had my poetry read in public. I've played my music in front of live audiences without skipping a beat. I've had people come to me and be so surprised, asking me where that came from, telling me that on stage I'm a different person. I've always loved that feeling. But then, I also like it when there's no audience. When I write a poem that I like, or record a song that makes me feel alive. I love it! But with writing, I haven't felt like that. Not in years. And I think I can see why. Music and poetry have always had value to me, even without an audience. But not writing. To me, writing has always been about the others.

So now, when I look at my ideas for topics I would have liked to write about, I just don't see the value in them. I mean, they're not that bad but… they're not quite as worth writing about as I would like. They're not as academic as I'd like, and there's no academia to make them worth my while. Again, I keep thinking: if no one reads it, what's the point? I'm not happy with the topics, I'm not happy with the medium. And most importantly, there's no community for me to write for. That's why I had worked so hard on that project of mine to create an online Classics community, a "forum-like space", where people like myself could share their ideas and writing and seek feedback from others. But that went the way it went. As did all my previous and subsequent experiments on genre and style.

I've now gone through my list of ideas and sorted them out. I think if I touch them again, it will be for a PhD.

Yes, I have been thinking about doing a PhD. Not now, of course. But at some point, in the future. Because now that I've established that the trauma from my university experience, whilst very debilitating, is not the main reason why I've been struggling with writing, something in my brain has unlocked. Now that I know the real cause of my problem, I can see also what the solution would be. Need an audience to write? Make one. Do a PhD. Pick an interesting topic. Really, I'd write about any topic. But let's choose at least something that tickles my interest. Then, get a supervisor. Maybe two. Get a community of aspiring and established researchers. And then see what happens.

Going through my posts again on this blog, I was struck by something I had written about my prior project of the online Classics community. That perhaps it would help if I saw my project as a job to get done, some great mighty endeavour, rather than the passion thingy I had been cultivating on the side. That's why, thinking about it recently, a PhD sounded more appealing. Because at least it would give me a reason to write -- not for myself, but for others, for the research community, for the greater purpose of contributing to the knowledge of all humankind. Again, I'm not fussy about the topic. Because to me, it matters not the what, but the how.

In another post not long ago, I joked: "Video essay this, video essay that. But what about a video PhD?". Obviously, the times are not ripe for that. Not yet, at least. But I have noticed that saying and recording things out loud is highly beneficial for me, and I would like to incorporate it into any writing practice I would do for a PhD. And whatever institution or supervisor I end up doing it with, it will be very important for them to understand that I want to do this on my terms. First of all, remotely. Part time, obviously. And crucially, using whatever methodologies I see fit. With lots of contact, and stream of consciousness writing, and flexible targets to help me stay on top of things. I'm sure there's more for me to explore and find out, but this, this is fundamental. I refuse to follow a stifling tradition that revels in elitism and dogmatism and all other useless -isms. I am looking to embrace creative and intellectual exploration, collaboration, and appreciation.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that, for once, I want to do this not just for others, but also for myself. I want to prove to myself that I can do this, and that I can do it the way I want. And I want to prove to others too that it can be done in this or any other way. Because yes, I want to do this for myself, but also because of my main goal: to help make Classics more accessible. Because if a PhD can be done in whatever way one wishes, surely there's no limit to whatever other ways our interactions in the world of Classics could be like, whether personal or formal, in public or among academics. I dream of a world where these things do not exist in extremes or even opposites, but rather as a seamless experience, where inreach and outreach fuse to become a single and different kind of reach -- reaching deep inside our own humanity and out to our fellow human beings. A dream a being can dream… a dream of being. Not just seeming, or existing. But living.

A PhD to me is simply a step in the right direction. Accepting to play the game, but only in order to change it, and for the better. Rejecting the rules, ready to make my own, and wishing for others to do the same. In the hope that one day, we won't be just a few, but many. Not a cohort. But a community.

That is worth writing for.

So, for now, that is it. I won't be blogging regularly anymore. I won't be writing long posts. Not even personal ones. Instead, I will dedicate myself to poetry and songwriting, at least until the time comes for me to do a PhD. I might still return to long-form writing if I feel like it. But right now, I don't. And to me, that is the rightful conclusion to a chapter of my life that I have let define and speak for me for too long. It is only but natural for one's relationship with writing to evolve over time. It is time that I let myself leave these pastures to seek new ones. To set myself on a journey of self-development… for a new, transformed relationship with writing. But even if it will be different, it will still be writing. To quote the header of my main blog: "We are writing… We are writing… We are writing…".

[lokavisi]

Two days in a row I've posted a long UPG story. Well, here goes...

If you're reading this close to the time of posting, you can clearly see that my blog name here is Lokakind. AKA Loki's child. I know a lot of people use -son or -dottir as suffixes to denote their devotion or relationship to deity within the Norse pantheon. I chose a gender neutral variant since I'm nonbinary. Though when I was originally contemplating this name last year, I was searching general Old Norse words to use to make a name. Like, "Loki's wolf" or "Loki's fire," for example. Ultimately, I felt that I could never live into any of those names, so denoting the established relationship made the most sense. That said...one of the names I originally considered was Lokavísi, which means "Loki's Prince." Being transmasc, I quite liked the softer masculine term. The second the idea popped into my head Loki got all silly. Like He took my hand to kiss it and dramatically say, ~*♡My prince....♡*~ while fluttering His eyelashes. (That is typed as correctly as possible, lol.) But as much of a reaction as it got and as much as it gave me some gender euphoria, I still felt like giving myself a royal title felt presumptuous.

Cut to a few days ago when Loki and I started talking about family, and when he said my name (Rory, which I chose as part of my transition) it sort of hit different? I can't really explain it that well. It made me feel good to hear him say it, but he's said it before. There was nothing remarkably different in the circumstances of our conversation from previous ones. I just noticed a positive feeling within myself when he said it. I brought it up and he starting asking if I'd prefer another name like Tim or Boozlebub. (Yes, that is a name he said, and yes, that is how it was said/spelled. No, he did not misspeak "Beelzebub.") Anyway, in talking about names he said he liked me thinking of myself as His Prince. When I asked why he said, and I'm paraphrasing, that such a title still denotes lineage (being His child, if he is a King) while possessing power. Inherited power that, as a child of His, I am able to (or already) possess. He also reminded me that Rory means "red king" - I already "chose royalty" years ago.

So here I am now, typing this, to say that I might change it. And, returning to the words and names I looked up originally, I looked up the meaning again. The website I found some words from listed "vísi" as the Old Norse for "prince." I recognize subtler meanings can get lost in translation, especially with old languages, so I looked it up on other sites. From what I can tell, it's related to the Old Norse adjective víss, meaning "known" or "wise." The more precise definition for vísi was poet, leader, or chieftain. Visir means king, so also a leader, and as the weaker masculine nomative vísi would then be prince. If I understood everything correctly, anyway. Please feel free to point out any errors!

But this extra little bit of knowledge really intensifies the point, I think. He wants me to recognize the wisdom (and the power that comes from it) that comes from within myself and from my family of the Jarnviðr (aka the Ironwood), and make it known - show others that I possess it, that I know who and what I am, and am not afraid to be just that and utilize the power given to me. That allows me to be a great leader if in no other way than leading by example in how I live my life. As He said, I already chose leadership with my name anyway. But as Lokavísi, I would be doing so while acknowledging my relationship with him. It still feels intimidating to try to live into that name. I'm not just putting myself on the line - I risk smeering His name, too, if I chose to claim it and prove to be a shit leader. Though again, as He said, I already claimed leadership in my name, and I know He's gonna be a part of my life and leadership anyway. So is it really that scary to take on that name that I could already maybe be sort of living into anyway? I guess it's really not.

So yeah. That's probably change. And that's why. Not that I'm saying all this to justify the change to you. I don't care about that, lol. I wanted to share because our conversation and what came of it was so meaningful to me, and if it in any way resonates with others, I'd like to share that you all. I hope Loki's wisdom blesses you all ❤️

EDIT: It's not Old Norse. It's Old Icelandic. My bad!

[ashcupofthea]

3. Birds of a feather

I don't know how to feel about this chapter,I'm in a bit of hurry but I wanted to update by the end of this day on Tumblr as well. So in the next few days I will definitely review it. :) Thank you for all the support

It was already afternoon when Isla, riding her horse, left the castle. Zelda had not had lunch with her that day,she was probably still doing research with the help of the two scientists. The cool air lashed her face as she galloped,determined to find some peace away from the oppressive walls of the kingdom,heading toward her destination.

She rode through the forests and hills of Hyrule, pushing her horse toward the village of Rito. The road was familiar, and her hands clung firmly to the reins as she retraced the paths she had crossed with Kael.

Finally, as the lights of the village appeared on the horizon, Isla's heart grew lighter. She needed to talk to someone who knew her pain and understood her past.

Revali, now an archery master known for his skill and grace, was a man of extraordinary talent and determination. His slender figure and silvery feathers shone in the moonlight, a symbol of elegance and strength.

Isla recalled how, after the death of their shared master, Kael, Revali had become a constant presence in her life. The two had found comfort in each other and developed a deep bond while maintaining a relationship of good friends and, perhaps, something more. At this moment the only one who could offer her comfort at that difficult time.

By the time Isla let go of the reins of her royal horse, the sky was full of stars. The Rito village was animated by a serenity that contrasted sharply with her inner turmoil. Climbing the endless stairs of the village,she greeted the now familiar faces of the Rito people who had seen her numerous times before until she reached the nest of the future champion.

Revali,who was cleaning his weapon after a long day of training, became aware of an intrusive presence and quickly abandoned his work. He soon recognized the figure and immediately greeted her with a surprised expression that soon turned to concern.

“Isla? What brings you here at this hour? It's been a few days since your last visit...admit it, you can't go long without seeing the talented Rito?” he joked.

Isla,ignoring Rito's humor stepped forward “Revali, I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

Revali looked at her carefully, noting the obvious sign of concern in her eyes. “Sure, come on in.” He invited her to sit by the lit fire, which illuminated the room with a warm, welcoming light.

She sat down, as Revali prepared an herbal tea, his movement elegant and confident. “Tell me what happened,” he said, handing a cup of hot tea to Isla. “You look upset.”

Isla took the cup from Revali's wings and sipped some , the warmth soothing her pain, and then began to speak with her voice trembling slightly. “My father ... wants me to step aside from the confrontation with Ganon. He wants to arrange a marriage with a nobleman from another family. He told me that my role is only to ensure the continuity of the dynasty. Despite everything i have done to help, despite my training, it doesn't count for anything.”

Revali listened carefully, his piercing gaze trying to understand the weight of Isla's words. “And how do you feel about this?” he asked, his tone gentle but incisive.

Isla lowered her gaze, tears threatening to well up again.

“I feel ... like I've failed at everything. I spent years trying to prove myself, training and doing everything that was asked of me. But none of that matters. My father sees me as nothing more than a means to a political alliance.”

Revali approached, laying a comforting wing on Isla's shoulder. “It is not true that you have failed. Remember what Kael used to tell us, true worth is not just in the powers you possess or the titles you bear. Kael believed in you and taught you to be more than what others see.”

At the mention of that name,memories of Kael began to flood back into her mind “I miss him so much...I wish I could have spent more time with him,hearing him talk about his life,he did a lot for us,even though we were still kids.”

“It's true,Kael left us a legacy more precious than you can imagine,” Revali said,with a nostalgic smile. “Training with him was not just to perfect fighting techniques, but to teach us to follow our hearts. And you did just that,you were not wrong to step forward to help Hyrule.”

Isla lifted her gaze,finding her determination in Revali's words. “You're right,I have to stop crying,I can't act like a child all the time...” Isla collapsed on Revali's chest surrounded by her wings,to find more comfort,the cups now empty and abandoned beside their bodies.

“However Zelda should come and visit The Elder Kahn,as you know we are looking for people who can pilot the Divine Beasts and we have yet to find the knight who exorcises evil..." Revali interrupted her by exalting her personality “Well the princess had better choose me,as I am the best among our soldiers” Isla mocked him “ all right all right as you wish,I hope I can sneak into the expedition to return as well,now it is a matter of weeks,first we will head into the domain of the Zora and the city of the Goron.”

By now it was late at night when after hours of chatting between the two of them,Isla ended up falling asleep thanks to the newfound feeling of peace,so Revali gently lifted her up and laying her on his shoulders took flight toward the castle. As gracefully as he moved through the sky, once they reached the balcony of the princess's room,Revali laid her on the bed, making sure she was comfortable and warm. The feathers of his cloak rested gently on her, a gesture of tenderness that reflected their special bond.

Isla awoke for a moment, looking at Revali with a faint smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, the words full of gratitude.

Revali smiled softly at her, stroking her forehead. “Rest, Isla. In a few hours the sun will rise.”

With these words, Revali silently drifted away, leaving Isla in a peaceful sleep. The moon and stars shone through the window, and the night brought with it a promise of new beginnings and hope. Although the future was uncertain, Isla knew she could count on Revali and herself to face the challenges ahead.

[mitsukibh]

hi it's me again i'm back. let's plot asap~

you may also know me as dasom's mun...here with a second muse that i always told myself wouldn't happen but no sana, no life. i wrote her bio first, so it's a bit more fleshed out than my app. but as always, tldr and some plot bunnies under the cut. feel free to give this post a nice ♡ and i'll be right over to your dms (discord is also available if that's easier)!

tw: kidnapping, death

background

mitsuki takes up the good ‘ol cyclamen canon: once a promising heir to house of gladiolus, now lives in exile

her parents, high ranking knights themselves, raised her up to be the most skilled of knights with the intention of plotting to make her the next proclaimed heir

as soon as she was able to hold a sword, she was trained to wield it

she lived in seclusion, training day and night, knowing nothing but was told to her by her parents. so up until her qualification test, she truly believed that she was set to inherit a great house of powerful knights, but wasn't allowed to until she could prove herself (you can imagine the embarrassment she felt to learn that that wasn't the case)

she was quick to catch on to the situation and channeled her feelings of hurt and betrayal into her test and passed within her first try. she was praised as a prodigy and granted the title of a 1st class knight

from this point on, mitsuki becomes a more active puppet in her parents’ game, using her age to her advantage and getting closer to the 2 gladiolus children

while she didn’t technically know any of the details of the plan, she still assisted her parents in obtaining the information to put the plan into motion. then she turned a blind eye, following along with whatever her parents had in store (read: she’s just as awful and selfish)

overtime she was promoted to the rank of captain and was even gaining more influence and support as the next proclaimed heir by peers. the only thing stopping the kurokawa’s was the second born/acting heir

and so, another plan to “remove” their current obstacle was currently in motion (presumably worse than the first, considering he was no longer a child) until an unseen complication appeared: the first born was found and announced his return home

one by one, their support grew scarce and quickly dwindled, afraid of the rotten truth of his disappearance coming to light. eventually, however, the kurokawa’s were betrayed and one of their former followers sang to the gladiolus house heads like a bird. after a thorough investigation, they were sentenced to death by execution

they were insistent that mitsuki was innocent and uninvolved, thus her life was spared. however, due to her family’s crimes, she was stripped of her titles and banned from the house of gladiolus, forced to live in exile

she is generally unmotivated now and just wants to live quietly, not attracting any attention to herself

works as a server at the moon tavern to earn some living wages, but generally helps tend to the landlord’s farm land every now and then to show appreciation for him taking her in despite how her circumstances may affect his standing with house of gladiolus

potential plots/connections

natural enemy: she’s selfish and needs someone to blame aside from herself. she’s bitter towards house of gladiolus and anyone affiliated

secret garden: someone who snuck into the kurokawa household when she trained as a child

journey to the past: they once shared the field as fellow gladiolus knights, so you believe that there was more to the story than what was whispered amongst the house of gladiolus

toxic: your muse wants to take advantage of mitsuki’s anger and overthrow the houses with her formidable skills

it’s my first time making an attempt at a potentially darker muse so bare with me pls LOL more ideas will probably come through brainstorming im sure