#no??? okay. but just keep that in mind lol

[dilanyum]

Okay so, im my friendgroup everyone had nicknames but at the time a didn't have a good one. And just one day i decided to name myself Dilan (same as Dylan, i was a kid and english not my first language)

And it STUCK like second skin. For no reason lol. And afterwards i was thinking on good username and decided to mix dilan + aluminum (keep in mind i had a shitty knowledge of english)

(aluminium has no meaning just funsies)

USERNAME LORE GIVE IT TO ME NOW YOU ALL

[stellar-haikyuu]

hear you out ☆ iwaizumi hajime x reader

synopsis: you deserve to have someone listen to you nerd out about your interests. unexpectedly, you meet the person who's more than happy to listen (and perhaps learn more about you in the future). details: fluff | first meeting | strangers to lovers | ~1.3k words | speech-language pathologist gn! reader | timeskip! iwaizumi (a little flirty too lol) | dedicated to @sahrberrii

“Iwaizumi-san, your vocal cords are muscles,” you explain, showing him a video of the anatomical structure. “They contract and slam against each other whenever you shout or use a harsh tone.”

The athletic trainer nods, eyebrows drawn together as he observes the laryngoscopy video you use as an example for your clients.

“But I think you, out of all people, know what happens when you overuse muscles.”

“They get injured,” Iwaizumi whispers in response. He chuckles a little, but the action makes him wince.

“Take it easy,” you smile, almost reaching out to pat his back before stopping yourself.

“Thankfully, you don’t have any nodules, like this person.” You swipe through a few videos before landing on the one you’re looking for. “Nodules are a result of repeated trauma between the vocal cords. Kinda like the finger calluses guitar players get from pressing down on the strings all the time.”

He nods, grimacing as he listens to the person with vocal nodules attempting to produce higher pitches. You understand it perfectly; even after all the voice clients you’ve seen, you never get used to how painful it sounds.

“So, if you continue to overuse your voice, especially in this state, you can get nodules. Or, something worse that would require surgery. Think of a strain or a sprain, compared to a complete tear.”

The video ends, but a part of you still wants to show him more—just enough to keep him around a little longer. However, you still need to be mindful of your time, so you close the tablet and place it on your desk. “So, it-”

When you look at Iwaizumi again, he meets your gaze. Your face grows hot at his attention, and you can’t help but dart your eyes to the side.

“Uh, I meant to say that you should focus on resting your voice for the next week. And I mean full vocal rest. No whispering. You can write on a whiteboard, type, use text-to-speech, gestures, whatever you want.”

He gives you an eager thumbs-up. Cute.

“Okay,” you giggle. “That tells me you understand. I’ll give you a list of other exercises you can do to help with vocal strain. But for now, let’s focus on getting rid of the inflammation. Whenever you feel like your throat is tense or a little painful, you can massage it…”

You gesture at his Adam’s apple, but you happen to glance at it just as he swallows. 

“Uh.” You blank out for a moment, your hands freezing midair. 

Oh, man. Get a grip.

Snapping yourself out of it, you reach for your throat with your middle finger and thumb, demonstrating what you were talking about. “Just go in circular motions, up and down the neck. It’s up to you for how long.”

Suddenly, Iwaizumi raises his hand a little. He unlocks his phone, typing something on the notes app before showing it to you.

“Ah…” You hand his phone back to him. “That’s also up to you.”

“Oh. Me? Uh…” 

Does this mean I’ll have to touch him?

“Usually, I apply this much pressure…” Your fingers hesitantly hover near his throat. “Can I, uh-”

You don’t even complete your question before he consents with a nod. 

“Okay, um.” Your gloved fingers make contact with his skin, and you pray that he doesn’t feel your hand shaking.

Holding your breath, you press down. “This much, usually. Does it hurt?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and gestures at you to continue.

“Okay, so you just keep doing this. How does-” You glance at his face, which no longer holds any tension. Relief floods over you at the immediate effect.

“How does it feel?”

You grin at the little smiley he leaves. “You’re welcome, Iwaizumi-san. Why don't you give it a try in the meantime?"

As Iwaizumi attempts to replicate what you’ve done, you grab a notepad from your desk, jotting down a few reminders.

“Anyway, I’ll send an evaluation report later for occupational or medical purposes. I know some insane bosses who seem hell-bent on making my clients’ lives harder. Hopefully that’s not the case for you?”

“Oh, goodness, poor you.” You can’t help but laugh as you imagine it. “Well, if you need someone to talk some sense into them, I’m here.”

A quick exhale leaves his mouth in amusement. You remind yourself to look up his team later.

“Okay, if you’re free next week, you can come back here so we can check on your progress. A call would be alright too, if that’s more convenient.”

Normally, you don’t even think twice when giving your clients your contact details; sometimes they keep in touch, sometimes they don't. But secretly, you hope Iwaizumi worms his way into your schedule.

“Anyway, sorry if most of this felt like a one-sided conversation. I hope I didn’t bore you too much or make it too technical-”

Iwaizumi shakes his head frantically, waving his hand. Then, he fumbles a little as he tries to enter his phone’s password.

Ah. He wants to say something?

“I…” You feel your heart swell at his sincerity. “Thanks, Iwaizumi-san. That means a lot.”

And for the first time in the last hour, you get a glimpse of the crow’s feet around his eyes as he grins.

Oh, dear.

Truthfully, you were a little nervous when he entered your office an hour ago. Nervous is an understatement—you were intimidated. He looked like he could just knock you out with a punch if you managed to upset him.

(Okay, he probably wouldn’t punch you, but you've had your fair share of dismissive, aggressive, and moody clients before.)

But now, Iwaizumi’s expression is washed over with a gentleness you didn’t think was possible with his sharp features.

You can’t find it in you to end the interaction, even though you have to.

As you muster the courage to finally send him off, he sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. He takes out his device again, typing something down. It takes a much longer time; he presses the backspace button repeatedly.

“Um, Iwaizumi-san, do you have a concern?” You fiddle with the hem of your scrub shirt. The silence was starting to have more weight to it.

He meets your eyes for a moment before he resumes writing his message.

What is it that has him hesitating so much?

When he shows you his phone screen, you almost gasp.

"Oh!" You don't need a mirror to tell that your face is flushed. "I- That means a lot. Thanks. Um..."

You scramble for a response as he prepares to type something again.

"But, uh, sure! Just let me know if there's something you want me to talk about. Hopefully, you don't get sick of my voice, Iwaizumi-san."

Then and there, you're pretty sure you short-circuit.

"Oh? No one's ever told me that before." You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. However, when you catch the earnest smile on his face, you feel your heart set alight.

"Anyway, thank you for giving me your time today, Iwaizumi-san."

A/N (or Iwaizumi's case history):

Hey, it's Stellar, your soon-to-be speech-language pathologist. I wanted to share my love for the profession through my fics, and decided to start with dear Iwa-chan.

To explain what's happening here, Iwa has a case of traumatic laryngitis, caused by vocal overuse and abuse (constantly screaming at the JNT to stop fooling around during training). Thus, his voice is very hoarse and breathy (sometimes, he can't even make a sound), and speaking hurts. Iwa would have tried remedies like throat sprays and hot tea, but they're not the key to recovery. Vocal rest is!

However, with how busy he is, he still needs to talk to multiple people and resorts to whispering. But, I must emphasize that whispering does NOT aid recovery, because you are still putting stress on the vocal folds.

In these cases, most people will wait for the problem to go away. If it's taking too long, they'll go to an ENT (ears, nose, and throat doctor; otorhinolaryngologist is the fancy word). Sometimes, it stops there, and patients are sent home; but in more severe cases, patients are referred to a speech-language pathologist (reader).

Anyway, since Iwa's case is caused by unhealthy vocal habits, it would help to have the voice specialist handle the case, especially during the recovery phase (dealing with any potential problems in pitch, loudness, and quality). This would increase the chances of a better prognosis/outcome! :)

The laryngeal massage that reader did on Iwa is recommended to most voice patients, especially if their vocal complaints are pain and tension. However, other things can be recommended to promote vocal relaxation, such as straw-blowing exercises (I'm not kidding! They're called semi-occluded vocal tract exercises). I just didn't talk about them in the scene because it felt like info overload, hahaha!

But Iwa's case is relatively mild (assuming he follows home instructions). There are other situations where vocal cords can be paralyzed, weakened, or spastic. Besides nodules, polyps and other growths can form and require surgical removal. Sometimes, one's voice may not be able to return to normal, so the focus of rehabilitation is to restore the most functional voice possible.

[Sidenote: Since this fic leans in a romantic direction, I should clarify that reader will follow professional ethics/rules. They both wait until Iwa is no longer a client at the reader's clinic/hospital before getting together.]

I hope you guys found the fic and A/N interesting in some way! :) Please take care of your voice; don't take it for granted! If you happen to have any questions about the voice, feel free to leave a reply, come to my inbox, or send a dm! <3

This video does a good job explaining AND showing stuff about vocal nodules (I like to think that this is what the reader shows Iwaizumi, hahaha). A fair bit of warning if you're sensitive to internal body imaging, but it's not that gross or graphic.

masterlist

[vivalas-vega]

like real people do / bucky barnes x reader

yay first bucky one shot !! this literally started as me wanting to write some quick and dirty one-bed trope nonsense... and then it got real lol. i just love him your honor, i got angsty and fluffy real fast. as always, please let me know what you think!!

like real people do / bucky barnes x reader

I do not have a taglist--if you'd like to be notified, please follow @vegaslibrary and turn on post notifications!

summary: a brush with death on a mission leads to you and bucky confronting your feelings.

word count: 5.6k

warnings: canon level violence/scary situations, language, angst, minor suggestiveness (this takes place in some reality where bucky & reader work for fury lmao & a very minor reference to this happening after endgame but none of that really matters it was just the vibe that ended up happening)

The air felt hot and sticky around you, laced with danger and the edge of fear you were keeping at arm's length… but it was harder to do so as you went crashing down a full flight of stairs… assailant in tow and doing nothing to break your fall.

“Princess? Could use a little help out here,” you heard Bucky grunt in your ear and the familiar surge of worry filled your chest as you rolled to your feet, not wasting a second in launching an attack on the man in front of you.

“Little busy, Buck,” you managed to get out, dodging a hit before landing one of your own, but your thoughts weren’t here. Each step you took backwards was goading your attacker, but it was also leading you closer to Bucky. “How bad?” you followed up, a kick sharp to your ribs knocking the breath out of you but the feeling was secondary to everything else going on in your mind.

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied. The words eased your anxiety–marginally–and let you be more present in the fight at your feet, not the one down the hall.

Everything in your body ached, and you didn’t know if the blood sliding down your temple was from where you’d collided with every sharp edge of the staircase, or from one of the hits your opponent had managed to land.

If you had to wager, you’d probably say it was from both.

You tasted blood against your teeth, and you finally landed a combo that brought the man to his knees… but before you could finish the job he was back on his feet, grabbing you by the throat and pinning you to the wall. Your legs kicked several feet off the ground as he lifted you, the force cutting off your airflow.

He knocked your head against the concrete hard enough to make your ears ring, and you brought your fists down with everything you had against his elbows–trying to break them down, give you some kind of opening, but they were locked and rigid.

“Bucky!” you choked out, praying to a god you didn’t really believe in that he heard you. When the gloved hand tightened around the column of your throat you felt the lack of oxygen clouding your brain, vision darkening around the edges.

You fell to the floor suddenly, knees colliding painfully with the concrete as you sucked in a desperate breath. Your lungs burned as you coughed, trying to force the air down around the panic that had begun to settle deep in your bones.

A gunshot fell on your muffled ears, but you didn’t flinch. Somewhere in the back of your mind you instinctively knew it was Bucky, and you pressed your palms flat against the cool floor to try and ground yourself… but Bucky’s slid over them, gripping and trying to get you to focus on him.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out and tilting your chin up. As soon as you looked into those stormy blue eyes you felt some of the anxiety ease, and he made quick work looking you over. “Talk to me, are you okay?” His gaze was holding yours with a little too much weight and you swore he might have flinched when he saw the outline of the man’s hands already appearing around your neck… but maybe you’d been deprived of air for too long.

You nodded, trying to hide your wince as he helped you to your feet. “Never better,” you replied, taking a step back and trying to put some distance between you. “Did you get it?”

He gave you a slightly deadpan look, holding a flash drive between his thumb and index finger that you quickly snatched to zip safely into a pocket inside your suit.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” you sighed.

You slid Bucky’s spare helmet on your head with practiced ease and took your spot behind him on the bike… a routine done so many times neither of you even thought as your limbs moved.

He reached back and tapped twice against your calf, you tapped twice against his chest, and his bike roared into action.

You let yourself relax, just slightly, as you held onto Bucky and weaved through the busy streets of the foreign city. The cool night air felt like pure relief as it kissed your skin, and if you knew he wouldn’t yell at you, you’d have taken the helmet off to let it wash over you fully.

Your chin rested lightly on his shoulder, watching the way the streetlights blurred around you, as the weight of the night crashed heavy over your frame. His arm moved down to your leg, metal stretching down the length of it and gripping your calf, holding you firm as he took a tight turn, bike tilting closer to the pavement. He let it linger for a moment as it straightened out, knowing you were momentarily rattled by the mission even if you wouldn’t say it, and he gave you a soft squeeze that said more than he could in that moment.

You shifted, cheek pressing against his back, eyes fluttering closed and arms still tight around his torso. You thought to yourself that you loved these moments with Bucky maybe more than anything. Just you and him, the stretch of road, and the air whipping around you. You both were always outrunning danger, outrunning death, but on this bike it felt like it couldn’t catch you. Like nothing could… and Bucky was thinking the same thing.

He didn’t need to look back at you to know you’d shut your eyes, and his grip on the handlebars tightened. The feeling of you wrapped around him, placing your trust right in the palm of his hands did something to him that he didn’t want to think about too much. You shot through the night, barely a blur to stationary eyes, and you had relaxed into him and closed your eyes. The weight of that had clawed its way into Bucky’s chest, made a home somewhere under his ribs, and he hated how much he liked it.

You hopped off the bike with ease, looking up at the motel that would have been unappealing on its best day like it was a beacon of comfort and sanctuary, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the way your heavy footsteps trudged all the way to the door.

You stood there for a moment, staring at it like it might open itself… and so did he.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing, princess.”

You just looked at each other for a moment, trying to process.

“I don’t have the key,” you said and his eyes widened.

“Well, I don’t have it either,” he replied and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I saw Fury give you the key.”

“Then you took it after we dropped our shit off.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered. “World’s best assassin.” You patted along your suit, trying to feel for a key you knew you didn’t have. “Can’t keep track of a fucking motel key.”

“You talking about me or you?” He wasn’t able to keep the smirk off his face, despite his exhaustion.

“You know what?” you asked and he raised his eyebrows expectantly, but his expression dropped almost as fast as you did to your knees right in front of him.

“What the hell are you-” he stopped short, watching you pull a bobby pin from your hair to stick into the door handle.

“Oh,” he murmured, a sheepish hand landing on the back of his neck, and you huffed a soft laugh, turning back to give him an amused glance as you jimmied the door open. He was grateful you couldn’t see the heat in his cheeks under the cover of night, or the way he locked his gaze on the door rather than you beneath him.

You took his hand when he offered it, and pushed into the sparse room with a sigh. You were ready to sink into your post-mission routine when you caught a glimpse of the key resting on the dresser, just beside his things, and you turned to look at him triumphantly.

“Aha!” you said, pointing. “I knew I didn’t take it.”

“You can be so petulant sometimes,” he muttered. “At least you’re consistent. Like a common criminal.”

You scoffed. “And thank god for it.”

“You want first shower?” He was already pulling a change of clothes out and you shook your head, busying yourself with propping your tablet up beside him.

“Go ahead, gonna get this to Fury.”

His gaze on you lingered for a moment, but you didn’t notice, and he disappeared into the bathroom like it hadn’t happened.

Your fingers traced the spot where your opponent had grabbed you, wincing at how tender it felt. You waited for the intel to load, mind drifting to what could have happened if Bucky hadn’t made it in time.

You shook off the thought.

Bucky always got to you. 

It wasn’t just your easy dynamic, or deep-seated feelings you refused to acknowledge that kept you from asking Fury to reassign you… it was that he never left you behind.

There were moments where he could have, where you nor anyone else would have blamed him. When it was too dangerous to go back for you, when it would have compromised him as much as you were… he always showed up.

And you did the same for him.

Countless missions, countless brushes with death. You’d both die before leaving the other behind.

You walked out together, or you didn’t walk out at all.

The tablet dinged and you pulled out the flash drive, tucking into your bag and pulling out your pajamas just as Bucky opened the bathroom door.

He was towel drying his hair, white tee and low-slung grey sweats hugging him in a way you tried really hard not to focus on.

“Don’t get mad that there’s no hot water,” he said, almost sheepishly. “There wasn’t any when I got in.”

You huffed an unamused laugh, meeting his eye for just a moment. “Only the best for Fury’s top agents,” you joked before shutting the door behind you.

You didn’t linger under the icy stream, not wanting to spend any more time than you had to. Each movement tugged and pulled at your muscles in a way that made you fight a groan–you didn’t want to make a peep. Not with Bucky and his super soldier hearing on the other side of the door. It’d only make him worry, and all you wanted was sleep.

When you re-emerged he was already laying on his side of the bed, closest to the door like always, and you finally noticed the fact that there was in fact only one–and you breathed a light sigh of relief. You should have been annoyed, you had a suspicion Fury actually kept doing this to you both for his own amusement, but you didn’t care. Even with the firm boundary of six inches between you, you always slept better beside Bucky. You felt safe, and you were more rested after a long mission than you were on a normal night in the compound.

He watched you carefully as you tucked your suit into your bag and went through your usual routine of getting ready for bed. Each new bruise he spotted made him shift upright, concern darkening his expression, and he was quickly in motion when he saw the cut above your eyebrow he’d missed before.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and your eyebrow pinched at his sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” you asked, hovering in the center of the room, and you almost thought he looked mad for a second.

“Would you sit down?” he huffed, grabbing the med kit from his bag and you followed his orders despite your resigned sigh.

“It’s fine, Bucky.”

“No,” he said, voice firm as he moved in between your legs. “It’s really not.” He tilted your chin up to get a better look at it, disapproval settling deep in his features.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He gave you a deadpan look, running an alcohol swab across it. You hissed, hand shooting out to grab the hem of his shirt. You bunched it in your fist, fingers grazing the skin just above the waistband of his sweats and you felt him tense under your touch. You dropped your hand like he’d burned you, keeping your eyes on your own lap to avoid his gaze.

“Should have called for me sooner,” he muttered, carefully applying butterfly bandages like he was scared you’d shatter if he pressed too hard.

“Was a little preoccupied,” you replied and you could see just how unamused he was with you. “I had him,” you added. “Until he decided choking me out was a good plan.”

He was quiet as his hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb lightly tracing along the bruise that was growing angrier as it settled deep in your skin. You hated the warmth that flooded through you at the small contact, and the way his concerned eyes seemed to be burning right into your soul. 

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible through the silence. “You always show up.”

“Almost didn’t,” he muttered. “I was pinned. Thought I wouldn’t make it in time…” he trailed off, giving you another once over to make sure he didn’t miss anything. 

“He had you-” he hesitated, jaw tight. “By the throat, doll.” His voice was tight, stretching like it was about to break and your expression softened.

“I know.” You gave him your best reassuring look. “But I’m alright. Always am.”

He nodded once, unconvinced, and you sank back into the mattress as he put the kit away.

Something tense had settled over the room as you pulled the covers higher, but you didn’t know how to address it. Bucky always worried, you joked it was his inner old man coming out, but something in the way he’d held your gaze felt different. Something churned beneath the surface of his gaze, something you couldn’t name. You didn’t want to read into it–to let your mind wander into forbidden territory but the more the silence lingered the harder it was.

This wasn’t the first time you’d nearly died, wasn’t even the worst brush with it. You wanted to ask why this time had seemingly lodged itself under his skin but you couldn’t force the words past your lips.

The bed dipped under his weight as he slid in beside you, leaving a few inches of space like he always did but it didn’t matter. You could feel the warmth of him immediately, the pull to sink into it was almost gravitational but you resisted and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

You both laid silently, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, waiting to see if the other would say something but neither of you seemed willing to break.

His vibranium hand twitched on his chest and he exhaled softly, the weight finally pressing down hard enough.

“I’m going to say something.”

Your head tilted slightly towards him, but you didn’t move your eyes from the ceiling.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t have to kill that guy.” He paused, considering his next words. “I wanted to, because he was trying to kill you.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You knew the relationship he had with taking a life. No matter how justified, it always stirred old feelings and you never wanted him to do that for you unless he had to. “Bucky-”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he cut you off. “Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. What bothers me is how indifferent you are to dying.”

You sighed softly. “I’m not indifferent to dying.”

“Could have fooled me.” The words were sharp, but there was no edge to them.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, voice quiet.

“You always scare me,” he exhaled. “Everything you do scares the hell out of me.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find any words to say as your heart started to thump unevenly in your chest.

“I try not to worry because I know you can handle yourself,” he continued. “But in those moments when you can’t…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes settling on his profile and you felt something clench deep behind your ribs at the emotion he was trying to keep off his face. 

“You’re important to me,” he said after a few moments, and this caught you off guard. You knew that… at least in theory. He’d never said it so explicitly, but he never had to. He said it through actions, in his own way.

“I know,” you whispered.

“No, I don’t think you do, doll.” he replied, erring on a sigh. You rolled over onto your side to face him fully, delicately, like if you moved too fast you’d break the moment. “I tried not to care about you, thought it would be too hard. You almost remind me of Steve, if he had a mouth like yours and a habit of driving me crazy.”

You breathed a short laugh.

“I didn’t want to care because I knew if I did, it’d be too much when you left.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere, have I?” You hadn’t been able to find any words until now, but those ones flowed out easily.

“Not yet,” he said, turning his head towards you and you felt your breath catch when he finally met your eyes.

You hesitated, just long enough for the silence to stretch. “Not ever.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he muttered and your brows pinched together.

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t mean it.”

You fixed him with a firm look, something close to irritation tugging in your chest. “I do mean it.”

He looked back at the ceiling. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve… changed since we started working together. You’re harsher, quicker to the trigger. I don’t want to rub off on you more than I already have.” You could see it clearly even if he was fighting to hide it–guilt. “You’re too good for me to be dragging you down, doll.”

You let out a sigh, not annoyed, just hurt. “You think you’re the big bad wolf corrupting little red riding hood?” 

“Well-”

“Fury paired you with me because my heart got in the way too much. I gave second chances to people that used them to try and kill me, and I almost fucked up missions looking for good in people that wasn’t there.”

He didn’t respond.

“I was a great agent before I met you, but I made bad calls because I thought I could give people the same second chance that was given to me. I found a balance… because of you. I’m alive because of you, Bucky.”

You could see the confusion flicker behind his eyes, like he knew he’d said something wrong but wasn’t sure what. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Of course you didn’t.” You rolled back over and stared at the ceiling, feeling the crack of your heart as you did. “You just said you’re not good enough to be around. How is that not upsetting?”

“I’m not. And I don’t care if you think being my partner has helped you–all I can see is you becoming more like me and I can’t stand it.”

“Because being like you is such a bad thing?” Your eyes darted back to him again, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was worrying his cheek between his teeth, gaze hard as he stared above him.

“Yes.”

That hit low and stayed there, stubborn and sore. You could feel something dancing on your tongue that you wanted to bury… so you did.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you huffed, shuffling out from under the covers and standing.

He propped himself up on his elbows, shocked by your sudden movement, and watched as you grabbed a pair of pants from your bag.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t–” you stopped, searching for the answer yourself. “I don’t know.” He sighed when your shorts hit the floor, then quickly crossed the room, catching your wrist. Not rough, but firm–enough to make you pause.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What happened to knowing I could handle myself?” Your hands were shaking and Bucky was having a hard time figuring out what had made you snap like this, why you were refusing to look him in the eye.

“That’s not–fuck,” he muttered. “You’re not going anywhere because you’re angry and I can’t let you walk away like this. Can we just-” he stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair. “Can we just rewind? Go back and start this conversation over?”

“I don’t know how to pretend this conversation never happened.”

He looked lost, like he was searching for what he’d said wrong… and you weren’t stopping, so he grabbed the pants you were trying to step into and threw them somewhere behind you.

You stared at him, exasperation evident, the heat rising in your chest.

“Are you serious?”

“What the hell just happened?” He stared down at you but you wouldn’t look up. “One minute we’re having a conversation and the next you’re trying to storm out into a bad part of town in the middle of the night.”

You finally tilted your head up, and his face softened. Your eyes burned, throat tightening as you fought to keep your face blank, but he noticed… he always did. 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, voice gentler than it had just been. “Please just tell me what I said wrong.”

“You know, I was actually proud of myself for the way I’ve learned from you?” you asked, not really expecting an answer. You turned around and bent over to pick up your pants, and Bucky’s eyes darted away, jaw tight.

“Then I find out you actually think less of me for-”

“I do not think less of you-”

“That’s not even why I’m mad!” you yelled, throwing your jeans back onto the floor with a frustrated huff after stumbling trying to pull them on.

“Why are you mad? Make me understand here, sweetheart, because I’m having a real hard time figuring out how to fix this.”

Hearing him say sweetheart in that low tone made you falter, and he caught it.

He took a step closer and hooked your chin to keep your eyes on him when you tried to look away. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping to nearly a whisper, trying to coax it out of you. “Please just talk to me.”

“Don’t,” you warned, pushing his arm away and taking a step back. “You don’t get to say you’re not good enough and then use the fact that I care to make me talk.”

“Is that really what this is about?”

“Of course it is!” you snapped. “I fucking love you, Bucky. And I am so tired of you acting like you’re unlovable. Like you don’t deserve something good.”

“I’m not,” he shot back, not even registering what you’d just said. “Not from you. Do you really think I could let myself–let you–get closer to me than you already are?”

“You don’t get to decide how I feel!” You were at the end of your rope, hands still shaking. “I love you, and you’re just going to have to figure out how to deal with that.”

The first time hadn’t sunk in, but the second made Bucky’s heart stop in his chest with a painful clench that nearly winded him. You loved him… but you weren’t done.

“I thought- fuck,” you shook your head, trying to organize your thoughts. “I have never expected you to feel the same way about me, but I can’t take you acting like I’m some delicate flower you’re bound to poison. I can’t listen to it and not tell you that I’m unbearably fucking in love with you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at you with a look that you couldn’t read and you felt like you’d ripped your heart out and handed it to him just to watch him step on it.

The more the silence dragged, the more you itched to run… so you did.

You managed to tug your jeans up your legs as you said, “so to answer your question, yeah. I’m trying to storm out in the middle of the night because I can’t do whatever this is anymore. I’ll ask Fury to reassign me.”

You walked past him, each step laced with uncertainty and heartbreak, but you never made it to the door.

He caught your wrist and spun you around. You stumbled, colliding with his chest, hands braced on the firm muscle. You lifted your head to look up at him, eyes wide and scared of what he might say, but his mouth was on yours before you could even get a word out.

His lips were hungry, demanding and possessive as if he could etch his response into your skin… and then they were gone as soon as they’d appeared, leaving you reeling and breathless as he stepped back with a huff.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough with conflict. “I can’t–I’m only going to hurt you. You deserve better. Better than me.”

You just blinked for a moment, one hand coming up to touch your lips like you were trying to convince yourself it was real.

“Are you being serious right now?” you asked, and his head snapped up.

“What?” 

“Do you need me to lay it all out? Is that it?”

“I don’t-”

“You never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. You’ve seen me kill people with my bare hands, but god forbid I walk too close to the street,” you started, letting out an unamused chuckle. “You keep an extra knife in your boot just for me, because you know I like to throw mine and then get mad when I don’t have it. Sometimes in the middle of the night you jolt awake, just to look at me. To make sure I’m still there. You think I don’t notice, but I do… it’s the only way I can sleep, and I sleep like shit at the compound because I don’t feel safe unless you’re near me.”

“Sweetheart-” he tried, but you just cut him off again, unable to stop now that you’d started.

“When I manage to make you laugh in the middle of a mission it actually feels like my heart is glowing and it’s disgusting,” you huffed, laughing despite yourself. You weren’t even making an effort to hide the tears that managed to slip down your cheeks. “I could listen to you laugh for the rest of my life and it still probably wouldn’t be enough. I’ve never cared about impressing anyone in the gym, but god–when you give me that infuriating little smirk of yours when I manage to catch you off guard, it makes me feel like I can do anything. You make me feel like I can do anything.”

You took a step forward and closed the distance. “You’re scared of hurting me. But I don’t think you realize–this, right now, is hurting me. You thinking you’re not good enough. That you’re not deserving of something good.”

His hands twitched at his sides, desperately wanting to reach out and grab you, but he held himself back.

“You deserve it more than anyone. And I’m not scared of you, Bucky. You’re not broken, not some ruined thing that needs fixed. I don’t even care if it’s not me, if you don’t want this or if you don’t feel the same, I just need you to stop acting like you don’t deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he sighed, small and broken, finally reaching out to grab your waist and pull you closer.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing along your cheek as he looked down at you like you were something holy–sent to save and curse him all at once.

“I take the outside of the sidewalk, and bring an extra knife, and wake up just to check up on you because I love you.” he said, letting it hang for a moment as his hand on your waist tightened. “I love you so much, it scares the hell out of me… and I didn’t know how else to show you that. It didn’t feel fair to give it to you straight because this isn’t normal or easy, and I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

He took a deep breath. “You think I’m not damaged, but I am. I’ve got some serious shit I’m still working through, and I didn’t want to put you through that.”

“You’re putting me through it anyway,” you said. “Might as well let me hold your hand because I hate watching you do it alone.”

He just looked you over for a moment, searching for any trace of uncertainty in your eyes but all he found was an unwavering love that rattled him to his core.

He leaned down and kissed you–not fiery and desperate like the first time. Properly, slowly, like it should have been.

“Our lives were never meant to be normal and easy, Bucky,” you said when he pulled back, a hint of your usual mischief in your eyes that he loved so much. “I met you fighting weird alien robots that looked like bugs.”

He laughed, handing you that favorite sound of yours that made you flush, before giving you another slow, deep kiss.

“I wanna take you out,” he mumbled against your lips. “Something normal, like real people do.”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at your features. “You gonna ask me to go steady at the end of it, Sergeant Barnes?”

He fought a groan at hearing you pull out his long-forgotten rank. “Don’t call me that before date three–and I might.”

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nose brushing his.

“You think you’re making it to date three?” you teased and a slow, satisfied grin tugged at his lips.

“You did just scream at me over the fact that you’re in love with me,” he said, bringing his hands down to the top button of your jeans, slowly undoing it without breaking eye contact. “I think I can get a lot more out of you than three dates.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t deny it.

He caught the way your eyes tracked him as he sank onto the floor, tugging your jeans down your legs and holding your calves to help you step out of them. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, mildly scolding.

His hands slid up to the backs of your thighs and you couldn’t help but thread your fingers through his hair when he gently kissed below the hem of your shirt, a soft breath escaping… but he was back at your lips before you could even blink.

“Come on, off to bed,” he ordered, and you huffed a small laugh of disbelief.

“You’re a tease, Sergeant.”

“Shouldn’t have told you I liked that,” he muttered, sliding in beside you. “Call me old-fashioned, but I want to do this right–earn the privilege to have you like that.”

Your cheeks flushed and you bit back a smile as you settled beneath the covers.

“You’re very old fashioned,” you teased and he gave you a deadpan look. “But I think it’s perfect.” You leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a moment. “I’d wait as long as you wanted.”

You eyed the space between you. “Is the invisible boundary still in effect until date three?”

He chuckled and reached out, pulling you flush against him and you laid your head against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart as you wrapped an arm around his torso.

You lay like that for a few minutes, letting what had just happened wash over you as your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his arms holding you so securely, and the way he kept pressing kisses to the top of your head.

He reached down, gently tilting your chin towards him and your breath stalled when you caught those blue eyes you loved so much, holding yours just as intensely as they always did, but with something else in them now–completely unguarded.

“I need you to know I’ll never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

You nodded, “I already knew that, Bucky.”

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, short and sweet before either of you let it turn into something heated.

“And I sleep better next to you, too,” he said, letting his thumb trail along your bottom lip. “Never have nightmares when you’re next to me.”

You smiled softly, cupping his cheek and tracing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I’ll be here if you ever do.”

He kissed you again, like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the words for, and you felt every one deep in your chest.

You chased his lips when he pulled away and he smirked against you, giving you one, then two, then three more quick kisses that made you giggle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant.”

[cherryite]

overthrown - interlude. the lake

summary. in the aftermath of your encounter with the oracle, you and the rest of the heirs search for answers, and you find yourself... 'dreaming', a bit too vividly (word count. 7.6k)

content. princess!reader x prince!mark grayson, fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, angst, yearning, hurt/comfort, fantasy au, saving the world, war time activities, found family

warnings. MDNI!!, depictions of violence, blood/gore, and injuries, loss of family, death, grief, rex being a dickhead lowk, survivors guilt, anissa (because she deserves a warning), eventual smut (not this part)

author's note. oh heyyyyyyy, i know a lot of you don't read this fic but it's literally my labor of love. i hope you all enjoy, shit's getting real from here on out lol. as always, i love to chat about my fics! so don't be afraid!! (i listened to i bet on losing dogs while writing this and also the power of prophecy from hotd s1 so!!)

taglist. @pickledsoda @heartfully10

previous/next

plot/ world info character index

Candles flicker in the dark.

Wax drips down the tapers, pooling on the table like pools of thick tears from a crying eye. Everyone is still half dressed, sleep clothes the only thing worn, bags under their eyes. Cecil paces at the head of the table, his tunic is ruffled and his face is contorted in deep thought. He’s muttering under his breath, running a weathered hand along the length of his jaw as he thinks.

Rex slumps in his chair between Eve and Rae, arms crossed, his lower lip slightly puffed out like a child denied a treat. “I can’t believe I woke up for this,” he mumbles.

Eve hardly even glances at him as she gives him a swift ‘wack’ to the back of his head. He groans. Rae smiles to herself. “You woke up because she was screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night,” Eve hisses lowly, her tired green eyes glaring at him, “consider being useful for once instead of complaining.” 

You sit hunched in your seat, your knees drawn to your chest near the foot of the table. Your arms have wrapped themselves around your knees, you aren’t sure if it’s for warmth or to comfort yourself. Mark sits in the chair nearest to you and he thinks he’s being subtle about how he keeps peeking over at you to make sure you’re okay. He’s been hovering since he barged into your room after the Oracle visited you. You shiver, the cold of the night cloaked castle floors seeping up through your feet and nipping at your skin, the thin fabric of your night clothes doing little to help. Your heartbeat still echoes faintly in your ears. You haven't entirely left that moment; that figure made of starlight, the voice that made goosebumps run along your arms. It clings to your skin like static.

Cecil finally ceases his pacing, his eyes drawing to look at you. “So,” his voice is rough from sleep,  “what exactly did the Oracle say to you,” Cecil leans with his palms on the large oak table, looking at you expectantly.

You swallow, albeit a bit nervously. Your mouth feels exceptionally dry. “It said that Thala’s Blade would be the key to defeating the Dark God’s army,” you say, your voice low as you explain, “that we’d find it where the God’s used to rest their heads. And that hope needs to wield the blade.”

The room is eerily still, the occupants of it processing quietly to themselves. The silence is not comfortable.

Rex scoffs, “But the Blade’s just a bedtime story, it’s a myth. My grandfather used to tell me that story at bedtime. We may as well be looking for a dragon.” Rae shoots him a look, her wild chestnut hair swishing around her as she turns, “well obviously it’s real, why would the Oracle waste its time lying to us?”

Eve is contemplating to herself, “‘Where the God’s used to rest their heads’... what do you all suppose that means?” She steeples her fingers in front of her mouth as she leans forward. You can practically see her mind working.

Cecil sighs, “in the stories, the God’s had a temple here in the Realm. They used to stay there when they visited mortals or had business down here. It was a convergence point, where the realms touched. I’ve never heard of it being real, or any mention of where it’s located.”

The room is tense. The past month has been rough. The prophecy doesn’t exactly say how to beat the Dark God. Meetings have been filled with collecting armies, making allies where they can, preparing for potential attack. But now they have a clue, something to go off of and it may not even be real. 

Mark drums his fingers against the hard wood of the table, his brows drawn in thought, “If the Blade does exist, and the Oracle wants us to find it…” He trails off, hesitating before he regains his train of thought, “The Oracle said Hope must wield the Blade. Do we know what that could mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rex scoffs, motioning to Mark, “who else would it be? Mark’s the strongest of us. He’s the heir of Viltrum and he’s the best fighter we have. If anyone’s going to take on the Dark God and his army with a legendary sword, it’s Mark.”

Mark suddenly seems a bit uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “But it didn’t say my name.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Rex says, waving a hand tiredly, “the Oracle didn’t say any of our names directly when it told you the prophecy. I’m just placing my bets early that it’s you.”

“Honestly, I think that's the point. That’s what it wants us to figure out,” Eve murmurs, still thinking, her fingers steepled under her chin. “The Oracle didn’t give an answer. It gave us a path and we should follow it.”

“Our best course of action is to see if there's any clues or documentation in any written sources in the library,” Rae suggests, “at least that's how I see it.”

Cecil huffs, his brows pinched together. “Good thinking.” He turns, running his hand down his face tiredly. “Start searching, tonight if you can. We’re sitting ducks right now. And without the upperhand Thala’s Blade could give us, I’m running out of ideas on how to win this war.”

The whole table nods, and your stomach feels queasy. Mark’s fingers have stopped drumming against the table now and you can tell he’s watching you again. You can feel his gaze, warm and steady, even as your own eyes remain fixed on the dark wood of the floor beneath your bare feet. When you raise your gaze to look at him though he quickly looks away when your eyes meet his. There’s a slight flush at the tips of his ears, his jaw tightening as he picks at a thread on the sleeve of his tunic. His hand rests near yours on the table, close enough to touch with just a twitch of your hand. You don’t, but his presence cloaks you in a comforting feeling.

Cecil rubs his temples, already muttering to himself about war plans and temples and gods as he scans the large map of the Realm on the table. You can hear him continue to mumble about how he hates magic, and how this is all one massive divine headache.

Eve pushes her chair back. “Well. No sense sitting here like idiots.”

You glance up at her, broken from your trance. Her green eyes flick toward you with something akin to determination. “Come on. We’re going to the library.”

Rae rises as well, smoothing the green silks of her dress. “I’ll help too. Besides, it’s either that or I’ll stay up all night thinking about how Rex could actually be right about something.”

“I am always right,” Rex calls after her with a wink, followed by a yawn as he slumps further in his chair. Eve scoffs without even looking back at him. Rae attempts to hide the smile that creeps onto her lips. 

You rise to follow them, your frame a little shaky from the night's events. Mark is standing up as soon as you are up and out of your chair. You turn your head to glance at him, your eyes finding his own, almost like a silent communication of assurance between you both. The way he looks at you then— soft and a little helpless— makes something twist in your chest. You just nod to him, whispering a quiet ‘goodnight’ as you brush past him to catch up with Eve and Rae. They’re already halfway to the door, Eve is muttering something about how there has to be something somewhere. As you catch up with them, you spare a glance over your shoulder.

Mark is still watching you.

And you realize, as you follow Eve and Rae out of the large oak doors of the council room, that it’s not just your place in the prophecy that has you afraid. It’s the feeling growing in your chest every time you look at him. And you don’t know what to do with it.

~

The palace library is still this late at night. Eerie shadows line the walls, candle fire waves as a soft night breeze drifts through the tall rounded windows. The air smells of old books; slightly musty and earthy, a faint hint of what can only be described as vanilla and worn parchment. Tall, looming bookshelves fill the space, nearly touching the high ceilings, crammed full to the brim with texts far older than any soul still breathing. 

You, Eve, and Rae are tucked away in a quiet corner, sifting through so many different texts it makes your brain feel like it’s melting out of your ears. Reading through sources so old the pages could disintegrate if you're not careful enough. A hefty volume sits in your lap, your legs folded beneath you on the thick woven rug. The skirt of your dress fans out around you, flowy light blue fabrics cloaking your figure as your fingers trial delicately across lines of faded ink.

Eve sighs, her brow knit together as she shuts the book in her lap with a quiet thump. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing about where the sword could be.” She rises, brushing her hands on her skirt as her simple magenta dress swishes at her feet. Pink magic glows from her fingertips, soft and shimmering, as she returns the book to its place with a flick of her wrist, slotting it back amongst the other texts. Her eyes scan the shelves, already reaching for another.

Across from you, Rae grumbles, adjusting her glasses on her face and rubbing her temples, a similar expression on Eve’s. “This is hopeless,” she mutters, “I think I’ve read nearly every book in here about the sword, the God’s, the temple, the Realm’s geography… and still nothing.” 

“Rae’s cracking,” Eve mumbles as she continues to scan the shelves.

Rae looks up, deadpan. “Cracking? My brain is shattered. My mind is a soup.”

“Same,” you mumble, your fingers rubbing at your temples. “Sword soup.”

Eve slides another ancient tome from the shelf, fuzzy pink particles curling lazily in the air around her hands. She hums to herself, eyes scanning the faded title, shrugging as she brings it over to where she was sitting. Eve flops into the chair, tossing the book on top of the ever growing stack of them between you all. 

“We should probably rest soon,” she mumbles. “If the Oracle said we’re meant to find the Blade, maybe we’ll stumble across something eventually. Or maybe it’ll find us.”

“Maybe,” you echo, your voice laced with quiet and tiredness. Your fingers ghost over the page of the book in your lap, but you aren’t really reading it. Your mind drifts like a boat lost at sea, back to Ephia, to your brother’s easy laughter, to his sharp mind and stubborn heart. Aaric would’ve found the sword by now, whispers a dark voice you try your best to ignore. He was always so smart.

Before the thought can truly sink its claws in, Eve shifts her body toward Rae with all the subtlety of a cat about to knock a goblet from a table. 

“So,” she starts, drawing the word out. “Rae.”

“Oh no,” Rae says immediately, but Eve hardly pays any attention and continues on.

“You and Rex,” she teases, drawing the words out slowly, as if savoring them.

Your brows rise, curiosity stirred. “Rex?” you ask, genuinely surprised. It’s difficult to picture it in your mind. Rex is brash, just as fiery as his magic, and unapologetically loud. While undeniably skilled, his complete lack of tact often grates on your nerves. Rae, by contrast, is thoughtful, sharp, and fairly competent. You can’t even imagine Rae having an interest in him.

Rae’s face goes red instantly. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” Eve pushes, her eyes sparkling, “Because when I spoke to him yesterday, he said he thought you were pretty.” Your eyes flicker up to watch the interaction, just catching the way Rae fidgets .

“I do not care what Rex thinks,” Rae says quickly, a little too quickly, the tips of her ears turning an unmistakable shade of red. She grabs the nearest book and flips it open without looking at the cover. “He’s loud and cocky and annoying.”

“Yes, yes, yes, all true. Trust me, you get to know someone very well when your parents arrange a betrothal when your barely six years old,” Eve says, flopping her head to the side, her red hair gleaming in the candle light, “and yet I still catch you looking at him at every council meeting, and at training, and when he-”

“Eve, I think I would rather talk about anything else right now than talk about Rex,” Rae interrupts, pushing her glasses up her nose with a strained sigh. Eve grumbles to herself, crossing her arms as her head rolls back against her chair. Eve turns her gaze to you, studying you like you're a puzzle she’s trying to crack.

“How’s Mark,” Eve asks, the question obviously directed at you. You pinch your brows together, looking up from the tome in your lap again.

“He’s… as fine as he can be, everything considered,” you respond, flipping the book closed slowly, “why?”

Eve shrugs nonchalantly, her magic twisting from her fingertips, wrapping itself around a book amongst the stack between you all. It drops into her lap, a quiet plop amongst the silence. 

“He just seemed stressed at the council meeting. I figured that you would know what's up, considering all the time you two spend together.” You finally look up to meet her eyes, but she’s sifting through the book in her lap nonchalantly. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest as you think back to a few hours prior, Mark sitting beside you, his dark hair ruffled, bags underlining his brown eyes. How he got uncomfortable about being the first choice of the five of you to wield the sword. 

The weight of the world is crushing him and it’s easy for you to see; the loom of his father’s ghost over him, the pressure to assist his mother in matters of the Realm, the stress of controlling powers he hasn’t even fully discovered the extent to. And you can’t even begin to think of the implications of the second half of Eve’s words. So you just shift, your face neutral despite the way your mind wanders to matters surrounding Mark.

“He just has a lot going on, just like the rest of us.” You fiddle with the corner of the closed time in your lap, the parchment smooth under your fingers. “Between the prophecy, the Dark God’s army, and the aftermath of his father’s…” You trail off, the word death catching in your throat. You don’t finish the sentence, cutting yourself off. Your eyes start drifting off towards the pale moonlight shining through the stained glass of the library. 

Eve doesn’t push further after that.

Eventually, Eve yawns and sets her book aside. Rae begins gathering the tomes you’ve already read into a pile. The sound of worn leather and rustling parchment fills the quiet night air. And you sit for a moment longer, gazing at the dancing shadows on the walls. 

When you finally get up to leave, Rae loops her arm through yours, squeezing gently. You try to offer her a faint smile in return. Eve leads the way out, her steps slow and unhurried, her magic dimming at her fingertips as she tugs the library doors open with a quiet creak. The scent of old paper and candle wax lingering in your wake. And so does the quiet ache beneath your ribs.

~

The halls of the palace are quiet at this hour, cloaked in the kind of silence that feels more uneasy than still. Moonlight seeps in through the stained glass, casting fractured light beams across the stone floor in deep hues of violet and amber. Mark walks slowly, lost in thought, Steelsworn at his hip, though he hasn’t needed it since training the morning before with you.

He should be asleep. That’s what William would tell him, anyway. Probably accompanied with a tired laugh and a half-hearted jab about bags under his eyes, how they don’t suit a prince of the Realm. But sleep hasn’t come easy in weeks for him. He finds that his magic thrums too loudly when the world goes quiet. His mind won’t let him rest. Especially not after earlier.

He pauses at the end of a long corridor, glancing through a nearby window. The gardens below are cloaked in silver, still and quiet in the dark. Somewhere beyond them, tucked away in the castle’s east wing, he knows the library was occupied not long ago, the candles only recently snuffed. 

The image lingers in his mind; you hunched over a book, the blue of your dress spilling around you like seawater, fingers curled lightly over the fragile edge of a page. He had barely even noticed Eve and Rae were there with you. He hadn’t meant to stop by on his way back from talking with his mother and Cecil post council meeting. Hadn’t meant to look in through the half-open door when he’d passed.

But he had anyway, something stirring in his chest as he did.

He hadn’t gone in, though. Just peeked in for a heartbeat too long, long enough to feel that pull again. The one he doesn't know how to name yet. The one that keeps haunting him when he does get sleep, the one that makes his fingers twitch whenever you, the princess of Ephia, is near.

He’s still not used to thinking of you that way, not really. Sometimes you feel too distant, too out of reach for someone who talks about your brother like he was still in the room with you. For someone who paints late at night and leaves clay under your fingernails. For someone who’s kind in a quiet way, not because it’s expected of you as a princess, but because you don’t know how to be anything else but that. For someone who lets him talk about his father, how he misses him, about how he feels the crushing weight of his legacy constantly.

He saw the way you looked at him today, when Cecil brought up the Blade. The way your lips parted like you might say something, but didn’t. The way your hands curled in your lap. The way you listen when he talks, like what he’s saying matters, like you’re hanging on every word.

Hope must wield the Blade.

He doesn’t know what that means and that in itself makes his head spin. 

But he does know this: the moment the Oracle appeared in your room and spoke of Thala’s Blade, the way it looked at him and called out to him with its sickening voice—Hello, Gods’ Born—it felt like a hot brand on his skin.

He can tell everyone thinks it should be him, that he should wield the sword of hope against the people who killed his father. He’s the strongest. The prince of the Viltrum Empire. The one born from powerful blood, his father’s blood, even if that blood feels like it’s eating him alive sometimes.

But strength and worth aren’t the same, Mark knows that.

And when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe the Blade was never meant for someone like him at all. The thought stirs in his head, like a bug buzzing in his ear, that it should be you.

Mark leans his head back against the stone wall, closing his eyes for just a moment. The air is cool, sharp. His shoulders ache from training, from holding himself together in front of the council, in front of his mother, in front of you.

He wants to say something. He just doesn’t know what.

He wants to be someone who can help the ones he cares about. But how can he do that if he can’t even help himself.

~

It’s been a couple of days of searching for information on the sword. When you aren’t buried in books with Eve and Rae, your time is spent in the training yard with Mark. Sleep has been finding you easily these days despite it all, your body weary and slack, your muscles sore. 

Tonight is different though.

You're sleeping, or at least you thought you were. At least you had been. There’s no clear line between rest and waking. Only a slow, syrupy pull upward, like you’ve been drifting in a warm sea and now something tugs you to the surface. Your thoughts are soft and smudged, like charcoal rubbed too hard into parchment. Your mind is hazy, fuzzy. The bedsheet beneath you doesn't feel the same, but it did at the same time. Climbing out of bed, your bare feet touch the ground, stone cold against your feet. 

The air feels wrong.

You can hear sounds in the hallway, muffled voices, quick footsteps, a strange, electric hum that crawls beneath your skin. You move, though it doesn’t feel quite like walking. Your steps are light, almost weightless, like your body isn’t real. The torches along the corridor flicker low, their flames dimmer than they should be. The walls seem to shift in the corners of your vision, blurring, warping. Stone and smoke woven into one. 

A figure rushes past. A boy, small but swift, disappears around a corner and folds himself into the shadows. You follow, your pace slow and uncertain, drawn forward as if you’re a puppet on a string. You are inclined to think it’s Oliver until you see he’s obviously older, perhaps eleven or maybe twelve. The sound of heavy breathing and an odd buzz fills your ears as you approach the boy, curled with his legs to his chest. You crouch down, your hand reaching out to comfort him. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice sounds unreal, like you yourself are just a dream. It echoes around in your skull, warped and unreal.

The boy tilts his face up to you and your heart stops. His face is younger, but still unmistakeable. You recognize his deep brown eyes, nearly black as they shimmer under thick lashes. His raven hair is flopping in his eyes a bit, tousled and wild. Tan skin is flushed as tears run down the apples of his cheeks.

“Mark…” you mumble, your heart lurching. Your thoughts spiral. What is happening? Where are you? But the dream refuses to clarify, the edges of it too soft to grasp. Mark’s smokey figure looks at you, his brows furrowed. He looks so young, so sweet, too sweet to be crying alone.

“Dad wants me to attend the council meeting,” he sniffles, his hands shaking on where they grip at his knees, “But I can’t, he doesn’t understand.” It’s his voice, but pitched higher, still wrapped in childhood.

“Why can’t you,” you say, your voice just a murmur, moving of your own accord, wishing to comfort him in this strange dream. Your fingers brush over the soft skin of his cheeks, her thumbs brushing away the tears that flow. He looks panicked, he looks scared.

“She’s there,” he says quietly, filled with hesitation. You stiffen and your heart sinks. 

“Who’s there Mark?” you prod, your voice distorted and your heart pounds against her chest.

His voice is small as he speaks. “Anissa.”

Her brows furrow. Anissa was High King Nolan’s Master of Ships. She was not only a feared magic user, but well known for her house’s fearsome fleet of ships. A name whispered sharply across council tables. Feared. Powerful. Unyielding. Your parents hated her with the kind of cold disdain reserved for those who weren’t just dangerous, but too clever. Your father hated her, your mother even more. Your mother said she was power hungry. You vaguely remember your parents  fussing over the fact that Nolan didn’t see how dangerous she truly was one night when they thought you and Aaric were asleep. Crowned in ambition, your mother said once. Aaric was told never to be alone near her if they visited the Empire, but those sentiments were never extended to you. She hasn’t been seen since Nolan’s death.

A sickenly sour feeling curls in your stomach now, stronger than memory.

“Can you tell me why she upsets you?” you ask, your hands resting on his shoulders gently. His eyes widened, shaking his head. His frame tense and suddenly panicked. You withdraw a bit, nodding, “Okay, okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his tunic and he speaks again, “I want to go see Mom, but I have to walk by the council room. I’m scared.”

You stand, unsure what you're even doing in your foggy state. You reach out, “I’ll walk with you.”

He takes it, his hands shake as you lead him towards Debbie’s quarters. The world around you pulses with fog, thick and unsteady. The walls ripple, like the castle itself can’t quite remember what it is, solid or smoke, memory or dream. Each step is muffled, the ground beneath your feet barely there. But his hand stays in yours, and you don’t let go.

Time passes slow, but also so fast at the same time, you have no idea how long you walk with Mark, until the fog dissipates a bit, a door half cracked, warm flickering light shines out. Hushed voices drift into your ears as you stop just before the door. Mark grips your hand, tightly as you quietly press your ear to the door. There’s maybe two deeper voices, one more feminine one. Something compels you to listen as you pick up words, their voices low and urgent. 

“... it is not the right time. The Dark God isn’t strong enough yet.”

“We must act soon, or the Hand will grow suspicious over time.”

“Then we kill him if he notices.”

“Your ambition will get us killed, Anissa.”

“And ambition doesn’t tempt you, Conquest? War does not tempt you?”

“Enough bickering. We wait. Disposing of the King will not be easy. We have to wait for the exact perfect time. Or it will be far too suspicious.”

“Preferably when the Dark God is at his strongest.”

“The boy must go too. He’s already powerful. That power cannot fall into the wrong hands.”

Mark tugs at your hand, drawing your attention as you look down at him. His eyes are wide, uncomfortable. 

“We shouldn’t stay here. It’s not safe,” Mark whispers, “we need to keep going.”

“One moment Mark,” you respond, trying to focus more, even though he continues to tug at your hand. 

You peek around the door, just slightly. Around the council table you know all too well, stands three figures, basked in the light of a few flickering candles. A woman with short cropped hair and sharp, angled brows—Anissa. Beside her stands a grizzled older man with white hair and a heavy mustache—Conquest, the Master of War. The third is tall and stone faced, dark hair cropped close to his skull—Thragg, former Grand General of the Empire. Thragg, he used to visit your father often, another council member. You barely have time to process what you’ve seen before Mark is pulling you away, yanking you into the mist of the castle walls.

“Mark, wait–,” you say, hushed as you strain your neck back, trying to hear more of the discussion happening in the council room. But when you turn back, you no longer feel the hold of Mark’s hand. The fog thickens around you. You’re alone.

Only a fuzzy feeling, surrounded by a thick fog as the castle walls melt away around you. Your breathing picks up, your heart slamming in your chest as panic sets in. Your mind is a mess as you run into the swirling haze where Mark disappeared in, scrambled and confused. But the mist swallows your voice whole.

Suddenly, the floor shifts, reality shifts. The dream moves on.

The disorientation fades and you find yourself amongst familiar bricks, the air thick with dust from crumbled walls. You know these halls, you’ve walked them so many times as a child it’s hard to forget them. Spreading your fingers out against the crumbling stone, you find your house sigil etched into the center stone of the hallway. A pretty blue fish, with long flowing fins. 

Home, you’re home. But how? 

But it’s wrong. Muffled screams ring in your ears, the air crackles. Screams echo throughout the grand halls. Magic surges, dark, violet light streaking across the sky. And then, much to your horror, you hear your own voice. Screaming for your mother. For Aaric. You look up reluctantly and see the wall. The one that crumbled between you and them. 

Familiar voices tear your eyes away, coming face to face with someone you’d thought you’d never see again. Aaric, his face contorted in pain, staring at the walls that once protected them, the walls that now separated them. It all happens so fast, your brain is barely catching up, because your heart thumps painfully in your chest, hazy tears drip from your cheeks. 

Aaric is standing poised, your mother behind him as magic ebbs from both of their bodies. Your mother looks so determined but so frightened at the same time. She was a healer, not a fighter. Your mother wasn’t built to fight.

In front of them, Descending through the air, wrapped in ribbons of shadow, comes Anissa. She looks a bit older than when you saw her in the council room, her dark hair is still cropped short, her eyes still narrowed and mean. Lean, powerful, and terrifying. She’s clad in typical Viltrumite wear, white and grey metal, a sword almost as big as her clutched in her hand.

“Shallan,” Anissa says, her feet touching down on the rubble, her voice creaks in your ears like rusted metal, “Still lovely, even under such grim circumstances.”

Your mother tenses, shifting uncomfortably. “Wish I could say the same,” she says bitterly, her voice raw from screaming. Her face is twisted up, like how it would when you or Aaric broke something in your youths.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Anissa says, wind curling her brown hair, her face sour. “Your family would have lived, had you bent the knee. Married Aaric to me.” Your mother grips Aaric’s shoulder, her eyes void of anything other than despair. 

“And I would rather die than let you touch my son,” she spits, her voice cracking, tears, angry and hot run down her face, “I would rather die than bend the knee to the traitors that killed Nolan. You have forsaken him for a deep evil.”

Anissa just tilts her head slightly, her lips quirked slightly. Her smile is thin, cruel. That sour feeling in your belly returns. “Oh Shallan, how little you understand about the Dark God.”

Aaric holds his stern expression, despite all that's being said he doesn’t even flinch. But you can see the way his throat bobs, how his powers thicken the air around him. He’s scared, he would never admit it but he is. Your heart is in your throat as you watch the interaction, frozen as if your veins have been filled with ice.

“One more chance,” Anissa says, her voice low and serious, “bend the knee and the Dark God may find use for you.”

She barely even finishes her sentence before Aaric advances, a blast of magic surges from his palm, hitting Anissa squarely. The air erupts in a crackling roar. Anissa skids backwards, her head snapping towards your brother.

“I will never kneel to the likes of you, traitor,” Aaric spits, his gait steady, confident, and powerful. Anissa just regains her balance, cracking her neck, before advancing on Aaric. They clash, a flurry of magic shoots through the air, the sound of sword metal colliding.

You pull yourself from your daze to run to grab for your mother, to pull her out of the way of the fighting, but your hand goes right through her, like you’re a ghost. Your limbs move so slow it’s like you’re moving through honey, because you could touch Mark in your last ‘dream’. But you can’t here. This has to be some cruel trick, to watch your mother, to watch Aaric die and be fully unable to help in any way. Tears prick your eyes as frustration sets in, attempting to cling to your mother, even though you continue to phase through her. Your eyes are trained on Aaric and Anissa. 

They continue to exchange blows, a flurry of swords and magic twisting around them as they fight. Aaric lands a heavy blow on Anissa, knocking her in the nose with the hilt of his sword, curling his magic around her ankle to slam her back into the ground. He’s breathing heavily, watching her still form, turning to look at your mother, to look at you. 

“Mom– Mom are you okay?” Aaric shouts, making his way over to your mother, his shoulders heaving from the fight. It happens so fast, the misty dream state barely hides the way Anissa surges up behind him, so fast you could blink and miss it. Your mother screams. You scream. Aaric doesn’t, because his empty eyes are staring at you, his head rolling on the ground as his body slumps a few feet away. Anissa lowers her sword, coated in Aaric’s blood, glaring down at your mother. 

“Aaric!” your mother cries, her eyes wide and terrified as his name tears from her throat. Anissa rolls his slack head under her foot, as if he was nothing more than a bug under her shoe. A horrifying sickness seeps through your body, unable to take your eyes off of your twin. Your baby brother. His jaw slack. His eyes vacant and dull.

“All who oppose the Dark God must fall,” Anissa speaks, her voice a hiss, “I’ll reunite you with your husband and son. And when I find your daughter, her blood will stain my sword. Your family will be whole again. My final kindness I’ll do for you, Shallan.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, rage surging below her stare, is strong in her final moments. “I may die here today, but you will not win. One day you will find yourself at the end of the road, Anissa. And you will have no one to save you, not even your God.”

Anissa simply stares at her, the breeze ruffling her hair, her face splattered with blood. Aaric’s blood. 

“Whatever brings you comfort, your Highness,” she says, her voice cold, a horrifyingly emotionless expression on her face. Anissa’s sword swings down swiftly, lodging directly in the front of your mother’s skull. You screech, scrambling forward as if you can save her. But you just fall, suddenly floating through the air, as if you fell through the floor. Your eyes squeeze shut, begging for this to stop, your heart breaking, your stomach plagued with a sickness you don’t know you’ll ever be able to get rid of.

You feel like you're on the ground again when you open your eyes. The grass beneath your bare feet is bright, the scene laid out before you is a sprawling lake, the sun beating down on your tear stained face. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t all fake, an evil twist of your mind. You find yourself squinting, your shaky legs pulling you towards the lake as if you’re just a puppet on a string. Before you is a woman, tall, gorgeous, ethereal. Soft features and deep beautiful skin that glows with divine warmth, staring out at the lake, water lapping at her feet. She doesn’t turn as you approach.

“Oh sweet dreamer, you’re quite a far way from home.”

You freeze, her voice ringing in her ears like she’s in your head speaking. The figure radiates warmth, basking in a feeling of what can only be described as a yearning for something better. 

It shakes you then, your mind mush and your heart squeezing in your chest. This is Thala. This is the Goddess of Hope. 

“Thala,” you whisper, a shake coating your voice.

“I need help,” you find yourself saying, as if you don’t have control of your own words. Thala hums, her gaze still fixated on the lake. The sound is soft and sorrowful.

“I know. That’s why you’re here.” 

A thick quiet falls over you both.

Thala stands, still has a statue, her gaze fixed on the water as it ripples. She’s draped in robes that ripple like liquid starlight, the crease with every brush of the wind. Her hair coils down her back in long, intricate braids. The lake laps gently at her feet, the water so clear you can see every stone that lies underneath it as it reflects the blue sky.

“I assume you mean to ask about my Blade,” she murmurs.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yes. The stories aren’t quite clear…” you say quietly, as if you speak too loud then she will disappear. Thala finally moves, tilting her head, the faintest but saddest of smiles of her lips. “I find stories are often where truth is stored when the world is not ready for it.”

On shaky legs, you step forward as your bare feet sink into the soft Earth. “Can you help us? Help us find it.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine as Thala’s eyes meet yours, shimmering with a sadness that is ancient and deep. “This place,” she says, half ignoring your question, lifting a hand toward the lake, “once bore witness to the sorrow of a thousand lost things, of betrayal, my loss of hope. Here, the world thins.”

You follow her gaze. The lake stretches endlessly before you, calm and unbroken. A mirror of the sky. Your reflection does not ripple on its surface.

“But I don’t see anything,” you whisper, eyes searching the blue water for anything. A temple. A sword. A sign.

“You won’t,” Thala says. “Not yet.”

Your chest tightens, confusion infecting every cell in your brain. “Then how—?”

“The Blade does not wait for command. It answers only to those who carry hope like a torch through the dark.” She pauses, then steps slowly into the water, the ripples gentle around her ankles. It’s as if the lake welcomes her, like she’s coming home. “It will not show itself to the bold, or the strong, or the brave. Only the worthy.”

The word rings in your ears like a bell toll. Worthy. Because who decides what is ‘worthy’. The vagueness of Thala’s words, the vagueness of the Oracle’s words. Too much left to chance, too much unanswered.

“Worthy of what?” you ask. “The prophecy? The fight? Of your sword?”

Thala turns her face toward you, and her expression is impossibly kind but also filled with what you can only guess is regret. “Worthy of bearing light when all seems lost. Of protecting the Realm not for glory, but because it must be done.”

“I’m not like the others,” you murmur, the reality of what's happening is setting in. Your mind is a mess of grief, fear, and confusion. “I don’t have magic. I’m not the strongest. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“But you are here,” Thala says simply. “And that matters more than you know.”

You look at her, tears clouding your vision. You don't understand, this shouldn’t be happening. How can this be happening? “Why me? Why are you talking to me?”

The Goddess turns back toward the lake, ignoring your question again, her voice fading like morning mist. “When the time is right, it will rise. But only for the one who walks with hope in their blood.”

She raises her hand, and the surface of the lake shimmers, glowing faintly, the light pounding like a heartbeat pulsing just beneath the water. 

“And what if we fail?” you ask, breath hitching.

Her voice softens. “Then the Realm will fall. But hope... has a stubborn way of surviving. Just like you five.”

And then—

The wind changes.

The sun dims.

And you’re falling back into the dark.

~

When your eyes snap back open, you’re gasping. 

The first thing you feel is cold, a bone chilling feeling that seeps through your body. Water wraps around your lower half, ending at your waist, soaking your nightdress. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the sleepy haze that still clouds your vision. The gardens around you are the same as you have walked plenty of times before; you’re awake this time, not in bed, but in the pond by the patch of flowers Oliver favors when he picks you flowers for your room. 

Pink streaks of dawn crawl slowly across the pale blue sky. The surrounding grass shines as dew drops cling to them. A warmth anchors you, cutting through the chill of the water. Hands grip your arms, firm but gentle, holding you in place. One arm cradles the small of your back, holding you steady as your balance threatens to give out.

Still in a daze, you turn your head to the side, meeting Mark’s brown eyes, filled to the brim with worry. He’s standing in the water with you, the sleeves of. He’s just as soaked as you are, the water lapping at his hips, fully clothed. His tunic is dark with pond water as it clings to his stomach, his eyes wide as his hands grip at your arms.

“Hey, hey— you’re awake,” he says, breathless. “You were,” he swallows thickly, his eyes frantic but tinged with relief. “You were sleepwalking. My mom and I saw you roaming the halls. You just walked straight outside. I didn’t know what to do. You wouldn’t stop.”

You stare at him, his voice a foggy blur in your mind.He’s rambling, his hands gripping your arms in an attempt to ground you. His fingers are tight on your arms, like he’s afraid you might slip away again. They’re the only warmth you feel as the morning breeze and chilly water washes over you. You think. You think about the lake, the vision, Thala and her words. It hits you then as you imagine the map of the Realm that you’ve all been staring at for days. The large lake that sits smack in the middle of the Realm. Middle Man’s Lake. Where all the borders meet. It must be there, the rolling hills, the way the water reflects the heavens above. It all washes over you suddenly, determination crawling through her cold blood. All the stories make sense, the place where the two Realms touch.

“I called your name, but, you–you didn’t answer. Mom said not to startle you, but then you came out here and walked into the pond I couldn’t–”

You cut him off, your voice soft but gasping. “I know where it is.”

Mark freezes, “What?”

“The Blade,” you gasp, your hand desperately reaching up to curl into the fabric of his tunic to steady yourself, “it’s in a lake—the lake. Middle Man’s Lake. Thala showed me—she was there, I saw her, Mark.” Your words rush out of you like a waterfall, your mind racing to catch up with your mouth as you speak.

His brows draw together, concern flickering behind his eyes. “Wait—slow down. What do you mean she showed you?”

“It wasn’t a dream, not fully. It was so real, Mark. It was like—” your breath hitches, heart racing. “It was real. I could feel her. Thala. She spoke to me. She told me where it is. Said the Blade only reveals itself to the worthy.”

The two of you stand there, soaked in pond water and pale morning light. For a moment, it’s quiet again. Only the rustle of early wind through garden hedges and your heaving breaths. The hush of water lapping at your legs. Mark doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes roam your shaking figure, taking in the waterlogged fabrics that cling to your body like a second skin.

Mark’s eyes rise again to search yours, his hand still braced protectively on your back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Do you believe me?” you whisper, suddenly self conscious. You sound crazy, like a grieving girl who’s real life has invaded her dreams. “This doesn’t sound—Gods, I sound—”

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “I believe you.”

The tension in your body melts, causing your knees to wobble as your body trembles in the cold morning air. Mark shifts you in his grasp, pulling you closer to steady you. 

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs, half to himself and half to you, he’s close enough that you can feel his breath brush your temple. Your chest constricts, the sudden realization blooming in the space between you, the space that’s barely there. You hadn't noticed the way your body leaned into his until now. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed him there. How you clutched to him like you were afraid you would be pulled back into a dream. 

You blink rapidly, pulling in a breath as you step back slightly, the water rippling around you.

“I need to tell the others,” you say quickly, shaking the fog from your thoughts. “We need to go there. We have to go there. Soon.”

Mark’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but just nods. As you let him guide you out of the pond, water trailing behind you like a cape of waves, your mind races. Because now the war begins. Things are getting very real, very quickly, but the path forward is clear.

Get the Blade.

Win the war.

Save the Realm and those you’ve come to hold most dear.

[nalyra-dreaming]

https://www.tumblr.com/nalyra-dreaming/783583189912485888/i-feel-like-im-going-crazy-because-i-keep-on

Okay, what arcs had been destroyed and what repercussions will this have on future arcs specifically by Rolin introducing Amel early?

Also you said her fate was not as inevitable in the book, is that because they aged her up and given her freedom (went to college and left for 7 years) and found love (w/madeleine) which book!claudia couldn’t do? What parts of the relationships did Rolin and Hannah chip that? Sorry, I’m not well versed on the books and I’m curious. Thank you for a detailed explanation.

cracks knuckles

Okay, nonny, this is gonna be long, and hopefully not too rambly :)

The Amel arc has more or less been confirmed by Sam already in this video 34:15 mark forward. I would advise to just listen to it.

In and by itself it is quite the genius move - bring in Amel early, therefore likely condense the two main destruction events of the vampire world into one (the “burnings” of Akasha and Amel in the books), and bring this element of the later books all the way back hooked into season one. Bring in reasons for some of the vampire’s behaviorisms, too. It IS clever.

When I say “destroys arcs” then I mean that, by rebuilding the show from scratch in a way - shifting Lestat’s age, pulling some events forward, recentering relationships differently - he is ultimately changing those relationships - and the events that shape them - irrevocably. They simply cannot work the way they do in the books.

Take for example Claudia’s turning, which I talked about here:

The very welcome(!) changes re Louis resulted in a myriad of little repercussions, which then resulted in very different circumstances for Claudia’s turning.

By having Amel rise to consciousness already - in whatever rudimentary form - they are setting up the “excuse” for Lestat already, an excuse and a reason, which will not be received well within this fandom, lol.

By using him already (I think! Analogous to the repercussions of the turning of Claudia and the changes they made!) they change the reasons for a lot of behaviorisms by Akasha and others. Again, it is clever! It solves a bit of the problem of why Akasha does what she does - why she chooses Lestat, too, and it expands the reason why she ultimately misjudges him, but at the same time it creates new problems.

In the books, Akasha kind of falls for Lestat’s brazen display of naive, rash masculinity which he displays in her shrine, and then in the music videos which he creates to provoke the other vampires. She makes up an image of him in her mind, an image which does not quite fit.

“I love you because you are so perfectly what is wrong with all things male. Aggressive, full of hate and recklessness, and endlessly eloquent excuses for violence-you are the essence of masculinity; and there is a gorgeous quality to such purity.”

Lestat is not full of hate though, on the contrary. Oh, he revels in violence - but then that is something ALL vampires do. They love the kill. But he only goes along with her in the first place because she threatens those he loves. She misjudges him, and he turns against her, ultimately, despite her threats.

By making Lestat older, more jaded, and not as naive and rash they had to shift the reasons for her choosing him the same way as they had to shift the circumstances of Claudia’s turning. Or will have to, I should say.

I’m not sure how they will play the rockstar arc. In the books, Lestat starts that whole thing to find the others, to find LOUIS. And to shield Louis. I can see that stay the same, given the end of the second season.

But this Lestat… the show!Lestat - is so much more powerful. He has the cloud gift - another little repercussion: he does not need to fight off hordes of vampires at the concert, he can just… fly off. He has a strong mind gift, he has the fire gift, can manipulate matter (open the door by will) - why, if healed and powerful, would he not simply incinerate everyone threatening him? What would make this Lestat go with Akasha? Can she just abduct him, like she does in the books? I doubt that, actually.

I think this Lestat might go with her willingly, at first. I think this Lestat might be driven to align with her views, for a while, maybe through Amel.

Because, again, this is not “Anne’s Lestat” as Sam put it. He is not young, naive, rash, impulsive, and still discovering his powers. He HAS those powers already, and has had them, for quite a while.

If this Lestat would want to fight Akasha off (while she did not want to incinerate him on the spot, granted), then there must be a reason for it.

Within the setting of this universe they created, they have to provide a logical reason for this character. And it isn’t that Lestat is “filled with hate”… not really. But it could be, if that “hate”, that violence was Amel’s canonically violent awakening.

Lestat in the books is fascinated by and afraid of Akasha. He loves her and shies away from her, unable to fight her off in any kind of way really. And she forces him. By mind and spell gift, as well as her pure strength. Granted, some of that might stay the same - but it cannot stay fully the same.

This Lestat will not be changed so much from his previous self he does not quite recognize himself anymore afterwards. This Lestat will not experience severe body dysmorphia in the books afterwards. This Lestat will not be afraid of his own powers.

This Lestat will not hate himself or his body afterwards. This Lestat will not shy away from the others because of that. This Lestat will not run from his relationship with Louis after the ordeal with Akasha.

This Lestat will not seek “a way out” the same way. He will not try to kill himself over what has happened to him, because of these feelings. He will not try out the “mortal body” deluding himself he only wants to feel the sun again (after all we saw that his hand did not really burn when catching the rat, meaning he is quite sun-proof already). He will not try to convince himself he is the same evil Magnus was because of that.

No, THIS Lestat will likely do these things because of other reasons. And these “other” reasons totally change the character, and the resulting relationship(s).

They change the upcoming “body thief” arc, because if they really pull in Amel as a reason for Akasha and Lestat’s driving violence, the mutual recognition of it too, then that changes the “why” as to why Lestat would want to escape his body. It changes the why for the why he does it all in the first place. It changes the why of his running from Louis.

Rolin has talked about agency a lot - the thing is though, in the books Lestat is often the victim. He is not so much that in the show. He cannot be, not really, due to the way they shifted things. And that is why Rolin had to bring in "more" agency for Louis, too, at least supposedly.

IF the Amel awakening is already happening, then whatever happened in the driveway in 1x05 and has been memory-edited (as we know now) will have to do with it. If it is, then Lestat’s reasons for reflecting after that, and the reasons for “murder night” have also shifted, rather severely. (Here, too, a lot of Claudia’s reasons in the books fall away, since she is older - there will be a revisit of murder night, likely next seasons (the writers have already confirmed that, ages ago), so we will still see what really happened, for now just remember that Claudia’s diary does not match what we saw, and the writers… have NOT used the reveals from the book “Merrick” yet (which is where Claudia’s diary comes from)).

Because THIS Lestat, IF we take Amel as awakening/there in the driveway scene, this Lestat will be scared and bewildered by what happened just the same as Louis was. This Lestat will be ashamed by what happened, yes - but he will also be bewildered. That much cited “time out” Lestat got in the garbage dump will come with different meaning for him, the rejection part will be much more felt - that too, has been hinted at in episode 6 in the car scene, and then in the trial setup in season 2 already I think, with the insinuation that Lestat maybe… just maybe also came there to get revenge in some kind of fashion. Oh, we know already that the trial was scripted and that what we saw was not the truth there either, so it remains to be seen what they will make of it next season - but THIS Lestat, this Lestat came to Paris with a bitterness that his book counterpart likely did not carry.

His book counterpart came to Paris, knowing Armand, and afraid for both Louis and Claudia. And he went to Armand to more or less beg for their lives.

Lestat in the books understood why Claudia had to do what she did. A lot of people mis-cite that part of the books, claiming he “deserved to die” because Lestat was “abusing” them - which is in line with what season ONE claimed, I get it, but what he really says there is this:

“It was the crime that was to be my undoing: the creation with Louis and for Louis of Claudia, a stunningly beautiful vampire child. Her body wasn't six years old when I took her, and though she would have died if I hadn't done it (just as Louis would have died if I hadn't taken him also), this was a challenge to the gods for which Claudia and I would both pay.”

He knows what he did to her, locking her into that too small body, damning her to eternity as a “doll”.

Claudia in the show is no child though. Not really. And definitely not anymore in season 2.

And that put the show into a difficult situation, because, as pointed out, show!Claudia… would not really have needed to die, not even by the vampire laws. Her behavior was carefully adult, her clothing and makup, too. And they had already established that she could just leave… so they had to bring in a reason why she would return, why she would feel the need to return. And they needed to bring in a reason why Lestat would (supposedly) not let her go.

They needed to bring in actual abuse, both domestic and sexual, setting up parallels for season 3 (and Lestat’s (upcoming) past), because the reasons of the books weren’t cutting it anymore for the changed settings. Now, others have talked a lot about all this, @virginiaisforvampires has, at length, so I won’t repeat all that here. Just another nod towards “Merrick” here, from which the writers took the diary pages and Louis’ attempted suicide so far - but not yet Claudia’s ghost, and the reveal of Claudia's hand in all of it.

Bringing in actual abuse (in the books Lestat and Louis fought ONCE, and on equal grounds(!)) and in the way they did though… would continue to bite them in the ass though, and I think they knew that.

Because book 2 forward, LESTAT is the main character, narrator of most of the chronicles. They always knew the switch was to come, and so they knew they would need to find a way to more or less annul what they did there - without (and here it gets really difficult, imho), without letting the black man stand there as a liar.

Now, it is canon that book!Louis DID lie. It’s literally stated in the books, and Jacob has also inferred that, in that video, in the end. Jacob has been quite blunt about it also, that Louis’ tale is a mixture of memories, deliberately and not-so-deliberately delivered scenes, and that Louis "presented Lestat as a monster.” The show obviously went much farther than that, namely made Armand literally edit Louis’ mind, edit his memories - shift the blame to him (something I predicted would happen before s2 aired btw, and which made people real mad at me lol).

Book!Armand HAS influenced Louis as well, to turn Madeleine for example, and he put a “veil” over him, before they came for them. So the show going further is built on canon - but there, too, it is a “ramping up” of what was/is.

With them knowing Lestat would become main character and them knowing that they had to bring other reasons for “murder night” it is actually quite… logical that they would need to think of something to shift perception. Logical for them.

They already did so with the fight revisit in s2 - oh look, it’s actually Louis who was the aggressor, at least until the coffin room. Haha!!! //sarcasm off. I think it’s clear that that little reveal… mostly fell flat, because Lestat as the “white racist abuser” had been thoroughly established by then. But I think they think that bringing in Amel will bring that final shift in perception, namely shift the “violence perception” away from Lestat.

I don’t think it will. I think it will be hell in fandom when they try to do that. And I have stated before, and am stating it here once more, that I personally do not like this setup that I think they chose.

But I do think they think it will. I think that was one of the reasons for their plan to bring in Amel that early, and in this kind of manner.

By bringing in this (let’s call it) concept though they changed all the surrounding relationships, rather irrevocably.

Some of it is based on the settings change, and the therefore changed ages, and I DO appreciate that they thought about what that would mean for these characters.

But Louis and Lestat are built now on a power-imbalance, and NO MATTER the reason, there will always be the end of episode 5 now between them. ALWAYS. Their first flight, so very important for them in “Queen of the Damned” is now forever tainted as well! Also, Book!Louis and Lestat were only a few years apart. Both were more or less “young vampires”. Not so in the show, no matter what will be now, Lestat and Louis will not have grown into it all together, the show jump-started them to the big discrepancy of the last books. To the acceptance that is, in the books, so very hard won.

Louis and Armand are much worse off as well - Armand sees Louis as a vessel for himself, and their parting is one in anger not numb and disillusioned neutrality. I seriously doubt we will see them in any kind of acceptance of each other in the show which we DID get in the books in the Trinity Gate era.

Lestat and Claudia are worse off, too - oh, there are enough clues in the show that Lestat did love Claudia, but it is clear I think that Claudia saw him more as her keeper, and not in a good sense - so far, at least, because there, too, the incoming reveals of the missing diary pages will play a rather big part though.

By focusing the show on the cycles of abuse - and I have no doubt whatsoever that they will continue to do so in the upcoming seasons and the relationships to come - they created pitfalls for themselves.

Because how can you root for these characters, right, how can you forgive them?

And they have stated that they have want(ed) to focus on that needed forgiveness....

Rolin and Hannah both said that it’s a “gothic romance” and “within the realms of his evil” as a defense for this chosen angle, cherry-picking at things that have their place in certain arcs to justify their ramping up the abuse and violence. And (I think) they think that a lot of it will be explained away with Amel.

But, again, the abuse and violence… the FOCUS on the abuse and violence… changes these characters and their relationships with each other. Irrevocably.

Don’t get me wrong here, abuse, violence and even sexual abuse and violence are parts of the books. But a big part of the books is also the try at overcoming that - breaking the cycle of abuse (which Lestat does btw, and which Rolin annuls with the changes he made in setup and focus), and forgiving. Louis, accepting his grief, and his depression, and his story. And that he chose this. Lestat, accepting that he was forced into this, and is who he is. And that he wants it, despite not choosing it.

The show jump-started Louis at the end of season 2 to the end of “Prince Lestat” with that “I am the night” comment. They condensed the journey. Which does free Louis up, yes. But - if they want to do “body thief” - why then would this Louis, who has/seems to have accepted who and what he is, reject Lestat? For example? Because book!Louis rejects Lestat in the “body thief” book because he does not want to condemn Lestat’s soul to their life (again) - and he does so, knowing losing Lestat will likely kill him.

All the changes they do in the show have ripple-effect repercussions for the arcs yet to come.

Who knows, maybe they’ll do “body thief” with Daniel (getting a new body), the possibility is definitely there. But then Jacob and Sam and Rolin have all talked about that book, and finding a “clever way” of doing it, and Jacob about how much he wants to do that scene with Sam. And it will be reallllyyyy interesting what they will choose as “reason” for the rejection. Because imho it will have to be a different one, now.

And Lestat will not have to withdraw after QotD and Akasha’s abduction either. Louis is already used to the power-imbalance, hell LESTAT is already used to the power-imbalance. He HAS all the powers already, so why would it frighten him, make him feel body-dysmorphia and suicidal??

Amel “choosing” Lestat makes Lestat the proverbial “prince” of the titular “Prince Lestat” book. There’s more to it, of course, but Rolin has already talked about this Lestat having traces of the prince in him.

The Lestat of the books though… manages to reach that status amongst his kind on his own, through what has happened, and how he dealt with it. The Lestat of the show… will be hobbled/buffeted by Amel from the beginning, as well as the choices re abuse and violence. As such, the journey he takes, will be, by necessity, quite a different one, bodily and mentally. And it won't be the same.

This show is an adaptation.

It does not need to follow the books word by word.

It does not need to be the same. Absolutely.

But by focusing on the cycles of abuse, and by introducing some rather important changes they have changed some core traits of the characters - and therefore their arcs, through the ripple effect adaptions that are needed because of them.

Claudia was old enough to live on her own, and had proven she could. Chosen solution: sexual violence and toxic overbearing domination and abuse.

Lestat is much older and jaded, much more experienced and much more powerful - and he needed to be killed but knowing he would take over the show at some point there would need to be a caveat. Chosen solution: Make it clear he was an abusive asshole, but leave a trap door for later.

Louis could not simply be a liar, or missing memories. Chosen solution: His mind had to be fucked up by someone else.

And so on.

Ultimately, we will only be able to judge, and evaluate afterwards. Afterwards, after all our seasons have hopefully run (fingers crossed), we will able to look back, look at the clues, and analyze whether our takes were correct. Given my predictions for season 2... well. We'll see :)

And I cannot give you a definite prediction as to how the arcs will change, because it will heavily depend on how exactly they do them.

But if I am (even if partly only) correct re Amel and the upcoming Akasha arc - and again, I don’t WANT that, it’s just something I see coming - then there will be a lot of ripple effect repercussions incoming.

I do think the show can pull it off btw - but it will be very much a beast of its own by then. The relationships will not be the same as in the books, and the reasons for some of the events won’t be either. They cannot be.

[davrinsleftpectoral]

It’s here!

Welcome to Nug E Cheese

Baby’s first fic on ao3. The first chapter, in its entirety. I wanted to put it here as well but it’s nearly 5k words lol, and that felt like a little too much. So instead have a little snippet under the cut

==

Turvi walked with Lucanis to the back. “Come sit. The cabinet under Old Joe holds a bunch of snacks. Mostly nuts and granola bars, and a little chocolate that Harding keeps stocked. Take as long as you want. I’m going to get into the Gus the Nug suit and go out and high five some kids and dance.”

Lucanis nodded, looking glad to be back in the break room. He grabbed a pack of mixed nuts and turned around to find Turvi standing there in only his very short shorts.

“Rook!” He cried, as he flushed and turned back around.

“What?” Turvi looked around to see what had caused Lucanis such distress.

Neve popped her head out of her office to ask “Is everything okay… Oh.” She stopped when she saw what was happening. “Rook, I’ve told you that you can change in the storage room, it’s more private.” She shook her head, chiding him, but with no real heat behind it, instead there was a fond tilt and chuckle under her breath.

“It’s dark and there isn’t a lot of room back there. And it’s hard to open the door once I have my Nug hand gloves on.” Turvi protested. “Besides, I'm not actually naked.” He shrugged.

Lucanis muttered something unintelligible and pointedly sat at a table with his back to Turvi. “Well you should be considerate of people who are new here.” Neve said and raised her eyebrows pointedly at Turvi.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Lucanis! I’ll be more mindful next time and warn you when I’m getting into the suit.” He paused, looking at the other man for a moment. “Hey, we’re about the same height aren’t we? I can let you have a turn in the suit next time! I have dibs on the parties, but if you wanted to do the dance party sometimes, I think you’d fit in it.” He said enthusiastically. Turvi loved putting on the suit and interacting with all the kids. He had even choreographed a few extra dances himself, so that the dance parties could go on longer than the standard one song.

“Is that the only suit you have here?” Lucanis asked.

“Sure. We don't really need a second one,” Neve replied.

“So the only suit is the one you’re getting into it in just your short shorts?”

“Yep. It gets warm in here, I don’t like wearing extra clothes inside.” Turvi explained.

“I see.” Lucanis paused, seeming to consider his next words. “I wouldn’t want to take over something you clearly enjoy, Rook. So I’ll pass. Learning the rest of the jobs in the store has been enough for today.”

Turvi shrugged. “More for me then.” He continued putting on the costume as Neve walked away trying not to laugh.

==

I almost called this chapter Lucanis’ no good very bad day. But he’s not the main character in this fic, I promise hahaha.

Special thanks to @blackwall-my-tiny-husband best sister, beta reader, and person who has to listen to all my weird ideas.

And thank you to everyone that has read parts of the wip and cheered me on. @thedissonantverses @serensama @seaglassmelody @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @biowaredisasterbisexual @woundedsoul12 @mythals-whore I’m sure there’s more but I have a terrible memory im sorry. It’s not because I don’t love and appreciate you.

I can’t wait to write more of this.

[rebouks]

9 people I want to get to know better

tyyyyy for the tag @zosa95 @hannahssimblr and @tikay21

last song: Them - Mïrändä fave colour: kinda into burnt orange atm currently watching: Better Call Saul (just spelt call as caul lmao) currently reading: ough idk nothing? i keep getting given various pregnancy books but i'm too tired and my bio do be saying "wingin' it" sooooo fkgjfkj sweet, savory or spicy: still sweet! 🍰 relationship: married current obsession: uh.. idk ice pops? it's pretty hot here last googled: 100F to C.. fahrenheit should just be banned tbh cos i can't figure that shit out (read: can't be bothered to learn how to figure it out lol) currently working on: hmmm various things on and off ig, trying to sim where i can but finding it hard, lots to do around the house and a lot on my half-functioning mind! we're practicing going with the flow okay? 🤪

i shall tag @simswoon @duusheen @pixelddump @castawavy @likelyamused @lre333 @its-opheliasgarden @bunnithechubs and everyoneeeee else 🤸‍♀️🧡

[queermccoy]

i’m sorry maybe i misunderstand you but are your tags on that gifset with tia pepa meaning you think eddie has a problem with buck being queer?

okay so. bare with me. i don't think eddie thinks he has a problem with buck being queer.

i want to make it clear that i do not believe that the show is doing this on purpose lol this is me sticking my speculation into the tears left behind by some of the weird writing and characters choices this year. i want this show to be deeper than it is sometimes, forgive me. but eddie's reactions to and around buck have been...more SOMETHING lately and this seems like a good explanation for that based on my own and others' lived experiences.

eddie's tolerance for buck's buckness (for a man being emotional, for demanding attention to his emotions) has dropped drastically since s7. and it could easily just be the strain of missing his son, of losing bobby, and then the financial strain of moving to texas. it could totally be that! but im not so sure that explains everything.

now. i am not straight passing, not at all. but i used to be. and this thing happens sometimes where people who only know you as straight, or think of you as straight, can feel like, betrayed almost when they learn that you aren't. even when they're allies! even if you’re only just learning yourself! it's not something they can help. it's not rational! and this is BUCK and EDDIE! for all that their friendship is this like, strong bond, they are still men who exist in the world and not in a vacuum.

eddie isn't homophobic, not overtly. no one would look at eddie and say, "wow that guy's a homophobe!" he's a nice guy! but. the metaphorical furniture in his brain was all moved slightly to the left one night and he's still bumping his shins on the side tables. which to me, explains some of why he just can't take buck's buckness lately. if that makes sense.

(eddie’s inability to like, deal with buck’s strong emotions generally is like a whole separate other post tbh. there’s a lot there and like. toxic masculinity ruins the party again, etc etc)

so anyway. no, i don't think eddie has a problem with buck being queer in the way you're thinking. he's not about to call buck the f-slur and beat him up. he LOVES buck. buck is his best friend and one of the few people he lets in (even if it's like, barely). eddie doesn't have a problem with buck being queer. the deep recesses of eddie's brain where his undeveloped thoughts and shoved down emotions fester however...who is to say.

and honestly? so honestly? that's fine. eddie loves buck and buck loves eddie. if it takes him some time to wrap his head around that, like really and truly take it in and process it, that's fine! i waited years and years for some people i love to get with the program. and i can't imagine buck wouldn't either. eddie will get over it. it's just like. imagine you're a straight man and you're hanging out with your two bros and they're also straight, you think, but then one day they're kissing each other. what's the protocol? what's the dynamic? socially, what is he supposed to do here? what are the rules? three bros hanging out, but two of them are holding hands. now what?

being queer isn't just unlearning heteronormativity for yourself. it's also a crash course in it for the people you love. and in the theater of my mind, eddie is in that, figuring it out. he's not being very nice while he's doing it, but. he's got a lot going on in canon. im an eddie girlie (gn) though so. grains of salt. keep that in mind. etc.

[buck 🤝 me

wiling to make excuses for eddie because we love him]

(apologies, i wrote this response at work so there may be some rushed thoughts.)

edit: “this doesn’t change a thing” is like. of course it does. but life is change. it’s going to be okay.

[thistle--bug]

Watching KinnPorsche for the first time

I finally ended the semester so I am buckling in and watching KinnPorche for the first time (and rambling about it here). I have heard very mixed feedback on it and thought I'd finally watch it to have my own opinion. I honestly have no idea whether I'll like it or hate it but let's go!

Episode 1:

Not that I know much about it, but right off the bat the cinematography is really good. I love all the colorful lighting and wide shots.

Italian mafia is involved I guess?

That intro where we cut back and forth between Kinn and Porsche is *chef's kiss*

Porsche is well established as a character from the start and as cliche as it is, I love when a character's motivation is their sibling :,)

They are very dear to me!

The fight scenes feel well choreographed and exciting to me

Sidenote; Kinn dons truly impressive eyebrows. I keep getting distracted because I'm staring at them in awe

Kinn feels so genuinely threatening in the bar scene where he kidnaps Porsche

I wonder if the show will ever go into classism...probably not but there's a lot of material to work with

Man fuck the uncle. Your nephew works his ass off to pay off a debt and pay for his brothers education and you spend it all? Bitch

Okay initial thoughts: This is really immersive. Kinn so far is kind of just hot-tempered and arrogant, so I'm interested to learn more about him. The tension was really convincing and I wanted to mention the music too! The intro slaps of course, but the background music is chosen very well and adds to the immersion

Episode 2:

Okay what the hell. The first episode had some elements of humor but was very much not a comedy and felt more serious and tense. This is straight up a comedy now and I'm not really about it

Like Porsche did not want to do this job at all because his morals don't align with it, and I would have liked to see him grapple with that more. We saw how panicked he was after he escaped Kinn in the first episode and how he immediately told Porchay to pack his bags and how much he cares about him....and in this episode he doesn't even mention Porchay? He must be worried sick about his brother and it's killing him not to be able to communicate with him. Can we SEE THAT maybe?? And he was so antsy around guns in the first episode that you think he'd struggle with it instead of being like "wow this is just like james bond :D" idk. Maybe I'm nitpicking but his character feels so reduced in this episode.

Oh hi Pete from tumblr gifs :) Glad Porsche at least has a friend who can help him out

Again, did not match the tone AT ALL but I do like Tankhun

Like this was funny but it's just such an INSANE tone shift from episode one. Like it just felt like a gag reel

The minor family is very interested in Porsche for some reason idk, HOWEVER I do recognize Vegas also from tumblr gifs >:)

Anyways. Weird ass episode. I wouldn't mind this if episode one was also like a weird gag reel but it wasn't. I wish they would actually go into the stuff they had set up.

Episode 3:

You know what, good for Tankhun, he needed to go out lol. Curious about the kidnapping when he was younger? Will it be elaborated on?

Oh a fashion icon

Last episode Pete said something about Kinn being kind before something happened, and now Kinn is beating up a guy for embezzling and selling his secret. Curious once again about this guys backstory

Ok we're back to taking Porsche seriously let's go! We're actually addressing his conflicted feelings and how he's essentially doing the same job as the people who hurt him and his family when they couldn't pay their debt on time. And delving into Kinn being more bothered about his job than we thought

GIVE IT UP FOR WOUND TENDING

JEFF SATUR😭💝🥰💓😍💗😚💕

Ok way better than episode 2. We are back on track

Episode 4:

Poor Macau lmao??? Tankhun was like thank you Porsche for hitting him he deserved that and you are now my hero and now Vegas is like yeah sometimes I wanna beat his ass too. This poor kid

"You're afraid that when you open your heart, you will be hurt again?" Damn Vegas. The vibe between these two is rancid. What is their DEAL with each other...

"How did you not know Kinn was gay?" you're kind of right Pete

Kim having a giant portrait of himself framed in his house...iconic. And his crimeboard???

Porsche I'm so sorry :( Will they take him being raped seriously? Probably not

Hm.

I bet Kim is "suddenly" going to offer Porchay guitar lessons after all because he suspects him for...something idk. Whatever the crimeboard is about

[cozymochi]

🌻 >:)

IM FOUND ONE OF THESE MEMES IN MY DRAFts! Im gonna rank my experiences in the major fandoms i’ve engaged with.

🩵 YUGIOH! - Second longest running fascination. Upside!! Made life long friends. DOWNSIDE!! Was my first go at online engagement and in those 10 years so much happened that I still can’t help but feel a little sour. …Though ygo back in the day wasn’t good at tag comments, so I didn’t even know those were a thing for years until I branched out. 5/10. But grows to a 7/10 because i’ve settled into a niche area with so few people that it’s now a silly little club. 💕

🧡 Dragon Ball/Z - GENUINE CHAOS. Started off slow but intensified hard cuz get who got involved while Super was airing??? (I didn’t watch it lol), so the discourse and fighting was at an all time high. I have no idea how I even survived this in retrospect. My slight association with people netted me troll asks and my liking of Yamcha also set me up for those. …and frequent art reposting, and quite a few bizarre interactions. Pretty sure my art and edits have circulated more in latin america than I even know. This was also pre-tumblr purge so the amount of nsfw that got thrown my way is… something. That said!! Made also really good friends 💕 and DB/Z probably desensitized me to longer form discussions. 5/10 for insanity, but 8/10 for good reception and VERY PEAK and generous humans.

I think dbz hardened me.

💚 Invader Zim- started off fun (mostly irl with my friendo from days of YGO), but quickly devolved into territory that tested my patience. WHY ON EARTH THIS SERIES’ CONSUMERS had such a huge morality high ground base is beyond me. It’s this fandoms fault I learned about certain modern day online discourse terms and what instilled an irrational posting fear for a year lol. Fun at first and there’s super creative and receptive folk (then those people got kicked out) and left the most insufferable beings imaginable. There’s no in between. Shoutout to all 3 friends made who are still peak. 3/10, if I ever finish any remaining projects or decide to bite the bullet and show completed work, i’m not engaging again. The base just skews somewhere I can’t handle. Which is crazy given the ABOVE contenders have, on paper, done so much more.

dbz hardened me but iz weakened me. Which is probably why i need the formers bootcamp back. Don’t think I’m as fearful now, but i’ll still be salty.

💜 Twisted Wonderland - this is a work in progress experience. Will require further evaluation if all of the above experiences haven’t set my standards. Will stay in my corner. So far it’s 6/10 in vibes (they’re much calmer than the last one), tho I question how much of the interest is from what i do vs. what I did for others. Haven’t shared a ton of opinions yet and god knows lol we don’t want that /s. Still recovering from the former making me wanna just not do much. Baby steps I suppose.

💙 - Sonic The Hedgehog: This is a cheat, I have never interacted with the fandom directly (purely by happenstance, so thankfully no traces exist), but I have been into this since I was a child with no issues. So by default this is the best one. 10/10, didn’t engage, but I do lurk. Though all the stuff I see on tweeter isn’t exactly anything out of the norm for fandoms in general to do, so it weirds me out that people rag on this one for just kinda talking amongst themselves about innocuous things.

“omg this fandom is arguing over QUILL length ughhh can they never be pleased [30 yt videos about this drop]” ngl, this just feels like par for the course junk fandoms do. It really feels no different from DBZ where people go ham about the art style changes and which one is better. Or stupid shit in IZ where they fight about comics vs movie vs show. Like??? The only major difference here is that StH has more people in it (by the millions).

So literally nothing these folk do or say strikes me as anything more serious than what other fandoms already do??? Its just more outsiders see it then churn out content and perpetuate something worse from what’s honestly….pretty tame stuff. Maybe it’s just twitter’s setup given that’s all folk talk about.

[varilien]

wednesday was the 1000th day since the fateful afternoon my roommate asked to see the space cowboy show i apparently used to talk about a lot and i wanted to do a big illustrated piece to celebrate but my job keeps me from drawing anything at all !!!!!!!

anyways i've been missing vash so so so so so bad u guys can anybody hear me it's so dark in here.

lines also cuz i really like how his hair turned out :3 reminds me of the couple shoujo manga i read as a kid teehee

[thegreatyin]

the world's least normal trio of ambition protagonists

[monochromeia]

Wangxian high school AU where Lan Wangji thinks that Wei Wuxian is being bullied by Jiang Cheng and keeps standing up for him despite thinking WWX is annoying and neither WWX nor JC tell him that they're brothers because this is infinitely funnier

[turtleblogatlast]

Thinking about the Don Suave scene and what it means in terms of LGBTQ+ representation because my brain does nothing if not torment me with random topics to ramble about on the regular.

Anyway, I just wanted to ramble about why I like the scene but to get it out of the way - the scene can very easily be interpreted in so many different ways, and all of them are valid. I personally see it as Leo having at least some attraction to a man. And the following is an explanation of my own interpretation and thoughts on it and what it means especially for Leo’s portrayal in the grand scheme of things.

Long-winded interpretation under the cut!

Now, to start with, it’s important to me that in the scene Leo looks at Don Suave in the very beginning and then for the entirety of the rest of the time the man is on screen, Leo’s eyes are closed. Yet, in the end, he is still visibly enamored with Don Suave, happily cuddling up to him as he’s being carried away.

You can very easily interpret this as Leo being spellbound and that’s honestly super valid and I believe he likely was at least somewhat in the beginning, but considering how fast he looked away and how he never looked again, I personally think it makes more sense to read it as Leo just finding the man attractive, at least somewhat. (For the record, I personally headcanon Rise Leo as bisexual with a heavy preference for men, but I want to be blunt when I say that any interpretation is valid. Literally any. Ace, pan, gay, bi, none of the above or a mixture of something new literally all of it is more than okay and fair. Hell you could even interpret this entire scene as more romantic attraction than physical and it would still work. Anything goes!! Don’t bother people, guys, really.)

The main reason I take this scene to be at the very least LGBTQ+ adjacent isn’t just because of how it’s portrayed, but because of who Leonardo is. Not in terms of Rise of the TMNT, but in terms of the entire Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles™️ franchise.

Leo’s a character who, while changing with each iteration, has still at his core been around for decades upon decades as “the blue one”. One fourth of the team. He’s the one most are going to look at as the Leader, and oftentimes he is the one closest to having the title of Main Character. Not to say the others aren’t just as important, but Leo’s presence in the A plots of basically all TMNT media is often something very main character-esque.

And that’s very, very important to note. Here we have a Main Character of a prolific and decades long-running franchise distributed by a children’s television network. You can play around with his and his brothers’ characters all you like, but there is always going to be challenges to dodge around, especially since this was still in 2018-2019.

For example, you can play around with their designs so long as they’re color coded turtles, but their sexualities? Now that’s tricky.

“But what about Hypno and Warren?” Not main characters and also they’re Rise originals. They have a lot more room to play around with than a character like Leo does. But even talking about main characters in the franchise, you could arguably have an easier time playing around with Donnie or Mikey’s sexualities than Leo or even Raph, as (unfortunately) the former two tend to get more B plots, so they’d likely have had a little more leeway (still not a lot though.)

So, where does this leave us?

It leaves us in a place where outright stating and/or showing undeniable proof of Leo’s attraction to men is very, very difficult. So, workarounds!

Workarounds like the entire Don Suave situation.

To be honest, as left up to interpretation and lowkey and deniable as it is, this whole scene means a lot to me because of who Leo is as a character. It’s just nice when we get so see even the bare bones of representation with characters that have been such a large part of pop culture for decades, y’know? Even if more would be so much nicer, this is better than I thought we’d ever get for these boys.

And, again, literally nothing I’ve said is the only way to interpret it, I’m more than happy when people interpret media on their own honestly, it’s just something I’ve been thinking of lately and I was wondering if others felt the same way.

Whatever you think when you interpret this scene or Rise Leo as a whole, I just thought this would be interesting to think about, even if it was ramble-y, haha.

[captn3]

fairly odd parents still infecting my brain have a redraw

og screenshot ^ im already working on stuff with backgrounds i dont need to make even more

[vaguely-concerned]

ingellvar must have so many strange off-putting little personal habits in their day to day life that they don't even realize come across as weird, especially if they haven't ever dated outside of the watchers much. in rye's specific case I think lucanis has a capacity for such immaculate 'sure my life is already so fucking weird this might as well happen' energy that I believe he'd be able to roll with the punches admirably given the time, but it really would be a situation like

(what was going on there was that rook was placing down some experimental wards, by the way, it's what he does to calm down before bed and if he wakes during the night. what with the necropolis itself being a liminal space of lf sorts on a cosmic scale, watchers take the additional liminal space between wakefulness and dreaming extremely seriously b/c they know there are things drifting through that would just love to get their foot/tentacle/conceptual spores in that particular half-ajar door that should not be allowed inside. or outside, I suppose, depending on your point of view. rook and lucanis are also experimenting with whether solid wards can help any with lucanis' weird post-spite dreams even if they can't do anything for the more mundane ptsd ones. third reason because in my worldstate they still live in the lighthouse after the game: unless gently dissuaded wisps will sometimes drift by while you're asleep and hover over your face curiously as they sense your mind doing stuff in the fade, and no one likes waking up on an eldritch sneeze with a well-meaning yet terrified wisp zooming about the room. important watcher novice 101 lessons.

blessed mental image of rye cross-legged on the floor, barefoot in his PJs with his hair down and no makeup, peaceably tracing out elaborate geometric shapes that somehow make your eyes scared when you look at them* while lucanis sits on the bed and reads out loud to both him and spite and occasionally sneaks some carnal looks at rook's fully unleashed curly hair and bare wrists & throat...... okay I think I've found the thing that will help me through the day thank you for coming on this journey with me)

*what is the paint he's using made out of and why is it such a deeply unsettling colour? don't worry about it! :) patented mostly well-meaning yet also borderline condescending mortalitasi hand wave of 'don't worry your sweet little non-nevarran head about it we both know you don't actually want to know. do not ask questions lest you learn the answers, especially if you're going to be annoying at me and freak out about it. let the things man was not meant to know stay unknown. unknown by you I mean I'm built different'