#one day i will learn how to do backgrounds

[satellite-evans]

Juntos.

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x reader

Summary: Franco struggles with disappointment after losing his racing seat, but your support helps him feel less alone in facing the tough situation.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, little fluff

main masterlist

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is my first Franco fic so I am very excited!!! I am very new to Formula 1 so I will try my best to make the stories as realistic as possible. I dramatized this fic a little bc I could not help myself lol but I love Carlos sm and wish him nothing but luck in Williams. Also, I would not mind if you guys help me understand Formula 1 more xxx

hope you guys will like it :)

Also, the Spanish words I used are directly from Google Translate, if I made mistakes please feel free to correct me <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The dim light of the apartment cast a glow over the cozy space, the kind that usually made the room feel warm and inviting. Tonight, however, it felt different—heavier, subdued, as if the walls themselves understood the weight of the emotions filling the air. The scent of a faintly burning candle lingered in the background, a forgotten remnant of an attempt to lighten the mood earlier in the evening. Outside, the muffled sounds of the city hummed faintly, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence inside.

Franco sat on the edge of the couch, his head bowed, fingers tangled in his dark hair. His shoulders hunched forward, as though bearing the weight of an invisible burden too great to carry. The usually vibrant spark in his eyes, the one that ignited whenever he talked about racing, was gone. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the floor, unseeing, his expression hollow. It was as if the moment he walked through the door, all the fight had drained out of him, leaving behind a man who didn’t know how to put the pieces of himself back together.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He hadn’t said much since he got home, just a quiet “Estoy en casa” before sinking into the couch. He used easy Spanish words around you since he knew you wanted to learn the language. That's how kind he was. You’d known this day would be hard for him, but seeing him like this was almost unbearable. The news had come down like a guillotine: Carlos Sainz was taking the seat. Franco was out, with no prospects for next year. No contract, no guarantees. Nothing but the crushing void left behind by a dream slipping through his fingers.

It wasn’t fair. You knew how hard he’d worked, how much of himself he’d poured into his career. The endless hours in the gym, the relentless study of data, the sacrifices he made, all for the pursuit of speed, glory, and a chance to prove himself on the biggest stage. And yet, it hadn’t been enough.

He’d tried to hide it at first. When he’d called you after the meeting, his voice had been calm, even detached. But you’d heard the slight tremor, the hesitation that betrayed his carefully constructed mask. And now, here he was, the man you loved, unraveling before your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The steam curled softly in the air, a fragile whisper of warmth against the cold tension that filled the room. You set it down gently on the coffee table before lowering yourself onto the cushion beside him.

“Franco,” you said softly, your voice a lifeline in the quiet. He didn’t look up, but the slight shift in his posture told you he’d heard you. Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was warm, but his fingers remained still, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I know how much this meant to you.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes met yours, red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. The sight of him like this—so raw, so vulnerable—made your chest ache.

“I did everything,” he said, his voice cracking. “Everything. And it wasn’t enough. They just… threw me away. Like I don’t matter.”

Tears pricked your own eyes as you reached out to cup his face, your thumbs gently brushing against his stubbled cheeks. “You do matter, Franco. To me, to your family, to the fans who adore you. To everyone who’s ever seen you race and knows how talented you are.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Talent doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the politics, the money, the… connections. Carlos… he’s amazing, and he deserves it, I know that. But I can’t help feeling like I’ll never be enough, no matter what I do.”

“No soy suficiente,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "I'm not enough." His words hung in the air, filled with a quiet intensity.

“Don' say that, you're more than enough,” you echoed, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “And I know this feels impossible right now, like the world’s closing in on you, but this isn’t the end of your story. You’re Franco. My Frankie. You’re a fighter, a dreamer, and you’ve never let anything keep you down before. This won’t either.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time that evening, he leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. The weight of him felt heavier than usual, as though he’d poured all his sorrow and weariness into the simple act of leaning on you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, cradling him as if you could shield him from the pain of the world.

“No sé qué haría sin vos,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your neck. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His arms came around you then, pulling you closer, as though he was afraid to let go. You felt his tears dampen your shirt, and the sound of his quiet sobs broke your heart all over again. But you didn’t let go. You held him tighter, letting him pour out everything he’d been holding inside.

“You’re my everything, Franco,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “And I’ll always be here. No matter what. Together, we’ll get through this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy but filled with something deeper now—gratitude, love, and maybe a flicker of hope. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips trembling against yours but charged with a fierce intensity. The kiss was deep and searching, a collision of his anguish and gratitude, his need to find solace in the one constant in his life—you. His hands cupped your face, fingers threading gently through your hair as though anchoring himself to you, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. It wasn’t hurried but deliberate, each movement a testament to the depth of his emotions. You could feel the raw edges of his heartbreak and the unspoken promise of his love, so consuming and desperate it made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven, the faintest quiver still lingering in his lips. The weight of his gaze bore into yours, as though he was silently pleading for reassurance that you’d stay by his side. And in that moment, you both knew you were his safe haven, his reason to keep fighting.

“We’re going to get through this,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. “Together.”

A soft murmur broke the silence. “Juntos,” Franco whispered, almost to himself.

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Juntos? What’s that? An unreleased Sabrina Carpenter song or something?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax even a hint of a smile from him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, and then, to your relief, a small, genuine giggle escaped his lips. It was the first time you’d heard him laugh all night, and it warmed you to your core.

He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips now. “No, it’s Spanish. It means ‘together.’”

“Together,” you repeated softly, the word settling in your heart like a comforting balm.

He nodded, his gaze searching yours. “You’ve been saying it all night without realizing it. ‘Together, we’ll figure it out.’ ‘Together, we’ll find a way.’ You keep reminding me I’m not alone. And… you’re right. Juntos. We’ll do this juntos, no matter what.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they were from the overwhelming love and gratitude you felt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes, juntos. Siempre. Always.”

A soft chuckle escaped him again, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. In that moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Together—juntos—you knew you’d face whatever came next.

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

I don’t even know if it’s a request but I’ve been thinking about Pato crushing on or dating an autistic driver reader who he doesn’t realize is autistic but he still happily does things to help and make her feel comfortable

-💙🩵

It’s easy when it’s you||Pato O’ward x fem!Autistic!reader

Word count—654

The paddock was alive with noise—engines roaring in the background, team radios buzzing, and the general hum of race day chaos. You liked to stay on the fringes, close enough to soak in the energy but far enough to avoid being overwhelmed.

Today was no different. You had your favorite pair of noise-canceling headphones on, a small buffer between you and the world, as you studied the data on your tablet.

“Hey, you planning on giving away all the secrets before the race?”

You startled slightly at the familiar voice, turning to see Pato standing nearby, his signature grin in full force.

“I don’t think my data is that valuable,” you replied, the corners of your mouth quivering despite yourself.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he teased, leaning casually against the barrier. “Besides, you’re the only one around here who makes sense half the time.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but quickly brushed it off. Pato had a way of making everyone feel at ease, but his attention always felt a little… different when it was on you.

It started with small things. Pato would always make sure to ask if you wanted to join the group after races, but he never pushed when you declined. If you sat alone during a particularly loud debrief, he’d pass by and drop off a bottle of water without a word, his presence calming without being intrusive.

One day, you found him crouched next to your chair, holding out a bag of your favorite snacks.

“I noticed you don’t always eat much during the post-race chaos,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured this might help.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You… noticed that?”

He shrugged, his easygoing demeanor masking what felt like genuine care. “Yeah, I notice a lot of things.”

The moment everything shifted came after a particularly grueling weekend. You’d been caught off guard by a sudden schedule change, and the resulting chaos had left you overstimulated and barely holding it together.

You’d retreated to a quiet corner, your breathing uneven as you tried to ground yourself. The hum of fluorescent lights felt too loud, the texture of your fireproof suit too scratchy.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Pato crouching in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice betrayed the opposite.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he set down a small item in front of you—a soft, squishy stress ball in the shape of a car.

“Thought you might like this,” he said gently.

You stared at it, then at him. “How did you—”

“You seemed off earlier,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured maybe this could help. If not, we can just sit here for a while.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t just that he’d noticed—it was that he’d cared enough to do something about it without making a big deal of it.

“I’m autistic,” you blurted out, the words slipping past your lips before you could second-guess yourself.

Pato blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay. What does that mean for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It means I get overwhelmed sometimes. By noise, changes, people… everything.”

“Got it,” he said, his tone casual but warm. “So, how can I help? Besides this little guy,” he added, gesturing to the stress ball with a grin.

Your chest loosened, the weight of the moment lifting. “This is a good start.”

From then on, Pato made it his mission to quietly support you in ways that felt almost effortless. He learned to spot the signs of your discomfort before you even said a word, offering subtle solutions that never felt patronizing. And when you finally worked up the courage to tell him how much it all meant to you, he simply smiled and said, “It’s easy when it’s you.”

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 5: Let It Once Be Me

Summary: Lucius and Aurelia bond.

A/N: I am back! Thank you for following along. This is more of a filler chapter but our Empress and Emperor bond and we love to see it. I have like three WIPs and this one is ever so present in my brain....

Warnings: forced marriage, kissing, Geta being a dick, use of flashbacks

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

It had been nearly a month since the Senate had tested them both, since that night when Aurelia had stood before the assembly and defended their union with a strength she hadn’t known she had or wanted to have. In the days that followed, there had been more meetings, more formalities and more attempts to define what their relationship would be as Emperor and Empress of Rome. They’d learned to function together, to stand united in front of the Senate, but behind closed doors, the marriage still felt like a fragile, untested thing—something that existed more in the realm of duty than desire.

However, tonight was different. There was something in the air—a subtle shift that neither of them could explain. The palace was quiet now, the usual bustle of advisors and courtiers having faded into the background. Aurelia had dismissed most of the attendants earlier, craving solitude after a day full of speeches, meetings, and the ever-present undercurrent of political maneuvering.

She stood before a mirror in the grand dressing room, staring at her reflection with a mixture of weariness and determination. The weight of the imperial robes felt heavy on her shoulders and the gold laurel wreath she wore seemed more like a burden than a symbol of power. She reached up to remove it, her fingers trembling slightly, but before she could, the door to the room opened.

Lucius stepped in without knocking, as was his usual way—no pretense, no formality. His piercing blue eyes found her immediately, and for a moment, they just stood there in silence, neither of them saying anything. He was dressed in a simple tunic, the black fabric a sharp contrast to the golden robes he’d worn earlier in the day. His dark hair was tousled from the long day, and the way he stood—hands casually resting on his hips—made him seem like an Emperor but yet entirely human.

"Is this how it’s always going to be?" he asked, his voice low but with a certain wry edge. He nodded toward her reflection in the mirror. "The crown, the robe, the constant formality?"

Aurelia raised an eyebrow at his reflection, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "Do you expect something less formal from the Empress of Rome, Lucius?" she teased, not looking away from the mirror.

Lucius chuckled softly, crossing the room toward her. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping for a little... less grandeur. Something more..." His voice trailed off, and his gaze fell to the empty space between them, as if trying to find the right words.

"More what?" Aurelia asked, intrigued despite herself.

"More human," he said, his voice suddenly more serious than she expected. He stood beside her now, leaning casually against the stone wall, his blue eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "Less of the queen and more of the woman. Do you know what I mean?"

Her breath caught in her chest. There was something in his tone, something unguarded, that made her feel as though she wasn’t just a political pawn anymore. She wasn’t just the Empress or his wife—she was Aurelia.

And she hadn’t been just Aurelia for years. 

"I think I do," she said slowly, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crown on her head. She removed it and set it gently on the table beside her. The cool, heavy metal felt like a weight lifted from her brow. "But it’s not that simple, is it? This is Rome. We don’t get to drop the titles and just be. We are what the Empire makes us. Besides, the Aurelia I was before all of the Empire - I don’t think she exists anymore.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "I don’t know. I think Rome has always been about more than just titles. It’s about the people, too. The ones who actually live here. The ones who, every day, don’t get to play by the rules of power and court politics. They just... live."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat at his words. The rawness of it, the simplicity—it was unlike anything she had expected from Lucius. He’d always been so composed, so controlled, but in this moment, he seemed to be searching for something—perhaps for her, for something more than just the role they were both forced into.

"And what do you want, Lucius?" she asked, turning to face him fully, her voice quieter now. "What do you want when the titles, the robes, and the politics aren’t in the way?"

Lucius smiled, but it wasn’t the hard, calculated smile of an emperor—it was something softer. Something real. "I want to see who you really are, Aurelia. Not just the Empress, not just the woman Rome expects you to be. The real you. The woman behind all of this," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the palace, toward the Empire that had consumed them both.

Aurelia stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his directness. It was something she wasn’t used to—people looking at her, not just her role, not just her status. And for the first time, she realized how much she longed for that, too. To be seen for who she was. To be Aurelia, not just the pawn of Rome’s political machine.

"You’ve seen me already," she said, her voice quieter. 

Lucius laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. "Maybe. But I don’t think I’ve seen everything yet."

The playfulness in his tone made her heart flutter—something she hadn’t expected. She stepped closer to him, the space between them charged now, the air crackling with a strange, new energy. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else in the room—the Empire, the Senate, the crown—faded into the background.

"What do you want to see, then?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer, more intimate.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Maybe I just want to see the woman who isn’t afraid to laugh. The one who isn’t afraid to live a little, even if it’s only for a moment when we have time to set the Empire aside.”

Aurelia’s breath caught in her chest. There it was—the invitation, subtle but clear. She couldn’t help but smile, her lips curving upward. It wasn’t a smile of royalty, not a smile of duty—it was something real, something that was just her.

"You’re a bold man, Lucius Verus," she said, her voice a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something more uncertain. "Is that how you always speak to people? Or am I special?"

He grinned, his eyes flickering with something she hadn’t expected—a spark of mischief. "Only the ones who interest me."

Her smile widened and for a heartbeat, she felt something shift between them—something less about their roles, less about the duty they both carried, and more about the two of them as people. They were no longer just Emperor and Empress. It felt like she was a child again. Hopeful even. 

They were Aurelia and Lucius. For once they could just be themselves and not have to worry about the Empire. 

"Well," she said softly, moving just a bit closer, "I hope I do interest you."

Lucius’s expression softened and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The tension between them was palpable now, the shift undeniable. There was something magnetic about the way they stood there, so close, yet still unsure of how to bridge the gap completely.

"I think you do," he replied, his voice low. And then, with a small, teasing smile, he added, "I think I’d like to get to know you better, Aurelia. Much better."

The flirtation hung in the air, playful but laden with something more—a promise, perhaps, of something more to come. Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. She was no longer just a political partner, a piece of the Empire’s machinery. She was herself, and that, for the first time in a long while, felt like enough.

"Well, then," she said, her voice a bit breathless.

Lucius’s grin widened, a glimmer of something new—a hint of warmth, of genuine interest. "I look forward to it."

For the first time since she had become an Empress, Aurelia felt the weight of the Empire lift—if only for a moment—leaving only the two of them, standing there, on the edge of something neither of them could yet define.

Flashback ~ What Life Was Like

It had been a time of gilded isolation.

Aurelia sat in the grand, dimly lit hall of the imperial palace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the smooth edge of a marble table. The air was thick with the scent of incense, which mingled with the weight of oppressive silence. Her surroundings, vast and opulent, were meant to inspire awe in any visitor—gleaming columns, the soft glow of golden lamps, intricate mosaics that depicted Rome’s triumphs over its enemies. Yet, for Aurelia, the luxury felt suffocating.

Her gaze wandered to the floor, where a servant was arranging purple flower petals for the evening’s banquet. The sound of her soft footsteps was the only sound that filled the silence between them. Aurelia had long since ceased to care for these grand displays. Everything, it seemed, had become a performance—a pageantry she could neither partake in nor escape from.

Across the room, the throne of Emperor Geta stood empty. Though she had once believed that the seat of power would imbue her with the sense of importance she had dreamed of when she was young, she now found the empty throne to be a reminder of all the things she had lost.

Her marriage to Geta had never been a love match. Her family, desperate to secure their own position in Rome, had arranged the union, hoping it would elevate them. She, a highborn woman with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of politics, had come to the imperial court with grand aspirations of power—of leading alongside her husband. But Geta had always kept her at arm’s length, a distant ruler who seldom involved her in any decision of importance. He was a man ruled by suspicion, even cruelty, and his cold demeanor had always kept her at bay.

They had been married for nearly two years now. Two years of watching him rule with an iron fist, of feeling his icy indifference toward her. Despite her noble birth and her intelligence, despite her natural grace and the strength she possessed within, Geta had never truly seen her as his equal. She was Empress in name only. To him, she was little more than an ornament for the court—a figurehead.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, drawing Aurelia from her reverie. Her heart quickened, and she stood up, smoothing the layers of her dress, the fine fabric rustling around her. She turned to face the door, where the figure of Emperor Geta emerged.

He was a striking man, his dark eyes piercing, his expression always a mixture of arrogance and brooding dissatisfaction. His frame was imposing, his movements calculated. Yet, despite his external power, there was always a certain fragility to him—an insecurity that gnawed at the edges of his confidence. Aurelia could feel it, even if she did not acknowledge it aloud.

“Ah. My Empress… Are you ready for the banquet?” he asked, his voice cold, as though speaking to a subordinate.

Aurelia nodded, masking the frustration she felt deep inside. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady, though she couldn’t hide the weariness beneath it. She had long since stopped expecting warmth from him, but the emptiness of their interactions cut deeper with each passing day. It was almost as though her very presence was a burden to him.

“Good,” he said curtly, barely sparing her a glance before walking toward the gilded doors that led to the banquet hall. He did not wait for her to follow. He never did.

Aurelia stood still for a moment, letting the heaviness of the moment wash over her. The palace, the empire, her marriage—they all felt like a gilded cage. She was trapped by her title, by the expectations of her family, by the political machinations that surrounded her. She was not a partner in governance; she was a symbol—an accessory to his rule.

She followed him to the banquet, her every step measured, her heart hardened by years of silence. She entered the grand hall behind him, where the guests were already gathered—senators, generals, wealthy patricians, all partaking in the splendor of the empire’s wealth. There were laughing voices, clinking goblets of wine, and the warmth of firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. But for Aurelia, it felt like a performance. She was simply another figure among them, her status as Empress making her the center of attention, but never allowing her to truly belong.

Geta had taken his place at the head of the table, as always. He barely acknowledged her presence when she sat beside him, his gaze drifting past her as he spoke with a senator on his left. Aurelia stared down at her goblet, swirling the wine, her thoughts miles away. The lavish feast, the sweet fruits and delicate pastries, the elaborate platters of roasted meats—none of it brought her comfort. Her mind wandered to the emptiness of their marriage, to the distance between them that seemed only to grow as the days wore on.

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered to a young general across the room—Tiberius, a man of strength and courage whom Aurelia had met a few times at official events. There was a glimmer of warmth in his smile whenever their eyes met, a subtle acknowledgement of shared frustration with the court. Aurelia quickly turned away, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t that she found him attractive—no, it was something more dangerous than that. It was the quiet recognition in his gaze, the understanding that she was more than just a figurehead. He saw her.

But of course, she could never act on such a thing. Not while Geta ruled.

The evening dragged on. Aurelia’s interactions with the other guests were formal, polite, as always. She engaged in conversation with senators, her words clipped but measured. Her smile was reserved for the public, and though she knew how to play the part, every moment of it felt like a lie. She couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in her own life.

When the banquet finally ended, and the guests slowly trickled out of the hall, Aurelia was left alone with Geta once again. He had barely spoken to her throughout the evening, consumed by his own concerns and the ongoing political games he was playing with the senators and generals.

She stood by the door as he moved to leave, her heart aching for something—anything—that could make her feel truly seen. But Geta didn’t notice. He never did.

“Aurelia,” he said, his voice distant, almost as though he were speaking to a servant. “Make sure your chambers are prepared tonight. I will be there shortly.”

Her heart clenched in her chest at the dismissal. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, her throat tight. But she nodded, as she always did. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

As Geta exited the room, Aurelia stood there, feeling smaller with each passing second. The silence enveloped her once again, the weight of the palace pressing in on her. There was no love here. There never had been. Only duty. Only the cold, suffocating politics of Rome.

In that moment, she realized the truth that had been building in her for so long: she was not loved here, not truly. She was an asset, a tool in a political game. She had tried, for a time, to win her husband’s affection, to find some way to warm his cold heart. But the effort had always been in vain.

Aurelia’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep her composure. The realization stung, but it was a sting she had grown accustomed to. In time, she would learn to wear the crown without longing for the affection it had failed to provide.

She turned and left the hall, her steps echoing in the empty corridors as she walked toward her chambers. Alone. 

Always alone.

The night had settled over Rome like a blanket, the cool evening air filtering through the open windows of the Imperial chambers. The palace was quiet now, the bustle of the court and the weight of their first day as rulers fading into the background. Aurelia  sat by the hearth, the soft glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face, her thoughts far from the polished, orderly world of politics and power that they had navigated earlier in the day.

Lucius Verus had long since retired to the other side of the room, taking a seat at the long table where scrolls and reports had been hastily abandoned. His cloak was discarded across a nearby chair, and the golden laurel wreath that signified his imperial authority sat forgotten on the table next to him. The informalities of the day had peeled away his usual stoic demeanor, and for the first time since their wedding, Aurelia saw him not as an emperor, but as a man—vulnerable, perhaps, but also strangely familiar and perhaps, relatable.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than she meant to. He had removed the tight formal tunic, his muscular frame now encased only in a tunic of simple linen, his dark hair messy from a long day of work and council meetings. He was still the warrior—he couldn’t shed that part of himself, not even when it was just the two of them. There was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected. Something raw, human. It was a side of him that made her feel less like a prisoner in this marriage and more like a partner, though the line was still delicate given the circumstances.

He caught her gaze, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers across the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to break it, to make the next move, to give a sign that they were no longer just husband and wife in the eyes of the Empire, but something more.

Aurelia looked away first, but not before she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t about duty, politics, or the Empire. It was just… him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator turned emperor, a man who had spent years fighting for survival, now standing on the edge of something he had never intended to find. Something neither of them had bargained for.

She pulled her gaze back to the fire, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The taste of it still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the ceremonial banquet they’d shared earlier. The lavish meal, the formal toasts, the endless speeches. Yet none of it felt real—not compared to this moment. This quiet, unscripted moment in the stillness of their chambers.

Lucius stood then, moving toward her, his bare feet silent on the marble floor. He didn’t speak right away, but his presence was enough. Every step he took felt like an unspoken challenge, a question hanging between them. What were they, really? Were they just two people forced into a marriage for the sake of an empire, or was there something else starting to bloom between them? Something fragile, maybe, but real?

"Do you ever think about how this all happened?" Lucius’s voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant, as though he were treading into dangerous territory. He paused beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "About the roles we’ve been given? About what we’ve lost to get here?"

Aurelia’s chest tightened at his words, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire, watching the flames dance, but the weight of his question settled heavily in her chest. It had been only a few days since their wedding, but it already felt like years. What had they lost? What had she lost? Her husband Geta. Her autonomy. Her dreams.

"Every day," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a small flicker of bitterness lacing the words. "I think about it all the time. The life I had before I married Geta, the things I thought I could control. And now... this." She gestured vaguely, indicating the palace, the crown, the empire that bound them both. "I was never supposed to be here still.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her closely, his gaze piercing in a way that made her feel as if he could see every one of her secrets. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the armrest of the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but not touching her. Yet, in the space between them, something shifted.

"We’re both here, Aurelia," Lucius said, his voice lower now, more intimate. "You might not have chosen it, but neither did I. I didn’t ask for any of this. But here we are. Together."

The words felt strange coming from him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator who had survived the worst of Rome’s brutality, the man who had fought his way to power for the honor of Rome. For all his bravado, there was something different in the way he spoke now. Vulnerable, perhaps, or just honest. It was a side of him that Aurelia hadn’t expected, a side of him that made her question everything she had believed about him.

She turned toward him then, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met again, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the anger that had been simmering in her since the day they were wed. Instead, there was something softer in her heart—a quiet understanding, maybe even a flicker of trust.

And, just like that, the distance between them felt smaller.

"You’re right," she said softly, her voice a little unsteady. "Here we are." Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, a smile that held no pretense, no obligation—just the fragile reality of two people trying to make sense of the mess they’d found themselves in. 

Lucius didn’t respond with words. He reached out, slowly, as though waiting for her to pull away, but when she didn’t, his fingers brushed gently against hers. The contact was light at first, tentative, as if they were both testing the waters, uncertain of what it would mean.

But in that touch, something unspoken passed between them. Something raw. Something real.

Her heart began to race, and she found herself leaning toward him before she could stop herself. He did the same, as if drawn to her by an invisible thread that neither of them could explain.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

Lucius’s lips were warm, his kiss slow at first, like the soft brush of a breeze across the skin. But then, as if the world had fallen away, it deepened, a kiss that was no longer just the joining of two people by duty, but the merging of something else—something fragile and tender and unexpected. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not yet. It was the kiss of two people who had been bound together by circumstance but were beginning to feel the stirrings of something more.

Aurelia’s breath hitched as she kissed him back, her hand rising to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She had no idea how this had happened, how this strange intimacy had unfolded between them in the quiet of the night. But she knew one thing—whatever they had been before, whatever had brought them here, this moment was theirs.

While it was only the second time they had shared this closeness, Aurelia felt like it was the thousandth.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Lucius’s blue eyes were dark with something she couldn’t quite place, but she saw it now: the vulnerability, the softness beneath the warrior’s armor.

"You never answered my question," he murmured, his voice low, his breath still warm on her skin, his lips brushing against hers. 

Aurelia smiled faintly, her hand still resting against his chest. "Which question?"

Lucius laughs, a genuine laugh that filled Aurelia’s heart with actual joy. “I don’t remember. Forgot all about it to be honest.”

For the first time since they’d met, Aurelia felt something she hadn’t expected. Hope.

And, as their lips met once again, she realized that, perhaps, this unexpected marriage—this strange partnership—wasn’t as much a prison as she had once thought.

[searchingforserendipity25]

very like, very like.

for @janeuary-month. day 4 - portraiture. Fandom: Persuasion. Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth, Established Relationship.

Also on AO3.

They sit for the portrait in Cádiz, in a cramped artist's studio with a view to the marina.

High masts prickling a low sky, the business of a short-lived peacetime climbing inside the windows along with a few tendrils of fragrant honeysuckle, not enough to cover the smells of turpentine or bitter almond liqueur ingrained into the walls.

A good use for the profits of Frederick's most recent prize, and a peculiar hankering of his. A whim of the day, at the end of a long conversation when they took shelter from the high sun beside the church.

"I have spent years avoiding thinking of you, and wondering how much I had forgotten of your countenance," he said. "How much you may have changed."

"I grew sallower, I think," Anne noted."Thinner, and with less roses upon my cheeks, though I was not so freckled as I am now. No, one of us only grew handsomer in separation."

Her husband kissed the back of her hand over her glove, pressed the warmth of it against his breast.

Years after their marriage, the old injuries they had dealt each other had much eroded in sharpness, a reminder that ached and prickled and did not mark the shape of their days.

Not easily laughed at; though Frederick could make her smile, not happily, by mentioning some of the foolish things he had done in trying to hold her in his heart only with dismay - walking out of recitals when a song she had liked was played on the piano, pretend to loathe Figaro when speaking to a disciple of one of Mozart's disciple, lie unwisely to his sister to little and unprofitable results.

"Your eyes were lovelier," Frederick said. His fingers, light and careful, wrapped around a stray curl of the windswept hair beneath her bonnet. "And they are lovelier yet today. As they may grow moreso in time, I would like to have a keepsake for memory, for when the mind falters."

The composition did not permit much irreverence; it was to be a small painting, larger than a miniature but not overly large, just the right size for a Captain's cabin.

Still, the artist was young and forceful, used to a clientele of officers and officer's wives and sweethearts. He flirted politely with Mrs. Wentworth, was politely indifferent to the Captain's opinions on background colors, made himself amusing with presenting a number of nautical implements laid out for choice.

"I have not seen so many broken astrolabes all together since my midshipman days," Frederick commented, turned a small model of a ship inside a bottle between his palms. "Many officer's children brought to pose, then?"

Indeed. Indeed, of course; and midshipmen, too. Anne took the small bottle, rubbed some old jammy thumbprints with the edge of her kerchief. For a moment her thoughts turned to her nephews, as they sometimes did, not often. It was good to live in peacetime, better to live in peacetime with no child of her family in the lists of the Navy.

You must sent us a copy. The sketches at the very least, so we might have them engraved, Sophy wrote to her brother and sister-in-law.

It is past time. In truth I had expected Frederick to beg you to sit for a miniature when you were wed; though there was little time then, and being lucky enough to sail together, I suppose he prefers the living model. But it is good to have these things; I for one brag quite badly of you to my acquaintances, so make certain to send a decent likeness, and a handsome one at that. The better, if you can have Frederick to do as Nelson did and trim his sideburns for it. He has not the cheeks to do them justice, as he indeed he ought to have learned already, if means to do justice to Anne's countenance.

Frederick did trim his sideburns for it. He did however sent his sister the first sketch only, before visiting his barber. Anne touched the neat line of his jaw afterwards, pressed her cheek to his to test them pleasing rasp of skin against skin.

They stood side-by-side, Captain and Mrs. Wentworth, for the initial sketching and then three or four further sessions, in between social engagements and official meetings.

It was something of a bother, but no true irritation, made better for the mirror against the studio wall, from which they could gauge their stance, and spy the other.

Few things in marriage are better conductive to love than a happy secret in company. The Wentworths had learned that even in their first betrothal, had long mastered the art of speaking from the side of their mouths in company, and having conversations in glances alone, which many a happy couple does possess, and few own to.

In the end Anne held a spyglass against her breast, while her husband rested a hand upon his sword, and another against the curve of her arm. Near enough the starch in his collar filled her nose. A few times he did touch her loose curls, to tease or adore; then the artist turned his back to fetch some paint or linseed oil, and pretended at polite deafness. Sailors, port side artists know, were very like each other, no more so than when in love.

 Not more than three months they stayed in Cádiz, and a pleasant time it was, more so by the knowledge of its brevity. In this fashion they passed some afternoons, and referred friends in their circles to the care of the artist. As for the painting, it referred itself.

A fine painting from a fairly mediocre hand, with some fine Mediterranean light to it; all that saw it agreed something to that effect. His epaulets glittered, her mantilla was well-made, and the lace passably managed in oil.

A handsome man; and the lady's eyes were striking. One could tell, not by the varnish or the trick of light in a delicate paint stroke, but the angle of her husband's chin, tilted to glance sideways at her profile. 

[elsa-fogen]

I WANNA BODYSWAP EPISODE IN WINX REBOOT

FOR THE SAKE OF MORE SILLY SHENANIGANS

Okay so there's 3 possible ways it could be done

1. winx swap bodies inside the group.

This one (to me) is the most boring options, but it can be good episode. Since Bloom is the main character, we see most of events through her perspective, and that would be a great way to learn more about other girls. However, to me it's not that interesting since this doesn't involve the Trix. That's why...

2. a. Bloom and Icy swap bodies

yeah. That would be fun to see Bloom trying not to be recognised by Darcy and Stormy. Bonus points, Icy is trying to imitate Bloom in her body. Also, question, how their magic would work. Like, Does Icy in Bloom's body have her ice magic or Bloom's fire magic?

So, i see the episode can be like. Starts with the Trix trying to do some shit (maybe a spell that would swap powers with Bloom, like, another way to get the dragon flame), then Winx doing something and Bloom feels something and decides to go to sleep early. Next morning Icy wakes up, but it's actually Bloom in her body. We witness normal morning routine of the Trix, while Bloom is trying to act like Icy, but also she has no idea how Icy acts when she's only around Darcy and Stormy, so the two notice that "Icy" is acting weird.

They get to the class, and they see "Bloom" surrounded by other Winx and she has the most murderous expression on her face that was ever seen. "Icy" and "Bloom" look at each other and realise that they actually swapped.

I'm not sure about how THEY would do this, but i imagine that Icy alone meets the Trix and tells Darcy and Stormy what happened and they'd be like "Yeah, that explains it". Then she say's that she's going to look in the library for a spell to reverse it, while the Trix have to do some stuff? I'm not sure, but they have reasons why they can't help with that. And this can be resolved in one day or in few days. For second option there's a possibility for some funny stuff where Icy has to pretend to be Bloom more, like, the winx had planned some party, or it's Bloom's birthday (or any other winx i guess), something that Icy can't miss.

In any case, winx notice that "Bloom" isn't herself, and they decide to follow her. And in the middle of the night "Bloom" goes to the forest, and when she meets the Trix, the winx get everything wrong and attack the witches, trying to protect "Bloom"

In the end they're probably getting caught by adults and they swap Bloom and Icy back to normal, and ask if anyone has any idea why this happened, and explain that it was very dark and forbidden spell, and if it was anyone of them they're in trouble. The Trix say that they have no idea what happened and stuff (lying), and Faragonda says that if it wasn't any of them, it means that they got a very dangerous enemy and episode ends.

Kinda messy, but with enough polishing it could be very interesting episode.

2.b same story, but Bloom changes bodies with Darcy or Stormy. Probably "Bloom" tells Icy what happened, and Icy has to act normal and pretend that she doesn't notice anything weird. or she may tell her right away and say something like "don't worry we'll change you back" but like with some hidden intent (of stealing Bloom's power ofc lol), then the rest goes the same way.

3. of the winx change with 3 of the trix

the funniest one to me.

long holidays, something like that mother day in old winx club, aisha/leyla, flora and tecna leave alfea, stella, bloom and musa stayed. And they decided to try and spy on the trix to learn their plans. They were going to cast a spell that would let them see what the trix are doing, but they made a mistake and instead they swapped bodies with them. Bloom with Icy, Stella with Darcy and Musa with Stormy.

wow i got actually matching swaps, and when i was choosing the winx to stay, i was judging by their background, their reasons to stay/go home. Like, Bloom stayed because she's from earth, Stella stayed because of her parents divorce process, and Musa stayed because dead mom. yeah (this also could be Aisha actually)

so, the fun part: they don't know that all three of them changed, so they're all trying to act like the Trix and also learn some plans. None of then knows any plans. So i imagine, Bloom finds some notes in Icy's schedule and there's something like "tell Darcy and Stormy about new plan", but no notes about any plans at all - Icy keeps everything in her mind and never makes any notes, because she has paranoia and Bloom is like DANG IT what the plan could be??? She comes up with some (stupid and naive) plan, and tells about it "Darcy" and "Stormy" on their meeting, and for real Darcy and Stormy it would be obvious that it's not Icy's plan, but for Stella and Musa it's convincing enough.

Meanwhile the Trix in Bloom, Setella and Musa's bodies are trying to make impression of the fairies, but failing miserably.

Oh, Aisha could've stayed too, but she didn't want to take part in that spell, so she didn't swap with anyone, and she has to witness this mess and be like "what's up with yall today?"

More fun shenanigans of the winx trying of be the trix, bloom finds in Icy's schedule that she was planning to do "the plan" today, and has to lead "Darcy" and "Stormy" on it. Maybe they're getting in some argument trying to imitate the Trix. Cut to the Trix trying to be as sweet as they can with each other, imitating how they imagine the winx, and saying "please" and "thank you" 20 times in one sentence. Aisha (if she's there) side eyes them non-stop.

The spell has expiration date, or a trigger, first one is easier, second one is funnier (the trigger could be the touch).

OH ALSO remember from the leaks that the Trix aren't working just for themselves there's also that grindevald-wannabe guy, and he may make an appearance and be like what the fuck are you doing, how long should i wait before i get that dragon flame, and the winx be like oh shi. "Icy" aka Bloom in her body (scared as fuck) says that she's got a plan, and the guy says that he's had enough of her plans, he wants results, maybe threatens them and leaves.

yeah. Bloom may even feel pity for the Trix (Also i just really wanna see innocent and scared Bloom's expression on Icy's face, that would be cute af)

(This also can lead to the Trix being forgiven in the end of the season, because Bloom witnessed that they were forced to do "everything" and the Trix are like "yeah yeah, thats right we didn't want any of it, it was all The Guy who made us do all the bad stuff, we're actually good and never wanted to hurt anyone" (lying))

so yeah. Give me the bodyswap episode!!! Cliches are cliches for a reason!!!

[eye-may]

Do you have any Munkustrap headcanons mayhaps? The people would love to hear it if you do <3

I was waiting for someone to ask about Munkustrap!!! granted I would have yammered about him unprompted eventually anyway but YAY!

pls accept this speedy doodle of Munk having, what I imagine is one of very many, serious conversations (tm) with with his protegee Alonzo <3

"alonzo I told you the kittens could not watch terrifier 3. I say the things I say for a reason. now neither of us will be able to sleep for a week."

all kidding aside, yesss I have a LOT of thoughts about Munkustrap and how he and his story drive a lot of things that happen in my fanverse lol. I'll keep it relatively brief for now because if I don't moderate myself I'll end up writing 100k words worth of incomprehensible diatribe. somewhat abridged yammering beneath the cut!

edit: this mostly ended up being formatted in extensive elucidations on his relationships with other cats, with references to his backstory through that...which I hope isn't baffling lmao hopefully yall can make sense of it

✨Personality

My Munkustrap is pretty heavily based off of 98's Gruberstrap. That is to say, he's a very "warm" version of the character, a softer and more patient leader compared to some other interpretations where he errs on the side of strict and stringent.

Munk has a pretty troubled background (not unlike Tugger and Alonzo), but I place his symbolic age at around 30-35 so that he's still young and has things to learn and growing to do, but still old enough to have already matured and wizened up past a matrix of self-destructive idiosyncrasies he has dealt with in the past. He may not fully realize it, but he wasn't entirely dissimilar to Tugger in his adolescent days (at least, insofar as feeling governed by his emotions). The temporal distance from his early youth has enabled him to mellow out, think more clearly, and capitalize on his better attributes such as decisiveness, a good grasp on strategizing, and being empathetic and caring.

He is, of course, known to be a straight arrow...that is to say, very about rules and order, following traditions, establishing a hierarchy, having respect for authority and elders, etc. However, he is not immune to lightheartedness and joking around. He's a good, gentle playmate with the kittens on occasion. He lives for directing plays (although subversively he might take them a little too seriously sometimes lmao). He definitely lets a Dad Joke slip out every once in a while. He can read and write, and is pretty erudite about a handful of subjects that extend beyond life in the Junkyard. He's a pretty well-rounded chap!

He's not particularly spiritual or mystical, but has always been fascinated by the mysticism inherent in felinity, and has a unique connection to the concept of magic due to his connection with Old Deuteronomy. He's more naturally attuned to felinity in every corporeal sense, and has strong and thoroughly-developed opinions about the meaningfulness of Jelliclehood along with its history and customs.

He's gentlemanly and intelligent, courageous and dignified, so a pretty archetypal 'leader/hero' character. his faults are brought out by adversity with which he is not familiar...as someone who prefers adhering to precedent and keeping everything in order, he feels very challenged by untrodden territory. While he's good at thinking on his feet, he's also prone to overthinking after the action, and letting that repressed sentimental side from yesteryears cloud his approach. When he's feeling menaced by uncertainty, you'll see those cognitions buoy to the surface...overprotectiveness, stubbornness (sometimes he's bad at listening to suggestions!), over-intensity, and over-worry that he tries his darndest to conceal. He may periodically fall into lapses of "work-life imbalance," for turn of phrase (feels weird because we're talking about mystical dancing singing cats but you get it).

Perhaps his biggest fault is difficulty ceding control. There is no bigger control freak in the Junkyard, even though many would probably assume that the title goes to Jenny. Jenny is more ostentatious in her form of leadership, yes, but Munkustrap is far more immoderate when it comes to judging what he can feasibly handle. Bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, after all, does not a healthy habitude make. Munkustrap's elders...namely Jennanydots and Old Deutoronomy...occasionally remind him of that.

He also perpetually Tired (but doesn't show it!) and, despite maintaining his veneer of cool-headedness, does in fact Have Anxiety lol.

🫂 Notes on Relationships

Tugger - They are half-brothers, and symbolically, there's about 10-15 years between them. So the age gap is significant, but Munkustrap isn't exactly old enough to be his father (try as he might to parent him in the frequent absence of Old Deutoronomy). Truly the Annoying Younger Brother Ever, Tugger gets on his nerves faster and more effectively than just about anybody in his life. Granted, their pasts respective of each other aren't the most conducive towards a harmonious, peaceful relationship, but the same circumstances are what make their bond so close and significant. If it weren't for Munkustrap extending the olive branch to a very misled young Tugger, the latter would have never been able to severe himself from Macavity. Meanwhile, Tugger's effects on Munkustrap are less literal and obvious but just as significant. He acts as a looser, more optimistically nihilistic buffer to Munk's razor-sharp edges, and frequently functions as a catalyst for Munkustrap to unearth a bevy of feelings and emotions he's long been in the habit of smothering. They frequently bicker and frustrate each other, yes, but they know how to work with one another when it counts, and they love each other very much.

-

Old Deuteronomy - Munk is one of a few examples of a child of Deuteronomy who was raised primarily by the latter; among cats, it's frankly more common for those born into colonies to have been "raised by the village." Munkustrap has always been very close to his father, has bottomless admiration for him, and abides by his platitudes unquestioningly. Deuteronomy recognized a unique fervor and emotional vulnerability in a young Munkustrap and allowed the latter to attach himself inextricably to him. it's because of this connection, and Munkustrap's unconditional adulation of his father, that Tugger has traduced him as being a rather ideal "little soldier."

After a huge fallout with Macavity (whole thing it's a WHOLE THING), Old Deuteronomy took Munkustrap and his other followers (including Skimble, Jenny, Jelly, Gus, and Asparagus) and splintered away from the colony, going onto to establish the Jellicle colony that inhabits the Junkyard, as seen in the actual musical. For a while, the group focused on rebuilding and recuperating, and succeeded harmoniously. but, after a while when the reconstructed colony was comfortably settled, Deuteronomy became more of an itinerant than Munkustrap had ever known him to be, coming and going patternlessly. Munkustrap knows that he can always attempt to reach out to Old Deutoronomy (there's a postal system cats use...again...whole other thing) in times of need (i.e., when Munkustrap learned about Tugger being in Macavity's possession) but at that point, Munkustrap became established as the de facto Secondary Leader and had to establish himself as capable and independent. He never outwardly questions what Deutoronomy is up to when he's away on his long sojourns to Who Knows Where...but he's never one to question his father. (Tugger, on the other hand...)

Macavity - Macavity is symbolically around five-ish years older than Munkustrap. Closer in age than Tugger and Munk, but the gap is still significant. Munkustrap was born into the same colony as Macavity, and the two did share a portion of their respective childhoods together; Munkustrap being, of course, rather worshipful of Macavity as a kitten. Macavity, for his part, engaged with Munkustrap, and the latter retains fond memories of their interactions...but he also remembers how, with the clarity of hindsight, Macavity seemed to "troubled" back then. He was a bit moody, but that's not wholly unusual for an adolescent cat! More uniquely, he seemed oddly attune to the Jellicle Moon...an evidently Mystical characteristic. He often sought solitude and was reclusive, cagey, secretive, and was obsessed with his developing his mysticism and harvesting magic of Deuteronomy's ilk.

Ultimately, Macavity attempted to persuade Munkustrap to join him in a staged rebellion against Old Deuteronomy; but, even at such a tender age, Munk knew better than to be cajoled, and ultimately sided with his father. He tried in earnest to talk Macavity out of his pursuit of power, but of course...it was fruitless. And the ramifications were abominable. Ultimately, Macavity attempted something of a mutiny that resulted in the deaths of Munkustrap's mother, his two littermates, and the injury or loss of many of his friends and cats he considered to be family. To this day, Munkustrap blames himself for knowing of Macavity's designs, but underestimating him and failing to prevent the disaster. He vowed to never allow such calamity to befall his loved ones again, which manifests in the fiercely protective persona for which he's known. Whatever love existed between the two brothers has been seemingly lost to time; Munkustrap has grown past his bitterness, anger, and desire for retribution...but what's left in the wake are sadness, regret, and wariness.

-

Mistoffelees - The youngest of the protag trifecta of Munkustrap/Tugger/Mistoffelees (for purposes of not getting lost in the sauce, they are, in my mind, the Kirk/Spock/Bones so to speak), Mistoffelees is something of a little brother/son/protegee ??? person??? to Munkustrap. Their relationship is a little hard to compartmentalize, but it's warm and familial all the same. Munkustrap sort of supplies to Mistoffelees what Deuteronomy was to Munkustrap. The magical cat, of course, is far from the first youngun to ever stumble into Jellicle territory in need of reprieve, but usually raising the new arrivals is a village effort. And it still was for Mistoffelees, but Munkustrap zeroed in on him in particular for two major reasons: his inexpendably cathartic effect on Tugger, and the whole Being Magical. Munkustrap remembered, of course, the quixotic fascination his older brother had with magic and the legends surrounding it, and his own proclivities towards harvesting and using it, but Munk was not prejudicial towards Mistoffelees because of that. He knew from the onset that Mistoffelees and Macavity are incomparable, and wanted to make sure that Mistoffelees would never lose touch with the goodness at his core. He also wanted to solidify that Mistoffelees would not be treated differently because of his abilities, but would get to enjoy a normal and secure upbringing. Also...he intuited immediately that it was important for Macavity to Not Find Out about this inexplicably magical cat. (Magical Cats aren't exactly unheard of but they're really not...supposed to be able to exist anymore lmao)

In return for Munkustrap's warmth and extensions of care and friendship, Mistoffelees has always been eager to be helpful and useful, and often functions as a "right-hand man" for the Jellicle Protector in many of the banalities of life in the Junkyard. Despite his aloofness and eccentricities, Mistoffelees has always sought to please and prove himself to Munkustrap, despite the fact Munkustrap has always had confidence in him and never required proof or reassurance that the conjurer was someone he could trust and rely on. hhhhh idk their relationship is cute to me!!! they're cute!!!!

-

Alonzo - Alonzo and Munkustrap have a lot in common...like Munkustrap, Alonzo's early youth was peppered by loss and grief, disasters outside the scope of his control for which he still blames himself. Also like Munkustrap, it is because of these developments that Alonzo has sworn himself to be a protector for all those he holds dear. But, unlike Munkustrap, Alonzo is heavily saddled with endless self-doubt, self-flagellation, and fear. He's around Tugger's age, and Munkustrap recognizes how much learning and growing he needs to do, but also recognizes the drive and intensity propelling him towards becoming either a mess of self-destruction, or a rocksteady protector and friend on whom others can rely. Munkustrap instinctively took Alonzo under his wing, becoming his unofficial mentor, and is pretty much the only cat toward whom Alonzo is open and affectionate. The latter often goes to Munkustrap in times of doubt and fear, but also focuses on impressing and emulating the Jellicle Protector in any way he can. When it comes to being backed up during an altercation, or any matters concerning the security and safety of the colony, Munkustrap knows he can rely on Alonzo above anybody else to back him up. The two are very brotherly and familial with one another, and together make a duo that I, personally, would not fuck with.

Also, importantly, Alonzo supplies a sort of catharsis for Munkustrap as well. While the Protector may not realize it, being able to guide and mentor Alonzo functions as something like reparation for his own past failures; now he's able to pass on the lessons he's learned so that Alonzo won't make the same mistakes he made, and Alonzo being his protegee reassures him that he's capable of positively influence those who are in his care. (which he doesn't often conscientiously doubt, but losing his family instills fear in the back of his head that he'll fuck up in any way with his new family, a fear that's usually surfaced in conjunction with Tugger)

Jenny - She is a surrogate mother figure to Munkustrap, and one of the only cats to whom he yields his absolution of authority in the absence of Deuteronomy. (not unlike the way Kirk often has to cede to McCoy...two star trek references in one post about cats??) He's known her his entire life, and she has always been a source of comfort and guidance towards him that is similar, yet still different, in comparison to Deuteronomy. I like to think Jenny is one of the few cats that Munkustrap would ever go to for advice or consolation, and also one of the few cats who will openly question his approaches or point out his shortcomings. (it comes from a place of love!) Munkustrap also just thinks she's hilarious. A heavily burdened cat like him needs the unique combination of comfort and levity that a cat like Jennyanydots can provide! together they have a lovely rapport <3

-

(here comes the somewhat controversial takes pfffttt. you can flame me if you want idc it's the internet and I know what I signed up for lmao but if you are a demestrap purist who may become emotionally compromised by the suggestion that a romantic connection between the two is Not A Given, feel free to skip this part)

Demeter - listen. I know you're wondering but I'm going to keep it short for now okay. suffice it to say, they have a bit of a back-and-forth, so to speak, mostly stemming from Demeter trying to navigate the residual damage of her troubled past (and.....present) but. my version of Munkustrap is on the aroace spectrum (hides) and so instinctively doesn't move in on Demeter out of an impulse to "rescue" or "fix" her. And for her part, whenever she does indicate an interest in anybody, it's not like she's driven by a long-sufferer's Need For True Love. And even if it were, I'd lampshade that as Not A Good Basis For A Relationship. like idk it's a complicated thing, but regardless, I think she's a fascinating character on her own, far outside the realm of her sensuality and her relationships with the male characters lol.

So continuing, Munkustrap doesn't overstep the fact that she's an adult who can make her own decisions, and also he can see with his own eyeballs that she errs on the side of indecisive regarding her estimation of Macavity, and morality in general, and his mind is not clouded with "I Am A Straight Man In The Presence Of A Beautiful Woman" so as to persuade him to, for some reason, insist that she's not capable of making poor decisions, and trust her judgment above anybody else's in a comparable situation. He, of course, would like to help her, within reason, like he would like to help any cat who expresses interest in being a part of the colony and embracing the mores of Jelliclehood. And he is, of course, kind and helpful towards her because that's the kind of cat he is. and it has nothing to do with an urge to romance her. 😬 or protect her with anomalous fervency because She's Just A Girl (honestly idc about any implications regarding gender roles that have wormed their ways into various versions of CATS bc these are CATS and they lack culturally gendered expectations/roles and also they lack secondary sex characteristics)

because Demeter is rather flighty and cagey, and Munkustrap is a Busy Bee, it takes a while for the two of them to even really become friends, and when they do, there are still some ups and downs granted by a bevy of contrasting opinions/idiosyncrasies endemic to the respective characters. Once he gets to actually know her, Munkustrap does believe in Demeter and encourages her to make progress, but he doesn't hover over her or fuss over her more than he does any other of his adult friends lmao. in the few instances that she behaves in a sensual manner towards him, he's like...ig open to it, but again, he's on the aroace spectrum and navigates those kind of connections within that realm, which To Me means that, in his case, he's never governed by romantic, sensual, or sexual impulses/attractions. bc listen. I just love a male hero who is not ultimately fulfilled by A Woman's Love and Having Children (those things are great for some people!!! pls don't think I am suggesting otherwise lmaooooo)

if it seems like these past few paragraphs have a defensive tone...it may be because I operate in anticipation of being condemned by passionate shippers (and also I too am on the aroace spectrum and thats not for nothing lol) but like I said it's the internet and ik what I signed up for. I have nothing against believers in demestrap. not to mention that yk, hal.........it's about cats.

anyway!!!! Munkustrap has a meaningful relationship with everyone at the Junkyard, but I'm gonna stop here for now lol. I could write a passage for every possible combination of every possible pairing of cats but I have already gone beyond the scope I originally imagined pfft. I hope this gives an adequate enough glimpse into how I construe him and his personality and a little bit of his backstory. sorry if's confusing af, or if I focused too much on other cats. also I alluded to a few things that I'm not even sure I've expanded on before. but if you made it through this whole thing and if you care at all about my fanverse pls don't hesitate to ask for expansion or clarification on anything

ty for the ask!! <3

[hearted-anon]

Sana week! 5 days to Sana's birthday.

For: @itzsana-kiddingmenow, titled: 'Practice it yourself!' Words: 1088 Note: I tried SO LONG to find the exact moment I was talking about here but I couldn't. Anyways, it's almost been a month since I've written anything, sorry for the inactivity and lack of finishing any requests...

T/w: Slight pinning, rough tickles Taglist: @reginald-stay09 @itzsana-kiddingmenow @hetashi-takashimaya @soap143 @jungwon-is-the-one @minnielvrr @skzdiary Lee: Jisung, a bit of Minho Ler: Minho, a bit of Jisung

“How about we go over that second verse again?” Jisung mutters, his legs automatically moving to the groove that was stuck in his brain for the time being. His hand ran through his messy hair, some of it covering his eyebrows too. Poor Jisung had been having trouble memorising the second verse of S-class, struggling on his own while the others got along with the choreography perfectly fine. 

“Go and learn it yourself then.” Minho announces calmly, copying Jisung’s actions and ruffling up his own hair, a smile widening on his face almost in a nonchalant way. Jisung’s eyes could only widen in shock at what he was hearing, standing alone as he shrank into himself timidly, hearing the members laughing their heads off in the background. With a loud groan, he clung onto the elder, giving him huge puppy eyes while his arms squished the dancer closer to him, pulling them both down like he was a pit of quicksand. Even when Minho shoved at the head that was pressed against his thigh, it still didn’t deter the quokka from making them both lay down, Han pressed on top of the elder like a weight. 

“Now you have no choice but to teach me!” The younger huffed, ignoring the fact that Lee Know was letting out strained groans and mumbling every curse in the book, arms coming around to poke along the bunny’s side teasingly, a knowing grin spreading across his face. He was thrilled to see Minho’s face beginning to contort into a smile of his own, digging his fingers into his side gently while humming a tune; he knew the elder would never be able to resist his charm, no matter what. 

“Yohou brat…you behehetter stop..” Minho hisses, but finds himself trapped under Jisung’s weight anyway, tiny snickers beginning to leave his lips at the tingling sensation on his side. His cheeks puff up in an attempt to hold his laughter back, the younger letting out his own peals of laughter when the pair of thighs began to tremble and shake under him, vibrating partially onto his stomach. The practice room was left empty, no one able to save the poor bunny after a sighing leader ushered the rest out of the room for a ‘break’ to not disturb said duo.  

“I won’t stop until you teach me that damned choreography hyung!” Sure, maybe he did sound just a tiny bit too whiny to be considered normal. Sure, maybe he sounded like a petulant child that was denied a toy at the store during grocery shopping. Despite all above that may come across as the most embarrassing thing ever, it was rare that either of them ever let their guards down. But now that they were together, it felt so easy to do what wouldn’t be considered a norm, nothing able to hold them back now. 

“Then you can suffer the consequences instead!” Minho barked, before shoving his nimble fingers, that were once so very useless and laying limp against his sides, to park themselves snugly into the younger’s underarms. They were unmoving, but instantly, Han was quick to retract his hands with an ungodly high-pitched scream, pleas for mercy immediately leaving his mouth as fast as lightning; it was almost as if he wasn’t pouting and trying to tickle the Lee Minho to get his way just a few moments ago. 

“Hyung hyuhuhung please I’m sorry!” The pitiful quokka babbled, anxious giggles spilling from his lips when he felt his body instinctively backing away, almost shrinking into himself. He shrieked loudly when his back hit the wooden floor, shaking his head in desperation when he spotted the usual Cheshire grin on Minho’s face, it was as clear as day he was planning something. What was it? He didn’t know at all. And he dreaded trying to even find out. 

The elder remained silent, his fingers tenderly swiping up and down the ace’s underarms, biting back the urge to mischievously snicker at the squeals and giggles he got from the tiny action. He was barely doing anything, but each swipe felt like another electric shock up his spine, the anticipation building up so painful that it was almost humiliating. Han Jisung, youngest member of KOMCA, known as the fourth generation ace, was brought down by a few swipes to his armpits. He could only feel his cheeks heating up at the thoughts that ran through his mind, and worst of all? Lee Know hadn’t said a word, leaving it to simply be Han’s thoughts spiralling him into absolute madness; and he wouldn’t be all that surprised if the bunny already predicted this would happen. 

“Plehehease it’s torture- WAHAHA! HYUHUHUNG!” Jisung squealed when Minho finally dug his fingers deep into the younger’s underarms, one hand kneading deep circles into the sensitive flesh while the other practically vibrated in the centre of the plushy flesh. One could only pray for Han’s life afterwards, echoes of booming hysterics sounding through the practice room walls; a mixture of consequences from his own overactive imagination and the anticipation of what was already coming. He couldn’t decide which was worse, both of the rough sensations frying his brain completely as he threw his head back with cackles. 

“Ah see? I fixed it.” Minho dryly comments, like he had solved all of Jisung’s problems with whatever he was doing right now; a word that Jisung liked to call: Inhumane torture being inflicted onto his fragile and suffering body. No matter how much the younger kicked, even landing a few tiny ones onto Lee Know’s stomach, who simply just chuckled at the feeling as if it was a normal thing to be experiencing, the fingers wouldn’t even budge an inch, arching his back in a futile attempt to relieve the sensations. 

“NOHOHO MORE! I CAHAHAN’T!” Han practically screamed, deflating akin to a popped balloon when Minho finally relented, albeit a bit reluctantly. That was a shocker, considering that tears of mirth haven’t even welled up in his eyes yet. He let out a shocked yelp when the dancer gently pulled him up and into his arms, a nose burying itself into his hair and getting a whiff of the pine shampoo that came with. Although they were both on the hard wooden floor of the room, neither of them found it uncomfortable, saying nothing about the tickle fight, or the playful banter, simply basking in each other’s presence. 

And yes, Jisung did end up learning the choreography on his own anyway. 

[chaifootsteps]

Rainbow Dash was actually my favorite pony, right next to twilight, because of how unapologetically "ungirly" and outright dickish she was at times, but was still portrayed as a loyal/honest friend and good person at the end of the day. Back when I was a kid, she was pretty much the prime example of how the show felt like it was the first CARTOON about girls and not a cartoon about GIRLS that I've seen, if that makes sense.

....Compare and contrast Viv's constant sexism in her "female-led" show that absolutely detests its own premise to the point the main character essentially just plays clap games in the background while the men do all the serious angsting.

One of the best things about MLP:FiM at its peak was its insistence that there's no wrong way to be a girl. Viv could learn a thing or two from that.

[sandorsubs]

wiring your brain to control shifting

i was playing a video game but level was extremely hard. i shed blood and sweat, thinking "maybe this game is for pros and i'm not a good gamer" i was this close to give up but i wanted to see rest of the game so badly i kept trying. finally i passed it thinking it's just luck.

years later i played the game again. i hesitated at first but passed the same level in my first try. mind you i didn't become pro gamer or anything in all these years. it was just my brain wiring in the background, collecting data to find out what to do exactly but i've never realized this until i have to do it again.

if you ever said "i have never been able to do this throughout my life" for anything wait for a second and admit this is just a mental block you put between you and your desire. when you are wiring your brain, you don't realize it's happening, looks like nothing is changing or only little changes happening. because you don't see what's happening in background. it actually becomes easier but we don't care because if it's easier we are too focused on moving forward and achieving the desire.

then a random day it feels natural being able to do that. almost like you were born with this.

i've said this in my previous post, shifting isn't a skill/talent/sth related to luck or genetics. if you still think shifting is just one big change happens rarely and miraculously, please try to change that.

because shifting is just like water. it can be a drop or big ass ocean(depending on the changes in the realities). just because you've never seen an ocean, it doesn't mean you can't look at rain and say guess there has to be more.

you won't wire your brain to shift but to control it. if you aren't new to shifting, at least couple months passed since you've started your journey, your wiring has already started.

how wiring works for shifting?

i'll call this wiring path. you either stick to one thing you like or feel comfortable with, even a little interest is more than enough. or find an existing wiring path. the times you felt close to shifting for example. maybe a little voice keeps telling you this is your method. you probably have more than one wiring paths for shifting, but they are like unfinished projects. one of them must be more prominent, like at least 50% finished project.

after you've decided on your wiring path, it's not any different from achieving anything. you are not a monk, you won't be spending eternity if you are actively learning. do you know those clicking moments? you can meditate for thirty hours straight but a feeling or realization in one of your attempts takes wiring process further. and i gotta admit, maybe you needed those thirty hours meditation to realize this. that's what i love about wiring. nothing goes is in vain.

everything you do takes your wiring further.

if it feels like literally nothing is changing, you either work on more than one wiring paths or the process slowed down.

when you are not aware of this wiring, it's like pushing all the buttons and hope for best. that's what they mean by lock in. because trying everything at the same time or having backup methods is working on more than one wiring paths.

it's like learning ten languages at the same time but you are barely a1 in all of them.

like i said you have more than one wiring paths and they are unfinished projects, they all have potential. don't give them powers thinking one of them is better than the other. you make them work better with yourself. you have power to choose.

wiring from loa perspective

before loa folks come and say "so what you are saying is, you have to actually do sth to shift? stop planting assumptions in people's minds! i don't have to do anything to shift!"

baby, i'm gonna hold your hand while saying this, you assumption is also a work. you assumed you don't need 46 step method to shift or you have already shifted, right? good, i'm happy for you but see that's also a work. you still do something. you wire your brain this is how you'll control shifting. seriously, what do you consider as "work"? i'm not telling you to do 30 push-ups everyday. (i'm not being sarcastic btw, i love loa. but some of y'all doesn't like to see anything out of assumption-core. this isn't progressive and if my opinions are shaking the foundation of your assumption, sorry but maybe it's not much of an assumption because it shouldn't matter even the whole world is against you when it comes to loa -sandor goddard). whatever get on the ship loa gang, we are sailing

why "tried it all" shifters couldn't complete their wiring process then?

so i remember a person in my dm saying "i've tried a particular method for long period of time. i've tried it all and gave time."

i picture a student when i see "tried it all" shifters. this student thinks if they study math and score high marks in exams they'll be a perfect student. so they start working hard, ignoring the fact they hate math or find it hard to understand.

maybe they're interested in sports or literature but this student is obsessed with having perfect student image. they are not actively wiring, they are bargaining which only slows down and takes extra effort even to reach a milestone. they'll still have hard time to wire their brain even in subjects they do like. they study for 9 hours straight but the friend of them sniffs the textbook and scores higher.

then we have to let go of desire? it depends, i think there are two kinds of desire: first, a desire that helps you, reminds you of what you want to have and the second, desire that reminds you, what's lack. if your desire feels like a liability or its leeching you it's the second one. atp what your desire is unimportant. it's about how you see this unaccomplished desire.

plus if you are actively wiring your brain, you won't even have time to think about this desire obsessively. because you are too focused on what to do, desire is just a fuel and collectively helping you.

so people whose shifted in first attempt didn't wire any shit?

when you bumped into a "i shifted in my first attempt" person next rime, know that they are not shifting gods or prophets. they just figured out in instant what makes their brain easier to wire for controlling shifts. let's be fr some people are gifted with focusing or visualizing. they have useful existing wiring paths for shifting. plus i want to remind you something:

don't underestimate the power of a blank page. neutrality has higher frequency than courage, do you know why? because you don't have any fears or worries, when you are neutral you don't need a reason be courageous. i know if i erease your shifting attempts from your memory right now, you'd be shifting in your "first" attempt either. because most of the time you deal with your fears and worries instead of actively wiring.

how to actively wire?

people are trembling, throwing up and procrastinating when it comes to "attempt". i don't even want to call it attempt because you are actively learning. and no it's not "dw we learn from every attempt 🌺🌻✨" kinda motivation, it's literally how your brain is getting wired.

let's assume you find your wiring path, it's more prominent than other paths you have. for example its raven method + visualizing and falling asleep. you felt close to shifting with this method before. be aware of your every attempt and observe closely because by the time you'll get better at each part of your method. active wiring is not doing the same thing everyday robotically.

maybe normally you count to 100 but one day you feel you are already focused when you reached 40. or your focusing skills improved so much, you need to discard counting part, because you already wired that part in your brain. or you were visualizing yourself in your dr bed but suddenly you felt like you want to visualize one of your dr memories. your brain will be more invested in something they find interested. in previous student example i gave you, bargaining person misses these moments, they stubbornly do the same thing and rarely progress.

don't be scared of working on your wiring path. if you feel like you are waiting or pending, your wiring only slowed down. it doesn't always mean you need to do something, maybe you need to observe what you are doing and make simple changes. even if it means taking a break.

active wiring is not waiting for the day you'll achieve it. when you are learning a new skill you do your thing and expect it to be successful every single time even if it's your first time. you can almost see yourself achieving it. this expectation doesn't come from bargaining tho, it's your desire, the healthy kind.

in next posts i'll be sharing my way to wire my brain to control shifting and the terms i came up with. this is how i observed and decided to use wiring for myself. please take care and don't consume everything you read if it feels wrong or doesn't sit with you, or you don't even want to accept it true. spit it out. same for this post.

[shorelinedreaams]

"So, what is it exactly?" Josie asked, her voice tinged with a subtle challenge. "Is it the bitter cold that Michigan brings, or the warmth of its citizens?" When she first learned that a private investigator had been lurking around town, she wasn't really surprised. Those types always came through. What they specifically were seeking didn't bother her so long as it wasn't her family. The public eye, with its sharp, probing gaze, became something she resented, yet couldn't escape. She tried to keep her head down, to fade into the background, but when your surname is on every headline and mentioned by nearly everyone in passing, blending in becomes an impossible feat.

She did what she did best: she adapted and shifted like a chameleon, becoming an expert at being unnoticed, even as her life was on display for the entire town to scrutinize. Yet, despite everything, there was something about this place that kept her tethered. No matter how much she resented the constant attention, Woodside was still home. It was everything she was—woven into her very bones. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

"Well, I’ll be..." The mock surprise in his voice cut through the air, and Josie couldn’t suppress a wry smile. "The Levi Kenway, lost for words? I never thought I’d see the day." It was a familiar rhythm between them, one she had come to expect: a taunt here, a sharp retort there—some twisted, unspoken game of cat and mouse that they played whenever their paths crossed. There wasn’t a specific moment that triggered her internal alarm towards him, but there was a weight in the space between them. "Now, I’ll ask you one more time," she said, her tone even but firm. "Do you want help with your case?"

If he felt slightly uncomfortable before he felt like running away now but he didn't. He sat there and listened to her. He tried to read her expressions, trying to see if she was at least half joking, just trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn't. He was alright at reading people but Josie was always someone that was able to make her expressions unreadable. As she continued he wondered if she was not just talking about him but herself too. Being in the position she was with her father. He looked down a moment while shifting slightly in his seat, uncomfortable. "I mean, that was the idea. Do the job I was initially hired to do here and then leave, not meeting anyone, definitely not getting to know the place but here I am ten years later and I just can't shake it." The town and the people in it had managed to get their hooks into him a decade ago and he had enjoyed every minute of it since in one way or another.

He tilted his head to the side slightly for a moment, thinking over what she had just said. "You're right. A lot of jobs are tough it just depends if you have the fortitude to stick it out or if you're able to open up another option for yourself either within it or elsewhere." Levi sat back in the seat as she explained what she was wondering. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes for a moment. At this point with almost anyone else he probably would have gotten up, put his hat on, and walked out of the diner but for some reason he didn't have that urge with Josie. "I..." He started before drawing in a deep breath, "I don't know actually know how to answer that. Or even if I have one."

[z-1-wolfe]

big fan of women… i have this sketch of vaggie im too afraid to finish so i’m just going to post it XD

[spheresr4cubes]

"Who did this to you?"

Bound by @queenofmoons67

https://www.tumblr.com/queenofmoons67/764547792236609536/bound-a-warriors-hyrule-fic?source=share

Process below the cut.

[happistar]

How many invisible things do you think this man has lost?

(Lodgetember Day 2 - Griffin)

[a-s-levynn]

Okay i'm gonna say it. And i genuinly do not mean this as a personal attack on anyone, simply as something to consider.

If what any given band decides to provide as content to their audience is not enough for you, try to get a hobby. Seriously. You are way too focused on one thing. We joke about being obsessed with stuff here but there is a fine line between fixation and unhealthy dependance.

Go read a book, watch a movie, pick up a series, start writing, learn to draw, start playing an instrument, go start skating, play a video game. Start collecting stamps if that's your thing. Anything. Literally anything. If you can't fill out your time with anything else but what one single band/artist/whatever gives you, you need to expand your horizon.

You can't expect literal strangers to give you anything they don't want to give, just because you are bored. And just think for a second, how much would you be willing to give up to entertain an audience, half of which can't even understand "please don't focus on our persons, listen to our music. all we have to give is in there." How much of your privacy would you be willing to sacrefice on the long run for people who don't even listen to what you say?

We've seen so many negative outcomes. Musicians literally been driven off of the internet by fans who couldn't get enough. Yes, Sleep Token is officially anonymous, but they already had so many breaches of their personal space even like this. They really do not need to give more ground to the so called "fans" who cannot respect and accept them as regular human beings.

The Sleep Token camp established from the get go what they give is what you get. Nothing more nothing less. And the crew and background people give exactly the behind the scenes content that the first anon says they would like to get. For example Thom Pike gave a lengthy interview on the FOH engineering. The techs of both IV and III gave rig rundowns. George Lever spoke a little about working with the Sleep Token project on multiple occasions. There have been collabs already, you just need to look for it. Live collabs by IV's with BMTH and Issues. Vessel tracking piano for BFMV years ago.

If this "side content" that the very much existing collabs or the crew provides is not filling that need for behind the scenes content, then again, it is something to think on why. Is it because it's "only" the crew and not the guys directly? Because if it is the reason, again, maybe rethink what you are saying.

Sleep Token is not a boyband. They are here to give their audience music not to be celebrities. They do not owe you, me or anyone anything. As musicians they only supposed to put out music to their best ability. Giving interviews and filming random videos for your or anyone's entertainment would take away time from what they could use for refining their next song or album.

I don't know about you, but i'd rather not hear an other word from any of them, if the next album is on the same level of quality as the previous was. And i'm saying that as someone who thoroughly enjoyes the Drumeo content II gave us. But he gave it because Drumeo is, at the end of the day, an educational platform. That interview mainly was not an entertainment piece. Because there is a difference.

I already feel like i talk about these things to much lately, but alas..

Idk if this will be controversial but the band’s secrecy makes me antsy sometimes.

I’m absolutely not implying anything about identities or the people behind the masks, but I wish to high heaven we got more content from them sometimes. BTS videos on the production process or live performances, magazine or video interviews, more covers or collabs or even solo performances like II did. Yknow, the stuff that other bands tend to do. I know there’s never going to be an increase in content like this but I can dream </3

It honestly has me conflicted. On the one hand I appreciate that it links to their concept and that in itself is something I love a lot, but on the other I just need MORE from them cause I love them too much T_T

.

[velvetjune]

I brought you the heart, witch. Show me the terror.

— Alan Wake 2

[front-facing-pokemon]