#para: dropping in

[sugarpasteltmnt]

HEY! YOU 🫵

Do YOU like ‘The Neon Void’?!?! Like the DRAMA and ANGST???

Then please consider checking out my two incredible beta readers’ stuff!! They’re the ones who gave me the confidence to share this fic and help me with proofreading my chapters!! Seriously, they’re my ride or die they’re amazing 😭🩵💗

@the-peak-tmnt (My sister!)

Writing her own angsty fic ‘Reciprocity’ (Leo & Raph angst enjoyers come get ya’lls juice)

Mutant Mayhem Stan 🫡

Literally the greatest person ever

PocketParas on Twitch.

Does really fun and cute streams on twitch!! Check her out and give her a follow!! (She even has a ‘Cowabunga!’ redeem hehe)

The cutest Dino-PNGtuber you’ve ever seen

Literally is the reason my writing skills are what they are (she denies it but it’s the truth🩵)

Check them out!! Say hey!! They’ve been a huge part in bringing this fic to you all, and i wanted to tell you all how amazing they are 💕🩵💗💖💕

[xreynadel]

where: Merrock Coast

when: summer 2024

One thing Reyna prided herself on was her ability to host successful events, whether in her personal life or professionally. That included brokers opens and general open houses. Today's property was a beautiful 3,700 sq ft cottage on the rocky shoreline, overlooking the water. Hearing someone approach the front door, Reyna swiftly made her way out front from the kitchen to greet her visitors. "Welcome! Come on in!"

[wallpapedits-vvc]

Matching wallpapers #199

Like/reblog if you save ✨

1st: this wallpaper/picture doesn't belong to me. 2nd: edit by me from here. Credits of the original photos to their respective owners.

[whitestnoise]

[insertc0olusername]

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE

[proshipcallblog]

"Big 3 araphiles" DO NOT belong in pro FICTION spaces so you really shouldn't be advertising them. We don't like abusers

womp womp not all big 3 paras are abusers, "thought crimes dont exist" applies to big 3 paras. if youre really so pressed about it, block me

[joltning]

Actually no you know what. Actually criminal temple only gets like. A sniper and a magnum one of which he like, shares with buckey. give him the biggest and or flashiest and or most flamboyant and or most annoying weapon possible. it’s a war setting? ok who gaf. the world is his stage and I’ll be damned if it don’t look like one

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

In a crowded room a few short years ago And sometimes there's no proof, you just know You're always gonna be mine We're gonna be I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made And you'll say, "Oh my, we really were timeless"

[misshcrror]

❪ ⠀ ⠀ OPEN STARTER !!! ⠀ ⠀ ❫.

Como se não bastasse o incidente com a fenda ao quase servir de oferenda e fofocas rolando a respeito disso, logo depois a missão com uma baixa da amazona que sua equipe ajudou, agora tinha mais um motivo para que as pessoas lhe olhassem de canto de olho. Depois do almoço cheio de exposições sobre Petrus e um sermão que entrou por um ouvido e saiu pelo outro... Bem, Yasemin já era uma figura meio polêmica pela quantidade de brigas que acabava arrumando por ai, mas no momento... Ela só queria ficar longe dos holofotes depois de todo o ocorrido. Estava caminhando para treinar na floresta quando ouviu o farfalhar e um galho quebrando a alguns metros dali graças a sua habilidade. ❝ ― Seja quem for, apareça logo. ❞ — Anunciou, e por via das dúvidas empunhou a nova arma ganha após a missão, deixando que a kusarigama ganhasse forma em suas mãos.

[balladetto]

     He doesn't realise how long it's been since he's seen his reflection in full until it happens.

     Link catches glimpses, sometimes. Has been catching more of them the less hard it becomes to connect a thought to an act: in the cups of tea he's beginning to hold again, along the polished edges of Granny Thera's plates when she guides his fingers around spoon handles, outlined by the fixed shadow he casts when Verley sits the both of them down by the hearth. On the days where Link's head doesn't feel so much like a sheet of glass all fogged up, he can see these flashes of what must be him in everyone's eyes, too. It's an image he's been trying to piece together longer than anyone knows.

     Peering back at him from the sun-washed waters of the village pond, marred by endless ripples, it's an image he finds he can't recognise.

     This should bother him, some faded, isolated part of him thinks. Then the idea twists into something that feels easier to touch: should this bother him? Link traces the blank face coloured paler than he thinks he's ever remembered it, observes the dull flatness of the overgrown hair. There are hollows in the water where those eyes have sunken in. Those narrow shoulders are hunched lower than he feels they are. Beside this mess of pieces stands Granny Thera's reflection, gently holding its hand.

     Something within his chest aches, suddenly; sharp, and cold, and distantly familiar.

     It knocks him back into her side with a choked gasp, fingers squeezing tight and eyes snapping shut. The shape lingers on his eyelids, warping at the seams, and he compulsively pushes a palm against them in an attempt to chase it away. A whimper rolls in his throat because it hurts, and it keeps hurting even when Granny Thera tugs that hand off to pull him into a hug.

     "Oh, dearie," she frets. "Dearie, what's the matter?"

     Link shakes his head against her collarbone and grabs fistfuls of her shawl. Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I don't know who that is. The awful feeling beneath his sternum builds and builds and builds: the words sit somewhere he can't reach them, somewhere he can't reach any of them, the way memories of the experienced Before have been slipping through his grasp. I don't know who that is. I don't know who that is.

     Suspended as he is, he doesn't register moving. Isn't aware of stumbling along Granny Thera's shuffling steps as she leads him back the way they came. He is following a thread his body can't remember how to put down, afloat in that crushing current — then the quiet of his home, thick and stagnant, cuts through the echo of the pond's purling. The sun leaves. The smell of something staler than everything beyond these walls returns. Link swallows, and feels the work that takes.

     The thread snaps.

     Here, where he can only see himself mirrored in half-fractions, the calm is muffling. Thoughts of things lost, of things taken, of things he can't comprehend — the overwhelming too much of it all wanes against the soft comfort of apathy that blankets him once more.

     "We'll try again next time," Granny Thera murmurs as she runs a tender hand through his hair, patting a rhythm that he breathes to on his back. She carefully sits them on his bed.

     Link leans his head on her shoulder. He closes his eyes.

     He wants, with all that is still able to want, to apologise.

[wmu-cedes]

closed starter for @wmucody

Mercedes wrapped her arms around herself. There were too many people, all of whom seemed to be just as anxious as she was, and despite the fact that Brit had given her a 'survival' bag, there was only one person that she was yearning to see.

Her height put her at a disadvantage, but Mercedes had attempted to scan the crowd to the best of her abilities when she turned and spotted him. Ignoring the wave of relief that settled upon her, and instead thanking the Lord almighty that he was tall.

She made her way over to him as quickly as the crowd would allow and took a deep breath. "Cody!"

[paradiscake]

Rest in pieces, Para-Medic. You would have loved Pirates of the Caribbean.

[gender-premium-tm]

Hi! Can you draw Shag Rugg from The Hillbilly Bears? Please.

the definition of a silly little guy!

[everyone-with-a-para]

I hope everyone with a para that is a dancer has a great day

[nikkolai-prescott]

[There was a touch less than a month before the wedding. Nikko should have been spending this time continuing to be excited. But instead, a memory he hadn't mentioned to his husband kept replaying in his mind.]

...You know a few days before Christmas when you and Mrs. Evans were changing out all the feed? [He said suddenly from where he was sitting on the sofa.]

@joiesamevans

[mishavorshevsky]

ANYWAY...

When: After Party, post-plot drop TW: None (for once)

Silence settles over the crowd like a lead weight, perverse in its gravity and filled with dread as they watch the video unfold. Unfortunately, Mikhail's experience with such limitless violence does not allow him enough naïvety to crumble into shock with the rest. Already his gaze sweeps across the room to find Vika, whose well restrained anger matches his own almost precisely–– both stormy behind the eyes and cautious in how they show it to the world.

He moves swiftly through frantic bodies once the lights return, scooping up Iza's arm along the way and practically hoisting her towards the exit. Without enough force to harm, but the rapid nature of his pace and obvious insistence leaves little room to argue. Not that she would, particularly after such a harrowing spectacle.

Perhaps that is what angers him most, beyond the simmering rage felt on behalf of Kosta losing yet another fragment of his first wife. That Mikhail had been successfully shielding Iza from most of the carnage, keeping her reality somewhat at bay and allowing her and Dmitri to live a relatively unscathed life. It wouldn't last, they both predicted as much, but he truly hadn't wanted it to crash down like this.

Cynicism whispers, at least it isn't her on the tape. Or Yuli, or Vika, or Sveta...

The corners of his mind are a mass grave filled with long dead women from his life and he ardently refuses to add more bodies tonight.

For once, there is gratitude to be found in the security that haunts his footsteps. His orders to them are frigid, unquestionable, sounding more like a Vorshevsky than ever before when the matter of his wife's safety hangs in the balance. It would be easier to avoid her gaze and usher the blonde along, to keep himself from reading the expression he knows is etched into her delicate features, but he clasps them between both palms anyway.

His thumb wipes away a miniature trail of saltwater from her skin as their eyes meet. Glassy versus resolute. "You need to leave now. Don't speak to anyone and do exactly as Boris and Pyotr say until I return. I'll be right behind you, promise." She merely nods, impeded from the full gesture by how deliberately Mikhail cups her face. "I love you." Sentiment exchanged, he releases Iza and allows his team to cart her off to a waiting car before returning to locate Vika.

Finding her is simpler than expected, probably because their train of thought so frequently aligns, and there is one terribly specific way to return a favor to their enemies. His palm nearly envelopes the Pecatti woman's entire face as he forces it back into position against his cousin; so unlike the fervent adoration used on his better half only minutes prior.

"It took you long enough. Hold her still."

"With pleasure."