#the problem is the hate consumes me it grows within me

[heavenknowsffs]

One thing about me is when i love a product or service i will recommend it to everyone and their neighbor, i will leave high but honest reviews about it, etc

But when i hate... oh when i hate, i hate with such passion and i will find the most unspeakable insults know and unknown to man

[quinzzelx]

Steamy Pages

Azriel x Fem! Rhys Sister! Reader

A series of connected Oneshots. Read Paramour here

Summary: In the House of Wind's library, Azriel catches you reading a steamy novel, leading to a secret and passionate encounter.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Smut, 18!+, Oral fem!Receiving, PnV, dirty talk, Not proof-read yet

A/N: Somehow, I always end up writing smut instead of my fluffy or angsty WIP's. But I have so many things that I'm currently working on, which I only want to be perfect & as of right now, I don't feel up to the task :( I hate to keep you guys waiting- but I really have writers' block for some of my stuff right now and all I'm able to do is smut somehow lmao... I also need a name for this series of connected Oneshots. ☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

As you sat in the House of Wind's library, engrossed in a book, a figure appeared in the corner of your eye. Azriel. For the past few weeks, Azriel and you had been falling into and out of each other's beds. Ever since that fateful night at Rita's where the thin line you both had been tiptoeing around was finally crossed after drunkenly stumbling back home. Rhys, your brother, was out that day, Mor had left with someone, and Cassian was at the camps, leaving just the two of you to find your way back. Something was different that night, and one thing led to another. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the mere thought of that heat-filled, steamy night.

Now, you sat in the library reading. Azriel entered silently, watching you curled up on the lounge chair before the hearth, a book in your hand. He had been away for a few days, and seeing you here stirred something deep within him. Fully immersed in your novel, you didn't hear the silent steps of the Shadowsinger as he approached. The characters in your book were finally confessing their love for each other, and as the scene grew steamy, a deeper blush spread across your face, your heart rate picking up.

He stopped beside the chair and leaned down to watch the words you read, his breath brushing your cheek. A low growl escaped him as he read aloud, "My legs trembled as his fingers traced invisible patterns on the inside of my thighs, venturing further up, up, up. I felt his all-consuming presence enveloping me, and as his fingers brushed against my awaiting heat, softly caressing my cunt over the thin fabric of my lacy underwear..."

You flinched, yelping at the sudden intrusion, snapping your head in his direction. Your face heated unbelievably at what was happening. Embarrassed, you tried to snap the book shut, but he swiftly snatched it out of your hands.

"Azriel, stop!" you whined, trying to reach for the book in utter mortification.

He smirked at your discomfort and slowly flipped the book open, his finger trailing over the page as he read. "With a primal growl, he buried his face between my thighs, his tongue eagerly tasting me through the thin fabric." Scrambling to your knees on the sofa, you threw the blanket you were nestled in to the ground, fumbling to reach the book. Even your pointed ears turned a shade of dark red. "Az, please stop reading!" you swallowed hard, trying to pry the book from his hands again.

He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the book. The room seemed to grow warmer as he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Why? Are you enjoying this?"

You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest, staring up at his towering form. Your face was perfectly lined up with his crotch. Your eyes narrowed. "Obviously not," you lied, trying to keep your face straight, hoping the scent of your arousal wasn't that strong.

His lips twitched as he caught your lie. He tilted your chin up just enough to make eye contact before he brought the book up slightly, still holding onto it, the description obscene. "I don't think I believe you."

Your heartbeat picked up, his touch lighting a fire inside of you. "That's not my problem now, is it, Shadowsinger?" you tried to fake nonchalance, but your heated skin and subtle glance at the book betrayed your true feelings.

He smirked, his eyes filled with mischief as he watched you, his free hand coming to your cheek to trace it with the pad of his thumb. "Careful, princess, you're giving yourself away." Subconsciously, you closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his touch. Your breath hitched when he continued to read the absolute filth of the book aloud.

"His tongue dragged over my clothed cunt as he grunted at the feeling of my arousal-drenched panties." He raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his beautiful lips as he skimmed the page further before continuing to read aloud. "Oh, very interesting. My orgasm shattered me, crashing over me like a tidal wave as his fingers worked their way over my swollen clit. His tongue lapping at every bit of my arousal."

"You seem to be enjoying my reading, princess." His hand trailed down from your face, stopping at the curve of your neck. His thumb brushed back and forth over the tender skin there, feeling the pulse quicken under his touch. Your breath caught in your throat, lungs suddenly empty of any air. Heat crawled up your body, and your skin felt like it was burning. "I was also enjoying reading my book before you strolled in here and interrupted me so rudely." His low chuckle rumbled through the room, and he leaned in closer, the added heat from his body enveloping you. "Rude, was I now?" His thumb slipped lower, tracing a line down from your collarbone to the valley of your cleavage.

"Azriel," you said his name, meant as a warning, but the quivering in your voice made it sound more like a plea. His eyes sharpened, jaw ticking as a low sound, something like a growl, slipped past his lips.

"Say my name like that again, and I will fuck you right into the cushions of this couch until you're screaming it for the whole house to hear," he said, voice low and husky but calm and collected. Your eyes widened, and molten lava pooled between your legs. "You have no idea what kind of thoughts you're provoking, princess."

His thumb slipped inside the neckline of your dress, grazing the soft skin of your breast. "Maybe I should give you a taste of what you're asking for, what you're so innocently reading." You closed your eyes, gasping when his fingers dipped lower, skimming across your hardening nipple. You whimpered at the touch, exhaling sharply, one of your hands wandering to wrap around the wrist of his hand that was currently groping at your chest, squeezing your breast in his big hand.

A wicked grin formed at the corners of his mouth, enjoying both your reaction and your desperation for him. He leaned closer, whispering in your ear with hot, fiery breath as he continued teasing you. "Do you want me to fuck you, princess?"

Every bit of restraint you wanted to keep snapped as you surged forward. Now, with his face so close to yours as he hovered so close, you crashed your lips into his, capturing him in a searing kiss. Tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you, you heard the book drop to the ground, his now free hand rushing to your hip, squeezing it. He growled into your mouth. Pain struck you shortly as he squeezed your breast harshly again, pinching your pebbled nipple.

"Azriel, fuck," you moaned into his mouth, into the kiss, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance. "I don't want you to just fuck me; I need you to completely unravel me."

The kiss was scorching, burning through Azriel's soul and body, igniting a wildfire of desire that almost made him gasp. He snarled against your lips, a primal, possessive sort of sound, his fingers tightening on your hip as you pulled him closer. You pulled him even closer, and with his legs already leaned against the armrest of the sofa, he toppled over. The huge Illyrian male crashing into your body as you also fell back. But the kiss never broke as he now lay on top of you, grunting and starting to kiss down your neck, nipping and licking at your heated flesh. You whined and tugged at his hair as his hand kneading your breast slipped up to tug down your dress, making your breast spill out. He wasted no time exploring the newly exposed skin, biting and kissing over your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you, his tongue swirling over your nipple before sucking it harder into his mouth. His hand trailed down your body, slipping under the fabric of your dress, inching higher until his fingers brushed against your wet core.

"Gods above," you huffed, trying to regain some composure. You pulled at his hair, making him release your nipple with a pop and tilt his head to look at you. The sight of his face made your pussy throb—his dark curls messy and falling into his eyes, hazel swirling with darkness, pupils blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed, and lips glinting with saliva. Realizing you were staring, you groaned. "Fuck, why are you so gorgeous?"

The sound of your almost breathless voice had Azriel smirking, his eyes flashing dangerously when you cursed. "Are you trying to flatter me?"

You rolled your eyes, giving his hair a playful tug. "Gorgeous but a little too cocky for my taste." You mirrored his smirk, biting your bottom lip as you imagined how he'd pound into you, how his fingers would feel inside you. Both his hands sneaked down your torso, coming to rest just above your knees where your summer dress had already bunched up. He gathered it in his hands, maintaining eye contact, and slowly inched the dress up your legs, kissing the newly exposed skin.

"Az, what are you—" you started to ask, but he cut you off.

"We've been fucking all these weeks and I didn't get to taste that pretty little cunt yet," he said, fabric bunching around your hips now, his hot tongue leaving a wet trail on your inner thigh. "And I'm planning on changing that."

Azriel chuckled softly against your skin, the sound vibrating against your thigh as he continued to move his lips further up. His possessive hand on your waist tightened slightly as his mouth finally found the heat of your core, tongue lapping at your clit through the thin lace of your panties.

Your hips bucked in surprise as he softly nibbled on your clit through the lace of your thong. You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling, your chest heaving, your left hand grabbing onto the cushions, fingers immediately digging into them. Azriel smirked against you, fingers hooking into your panties and tugging them downwards, revealing the smoothness of your bare sex. He groaned softly, almost unnoticeably, hands moving to spread you open for him.

You whined when he pulled apart your legs, your cheeks heating under his intense stare as he seemed to commit the sight of your glistening cunt to memory. "Gods, you have such a pretty pussy," he groaned. You wanted to scream when he dragged his tongue through your folds, from your entrance to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched as you gasped.

He hummed against your swollen folds, the vibration making you quake underneath him. His tongue was lethal, and he knew it. He had always wondered if you tasted as sweet as he had imagined, and now he knew the answer was a resounding yes. A sinful moan ripped from your throat when he dove in deeper, prodding his tongue at your entrance and lapping up your arousal, burying his face in your cunt, his nose brushing against your clit. Your toes curled as ripples of pleasure shot down your spine. He moaned into your pussy, tongue delving deeper as he feasted on you, the sound of your moans spurring him on. With one arm wrapped around your thigh, his fingers dug into your flesh possessively. Cauldron, he wanted to drown in your cunt.

"You taste like the sweetest temptation, Princess," he growled into you. "So fucking delicious."

Your other hand, the one not holding onto the sofa for dear life, tangled in his hair again, tugging and pushing him closer into your heat. "Yes, make me cum on your pretty face," you whined.

"Beg for me, Princess," he said, his words muffled by your folds. His tongue lashed out against your clit, teasing mercilessly. With each flick of his tongue, you grew more desperate, your hold on his hair tightening.

You didn't feel like fighting, so you yielded to him, to his will. "Please," you whimpered. "Please, Az, make me cum with your tongue." Every word left you as a whining moan, grinding your hips and your cunt into his face. "Oh, please let me cum all over your pretty face."

Smirking to himself, Azriel obeyed your command. His tongue plunged deeper into your cunt, greedily drinking up your arousal. His fingers continued their assault on your thigh, squeezing and possessing in equal measure. You're mine, he whispered silently.

You cursed under your breath, eyes fixed on the Shadowsinger buried between your legs, feasting on you like a starved male, as if your pussy was his favorite meal. You gasped when his nose pressed into your clit as he basically made out with your cunt. Fuck, if he hadn't ruined you for other males before, he sure did now. The way you watched him between your legs only spurred Azriel on, his hands reaching upward to grasp your hips and force you harder against his hungry mouth. He reveled in the gasps, the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. He owned them now.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. "So close," you slurred, desire and lust overwhelming your senses as all you could do was feel. Feel his tongue exploring your pulsing cunt, mapping it out like you once did with the night sky when you were younger.

A low growl vibrated against your pussy as Azriel felt you close to the edge. His hands gripped harder at your hips, keeping you immobile as he continued his relentless assault. He wanted to feel your orgasm shudder through your body and echo against his lips.

With a harsh suck on your sensitive bud, the dam broke, and your release came crashing over you with such force that you saw nothing but white, gasping for air. He maintained his hold on your hips, not letting you escape the intensity of your own orgasm. As you came back down to earth, he released you and gently kissed your sensitive folds before lifting his head, lips curved into a smug smile.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw him gazing at you, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. "That... That was unbelievable," you stated with a shaky voice, swallowing heavily.

He hummed as he crawled back up your body, dress still bunched around your hips, leaving your core exposed. "I am glad to have left you speechless, love," he murmured, positioning himself over you and brushing your hair away from your face. His gaze held a heated intensity that sent shivers down your spine as he lowered his head and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and you were so lost in it, so lost in the passion, that you didn't notice how he freed his glorious length. You only noticed when his glistening head pressed into your inner thigh.

You moaned into his mouth when he gave you a fake thrust of his hips, lubricating his cock with your arousal. "You're so wet for me, love," he murmured, breaking the kiss and trailing his lips down your jawline to your collarbone. He continued to tease you, rocking his hips and letting his length glide against your folds. "Fuck me already," you gasped as his cock grazed your sensitive clit again.

"Ah ah, patience," he whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips. He slowly teased your entrance, letting the head of his cock slip inside before pulling back out. Whining, you tried to meet his hips with yours, trying to get him to sheathe himself inside of you fully, your arousal surely dripping onto the couch cushions by now.

"Oh no, we can't have that now, can we?" he said, finally giving in and thrusting into you with one swift motion. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he began to move inside you. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

You screamed out when he set a relentless pace, hips pistoning into you. He stretched you out, his cock reaching places no one had ever reached before, splitting you open. But it hurt so good, as if you were made for him, fitting perfectly around every delicious inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, so perfect around me," he grunted, the sound primal and full of lust. He continued to pound into you, the couch moving slightly from the force of his thrusts.

You screamed out his name when the head of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly. He shifted and grabbed your ass with both hands, lifting you up slightly, and you automatically wrapped your legs around his hips, giving him better access. "Fuck, yes," he groaned low in his throat, his rhythm picking up once more as he pushed deeper into you. With each thrust of his hips, he ground against you hard, and the friction was nearly enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

"Yes, yes, fuck me, tear me apart, Azriel," you gasped, chanting praise and urging him on. "You fill me up so good." He growled low in his throat, his thrusts becoming wilder and more unhinged. "Your pussy was made for me to dominate and destroy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes!" you nodded, whining and writhing beneath him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Please." As you begged, Azriel grinned down at you, his eyes gleaming with pride and a hint of sadism. He obliged, picking up his pace and slamming into you with almost brutal force. His fingers dug into the skin of your ass, leaving bruises in their wake. "I own that pretty little cunt, don't I?" he snarled, eyebrows pinched as he fucked into you."Yes. Yours, it belongs to you," you panted.

"You're so fucking tight and perfect. I could do this all day and never tire of it," he groaned, fucking you harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, blending with your desperate moans.

"What's stopping you?" you mewled, bouncing back the question. "Because of my brother? Because my brother, your High Lord, is also your best friend? Because you don't want him to know that you're fucking his little sister?"

"Fuck, you are a brat," he growled. His hand quickly snapped up from your ass to grip your chin, tilting your head back. "You want me to keep fucking you?" When you whimpered, he gave you a mocking laugh. "Thought so. Then you better behave." You whimpered again, nodding as best you could with his firm grip on your chin. Azriel's smirk grew, a dark promise in his eyes. He released your chin only to grip your hips with both hands, pulling you against him with each powerful thrust. "Good girl," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "You know how to behave for me, don't you?"

"Yes, Azriel," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you. "I'll be good for you."He grunted in approval, his pace unrelenting. The relentless rhythm had you teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body igniting with pleasure. His cock hit all the right spots, and the room filled with the symphony of your moans and his growls.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you whimpered, the words tumbling out between gasps. "Only yours, Azriel."

His response was a deep, satisfied groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove deeper. The intensity of his thrusts had you crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. "Cum for me," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you cum around my cock."

The demand pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out his name, your body tightening around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Azriel didn't relent, prolonging your ecstasy with each precise, powerful thrust. He watched you intently, reveling in the sight of your pleasure. As you came down from your high, he let out a low growl, his own release nearing.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his pace becoming erratic. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine in every way."

You moaned at his words, your body still trembling as you felt him tense. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his release flooding your senses. He groaned your name, his hands gripping your hips as he rode out his orgasm.

As the intensity subsided, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath.

Azriel lifted his head, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, a tender smile playing on his lips.

You smiled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Good," you teased lightly, your voice still breathless. "Because you do the same to me."

He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he murmured, his tone filled with affection. As you basked in the afterglow, enjoying the closeness of Azriel's embrace, a sudden shout pierced the air, causing you both to freeze.

"Where are you, you sneaky bastard?" Cassian's voice echoed through the library, filled with mischief and determination. Panic surged through you, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you realized the precariousness of your situation. With a frantic glance at Azriel, you both sprang into action, scrambling to compose yourselves and hide the evidence of your tryst.

Azriel's eyes widened with urgency as he helped you straighten your disheveled dress, his movements quick and efficient. You shared a silent, desperate exchange, a mix of amusement and apprehension flickering between you. With practiced ease, you both managed to arrange yourselves just in time, assuming casual positions as Cassian burst into the library, his grin widening as he caught sight of you.

"There you are," he exclaimed, bounding over to where you sat, completely unaware of the chaos that had just ensued. "I've been looking all over for you!" You exchanged a relieved glance with Azriel, a silent acknowledgment of the close call you had just narrowly avoided. As Cassian launched into animated conversation, his nose wrinkled slightly. "What is that smell?" he asked, glancing around with a confused expression.

You felt your cheeks heat, and you quickly deflected, grabbing a nearby book and fanning yourself as if trying to cool down. "Just some old library dust, Cass. You know how these books can get." Cassian shrugged, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, Az, Rhys wants to talk to you about the latest mission." Azriel nodded, his face perfectly composed. "Of course, I'll head over now."

As Cassian turned to lead the way, Azriel caught your eye and sent you a sneaky smirk and a quick wink, making your heart flutter. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, the thrill of your secret adding an extra layer of excitement. With a final smile, Azriel followed Cassian out of the library, leaving you to catch your breath and savor the memory of your passionate encounter.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

Feedback is always appreciated and welcome. Also pls feel free to slide into my inbox and talk. I'd really enjoy building up their universe because I'm a sucker for Azriel x Rhys!Sister Reader. The whole dating your brother's best friend trope always gets me and I have soooo many headcanons for them already lol!!

[elizaleclerc]

How I love your writing so much! 😭 I saw that you are taking requests / ideas so maybe something of Charles x famous singer reader where they break up and everyone kinda thinks he broke up with reader or it was just a mutual breakup but then reader comes out with a song similar to midnight rain by Taylor swift and ppl piece the pieces together + the lyrics and kinda realize that Charles proposed and reader said no. Just something angsty and with Charles and reader they tried remaining friends but obvi are still in love with reader just isn’t ready for such a commitment. Thank you and love u 😭

tysm for this amazing request xoxo

float in your orbit 🪐

charles leclerc x reader

summary: famous fem singer!reader releases music about her surprising breakup with long term partner charles leclerc

songs: i can do it with a broken heart by t.swift , this is me trying by t.swift , wildflower by b.eilish , champagne problems by t.swift , chloe or sam or sophia or marcus by t.swift :)

author's note: ahhhh my first request!!!! the topic is right up my alley i love love love it. hope u love it too <3 plenty of angst ahead for u x

word count: 2k

With a heavy heart, your fingers traced the same piano note over and over again. The sound was monotonous, a stark contrast to the busy and lively world of your recent world tour. Now, back in your New York City apartment, life seemed dull and uneventful. It was even more glum now that you were alone, with no one to share your thoughts and experiences with.

You sat hunched over the piano, staring at the black and white keys in front of you. Your eyes had a distant glare, as if lost in a deep and melancholic reverie. The city sounds outside seemed muted and far away, as your mind was stuck on pause. Every memory felt like it was on repeat, playing over and over again.

In this moment of isolation, all you could do was sit and reflect on the ups and downs of your career, the highs and lows of fame. The emptiness inside seemed to grow with each passing moment, until it consumed your whole being. You were trapped in a bubble of loneliness, yearning for human connection but unable to break free from the walls surrounding you.

Charles had been your partner for five years. When you were first rising to stardom in the music world, you received an invitation to perform the national anthem at a prestigious Formula One race. As you stood on the track, your heart pounding with nerves and excitement, you caught sight of Charles, one of the esteemed drivers. The connection between you was immediate, a spark of recognition and attraction that lit up the air around you like fireworks. In that moment, you knew that love at first sight wasn't just an empty phrase, but a tangible reality. You could feel it deep within your bones, a warmth spreading through your body that told you this was meant to be.

A deep ache, like a heavy weight, settled in your chest as silent tears fell down your cheek. The emotions swirled and collided inside of you - sadness, hurt, anger, and betrayal all jostling for dominance. Despite both of your chaotic schedules, especially with your tour this year, you had always made sure to prioritize spending time together whenever possible. But during the last month of your tour is when things fell apart.

It was like a sudden storm had swept in, tearing down everything you thought was stable and secure. At first, it was hard to even process what was happening. The shock and confusion were overwhelming, making it difficult to make sense of the situation. But as time passed, the anger and betrayal only grew stronger, raging like a wildfire inside of you. You released a new song two weeks after the split, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart. 

The media went into a frenzy. Fans from both you and Charles speculated on the recent events, but the lyrics in the song were simple and undeniable - Charles had ended things with you. You couldn't help but worry about the hate he must've been receiving, especially since the two of you hadn't spoken since the night everything fell apart. And to add onto the chaos, you still had a tour to finish, forcing a smile and putting on a brave face for the fans that had no idea of the turmoil within.

Being on tour was a necessary distraction, a way to keep your mind off of things. Yet as you lay in yet another unfamiliar hotel room, the same thoughts still haunted you. The rooms all looked different, but they were all characterized by the same sterile and impersonal feeling. The only thing that used to make them feel like home was the sound of Charles' voice on the phone. You would talk for hours, often until you drifted off to sleep, so even though you were physically alone, you never felt truly lonely.

Despite releasing a new single, the public still didn't have the full story of what happened between the two of you, and why you had broken up. With Charles choosing to remain silent in the media, you were left to navigate through it all on your own. It was a daunting task, trying to piece together your relationship and figure out where it went wrong without any input from him. But you refused to let his silence define your story.

Throughout your life, anxiety had been a constant shadow, lurking around every corner and following you wherever you went. It wasn't until a year ago that you finally sought help and medication for it. During this time of struggle, Charles was your unwavering rock, always there to hold you up and support you. Relationships in general were uncharted territory for you when you first met Charles, and the unknown of it all scared you most.

But as the months went by, he became your confidant, someone with whom you could share your deepest worries and fears during those late night conversations. He would listen with patience and understanding, easing your anxieties with his calm presence.

Yet when fate intervened and pushed him away from you, he was not as accommodating as you had hoped. You couldn't blame him entirely, but the void left by his absence consumed you more with each passing day. In an attempt to express all that you felt and lost, you turned to your songs as a means of communication – letting the lyrics speak for your heartache and longing.

In your next release, an EP of four songs would be put out into the world, the lyrics explaining everything. In the week after the release, fans had put all of the pieces of the puzzle together. You spent the hours scouring social media reading the analysis of your relationship, all of it correct but nevertheless heartbreaking. 

~

One particular post analyzed the meaning of the four songs perfectly:

this is me trying: This song is the beginning of the end. Y/N is clearly struggling mentally and is pleading to be understood that they are simply doing the best that they can do. It is a desperate call for affection and is riddled with self doubt. After such a long relationship, Charles could have begun to crack, and Y/N is trying to keep it all together. 

wildflower: This is clearly about Charles’s past girlfriend. He dated her for many years, and was speculated to be one of Y/N’s friends. The lyrics depict her struggling to get past the thought that Charles is actually over his old girlfriend, and she feels terrible about “betraying” her to date Charles. Further in the song the lyrics showcase that Charles clearly loves Y/N, but again her internal battle prohibits her from seeing the truth in their relationship as things seem to break further. 

champagne problems: This is the breaking point. Shocking to fans everywhere, this song reveals that Charles proposed to Y/N, but due to her already detailed mental struggles and anxieties, the commitment was too much for her to bear. The melody and lyrics are filled with regret and a tinge of shame for not being able to commit to Charles, no matter how much she loved him and vice versa. 

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: The aftermath of it all, she details that even though she cannot commit to marriage with Charles she still loves him deeply and wishes that they could still be together. This caused fans to piece together that after she said no to the proposal, Charles ultimately cut things off.

~

With misty eyes, you read the post that brought back a flood of memories. The night he proposed in Monaco, the city where your love had blossomed and thrived, was etched in your mind with crystal clarity. In your shared apartment, tucked away from the bustling streets, the two of you had a private and intimate dinner that would change your lives forever. Warm flickering candles cast a soft glow over the dining room, while rose petals adorned the table and floor.

Despite being in the comfort of your own home, you both dressed to impress, savoring this rare moment when it was just the two of you. "You look absolutely stunning, mon chéri," he whispered as he gazed at you with adoration, making you feel like the most special woman on Earth. Every detail of that night was ingrained in your heart and soul, a cherished memory that would never fade.

Your hand rested on the white tablecloth, and he gently placed his on top. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through your body. "Thank you, love," you murmured before he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand. As the night went on, you caught up on each other's lives - him excitedly sharing about his latest Formula One race while you reminisced about your past tour experiences. But as the dinner neared its end, you noticed his fidgeting and asked him if he was okay. Suddenly, he stood up from his chair and sunk down on one knee next to you. Your heart skipped a beat, and everything seemed to slow down as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Mon amour, I don’t want to spend another day without calling you my wife. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I want to spend the rest of it loving you and giving you the world. Will you marry me?” 

Your throat constricted as sweat formed on your palms. The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen - not here, not now. Marriage was never a topic of conversation between you and Charles, but suddenly it felt like an inevitable future staring you in the face at this dinner table. You weren't ready for this.

“I don’t- I can’t-” 

~

Your fingers moved deftly across the ivory keys of your piano, playing the familiar beginning chords of "Champagne Problems." Tears continued to fall down your cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. Memories flooded your mind as you played, memories of a love once strong and unbreakable.

But now, as you sat alone in the dimly lit room, you couldn't help but feel the weight of that love slipping away. You missed him with every fiber of your being. You yearned for his cheeky smile and the way his crystal eyes sparkled when he looked at you. The memory of his messy bed head first thing in the morning made you ache with longing.

The thought of living without him was unbearable. You longed for his laughter, how he would throw his head back and let out a hearty sound that always filled you with joy. You could almost see his nose crinkle in amusement at a bad joke, just as it always did.

And oh, how you missed those moments when he would wear his glasses, simply because he knew how much you loved the way he looked in them. You could picture him now, standing before you with that charming grin and those frames perched on his nose.

But now they were only memories, and you were left to play out this heartache through the melody of your piano.

The realization hit like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you. You couldn't fathom the idea of moving on from this moment, it was too pivotal, too raw. With a sudden surge of energy, you leapt up from your seat at the piano and frantically searched for your phone among the scattered sheet music and empty coffee cups. Your fingers flew over the keys as you dialed the number you knew by heart, each digit a familiar melody in your mind.

One ring, and he picked up.

[teyamskxawng]

Rite of Passage

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

The rundown: You and Lo'ak mutually agree to paint each other for your coming of age ceremony. Although you're both growing older, some things never change.

Warnings: language, Reader and Lo'ak being painfully oblivious, Reader swearing up and down that she hates Lo’ak’s hands but she really loves them, just lots of fluff and stupidity, characters are aged up

WC: 5.5k

A/N: This was my attempt at writing a light-hearted lil fic that I don’t feel obligated to stretch out into a series. It's basically word vomit idrk how I feel about it, but anyways!! Another one for the Lo’ak lovers (me) lol <333

The highly anticipated season had finally come around once again—the annual, collective moment in which the entire Omaticaya clan came together to celebrate the time-honored induction of their youth into the world of adulthood. Over the course of several grueling months, the young Na'vi had been put through their paces, overcoming demanding rites of passage and thus earning their coveted standing within the tribe.

The lively and uproarious ceremony was more than just a celebration. It signified a crucial stepping stone in the journey toward becoming accomplished members of the Na'vi society. And this year, Lo’ak found himself among those transitioning from childhood into adulthood, moving one step closer to joining the ranks of his higher-ups.

He’d finally be treated like an adult, he’d finally get to exercise free will outside of his parents' strict and demanding orders. He’d get to celebrate with all of his warrior friends and probably consume way more drinks than he should, but that was all part of the adventure. He’d be a free man, and he couldn’t fucking wait. 

But as thrilling as the entire experience was panning out to be, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind—something that clouded his thoughts like a veil of unease.

It was customary for each young Na’vi to be adorned with intricate body paint before attending the celebration—a powerful symbol that represented their transformation from childhood into adulthood. It was akin to casting off one’s previous life and stepping into a new, mature version of themselves.

Each unique design would act as a shroud, allowing the individual to leave behind their former innocence and emerge reborn, strong and prepared for all of life’s challenges.

While most of his peers had already secured mentors, close friends, or even lovers to skillfully adorn their bodies with intricately painted designs for the ceremony weeks before its commencement, Lo’ak had nothing. Despite all his accomplishments thus far, he’d yet to find someone to help him present himself in a manner conducive to the age-old tradition. Which was a big problem.

Lo’ak had been struggling with the idea of asking you to paint him for the upcoming ceremony for weeks on end. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he just couldn’t figure out how to approach such a delicate yet meaningful conversation with you. Embarrassingly, he found himself losing sleep over it all, tossing and turning in his hammock, replaying scenarios in his head, trying to find the right words that didn't seem to exist.

You and Lo’ak shared practically every experience and milestone throughout your lives together. You went through the same rites of passage as Lo’ak to be welcomed into the tribe as warriors. Given your close bond, it was natural that Lo’ak would want to be the one to paint you for the ceremony as well. Unfortunately, just as with asking you, he stumbled when it came to bringing up the actual topic. It was going beyond the casual interaction of friends—this was a formal event, steeped in tradition and significance. The whole situation left him feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety. 

But still, Lo’ak understood the weight of the tradition: it was all about deep connections and honoring those who had played an essential role in your life. Last year, he recalled watching Kiri as she painted Neteyam for his coming-of-age ceremony. As per tradition, this year Neteyam painted Kiri, a symbol of their familial bond and reciprocal support. It made sense, but at the same time, there went two of his potential options. Tuk was way too young to know what she was doing, and it’d just be straight-up embarrassing to have to ask either of his parents to do it for him. That would defeat the purpose of the entire ceremony; he was supposed to be an adult now, no longer reliant on his parents.

There was no doubt in Lo’ak’s mind that you’d be the perfect partner for the adornment process. You weren’t just a passing acquaintance; you were one of Lo’ak’s closest friends. Your friendship was strong enough to withstand the toughest storms. But still, Lo'ak couldn't shake the feeling that asking to paint each other would somehow cross a line between friendship and something much more intimate. It’d be embarrassing. And what if you had chosen someone else already? What if it was some other guy? Lo’ak’s stomach dropped at the thought.

And now, as the day of the ceremony had arrived, Lo’ak found that he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about the painting ritual. His anxiety mounted as time slipped through his fingers like sand. He was so screwed.

As you approached the Sully family’s tent, the faint sound of metal slicing through the air caught your attention. A knot of unease tightened in your chest as you hesitantly pulled back the tent’s entrance, revealing Lo’ak sitting alone in the dimly lit space. He was cross-legged on the ground, wholly engrossed in spinning his dagger in circles on the floor, his quick fingers directing its every move. As used to his stupidly reckless behavior as you were from years of friendship, your eyes still narrowed at the sight. You swore he was two seconds away from slicing his finger off and bleeding out right there in front of you before the ceremony even began.

So much for his adulthood.

Lo’ak’s ears twitched, and his trance-like concentration suddenly broke as he sensed your presence, his focused expression softening as he turned his gaze to meet yours. Momentarily distracted from his dagger, he rose to greet you, meeting your eyes with a look of genuine confusion.

Lo’ak eyed you up and down before stating matter-of-factly, “You’re not painted for the ceremony yet?” He didn’t phrase it like a question—more like an observation. And that was a little unfair, because it wasn’t like he was dressed in his body paint either.

Feeling a tad defensive, you retorted, “Neither are you,” as you made your way deeper into the heart of the tent. As much as his words had sparked annoyance in you, a secret wave of relief washed over you as you realized that Lo’ak wasn’t ready for the ceremony either. That could mean good news: maybe he hadn’t found a partner for the painting ritual yet.

There was still hope.

For days, you’d been meaning to ask Lo’ak about the whole rite of passage painting thing, but every time an opportunity presented itself, you’d back out like a little bitch. You honestly didn’t even know why you hesitated. It shouldn’t have been difficult to approach him about it. Lo’ak had always been your closest friend—you’d trained together, learned to tame your ikran together, and even completed your Uniltaron one after the other. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d agree to be your partner for the significant culmination of everything you’d accomplished together. It was just that the entire ordeal of getting someone—a good friend or otherwise—to meticulously rub paint all over your body felt so… affectionate. You and Lo’ak weren’t affectionate. Just thinking about it made you feel like there was a cascade of woodsprites flurrying around in your stomach.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of those persistent thoughts, when Lo’ak’s voice invaded your musings.

“Yeah, I don’t know who’s gonna paint me. Haven’t had time to ask anyone yet,” he said nonchalantly while reaching down to retrieve and re-stow his dagger.

He was avoiding eye contact, his yellow eyes aimlessly darting around the tent. You found it hard not to roll your eyes at him because it was so obvious he was lying about being too busy. You’d literally just caught him goofing around with an entire weapon moments ago. However, it didn’t really come as a shock that Lo’ak hadn’t approached anyone about it yet. Social graces weren’t his strong suit, and mustering up the courage to ask anyone to play such a role in his rite of passage couldn’t have been easy for him.

But still. Either way, you made up your mind; it was clear that things needed to move forward somehow. Regardless of the situation and awkward challenges it presented, you couldn’t sit idly by anymore; both of you were running out of time, and it’d be stupid to continue dancing around the matter at hand.

Resolutely, you decided it was best just to be upfront about it and get the whole thing settled once and for all—for both of your sakes and for the sake of friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as it seemed.

“Okay. I’ll do you, and then you can do me,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips without any real finesse. It was as if the sooner you could get those words out, the sooner you could escape the oncoming wave of embarrassment threatening to wash over you.

However, Lo’ak’s reaction caught you off guard.

His eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows shot upward as he averted his gaze from yours. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his attention inexplicably drawn to an unremarkable spot on the ground near your feet. You scrunched your face up in confusion as you tried to make sense of his bizarre reaction. It wasn’t until you gave yourself a moment to process and then reprocess the words that had spilled from your lips, that you realized how they might have sounded to Lo’ak’s stupid teenage boy brain.

Trying to push away your own mortification and distract the both of you from the burning color that you were sure was spreading across your face, you acted on instinct, reaching over and smacking Lo’ak upside the back of his head. It was a necessary move to kill the dreadful silence that engulfed the tent.

“Ow! The fuck?” Lo’ak screeched, nursing the spot where you struck him as if he had genuinely been injured. He had always been overly dramatic.

“Just sit down,” you told him, trying your best to maintain a casual demeanor.

Despite the twinge of awkwardness still lingering in the air between both of you, you firmly gripped Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him back down into a sitting position on the floor. With Lo’ak seated and somewhat calmer now—even if he was still rubbing at the supposed wound on his head—you made your way deeper into the tent to rummage for the supplies needed for the body paint.

Jake and Neytiri were always well-prepared, making sure they had an ample supply of materials for when the time came to don their traditional war paint. Thanks to the countless hours you spent with the Sully children, navigating their tent was like second nature to you, and locating the necessary items was a breeze.

With a mortar and pestle full of bright white pigment in one hand and a bowl of water in the other, you re-approached Lo’ak, who was sitting patiently, waiting for your return. As you stood there, you studied Lo’ak’s face and allowed your gaze to wander down his frame, trying to visualize the patterns and symbols that’d complement his warrior spirit. Eventually, feeling inspired, you took your place in front of him.

Making yourself comfortable, you positioned yourself on your knees, making use of the extra bit of height, before you reached for the mortar and pestle and meticulously ground the white pigment into a fine powder. You drizzled in a small amount of water to create a smooth paste that would soon adorn Lo’ak’s face and body.

As you mixed the paste, your thoughts began to wander. Despite your focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t ignore Lo’ak’s piercing gaze. It seemed to bore right through you.

It still baffled you just how much Lo’ak had grown in such a short amount of time—it seemed almost sudden. For as long as you could remember, you and Lo’ak had been virtually the same height. There was even a brief period during your early childhood when you stood a bit taller than him, and you never let him forget it, teasing him about it every chance you got. But now? Things were so different.

It was like Lo’ak had shot up overnight. Not only was he growing taller by the day, but he was growing stronger as well. There was no denying the obvious changes in his physique. And it wasn’t like you were trying to notice the changes. It was impossible not to see the way his arms had filled out, the way his shoulders had broadened, the way in which even the slightest movement would cause the muscles in his stomach to ripple.

Just like they were at that very moment, as Lo’ak nervously shifted under your intense scrutiny, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest.

Right, because you were definitely staring at him. You mentally chided yourself for letting your focus wander so far off course.

Swallowing hard, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. As you stirred the paint, pouring all your effort into getting the consistency just right, you tried to ignore the fact that the once-casual atmosphere between you and Lo’ak was now laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.

Out of nowhere, Lo’ak abruptly asked, “Is it gonna be cold?” His question caught your attention, and in a way, you were grateful for the sudden interruption. Your mind had been racing with thoughts of how you’d manage to paint any area below Lo’ak’s shoulders. But you decided to cross that bridge when you reached it.

“You tell me,” you quipped in response, placing the mortar filled with paint on the ground beside you. You dipped each of the fingers on your left hand into the paint, discovering that it was indeed really cold. You did the same with your right hand before lifting both sets of paint-covered fingers toward Lo’ak’s waiting face, wondering how the hell you were supposed to begin.

Truthfully, you hadn’t come up with any elaborate painting patterns or designs in preparation for the moment, which was somewhat concerning. The entire ceremony was meant to be personal and special, something that required contemplation and reflection for at least a few days before actually starting the painting process. Yet there you were, just 30 minutes away from the start of the ceremony, and not a single thought in your brain.

Despite your lack of planning, Lo’ak was calmly sitting right in front of you with his full trust placed squarely in your hands. So, without any further hesitation or delay, you decided to just dive in and let inspiration (and the trust of Eywa) guide your hands.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pressed your fingers to the edges of Lo’ak’s eyebrows before slowly trailing them across his forehead and then swooping them down along the bridge of his nose. You tried very hard not to laugh at the way Lo’ak flinched from the sensation of the cold paint touching his skin.

Momentarily, you took a step back to assess your progress and decided that it didn’t look half bad. The realization fueled your enthusiasm enough to continue painting. Coating your fingers in the paint once more, you continued to glide them confidently over the smooth contours of Lo’ak’s cheeks in swift strokes.

As you neared completion, you observed that all that remained unpainted on his face were his lips. They looked strangely bare. You weren’t really sure whether they were supposed to be painted or not. But the idea of touching Lo’ak’s lips, even just with your fingers, caused your heart to pound erratically within your chest. It was so bad that you were contemplating just backing out and moving on to the next part.

But just when you were about to give up and move on, unintentionally, your eyes met Lo’ak’s. It seemed as though he was reading your mind; he knew exactly what you were thinking as he studied you intently. There was no turning back; he had already noticed your hesitation.

Trying to maintain focus on the art and not let yourself become overwhelmed by how close you were seated across from Lo’ak proved challenging. You could practically feel the soft warmth of his exhaled breaths as they caressed your face. It made your spine tingle and caused goosebumps to rise across your arms.

“Close your mouth,” you ordered firmly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air. He obeyed, immediately pressing his lips together with exaggerated swiftness. With a soft smile, you slowly raised both of your hands to his mouth. You gently placed two painted fingers on his mouth and traced them down his lips. From there, your fingers continued their journey along the curve of his jawline.

Taking another dip in the paint, you allowed your gaze to wander across the entirety of Lo’ak’s unpainted body. With your internal pep talk in place, you decided to just dive in. Maybe if you did it casually enough, everything would be fine. You softly nudged Lo’ak’s crossed arms apart with the backs of your hands. Your fingertips began their descent from the sides of his neck and moved deliberately across the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Silently reassuring yourself that it was nothing more than your overactive imagination when Lo’ak ever-so-slightly shivered under your touch, you diligently tried to make things move along as quickly as possible. Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you adorned his shoulders with bold, white swirls that seemed to dance and move on their own.

Gradually moving further along his muscular form, you traced delicate lines that wrapped around each sculpted bulge of his biceps and along the contours of his forearms.

As your focus moved even lower, you took note of your favorite part of his body: Lo’ak’s uniquely impressive four-fingered hands. Upon reaching each digit one at a time, you spread long white lines down their length with seemingly natural precision. You let your instincts take over as you continued to create patterns and shapes on his skin, fully immersed in the fluidity of your motions.

You decided to save his chest for the very end, knowing just how awkward that part of the process was going to be—and truth be told, you really wanted to delay the moment for as long as possible. The silence within the tent was almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but send a silent prayer to Eywa, hoping with all your might that your hands would remain steady and not betray your mounting anxiety.

Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you hesitantly approached Lo’ak’s chest. You were doing everything in your power to avoid making eye contact and ignore how tense his entire body was. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves, you quickly drew a series of intricate loops across each of his pectorals and then traced symmetrical lines down the center of his chest. Those lines continued, gracefully curving around the sides of his ribcage.

With every passing moment, it felt like the two of you were collectively holding your breath, neither wanting to break the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around you. 

Concerned for both your well-being and your sanity, you decided it’d be best to wrap up that part of the painting process as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until then that you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You exchanged an awkward glance with Lo’ak, silently affirming the palpable tension surrounding you.

“Okay. I’m done,” you announced, gently sliding the container of paint toward Lo’ak. You dipped your fingers into the nearby bowl of water, absentmindedly scrubbing away traces of the drying paint, which turned the water a cloudy shade of white. Your words acted like an instant wake-up call, abruptly jolting Lo’ak back to reality from his trance.

His focus had been so intense while you painted patterns across his chest that he inadvertently stopped breathing altogether. The sudden, sharp inhale that followed the sound of your voice served as evidence of that fact. That realization was enough to make you lose your own composure—just a tad.

You made a half-assed attempt at suppressing the grin that threatened to break past your lips, so you weren’t really surprised when Lo’ak extended his arm and slowly began to tug the bowl of paint toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The seemingly innocent yet still very suspicious act instantly put you on high alert. All you could do was watch in horror as Lo’ak suddenly immersed his entire hand into the paint. Your eyes widened in fear as he slowly lifted his paint-covered hand and began to edge closer to you, moving the dripping monstrosity in the direction of your face.

“Wait. Lo’ak, wait!” you warned, frantically shaking your head in an attempt to dissuade him from what you already knew would be an outrageously idiotic plan.

A glob of paint dripped from his saturated hand onto the floor between the two of you. You warily watched its continued pooling descent, leaving a bright splatter of paint on the ground that Neytiri would definitely kill you both for making.

“Just trust me, y/n,” Lo’ak insisted, the stupid grin on his face somehow both charming and alarming at the same time. It was more of the latter. You absolutely didn’t trust him.

“Lo’ak. Don’t you dare...” you began, your voice wavering and your ears flattening against your skull in weary anticipation.

But Lo’ak was undeterred by your protests. They only motivated him further. Barely giving you enough time to shut your eyes and mouth, he guided his entire paint-coated hand onto your face. The combination of the cold paint and the warmth from his hand sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you pressed your hands on the ground beside you, every fiber of your being screaming for you to get up and run. Far, far away from him.

However, Lo’ak wasn’t about to let that happen so easily. Somehow anticipating your attempt to recoil away from him, he brought up his other hand to secure the back of your head, making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. You sputtered loudly at the sensation of being literally smothered, and of course, nothing on Pandora could’ve stopped Lo’ak from laughing uproariously at your suffering.

“Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it,” Lo’ak tried to sternly warn you while unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. He clearly found it all very amusing.

You couldn’t fucking breathe. You tried to communicate as much to Lo’ak, but you were sure your words sounded like nothing more than a strangled garble of sounds.

Eventually, Lo’ak seemed to take pity on you and lifted his paint-covered hand away from your face. You instantly gasped for air, finally unencumbered by his prolonged attempt at suffocating you to death. However, your relief was short-lived as you tasted the bitter, acrid flavor of paint on your tongue.

“You got it in my mouth, dumbass!” You complained with a groan, making sure not to swallow anything. Your disdainful tone only seemed to delight Lo’ak further.

“No one told you to eat it,” Lo’ak retorted with a dismissive snort. He was walking that thin line between playful banter and genuine ire. You could seriously kill him.

You narrowed your eyes at the little shit in front of you and desperately tried to rid yourself of the unpleasant taste by frantically licking at your arm. You probably looked completely unhinged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Lo’ak made a face at your display, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Left with no other option, you did what any sane person who was minutes away from being welcomed into adulthood would do—stick your now paint-covered and saliva-slicked arm out toward Lo’ak’s incredulous face. His shock and horror at the development were priceless.

Lo’ak barely had time to react as you swiftly thrust your arm toward him, but his lightning-fast reflexes won out in the end. Always one step ahead, Lo’ak knew you and all of your little tricks too well. It was like he could read your mind. In the blink of an eye, he was already crossing half of the tent in a mad dash. He backed away from you with his hands raised defensively in front of him, like someone facing an untamed beast.

“Chill…we don’t have to do this,” Lo’ak cautiously pleaded with a slow shake of his head, his tone dripping in a mix of seriousness and amusement.

But you were undeterred. “Yes we do,” you deadpanned determinedly and slowly continued advancing on Lo’ak, coercing him to move toward the back of the tent. Your eyes never left his, maintaining a fierce stare as the situation continued to escalate.

Without warning, you lunged at him like a predator going for its prey, stretching your arm out in eager anticipation. It was so close—just inches away from Lo’ak’s face—but he was quick to react once more. He grabbed hold of your biceps with an iron grip, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but hiss at him in frustration, feeling utterly defeated by the massive strength disparity between the two of you.

Lo’ak’s eyes locked onto yours for a split second before focusing on another target: your mouth. His expression changed from one of caution to sheer amusement as he caught sight of something peculiar—and apparently hilarious—about the sight.

His grin stretched ear to ear, nearly swallowing his entire face, as he blurted out, “Oh shit. Your entire tongue is white!”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your eyes immediately widened with alarm. Because it definitely couldn’t be safe to consume paint. There could’ve been poison coursing through your veins at that very moment, making every passing second one closer to your tragic demise, all thanks to Lo’ak and his stupid hand. 

But despite your mounting panic, Lo'ak remained utterly unfazed. He obviously found the situation amusing, as evidenced by the way he wasn’t even trying to suppress his unbridled laughter.

“One night,” you vowed through gritted teeth, “I swear I’m going to sneak into your tent and cut every single braid off of your head in your sleep.” The more you thought about it, the more serious the idea became in your mind.

Lo’ak merely tilted his head, and an annoyingly attractive grin stretched across his face. “Oh, yeah?” He taunted, vehemently nodding his head along with what he knew was just another one of your faux threats. “And then what are you gonna do?”

As he spoke, Lo’ak tightened his grip on your arms—a bittersweet reminder that he was well aware you weren’t going to do shit to him in his sleep.

You eyed the unpainted underside of Lo’ak’s forearm, which rested directly in front of your face, and a childishly impulsive urge overwhelmed you. Without giving it much thought, you leaned in and licked a long, wet, white stripe along the length of his arm. The unexpected action elicited a shrieked “Bro!” from Lo’ak, who could only blink at the sight of your tongue, still pressed to his now-slobbery arm, in disbelief. You reveled in his reaction to your sudden move, despite how immature it might’ve been. He deserved it, and you had no regrets.

However, as fate would have it, the impromptu moment coincided precisely with the return of the entire Sully family to their home as they prepared for the upcoming ceremony. Jake and Neytiri led the way in, followed closely by Neteyam, Kiri, and Tuk. All of them. The five family members entered the tent one by one, each grinding to a halt as they caught sight of you and Lo’ak’s odd exchange in the far corner.

A few beats passed as everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between you two. The silence was palpable, and the tension continued to rise like an invisible fog that filled every corner of the tent. It finally dawned on you that it'd probably be a good idea to remove your tongue from Lo’ak’s arm.

Taking matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, your tongue—you gingerly began to distance yourself from Lo’ak. You took a cautious step sideways, followed by another one, making sure there was a healthy amount of space between you both. You hoped that would somewhat defuse the situation while also giving off the impression that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—though it was clear you weren’t fooling anyone present.

The awkwardness still hung heavily in the air as each second felt like an eternity passing by. You could only imagine what thoughts and judgments must be running through everyone’s minds.

The silence in the tent was so profound that you could probably make out the gentle sound of a leaf falling from a tree outside if you really tried. The quiet was unsettling. It made your fingers itch. You found yourself tucking your hair behind your ears, trying to find some purpose for your idle hands instead of having them dangle awkwardly at your sides.

Opposite you, Kiri tried to conceal her knowing grin behind one of her hands. As to what she knew that you didn’t, you were utterly clueless. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by her expression. Similarly, Neteyam chewing on the inside of his cheek in an uncharacteristic effort to maintain his composure did little to alleviate your discomfort.

It wasn’t long before Tuk broke the silence with a question, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Is that a handprint on your face?” she innocently asked, pointing a tiny finger at what was definitely a handprint on your face.

Five sets of curious yellow eyes darted back and forth between your face, Lo’ak’s conspicuously stained white hand, and the matching white handprint wrapped entirely around your arm. Feeling their collective gaze upon you, you decided that you weren’t even going to try to talk your way out of the situation. “Yeah. It is.”

Without missing a beat, Neytiri swiftly turned her attention towards her youngest son as she hissed out his name: “Lo’ak.”

And thank Eywa for that. At least somebody had your back.

Lo’ak’s voice tended to reach an almost comical high-pitched tone whenever he was aware that he had done something wrong, and this occasion proved to be no exception. He glanced over at you with equal parts guilt and defensiveness in his wide eyes.

“It looks cool, though!” He insisted, trying to justify his actions. He waved his hand close to your face, as if the gesture held the power to magnify his point and erase any doubt you might have had. You squinted at the offending white hand hovering in front of your face before hastily swatting it away as if it were an annoying little bug.

Lo’ak grinned in delight at your visibly pissed-off demeanor, which only seemed to fuel his determination to get under your skin. He appeared to forget all about the looming presence of his entire family as he defiantly stuck his hand back in front of your face. And you were not about to let that happen again. You were probably going to have nightmares about his hand. Pivoting toward Lo’ak, you shoved him away from you, probably a little harder than necessary, judging by the way he stumbled a few steps to the side from the force of it all. But he was laughing as he re-straightened, not at all deterred by your outward hostility.

It was mostly feigned, anyway.

Neytiri watched the exchange between you two with amused exasperation, her eyes twinkling despite her best efforts to remain stern. She let out a soft ‘tsk’ as she shook her head, unable to fully suppress the tiny smile that crept onto her face. She reached down to gently grasp Tuk’s hand before leading the child further into the tent.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to maintain what little patience he had left. Jake would always throw that foreign word around whenever you and Lo’ak were together, but you still had no idea what it actually meant. “Just—finish up, alright?” He threw an exasperated look toward you and Lo’ak. “No more shenanigans. We’re leaving in ten.”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak mumbled, his expression a mixture of mischief and feigned seriousness. He waited until Jake and the rest of his family were out of earshot before turning back to you.

“It looks cool,” he said again, his face breaking into a genuine, broad smile as he stepped back to take in the masterpiece he had just created. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the intricate design of his handprint that adorned your face. Giving himself a little nod of satisfaction, he crouched down to pick up the paint once more, eager to continue where he had left off.

You couldn’t see your own face, of course. But secretly, you had to agree that it probably did look kind of cool. You’d never openly admit that to him, though. There was no need to inflate his ego any further. Still, deep down, you knew you'd be proudly sporting your best friend's four-fingered handprint at the coming-of-age ceremony that evening. To you, it symbolized the unbreakable bond you both shared.

From his seated position on the floor, Lo’ak’s eyes rose to your face, a single brow raising in amused confusion at your idle form. Dismissing his reaction with a shake of your head, you couldn't prevent the warm smile from stretching across your lips as you settled back down in front of Lo'ak.

end

[bkchaos]

Credit to @jasminem18 for giving the wonderful idea of some angst between Xeno and Exe in my au, which is the inspiration behind this sketchy comic done in a teary eyed delirium!

I had never intended to pair them together as more than bros but Jas, ough, you tempt me....

As consequence, have this writing :']

cw// bit of body horror mentioned (related to Xeno's crystals), hurt/comfort

"I'm sorry!" Xeno cried out, voice cracking as emotion overwhelmed him. Regret, guilt, terror—each felt like an iron cord wrapped around his throat, choking every ragged breath he took. Tears streamed down his face. His chest seized with each step Exe took away from him. His skin ached as more crystals tore through, slowly creeping out.

"Please."

His legs could hardly move. Stumbling forward, he shakily reached out for his dearest friend's hand.

"Please, Exe, please..."

Xeno never had a problem with Exe's muteness. He had never wanted to force him to speak for any reason, and he was perfectly content to sign back and forth their usual jokes and gossip...but now? He silently begged for a word. Something, anything, just turn around—!

No.

Xeno froze.

No. No!

Slowly, his head turned up to stare up at Exe looming over him. His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, as did his hands that trembled at his sides. Fury and hate were written across his features—and rightfully so, Xeno thought—but what hurt the most were the pained tears that rolled down Exe's cheeks.

No! No! No! No! No! The voice, unknown yet known at the same time, screeched at Xeno who simply stared up at Exe. His dearest friend. The only person he truly, truly cared about more than anything else in the world. Exe, the one person he wholeheartedly loved yet realized only when he fucked everything up. The cacophony of screeches had little effect on Xeno, aside from a growing ringing in his ears, as he slumped to his knees with a harsh thud and crack from the crystals embedded within his knees.

His body ached. Screamed. Pain searing with the spread of crystals that tore open every pore of Xeno's skin, creeping out from their points of origin to cover every bit of his body. It rendered him immobile...He didn't want to move, anyway. He didn't know what he wanted to do except for staring up at Exe. Sitting there, thick tears pouring down his face, Xeno let the crystals consume him, welcoming the agony of his body being torn apart with hopes of it drowning out his guilt. His eyes slip shut as he feels crystals digging into his muzzle...

.

.

.

.

With a jolt, Xeno awoke.

He gasped hoarsely for a breath of air. First one, then two, and slowly he found his breathing returning as his core pounded in his chest. He lifted his head up carefully and looked at his surroundings, realizing where he was: the sofa in the shared living space of the four-man dorm. Thank fuck. He let out a relieved sigh, a hand raising to his chest as he realized Rewrite and Fleet were out now. The last thing he needed was angry or weird barging in on him slumped on the sofa with—

Startled yet again, Xeno's eyes widened at the feeling of a gentle kiss placed on his cheek.

A kiss...?

His head turned slowly to look at the source: Exe. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep that he tried to blink away, and his brows creased with concern at Xeno's state. Staring at Exe's calm face, Xeno gradually remembered why Exe and him had fallen asleep. A TV rambled on as a background noise with a film they had randomly picked out, hm...an hour or so ago based on the credits that just begin to roll. Xeno's left arm felt numb from Exe leaning against it so long while curled up into Xeno's side after their discussion where they worked things out.

Finally, a smile played on the corners of Xeno's mouth. That's right. They worked things out. Exe had come out of his room for a snack and found Xeno mindlessly sat on the sofa for the first time in a week, and his heart seized at the sight of Xeno's gauntly form slumped forward staring ahead without a focus in sight. Crystals painfully jutted from nearly every inch of his body, nearly obscuring most of his quills and fur.

Exe couldn't continue storming out as he had been doing. He came over, sat beside Xeno, remaining in unnoticed silence for a few minutes before finally shaking Xeno's knee gently to capture his attention. Exe begun to sign, but from there, Xeno's mind becomes blurry as tears well within his eyes. The details of what came pouring from his mouth are known only to Exe by this point because all Xeno remembers is apologizing over, over, and over until Exe hugged him.

With a choked chuckle, Xeno's mind returned to the present moment. He leaned forward just enough to press his nose against Exe's smaller and stubbier one, and his lip trembled as he smiled at Exe's comforting gaze. They were okay. Xeno raised a hand to softly cup Exe's cheek and paused, waiting to see if Exe would pull away.

Things would take time to heal, yet the way Exe leaned in to complete the kiss without an ounce of hesitance assured Xeno it would work out for both of them. Another bout of tears came trickling down Xeno's cheeks, though he didn't mind them this time. He let his eyes slip shut peacefully as he held Exe close, smiling happily and losing himself in the quiet bliss, while Exe's hands on Xeno's waist drew him ever closer.

What Xeno endured had been a nightmare—both literally and figuratively—but finally, he found himself awake and alright with Exe in his arms despite it all. 

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Bens Ending

Staring at Homelander’s corpse, breathing ragged, you felt a hand touch your shoulder. You turn around and see Butcher standing next to you. How is this possible? Homelander beat him within an inch of his life, at the very least he should be comatose. You see the rolled-up sleeve and track marks.

“Come on, let’s leave before others find out what happened.” Butcher goes to grab your hands and you snatch them away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/n I aint fuckin around. You just dusted Vought’s pride and joy and they’re gonna be lookin for ya. We need to leave while we can.”

“I’m not going anywhere with a liar!”

“Wha?”

“Your arm.” Butcher looks down, “You just shot up Temp-V after you promised you wouldn’t. How can I trust you if you can’t even keep your promises?”

“What else was I supposed to do y/n, I was dying! We can talk about this later.”

“We’re not talking about anything later. Bye Butcher.” You begin to walk away from Butcher but then he grabs your arm.

“You don’t get to walk away from me.”

“Is there a problem here?” Ben now at your side. You stand by Bens side, Butchers eyes narrow.

“Mind your fucking business you supe cunt.”

“Anything with y/n is my business. How many times do I have to remind you, she’s, my girl.”

“She aint your girl!” Ben stepped closer to Butcher; chest puffed out. Butcher threw the first punch and before you know it, the two men before you were brawling.

“Stop it!” You shout but it goes unnoticed. Butcher throws Ben a few feet, Ben landing on his back. Groaning, attempting to get up, Butcher places a foot on top of Bens chest.

“I always hated you, you fuckin supe cunt.” Butcher’s eyes lit up. You jumped on his back and held him in a firm chokehold.

“You leave us alone or I’ll snap your head clean off.” Butcher’s laser eyes dimmed; sadness consumed them.

“Y/n-”

“Go. Now.” You drop off Butchers back and shove him towards the door. He looks backwards as you stand over Ben in a protective stance. He then leaves.

“Are you okay?” You offer your hand to Ben in aid. He takes it.

“Yeah, thanks doll.”

*

The two of you left the boys and started life on your own. You settled down in the country, separating Ben from any possible stressors. Life seemed carefree, raising cattle and planting a small garden. Something that you’d never take Ben for, a rancher, but according to Ben, this is what real man’s work looks like. He hoped this would make his father proud of him. You’d make sure that dinner was hot and ready for him by the time he came into the house, old values die hard ya know. You didn’t mind, it was a way to show Ben that you loved him. After dinner, he’d have you for dessert.

Every night the two of you tried to fulfill Ben’s dream of becoming a father. His hope to become a better father figure than what his dad ever was to him. You never told him about your tubes being tied, and how it was nigh impossible for you to get pregnant, until one night, guilt consumed you and you told him the truth. At first Ben was understanding but then that morphed into frustration.

“You made me hope this whole time that you were gonna get pregnant.”

“I’m so sorry Ben.”

“We’ll what do we do now?”

“We can always adopt.”

“And raise some other man’s baby? No.”

“We could have use surrogate.” You explain to Ben what a surrogate is and what the process would be, and he agrees. After choosing who would be the best fit, the two of you were excited about having a baby. Over time as the baby grew, you noticed Bens’s attention was directed towards the surrogate more than you. He would visit her anytime she requested, bringing her gifts and doing things that he never did for you. You expressed your concern about his behavior and his reply was,

“What do you expect me to do, she’s growing my baby.” She’s growing our baby. Just before the baby was due, Ben moved the surrogate into the house, claiming that she needs to be supported around the clock for when the baby comes. You did not like this. One day you came home after grocery shopping and found Ben and the surrogate having sex in your shared bed. The two of you had a screaming match like no other, Ben refusing to see your side of things. You packed your bags and left the house, never looking back, and headed for the city. Your thoughts ran rampant, about Ben, about the past few months, about how things ended with you and the boys. Surely, they wouldn’t welcome you back after how you’ve left them, especially Butcher. You started to see things from Butcher point of view, he really did seem faced with only one option and that was to give himself Temp-V. As you thought more and more of what transpired in the past, had you chosen the wrong man?

The End

[wandasaura]

Ignore if this seems pushy when do you think another ep or thingy thing of yail will come out bruda

probably not soon, or ever. i finished the main parts of yail months ago and adore where i left it. it was a short little fic meant to encapsulate the growth of a relationship between wanda and natasha. the blurbs (which were really full length fics themselves because i have a problem with knowing how to shut up) were merely of my own enjoyment and to give you insight into soft moments between the three to better understand their dynamic. the most recent blurb was merely a way for me to come back to them because i’d been feeling that creative drive, but i’ve done all i really wanted to do with them, and i quite enjoy just throwing out small asks and answers when it feels right. i love seeing your thoughts and your love for the series, but i think it would damage what already exists if i went back to it full force. that being said, eventually i do plan on expanding my other universes, and writing more oneshots that don’t directly relate to any greater story. it’s daunting and time consuming and honestly just a lot to write a multi-oneshot fic, trying to keep small details straight and appease everyone who reads it because any minor detail that doesn’t align with every community is so heavily scrutinized. i will never understand why i received hate and literal threats because in one simple oneshot i used ivory as a descriptive word for duckling. so the yail universe will remain closed, but there may be instances (like christmas because im a sucker for a christmas fic) where i come back and expand just a little bit more.

also! i just think my writing style grows and changes all of the time, and i feel an immense amount of pressure to meet the standard that all of you hold yail to. if you’re familiar with my work on wattpad or ao3, you might’ve read other fics written by me, and some of them may be temporarily discontinued for the same reason. anytime i take a break from one project, whether it’s to start another one or simply because i have no direction for a new chapter, i find it incredibly hard to meet the standard i once preformed at, and im a perfectionist through and through, i analyze everything meticulously and if i don’t like the wording or the description, i delete everything until i can find what best fits the narrative ive created within my little universes. i hate reading fics that are poorly done and are riddled with inconsistencies, so i don’t ever want to give you something alike, which unfortunately means that sometimes my stories just end abruptly as a means to not damage and take away from what already exists.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Taking Time To Gaze Upon God

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+John 17:17 Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ Psalm 73:23 Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM CLOSER TO GOD 

I AM TRULY IN LOVE WITH HIM 

I AM DWELLING WITH GOD 

I AM NOT ALONE 

********************************

THOUGHTS:

=======================

   When we truly give ourselves to God, we grow closer and closer to him. He appreciates the small things when we take the time to read one verse or even a chapter and when we acknowledge his presence. We often think we are not doing much to make him happy, but he is happy with whatever we do when trying to grow in him. 

   I have the alarm set for an hour and a half so it can remind me to pray, and during this time, I ask him to forgive me. I ask him to help direct me and give me the strength to see; we must know and understand that when we dwell in his presence, we become closer because we allow ourselves a chance to connect with him on every level. God loves us so much that he adores us when we place our strength in him and rely entirely on him. 

     As we grow in him, we learn to hate what he hates and love what he loves. What does God love, and what does God hate? We will also learn to stop compromising with people about fleshly things and the fleshly things in our life; when we dwell within him, we learn that he doesn't like that we are okay with and agree to the things of this world. God wants us to grow a healthy relationship with him, and we do this by spending more and more time with him. 

  Psalm 27: 4 One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.

   That's one thing we can say about Moses and David: they dwelled in God's presence; they wanted to be consumed by him; some of us can't sit for a few minutes and be with God because we are too busy trying to go and do other things, we have to understand that growing in God means sacrificing our time and when we do we are saying to God that I want to dwell in your house and I want to gaze on you alone, Is that your goal during the day? Have you placed a time to the side to sing, talk, and give yourself to him?

 Psalm 73:23 Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.

    God desires to hold our hand to carry us through our situations, but we have to be willing to give him our hand; sometimes, we might find it scary to do this, but we can do it; we have to learn to trust our maker with everything, no he's not going to do everything we want, and no he's not going to hurt us. 

    Still, he will help us get to the level we should be on. God is going to place the situation in our lives. It's up to us to hear his voice and be led through it by him; sometimes we want to do everything by ourselves, but when we are in a relationship with someone, they will want to be there every step of the way, and that's like God he wants to be there every step of the way guiding us. He won't leave; we might ask him to, but he won't leave us to face the world and our problems alone.

  2 Corinthians 15:2 “And he went out to meet Asa and said to him, ‘Hear me, Asa, and all Judah and Benjamin: The LORD is with you while you are with him. If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will forsake you.'”

   That is precisely what he was telling Asa: I am here as long as you seek me, I can be found. I have made mistakes; we all have, but when we do, he doesn't leave us; he doesn't say this is too much. He stays and holds us together. Are you willing to stay even if he doesn't give me what I want? Are you willing to make him the head of your life even though you know he will not give you everything?

  ***Today, we learned how faithful God is to us and how he wants us to take every moment we can and connect with and grow with him. The more we spend the time we are supposed to worship God, the more we become. Closer now. This isn’t saying we won’t have problems; it’s not saying that the closer we get, all sunshine and no clouds, no my friends, this is saying we know who our protector is; God doesn’t want to be second to anyone in this world, he doesn’t want to be second to the lives we build, he desires to be included. Today, trust God with your life and plans, and know he has your best intentions!  ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

========================

PRAYER

========================

Heavenly Father, we thank you for everything; we learned that we must depend on you. Help us depend on you and trust you with everything; sometimes that’s hard to do because we have our plans, but Father, help us accept your will and continue to seek more and more of you so we can grow! Lord, give us strength to make it through this day! Please give us the strength to overlook anything trying to come between us! Lord Jesus, we thank you and bless your holy name in Jesus' Mighty Name. Amen. 

========================

REFERENCES

========================

+ Isaiah 41:13 For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”

+ Matthew 28:20 teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

+ Psalm 16:18 I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

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FURTHER READINGS

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PROVERBS 24

PHILEMON 1

PSALM 73

2 SAMUEL 20

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[tmnt-fun]

Blossoms of Betrayal: A Tale of Love and Hanahaki

When Donatello learned that he was coughing up petals, he decided to keep them to himself.

There is no reason to tell his siblings when he has everything under control! The petals hurt a little, but slowly things started to go wrong. It started to get worse, and he learned that he has a sickness that will kill him sooner than later.

The fear gets worse when he learns what caused the sickness and how to fix it.

Word count- 11,972

Day Eleven

The petals have been appearing more frequently since the first time I saw them.

After looking through a few, I discovered that they appear to be perfectly normal. If I did not already know that they originated from within me, it would be as though I had plucked them right off the plant. It appears that they are from the Lamprocapnos spectabilis, also referred to as the bleeding-heart flower. They belong to the fumitory subfamily of the poppy family and are a particular kind of flowering plant.

They are stunningly beautiful; be that as it may, their slight toxicity means that they are only beautiful to the eye, not to the touch. They cause a rash and itchiness, which I have been trying to ignore each and every time that I even breathe. That is obviously a difficult task. Water appears to soothe it, albeit temporarily.

It makes me shiver and causes a very annoying restlessness, making it difficult for me to even type this. I believe I have yet to face the most serious problems because I have not consumed them. 

The isoquinoline alkaloids found in this type of flower can poison both animals and humans. When taken in large quantities, it can harm the liver and cause seizures in humans. Contact may cause a rash and mild skin irritation in the vast majority of people.

Because they are inside of me, I believe my esophagus and other throat tissues are suffering as a result.

It is extremely painful and inflamed. Unfortunately, the petals are causing me to have to cough quite a bit to get them out, and the rash and soreness in my throat are making it worse than it should be.

The reason these plants are growing inside of me is a mystery to me.

I have thoroughly tested my body, including my blood, and, frustratingly, everything appears to be in order. I am not sure how much longer I can keep it hidden from my siblings and our father.  Last night, I had to excuse myself from the dinner table to refill S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.'s coolant. Despite what I said earlier! Nobody pays attention to what I say. It only requires changing three times per day. Scoff!

That being said, enough of that.

Before I discuss it with my siblings or attempt to remove them myself, I would like to run a few more tests to see if there is anything else going on. I might try searching online for a few things to see if anything like this has ever been documented before. If that were the case, it would be extremely beneficial.

End of note. I will update if I find anything else out.

When Donatello finished writing, he nodded at the screen, saved it, closed the program, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the glowing screen in his darkened room.

Yes, for the last few days, he has had flowers growing inside his lungs, and he isn’t quite sure what was exactly causing that? This was very strange for him, since he knew that that plant grew in late fall or very early spring. The seeds germinate slowly, and they do require moist stratification, but... still. It seems to be something that someone would come up with rather than something that is truly possible! I mean… flowers growing inside of someone? How could that even happen? 

He sighed slowly as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. As a result of the movement, the chair creaked slightly. This was ridiculous; having flowers growing like this made no sense! He was completely perplexed and hated it so much, especially since petals kept appearing and it appeared as though they were only getting worse rather than better.

Being the brightest and most brilliant of his brothers, he disliked it greatly when he was unsure about something. He felt stupid! Despite the fact that he was well aware that he wasn't.

Donatello perked up when he heard a ringing sound, so he opened his website and smiled when he realized who was calling him at this hour—it was 2:56 AM. He would have hated it if someone had messaged him at random (and even more so if they had called him), but with this particular person, he would make an exception. An extremely rare exception.

After reaching over and hitting the answer button, he puts his hands together and places his chin on top of them. “Hello, my dearest friend other than April, Y/n, what are you calling me at this hour for?” Speaking to them, he was hoping they would not notice that his voice was a little raspy from coughing so much earlier.

Thank goodness they didn't! Or, after noticing, they chose to remain silent. They laugh at the other than April part and start to talk themselves: “Hey Donnie, hope you weren’t asleep… I called you since I couldn’t sleep myself, and I really didn’t think you would be. Was I right?” 

“Mayhaps. Would you take any action to compensate me if I were? Say, could you please bring me the cookies you made a few weeks ago? And by that, I mean, please remake the cookies and bring some to me because I really liked them the last time you brought them over."

He felt his own lips curl into a tiny smile as he heard them giggling. For whatever reason, he enjoyed hearing them laugh. It had such a lovely sound. He felt that tingling sensation in his chest once more. It was annoying that it would happen now while he was talking to his friend. He reaches for his water bottle, takes a sip, and clears his throat as he listens to Y/n speak. “Yeah, I’ll bring them next time that I come over. You’re a goof, you know that?”

A goof, huh? Normally, you would call someone that to dismiss their intelligence; despite this, he was well aware that Y/n was not really saying it that way. It is more of a cutesy nickname. They seemed to give him many of those, didn’t they? Instead of calling him Donnie, they called him Don, DD, D-Tel, Nato, or even Deenie at times. Which, to be honest, he did not get. Why were they so opposed to using his name? Making nicknames based on a nickname? Funny.

"Yes, you have told me before," he says, clearing his throat into his fist to try to stop that irksome tickle. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?” he decided to question, curious.

“Ughhh! Don’t remind me! I don’t wanna go back to school.” They whined, and their voice got muffled, so they were probably covering their face. The four turtles had met Y/n—a human—a long time ago, though obviously not as long as April. Although a lot of time had passed since then, Donatello remembered that day as if it had happened yesterday.

Leonardo was thrown by the person they were fighting with, and instead of hitting a nearby wall or water, he was thrown through a window and didn’t come back out until they were done fighting. It turned out that Y/n, upon hearing their window get smashed, hit him over the head with a bat. They broke the bat, leaving Leonardo with a severe headache and Donatello with the task of repairing the window.

And all the while, Y/n was apologizing!

They had thought that Leonardo was trying to rob them, and Raphael was also saying he was sorry for them breaking the window. Y/n made it up to Leonardo by giving him the cookies that they were making when he ‘broke in’ and Donatello swiped one or two, and they were pretty good. Nothing to write home about, only good.

Not only did Y/n give gifts to the four boys, but they also often brought the cookies to Leonardo as a reminder of what had happened.

Donatello thought it was sweet—and very amusing. Leonardo liked to call them a headache as a nickname and joke as well.

“Don? D? Deeeeee ?” He blinks a few times upon hearing the voice and shakes his head before responding. “Right, yes, sorry, I was… distracted. Did you say anything?" Apart from the nicknames, of course.

“Eh, nothing really, just saying that I don’t want to go to school because I have some tests and I haven’t studied ... dooooo you think, maaaayybeeee, you could come and help me out a little? Eh? Eh?” Even though he could not see them, he could tell they were wiggling their eyebrows.

Weirdo.

Help them out? With a slight grin, he looks at their profile picture while leaning his head against his fist. He could feel his tail swaying back and forth behind him. “Oh? You want Donatello, the genius, to come and help you study for the tests that you decided to leave for the last minute?”

Their laughter filled his ears, which he would not mind if it was the last sound he ever heard before they told him, amusement lacing their voice. "Yes, please, Mr. Genius Donatello. I would love the help of studying for my tests. There is no one better for me to ask than you."

Oh, yeah, that rubbed his ego just right.

He starts to let out soft churring sounds before he perks up, his eyes widening. Ah, there was a strange, tingling, and painful sensation that suddenly appeared in his chest and throat. He quickly mutes himself on the call and reaches for his trash can, where he starts to hack and cough. Petal after petal fell out like a waterfall, some catching in his throat or dripping with the spit past his sharpened teeth. Most of them, fortunately, fall out from the force of his coughs. He had to hack a few more times before clenching his eyes shut. Ew, ew, ew! That bothered him. He hated this so much.

Reaching up, he pulls out the petals that were lodged in his throat, discarding them along with the others. He then swishes his water from his bottle back and forth in his cheeks before spitting that out as well.

The tingly sharp feeling was already forming in the back of his throat, and he knew that he would be spending the next hour or so coughing and clearing his throat to try to get that out.

Something he knew he wouldn't be able to do.

He sniffles and wipes his snout before leaning back in his chair and re-grabbing his headphones to put them back on. "Donnie? Are you all right? What happened?" The sound of Y/n's voice filled his ears once more; their voice sounded worried.

He hated making them worry. Even more so because they were worried about him .

With a shake of his head, he unmutes himself and replies, "I'm alright. I wanted to spare you the unpleasantness of hearing that something got knocked over. It was… very loud." He really hoped that that sounded like a good lie... even though he hated lying because he sucked at it.

Y/n didn't respond for a few moments before they hummed. "Alright, whatever you say... when would you like to come over? I'll make you those special cookies—a whole batch all for yourself." And even though his throat was burning, his chest hurt, and everything ached... his tail started to wag again, knowing that they would do that for him.

They made plans that he would come by the next day.

With that, he removed his headphones, grabbed his bottle, tossed it into the trash with the rest of the petals, and stood up from his chair to go get himself another bottle of water. He's been drinking a lot more water, which both Michelangelo and Raphael told him that they were proud of since, you know, water was very important.

And just because he doesn't like eating much doesn't mean that he doesn't drink enough water... I mean, he doesn't, except that that's not his fault.

Don't ask whose fault it was.

He didn't have an answer.

Donatello yawns and stretches his arms above his head as he leaves his lab to head to the kitchen. It was exhausting for him to cough so much! And painful.

Normally, he could go a few days without feeling the effect of staying awake for so long.

So the fact that he did feel it already, well, that was pretty disagreeable.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, his eyes scanning to look at all of the things that they had. A bowl was covered in a silver sheet, and when he moved it slightly, he saw that it was the pudding. Michelangelo made it for the banana pudding that he was going to make special.

Shockingly, Leonardo hasn't messed with it yet.

After looking for a few moments, he grabbed a bottle of water and opened it, starting to sip from the bottle. The feeling of itchiness deep in his throat was making it hard to drink or eat anything . Water was easy, at least, although anything else was painful, and he already had a hard time eating, so this was very discouraging.

Michelangelo seemed worried that he's been avoiding eating all over again, though he has done that for such a long time now that it shouldn't be that shocking. Sure, now it was for a different reason than him just not wanting to eat… not that his brother would know that.

Admittedly, Donatello would much rather them not finding out about it. Explaining that he didn't want to eat or wasn't hungry was easier than trying to explain that he was in a lot of pain.

It's only been getting worse.

"Dontron!" He heard, causing him to pause, he then sighs after swallowing his water. He looks over his shoulder to see that it was Leonardo!

Of course it was Leonardo, as they were both the ones who had a hard time sleeping in their household. Raphael also did at times, but that was because his kind of turtle normally stayed awake during the night to hunt and slept during the day.

The word for that is nocturnal.

They often went out during the night as well, today they decided to stay in. Donatello would check the cameras later to make sure nothing was going on.

Bad, he meant.

Sometimes he liked to watch the cameras to see stupid people do stupid things. It made him laugh. When people thought that they were alone, they would often do things that they wouldn't normally do. Or, you know, most of the time, they slip on ice. He has seen some drug deals and then police cars driving fast. Other times, he saw people spray painting, sneaking around, or even things worse than that.

He liked it when people slipped.

Leonardo was more than just his brother; he was also his twin. It was something that they decided on when they were much much younger. Did he regret it? No, no, he didn't. Leonardo was his twin, and he loved him... Even if he could be annoying at times. Always times, pretty much.

"What do you want, Nardo? It's late—have you not slept again?" Ugh! His voice was all raspy. He takes a sip from his bottle while looking at Leonardo. You know, it might be making him need to drink more water so the plants would have enough water to grow. Would it be better for him to not water it so it wouldn't be able to grow as well? Would that help at all? That could be a good test for him to run later.

His dearest twin smiles and laughs, putting his hands on his hips as he answers, "Nope! And I know you didn't either. What are you up to?" He turns his head to the side, seeming interested. Leonardo was a red-eared slider, as most people already knew, and he was the younger of the twins.

When they were younger, Donatello won the game.

They played rock, paper, scissors, and Donatello won, so he was given the honor of being the oldest twin of the two.

Because he didn’t think it was fair, Leonardo always complains about it. Donatello thought it was completely fair. Donatello just happened to win the game based on the rules they agreed upon when they were younger. If he had to be completely honest, he didn’t see how that would be unfair.

Anyhow.

His eyes were a brilliant yellow and green, piercingly bright. They had both colors, but yellow on top and green on the bottom, while Donatello’s eyes were one red and one blue. Michelangelo liked to say that they were color palettes! Because the primary colors are blue, yellow, and red. Red, green, and blue are additive color models. Typical RGB input devices are color TVs and video cameras, image scanners, and digital cameras. Raphael laughed when Michelangelo said that, as he thought it was a bit silly.

“I’m not really doing anything; I was planning on heading to bed soon. I’m pretty tired.” The flowers were taking up a lot of his energy, and he wanted to wake up early enough to do some tests on them. Mostly, he wanted to get some of the petals and figure out if they had anything different about them. The last ones didn’t, but these might? Maybe…

Almost certainly not. Sigh .

Leonardo turns his head to the side. “Huh? You’re gonna go to bed earlier? That’s a first.” He laughs and walks over, swinging his arm around Donatello’s shoulders, tugging him closer, and continuing, “Aw, come on, we should hang out! We never hang out one on one anymore.”

Never hang out one-on-one anymore? Well… he guessed that Leonardo was right about that; they hadn’t really had the chance to hang out with just the two of them for a while. He lets out a hum, then nods and mumbles. “We can hang out; what do you want to do?” Leonardo gets a big grin on his face and starts to drag Donatello to his bedroom so they can sit together and do whatever he wants to do.

Maybe paint nails. That is something that they used to do together pretty often.

Oh man…

This was something he was going to have to deal with now, huh? Oh well, this might be interesting and just what he needs to get his mind off the fact that he has flowers growing in his lungs.

Hm…

That sounded really bad.

The twin turtles headed to Leonardo’s room, and he fell back onto the bed, bouncing on it before putting his arms behind his head and shutting his eyes. They both had some bad insomnia, for two different reasons. Donatello sits on the edge and leans back on his hands. 

“So, Don, you said that you weren’t doing anything, right?” When he nodded to show that yes, that’s what he said, Leonardo continued. His eyes were shut. “I don’t remember the last time that you weren’t doing anything… so, tell me the truth: were you really not doing anything or were you doing stuff that you didn’t wanna say?”

Donatello paused at that, his eyes widening slightly, then squinted and reached over to grab one of Leonardo’s, way too many pillows, and smacked him with it. “Shut up! You’re starting to sound like Angelo.” Leonardo yelps, then starts to laugh and covers his face with his arms. “Nooo! Don’t attack me!” Donatello, not listening to his brother's pleas, continued to hit him with the feather-filled pillow.

He hated it whenever people poked holes through whatever he said. He said it, so they should accept what he said! He didn’t want to talk about the other thing right now. It wasn’t bad enough to worry him yet. Sure, it was hard to breathe at times, and he had been coughing more, but he had a feeling he knew how to stop it!

If not, then… he would try other things. He didn’t want to worry his brothers, as he knew that they would worry too much. They would probably panic, and then that would cause more issues than they could ever hope to solve. Plus, you know, the humans would figure it out, and he didn’t want to worry April or Y/n.

April would get mad at him for not telling them earlier, and Y/n… oh Y/n… they would be so worried about him. He could already see the worry in their eyes and the fear in their voice as they asked him why he didn’t tell them.

Luckily, he was knocked out of his thoughts before they got too dark when he felt something soft hit the side of his head. He blinks a few times to see Leonardo sticking his tongue out at him and laughing. “Ha! Sneak attack.” It's not really a sneak attack if you shout sneak attack after it, but he narrows his eyes and leans over, starting to hit him again.

“You are such a brat!” Donatello says this while Leonardo rolls out of the way to not get hit too many times and grabs his own pillow to hit him back.

Thinking of Y/n and April before, it started to cause that tingle in the back of his throat and the tightness in his chest. His throat burned as though he had swallowed burning coal, and he could tell that it was swollen. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t breathe as easily as he used to?

It would explain a lot.

They played like that for a bit until Donatello couldn't anymore. He sets the pillow down, breathing a bit harder than normal, and coughs. "G...Give me a moment." He covers his mouth with his fist, holding up a finger to silently add that. The coughs didn't stop, and luckily no flower petals came up this time.

Leonardo looks at him and frowns. "Huh?" He sets the pillow down and scoots closer, asking, "Dude, are you okay? You sound like you're hacking up a lung." He reaches out and rubs him on the back.

That's what it felt like.

A soreness that shot through his arms, and even his shell felt the ache. It's crazy that a few little flowers could have this bad of an effect on him.

What should he say?

Should he tell the truth?

Should he lie?

Donatello was never the best at lying; that was something everyone knew about him. Donatello was a genius, but Donatello wasn't a very good liar! Pretty much everyone could tell if he was telling the truth or not.

It is such a big part of his character that it has been brought up a few times already.

He darted his tongue out to wet his lips and was about to respond when Leonardo reached out to grab his cheeks and studied him closer, causing his eyes to widen. Panic shot through him for just a moment, then he pulled back harshly, shaking his head fast. "What are you doing?!" He didn't mean to snap!

He really didn't.

Somebody grabbing his face like that? What the hell!? Who wouldn't panic, at least a little?

"You're bleeding..." Leonardo's voice cut through the air faster than any blade could, and it made Donatello's skin chill like he had stepped out into a blizzard.

He was bleeding?

He reaches up and touches his lip, then pulls his hand back to see the redness that was coating his fingers. It was only a little, and that explained the foul taste of iron that tainted his tongue.

His eyes shoot up to see Leonardo looking at him with a frown on his face. He rests his hands down on the bed and asks, unease lacing his words. "Donnie, why are you bleeding? Have you been coughing that bad for a bit? For how long?"

Damn his twin for being the medic. He could probably tell that something was wrong—having said that, probably anyone would be able to tell that something was wrong if the person was coughing so badly as to cause blood, but I digress. 

"Long enough that I have been able to find the issue, and I'm working on fixing it. Don't worry." He told his twin, cursing the way his voice broke on a few words. Damn his raspy, rough voice! It felt so strained and uncomfortable.

Leonardo's eyes would close slightly each time his voice broke. He was flinching without showing it, wasn't he? Man... this was why he didn't want his siblings to figure it out. "Promise?" Leonardo asks, and he simply nods, his eyes darting away. 

Unfortunately, he knew he could not make any such promises.

After that, their joyful mirth had, accidentally, been ruined by him and not too long later, Donatello left to go to his room to get some rest. In the morning, he was planning on running a few tests as well as maybe going to the Hidden City Library, where, on the off chance, he could find something about this sickness.

Learning about it meant he could fix it.

He made Leonardo swear not to tell Raphael or Michelangelo. He knew that telling them would not help them and would actually hurt him and his ability to figure it out on his own.

They would say that they had to come with him to make sure he was safe, and then they would get themselves locked in the kid room.

Again .

When he enters his room, he places his hand on his chest and takes a deep breath, or as deep as he can, before lying back in his bed and closing his eyes to try to relax. He would try to sleep and, in the morning, go before having to go and see Y/n.

Hopefully, he will find something when he goes.

He wanted to find something? Oh, yes, he did find something!

An annoyance !

Michelangelo had already been awake when he got up to go to the Hidden City Library, and he looked over at him before smiling. "Dee! Hey, I was just about to get started on breakfast. Do you want any? I'm making pancakes—your favorite." He sounded excited and hopeful.

It had been a bit since they had pancakes, and yes, they were a good comfort food for the soft-shelled turtle. They almost always turned out the same, and he never had syrup with them.

Honestly, if he got sticky, he would die. "Ah... I'm not hungry. I’m planning on going out for a little while anyway."

"Aww, what? Come on, pretty please Donnie? I'm worried about you. You’ve been avoiding eating again ." Michelangelo told him, a whine in his voice.

Gosh, he had whiny brothers, didn’t he? 

"The physical appearance of the please makes no difference to me." He replies, seeing Michelangelo giving him a look, so he sighs and continues. "I'm fine. When I get home, I will join you for lunch AND dinner." He holds up his hand, resting the other on his chest. "I promise."

Never did he like to promise things like that—he just knew that it would help Michelangelo feel better. 

Once again, the youngest gives him a look before he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, but I'm holding you to that, even if I have to get rope." That was, hopefully, a joke. Donatello always had a hard time telling! Even more so with Michelangelo, because, well, he was strange.

And now he was in the library.

He wanted to do the tests today, as he has stated numerous times already, and he did! He put the petals into the machine to scan them and look for anything strange about them, and then he decided to go and try to find a book about it.

When he walked in, the bat lady squinted and placed her finger to her lips. He looks at her and smiles, raising his hand in a wave and whispering shouts. "Good morning, Ivah. You look amazing as usual." To not get scolded for that slight raise of voice, he hurries off.

It was not even that loud.

He walked through the pathways, having to use his staff as a cane. Walking was becoming unusually difficult, and he was having a hard time breathing without coughing or gagging because of the tingle in his throat.

This was strange and upsetting, so he was really hoping to find out what was causing this before he had to leave to go and spend time with Y/n. They were supposed to be meeting up today at five, and it was already two.

Dufus woke up late.

It was now four, and he has yet to find anything that spoke about his illness. He sighs, sitting at one of the tables and flipping through the pages of the book, his head resting on his fist. This was so annoying.

This book spoke about many different illnesses and the treatments for those illnesses. The title was ‘Whispers of affliction: a chronicle of ailments and cures’

Okay, this one was called 'Harmonic Resonance Disorder,' and it causes people to have an increased sensitivity to certain frequencies of sound. It’s caused by a rare combination of genetic predispositions and prolonged exposure to specific ambient noises. It disrupts the normal auditory processing in the affected individuals, and it causes dizziness, headaches, and difficulty focusing in noisy environments. That didn't help him at all, so he flipped to the next page.

The following page was titled 'Chrono-Phase Misalignment,' and it refers to the disruption of an individual's internal biological clock's synchronization with the natural day-night cycle. The causes are a genetic predisposition as well as irregular sleep patterns, which result in symptoms such as insomnia, fatigue, dizziness, heart palpitations, and cognitive difficulties. The cure is a special liquid made in the light of a full moon. Once again, it was ineffective.

Next page!

‘Quantum Flux Disorientation,’ that is an intriguing term... exposure to an anomalous quantum field causes this strange illness. It causes temporary disorientation in affected individuals, leading to spatial perception shifts, nausea or vomiting, mild hallucinations, and the sensation of existing in multiple places at once. The cause of this is still a mystery, and the cure is time.

Heh, yeah, he's glad that he doesn't have that one.

"Where is the one I am looking for?" he murmurs under his breath as he begins to flip through the pages quickly, squinting at the words he could see. This is so inconvenient! He wanted to find out what was going on with the flowers.

He perks up when he gets to a few certain pages. Oh, huh, one with just flowers and plants... good. He stops at one of the pages and looks at the writing. 'Petalosis Syndrome' this one results from an unusual interaction between a specific set of airborne flower particles and an individual's immune system. Some people develop colorful petal-like patterns on their skin as a result of it. It is a harmless illness that is frequently accompanied by a floral fragrance emanating from the person suffering from it.

Startlingly, there didn’t seem to be a cure for that one.

Then the next page.

This page describes a condition known as "Luminafication," which is caused by a specific flower whose petals release blue pollen. When inhaled, this pollen disrupts the body's energy flow, resulting in the formation of vivid, luminescent patterns on the skin. As the affliction progresses, these patterns spread, causing fatigue and eventually weakening the affected person's life force. The only known treatment is nectar from a different flower that grows only in Japan. He squints at the page and mumbles to himself. "That is not going to help me." That sickness doesn't make sense to Donatello, and he was very happy that he didn't have that one.

It would be problematic to have to go to Japan.

Next page... once more. 

The following one on the page was titled 'Aurora Veil Syndrome.' This illness is caused by the pollen of the rare Aurora Veil flower. Individuals who become infected begin to have vivid dreams in which their emotions manifest as colorful auroras. If these emotional auroras become too intense, they manifest as physical luminescence around the infected. It causes a range of symptoms, from temporary paralysis to uncomfortable bursts of emotion. Ignoring it will cause it to spread and consume so much energy from the infected that they will be unable to get out of bed.

Of course that would then lead to death.

And then the one on the next page caught his eye.

The pulmonary disorder 'Hanahaki Disease' is characterized by abnormal floral growth within the respiratory tract. The condition is usually caused by unrequited romantic affection, which causes an abnormal physiological response. As the emotional distress intensifies, the affected individual experiences coughing episodes expelling botanical matter, such as petals or flowers. 

The longer the feelings go unspoken, the more the flowers grow until they fill the affected person's lungs and cannot be removed due to the roots.

The only known treatment for this disease is 'Floral Extraction Surgery,' in which skilled surgeons use advanced technology to carefully extract the floral growth from the affected person's respiratory system. The surgery aims to restore normal pulmonary function while addressing the emotional roots of the condition. Alternatively, successful reciprocation of romantic feelings acts as a non-invasive remedy, causing the flowers to naturally recede. It's important to note that the surgery will remove the romantic feelings as well as the memories of the affected individual's crush.

Hanahaki Disease? That doesn't make sense to Donatello. He has no way of having a crush on anyone! Even if everything else on the page made sense and was exactly what was going on.

He knew that he didn't have a crush.

He purses his lips and looks at the page, then shakes his head and resumes flipping through the pages. No way, no how! He was going to find something else that made more sense than this! He would have to find something.

Who could he possibly have feelings for? He could not imagine himself dating anyone in his life.

Most of the people that they knew were much older than them, or evil, or both. Maybe one of the Purple Dragon people, but no, he didn't want that.

No matter how exciting it would be... It would be like one of the bad fanfics that his brother always read that he thought nobody knew about. Of course Donatello knew about it! He was the only reason that they had internet access and the ability to see stuff like that in the first place.

Over the next two hours, he continued looking through books to try to find something, anything, but once more, he couldn’t find anything that helped him.

Donatello lets out a groan and drops his head down onto the table. How stupid! It's absurd for a book to try to convince him that he had a crush on someone when, in reality, he knew that he didn't. What sort of person could he possibly be crushing on, anyway? 

A loud ringing echoed throughout the library, making him jump. He quickly picks up his phone, hits the answer button, and gives the bat woman a silent "I'm sorry" gesture before placing the phone to his head and responding. "Hello?" Who could be calling him now? He’s busy!

"Um..." He heard a voice start to speak—a familiar voice. "Hey, Donnie, it's Y/n, hi. I was wondering if you were still planning on coming over? I didn't message you or anything for a while in case you were busy doing something, but I know it would have bugged you if you forgot to tell me you weren't coming by.”

Y/n was calling him? He blinks a few times, confused. What were they talking about? It was still too early, right? He pulls his phone back to look at the time, and his eyes widen. What the hell happened? Where did the time go? He hops up and hurries to replace the book where it was supposed to be. "I lost track of time; I will be coming over right now to help you with your studying. You should get everything set up and ready for me when I get there."

He heard them laugh, and they told him that they would be right on that before they hung up. He looks down at the phone and mumbles, "How did it get so late so fast?" He shakes his head at himself and looks forward. In any case, that book was stupid—a sickness caused by love gone wrong?

Hilarious.

There is no way; if it were, people would talk about it more, wouldn't they?

Unless it was some kind of mutant/yokai thing?

That would account for a few things...

He bites the inside of his cheek at the thought and shakes his head to try to get his mind off that. Yeah, no, he didn't want to even think about that, as he still had no idea who the person was that he had a crush on! He considered April to be a sister, and Y/n...

No.

It could not possibly be them. They were a friend, and only a friend. He knew that they were just friends, and it would be stupid to think otherwise.

With that thought in mind, he started to head to their building so he could help them out. It felt kind of nice to know that they would ask him to help them with something as important as a test! And it's been a bit since they were able to spend time together. The thought of being alone with them caused his heart to flutter, followed by a shooting pain through his chest as if caused by a bullet ripping through him.

He stumbles and falls down onto his knees on top of one of the buildings, starting to cough hard. Petals poured out of his mouth, and he had to continue hacking to try to get them all out.

No matter how many times he coughed, more and more just kept coming. It made him want to vomit, even though he knew he had nothing left in his stomach to spare for it. The only thing that would come up would be bile.

The pain in his throat, which had already been excruciating, worsened, and he gasped for air between each furious expulsion of his lungs. Each convulsion wrenched his chest, making it impossible for him to catch the air that he needed.

Donatello wondered, as the corners of his eyes started to fade to black, what he had done to deserve this? Why was he hurting so badly? To him, it made no sense! Why would he be in such pain because he loves someone? 

The surroundings around him became hazy, with colors shifting into a muted palette and lights that appeared to be swirling. All he had to support himself were his limbs, which felt heavy. The loud noises of sirens and beeping horns grew muted and far away, as though a fog was enveloping him.

Despite the pain he was experiencing, he managed to draw in a breath before slipping into the darkness and using his arm to wipe his mouth in an effort to catch his breath. His muscles screamed at him, his head was hurting, and he had a crazy sensation of tingling going through him.

Sharp shutters were dancing along his spine.

Donatello stared down at the petals on the roof in front of him, noticing the bright red speckles covering them. The same crimson liquid was all over his arm; he was bleeding, and it hurt considerably more this time. He wondered exactly how long this would go before it turned into too much for him, considering that there were also a lot more petals than before.

Even now, he feels so weak.

His eyes burned from the tears that forced their way out while he was coughing, and his hands trembled. This... he had that stupid flower sickness, and if he was right, then he knew the cause of it.

He was in love with Y/n.

He should have realized it by now! How much of an idiot is he, actually? It is, of course, on Y/n! Who else could it possibly be? On top of that, he would be thinking about them each time he coughed. Or, at the very least, the coughing got worse in response to the thoughts of them.

Sitting on his knees, staring down at the bloodied petals, Donatello thought. He liked to think he was the smartest person in his family, and he was, but not when it came to emotions. What was he supposed to do in this situation? Is he supposed to tell them? What would he tell them?

Oh, yes, hello, Y/n, I came to help you with your studies, but I have a crush on you, and if you don't return my feelings, I may die because I am coughing up petals that are blocking my airways. I almost passed out on the way here! Yeah, I’m bleeding a lot.

Yeah, that would be the best idea!

Donatello sniffles and wipes his eyes before taking out his phone and typing a message to Y/n. 'Something came up. I can't come over. If you send me the problems, I will give you the answers amd help you study later' and with that, he slowly got to his feet, stumbled, and started to head home. He needed to figure this out before it got worse.

He's sure that he could figure out a way to stop himself from dying, and nobody has to know what he went through.

At least... that's what he wanted to have happen, but as he made his way back into the area that they knew as their home, his vision, which had been fading in and out, finally went black, and he felt himself fall forward before hitting the ground.

Then he was out.

When Donatello started to come through, everything felt numb. He didn't feel pain anymore, and he had to wonder if maybe he died right there.

Of course not.

It wouldn't be that easy.

Luckily 

His eyes scanned around lazily to see that he was lying in the medical station; a tube was connected to his arm, and he knew that that was probably the strongest thing that they could give him. They were immune to most medicine, so Donatello had to get very good stuff.

Very expensive stuff.

Raphael often asked him how he got it, but he always told the oldest not to worry about that. There was no reason for him to do it. Question it, he meant.

Raphael muttered that that didn't make him feel any better. Yeah, well, sometimes they had to steal some stuff. Not everyone has such an amazing moral compass, dear brother. They would be—pardon his language—fucked if Donatello had one.

Anyway, that makes sense. He probably passed out when he came in, and the others found him and took him in here. They then saw that he was in pain, so they gave him medicine. Troublesome, as he really didn’t want them to know about it.

Once he figured that out, he opened his mouth to try to say something to tell them that hey, he was awake, except that no noise came out.

Well…

Nothing other than a soft croak.

Wrong! He was a turtle, not a frog.

That’s… not what he wanted to have happen. He gulps, feeling a strange sensation in his throat, and he drags his tongue across his lips to wet them before trying again. “G-Guys?” Still not very good, albeit better than before, at least. Now he could talk. 

Geez, his mouth felt so dry.

Leonardo pokes his head in, then looks over his shoulder, shouting, "Guys! He's awake." He rushes into the room and looks at him with a deep frown on his face. "You always gotta be dramatic, huh? You should leave that to me; you're the dancy dancy guy… what happened?" When Donatello only gave him a stare, he sighed, putting his hand on the side of his head with his eyes shut. "Geez..." he mumbles under his breath.

Donatello knew that he could answer that, but also, you know, he was kind of offended? He's known more than just as the dancy dancy guy! He's the plant, smart, dancy guy! Scoff? Just the dancy dancy guy… what the hell, Leonardo?

That's like saying you're just a medic!

Raphael and Michelangelo came into the room, and Raphael looked at him, frowned, then asked, "Donnie, what happened?" his voice held worry and confusion. He was probably the one who had to carry Donatello in here.

Aw… that makes him feel bad.

At the moment, he didn’t feel the weight of his battleshell on his back, so that was probably taken off of him before they laid him down. Man, he hated it whenever he didn’t have that on; it made him feel kind of strange.

Unprotected.

Unsafe.

He breathes out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding and leans back. The bed in here was never that comfortable; it always made him want to move the pillow.

The feathers in it would often poke out through the fabric and poke him. Only enough to annoy him, not enough to cause any real pain. "I... have a type of sickness, a-and it's not the easiest to deal with." As he spoke, his voice was hoarse, and it was hard to get the words out.

Slight spikes of pain appeared too, only to disappear before he could really focus on them. Was it good? He wasn't 100% sure.

"What do you mean by sickness?" Michelangelo questions while Leonardo jumps in by adding, "Is it connected to when you coughed earlier?" Donatello only nods to show that yes, it was connected. At least Leonardo could explain it a little.

His dear twin, in all probability, had no idea what the sickness was, and he didn’t want to tell them that yet. He didn’t want them to know that he was probably dying because of Y/n—not that he would blame them for it.

It would be his own fault if he died from this.

And the idea of that… the idea of that scared him.

Being only 14, Donatello wasn’t ready to die. He wasn’t ready to feel all of the pain these flowers were causing him, and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye or tell Y/n that he liked them! He only found out himself earlier, and now if he didn’t, it might be too late. How is this fair? How is any of this fair ?

Raphael asked what exactly Leonardo was talking about, and he started to explain all of what he knew, which sadly wasn't a lot. Since that was being handled, Donatello shut his eyes, thinking about this. Would it be a good idea for him to tell Y/n? Also, how long has it been since he passed out? Probably an hour, maybe a tiny bit less? He could feel sick from it already—a gross nausea that made him unable to turn his head around too fast.

Telling them would help him feel better, maybe, and hey, maybe he would get a partner? Gosh, the idea of dating them made him feel... good.

Ah, what to do, what to do—the hardest question to answer.

It had to do with 100% emotions, and everyone knew that Donatello was never the best at emotions. They were just chemicals! He should be able to figure it out, then he can't, and he hated it.

Over the next few days, Leonardo kept Donatello in the medical room. He said it was so he could keep an eye on him and his healing process.

When he argued, or at least tried to, Leonardo shook his head and told him. "Dude, you're never gonna get better if you don't let me try to help you. You're gonna need water, and Mikey's making you soup broth to help you a little.” he moved to sit beside the bed while he spoke. “And if I let you out of this room, Raph might just kill me. You should have seen how freaked out he got when he saw you!” He laughs.

Even Donatello could tell that he was nervous, even if he was laughing.

So, to not make his twin worry even more, he agreed to lay in bed and accept the liquid pumping into him as well as the broth that the youngest tried to give him. Raphael changed out the pillows, since he knew that Donatello didn’t like the pillows in this place.

He appreciated that.

What he didn't appreciate, on the other hand, was the fact that he knew they wouldn’t be able to help him with this. The only way he could get better from it was to get the surgery, which he knew he wouldn’t be able to do, or to tell Y/n that he liked them.

Fortunately, he hasn’t coughed up the flowers around them. He knew that April and Y/n knew that he was sick; April had come and seen him already, but so far, Y/n hasn’t. They did send him the cookies that they had promised him.

The ones that he couldn't eat.

They said that they got in trouble for failing the quiz— oops .

Leonardo was checking his vitals with a small frown on his face, humming under his breath. Donatello turns his head to look at him and asks. “Are you guys going to let me get up soon? I have stuff that I want to work on.” Ah, his voice still sounds bad, although not as bad as before. Right now, he was just feeling very weak and tired.

It was an annoying feeling.

“The stuff you want to work on can wait. You’re gonna have to stay here until you feel better… you’re still coughing, and you seem to have a shortness of breath. You said you had chest pain, an aching body, you feel tired, I could tell you have a slight fever, and I can't tell if the loss of appetite is from what you're doing or if you're just you." He had to let out a little laugh after saying that, which made Donatello roll his eyes. "The inside of your throat seems red and inflamed, so I'm going to try to find something to help with that. Your dehydration is being fixed because of this." He taps his pen against the bag that was connected to the tube that was leading to his arm. “And you’d tell me if you feel light-headed or dizzy, right?”

Alright, well, this was awesome. He sighs, shuts his eyes, and rests his head down against the pillow again, his mind wandering with many different thoughts.

The meds were helping him not feel pain anymore, and the soup was helping him out too, but... he felt so tired.

He had been sleeping more than usual, which irritated him. Being able to sleep was nice; it really was. In any case, he wanted to do other things! He wanted to go back to work; he wanted to be able to think about Y/n without coughing. He wanted to feel okay, or at least sick because of his own stupid decision, rather than the fact that he was probably dying.

“Oh! By the way, Y/n's coming over to see you. Aren't you special?" His brother teased him, making his eyes widen. Were they on their way over?  His heartbeat, which the machine was monitoring, began to pick up, and he felt that dreadful tingle appearing in his throat all over again.

Crap, crap, crap.

"When?" he asks quickly, trying hard not to cough. His eyes watered, and his throat was feeling sore again, even through the medicine that he was given.

The reply said maybe 20ish minutes? So Donatello asked him to bring him some honey tea since his throat was starting to feel sore again. Leonardo nodded and went off to ask Raphael to make it... he was better at making that fancy tea than Leonardo was. Oh! Maybe he would ask Raphael to make chamomile tea since Leonardo liked that too and he wanted some. Their dad would likely try to get some too.

Once Leonardo left, Donatello leans over and starts to cough into the trash can near him. This time, however, something felt different.

It was worse.

It felt so much worse .

Each cough made him feel as though he was being stabbed, even with the medicine that he had been given. Petals were coming out, luckily, but there was something else stuck in his throat, so he had to reach up to pull the other parts out.

Alright, now it seemed like he pulled it off the plant 100%. It was more than just petals; it was the full flower in his grip.

He rests his head down against his arm, panting hard to try to catch his breath once all of the flowers have been expelled from inside him. He could feel the soreness and tension, and he knew that he was bleeding all over again. That disgusting taste tainted his tongue and made him want water to gargle. Having said that, he knew better than to try to get up.

One because he had a tube in his arm, and two because he knew that they would get upset with him for getting up rather than asking one of them for help.

They were protective, and it was honestly a bit much at times. Mostly Raphael, as most would expect from him being the oldest.

He understood their worry and fear, though. Donatello was a soft-shelled turtle, which meant his shell was, of course, soft and leather-like. That, plus his ability to not exactly take very good care of himself, would all add up at times. This was, sadly, one of those times.

He remembered that he used to get sick fairly often when he was younger as well. Stupid considering the fact that he was a mutant turtle who was supposed to be immune to most sicknesses.

Not this one, he guessed!

Ugh, stupid Draxum... wait...

Donatello's eyes widened as he sat up slightly. He wouldn't have to tell Y/n! He could ask Draxum for help! He's sure that maybe, just maybe, he would know a cure other than surgery or confession.

Frankly, he didn't think that he was ready for it... confessing ones emotions should be done when they want to, not because they have to. Though he figured some people would wait forever and not be able to confess, no matter what.

And with this, you'd, well, you'd doubtlessly die because of it.

The idea of that made his skin crawl. 

"Okay! Raph's making your tea." Leonardo said as he walked in, then paused, looking at him. "Oh, gross, did you puke? I can empty that." he points at the trash can.

"N-No... it's... it's alright." He replied, letting out a small cough while he spoke. Damn his body for betraying him like this! At least no petals came out? He was expecting Leonardo to take longer.

Getting a wave of the hand back as a silent 'don't worry about it', Leonardo walks over to grab the bag from the trash can so he could throw it out, yet pauses once more. "Huh?" he stares at the petals, then looks at him with confusion clear on his face. "D, what are these? Why are they covered in blood?"

Well, that was... the opposite of what he wanted to have happen, so he shut his mouth in a tight line, staring at his brother. Couldn't call him a liar if he didn't say anything!

What the heck was he supposed to say? The truth? Ha! Hysterical! As if.

Man, Michelangelo would be so disappointed in him if he knew. None of them really spoke about their issues, and he didn't want to be the one to start it.

"Donnie, I know you can talk. Tell me what's going on. Why are there flowers in the trash that have blood on them?" Leonardo raised his voice a little as he spoke. Ah, that's not a good sign. He gulps, feeling his head throbbing with pain that was fading in and out.

One that he knew would be worse if it wasn't for the medications he was given.

Should he say something?

What should he say?

He lets out a shaky breath and starts to talk. "Do you remember t...the sickness that I told you about?" When he got a nod, he continued, letting out a soft wheeze. "Well, this is it. I keep... coughing up the petals, and it's getting worse." guess he was telling the truth after all. "I found out the way to fix it, but... I don't... I don't know." Man, normally he liked to talk, and yet just getting those words out made him tired.

"You found out a way to fix it? Then why aren't you doing it?" Leonardo questions again, holding up his hand. "Do you have any idea how worried I am? You look like these flowers are going to be on your grave or something!" It must be bad if even Leonardo was acting like this. Donatello knew he felt bad, still, did he really look that bad?

Before he could respond to try to calm his brother or make a joke about it to get him to try to calm down, they heard the curtain open, and Raphael pokes his head in. "Hey guys, I'm done with the tea that you asked for." He walks over and sets the little plate down with the tea cup on top of it.

The steam was rising off of the hot liquid, looking like tendrils gracefully dancing with the light shining through it. His eyes shoot over to look at Leonardo, who was frowning, then he looks down and picks up the cup, mumbling a thank you. He looks down at the cup and sips from it with his eyes shut.

It was hot.

He slightly burned his tongue, though he would rather that than have to talk about his issues.

"And Y/n's here; should I tell them to come on in?" Raphael continued, turning his head to the side.

The drinking paused as Donatello heard that. Damn it, why did they have to come? There was too much happening at once! First he felt strange because of the soreness in his throat, then Leonardo found out about the sickness, and now Y/n was here!

The cause of all of this, even if they didn't know.

He breathes out slowly through his nose and reaches over to set the cup down. The warmth helped soothe the soreness in his throat, and he nodded. "They can come in... I would like some alone time with them, please." Leonardo opens his mouth, then shuts it, and sighs out slowly. "Alright." He reaches over to take Raphael's hand, leading him out of the room.

Since Leonardo didn’t make a joke, Donatello knew he was upset and he didn’t blame him at all.

This was going against his plan.

Donatello didn't... like that.

He hated it whenever things went against the plans that he had in his head. In the morning, he woke up and made a plan most of the time. He would work on his creations, check on his plants, then deal with whatever happened the rest of that day, but this? This was going against everything!

Because of the sickness, he has yet to be able to work on his creations, check on his plants, or anything! You know what he had to do? He had to let Michelangelo handle his plants. He hated anyone else messing with them because the plants were his. 

His and only his.

While he was rambling in his head, he heard footsteps, so he lifted his head to see that Y/n came in, brushing the curtain out of the way, and they looked at him.

They exchanged glances for a few moments before Y/n smiled slightly and raised their hand, waving at him, saying, "Hey Donnie... sorry it took me so long to come and see you." They came over and sat beside the bed.

Gosh. They were thoughtful to come and see him, even though he did not particularly want them to. Nothing against them; as you are aware, he really likes them! The PROBLEM is that he really likes them. 

Ugh.

He looks down to avoid looking at them and picks up his tea cup, slowly sipping from it to relieve the tingle in his throat. He didn't think he had any more petals to cough up now, or at least he hoped not. Maybe they would grow back, but he's been coughing a lot lately.

Much more than usual.

The normal amount of coughing should be zero, if he had to be honest. Coughing was so irritating! Something that would give you headaches, a sore back, arm, or anything else like that. “You got in trouble; it isn’t your fault.” When he saw them flinch at his voice, he had to purse his lips. Aw man, it was that bad.

They sat in silence together; the only sounds were the sounds of Donatello sipping from the cup and the machine beeping to show his heartbeat. It was going a bit faster than normal—faster than before too, honestly. Y/n being around made him nervous, which he thought was a bit amusing.

Now that he figured out he enjoyed their company more than a normal person would, he was feeling strangely nervous. Did Y/n have feelings for him? Would they like him? He knew that they were his friend, though being in a relationship is different than being friends.

Y/n turns their head down to mess with their sleeves, then they sigh and look at him with a small frown on their face, and they ask. "Hey Donnie, that message you sent me before—was that when something went wrong? What happened?"

Everyone kept asking him questions that he didn't exactly want to answer, so he sighs out through his nose. It was, strangely, easier to do that than with his mouth.

How much did he want to tell Y/n? Lying in person was even harder than on the computer in voice! He taps his claw against the cup, pursing his lips, before he starts to talk. "I started to cough. It became worse than I first expected, and..." he shakes his head, looking away. "It doesn't matter."

Y/n seems to perk up at that and frowns, moving to rest their hands on his leg that was under the blanket, and they say a bit loudly. "Of course it matters! You're a really important person to me, and if you're hurt, then I want to help you the best that I can. How can you say that it doesn't matter?"

Donatello looks at them with wide eyes, his mouth opening slightly, then shuts it again and gulps. Aw man, there was that feeling again, and so much stronger than before. The sensation of something tickling the back of his throat was awful; he felt like gagging. "T..." he started to try to say, though he couldn't get the words out because the petals kept trying to push their way out. He stands up and holds up his hand in a silent way of saying he would be right back, and hurries over to the bathroom to throw up the petals into the toilet.

Gross.

Coughing like this was something that he should have gotten used to already. He's been coughing so much for 12 days now! But it was getting worse—even worse than just a few minutes ago.

Did he wait too long?

What was going to happen to him? It was strange; he never thought about dying like this before. I mean, sure, he’s thought about it, at any rate he knew that he was strong, so he could handle a lot. It is insane to think that flowers could kill him. The coughs made loud rings spread out in his head, as if there were bells swinging back and forth against each other. Yeah, there were.

Alarm bells!

Were they trying to tell him to stop being such a jerk and tell Y/n how he felt? I mean, the worst that could happen is that they reject him, and if they do that, then he could try to get the surgery or talk to Draxum about it.

The worst that could happen is that Y/n decides he is gross and tells him that they would rather die than date him, then never speaks to him again and even stops speaking to his brothers, which would upset them as well.

Would they blame him for it? No, he knew that his brothers wouldn’t, then again he would still feel strangely guilty.

At the very least, he was aware that Y/n would not do such a thing! If they didn’t return his feelings, they would tell him that, and they would probably go back to normal… at least, that’s what he hoped would happen. They go back to normal, Y/n is still his friend, and everything’s happy.

As he finally finished coughing up the petals and flowers, he looked down and reached up to rub at his throat. God, that is… that is a lot of blood. He heard knocking on the door that he hadn’t heard before because of how hard he had been coughing and convulsing because of the coughs. He turns his head to look at the door, trying to listen through the ringing that was trying to fill his head. Y/n’s voice was cutting through the wood of the door as they were speaking. “Donnie? Donnie, should I get Leo or the others?” Well, at least they didn’t try to open the door. He would have had to shut it so they wouldn’t see anything that they shouldn’t have.

With a breath that he regretted not even a second later, he moved the toilet seat down to hide the blood covered flowers floating in the gross water. “Come in.” his voice shook and crackled like an old TV, which made him groan on the inside.

There was no movement for a moment, then the door slowly creaked open, and Y/n looked at him, then frowned and walked over to crouch beside him. “Aw Donnie...” They reach out and start to gently rub their hands on his shell.

Look, normally, honestly, he wouldn’t let anyone touch his shell when he didn’t have his battleshell on, and he was already feeling bad. Despite everything he said, their hands were warm and soft, so he leaned into them, shutting his eyes.

“Should I go get Leo? I think you need the tube fixed.” They continue; nevertheless, he sighs and shakes his head. Right now, he knew that he needed to do this. 

Yes, Donatello said earlier that he didn’t want to confess because he wasn’t ready, nonetheless he had a feeling that if he didn’t do it now, he would end up getting too sick to do it.

This was it.

“Y/n.” he starts, and he feels them perk up, then hum to show that they heard him. He takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I... I have found that my feelings for you are less than friendly . Of course not in th...the bad way; more in the other. I have learned that I have a... a bit of a crush a-and-” he stops for a moment to catch his breath. “I would like to know if you, mayhaps, would share the feelings.” his eyes shoot up to look at them, then away, waiting for the response.

His heart was pounding, his cheeks flushed, and his body shaking a little. This was crazy, man.

…

……

………

“Years and years have passed since that day—when we learned what that disease was and how dangerous it could be. Now, it is always taught to children and teens of all ages to understand what the disease is, what the cause is, and how to fix it.” an older human was explaining to two younger humans who were sitting on the ground with their legs crossed. One was a boy, and one was a girl!

The boy was a boy known as Casey Jr.! Child of Cassandra and Raphael Hamato!

He was nodding along, holding his hands together in his lap with big eyes. He seemed very interested, while the girl was focusing on other things. Why? Well, because she was a lot younger.

The human laughed and snapped their fingers a few times to get the younger girl's attention, while Casey Jr. asked, "What happened after that?”

The question was about to be answered, though before they could, the human got scooped up in large arms, making them yelp. “They returned my feelings; we ended up getting married a few years later, and I created you two in my lab.” Donatello says, then nuzzles his snout against Y/n’s cheek. Y/n laughed, pushing on his cheek gently to try to get him to lean away while the girl squeals with enjoyment, holding out her little nubby arms. “Dada!”

“Hello to you too, Betto.” He walks closer and picks up the baby too, pecking a kiss on her chubby cheek, which causes her to giggle. She grabbed his visor from in front of his scarred eyes and put them over her own. Of course, Donatello allowed it, not minding too much. As long as she didn’t break it, he didn’t mind not being able to see for a little while.

“I thought that you were going to be taking longer to get home; that’s what I was told by Cass?” Y/n asks, and Donatello shakes his head. He then responded. “No, we finished early and told them that we were going to be home sooner; she most likely told you that so you would be surprised. How kind.” Yes, Y/n and Donatello got married a little while after they got together. It was a sweet moment for them, and Raphael cried.

They got closer, then the Krang appeared, and since then, they’ve stuck together through thick and thin. When Raphael came to Donatello, asking him to create a child for him and Cassandra, Donatello realized that hey, he could make one for himself and Y/n as well! And yes, that’s what he did! A little while after, of course. Taking care of one baby was more than enough.

He was excited for when the Krang were beaten to show Casey Jr. and Betto around and tell them even more stories. It would happen sooner or later, he was sure… and sure, Raphael wouldn’t be with them anymore, but Casey Jr. is here, and they were going to keep them both alive.

No matter what it took.

After all… they were the children of the apocalypse.

[sweetshelluvaau]

-HELLo and welcome-

Hello, my name is Sweets and welcome to my little blog in this little corner of tumblr. I'm just a little salty, jaded woman on the Spectrum from the states who enjoys writing/drawing and bitching about everything. Oh, and I'm sorta a fan of Hellaverse. Sorta.

This blog was made for me to share my Hellaverse/Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel rewrite(s) I’m working on while also giving me a space to share my thoughts on the show(s) soI don't spam my HB/HH roleplay blogs with critical content. I'm salty af, what can I say.

My Helluva Boss rewrite is called I.M.P: Immediate Murder Professionals and my Hazbin rewrite is called Hazbin Hotel: Redemption Arc (at least until I can think of a better name but I like it as of now). I talk a little about the direction of my stories will take here.

What this blog basically is:

This is all the fault of my friend Nihlis! We both happened to be fans of Hellaverse (and still are in some sense) but have been turned off by the writing focus and decisions made within HB Season Two and found Hazbin Hotel to be a bit 'lackluster' to say the least. You can argue that the writing in the serie(s) as always been hot garbage but I felt HB Season One wasn’t as bad as it is now but going back to S1 also opened our eyes a lot to the problems that plague the series from the start but only now taking full notice of. After plenty angry, salty discussions and a little pushing and honestly a bit of boredom on my part: This blog was formed. 

This blog will be very Hellaverse/Vivziepop Critical, but never to the point of down right spiteful (as I said, I’m a/I was a fan of the show). If just sharing someone thoughts and criticism, even if it’s constructive or/and not to bash Vivziepop as a person but to criticize her as creator turns you off, then this isn’t the place for you. You’re more than welcome to share/send in your own thoughts regardless if it’s positive or negative, along you’re polite and civil about it. I WILL DOWNRIGHT INGORN HATE/ATTACKS/HARSSMENT ON ME, MY FRIENDS, FOLLOWERS OR ANYONE ELSE (including Vivziepop and everyone that worked on the show). This isn’t the place for that!

What I plan for this blog is to share my rewrites/restructuring/redesigns of how I (and/or Nihlis if he wishes to add some of his own thoughts to this blog) would handle/fix/would tell the story with the source material given to us plus adding my own twist on things, big and small.

I also hope to gain feedback for myself so I can grow as a writer and artist as well. Pleased don’t feel shy to share your suggestions or questions about this AU via ask. Heck, don’t feel shy to link to your own designs or AUs I love see them! Maybe we can even bounce ideas off each other!?

I am not a professional writer nor do I claim to be one. This is all for fun at the end of the day

What this blog isn’t:

A hit piece. While I will be very critical on this blog about my thoughts on Vivizepop’s writing, character design (tho I’m no expert when it comes to that neither) and some of her own actions, I do not hate Vivizie as a person even though I do have some thoughts about her personality. I do not know her in real life, I just consume some of her content and question some of her writing decisions. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen to be going on behind close doors at SpindleHorse Toons is not the point of this blog so I will not be addressing the allegations thrown out unless I feel it’s needed, let alone my own thoughts on the matter. There are blogs that do address her actions and behavior in more detail however.

I’m also not trying to 1up/have a ‘gotcha!’ moment on Vivizie. Like I said, this is all for fun. I’m just another salty jaded fan on the internet that should be no more insignificant to her just as any other fan and ‘hater’.

Um, so yeah. Hi~

[wutlaikalikes]

demotivated artist

a blog

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I read on X that there were ‘artists’ who quit drawing because of PewDiePie’s drawing journey. Pointing out that PewDiePie is rich and has a lot of free time is the reason why he became good at drawing within a year. There were videos made about it too on YouTube but I didn’t watch them.

I don’t know PewDiePie’s daily schedule but in his first video he mentioned that he would only spend a few minutes drawing per day. If I remember correctly, he said 10 minutes(?). And honestly, I don’t think he’s that free since he got a child now. But about the rich part, I don’t think I can defend that cause he is lol.

When I first saw PewDiePie diving into drawing as a hobby, I was excited to watch them and see his progress. I was more amazed than jealous. And his problems when drawing are pretty much the same with every artist out there.

Honestly, those people who were saying that they quit drawing because of PewDiePie are probably the same people who just hate PewDiePie all these years. People can change with effort. People can learn from mistakes. I know that the internet is forever but that doesn’t mean you remain the same as you grow up.

But I digressed…

If there is anything that is demotivating me from drawing, is generative AI and the companies using user’s data to feed to their AI.

I like to draw and recently because of VTubers, I started to draw constantly again. With most of my drawings off of X and having opened an account on BSky, I feel like I shouldn’t post my drawings anymore. People have pointed out that BSky’s TOS doesn’t really state anything against AI. Though BSky has posted recently that they are not interested in feeding user’s data to train AI. But that doesn’t mean they won’t in the future or that they can protect users from the rest of the internet since it is a public platform. I actually slowed posting my drawings on BSky just until I got a clear stance from them.

image source: https://bsky.app/profile/bsky.app/post/3layuzbto2c2x

Drawing is an expression and since I really can’t afford to buy official merchandise (for now), making fan arts and sharing my oshi’s content are the only way I can support them. This whole AI situation is pretty much f***ed up!

I get it, not all AI is bad. AI in the medical field looks interesting, not gonna lie. It’s like a digital petri dish that could help identify what potential problems you’ll encounter in the future.

It's just the generative AI that I don’t see a good use of. For companies that wouldn't want to spend money on artists, writers, voice actors, etc., I guess this would be beneficial for them. But who would want to watch or consume soulless content? I mean, even now, there are media out there that are boring just because they don’t have the right directors, effects artists, actors, music, or story. There are even movies that have special effects that are hurriedly done that look laughable.

I was imagining a world where everyone with artistic talent just stopped sharing their abilities. Where drawings, paintings or comics are shared by purchasing a physical copy or just sharing with friends. Where in order to listen to music, you have to go to concerts or buy physical records. Where in order to enjoy stories, you have to buy and read books. Where movies can only be enjoyed by going to theaters to watch actors act on stage. Pretty much how things were done years ago. A simpler time, I imagine.

Innovation is not bad and has obviously made things much better. But to rob people of their work and have their talent belittled feels like a step back. Imagination leads people to produce new ideas to be applied in the real world to make things even better. A future where people rely on AI to look for new innovation, I can only imagine it would only produce the same idea presented in a different way.

I’m sad. I don’t want to stop drawing. However, I should consider refraining from posting my drawings. I don’t know when this will stop. I know Japan made a stance against AI but doesn't have a law or regulation against it. Just recently, voice actors in Japan have voiced their concerns and called for rules to be set in place. And Hirohiko Araki describes AI generated images as a threat to the manga industry.

As far as I know, there is no country trying to stop this. The only effort that I see is Glaze and Nightshade. A program that adds ‘poison’ to your art. (which honestly something i should be looking into further).

With the many problems we have in this world, I think AI is the least of the world’s problems. However, it does add to the problem. AI is stored in data centers and it requires water, rare Earth materials and power to run these, and it also produces electronic wastes.

*sigh*

I have a thought last night and probably the only positive thought I have. I'll draw two more drawings for this year. Then next year, if I can, I'll just do DIY projects related to Holostars and my oshis. Cause I haven't really done any projects or traditional art.

Normally, I talk to myself to motivate or hype myself up, or I write my thoughts to clear my mind. Writing helps me organize my thoughts. But this blog is not helping me at all. In the end, I’m still sad.

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some sources: Voice actors in Japan call for rules on AI-generated content (from NHK World Japan) https://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/en/news/20241114_01/

Jojo Creator Hirohiko Araki Shocked To Find His Art Perfectly Imitated By AI; Warns Of Its Increasing Threat To Manga Industry (from AnimeHunch) https://animehunch.com/jojo-creator-hirohiko-araki-shocked-to-find-his-art-perfectly-imitated-by-ai-warns-of-its-increasing-threat-to-manga-industry/

Hirohiko Araki on the evil of AI art in today's "world of con artists" https://x.com/jojo_wiki/status/1857903571573919813

AI has an environmental problem. Here’s what the world can do about that. (from UN environment program) https://www.unep.org/news-and-stories/story/ai-has-environmental-problem-heres-what-world-can-do-about

[mymemoirs]

Cut Back on Nosy, Stick to Myself

I think I have the talent of turning people's business into my own problem. This so-called problem was actually me being nosy of things that I couldn't control about others. It's time-consuming and not even worth it.

This past few weeks was the culmination of me wasting my energy on other people. In a sense, I do have some responsibility within an organization: taking care of members, helping the young ones grow, supporting the member and organization, etc. But this is something else.

I know that I have no control of other people thoughts, attitude, manners, etc. However, when I disagree with someone or find something inappropriate, I have this urge to just tell someone off which feels like I'm patronizing them.

My dad has chided me for doing this. It was not my place to tell someone off or to tell that something is wrong especially to those who are older than me and of the opposite sex. There is someone much suited to have a talk with those people, but I am not that person. Even if I am, I tend to overthink why someone would did what they did. (Now that is arrogant. Damn.)

So, who's going to listen to me babbling about this? My family, as the closest and trusted people I have on my side. My dad being who he is, berated me because I was clearly exuding negativity whenever I complained.

Okay, now who in the hell emits positivity from complaining? Nada. Nu-uh. Complaining is actually a useless thing to do but I still do it anyways. But I'm in the process of removing myself from this scene and I hope I could be better.

And he's not wrong, being negative about something makes me tired in general. I don't do well with slight inconvenience, it makes me feels like I wanted to give up there and then. It also seems like I can't find the good in anything I'm doing and I'm spiraling into a frenzy of complaints. If you believe in the power of the mind or manifesting, this would only attract bad things into my life.

With all this pile up, I've finally decided to call it quits. Mmm, I might still complain (will try to cut back on it) but I've decided not to let other people problems or things that have nothing to do with me to affect me. Sure, I can emphatized but I don't have to look at other's social media update and have it affect me. By being nosy about other people, I actually risked not taking care of myself.

I do have my own problems that I need to solve or at least I am in the need of a breakthrough. I told myself that I wanted to change this year, I don't want to cry for the very same reason and this is one of the thing I need to act upon.

Cutting back on complaints, staying away from gossiping, don't be nosy about other people's problems.

One of the immediate measures I take was staying away from people who gossips. I can never see eye to eye with this person but I didn't hate or have a bad relationship with him or her. I just don't want to be negative and I don't really have the energy to facilitate them. Sure, talking about someone else seems fun but at some point you realized that there's no point on talking behind someone's back. Something I had to relearn everytime I start gossiping too

Yeah, so that's what I've decided a few days ago. Let's see how I fare for the rest of the year.

Adieu, Reina

[burning-candlelight]

wrote this about going to an online school for a huge chunk of my schooling (7th-12th). i did it for various reasons, good and valid reasons, but it was very, very lonely. i had friends, i did, good ones in a sense, but yeah my feelings about it are here. not polished, maybe nonsensical in some places. but yeah.

-----

You watch the kids around you grow into their environments. You watch people interact and mesh and clash. People complain about drama and yeah, I get it, I really do. But 6 years is a long time.

Whatever dregs of drama, if it can even be called that, which have caught up to me are so stripped of whatever one might find entertaining or enjoyable, stripped of any hiding good intention. Like a mango seed with all the sweet pulp sucked off of it, and now you’re chewing on the pure fiber-y strands of hate, getting it all stuck in your teeth. Because there’s nothing else to eat. Nothing at all. And it really wouldn’t be so bad, but 6 years is an awfully long time.

It's not the drama, in the end. In fact, it never really was. Honestly, I've never really heard of someone that says they miss drama. Many spend much of their lives trying to escape it. So it's really, honestly, not the drama. I could be poetic and say its everything else, or allude to some other devastating problem, but the truth is that there were no other issues. There was no discord. There was nothing at all. There was nothing at all. 6 years feels very, very long.

There was no harm, no harmony. There were no fights, nor makeups. Well, there have been, of course, I suppose, but what did those really matter, those few times, in the face of the 6 gnawing years.

I try to make it pretty, I try to channel the hurt into ivory words. But it’s big. The feeling of nothing is so, so impossibly large.

It feels, in that sense, not dramatic. No drama, no irony, no tears, no flourishes. Poems, metaphors, maybe. But to take a lens and zoom, as is the key to many emotions, seems quite impossible in this case. Something like the vast expanse of space, a whole infinite void of nothing consumes my chest. I have no memories to cry over, nothing to hold dear, no tarnished ideals or bruises. I really wouldn’t mind those, nowadays.

And it’s especially sad, when I think of others. For others I can zoom in and the hurt, the feeling of irreconcilably lost time disappears, and a sense of tragedy fills me. I suppose the lost time is tragedy, but not in the same way. I cannot cry for myself, feel sad in the way I am supposed to, not the way I do when I zoom in on others. Because there are others, by the way. Not just me. And its so sad, because we really did try so damn hard. Or, at least I did. And I know many others did too. I can’t say anyone failed us in particular, because I don’t think there was any winning in the first place. We came here, and there was no winning. There was no correct or blatantly happy outcome. There never is, of course, so you could say its really more the universe at fault than the people in charge, but still, you just wouldn’t expect to lose so hard. You gain comrades, brothers in arms clinging to each other to not drown, with a wild and reckless lack of discrimination or forethought. You cling, you hold each other through cold nights, you keep each other from drowning, and through all that, despite all that, the empty nothing persists.

Regret is a feeling I find hard to place. I have a permeating knowledge, or at least a belief, that I’m trying my best. That everyone is. I know that my choices brought me here, they have become me, and frankly, that it’s not too bad of an outcome. But 6 years is a very, very long time.

There’s no pretty conclusion, no moral of the story, no succinct message. A void persisted for 6 years, or perhaps I persisted within one. Reprieve came short and sweet; rations you would stretch from one long month to the next to keep yourself from despair. But really, it was what it was. A tragedy, frankly, because there’s no hero, no winning, no victors– only loss, only survivors, only victims. And 6 lost years out of 18 is a fucking tragedy. I am me because of these years. I ask myself, how do I reconcile this? Heal, like I feel like must? And after these 6 long years, I find that I don’t think I can. I think I just have to live with it.

[alyfuckinj]

i'm starting to feel that funk again, and the one where i need to go inwards and just sit. i'm scared of what lies within but i know the fear of not knowing is what i feel. i think i need to go to psychadelic therapy, i need to continue to nourish my body properly and weed out the people in my life. i need to continue to take care of myself and hold myself accountable. i think i really need to just sit alone because everything i touch just turns to ash and breaks j feel like. i feel like im not a problem until i start becoming an inconvenience and that's the love ive only known for the most part. i feel the way im loved now and i do feel it. sometimes i think i make myself too sad to feel things. sometimes i have to change that narrative. i've spent so many months working on myself and my food intake and weight and perspective and anxiety and depression and although those things have not been balanced but rather like a spider web that changes everyday with different parts growing and others not so much for the day, it changes tomorrow and the shorter parts lengthen and the longer parts lose a little bit of height. to be patient like a spider and be okay with the changes of life, be okay. to open the door of my heart wide open and let the world consume me, but to do that is so vulnerable and brave i think i really need to talk myself up to that confidence level. i am so scared for my future in so many ways but also to have all this war and shit like can we just realize these borders are the only things that separate us and hate is learned and a teacher to crime. i'm scared for people i love, im scared for me, i am scared for everything right now a

[ebaylee422]

Blog Guidlines/Requests

A small intro/rant: This is a safe place to create and enjoy fandom and characters we all know any love. The amazing thing about fiction is it is purely fiction, lots of my writing I will project real life themes and problems into it because it is my own coping mechanism. Again this is a safe place for all of those thoughts and feelings, however, this is also a place of zero tolerance for any hate speech, homophobia, or racism. Let's hold each other accountable for these things as well as understand that everyone experiences them differently. It is my job as a creator to right my wrongdoings and yours as a consumer to inform me and others of them. 

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Feel free to ask for any clarification! I appreciate all of you, kiss-kiss

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

Ok so I’m realizing we have pretty different interpretations of Viktor as a character lol! Just took a few screenshots of specific points I wanna address, but you really got your point across well.

Just to point out a blind spot I have: I have not and never have been disabled in my life, so speaking on Viktor’s experience is truly not my expertise, but he really is a person at the end of the day so I’m hoping all of this makes sense.

Maybe this is just my interpretation, but I feel like Viktor is simply stating a fact with the language he has here. I don’t interpret Viktor has someone with very low self worth at all. I’ll get into that in a second.

I don’t think this is about Viktor not wanting to be publicly acknowledged as Jayce’s partner because of low self esteem, I think this scene says a lot more about the rift growing between Viktor and Jayce. Where Jayce is suddenly becoming a public and political figure and losing sight of who he truly is while Viktor knows what he’s here for. He’s here for the success and prosperity of Hextech to help people, including himself. Why would Viktor want to be a public figure? He’s here to work. Jayce wasn’t up there to be a scientist and present new ideas, he was there to be The Man of Progress.

I’m not at all going to deny that Jayce cares about Viktor and his health, but this whole exchange of Jayce “not understanding”, in my opinion, pretty explicitly puts the blame on Jayce and his ignorance. Jayce doesn’t know what it’s like to be polluted by his own home because of the wealthy and privileged type of person he himself is trying to become. Jayce doesn’t know what it’s like to be left behind by society and have to turn to what people (like Jayce [ie “you didn’t say they were from the Undercity!”]) interpret as ‘degeneracy’. This wasn’t about Viktor feeling insecure, but about Jayce’s very obvious and ever growing blind spots.

Can’t argue with this, but also, Viktor doesn’t have a support system. Like at all. Jayce was busy politicking (this is not a Jayce hate post lmao just walk with me) and also falling in love, consumed by expectations and responsibility. Viktor was consumed by his work. We don’t even see Viktor hang out with anyone when he’s a kid, only with Singed. I don’t think this is about Viktor rejecting people, but simply him lacking a community.

We don’t see a clear shift in disregarding the worth in human imperfections until after he’s consumed by the Hexcore. This is the Hexcore’s doing. I won’t say Viktor and isolation caused by how his disability is treated by society didn’t affect this, but Heimerdinger clearly stated that he misinterpreted the problems with magic. It wasnt the power that got to people’s heads, it’s the fact that the Arcane has something inherently sinister within it. I really don’t think Viktor ties his self worth this much to what Jayce thinks of him. It’s a lot more about his idea of a better life, completely corrupted by the Arcane. And his whole speech in episode 6 tells us this. What makes humanity. Why he’s striving for something beyond it. It’s not about Jayce. It’s about evolving past what is perceived as humanity’s greatest weakness.

I didn’t really notice this (I need a rewatch desperately!) but, again, I think this is more Hexcore corruption mixed in with all of Viktor’s experiences. I don’t think Viktor has this crazy amount of self confidence or anything and seems all too aware of his “place” in society, but I think you might be kind of disregarding the fact that after Viktor is merged with the Hexcore, he’s barely human.

I agree with this, but, again, think this is about the whole “Glorious Evolution” arc, not his self consciousness.

Again, I definitely agree with this, but it’s like, hello? In season one, we never see Viktor act (in my interpretation) like he is a lesser person, we see so much more frustration in being disregarded than anything else. It seems fine without context of Viktor’s disability and actual impeding death, but that’s just not what was happening here. Viktor knows he was worthy of those things and wished other people believed it too. Of course there was nothing broken about him, but him pursuing a cure for his illness isn’t him rejecting his inherent human dignity or anything. It’s him not wanting to die so early.

Also a comment on this post I wanted to highlight! I agree, it belongs to be a sweeping commentary on how the Arcane and humanity (especially humanity that is societally deemed “lesser than”) does not mix! Also, JAYCE was the one that saved Viktor’s life with the Hexcore. Again, omg, the “I was supposed to die” line after asking “what am I?” Even accepting the inevitable end that comes with humanity could’ve been a part of this.

TLDR; I don’t think Viktor’s whole Glorious Evolution arc was about his lack of self confidence or self worth or something. It was about Viktor only being left with so many choices and then having a decision be made for him, then the Arcane completely altering his entire being. Hope this all makes sense again and this is not like an attack or anything lmao!!!

I’m not completely sure about Jayce's line regarding Viktor's "Glorious Evolution" in the last episode. Something along the lines of telling Viktor he was too focused on changing his condition despite always being perfect.

Viktor was dying. Viktor’s original goal was always to find a cure to his condition directly linked to his and his people’s oppression. He was originally going to use Hextech to help people. His was an advocate. He got lost along the way with the Hexcore, especially after being resurrected (still cant stop thinking of the “I was supposed to die” line…….).

Just felt like a pretty silly line. We saw the first season, yk? Maybe I’m missing something here.