#the characters are from my own imagination

[onetiny-inkdropuniverse]

Always made me crack up

But lowkey one thing I never get is when people use this as proof that Leo is like, crazy/reckless/immature when he was literally just thinking it as a joke? Like bfr guys are we reading about the same Leo? My guy is not reckless. Nor that immature? He just jokes around. I'm sorry you confuse trying to lighten the situation verbally (yes, sometimes inappropriately, but not because he can't handle it, but because he doesn't like seeing everyone sad) with straight-up emotional immaturity.

People do this with the joke of Leo thinking about surprising Frank by randomly setting himself on fire to scare him. He's just thinking it, because he undeniably has a dark sense of humor sometimes (it's the trauma). But he'd never in a million years actually do it, because he's NOT crazy or reckless. Like, Leo lost his mom in a fire, too. If he's laughing in his head about scaring someone with fire, it's a dark joke born from his own fears that he's keeping to himself. Be so for real he's "reckless" or "immature". He's not. I think the 3rd person limited perspective that Rick uses can be confusing, because Rick will adopt the voice of the characters while still writing in 3rd person. Like when he says, "He considered shooting a column of fire at the nearest tour bus and blowing up the gas tank, but he decided that might be a tad dramatic," it's not actually Leo fully considering it and then deciding that it's too dramatic, it's more like Leo briefly thinking:

Ah, what a show-off. Imagine if I blew up that tour bus to show off. Wouldn't that be dramatic?

And then laughing internally because that would be a stupid idea, obviously. So, yeah, see how that's something we (or at least, anyone with a dark sense of humor, like perhaps Leo. I mean, notice how both of the examples presented are about killing/hurting/scaring people with fire?

His own fear and pain surrounding the circumstances of his mother's death are what drive him to make these brief, internal jokes that, if anything, show how messed-up he is: not in a "he's crazy" way but in a "wow he's hurting, he uses humor to cope to such an extent that he humorizes people dying the way his mother did". Sorry for the rant. Just had to say it.

leo beefing with percy I CANTTT 😭

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 19

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Call Transcript - Rachel Anderson & Richard Treshton

Richard Treshton: [Answers the call, voice tense] Rachel.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, so you do pick up the phone. I assume you already know why I’m calling.

Richard Treshton: [Dry] No, but I imagine I’m about to find out.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Don’t play dumb. I’ve had reporters on my doorstep all morning, asking about Lizzie. They were digging into my personal life. I have nothing to do with this. I haven’t spoken to her in years. Why am I being dragged into this mess?

Richard Treshton: Because some lowlife on the internet thought digging into Lizzie’s past would make good entertainment.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] I don’t see why they’re so obsessed. She writes fairy porn for a living!

Richard Treshton: Excuse me?

Rachel Anderson: Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what’s in those books. I skimmed one after all the press about her and that driver started up. It’s embarrassing, Richard. She’s a grown woman writing drivel about handmaidens and fae warriors.

Richard Treshton: [Coldly] Careful.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, please. Let’s not pretend her little fairy tale nonsense is high literature. The only reason she’s even relevant right now is because she latched onto that racing driver—

Richard Treshton: You don’t get to talk about her like that. You don’t get to belittle her, not when you gave up any right to an opinion the day you walked out on her.

Rachel Anderson: [Defensive] I left because I had to, Richard. You know that.

Richard Treshton: [Furious] No, you left because you couldn’t deal with having a sick child. You made a choice. Lizzie was six years old, Rachel. Six. And you left her wondering why her own mother didn’t love her enough to stay.

Rachel Anderson: [Quiet] That’s not fair.

Richard Treshton: No, what’s not fair is that she had to grow up without a mother. What’s not fair is that she learned, at six years old, that the person who was supposed to love her unconditionally decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

Rachel Anderson: [Uncomfortable] Richard—

Richard Treshton: [Cold] You don’t get to rewrite history just because the press showed up at your door.

Rachel Anderson: [Tightly] I didn’t call to argue with you. I called to say that I don’t want any part of this circus. I don’t want my name attached to Elizabeth’s mess—

Richard Treshton: [Dangerous calm] Lizzie isn’t a mess.

Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Oh, come on—

Richard Treshton: She is a best-selling author. She is a strong, brilliant, and kind person who has done more with her life than you could ever hope to understand. She is a woman who wakes up every day and keeps going, even when the world makes it harder for her.

Rachel Anderson: Oh, go to hell. 

Richard Treshton: You first. And while you are at it: Keep my daughter’s name out of your damn mouth, Rachel. 

***

Lizzie hadn't let go of Mara since it had happened.

Not on the drive home...not when she had crawled into her bed, and pulled the blanket over her head.

She had curled up on her bed, fingers buried in the soft fur of her Labrador, face pressed against Mara’s side like she could disappear into the warmth. The weight of the world sat heavy on her chest, pressing her down, making it hard to move, hard to think, hard to breathe.

Lando sat beside her, close but not pushing. He hadn’t left her side, not once. His hand rested on her knee, grounding. A silent reminder that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

But now, morning had come. And he had to go. McLaren wanted him in for a meeting.

Lizzie’s stomach twisted as she listened to him get dressed, the sounds of fabric rustling, the quiet zip of his hoodie. Her eyes were still closed, her face half-buried in the pillow. She could feel Mara pressed against her side, the dog’s nose nuzzling into her hip.

The door was ajar, Lando’s shadow passing in front of the light spilling in from the hallway.

Lizzie still hadn’t looked at her phone. She didn’t want to know what else was being said. Didn’t want to see her name trending. Didn’t want to read a single thing about her mother being dragged into the mess, about her private life being turned into entertainment.

Lando hesitated before speaking.

“Do you regret it?” His voice was careful, quiet.

Lizzie went very still.

For a moment, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. The hum of the AC, the tick of the clock on the wall.

Do you regret it?

She knew exactly what he was asking without saying. Not about her mother, not about the stupid online bullshit. Lando was asking about them.

Lizzie’s fingers twitched in Mara’s fur.

She exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t regret you.”

Lando let out a breath of his own, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. He was watching her; she could feel his gaze, warm and steady on her.

“Not even once?” he said, voice quiet enough that she almost thought she’d misheard him.

Her heart clenched.

She forced herself to sit up, pushing herself up on her elbows. "No. Not once," she told him, her voice raw. "I don't regret you. I...don't even regret going public," she admitted weakly. "I just wish it..."

Lando’s gaze softened. He walked over to her, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand landed on her hip, thumb stroking the bare skin as he leaned in. “You wish it what?”

Her throat felt tight.

She exhaled, then said, “I wish it didn’t make the world hate me."

Lando’s thumb stilled.

Then he was pulling her forward, his arms sliding around her. He pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. Lizzie went willingly, burying her face in his chest, her fingers curling in the material of his hoodie.

He tucked her head under his chin, letting her hide against him. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“They don’t get to hate you,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“Lando...”

He tightened his arms around her. “No, listen,” he said, his breath warm against her temple. “The whole goddamn world could hate you, and I would still love you. They wouldn’t change a damn thing."

She closed her eyes, her eyes stinging. She wanted nothing more than to simply hide away with him.

She took a shuddering breath, then another.

“ I can’t do social media right now.” Her voice was quiet, rough at the edges. “I just—can’t.”

Lando nodded instantly. “Then don’t. You don’t have to.”

Her throat bobbed. “People are everywhere, saying—” She stopped, shaking her head, burying her face against the crook of his neck.

Lando’s hand came up to cradle her head, the fingers of his other hand tracing gentle circles on her back. “I know. I know what they’re saying.” His jaw clenched. She could feel it against her forehead.

She could also feel the tension coursing through his body, how hard he was fighting to restrain himself, to keep his response in check.

“You don’t have to see it. You don’t have to read it," he said softly.

Lizzie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter if I read it. It’s there. It exists. They think they know me, think they get to have opinions about me, and I—I just want to exist, Lando."

“You do get to exist,” he said, his tone a mix of fierce and urgent, like he needed her to understand this. “Those idiots on Twitter—they don’t get to take this from us. And they don’t get a say in how we live our lives.”

He took her chin in his hand, gently lifting her face to look at him. “They don’t get to decide how I feel about you.”

Lizzie inhaled sharply, searching his gaze.

His eyes were dark, focused on hers. But there was a determined set to his jaw, and a fire in his eyes that she knew meant he was ready to take on the whole world, if he had to.

And in that moment, all she felt was the quiet, overwhelming certainty that he’d win, because he’d fight for this. For them.

 “Your dad’s coming over,” he murmured. “I have to go to McLaren, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Lizzie’s grip tightened. “Okay.”

Lando hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Lizzie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

Lando’s expression softened. He took her face in his hands, tilting her head up, and kissed her.

His lips were warm, firm against hers, his fingers curling possessively against her skin. It was an urgent kiss, fierce and a little desperate, as though trying to say all the things they couldn’t put into words.

He broke the kiss far too soon, resting his forehead against hers. “You text me if you need me, okay? I’m coming right back.”

Lizzie nodded. “Okay.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers, like he was trying to commit all of her face to memory. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, sliding her off his lap so he could stand.

He paused, one hand on the door. “Liz.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

Then he smiled, that same crooked, boyish grin that had made her heart skip a beat from the moment she first saw him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her, with a conviction that made her believe him.

Lizzie tried to return the smile. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Her father came over...The The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the wind outside and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Lizzie sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, watching as her father moved around the small space, rinsing out the kettle and tidying up even though it didn’t need tidying. She knew what that meant—he was working through something in his head, giving himself time before he spoke.

Her father was a tall man, with dark eyes that had always seen everything. He finally sat down across from her, his hands wrapping around the mug of tea. He blew softly over the surface before taking a sip. Then he exhaled, his gaze meeting hers as he carefully set the mug back down.

Mara was curled up at Lizzie’s feet, resting her head against her lap. The Labrador always seemed to know when she needed grounding, her presence solid and unwavering. Lizzie absentmindedly ran her fingers through Mara’s soft fur, trying to do the same for herself.

Her father cleared his throat. “I should've warned you…”

Lizzie frowned. “You knew?”

“I knew about them.” He hesitated. “I didn’t know people were going to drag it into the spotlight like this, but… yeah, I knew.”

Lizzie took a slow breath, willing her voice to stay even. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Her father rubbed the back of his neck. “Because it wasn’t going to change anything.”

Lizzie let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. I know now.”

Her father exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the table. “She called me, you know.”

Lizzie stiffened. “What?”

“This morning.” He shook his head. “She’s furious. Says she has reporters showing up at her house, asking her kids about you.”

Lizzie’s stomach turned. “I didn’t want that,” she murmured.

“I know,” her dad said. “But she’s acting like it’s your fault. Like you somehow brought this on her.”

Lizzie stared silently into her tea. She didn’t want to feel guilt over this. She didn’t want to feel the weight of it on her shoulders, the churning sensation in her stomach.

Lizzie swallowed hard, gripping her mug a little tighter.

Her life.

Her kids.

Her mother had built a family—one that didn’t include her. One that had never even considered including her.

“She really just… replaced us,” Lizzie murmured. “Didn’t she?”

Her father’s expression softened. “Lizzie…”

She shook her head, refusing the sympathy she saw in his eyes. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want pity. She just wanted—she wanted this to be over.

Her voice was almost a whisper when she said, “Do you ever regret it?”

Her dad’s brow furrowed. “Regret what?”

“Sticking with me,” she said quietly. She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze. “When she left. When I got sick. When things got hard. Do you ever wish you’d done what she did? Started over? With a new wife? A normal kid?"

There was a long moment of silence, her words echoing in the air.

Then her father reached across the table, and took her hand, fingers curling gently around hers.

“Elizabeth.” His voice was steady, firm. “I need you to listen to me.”

She swallowed, nodding.

“I have never—never—regretted staying.” He squeezed her hands. “Not once. Not for a single second.”

Lizzie felt something crack in her chest.

“I would do it all over again,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Every long night, every hospital visit, every fear and frustration—if it meant having you, I’d do it a thousand times over.”

Lizzie blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Even though it wasn’t easy?”

Her father let out a quiet laugh. “Most of the best things in life aren’t easy.” He cupped her cheek, brushing away the tear that had slipped free. “But they’re worth it. And you, kid… you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The tears were falling in earnest now, streaming down her face, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Dad,” she said, voice choked.

He gently pulled her out of her chair and into his arms, letting her cry against his chest like she was suddenly six years old again, overwhelmed and scared and just wanting her dad.

He held her firmly, gently. He didn’t say anything, just let her cling to him.

He rocked her back and forth, the same way he had when she was little and had scraped her knees, gotten too overwhelmed in a crowded place, or cried herself into a seizure. He never let go, just held her close, letting her sob into his shoulder.

"I never regretted it," he repeated. "Not for one single second, Lizzie. You are my daughter. And I will never, never be alright with people treating you like you are a burden or unlovable or that you don't deserve to exist."

Lizzie’s arms tightened around his neck, like she was six again and he was the only thing tethering her to solid ground. It was familiar and comforting, and she had never been more grateful that this man was her dad.

She let herself sink into him. The solid line of his shoulders against her, the beat of his heart, the smell of his favorite cologne. Her dad was quiet and unassuming, soft-spoken and kind, but he was also the most fiercely protective person she’d ever known.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. “You are the best thing I ever got out of my marriage,” he murmured. His hand came up to brush her hair away from her face, his palm cupping her cheek. “Just tell me something.”

She sniffed. “What?”

He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze, his grip on her firm but always gentle. “You’re happy? With Lando?”

She nodded. There was no hesitation, nothing but the familiar, overwhelming certainty that this thing with him was right.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I am.”

“He makes you happy?” he pressed.

She nodded again, not even needing to think about it. “Yeah.” A small smile touched her lips. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

***

***

The tension in the McLaren briefing room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Lando was sitting at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating barely contained fury. Across from him, Sophie from PR looked like she’s fighting off a migraine, while Zak Brown and Andrea Stella exchanged cautious glances.

And then there’s Oscar—legs crossed, scrolling through his phone with the same casual energy as someone reading the weather forecast.

Lando exhaled sharply. “Let me get this straight. You all knew that Lizzie was getting harassed like this, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Sophie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lando, we weren’t trying to hide anything from you. We were monitoring the situation, trying to control the damage before it got out of hand.”

Lando scoffed. “Out of hand? Do you think what’s happening now is ‘under control’?”

Zak leant forward, trying to maintain some authority over the spiraling conversation. “We wanted to handle it internally, without escalating the situation further.”

Lando’s hands slammed onto the table. “Lizzie has been dealing with days of harassment—ableism, threats, even people doxxing her mother—and your grand plan was to just wait it out?”

Zak didn’t immediately respond, which only infuriated Lando further.

“And you let me walk into that interview blind?” Lando’s voice was dangerously low now. “If I hadn’t shut that down myself, what were you expecting me to say? That maybe, yeah, dating my girlfriend is too hard because she has epilepsy? That I regret being with her? Because that’s exactly what they wanted from me.”

Sophie shifted uncomfortably. “We didn’t expect them to be that direct about it—”

“Bullshit.”

Zak sighed, rubbing his temples. “Lando, we understand that you’re upset—”

“No, you don’t!” Lando cut him off, his voice raw with frustration. “You don’t get it at all! You get to sit here and talk about damage control while Lizzie is at home seeing people pick apart her entire existence like she’s a burden. You think I give a shit about PR right now?”

Zak exhaled. “We’re not saying we do nothing. We just need to be strategic about it.”

Lando let out a humorless laugh. “Strategic. Right. Because God forbid McLaren actually takes a stand instead of waiting until it’s convenient.”

Andrea finally spoke up, voice sharp. “Lando. Be reasonable.”

Lando didn’t even bother trying to contain his scoff. “Be reasonable? You think I’m being unreasonable?”

Oscar set his phone down with a thunk. “Okay, I’m done listening to this.”

Sophie tenses. “Oscar—”

“No, really. Because this is ridiculous.” Oscar looks around at everyone, unimpressed. “Lando wants to make a statement, and you’re acting like he’s trying to blow up the whole team. But guess what? It’s already blown up. This isn’t a little PR hiccup. It’s a full-on disaster. And the only thing worse than handling it badly is doing nothing.”

Zak watched him carefully. “We’re trying to avoid making it worse.”

“By saying nothing? That’s not how this works, Zak.” Oscar shrugged. “You want to wait it out? Fine. But I won’t.”

Sophie groaned. “Oscar—”

“Either you release a statement and you’ll let Lando release a statement, or I’ll start tweeting like I did with Alpine.”

Silence.

Zak blinked. Andrea actually looked alarmed. Sophie looked like she might start crying.

Lando could just stare at his teammate.

Sophie swallowed. “You’re bluffing.”

Oscar’s face remained impressively stoic. “Try me.”

“Oscar,” she said slowly, like she’s trying to reason with a wild animal, “do you remember what happened the last time you went rogue on Twitter?”

Oscar arched one eyebrow. “Yeah. Alpine cried about it, and then I got a better seat. Good times.”

Lando, despite his anger, let out a breath of disbelief. “Oscar, you absolute menace.”

Oscar shrugged. “People seem to forget I have zero patience for bullshit.” He picked up his phone again. "Give out a statement. Or I'll do it for you.  I’m pretty sure there are 19 other drivers who will agree with me that ableism is bullshit.”

Sophie buried her face in her hands. Zak swore under his breath. Andrea just looks resigned.

Lando?

Lando finally, finally smirks. “Remind me to buy you dinner later.”

Sophie lifted her head from her hands, eyes darting between Oscar and Lando like she’s debating whether to resign on the spot or fight for what little control she has left. Zak exhaled through his nose, arms crossed, looking like a man who knows he’s lost but refuses to admit it.

Andrea, ever the level-headed one, finally spoke. “Alright. Let’s take a step back. Oscar—if you tweet, what exactly are you planning to say?”

Oscar leans back, unfazed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like—‘If your biggest concern about my teammate’s girlfriend is her having a medical condition instead of, I don’t know, the insane amount of talent she has or the fact that she makes him happy, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe try being a better human being.’” He tilts his head. “Something like that.”

Sophie groaned like she’s physically in pain. “Oscar, please.”

Lando was outright grinning now, despite the fury still simmering under his skin. “Yeah, I definitely owe you dinner.”

Zak closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before responding. “We need to be smart about this. If we make this bigger than it already is, we risk—”

“Risk what?” Lando interrupted, voice sharp again. “Risk pissing off the same people who are already tearing Lizzie apart for existing? Risk upsetting the same journalists who think they can get away with asking me if I regret being with my girlfriend? Fuck that.”

Zak pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lando—”

“No, Zak. I’m done. You guys are trying to manage PR while Lizzie is sitting at home seeing people drag her through the dirt for things she can’t control. You’re worried about making it worse? It’s already as bad as it gets! They doxxed her mother. They’re making fun of her service dog. They’re acting like she’s ruining my life just by being in it. And the longer we say nothing, the longer they think they’re right.”

Silence.

Andrea exhaled, nodding slightly. “He’s right.”

Zak’s eyes snap to him, but Andrea holds his gaze. “This isn’t just a PR issue anymore. It’s an integrity issue. If we ignore this, we’re condoning it. And frankly, I don’t want to work for a team that stays silent when something this disgusting is happening to someone in our family.”

Lando blinked at him, surprised but grateful.

Zak sat back, weighing his options. He looked at Lando, at Oscar, at Andrea. He knew he’s outnumbered.

Finally, with a sigh, he nods. “Fine. We put out a statement.”

Sophie looks pained, but she knows there’s no stopping this now. “What do you want it to say?”

Lando didn’t even hesitate. “That ableism is unacceptable. That Lizzie has been subjected to relentless harassment, and it needs to stop. That McLaren stands by her, and we won’t tolerate this kind of treatment toward her—or anyone.” He looked directly at Zak. “And that I love my girlfriend, and I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Zak held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Oscar grinned. “Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some tweets to like.”

Sophie looks like she might combust on the spot. “Oscar, for the love of God, please do not start a Twitter war before we even get the statement out.”

Oscar doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Too late.”

Lando leans over to peek at Oscar’s screen and immediately snorts. “Oh my God, you just liked a tweet that says ‘Lando Norris should set the internet on fire and propose out of spite.’”

Oscar shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

Sophie stared at him in open horror. “You’re not helping.”

Zak rubbed his temples. “Alright, let’s get ahead of this before we end up with marriage rumors on top of everything else.”

Andrea, ever the strategist, spoke up. “We need to make sure we’re not just reacting to the backlash. This isn’t about damage control—it’s about making a clear statement. We stand by Lizzie. We won’t tolerate ableism.”

Zak sighs. “Fine. But we phrase it carefully. Something like…” He glances at Sophie.

She still looks exhausted but nods. “‘McLaren stands firmly against the harassment and ableism directed at Elizabeth Treshton. We are appalled by the treatment she has received and fully support Lando and Lizzie against this unacceptable behavior.’”

Lando leans forward. “Make sure you use the word ‘ableism.’ A lot of these people don’t even think what they’re doing is wrong. They need to hear it.”

Zak sighs. “Lando—”

“No.” Lando cuts him off. “This isn’t just about Lizzie anymore. If they can say this shit about her, what’s stopping them from going after other people? What if another driver’s partner has a medical condition? What if it’s a fan next time? If we don’t call this out, we’re saying it’s okay.”

Oscar nodded. “I’m tweeting.”

Sophie groaned. “Of course you are.”

Zak shook his head but didn't argue. “Fine. But let’s make sure McLaren’s statement goes out first.”

Lando quietly said, “Make it strong.”

Sophie exhaled. “It will be.”

Andrea looked at them all, nodding slightly. “Good. Because after this, things are going to get loud.”Oscar, jaw still tight, finally put his phone down. “Good.”

[shepscapades]

DBHC TIMELINE[S]

This post is an extension of the DBHC Masterpost, linked also in my blog’s header/bio.

The images below feature two separate timelines: one for Hermitcraft Season 8, and one for Season 9. These timelines feature prominent/notable events that have been posted about, drawn for, written for, etc. Basically, every major post from this au has ended up/will go on the season timeline it belongs! 

Each event is labelled by the title it was given wherever it's linked elsewhere on the Master Post: in most cases, these posts are linked on their respective Character Post Lists. For Example, the post named 'Etho Tries Syncing with Bdubs' on the Masterpost will be labelled as such on the timeline. Additionally, each event is color-coded by character!

✧NOTE: NOT EVERY DBHC POST OR DRAWING IS ON THESE TIMELINES✧

To avoid extreme clutter, I picked the most notable moments or events from each Character’s Post List that would serve as sufficient anchor points. So, if you want a more specific idea of where every single individual post lands, you can reference the timeline(s) alongside individual character post lists, where everything is chronologically organized! You should be able to get a good overview of events and characters involved from these timelines, but all of the details and in-between moments or silly things are all on the individual character posts (links to which, again, can be found at the bottom of the primary DBHC Masterpost)!

Lastly! Like everything else on the Masterpost, I will do my best to update this regularly as any major moments or comics come out :] 

Additional Notes: 

Any grey-colored events on the timeline refer to events that have been referenced/discussed in some capacity but have no unique drawing, writing, or otherwise post dedicated to it (for example, Etho shutting down at the end of Season 8 is placed on the S8 timeline despite nothing being drawn for it yet). 

The black ticks throughout the timeline were marked for my own reference as indications of the IRL timeline of months throughout which videos were released, but they aren’t labeled as such, because I don’t headcanon time passing at the same rate in minecraft as it does in real life (i.e, Season 8 lasted about six months IRL, but I imagine it lasting about a year or so in canon, so it’s not 1 to 1). Basically, the ticks were placed as a guide for me as I continue to figure out where to put everything, but they’re not strict “monthly” markers or anything. 

Similarly, each Life Series is expanded slightly on their locations on the timelines, since I also headcanon time moving differently on the Life Series servers compared to Hermitcraft. From a Hermitcraft-side perspective, players are gone for approximately… 3ish weeks (give or take), whereas players actively participating on the Life server will have been gone for what feels like 2-3 months to them. It’s also not 1 to 1 here, so I just expanded the Life Series sections and then ticked them off by Session Number (Last Life having 9 ticks/sections, Double Life having 6 sections, etc). This makes placing any Life Series events accurately (while stuff is still happening on Hermitcraft) a little easier!

[tielan]

I wrote this probably about six months ago in the middle of the US election season. Alas, I never posted it, and it is now too late.

The points still hold though:

No dramatic change is possible from a collective level: decisions by committee are slow and change is marginal.

you might have to commit to planting trees whose shade you will not get to shelter under.

Find someone who supports 70% of what you want at your local level, because nobody supports your policy 100% of the time except you

Is it more important to punish the people who aren't doing the job that you want them to do, or to achieve as much justice for the people being failed by the system as is possible?

Maybe everything is bad and you should just give up. That's your right. But if you have anyone you care about who is going to live longer than you, it might be worth it to put an oar in for them.

--

(The original post, probably written about 6 months ago, and found in my drafts folder. I didn't post it. I don't remember why.)

Firstly: if you want dramatic change...you're not going to get it. You're 40 years too late.

Know when Project 2025 was first conceived? During the Reagan years. Yep. It has the weight of 40 years behind it. Four months - hell, four years - isn't going to dent it.

Then there's the problem of decisions by committee - which is what a collective movement is. Sure, you might all be committed to Black Lives Matter. But is the person next to you also committed to Women's Bodily Rights the way you are? What about Tax The Rich?

Policy is not swift and sharp. Neither is Justice. The wheels of God grind slowly, but they do grind exceeding small.

Secondly: if you want change...you might have to be the person that plants and nurtures the tree you will never get to shelter under.

A lot of people don't like this idea; a lot of people have suffered a great deal to this point - why should they put themselves out further?

(I feel there's an element of "why should I have to suffer so that other people can see a freedom I'll never enjoy" that echoes the voice of people who don't want to see, say, student loan debt paid off, because being dirt-poor and in-debt to the tune of 2 or 3 times what you borrowed is 'character building' and if they had to do it, why shouldn't the kids today? Do we want better? Yes? Then part of that 'making it better' might mean pain for us today.

Note: many of the people we consider heroes today did not get to shelter under the trees they planted.)

Thirdly: if you want change at the country-leadership level...you might have to start by voting at the local level. City/county councils, sheriff's offices, school board administrators, local elected officials.

Find a local politician, someone who stands for 70% of what you want and support them. Why only 70%? Because I don't imagine you want to stand for office yourself, and you are almost certainly the only one who will stand for 100% of what you personally want to see. Settle for 70%.

A very interesting look into how the Australian political landscape was siginificantly changed in the 2022 federal election: 4 Corners: Independent's Day. Nine independents were elected to federal parliament, and changed the balance of power in the House of Reps.

Fair warning: the Australian parliamentary system is a little differently leveraged to the US congressional system, so don't take them word-for-word.

Fourth: if you want change...ask yourself this:

Is it more important to punish the people who aren't doing the job that you want them to do, or to achieve as much justice for the people being failed by the system as is possible?

The system isn't great, no. It doesn't do much by way of justice, or even doing the job that most younger people want it to do. But also: it is holding a lot of things in place that most people don't realise need holding in place. And that might be more important than one's own sense of satisfaction that someone who wasn't doing a job well is being replaced...especially if the person replacing them is doing a worse job.

I saw at least one post where someone said "we know that the alternative is worse, and we don't care; our leaders must be taught a lesson!"

My dear, that is not justice. That is vengeance.

Justice is for those struggling, including taking the measures to minimise their struggle if we can't take it away, and to live in the deeply unsatisfying knowledge that we can only do so much against the processes and powers of the world that we live in.

Vengeance feels good in the moment, but offers no hope of change.

I saw an excellent representation of the coming US election (and a great many other forthcoming elections around the world):

You are on fire. You have a bucket of piss and a bucket of gasoline with which to douse the flames. Which do you choose?

"I choose neither!"

Very well, then you burn to death. Or - perhaps worse - you stand there hoping that someone else will douse you with the bucket of piss (although it's more likely to be people choosing the gasoline...for reasons of vengeance rather than to see justice done - although there are those who think that justice is being done by burning you to death).

It is true that you don't have to participate in a flawed system, but watching your house burn down and not lifting a finger to stop it when you could is also not the kind of heroism that will see you on the right side of history, either.

(There is no third-party route to the White House, and even if there was, unless you are advocating a third-party dictatorship - which would have to be backed up by significant military power - then nothing would happen anyway, because the US government has three branches: executive, legislative, and judicial, and the president is only the executive and still has to get legislation through the House and Senate ("Congress"), and past the judicial oversight of the Supreme Court. And neither Congress nor SCOTUS is going to do anything for a third-party President - assuming there even was a third-party route to the White House.

Which...there isn't. Where is a third-party going to get 280+ electoral votes from? "Alternative Electors"? You're going to trust in the words of people who are echoing Trump's rhetoric? Or you're hoping for bloody revolution? Because apart from more people hoping for bloody revolution than being willing to get blood on their hands, the people who get to rewrite history are those who are left standing. Are you so sure that the people who have blooded their hands on "a revolution of the political class" are going to have your interests at heart and not their own?

Also: what exactly does "a revolution of the political class" mean? Kill all politicians? Anyone who ever stood for government? Anyone who has any idea of how to run the government? Or are we so sure of our ability to discern who is in it for the power and who is in it for the people that we think we could "kill the political class" without getting some of it wrong.

And if you struggle with voting for "someone who is doing things that you dislike" over "someone who is devoted to burning everything you like about your country to the ground", then how the living fuck are you going to actually have the bloody revolution? Pay someone else to do the killing? Do I have to go into how that's an idea that will come to bite you on the ass - or, more likely, shoot you through the torso?

Saying "voting doesn't matter" might reach your younger peers online but it certainly hasn't reached Clangus Hargbarg who was part of the kkk in 1951 and still sends in his ballot. He hasn't missed a one.

[luiluvr]

let it grow || luigi mangione

dad!luigi i love u forever :( based off this request! spent a lot of time listening to let it grow, cause the Lorax soundtrack goes hard, also this is to the person who wanted boy dad luigi!! <3

WARNINGS: none! no uses of y/n, & i didn't give the kids a name this time — leaving it to ur imagination! slightly proof read

SUMMARY: after taking a wind-down shower, you hear murmurs from the kid's bedroom, Luigi is reading them his (and their) favorite bedtime story: The Lorax.

WC: 1k

The Lorax. Always The Lorax. 

Luigi’s all-time favorite as a child, he was so giddy when you both finally had children of your own – he made sure he had the book on hand at all times. Even when they were babies that didn’t fathom what was happening; he’d read to them. Again and again, honestly you get sick of hearing the same story all the time. It’s meaningful to him, which is respectable, for it being a children’s book it reflects the real world plenty.

Most kids wanted to read other books by now, but your two sons never complained once when they asked Luigi to read to them. When he pulled out The Lorax, they’d be so excited. They just loved hearing him read, he had this aura. He would express the characters so well, exclaim and imitate sounds; so the kids preferred him reading over you. You read to them every so often when Luigi wasn't readily available, but besides then, he was theirs for bedtime stories.

For the night you left Luigi to get the kids tucked in to bed while you showered, you needed that fifteen-minutes of peace and quiet, he never turned down the opportunity to do something with the kids while benefiting you in the process.

You managed to wash off, get your hair dried so it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep at night. Luigi didn’t seem too invested in doing a lot tonight, so you figured he wouldn’t. Until you went out into your room and heard some murmuring down the hallway. You raise an eyebrow and slowly walk towards the noise, mid-cleaning your ears.

“That was long, long ago. But each day since that day I've sat here and worried and worried away. Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart, I've worried about it with all of my heart.” Luigi’s voice echoes softly as you peer into the door, smirking softly as he uses his best Once-ler voice.

“But now,” he says softly, “Now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” The two boys with thick curls on their small heads, similar to Luigi’s – look at him. Listening intently. Despite hearing this story a hundred times before, it was as if they were still taking it in for the first time – all over again. They were curled on either side of him, watching the pages. 

His gaze shifts to the boys, and he smiles, not quite finished reading but wanting to interact. “So, what does that mean exactly?” 

“If somebody doesn’t care, then nothing’s gonna get better?” For kids their age, they caught onto things well. Or it’s the fact Luigi has explained every waking detail of this book even though they 100% didn’t understand the worldly concepts connected to the writings.

“That’s right, so suppose something’s not right in your life, you have to care a lot about it to actually fix it. You can say ‘yeah, I want to be better about this,’ but never do anything. It can also mean about different timeline movements that changed our world today. Like racial equality, or women’s rights. If no one ever actually cared enough to change those things, do you think the world would be how it is?”

“No.” The youngest says. He’s only three-years-old so his vocabulary was still a work in progress. 

“I don’t think so dad.” The older boy murmurs from his bed.

“You’re right,” he began, until your older boy interrupted. “Dad, do you think when Dr. Seuss was  writing that he was thinking about the world we live in rather than the one he created?” His voice was pitchy, and he stumbled on a few words, but for a five-year-old it was rather impressive – even to you.

Luigi smiled at that, he was so proud his boy was learning, soon the youngest would pick up on it too, he was just too little right now. He only liked the drawings – a very simple boy. “Absolutely, kiddo. If I could prove any theory I’ve ever had, it would be this book, right here,” he gestures at the small hard-back cover he’s had since he was a child. “Is based on our reality.” 

It always fascinated you how Luigi had such a way with the two little ones. “So… Catch!’ Calls the Once-ler. He let something fall. ‘It’s a Truffula seed. The last one of all! You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.’

“They let it grow!!” Your oldest giggles. He really liked the book, but Luigi recently introduced them to the animated film, and he adored the music the most.

“They let it grow indeed.” He smiles.

Luigi flipped through the final two pages, gently shut the book and gazed over his sons. They gave him cheesy grins as he sat the book on a small shelf by the bedside, your oldest scurried back to his bed across the room, while the youngest admired his father – and for a moment his eyes flicker to you.

You winked at him before Luigi gave them both goodnight kisses. In unison their youthful voices, “Night daddy!” 

“Goodnight you two, get lots of sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too!” 

“Wuv you!”

Luigi chuckled, and turned off their lamp, leaving only the illumination from a small dinosaur night light you bought when your first was born. You waited outside, causing Luigi to jump slightly when he shut the door. “You’re always lurking around, y’know that?”

You chuckle, “yes, how cruel of me… Those kids are going to be able to repeat that book word for word one day.”

“Yeah, well. It teaches them a really important lesson.”

“Does it?”

“Very much so, my love.”

“And what’s that?" You grin, holding his arm as you both walk to your room.

"That I was the only one willing to read to them."

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 4)

Nullification!reader Human reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous

Dinner with Charlie was comfortable. Charlie had gotten take out and brought it home for the both of them. Seeing that neither Charlie nor Bella were able to cook, Y/N had offered to cook for them some time. Just so they all could have a home cooked meal once in a while.

‘So, I hear you and that Edward boy were going to meet up sometime this weekend.’ Charlie began, poking at his dish with his fork. He looked up with raised eyebrows.

‘Oh, yeah Dr Cullen wanted to check up on me and Rosalie wants to hang out!’ Y/N explained, wanting to reassure Charlie's fatherly instincts.

‘Don't worry, there'll be parental supervision the entire time. Plus, I think it's quite obvious Edward has no attraction to me.’ She shrugged, standing to place her dish in the sink.

Charlie looked unconvinced, he could see what Y/N could not. Years of human and cop experience had granted him a keen eye. (At least on human relationships.) However, he did not think it was his place to interfere. Therefore he let up on that issue and moved onto the next.

‘Okay, and when will you be seeing them then?’ 

‘Uh, actually Edward’s picking me up tomorrow morning at 9!’ Y/N replied cheerfully, picking up Charlie's plate as well, walking back to the sink.

‘Already? I mean it's good that you have friends.’ Charlie’s tone was disapproving. 

‘Yep!’ Then as an afterthought, ‘Don't shoot him alright. We aren't dating and he was the one who saved me.’

‘Yes but he’s still a boy. I’m the one takin’ care of you.’ He grunted out, hovering as Y/N washed the dishes. He leaned on the counter,

‘You might not be my flesh and blood, but you’re as good as.’

‘Thanks Charlie,’ Y/N smiled affectionately. ‘It’s good to have a father figure around. I really do hold you in high regard.’ She nodded, finishing up the last plate. 

‘Bella’s always been more reliant on her mother so I guess… I feel like I’m trying to…’ He sighed, unable to fully express his emotions.

‘I understand, and I value your advice and care. Especially since I'm living under your roof. Even if I don't call you “dad” I kind of do think of you as one.’ She winced, her character’s emotions had seeped through into her own thoughts.

Although, Y/N as a person really did think Charlie Swan was a good father in the books so she didn’t have quite an issue saying this. 

‘Bella’s lucky to have you as a father Charlie. She just might be more independent for her age.’ Y/N dried her hands on a blue dish towel, hanging from the cabinet below the sink.

‘It just means you both raised her right.’  She gave Charlie a knowing smile, hoping that the conversation had put his mind at ease.

‘Thanks kiddo, I really… I really appreciate it.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Y’know you speak like a parent. Maybe you’ll go to college for psychology or something.’ He gave a breathy laugh.

‘Maybe!’ Y/N shrugged with a smile. ‘What if I said I didn’t want to go to college?’ She joked, crossing the room.

‘Then I’d say, uh.’ He frowned a bit, thinking of something. ‘You’re grounded for… uhh.’ His eyes lit up, ‘Till college!’

‘For till college?!’ Y/N burst into laughter, clutching her sides as she shook with mirth.

‘That's right! For till college.’ Charlie finally gave a smile, feeling at ease.

‘Alright father, I’ll make sure to go to college.’ She smiled, rounding the corner of the hallway. ‘G’night Charlie.’ 

‘Goodnight kid.’ Charlie nodded, giving her a soft grin. As Y/N departed to the stairs, Charlie let out a breath of relief. 

‘That’s my girl.’ He said with a paternal tone.

Charlie had been nervous when Y/N’s parents had asked him to take care of her for her final years of highschool. Sure he knew her as a kid and a preteen but teenagers were unpredictable and prone to mood swings. He hadn’t been sure she would really listen to him as a caregiver.

However, to his surprise and relief, Y/N seemed to be like the daughter he rarely had. Yes, Bella was his daughter and he loved her but, like Y/N said, Bella was often independent. She didn’t call or ask him for anything. It was nice to be depended on once in a while. And maybe, just maybe it wouldn’t be that bad for Y/N to make friends with Edward Cullen.

God knows she needed at least one friend at school.

~

The second night passed better than the first. Y/N did not toss and turn. 

She awoke to the sunlight streaming through her windows, warming her face. Y/N groaned, rolling over and relishing in the rare sunlight before rolling literally out of bed with a soft whump.

‘Oof, ow.’ Y/N mumbled, laying on the carpeted floor, hearing quick steps tracking to her door.

‘Y/N/N?’ Charlie's voice sounded through the door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah.’ She mumbled, face smushed into the ground. Y/N was too tired to get up.

‘I heard a thump and-’ Charlie opened the door, spotting Y/N on the floor. ‘How did you end up on the floor?’  His hands were on his hips, the corner of his eyes creased as he smiled.

‘I rolled. I just wanted to lay down on my face but gravity decided that I would be laying down here.’

The girl sighed, standing up. ‘Wha time is it?’ Y/N rubbed her eyes with her arm, stumbling to her bathroom.

‘It’s seven thirty. What time did you say Edward was picking you up?’ He called, beginning to walk back down stairs.

‘Nine. He said he wanted to ask you permission beforehand.’ Y/N shouted, her head sticking out of the bathroom.

‘I don’t really have a choice do I?’ Charlie called back from the stairs.

‘You said I need friends!’ Y/N reminded him.

‘He’s a boy!’

‘Who isn't into me! I need to shower, we can continue this later!’ Y/N stepped into the shower, beginning her morning routine.

‘You didn’t say you weren’t into him!’

‘Showering!’ 

Finishing up her shower and morning routine she picked out her clothing for the day, opting for somethjnf casual and fit for outdoors.

Trudging down the stairs, she shrugged on a jacket. Charlie had poured himself and Y/N a bowl of cereal and set the milk aside in a cup for Y/N. The two ate breakfast with a comfortable silence, finishing up the dishes with Charlie asking. 

‘You don’t need me to give you the talk right?’ He asked, looking hesitant.

‘Charlie, the entire family is going to be there. Also, I just met the guy!’ Y/N chuckled, wiping down the dining table.

'Are nervous to see Bella?’ The pair went into the living room, Y/N sitting on an ottoman and Charlie sitting on the couch. Y/N pulled up her boots, lacing them together. 

‘Hm, I think I would have been if you weren’t around. I think even if she doesn’t talk to me, surely she’ll talk to you.’ He looked hopeful, checking his watch. The doorbang rang before he could continue. Y/N stood, checking her pockets for her essential items as Charlie stalked towards the door. 

‘Good morning Chief Swan.’ Edward smiled politely, offering his hand to shake. Charlie shook it with a firm grip, as if trying to intimidate the boy. 

‘Hello Edward. Nine o'clock on the dot. You’re here to pick up Y/N I presume?’ He grunted, looking at his hand. ‘Wow you’re cold.’

‘Yeah, Edward kinda runs cold. I think because they last moved here from Alaska. He’s probably still used to the weather there.’ Y/N reasoned smoothly. It wasn’t technically a lie seeing that Edward did move from Alaska last and was cold! 

‘Okay, I'm ready!’ 

‘I'll have her back by eight sir.’ Edward grinned, opening the passenger side door for Y/N.

‘Seven thirty. It's a Sunday night.’ Charlie’s tone was stern.

‘Seven thirty it is then.’ Edward nodded, seemingly amused. Y/N would have to ask about that later.

‘See you! If you have Carlisle's landline, will you call me when you and Bella get home? Y/N called from the car window, sticking her head out like a puppy.

‘Will do kiddo. Have fun!’ He nodded, watching the Volvo car pull out before sliding into his own police cruiser.

As Charlie pulled out of the road and back into town, Edward slid into the driver's seat, wearing a black leather jacket, sunglasses and a white tee. He looked like he had just come out of every highschool girl's wet dream.

‘It’s sunny today. You’re not going to burst into a cloud of dust are you?’ Y/N joked, reaching to her side to put on her seat belt.

‘That’s just a myth. We can go out in the sun. We just… look noticeably different.’ He answered, leaning over to catch Y/N’s hands and pull her seatbelt across her body. 

‘Y’know I can put on my own seatbelt right?’ She mused, leaning back in her seat as Edward reversed the car with an arm behind her headrest. He looked smug, flashing her his signature dazzling grin.

‘Yes I am well aware, but given your track record with cars I'd prefer to do the honor's myself’ He shrugged with a smile. The car engine groaned in protest as Edward pressed on the gas.

'I wasn’t sure if Charlie would be letting you go with me today. He still doesn’t seem to like me.’ Edward hummed, raising an eyebrow, training his eyes on Y/N.

‘Eyes on the road, and Charlie just doesn’t like you because you're a boy. It’s not personal.’ She shrugged, looking at Edward’s side profile. ‘I think.’ Y/N added as an afterthought.

‘Well I guess he’s right to be suspicious of a boy taking a girl to meet his family after just a few days of knowing her.’ Edward said softly, his tone hinting.

‘Hey, who knows. Back in the days, didn’t people get married for less reasons than a boy saving a girl?’ Y/N teased, missing the hint completely to which Edward gave a breathless laugh.

‘You’re so strange. You can be so perceptive and yet so oblivious.’ He shook his head, smiling to himself.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Typical.’ She joked, punching him gently with her fist.

'Hey do you think your family will like me?’ She gave him a tense look to which Edward burst into laughter.

‘Y/N, you’re about to go see a family of vampires and you’re scared they won't like you?’ His entire body was shaking with his tinkling laugh. The trees were whisking past with the speed of which he was driving. 

‘Okay but what if they don’t like me.’ Y/N pouted, ‘I’m meeting them so of course I want them to like me. I want them to approve of me.’ 

‘And why do you want them to approve of you?’ Edward asked, with a glint in his eye. With the way he was looking at her as he pulled into the stunning property, it seemed like his question had a different meaning.

‘Well, it’d be nice to have some people to sit with at school. Seeing as on friday you kind of-’

‘I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again. I don’t have any excuses for the way I treated you. But I will explain why I reacted so poorly.’ His eyes were soft, pleading with her.

‘Alright, alright. I’m not one to hold grudges okay? I’m not even upset anymore.’ Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, hair whipping back as Edward blurred out of the car. Before she could blink, Edward had opened the passenger door. Y/N accepted the hand that Edward offered, gripping onto the familiar hands that had once saved her.

‘Always the gentleman aren’t you?’ She grinned, stepping out of the car. She reveled in the sight of the house. ‘Wow, it really is beautiful. Open and light. ’ Y/N admired, gazing in awe. 

‘It’s the one place we can really be ourselves. Away from prying eyes.’ He looked relieved that she was so positive. They walked into the house, passing through the wide glass doors. Y/N was hit with the smell of pasta sauce cooking, it smelt like bolognese. The smell wafted from the large hallway, lit up by small days of natural sunlight that danced just above head height.

‘Huh, do you guys usually cook?’ Y/N blinked, confused. ‘I didn’t think you guys ate.’

‘We don’t but… Well Esme and the girls thought you might like to have breakfast.’ He looked slightly embarrassed. 

‘Aw, that's so sweet! I’m always up for some pasta.’ Y/N laughed as she walked into the kitchen, spotting Rosalie, Esme and Alice.

‘Y/N!’ Alice called out, eager and excited. ‘Oh wow, Edward was right. You do smell really good!’ She grinned, wrapping her arms around Y/N in a rock solid hug.

‘Hey, it’s good to see you again!’ Rosalie gave Y/N a bright grin that could have brought the entire school boy population to its knees. Y/N smiled as Rosalie gave her a side hug.

‘We’ve made some pasta, if you’d like to eat.’ Esme gave a motherly smile, hands clasped together somewhat nervously. They gestured towards the kitchen island, leading her to a steaming plate of perfectly presented pasta. 

‘Esme, pasta isn’t exactly breakfast food.’ Edward shook his head, looking slightly irritated.

‘It’s ok Edward, I love pasta. Just don’t think any less of me when I finish the whole plate.’ Y/N chuckled, walking forward to the kitchen island. The three women eagerly watched as Y/N picked up a fork and took a bite of the food.

Not only did the food bring warmth itself, but the way that the Cullen girls were treating her filled her a glow. 

‘Oh my goodness this is amazing! Do you guys cook often?’ She asked, after swallowing a forkful of food. It was the perfect blend of meat, sauce and spice. The girls let out a collective sigh of relief. (not that they needed to breathe in general)

‘We’re glad you like it. Welcome to our home, Y/N.’ Another voice came from behind them. Y/N turned, spotting Dr Cullen and two other boys.

This would be,

‘I’m Emmett.’ The tall, muscular, one with dark curly hair, dimpled cheeks waved.

‘Jasper.’ The honey-blonde haired, lean one said, keeping his distance slightly.

‘Nice to meet you both! Good to see you again Dr Cullen.’ Y/N nodded politely, her jacket flowing slightly as she turned to greet them. ‘You have a wonderful house. Thank you for inviting me here today!’ She smiled, hands itching towards the unfinished pasta.

‘Let her finish eating.’ Edward said, deadpanning, stepping between Y/N and the rest of his family.

Y/N, looking slightly embarrassed rubbed the back of her neck. 

‘Sorry!’ She laughed breathily, looking at the plate of pasta. ‘It was just so good!’

The rest of the family let out a collective laugh, their voices mixing into a tinkling orchestra. They once again greeted her and trickled out of the room. 

Y/N finished the rest of the food, placing the dish into the sink and began to wash it.

‘Here let me do that.’ Edward said lowly, manoeuvring her away by her waist. ‘So, what were the questions you wanted to ask?’ He asked, washing the dishes impossibly fast.

‘Alice said I smelt good?’ Y/N began slowly, testing the waters.

‘I was hoping you'd forget that.’ Edward groaned, looking up, his head tilting to the ceiling as if he were trying to pray. Sighing, he turned and leaned, putting his hands on the sink behind him. ‘Putting it simply, you're the most alluring human I’ve smelt since I’ve been.. Well, this.’ His eyes bored into Y/N, looking pained, gesturing to his entire being. This was new, would Bella smell better than her?  How could she be the one who was-

‘But you looked like you were in pain.’ She whispered, looking every bit as shocked as she sounded.

‘It was hard to restrain myself. You smell delectable, your blood calls to me.’ He said, eyes locked onto hers. ‘It kills me to be near you and yet it kills me also to be away.’ 

‘I-’ Y/N slowly backed away, not in fear of Edward but rather in fear of what she would do if he kept looking at her like that. It wasn't fair. Edward’s face was tense with desire, jaw clenched and eyes aflame with want.

‘Are you afraid?’ Edward growled out, stepping forward.

‘Um, actually the opposite but since your family is here I don’t think we should have this conversation here.’ She tried diffusing the tension.

'Also, friends don't eat eachother!’  Edward liked her scent? It should be Bella. Not Y/N. She thought, mind racing. Maybe as soon as he met Bella he would feel differently. Y/N looked up at the boy who was now towering over her. His eyelashes were so long, thick and full, they fluttered as he blinked at her. 

‘You really aren’t afraid of me. Or of my family are you?’ Edward sounded astounded, lifting Y/N’s chin with a finger. 

‘Um, I mean, do you want to kill me?’ She tilted her head, tone accusing.

‘No, I could never. I would never hurt you purposefully.’ He shook his head, dropping his hand to reach for Y/N’s hand. ‘Come, let me show you my room’ He changed the subject, leading the way.

The hallways were filled with paintings and artwork, all ranging from modern to a century that Y/N was sure that not even Motzart were alive in. They reached a brown oak door, which Edward swung open, revealing a modernised room. It had shelves lining the walls, facing an open window with a skylight filtering in from above. The shelves were lined with CD’s and books, and the room itself lacked a bed. Instead it had a sleek black chaise that seemed well kept.

‘Huh, no coffins.’ Y/N gave a soft teasing smile, stepping into the room after Edward. ‘That’s a lot of music.’ She noted, running her fingers along all the CD’s. in the books it had stated he was musical but Y/N couldn’t appreciate the full extent of his collection until she saw it with her own eyes. ‘You probably play an instrument don’t you?’

‘The piano.’ Edward said easily, eyes trained on Y/N exploring his room.

‘I see. I would love to hear sometime.’ Y/N turned, arms behind her back smiling. Now, tell more about this vampire business. That's why you invited me here, isn't it?’

‘What do you want to know?’ Edward sat down, pulling Y/N down gently into his side. ‘Ask me anything. I can answer it here without us being overheard by other humans.’ He wrapped his arm behind Y/N’s head.

‘Okay well, you can read minds. Can anyone else in your family read minds?’ She asked, wanting to make it seem like she had no idea.

‘No not exactly. Alice can see visions that are connected to the future. She can see the possibilities of actions basically. Her visions aren’t solid because people can change their minds but they are quite accurate.’ Edward hummed, hands twitching, wanting to interlace his fingers with Y/N’s hair.

‘And does anyone else?’ Y/N, oblivious to Edward’s desire.

‘Yes, Jasper is able to manipulate emotions through physical means. He can slow down or raise heartbeats.’ He hummed, giving in slightly, tucking Y/N’s hair behind her ear. 

‘That's amazing!’ Y/N beamed, excited that Edward was finally answering her questions. ‘Do you think those work on me?’ She looked at him with anticipation. 

‘Well, Alice has seen a vision of us. I think your shield has to do with your proximity.’ Edward hummed, leaning his head onto his hand. ‘Anything else?’ 

‘What do you look like when you’re in the sunlight?’ She grinned, looking up with wide eyes.

Edward laughed, standing and holding out his hand.

‘Come on, I’ll show you in the full sun.’ Y/N grabbed his hand, letting him lead her into the open balcony. ‘Get on.’  He knelt down slightly, offering silently to piggy back her.

‘Oh.’ Y/N blinked, slowly getting on his back, slightly embarrassed.

‘Don’t worry. I’d never let you fall.’ He said, Y/N could hear his smile. ‘Hold on tight Y/N/N.’ And with that, they whisked away, the trees whizzing past them, the wind whipping through their hair. The fog of the forest was slowly dissipating as they got higher above the tree line, the sunlight slowly filtering through the trees. Y/N closed her eyes, Edward was slowing to a stop.

‘You can open your eyes now.’ He halted, the wind had stopped howling at the sheer speed that they were travelling in. Y/N slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was met with the green lush clearing that she had once seen in the movie. The sunlight streaming through, lighting up the field. It was small, round and filled with the loveliest flowers, violet, yellow and a pastel white. Y/N thought she could hear the gentle bubbling of a stream nearby.

‘Wow, this is amazing. How did you find this place?’ Y/N walked into the sunlight, closing her eyes and raising her face to meet the warmth of the rare sunlight. She lay down in the grass, stretching like a cat.

‘It is.’ Edward murmured, stepping into the meadow with her, grass rustling as he lay.

Y/N opened her eyes, looking at Edwards hands that were raising towards her face. His skin, white, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his white shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were fluttering, tracing Y/N’s face. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.

‘You’re dazzling.’ Y/N mumbled, shell shocked from the sheer radiance of Edward.

‘I’m dangerous.’ He murmured, his eyes sad and lingering.

‘With a face like that? Hell yeah you are. You’re taking my damn breath away.’ Y/N chuckled, rolling over to poke his cheek. ‘It’s a little unfair how beautiful you guys are. I mean where am I supposed to find a boy who will like me when you’re out here looking prettier than I ever could?’ Y/N fake pouted, before grinning at him mischievously.

‘Don’t say that.’ Edward whispered. ‘The word pretty, doesn’t even begin to describe you Y/N.’ He traced his fingers over Y/N’s lips.

'You're just flattering me so I won't ask Charlie to shoot you.' Y/N battered his hands away, laughing at him.

Edwards eyes were glinting again with the emotion that Y/N still could not place.

'What?' Y/N asked, rolling onto her stomach, head resting on her arms.

'Nothing. It's just nice to finally feel the sun again.' Edward smiled, closing his eyes and laying on his back, breathing deeply.

[librarygarten]

I actually have some more ideas for scenarios regarding isekai reader, if you don't mind answering them.

Imagine telling the Chain that your favorite saga isn't The legend of Zelda, but another Nintendo series, like Mario.

Wind: So how does it feel to meet your favorite heroes from your favorite game series, cool huh?

Isekai: Oh, well Meeting you is great and all, but you're not my favorite series, actually, heh.

Chain: w h a t

Isekai: Yeah, so Nintendo's most popular series is called Super Mario and i LOVE their games, they're my all time favorite and-

Isekai reader reader proceeded to ramble about Mario and his games.

All of them are going to be so offended lol. What do you mean they're not your favorite!? What's this plumber have that they don't? >:[

“So, tell us, Y/N, what’s it like finally meeting your favorite video game heroes?” Warriors has a sly grin plastered across his face.

“Huh?” You’re caught off-guard by the question. So off-guard, that you don’t have time to censor the next words out of your mouth. “You guys aren’t my favorite video games.”

“WHAT!?” Wild gasps from halfway across the camp. Turning to look towards him, you notice the entire chain seems to suddenly be focusing on your’s and Warriors’ conversation, although some are better at hiding it than others. Time at least has the decency to look away, but based on the not-so-subtle glances he keeps making in your direction, you can tell he’s still listening.

“What do you mean we’re not your favorite!?” Wind sounds half-offended, half-heartbroken at the news. “I thought you loved playing my games.”

“Ah, I do,” you smile nervously. “It’s just that I like other games better, you know?”

“What could be better than our games?” Legend fiddles with the rings on his fingers, trying to pretend not to care. He’s not very convincing. “I thought you said some of mine were so popular they got made multiple times?”

“Yeah,” you agree hesitantly, “but those aren’t even my favorite Legend of Zelda Games.” Legend’s eye twitches at your confession, but he remains silent.

“So what games do you like?” Hyrule asks.

“Probably Mario,” you light up at the chance to talk about your favorite game. “He’s kind of like you guys, in that most of the games involve saving a princess.”

“Oh, so he’s a hero like us,” Sky nods. It would make sense if you liked their games that you would like other similar games.

“Err, no. He’s a plumber,” you chuckle nervously.

“A plumber?” Four raises an eyebrow. “As in the guys that fix pipes?”

You nod.

“So what makes him better than us?” Twilight blushes at his own question. Apparently, he had not meant that to come out. Still, he seems to be eagerly awaiting your response.

Was he jealous?

Looking again at the boys, they all seem invested in what you’re about to say next.

“Uhh,” your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you try to respond. What were you supposed to say? That you liked jumping from platform to platform, stepping on turtles, more than you liked solving dungeon puzzles? That your ideal character was a mushroom wearing a mining headlamp? “I don’t know? Mario games feel a lot less lonely, I guess?”

“Lonely?” Time seems puzzled. Ah, so he was done pretending not to eavesdrop and had actually decided to join the conversation.

“Yeah. Most of them have multiplayer, so my siblings and I could each play a different character and we could beat the level together,” you smile at the memory. Many lazy summer afternoons had been spent yelling at the screen with your siblings, scolding each other for falling off a platform only to fall off the same one moments later.

“Wait, but I thought my games were multiplayer?” Four points to himself, confused.

“Dude, yours do not count.”

“Aw :(”

[breadvidence]

All right, babe, I get it. You're really a Valvert fan. You're not even sure who Musichetta is. You're thinking of scrolling by this one entirely, you're so uninvested. Or maybe you're hovering over the radio button for Courfeyrac/Marius out of a vague sense that they'll eventually age into being attractively virile and hairy old men, which is really your thing. Stop! Listen. Your blorbo would want you to vote Turnchetta.

Why?

From the moment that Jean Valjean became Cosette's stay and Cosette became Valjean's prop, her happiness was his highest principle, above his own comfort, reward, his very life. Would Jean Valjean, whatever his particular opinions of Marius, vote for the homewrecker pairing? Yes, yes, I hear your protest—threesomes, or Courfius as a dead part of Marius' history—but, with all due love for our mutual blorbo, there's canonical limits on his ability to cope with the less-than-bourgeois intruding upon Cosette's life (see: himself, Fantine), and you must admit, "my daughter's husband's boyfriend" is not a phrase you can say at the Gillenormand table. Yes, for better or worse, Valjean would want you to vote AGAINST Courfius. But! That's not all: as a man who has survived through grief and isolation, he understands that the love of a woman—whatever form that love takes—can be redemptive. Valjean would vote FOR Turnchetta in the firm belief that every lost and marginalized soul deserves love. Someone should be there to wash the blood of revolution from Turning Woman #3's hands and kiss the raw knuckles. Someone should have a speaking (singing?) line or two to make up for Musichetta's muteness.

And Javert? He hits that Turnchetta radio button on instinct. Does he grasp why? No. He is certain it is correct, however, and the decision that upholds the social order: besides the fact that two dead guys ought not fuck (because the revolutionaries are most certainly all dead, a cop might have to consider there's multiple criminals on the loose otherwise), it is the custom for grieving women to turn to each other for comfort. Nothing untowards in that at all. On top of that, he likes the industrious nature of Madame Turning Woman #3. That is commendable, to work with one's hands, and one is paid one's due for one's honest labor; it might not be his sort of reward, a feminine love, but he hears it's quite usual to value such a thing.

In fact—!

Victor Hugo himself would want you to vote Turnchetta. Turnchetta is so obviously the romantic expression of the entire ethical purpose of Les Misérables that he didn't think it was necessary to even include half the pairing. A savvy person may read the two Brick sentences and the undercurrents which make inevitable Turning Woman #3's appearance in the musical and say: ah-hah! By imagining that these two fuck we can understand what Victor Hugo meant when he said tant qu’il y aura sur la terre ignorance et misère, des livres de la nature de celui-ci pourront ne pas être inutiles: that so long as a man could not write explicit lesbian period piece fanfic of a gal working through her song's unpopularity in fandom and the lady primarily known as the shared girlfriend of two more popular male characters, Les Misérables would still be necessary as a reflection of the world. So, together, let's finally realize Victor Hugo's goal of alleviating misery by not only voting TURNCHETTA but by producing enough propaganda that it becomes a successful fandom bit.

Les Mis Shipping Showdown: Round of 16

Learn how to steal this poll here!

turnchetta art by @emmfairy (i can’t believe i found actual authentic 2013 turnchetta art on my second tag crawl. this is an historical artefact to me!!!!)

courfeyrac/marius art by @fluentisonus

[crustyfloor]

I love how ALNST portrays the coexistence of hate and love in the main relationships, just like those "Hatred is easier than a vague word such as love" photocards. And grief these characters have to go through and how they handle it because this series focuses on how people live on after they experience loss, in their own ways each of these standees represent that grief and the intricacies of their complicated relationships. All of my ships are divorced

I hope the mixed feelings Mizi has for Sua are elaborated on more in the future. Mizi had been almost, if not entirely, dependent on Sua in their time together. Sua was there to fill the gap of loneliness Shine left Mizi with after she was sent to Anakt garden alone. Sua taught her a lot and helped her study. Sua protected Mizi from the world and kept them safe in their bubble. She was someone who Mizi looked up to like her god; her faith in Sua and the love she had for her was like a religion. Sua was always there for her, and Mizi was happy to blindly follow her. And she left Mizi exposed and vulnerable when suddenly, all of that was gone, and Sua was dead.

It would be interesting if it's confirmed that Mizi resented Sua after. In round 5, Luka's relentless taunting caused her to lash out, but Mizi wasn't angry at Luka; that anger, that despair, was her pouring out her feelings toward Sua because of Sua's death. After being taunted with the familiar comfort of Sua's presence, with the fact, that some of the happiness in Sua's smile could have been fake while she was unaware.

The thing is, Mizi and Sua had been the closest to each other for so long, but Mizi had little to no insight into who Sua really was or what she was really thinking. Other than some brief instances where she would perceive Sua, she knew Sua was a little quiet, probably a little gloomy, but didn't second guess her at all, knowing Sua wasn't mean to her. And she trusted in the fact that Sua didn't have bad intentions. Mizi could've never guessed that this would be the result, could never catch onto that emotional distance Sua had intentionally kept between them. When Mizi comes to an understanding that Sua knew what would happen all along. that's where the hurt stems from. Sua's actions, leaving Mizi in the dark and not being truly open, are a part of her coping mechanism/way of protecting herself. Sua wanted to shield Mizi so desperately, to shield her own heart from the fear of living aimlessly and in constant anxiety, that she had been content to die like this, to leave Mizi in this kind of disarray, even when she knew and was sad that her death would possibly subject Mizi to this kind of suffering, to having come to terms with those complicated feelings.

Mizi had the resilience to get back up and keep moving forward without Sua. As much as Mizi adored her, as much as she is making amazing progress in liberating herself from that past, who knows if she's moved from that yet, if she's forgiven Sua yet, the hurt from having been lied to for all that time. The betrayal of that trust Mizi had naively placed onto Sua, as if Mizi never even knew her in the first place. In some artworks, Sua is so distant from Mizi, even though they're always the most intimate, there is a clear disconnect as if Sua is a figment of Mizi's imagination, stagnant in the only way Mizi knew her, and she never changes. And Mizi suffers from the fact that she can't embrace that memory of Sua the way she used to. The standee similarly portrays this; Sua is simply hovering over her and watching in an eerie, enigmatic way. Yet Sua's presence is a comfort Mizi can't let go of even when it hurts that it isn't the same as it used to be. Even when the innocence of their bond is tainted by the understanding Mizi has now, she can't reject her. Mizi is nothing if not completely devoted to Sua, even to the end.

my ivantilll... my curevantill

Ivan and Till's push-pull, hate-love dynamic has been apparent even in childhood, and this standee says a lot about that dynamic, especially regarding round 6 obv. From Till's perspective, Ivan confused him, provoked him a lot, and fought with him a lot, but Ivan was also someone he considered a friend. Someone in his life that he cared about because despite their fighting they also shared quiet moments, Ivan was there for Till when it mattered (for comfort, even), where Till would've otherwise been alone, Ivan was always with him, those were memories Till would cherish even if he didn't show how much he cared to Ivan directly.

His despair going into round 6 wasn't just because of Mizi's disappearance, he hadn't expected he and Ivan would be in a position where they'd have to compete, and faced with the decision of having to either compete to win against his last friend, after losing all will to live, or to forfeit his own life, once he couldn't keep going anymore and stopped singing, Till had the intent to give up. Only for Ivan to make the final decision for him and forfeit his own life in such a brutal way right in front of Till. Even though there is little said about his perspective at the time as of now, To me, it seems like Till wanted to make that choice, but Ivan effectively yanked Till out of his own head to be bombarded with the confusing mix of gentleness and violence as the full force of Ivan's complicated feelings were thrown at him, and then to face the reality that Ivan is dead and he is alone.

Till has been oppressed by the aliens all his life, and he's always fighting them for the right to his agency and freedom. Till's anger comes from Ivan's selfishness in that moment -(How could you do that and just leave me behind? kind of sentiment), the way Ivan took away Till's choice in the situation, the one time he ever willingly withheld Till's freedom was because of an impulsive action that Till can't begin to understand, everything happened too fast, Ivan had no idea what he was doing either and was erratic with it. With that, the questions and the feelings Ivan left him to figure out on his own afterwards were too much for Till to confront after having averted his attention from them for the longest time, that's why the weight of ivan's feelings, the reality of it all outside of Till's head, metaphorically and quite literally weigh on Till to the point of breaking him.

Ivan's affections and lesser acknowledged feelings for Till clash and often contradict himself. His hold on Till in the standee is gentle and not at all, all at the same time. It's so fascinating to me how it can look like Ivan is trying to be comforting in a very (Ivan-typical) pushy or forceful/hostile manner because he wants to show he cares, however, he has never been the best at expressing himself, and Till is sensitive, but far more prone to avoidance or biting back in response to confronting the vulnerability of his own emotions. Because of this, they misunderstood each other's intentions a lot in the past, and Till doesn't know what went on in Ivan's head when he did what he did, but that confusion scares Till. The way they're positioned with Ivan gripping Till so he's forced to face him and Till being frightened by what he sees, too angry and too shocked to properly express himself, they're two forces pushing and pulling at each other (almost like they're fighting, in my opinion. It's also a show of their complicated dynamic because of their fundamental misunderstanding of each other) Even Ivan's lack of expression to Till's reaction to him is interesting to me. Sure enough, he supports Till while he's collapsing and pushing back, but staring down on him in an odd way (much like that frame from blink gone with his face, it's intimidating and observant), Ivan was unconvinced his actions would impact Till, and now, he doesn't register Till's feelings in the moment. He's under the impression that Till can just "move on" after that, as if forcing Till to live on in his stead would really not shake him, as if all that time they used to spend together realistically could've possibly meant nothing to Till. This standee is so symbolic and just as confusing as them, and Till's waist is mesmerizing (gets shot)

HyuLuka's standee shows their dynamic so well; HyunA is avoidant and not facing Luka. Instead, she faces forward and looks past Luka the same way she does with everything that holds her back. To keep moving forward, she tried suppressing her emotions, avoiding confronting her past. She wants to move on. However, she's standing still and has a hand on Luka's head to silently comfort him (not even gripping his head, just resting her hand there) because, despite all of those years, after being forced to live on in her grief and her suffering, HyunA has grown, but she hadn't truly "moved on" from her past with Hyunwoo or Luka, until she met Mizi. Even though HyunA didn't want to face her past and those repressed emotions before, when she started coming to terms, she couldn't help but reach out like it's instinct, like she did when they were kids. because she can't help but still love and care for him, her revenge, albeit intentionally cruel, is also an example of this.

This also shows another instance of Luka's dependence on her; Luka clings to HyunA like a child, much like he always does. He doesn't acknowledge that HyunA has changed or how his actions could've affected her in childhood. Because he's utterly devoted to her and desperate for the comfort of knowing they are "together" always. Through what little scraps he can get to remind himself of her existence, like with those posters, and so he never grows out of his childish indifference as long as he can continue depending on her

HyunA's revenge is one effective torture method for Luka, because it's reiterated time and time again that she knows who luka is, she knows about all of this and took that comfort away from him in the most brutal way, so Luka can't deny it, because the truth is right in front of him. It's a big question of whether Luka can ever symbolically leave that "bird cage" and learn to live on his own without continuing to use HyunA as his coping mechanism. Depending on what Luka does with those final words she left him with, he can come to an understanding and agree to move forward or continue obsessively clinging to the only comfort he's known for years, just like he is in this standee

I also find it interesting how HyunA's role is set up in depictions like this (and I find that Hyuluka frame from sweet dream to be similar in a way), with the clear leverage she has over Luka, who doesn't care about the danger because he loves her so much more than he cares about himself, (Just like the way he does register the gun pressed to his head in wiege, but still moves towards HyunA) but she never does "kill" him even though she has the knife over his head (or in more symbolic ways, give in to the hatred she wants to feel for him) and she doesn't abandon Luka. Even though she has the choice to do both, she doesn't because she loves him. She can't stand to look at him smile at her cruelty, so she just stares at him with that vacant look that appears sometimes, like in All-in when she's experiencing ptsd and she can't even move until Mizi starts shooting at the robot guards, so she just absently stays. It really speaks to HyunA's nature. She's endlessly compassionate. She doesn't want to stop loving as a human because she can't stop loving.

[the-fiction-witch]

Golden Laurels

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Y/n (fiancée & Future Princess) Rating - 12 Word Count - 769

(Telemachus Art - I believe it is from GIGI. If I am wrong please let me know!)

Telemachus wandered through the grand corridors of the palace, deliberately steering clear of the entire wing where his parents resided. The walls seemed to vibrate with the echoes of their laughter and impassioned declarations and sounds of intimacy. He couldn't entirely blame them.

As he walked, Telemachus felt a pang of empathy toward his father. After two decades apart, he could only imagine the fervent emotions that must surge through his heart. He pictured himself in his father's shoes, reuniting with Y/n after such a long time. The thought of holding her close, of whispering sweet nothings and sharing every unspoken word, he would too be making a lot of noise. He silently wished he could find his own happiness as fervently as his parents had rediscovered theirs.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door to his chambers, stepping into a familiar world that welcomed him like a warm embrace. The curtains billowed gently in the cool evening breeze, their rich fabric dancing playfully around the room, while the crackling fire cast a soft, flickering light. A smile tugged at his lips as his gaze fell upon the delightful sight of his fiancée.

Y/n was seated on the plush, embroidered floor cushion, her favourite spot despite the abundance of elegant chairs and stools that filled their chambers. Before her, the large arched mirror loomed, its ornate frame glistening in the firelight, reflecting her focused expression as she worked diligently on her hair.

Her fingers moved deftly, intertwining her locks in an intricate dance of brushing, braiding, and pinning, all while trying to secure the delicate golden laurels atop her head. Yet, despite her best efforts, she seemed to be struggling to achieve the effortless elegance she envisioned. A soft frown creased her brow as she huffed in frustration.

They tumbled to the floor again when she tipped her head too far forward, her hair cascading in disarray around her. With a breathy sigh, she cursed softly, “Ohh—fiddlesticks,”

“Come here,” Telemachus cooed gently, his tone soothing as he moved around to sit behind her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her close as he pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek. Then, he took the brush from the nearby table, its bristles well-worn from use, and began to work through her hair with careful strokes.

“They do not seem to like resting on my head,” She said sadly looking him in the eye via the mirror’s reflection.

“They are finicky, hard to get right the first few times.” he admits, “Once you have the habit, it’ll be as simple as tossing on your dress.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It took me a solid year to get it right.” He laughed,

“Humm…”

“Humm?” He asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing,”

“Tell me,” He smiled, “Come. What wisdom dances in that beautiful little head?”

“Perhaps they reject me.” She sighed,

“Reject you?” He asked his hands stilling a moment,

“Perhaps they fall to the earth, rejecting to rest on a head unworthy of them.”

He sighed softly as he finished up with her hair, “You are worthy of them.” He whispered, “I had these made for you, crafted by the finest hands in all the Greek islands, they are the purest gold, the most delicate of shapes, matching my own but… still all your own.” He explained, “You are Y/n Princess and future queen of all Ithaca.” He said as he took the laurels and sat them on her head, crowning her as his princess and resting his chin on her shoulder, “There is no woman in the world more worthy of them.”

“You mean that Telemachus?” She whispered,

“You know I do.” he smiled, as he took her hands in his, he got to his feet and pulled her with him turning her to face him, “It will take time, my love.”

“Thank you my sweet,” she cooed, resting her forehead on his,

He smiled briefly closing his eyes to enjoy their closeness, “You’re welcome my love.” he cooed,

“I just… want to be good at it. So I won't drop it at our wedding.”

He chuckled, “I know, it’s alright Y/n. We can do some practice.” he nodded, “But I will be here every step. Just in case I need to catch it.” He winked,

She giggled and nodded kissing his nose before they began to practice her walking with the Laurels in her hair.

[eddiegettingshot]

ok also well i guess i am in some kind of a mood i am ranting. i am sooooo. over. woobing eddie for the narrative. this character is GETTING HIS OWN STORYLINE in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STATE completely separate from the main cast. he is the only character who has even had a consistent arc this season. 4/10 episodes were focused on his business with major development. 810 they found a way to insert eddie’s business WHILE MADDIE WAS IN A BASEMENT!!!! and again. he is about to spend multiple episodes doing his own thing separately from everyone else. it may feel imbalanced because this particular piece of the story has been told through buck’s pov but ohhhh my god. what do you mean nothing has happened for eddie what do you meannnn he’s being sidelined. can u imagine if buck were set to spend multiple episodes in Pennsylvania doing his own thing and dealing with his personal problems … some of these people would literally riot

[aranarumei]

some thoughts on the “…it doesn’t make my heart race, though.” line in hirano to kagiura:

so like. the way that this line is framed, it’s white text on black, and it starts with an ellipsis—immediately we’ve gone and established that it’s a serious, hesitant thought, and it’s not… Good, right. you don’t frame positive thoughts like that.

this line, though, made me Really Happy. and this is because I’m a big fan of aspec hirano as a headcanon. and when I read this line in ch 22, the first thing I thought of was how asexuality doesn’t always correlate with being sex-repulsed. now. I will not call myself an expert in asexuality or anything, but my understanding is that like… sex is many things, right? sexual attraction might not be a motivator, but sex is also many other things—a moment of intimacy, a shared activity, a form of pleasing a partner—and so there’s a certain kind of pleasure to be derived from it nonetheless.

extrapolating from there, something that’s interesting to me about the hirano & kagiura relationship is that, at least from an outside perspective, hirano & kagiura were having a loving roommate relationship until one day, kagiura honed into his own sense of desire so hard that everything got thrown out of balance. now they don’t move in the same sync that they used to. so kagiura overdraws romantic boundaries and doesn’t touch him outside the confines of his 10-second rule, because to do so more would cross a line (and in ch 6, his love fortune advises against that), and now everything is strange. but the thing is… even before kagiura was consciously having the I want to kiss him thought, he was in love with hirano.

all this to say: a lack of heart racing is not necessarily a lack of feeling. hirano likes to make kagiura happy. he gets genuine enjoyment out of it to the point that he wakes kagiura up every morning without much fuss. and it’s because he adores him! and because he thinks of kagiura as a dear and positive force in his life.

“…I guess he wasn’t going to touch me then” that is not rejection. and moments like this recur constantly—kagi encroaches, and hirano is not necessarily receptive but not against it, and then kagi draws back, bracing, way before he needs to. and we leave hirano in the lurch, unsure how exactly to bridge this gap that’s been set between them. sasaki to miyano also dealt a lot with ideas of romantic expectation, and I feel like hirano to kagiura does the same, too. romance, relationships, touch—the definitions of how these things changes with every person.

kagiura starts the series thinking that his ideal relationships is the one his parents have. that’s what he wants with hirano, and the do you want to kiss him? question doesn’t flicker into his thoughts until niibashi confronts him, because I imagine he’s not thinking about aspects of physical desire when thinking about his parents’ relationship. so he has to reevaluate, and then he wants, bargains a strange framework with hirano, who… as best as I can tell, has no real model for a romantic relationship. what does he want? because he does want kagi, in some fashion or the other. that much is clear to me.

we already see flashes of this. he wants kagiura to stop flinching around him. he can’t just think about it, he wants to try, with him (ch 23b). a relationship is two people. kagi can’t cross the line on his love fortune, but hirano can. right now, we’re not at a point of romantic reciprocation, but there is reciprocation.

…honestly, it’s rare to read a story that feels so patient with its characters, like this. one thing I love about hirano to kagiura is that hirano’s “resistance”—his lack of feeling, his frustrations—feel real. I don’t read through every chapter feeling like the manga is just waiting for him to “give in,” I see navigation and negotiation of feelings.

personally, I hope they find a happy medium where they’re both satisfied, but hirano still doesn’t entirely “get” the way kagi feels from tip to toe. but my personal ideas aside, I’m just excited to see where they go.

[misasimagines]

friendship bracelets / reader x Caleb / (Love and Deepspace)

included characters: Caleb!

rating: SFW! Completely wholesome

warnings: Unrequited yearning on both sides. Reader is a little tsundere. GN!

You sat on the floor of Caleb's living room, the sun shining through the open window and down onto your lap. It kept you warm on this cool morning and additionally lit up the project you were working on. Sunlight made your collection of relatively cheap beads and charms glint and sparkle like diamonds.

You threaded another bead onto the bracelet and held it up against your own wrist to check the placement. It was a mix of orange, red, and purple beads, and at the very center, you had snuck in two charms that bore your own initials. It looked to fit your own wrist too well so you were adding on some extras to make sure it would fit Caleb's without cutting off his circulation.

It was silly, even though you took it completely seriously, to be making a friendship bracelet for your adult, male, military employed bestie. It was even sillier to put your own initials into it as if you had some kind of claim over him. Which, as you snuggled up in his hoodie, you thought it wasn't that far from the truth. Caleb was always very loyal to you. Any request you made of him, he did everything he could to fulfill it. Any mood you were in, he did his best to match or or fix it. Anything you wanted, he'd find a way to get it for you. And the way he looked at you when you rambled on about something or even just stumbled into the kitchen for coffee in the morning... You flushed to think of that look.

It was setting yourself up for heartbreak to think it was anything serious.

You finished the bracelet and pulled the ends together, tying them so it could be tightened and loosened to a certain point at will. Slipping it on your own wrist, you tested the fit again. It slid down to your hand and you had to splay your fingers out to keep it from falling off. It made you think about Caleb's hands, how much bigger they were than yours. If you thought too hard, you started thinking about his fingers fitting between your own- about the roughness on his knuckles, the calluses on his palms, the-

Again, heat filled your cheeks and you tugged the bracelet off and began hurriedly putting away your craft supplies. Caleb was your friend. He'd always been your friend, and no matter how much it made your stomach sink, you had the feeling he'd always think of you like a little sibling. You scowled at your own mess as you scooped beads back up into their baggies. This minor craft project had really invaded the entire coffee table and a good chunk of the floor. Part of you felt compelled to quickly tidy up before Caleb got back because you knew he would usher you away and clean it up himself. He would pat your head, lightly tease you for making a mess, and then put everything back away on a shelf in a closet you would have to climb to reach.

“It's more convenient for me to put it there,” he’d say. “You can always ask me to get it for you,” he'd say. “It's not my fault you're a pipsqueak,” he'd say, and then he’d ruffle your hair and make it a knotted mess.

Why were you making him a friendship bracelet again?

The front door swung open and Caleb walked through, startling you out of your frustration and causing you to spill a bunch of amethyst and ruby toned beads out all over the floor.

“No!” You whined petulantly, watching them scatter and roll away.

Caleb stopped at the entryway, taking off his earbuds and setting them down next to his keys. He had just gotten back from his morning run, still wearing his stupidly tight tank top and shorts that left little to the imagination. Not that you were wanting in that regard. When it came to Caleb, you had a VERY vivid imagination. Vivid enough to make you blush if you let your thoughts drift that far. Thankfully, his own annoying voice broke you out of that dangerous line of thought, “Interesting assassination tactic, pips. Alerting me to the old marbles on the floor tripping hazard trick?” 

You glared at his levity, “You won't be joking when it works and you fall on your ass.” You crawled around picking up the beads and swearing under your breath when they seemed to dart away from your grasp. It's like they had minds of their own, fleeing for safety under the couch and across the room into the hall.

“I don't know, I think I have it in me to crack a few jokes even with a cracked skull,” he retorted, crouching down and grabbing up a few beads to help you.

It wasn't even a question to ask him for help, and your frustration ebbed away at the familiarity of his presence. His constant, unsolicited assistance could be annoying, but there was something undeniably comforting in how reliable and predictable he was in that regard. “You'd be making dumb comments in the grave,” you snarked, a little softer towards him.

“Someone has to brighten the mood in the graveyard,” he agreed, already holding more beads in his hand than you had managed to collect. “Unless you plan on visiting regularly to keep me company?”

You looked up at his playful smile, and he held out a handful of beads for you. “Not sure how much brightness I’d bring when I'm mourning your death.” You held out your hand to accept the beads.

“Hmm,” he cupped your hand with one of his own to keep it steady before dropping what he'd collected onto your waiting palm. “And here I thought you'd be celebrating your successful assassination.”

Your cheeks flushed red and you felt frozen in this gentle touch. His hands were hot, maybe slightly sticky with sweat from his exercise. Breaking yourself out of your Caleb induced stupor, you responded, “I’d regret it immediately.”

The sincerity of your comment left you both quiet. He retracted his hand and found an empty bag for your beads, holding it open for you to put them back.

You quickly recovered, “Besides, when you're dead, no one cooks for me. It's really inconvenient.” You carefully directed your handful of plastic baubles into the bag.

Caleb sealed it up and tossed it next to you with the others, “All I am to you is a personal chef, I see.” 

You shook your head and grabbed the bracelet, “Nu-uh. Would ‘just a personal chef’ be the proud owner of a one of a kind, handmade, artisan bracelet from yours truly?” Holding it out, you suddenly felt a surge of embarrassment. What if this was too childish?

As you began to pull it back, he grabbed your wrist and pulled it back between you. “Go on then, put it on me,” he smiled warmly at you.

You felt nearly feverish as you pulled the bracelet down over his hand and cinched it around his wrist. It fit perfectly. He turned his hand over to admire it and you made yourself busy fidgeting with a bag of fruit charms.

“I think you missed your calling, pipsqueak,” he praised you with a grin. “But…these are your initials. Trying to tell me somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “It's a friendship bracelet, Caleb…of course the person who made it for you would include their initials. You know, so you…remember who your friend is and everything.” Your explanation sounded succinct and believable enough to you, but the soft, knowing smile he continued directing your way made you think he believed otherwise.

“Okay, okay, I get it. For a second I was thinking you were trying to mark your territory on me or something.”

Cheeks lighting up, you crumpled your bag in indignation and embarrassment because he TOTALLY read you, “I'm not a dog!”

He laughed and patted the top of your head, “Whatever you say,” he ruffled your hair even more to prove your point and you wiggled out from under it with a deep pout. He pulled back his hand and regarded the bracelet again with an expression not dissimilar to the one he gave you when you spent an hour rambling about your latest hyperfixation. “If it's a friendship bracelet, I should make you one too, right?”

You shrugged, still too embarrassed to emote otherwise.

“Teach me?” He tilted his head down to try to find your gaze.

When you lifted your eyes to look at him, you knew the bracelet meant more than friendship to you. The adoration in his face reflected everything you felt for him but couldn't say. You wanted to hold his hand and tell him yes, the initials meant you wanted to tell everyone who saw him that he was yours. You didn't want anyone else to be able to look at him and have a place in his heart. It was so selfish, so controlling, it made your stomach churn with guilt. 

“Pips?” He prompted, concern etching itself into his face 

“Yeah, sorry. Of course, I'll show you,” you tried to quickly recover, turning back towards the coffee table and finding the string to start it 

Caleb gave you a second more of his worried attention, but when you stubbornly continued to set up for his own crafting session, he turned away and dug through bags of beads. You glanced over, curious what he was searching for, and narrowed your eyes when he found the bag of alphabet charms. He dangled it in front of your eyes with a playful smile, “Better start looking for my initials now, right?”

Chewing your lip, wondering what he was playing at, you shrugged indifferently though you felt anything but, “It's whatever you want.”

He tipped out some of the charms and started looking for a C, “It is what I want. Anytime we see these bracelets, we'll know we belong to each other.”

Your face burned and your heart raced. Rather than react like an adult, like someone who could admit to what they wanted, you elbowed him in the side, “Dorky ass,” you grumbled.

He just grinned as he kept sorting through the charms, occasionally looking at your own initials on his wrist with unabashed giddiness.

[11queensupreme11]

okay okay guys i made more personalities for some of the other kids so i'm gonna write them down here!!!!

metrodora! (2nd eldest perpollo baby, and her name means "Gift of the Mother of Liberty")

not an incest freak or a yan!

(i think you guys might like her lol)

she's a goddess of justice, liberty and freedom, and retribution and i chose these specifically because it's PAINFULLY ironic for her to be the goddess of all of these.... and be the daughter of PERCY, who we all know has been stripped of all of this 💀

cuz just... imagine it. the goddess of justice and your mother's been wronged by so many, one of them being your own father. the goddess of liberty and freedom, but your mother's been stripped of it and chained down.

imagine growing up and coming into your domains and realizing the one person who needs it the most is your own MOTHER and there's nothing you can really do to save her without facing severe consequences 😭

but anyway! 💖

metrodora has a stoic appearance, but it's just a bad case of the resting bitch face. she's actually a very kind and sweet goddess, she's just quiet and reserved. she's serious and no-nonsense, but not to the point of being stifling to others. a bit shy and awkward sometimes because like i said, she's very reserved so she doesn't have many close friends aside from her family.

she's also a maiden goddess! this was a decision she made after realizing the terrible situation her mother's in, so she made a vow of eternal maidenhood out of fear of... well... ending up like her mother 💔

sirenios! (11th perpollo baby! his name means "Of the Sirens" or "Song of the sea")

as the name implies, he's got a natural full mer form like his mother does AND he's also got her cannibalistic tendencies lol

he's a god of beauty, sound, music, singing, and the sea!

as made obvious from one of his domains, he is the most beautiful of the perpollo kids (and yeah he also inherited a lot of percy's traits hehe). he's pretty vain, narcissistic and arrogant, and honestly a huge snob 😭😭

NOT as snobby as luisne though!!!! he doesn't screech and stomp around; he's more of the time to scoff and turn his nose up and things like that.

he is an incest kid, rip percy 😂😂😂

he is the god of beauty, but he got his looks from his MOTHER. put percy and sirenios side by side and many people would mistake them as twins. so naturally, he sees his mother as the ✨epitome of beauty✨

his father is beautiful too (LMAO), he supposes, but no one is as beautiful as him and his mother 💖

rozaltha! (a beelcy daughter! her name means "The Unholy Bride/ The Rose Bride")

SHE IS A HUGE YAN LMAO (but not an incest freak tho)

i don't have her domains yet, but i think i'm gonna make her some sort of love and marriage goddess? or maybe just make her domains obsession and lovesickness???? idk yet, i'm still thinking of it

BUT ANYWAY!!!!! she's like those traditional yandere character tropes where they're super sweet but them BAM they go kill crazy for their darling 😭 think yuno gasai! traditional yans like that!

as the name implies, she's big on marriage! she wants to be a wife! she wants a perfect relationship like her mother and father have (which is fucking hilarious cuz this is BEELZEBUB and PERCY she's talking about 😂😂😂)

she's the type to "fall in love" really quickly. she tripped and someone caught her? "they love me! we must marry! 😍"

a handsome person looks at her? "oh my! they've fallen in love with me! do you think that want to marry me? 😍"

you get the gist LMAO

also, notice how i use "they" and not specify the gender? yeah, she doesn't care if it's a girl or a dude or a they. she just wants someone to take the "husband" role; she's a traditional gal too so it's gotta be someone who will take care of her, spoil and dote on her, etc. basically, a mirror of beelcy's relationship where rozaltha is like her mother and her ideal partner is like her father

anyway, like i said. she's a HUGE yan. the second she feels like her "husband"s attention is straying, her heart breaks and she loses it and kills them because how DARE they betray her like this 😭💔 or maybe they yell at her (they're calling her crazy because she kidnapped them), she'll kill them for hurting her feelings -- that's not how a husband treats their wife! 😭💔

poor girl just wants someone to love her. she wants the ideal relationship, a pure and beautiful romance just like her parents! 🥺💖💖💖

(ALSO! she doesn't care what species they are! human, god, demon, merfolk, satyr, nymph, WHATEVER! she doesn't care! just take care of her!!!!)

fiachra! a sécy daughter!

a pretty lowkey yandere tbh.

if you recall, fiachra's one of the kids who inherited percy's cannibalistic tendencies and i made an earlier post about how i plan for fiachra to accidentally/somehow get a taste of a god's blood and grow obsessed with them because they just taste SO good

why i said she isn't THAT bad of a yan is that she does at least TRY to curb her desires 🥺

sécy daughters are good at (nonexistent) heart, most are just sheltered and naive thanks to their father. they're very very new to romance thanks to it, so poor girl's very confused about these blossoming feelings. she's read romance books before, is that what's happening to her? is she... in love with this god?

or does she just see them as food? they taste so good... but they are also pretty good looking... is this love? she wants to see this person again, wants to be around them more, and wants to eat them? is this love?! she's so confused 🥺💔💔💔

the thought of them makes her feel SO good though! the ichor floods to her face and she feels all nice and fuzzy inside! she wants to hug them and kiss them and sink her fangs in their neck -- no! wait! that's not nice! she shouldn't hurt people, that's what her mother taught her!

love is just so complicated for her 🥺💔

clíona! another sécy daughter!

i'm thinking of making her a wilderness/nature goddess, but i'll think of that later lol. i just got the idea cuz of the antlers on her head. maybe i'll make deer her sacred animal?? 🤔

hyperactive joy of the palace! she's just cheery and sweet, it really fits her name "little darling" 🥰

can't sit still, she wants to run around in the forest and play with the animals and fae and other woodly creatures in the otherworld! but well... you know cú chulainn 💀 idiot has all his daughters and wife in lockdown like 25/8 😭

BUT she begged and begged and begged and he finally caved. fortunately, celtics are big on nature so their palace is already surrounded by a lush forest. cú chulainn lets her run around once more protective barriers are put in place so his baby can enjoy the nature 💖 the other kids can join too, they just canNOT go passed their territory or he'll lose his shit 💀

honestly, she has such huge puppy girl energy just like her mom but times it by 10 😂 always sparkly and wide-eyed, with the 90 degree head tilts, imaginary dog tail wagging 😂😂😂 (she's almost as hyperactive as anubis! which says a lot lol)

nebamon! an anuby baby! (his nickname is "moni" like "money" btw hehe; also has his mother's cannibalistic tendencies)

anyway, yeah his appearance is weird but really, i just liked the fc so i struggled to think of an explanation as to why he looked like that BUT then i realized that egyptian gods had like... a thing for looking like/resembling/or at least SOME sort of relation to an animal/insect

so.... i picked... AN ANT! 😂 i mean... it fits! ants have five eyes and antennae (they're actually horns in the pic, but just pretend they're antennae 💔). anyway, he's the god of riches and treasures!

also........ imma be honest guys, i based his personality off of mammon from obey me 😭😭😭😭😭

so expect him to be very immature, greedy, prideful, boastful, and a bit of (lovable) moron 😂

HE LOVES HIS FAMILY THOUGH! i mean, he was raised by anubis and percy, ofc he'd be big on family 💖💖💖 so while he absolutely would playfully threaten to sell one of his siblings for a corn chip, he wouldn't actually do it 🥺💖

nebkhetu! another anuby baby who has mommy's cannibalistic tendencies)

idk if you guys remember, but i got one of his domains from hsr aeons LMAO 😭. he's a sheep god who's domains are abundance (his name literally translates to "lord of abdundance"), fertility, harvest, agriculture, and sex.

a very flirtatious and sultry god who enjoys seducing others. he sleeps around a shit ton so yeah, he's a whore 💀 even worse, he's the god of FERTILITY which also falls under making fertile lands but ALSO sexual reproduction 😭😭😭 percy's ripping her hair out trying to prevent her kid from becoming a deadbeat but he just wants to keep breeding 😭💔

"if you don't help your partners prevent pregnancy, I WILL FIND A WAY TO PERMANENTLY REMOVE YOUR PENIS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"y-yes mother.... 😨"

anthenara! the eldest percades child! she's the one with the domain of blood and has her mother's cannibalistic tendencies

an yandere incest freak but NOT for her mom, but..... for her BROTHER lmao

(i think i'm gonna make it damasios???)

anyway, you know that "ara ara" nee-san meme???? yeah that's her 😍

elegant (like her father!), sultry, coy, and seductive, but EXTREMELY protective of her family. she's the first born after all, and she loves all her little baby siblings, but she loves one of them just a liiiiiitle too much 😜

even with her mother, she's protective and sometimes she can't help but treat percy as if she's one of her own little siblings which is hilarious 😂😂😂 anthenara just has strong motherly insticts okay? she's very caring and protective and percy looks and sometimes even acts younger than her LMAO

similarly to hades, she tends to be patronizing, (especially to damasios).

"oh, darling brother, are you sure you want to kill that man? perhaps i should do it for you 💖"

"you're too young to hear about this nasty talk, sweetie, why don't you go upstairs and play? 💖"

"oh my, are you disobeying your big sister~? 💖"

her family is all she cares about, she doesn't care for any outsiders and she ESPECIALLY doesn't trust poseidon or the posy children since she's aware that poseidon had killed her elder half-brother that she never got to meet 💔

[darylslittlebitch]

meeting twd characters for the first time (x fem!reader)

characters: daryl, rick, negan, glenn, carl, maggie and michonne.

writer's note: twd fandom just doesn’t age, man. no matter how many years pass, it still hits different every damn time. a few days ago, i started rewatching the series for the eleventh time (yeah, i’ve got issues, i know), and i was craving some good imagines… but guess what? i found nothing with all my faves together. so, you know what? i took matters into my own hands. if no one’s gonna feed me, i’ll fill tumblr myself with imagines of the walking dead. consider this my way of keeping the hype alive. now, go survive the apocalypse, you filthy survivors. request are open! ;)

daryl

The forest seemed to close in around you. You ran aimlessly, your lungs burning and your legs trembling, but you couldn't stop. The guttural sounds of the walkers dragged behind you, each growl getting closer, each dry footstep on the leaves proving there was no escape.

"I can't… I can't…" you thought, feeling your strength abandon you.

Your chest rose and fell frantically, and the branches scratched your skin. Warm blood dripped from a cut on your arm, but you had no time to worry about it. You were alone, defenseless, and had no idea what to do. You had always depended on others—your father, your brother, anyone willing to protect you. But now… now there was no one.

A louder growl, way too close, made you stumble and fall to your knees. The impact shook your entire body, pain shooting through every exhausted muscle.

"No…" you sobbed, feeling tears spill over. "Please, no…"

When you lifted your gaze, you saw it. The nearest walker, just a few feet away, its jaw hanging loose, rotten flesh peeling off in chunks. Its empty eyes stared straight at you, hungry, and its bony fingers reached forward.

"I'm going to die here…"

You curled into yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. There was nothing left to do.

Then, you heard a sharp whistle. Something pierced through the walker's skull, dropping it instantly like a sack of putrid meat.

You opened your eyes just in time to see someone emerging from the trees—a lean man, long unkempt hair, a crossbow still raised, and a serious expression on his face.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough and firm.

You blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "W-what?"

"Don't just sit there," he grunted, quickly approaching and grabbing your arm to pull you up. His grip was firm but not harsh. "More of those sons of bitches are around."

You tried to walk, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. "I can't…" you murmured, panic tightening around your chest.

"Yeah, you can," he insisted, practically dragging you along. "I ain't carrying you."

You barely managed to move, but he never let go. He guided you through the trees with quick, sure steps, like he knew every inch of the forest. You could hear the growls fading behind you little by little until, finally, silence settled.

"It’s over," he muttered, finally letting go. You collapsed to the ground, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

"W-what was that?" you stammered, struggling to catch your breath.

"The end of the world," he answered bluntly, shrugging.

"Thank you…" you whispered.

He nodded, as if there was no need to say anything else. Then, after a long silence, he added, "You got somewhere to stay?"

You shook your head, feeling a sharp sting of shame.

The man let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face, as if deciding whether you were worth the trouble.

"Alright," he finally said. "I can take you to my people… if you promise not to screw it up."

It didn’t sound like the kindest offer, but it was the best thing you’d heard in days.

"I promise," you said quickly.

He looked you up and down, as if trying to figure out just how useless you might be. But instead of saying anything, he simply extended his hand.

"I'm Daryl."

You took his hand, still shaking. It was rough, covered in scars, with the firmness of someone who had spent his life surviving.

"Thank you, Daryl…"

He nodded again and, before turning to lead you through the woods once more, he murmured:

"Don’t wander off again."

rick

The sun was beginning to set when you saw him for the first time.

A man, looking exhausted but alert, was walking down the road with a backpack on his shoulders and a revolver ready to fire. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, attentive to every shadow and every sound. You followed him from a distance, crouching among the bushes lining the road. You didn’t know who he was, but something about him told you he carried valuable things.

For the past few weeks, you had eaten only the scraps you found lying around, and you couldn’t keep going like this. Desperation had pushed you to do things you never thought you’d do… and this was one of them.

When the man stopped in front of an abandoned car, he pulled out a small bag of canned food and stuffed it into his backpack. He couldn’t have much more, but it would be enough to keep you alive for a few days.

You waited until he stepped away from the car and then slipped silently behind him.

“Drop the backpack,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The man turned slowly, raising his hands just a few inches. His blue eyes, cold as steel, locked onto yours.

“Don’t do this,” he warned calmly.

“I said drop the backpack.” You kept the knife steady, though your hand was sweating.

“You don’t want this,” he insisted. “You don’t look like a killer.”

His words made you grip the knife’s handle tighter. What does this guy know about me?

“Drop it,” you demanded, firmer this time.

With an expression of pure resignation, he let the backpack fall to the ground.

“The gun too,” you added.

His jaw tensed, but he obeyed, placing his revolver on the ground with a soft clank.

You quickly crouched to grab both things, never taking your eyes off him. You were just starting to rise when you heard it—

Gunshots.

First one. Then several, getting closer and closer. You froze, staring at the horizon.

A car was speeding toward you, weaving between the remains of abandoned vehicles. You saw at least three silhouettes inside, one of them leaning out the window with a rifle in hand.

“Shit!”

The shot passed so close you could feel the wind whistling past your ear. Fear paralyzed you—you didn’t know whether to run or drop to the ground. But before you could do anything, you felt a brutal impact on the back of your knee.

You screamed and collapsed to the ground.

“What the hell—?!”

Then you understood: Rick had knocked you down just in time to keep the bullet from hitting you.

He was already on the ground and without thinking, you reached into your jacket, pulled out the gun you had stolen from him just seconds ago, and tossed it back to him.

Rick caught it mid-air, turned in an instant, and fired twice at the car. The driver lost control, and the vehicle crashed into one of the abandoned cars on the road.

“Move!” Rick growled, grabbing your arm and dragging you with him.

You both approached the crashed car with weapons ready. One of the guys inside tried to stumble out, but Rick didn’t hesitate—he shot him in the head without a second thought.

Another man, bulkier, reached for a pistol that had fallen to the ground, but you saw him first. Without thinking, you fired. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped to his knees.

Rick finished him off without a second glance.

The silence that followed was overwhelming.

You breathed heavily, your chest rising and falling frantically. Everything had happened too fast, and adrenaline still burned through your veins.

Rick, wasting no time, climbed into the crashed car. The door creaked as he opened it, quickly scanning the interior.

“The keys are still in it,” he murmured. Then he turned to you. “Get in.”

“I can’t go with you,” you said, trying to sound firm.

Rick got out of the car, walked over to you, and looked you straight in the eyes.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t given me my gun back?” he asked quietly. “You’d be dead.”

You couldn’t answer. You knew he was right.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, this time more serious. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You were surprised at how quickly your legs moved to obey.

You both got in, and the engine roared to life. As the car moved forward, you felt Rick’s gaze on you.

“Why did you give me my gun back?” he finally asked.

You shrugged, unsure how to explain it. “I guess… I trusted you.”

Rick scoffed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

“Don’t make that mistake again,” he warned. But despite the harshness of his words, there was something in his eyes… something that made you feel like you wouldn’t regret trusting him.

negan

Night had fallen hours ago, but you kept moving through the shadows, your heart pounding against your chest like a frantic drum.

You had been running since you escaped the small group of scavengers who had tried to trap you on the road. Three men—filthy, armed, and too confident that you wouldn’t get away. But they hadn’t counted on you being fast… though now, they were hunting you like an animal.

“I can’t keep this up…” you thought, gasping for air as your legs threatened to give out. But giving up was not an option.

You hid behind an overturned bus, pressing a hand against your chest in a desperate attempt to calm your breathing. That’s when you saw it: a small camp, lit by torches. Armed men stood at the entrance, chatting with an air of confidence that was almost insulting.

“They don’t exactly look friendly…” you thought, but what other choice did you have?

You stumbled out of your hiding spot, your steps unsteady on the gravel.

“Stop right there!” one of the guards shouted, immediately raising his weapon.

“Please!” You lifted both hands, trying not to seem like a threat. “I just… need help.”

The man hesitated for a second, but just as he seemed about to say something, a voice rose from inside the camp:

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice was deep, rough, carrying a casual indifference that didn’t match the tension in the air.

The man who stepped out of the camp looked like he belonged to another world. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that gleamed under the firelight. His beard was perfectly trimmed, and his smile… that lopsided, cocky, arrogant smile froze you in place.

“And what are you?” he asked, stopping in front of you with his hands on his hips. “A gift? Or a goddamn spy?”

“I’m neither,” you answered, your voice still unsteady. “I’m just… running away.”

Negan let out a low, genuine but mocking laugh.

“Running away?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Well, sweetheart, you came to the right place… because no one messes with me or mine.”

“Please,” you insisted. “I just… need a place to stay for the night.”

Negan stepped closer, invading your personal space as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He smelled of leather, gunpowder, and something else… something thick, masculine, that made you swallow hard.

“And what do I get out of letting you in?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Because in this world, princess, nothing is free.”

“I…” You hesitated, realizing you were stepping into a game he controlled completely. “I can work. I can… clean, cook, whatever you need.”

Negan let out another chuckle, softer this time.

“You think I need a cook?” His smirk widened as his eyes roamed over you, evaluating you like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“How about…” he leaned in even closer, his face dangerously near yours, “you give me my gun?”

You frowned, confused.

“Your what…?”

But before you could react, his hand slid to your side, yanking away the pistol you had stolen from the scavengers.

“This one?” he murmured, lifting it in front of your eyes.

You froze.

“You know,” he said, spinning the gun skillfully between his fingers, “I like people with guts… but I also like them to know their damn place.”

He took a step back, still smirking.

“Tell me, princess…” he pointed the gun at you, though now it belonged to him again. “Are your little friends still on your tail?”

The sound of footsteps and voices in the distance answered for you.

Negan clicked his tongue in fake disappointment.

“What a mess…” he muttered, and then, in a swift move, grabbed your arm.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to break free.

“I’m saving your ass,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Now stay behind me… and if you move without me telling you to, sweetheart, I swear I’ll tie you to a goddamn chair.”

You followed him, unable to process how quickly things had turned.

By the time the men chasing you arrived, Negan was already waiting for them.

“Well, well…” he drawled, casually resting the pistol on his shoulder. “Looking for someone? Because if so, I’m afraid this little lady already belongs to me.”

“Give us what she stole,” one of the men growled, aiming a shotgun.

Negan chuckled softly.

“Really? You’re pointing that thing at me?” Negan tilted his head, his smirk turning even more dangerous. “Look, buddy… if you’re gonna have the balls to threaten me, you’d better know how to shoot.”

And before the guy could react, Negan raised his gun and shot him in the leg.

“Shit!” the man yelled, collapsing to his knees.

The other two didn’t wait to fire, but Negan’s men were already prepared. Everything happened so fast that you barely had time to react before the camp fell silent again.

Negan turned back to you, that satisfied smirk still on his face.

“Guess you owe me one,” he said, tucking his pistol back into his belt.

“Guess I do…” you admitted, still breathless.

“Well, princess…” He stepped closer again, this time leaning in until his warm breath brushed your face. “I hope you’re good at cleaning up blood… because you just got yourself a job.”

And with that cocky, lethal smile, you knew you had just gotten involved with someone who could either save you… or destroy you.

glenn

The gun’s barrel pressed heavily against your temple, your finger trembling on the trigger.

There was no reason to keep going. You had run, fought, screamed until your voice was gone. But the world had already taken everything from you. Your family, your friends, the promises of a future that would never come. All that was left was you—a ghost clinging to a thread of existence that had long stopped mattering.

The wind blew gently through the trees, stirring the dead leaves around you. You were alone. Or so you thought.

"Hey!"

The voice made your shoulders tense. Your eyes lifted, and there he was, standing a few meters away. A young man, his face filled with concern, his lips slightly parted as if he were trying to decide what to say. His hands were raised in a gesture of peace.

"Wait. Don’t do it."

You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected anyone to appear—especially not someone who seemed… genuinely worried.

"Go away." Your voice was rough, broken.

He shook his head, taking a cautious step toward you.

"I can’t do that."

You gritted your teeth, your knuckles white as you held the gun.

"Why do you care?"

The man exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

"I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I know what it’s like to feel alone. I know what it’s like to think there are no more options." His dark eyes held a burning intensity. "And I also know that even when it seems like there’s nothing beyond this moment, there’s always something. Something worth staying for."

Your throat tightened.

"My family is dead," you whispered. "I watched them die. I couldn’t save them. I can’t save myself."

Glenn swallowed hard. He looked nervous, but he didn’t look away.

"I lost my family too." His voice dropped, raw and honest. "Not in the same way, but… they’re gone. And every day, I wonder if it would make a difference if I disappeared too."

Your breath shook.

"And?"

"And… I found out that it does. That even when you think no one cares, someone does. That even when you feel like you can’t go on, there’s something—someone—who needs you to stay."

The metal against your skin felt heavier.

Glenn took another step forward.

"Don’t let this world decide for you," he said softly but firmly. "Don’t let it win."

Your hand trembled, the gun lowering just slightly.

"I… I don’t know how to keep going."

Glenn nodded slowly.

"Then let me help you."

And with infinite patience, he extended his hand to you.

For a moment, you hesitated. But then the tears came—hot and heavy—and you let go of the gun. Glenn took it carefully, as if it were something fragile.

And then you collapsed.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had held you like this—with strong, warm arms, with a presence that didn’t demand anything in return. Glenn didn’t say anything as you sobbed against his chest, as your fingers clung desperately to his shirt. He just held you, letting you release all the pain you had carried for so long.

After a while, when your breathing steadied, Glenn whispered:

"Come on. There’s a safe place. I won’t promise it’s perfect, but… you’ll be with people who’ll help you keep going."

You didn’t know what the future held. But in that moment, as Glenn offered you his support without expecting anything in return, you felt that maybe—just maybe—you could learn to live again.

carl

The cold seeped into your bones, even through your tattered jacket. The night air was thick, heavy, as if every breeze carried the stench of death. You didn’t know how many walkers had been following you, but you could hear them. Their guttural growls and dragging footsteps kept you on edge.

You had to leave your backpack behind when you realized they were catching up. Now, all you had left was the knife you gripped with trembling fingers.

“Please…” you whispered to yourself, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for someone to find you. Maybe for all of this to just be a bad dream.

And then you saw him.

A few meters ahead, a figure moved swiftly between the trees. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more afraid. Dangerous people were everywhere in this world… but if you had any chance of getting out alive, you had to take the risk.

“Hey!” you called out softly, afraid of both the walkers and the possibility that this person might decide to kill you instead of help you.

The boy turned, already pulling out a gun and aiming it at you. He froze for a second, evaluating you.

He wore an eyepatch over his right eye and a sheriff’s hat that was too big for him, but what stood out the most was the firmness in his expression. His clear eyes studied you with a mix of distrust and determination.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said without thinking, too desperate to lie.

The growls grew louder. The boy glanced at the path you had come from and frowned.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, turning without waiting for an answer.

“W-what?”

“I said come on!” he insisted, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

You ran together through the forest, jumping over roots and dodging branches as the walkers' shadows moved between the trees.

You reached an abandoned cabin. Carl—because that’s what he had introduced himself as in the midst of the chaos—gestured for you to crouch behind an overturned table.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, panic gripping your throat.

Carl pulled a knife from his belt and drove it into the palm of his hand without even flinching.

“What the hell…?”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, rubbing the fresh blood against the doorframe. “They follow the scent… I’ll lead them away.”

Before you could respond, Carl slipped out through the back of the cabin. His silhouette disappeared into the trees, leaving you alone in the darkness.

The growls got closer.

You could see them through the window—at least five walkers stumbling toward the front door. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t even dare to blink.

But the blood Carl had left behind did its job. One by one, the walkers passed by, following the trail he had created.

When the last one disappeared, your body suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Carl returned minutes later, his shirt soaked in blood—mostly not his own—and his breathing ragged.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Am I okay?” you let out a disbelieving laugh. “You just cut your hand open!”

Carl glanced at his palm indifferently. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” You moved closer to examine the wound, taking his hand before he could resist. “God… this looks awful.”

“It’s just a cut,” he insisted, though his fingers remained still in yours.

“No, it’s reckless,” you scolded him gently, tearing a piece of fabric from your frayed sleeve and wrapping it around his palm.

He stayed silent as you worked. When you finished tying the bandage, you looked up and realized he was staring at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured. “You could have… you could have died.”

“I wasn’t going to let them get you,” he replied as if it were obvious.

“Why?” you asked without thinking.

Carl swallowed hard and shrugged. “I guess… because I don’t want good people to die.”

The silence that followed was awkward… but not in a bad way. It was as if both of you were suddenly too aware of each other, of the fact that, for the first time in a long time, someone had done something selfless for the other.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Carl lowered his gaze, but you saw the faintest smile under the brim of his hat.

“You’re welcome.”

maggie

The abandoned church stands before you, its structure worn down by time and neglect. The wooden doors creak as you push them open, releasing the scent of dust and dampness. There are no pews left standing, only rubble and fragments of broken stained glass that catch the fading sunlight in muted flashes of color.

You walk toward the altar, where the lifeless bodies you had been forced to kill now lay motionless. Walkers. Or what once had been people. You kneel before them, letting the weight of reality settle onto your shoulders.

Closing your eyes, you clasp your hands together.

"Lord, receive these souls with mercy. Though the world turned them into shadows of what they once were, I know that, at some point, they were sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, friends. Forgive them, if there was ever anything to forgive. Take them home."

The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You know you are not alone.

"If you want me to pray for you too, you can come closer. I know you've been there this whole time."

You hear a quiet sigh before footsteps echo against the stone floor. You open your eyes and turn your head. A woman approaches cautiously, her rifle secured in her hand. Her expression is serious, but there’s something in her gaze that betrays her curiosity.

"How did you know?" she asks.

You smile calmly.

"You don’t need to see someone to know when they carry a burden in their soul."

She stops a few meters away, her eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies with a deep frown.

"Why do you pray for them?" she finally asks. "They’re not worth it anymore."

You look at the corpses with the same serenity you’ve had from the start.

"Because they were once people," you reply. "Don’t you think they still deserve that much?"

She watches you with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"It’s hard to think that way after everything they’ve done to us. After everything they’ve done to my people."

You nod slowly.

"I understand. But I can’t forget that before they became monsters, they were just like you and me. How do we know if one of them wasn’t a good person? Maybe a husband, a mother, someone who fought until the very end… And one day, the world betrayed them."

She crosses her arms, thoughtful.

"Do you still believe in God?"

You smile.

"It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive."

Her frown deepens slightly.

"I don’t know how you can still believe."

You sigh softly, never losing your composure.

"Because if I stop, then everything is truly lost."

For a moment, the church is silent. You can tell that your words have affected her, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

"It’s been a long time since I heard someone talk like that," she admits after a while.

You look at her kindly.

"If you’d like, I can pray for you."

She lets out a brief, almost incredulous laugh—but it isn’t mocking.

"Maybe later."

You nod.

And in that moment, you see something change in her eyes. Maybe not faith, but a spark of hope. Small, but real.

michonne

The air smells of fire and blood. The abandoned town around you is a graveyard of ashes and bodies that no longer have names. Walkers roam through the ruins, dragging their feet over the scorched earth. You wander too, but not without direction.

You have a goal.

The weapon in your hand trembles with exhaustion. You can barely hold it. Days have passed without food, without sleep, with no company but the weight of your own thoughts. You don’t know how much longer you can go on.

A sound makes you freeze.

Footsteps.

Not from walkers.

You turn—and see her.

A woman moves with calculated precision, two walkers chained behind her like macabre shadows. Her braided hair falls over her back, and her steady hand grips the hilt of a katana.

You don’t know her, but her presence says everything. She is not someone to take lightly.

Your fingers tighten around your weapon. This isn’t the first time you’ve encountered someone in this dead world, and so far, the odds have never been in your favor.

She stops, measuring your every move with sharp eyes.

"Don't try anything stupid," she says firmly.

You don’t intend to. But you don’t trust her either.

"Who are you?" you ask, keeping your distance.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, evaluating you as if deciding whether or not you’re worth her time.

"Someone who just wants to pass through," she finally replies. "And someone who’s looking at a person about to collapse."

You clench your jaw. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s right.

Michonne watches the tremor in your hand, the way you barely stay on your feet.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" she asks.

You don’t answer. You don’t want her pity.

She sighs, and before you can react, she pulls a small pouch from her belt and tosses it toward you. Instinctively, you catch it. Food. Something dry and simple, but food nonetheless.

You look at her warily.

"Why?"

Michonne crosses her arms.

"Because I don’t want to have to kill you when you pass out and the walkers get to you."

Her brutal honesty catches you off guard. There’s no kindness in her voice, but no cruelty either. Just the truth.

You sigh and lower your weapon slightly.

"And what do you want in return?"

She shrugs.

"Nothing. But if you want to stay alive, you'd better learn how to move in this world."

You have so many questions, you don’t even know where to start.

Michonne turns and begins to walk away. For a moment, you think that’s the end of it.

But then, without looking back, she says:

"If you have nowhere to go, you can come with me."

You hesitate.

You’re still distrustful. But your options are scarce.

And something in her voice, in her presence, tells you this isn’t an offer she makes lightly.

You take a step forward. Then another.

Michonne says nothing else.

But as you start walking by her side, for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.

[beforetimes]

Hello! I was catching up on your Shizun Luo Binghe/demon disciple Shen Yuan and I had a question about the second post.

How did Jin Lan City plague occur without svsss Shen Yuan saving Zhuzhi-lang while retrieving the mushroom seeds?

Shen Yuan was in the abyss during that time and wouldn’t have been there. If he’d gone before while he was still a disciple, Jin Lan City would have happened sooner. So did Shen Yuan just speed run the abyss with his meta knowledge faster then svsss Luo Binghe?

Or is there some other factor that caused Luo Binghe to somehow save Zhuzhi-lang while Shen Yuan was in the abyss?

Because Jin Lan City plague wouldn���t have happened if Zhuzhi-lang hadn’t been trying to pay Shen Qingqiu “back” (in his warped sense of repayment) for saving his life so he could hide him from humanity and require him away in the demon realm. That’s why it caught Shen Qingqiu off guard in canon.

So if Luo Binghe saved Zhuzhi-lang somehow (maybe he was out with Liu Qingge who was trying to distract his friend from his grief and himself from his own and ran into Zhuzhi-lang and saved him because all he could see when he saw a demon was the expression on Shen Yuan’s face as he pleaded before he died), it would make sense that Zhuzhi-lang to fixate on Luo Binghe (a human in this) and still need to go through the attempt to separate someone from the human realm.

Obviously, this would play out differently than Shen Qingqiu’s version. Luo Binghe wouldn’t be going on trial at Huan Hua probably (unless HHPM still had a thing for LBH’s mom and was trying to creepily come up with a reason to lock him up in HHP for creepy reasons??) and I can’t think of a reason Luo Binghe would have been after the mushroom to have gotten it for Zhuzhi-lang— AND ACTUALLY I HAVE A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TANGENTIALLY RELATED QUESTION!!

Okay so if Luo Binghe is 100% human does that mean he’s not the son of Tianlang-Jun in this. Or is Tianlang-Jun human in this?? And where would that place Zhuzhi-lang??

Either Zhuzhi lang is a human and then we have a hole to fill of why sowers went to Jin Lan City. Or he’s a demon and we have a different hole to fill of who he’s obsessively devoted to and trying to save. Would there even be anyone to save?? If Tianlang-Jun is human, who was sealed under Bailu Mountain?? Was anyone sealed??

…okay I’ll stop spiraling.. I could spiral on this for hours but this is already long and I need to go to sleep 😅

going to be so honest with you because this blog is a place where we don't lie in hindsight but like. i saw the prompt in my inbox at around three in the morning and thought wow! that's so fun and angsty! and wrote the blurb out at four in the morning in my notes app while actively drifting in and out of sleep before turning in. so like. i didn't even consider 2% of this when writing that out. lmfao.

but! on that note i loveeee the ideas here so much... especially with zhuzhi lang! the idea of luo binghe learning to empathize with demons in a way he never has before because seeing shen yuan die thinking he was hated traumatizing him so much > > > actually peak. i think in this scenario, because i imagine tianlang-jun is a human and no one is really. sealed under the mountain. since i imagine that shen yuan would be the first humanoid demonic big bad of the cultivation world rather than tianlang-jun. and if luo binghe did help zhuzhi lang it would be trying to help him get his human body back or something along those lines, while luo binghe was looking for the sun and moon dew mushrooms [or whatever they're called] in some half-hearted last ditch event to somehow prove his disciple was alive.

honestly a lot of these could have much more interesting explanations / ways to tackle them i just am not built to figure it out lmfaoooo. i think my issue is that i like character-focused stories so much more than heavily indulging specific plot points. so in my head i'm like it would be so fun to break down this toxic relationship between shen yuan and luo binghe if it was the other way around while all these details about the sowers and zhuzhi lang etc etc etc get lost.

though i ALSO!!! really like the idea that the huan hua palace master was trying to lure luo binghe to the water prison because of his hang ups with his mother. because i feel that makes a tad more sense than the random-ish 'shen qingqiu is a bad person so we should lock him up' i vaguely remember from canon (says girl who hasn't read these books in years. do not quiz me please)

many fun things to think about. thank you for reminding me all these things happened LOL