#im so inconsistent LMAO

[purrgatoriess]

idk how to draw anymore

[cuppajj]

i love this audio and this needs to be them and YAAAAAA

(This is not a ship post)

[YT link]

[tobyisave]

Nearly gave up on this many times but I have to spread propaganda for my headcanon... I’m convinced that K1-B0’s weaknesses were the inspiration for Miu’s murder plot — that he can be paralyzed with his emergency stop button (from Ch.1 FTE) or presumably with an Electrohammer (keyword “hammer”). Paralyzing Kokichi to make the murder only somewhat easier always seemed convoluted to me, but it makes sense she’d take that step for granted if the whole plan was formed around it in the first place.

My point being: Miu certainly realized she could’ve killed K1-B0 whenever she felt like it, especially knowing that he would have to die either way... But instead she spent countless hours literally rewriting the laws of reality just to give his Achilles’ heel to someone else.

[phexart]

When I first started playing darktide with custom bots my Psyker and my Zealot were just constantly flirting?? and I started feeling like I was going to turn around in the middle of a mission and they'd be making out sloppy style.

[robiinurheart33]

“It didn’t take him long to find Earth 138’s Stone and Robotnik; their severe loathing of each other had prompted Stone to become a supervillain in his own right. He and Robotnik 138 were locked in an epic battle that was razing most of New York City in its wake. Drone fought drone; robot battled robot; civilians fled for their lives; and, in the middle of the destruction, Stone and Robotnik traded blows and scathing, silver-tongued insults.

Stone mockingly spat the phrase ‘ My Ivo ’ through bloodied teeth. Robotnik didn’t wait to see who won.”

Ever since I’ve read this one paragraph I haven’t stopped thinking about it since actually no im not normal @vonlipwig ‘s Have We Met Before? Made me so ill when i first read it pls go check it out i was like biting my fist while reading it if ur the author hi i hope u like it !!1!

Without the blood and filters below⏬⏬

[saleeba]

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off. 

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person. 

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad. 

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends. 

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for. 

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.” 

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it. 

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words. 

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though. 

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other. 

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel. 

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests. 

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again. 

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude 

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late. 

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole  – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry. 

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head. 

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home. 

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up. 

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision. 

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs. 

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now. 

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely. 

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy. 

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s. 

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.” 

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release. 

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,” 

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste. 

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once. 

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions. 

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones. 

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.  

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail. 

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.” 

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

[crystallizsch]

runs - runs away giggling

is the. is the size accurate to the background i dont know 💀 i got bored

anyways this post is literally just a small art dump of them being silly (mostly) :3c

[anonymouscheeses]

Fascinated x normal

"Do you need to throw up?"

"Nnnnyoe"

Random jmpscare doodle dump. Barely even doodles but like here ya go anyway 🥰

[clumsypuppy]

Unsurprisingly assigned fairy type so heres me as a pokemon/fakemon lol

[vamprnce]

I must always draw them silly and cute together 💘🫶

based off of that one petermj panel + also bonus unmasked Pete version under the cut :)

[panakoui]

[junebug161]

trad goth johnny sketches as my first post. how are we feeling.

(also please ignore how inconsistent my art style is 💔 in my defense the second one is on a smaller space)

these are actually really messy sorry;; i SWEAR i'll digitalize them later

anyways thank u @lucyseal for getting me to actually draw this,, the second sketch is like a surprise gift for u

[blueberry-ink-93]

epilogue

“hey what kind of shampoo do you use?” telemachus looked up from his hastily scribbled shopping list to find a blank faced neoptolemus.

“wuh?” was it really neoptolemus’ fault telemachus asked stupid questions at stupid times.

telemachus rolled his eyes exasperatedly. what was so difficult about his question?

“i said what kind of shit do use for your hair” he gave him a somehow blanker look “im going shopping dumbass.” he waved his tiny inelligable handwritten note for emphasis. neoptolemus only frowned. “i don’t know”.

telemachus would be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to get bored with whatever game neo was playing. he had stuff to do and wasn’t at all in the mood to wait for his royal highness to return from whatever space dimension he was currently in and enlighten him with his products of choice.

“what do you mean you don’t know?” now it was neoptolemus’ turn to be irritated. he was still in his pyjamas, hair a knotted mess, under-eye circles ever prominent, and frown deeply set. he hunched further into himself under telemachus’ scrutinising gaze. it was too early for this. for what exactly? hell if he knew. all neo wanted was to spend the rest of his miserable existence under the covers. why he even got up today was beyond him.

telemachus picked up the shift almost instantly. eyes narrowing and breath held. something wasn’t right. was he hiding something? his stomach dropped. no. they had been over this. no more secrets. no more hurting all alone. was this one of those things that were second nature to him but completely alien to neo? self loathing and guilt bubbled inside him. fuck.

he shuffled ruefully over to where neo was perched on the breakfast bar chair, a knee to his chest and chin in his knee, both arms folded limply around his ankle. how he managed to sit like that on so tiny a seat was frankly a mystery to telemachus. but then again neo was full of surprises he thought drily to himself.

“neo” he said it so softly he almost didn’t even hear himself. neoptolemus stilled. tele ventured to hover a hand where his cheek bone and ear met. neos breathing ceased completely and telemachus followed. waiting for a reply to his unasked question.

letting out a sigh so deep tele thought neo was shrinking before his eyes, he finally got his answer. “i use whatevers in the bathroom.” teles eyebrows reacted faster than the rest of his face, shooting up to his hairline before his tongue found itself.

“but it doesn’t suit your hair type!” he sounded so surprised neo mused. why on earth would he be surprised. did it look like he cared about these trivial matters? hed use dish soap if he could. he did actually that one time and tele had to physically tackle him to snatch the bottle away. a corner of his mouth twitched upwards at the memory. he was banned from the kitchen for a week after that.

still reeling from the potential accidental crossing of boundries and reopening of an old wound (and by extension losing some of their hard earned progress), the cogs in telemachus’s brain whirred faster than they usually did, thinking studying contemplating. praying, repenting, apologising.

“would you mind if I washed your hair? for you I mean”. neoptlemus’ brow furrowed deeper than telemachus thought possible. well now you’ve gone and done it. we just said we mightve stepped over a line what did you go ruin it further for? he deserved to be tied to a pillory and be pelted with rotten tomatoes at the town square.

neo tilted his head upwards slightly and met his gaze. his olive green eyes asked and answered and laughed and cried and mocked and praised. were his own eyes fooling him or were those tears welling in the corners of his eyes? whatever strings still left in telemachus’ heart snapped. scratch that he deserved to be hung drawn and quartered. and thrown to wolves for good measure.

neo's gaze burned holes in his skull. he wanted to look away and wallow in his shame but he didn’t. after a long searing silence, neo finally asked, voice steady and eyes anything but. “is. is it something people do?” there was something left of his question. telemachus waited. shopping and deadlines and life itself be damned nothing mattered more than this. he had all the time in the world for neo. and if he didn’t have it he would create it. rip it from the fabric of space itself if he had to. it was truly the least he could do. the least neo deserved after everything.

“is it something… people do?” he repeated. Telemachus knew then that was the best he could manage. he understood, more than neo thought he did. more than he himself thought he did. his hand was slightly more confident now, tucking a limp wave of hair behind neos ear, tracing the path all the way to his jaw. cradling his face, he whispered.

“it can be yeah. doesn’t have to mean anything though I guess.” neos eyes chased telemachus' own but he avoided them, instead opting to study the freckles on neo's nose.”I thought it might be a nice change for you”. he said it so quietly. maybe if he was small enough it would cancel out whatever hurt he mightve caused. would he respond? what if he didn’t? would he ignore him? would a rift now grow between them? did he lose yet another a loved one to his stupidity? would the sting of his failures ever leave him? he finally dared to meet neos gaze.

“i would like that. I think”

telemachus managed a small smile.

--

leaning on the handle of the trolley and feet mostly off the ground, telemachus floated between the aisles, stopping only to redirect it and avoid colliding into the barriers. he eventually stood up properly having reached the hair care section. telemachus’ lips pressed into a thin line as he realised neo actually had a great point. there were a million kinds and colours and the dread was starting to settle. suddenly the easiest task in the world was bordering the overwhelming.

don’t be stupid its literally just shampoo. get over yourself. the little voice in his head never missed a beat. 'can we be a little nicer next time?' he asked himself, a hint of frustration lacing his internal stream of thoughts. absolutely not. he scowled. oh and also youre ugly and no one loves you. telemachus deadpanned. 'why thank you. any more gems for me?'. the disembodied voice grinned wickedly and telemachus instantly regretted asking. the last thing he needed was for his mind to casually drop the most devastating disturbing discombobulating truths on his still weeping sores.

he cleared his throat so violently to block out his own thoughts a nearby employee hurried over, probably thinking he was choking. he felt instantly guilty for making them worry. especially since he may or may not have overdone it; giving himself an actual coughing fit in public wasn’t his idea of fun. you think? came the cool remark. telemachus rolled his eyes at himself. He was very over this conversation.

a quick scan of the shelves for products specifically labeled curly (he had only ever seen neos real hair in a picture from primary. he looked adorable with several missing teeth) gave him a place to start. sighing, he picked up the first of quite limited options available. still better than nothing he supposed. at least its not dish soap, the voice quipped. telemachus smirked in agreement.

--

telemachus, seasoned overthinker that he was, tended to overlook certain aspects of his schemes. he practiced and he rehearsed, yet there was always something missing, even when he was quite certain he'd taken every last thing into account.

no sooner than he had turned the key he realised he had no idea what to expect. he hadnt thought this far, he hadnt prepared an internal script to practice, or at least go over every potential scenario with, he definately didnt walk the entire way home thinking about the frog documentary he and neo watched last night.

neo.

would he be asleep? awake? willing? or rather still willing to go through with their quiet promise this morning. had he eaten? was he alright? did he still love him? had he ever loved him? they never exchanged the infamous words but they both knew it. In their heart of hearts. right?

tele turned the key a second time and opened the door. prolonged pin drop silence never bothered either of them, but what with his current stream of unwarranted worries tele's stomach sank. was he upset with him? he remembered neos tears this morning and nearly felt like walking outside and throwing up in their recently acquired praying lily's plant pot

he pulled himself together and put his best foot forward (and nearly tripped in typical tele fashion). mumbling a little hello to nobody in particular.

the living room was 2 steps away from the door, open to their little kitchen gaving it the illusion of a bigger space. the light that poured from the windows certainly aided in that. it was nice and cosy and perfect. what was more it was home. and it was theirs.

after emptying the shopping bags and putting mostly everything away, he was only left with a pair of pokemon toothbrushes (listen they were on sale. no other reason) and the shampoo he brought that had to go to the bathroom. The bathroom with the bathtub. where neo probably was. their bathrooms bathtub.

tele had no idea why he was dreading whatever was to come. except he was lying, he knew exactly what was bothering him but it didnt resolve anything, much less untie the knots in his stomach. he cursed his stupid brain for ditching him for tadpoles.

the bathroom door was open a fraction. thats new. "neo?" a gentle rap of his knuckles on the white door of a wood his dad would probably know the name of echoed in the bathroom. silence

too quiet? maybe another one for good measure. tele raised his hand a second time when he heard a very faint hum. a question? ah.

"neo?" silence again. "can i come in?" another hum, firmer this time, an answer. he opened the door softly so that it wouldnt creak (to be added to the list of things to do before theyre old and grey) and disrupt the suffocating silence.

he was briefly surprised to find neo facing him in the bathtub, back to the taps, knees drawn to his chest, arms folded on the edge and head resting on his shoulder. his eyes were closed, and if it werent for his hums just now hedve thought he was asleep.

It did make sense actually, having his back to the water made it easier to wash. clever. though uncomfortable probably. he hummed again urging him to get over with. hes not talking.

he had the entire (debatable) thing planned out but it all went flying out the window. rather he threw it out the window to make room for a new wave of questions. what if he didnt fancy listening to him yap endlessly about whatever was on his mind? should he still narrate? would the noise bother him? should he ask or would it backfire?

neoptolemus opened an eye and telemachus instantly felt like following his plans suit out of the window. he was looking for reasons to feel guilty at this point and it was starting to get ridiculous. he was aware of the absurdity of his thoughts sometimes but his guts wouldnt budge.

neo bless his heart probably prepared more than his dumbass did (tele mentally winced at his own delicate choice of words) and gave him a fierce look that nearly stopped telemachus' heart. because everyone knows the best way to distract someone from downward spiralling into oblivion was to give them a cardiac arrest. first aid 101.

hed be lying if he said it wasnt extremely effective.

telemachus let the tension leave his shoulders and the air out of his lungs when he sighed in defeat. It would never not baffle him how much stress his muscles held and just how different his entire being felt after letting go. he felt like a wet newspaper. oh what he wouldnt give to lie down on the cool tile floor and pass away already. "uh, radio on or off?" cha cha real smooth.

neo snorted and tele allowed himself a victory smirk. "any requests?"

"just shut up" tele couldnt help but grin.

"sir yes sir". eyes closed again, neo missed the mock salute. he probably would have ignored him anyway. to anyone else his reply would seem harsh and rude, but telemachus knew better. neo knew how tele sometimes drowned under the currents of his own thoughts and doubts. he had stressed enough already. he needed to start telling his brain to shut up more when it went on hypothetical tangents of tangents.

tele opened the window and let some of the warmth inside but kept the door slightly open so the echo-iness didnt grate on their ears. the water ran and broke the now comfortable silence that threatened to lull them both to sleep. he sat on the cool tiled floor, a hip against the tub and legs folded by his side, and got to work.

tele was clumsily careful with the water, making sure the roots had drank enough before continuing with the length of neos hair. at one point he fixed the shower head in place and used a wide toothed comb to loosely section the hair. then came the sweet smelling stuff.

hed picked purely based on what hed thought (hoped) neo would like the most, possibly sacrificing the better option for his hair type. which in his defence was wasnt easy to tell, since part of the damage reflected on how it looked. hm. hypocrite. he tossed his head aside as if to knock over the last thought and busied himself with massaging the paradisical coconut into his scalp. It smelled like a dream, and if neos discreet sniffs and soft sigh were anything to go by he seemed to approve of his choice. tele was feeling quite proud of himself.

now all he had to do was make sure neo never attempted to eat the shampoo.

at long last, and after the final rinse they were done. tele stood up and stretched his legs and let out a heaving sigh. the kind that came after a job well done. he could only hope neo felt as peaceful as he did. and with less back pain. hands stretching above his head he looked over his shoulder back to neo to admire his handiwork.

he looked like hed actually fallen asleep this time. like a little cat curled up in the sink. with a little smile telemachus quietly put everything away and made sure to leave a towels and clothes within his arms reach. slightly closing the door on his way out tele wondered if he did actually sleep. should he check? and risk disturbing his rest? well since the alternative was literally catching pneumonia, he countered, id try my luck convincing neo to rest in bed at least. but how?

walking back in, hands on his hips and mind absent in thought, telemachus flinched when neo suddenly broke the silence. “quit your staring.”

once again his facial expressions beat his usually quick tongue in reaction. “I was not.” he insisted feebly, neck warming up at the scandalous accusation. he really wasn’t, but how like neo to make everything about himself. sometimes telemachus sort of wished his thoughts could be heard, or at least shared between them, so that neo could hear the fond exasperation in his voice whenever he spoke about him.

neo snorted and tele threw a towel on his head in retaliation since he wouldn’t see his stuck out tongue, and closed the door behind him with a soft click. he had far better things to do than spend another second with his idiot.

‘your?’ he allowed himself another small smile as the warmth of his neck reached his ears. mine, he promised.

[shiverpei]

narrator design yippie

[flying-mochis]

I just finished the Silmarillion so now it's time for me to loose my mind trying to discern the timeline changes in Rings of Power

mostly I was trying to figure out which "war" it was that Celeborn went missing in

but first I wanted to ground myself by figuring out when Finrod died- except that also isn't clear...

This is a very long, unedited stream of consciousness post, so I'll put it under Keep Reading. I also didn't really fact check any of this just going off my recent memory of just reading the Silmarillion so- If I got stuff wrong...woops

TLDR: Though Finrod originally dies in the Silmarillian during the Beren and Luthien, I think the RoP writers have changed his death to be sometime after the defeat of Morgoth as he's hunting Sauron. I think Celeborn went missing sometime before Finrod died, either in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (before the Fall of Doriath) or in the War of Wrath (the final defeat of Morgoth). Ultimately who knows but I'm excited to see what they do :)

In the Silmarillian, Finrod dies around late year 400 in the 1st Age protecting Beren in Of Beren and Luthien. He is killed by Sauron, as Sauron throws them in like a pit of death thingy.

but in Rings of Power, when Galadriel is giving exposition in the beginning, she basically says 'Then Morgoth was drafted, but Sauron continued to cause problems, and my brother vowed to hunt him down, then he died.' So it sounds like RoP Finrod survived the War of Wrath against Morgoth, but then died hunting Sauron afterwards.

This change would call into question how the events of Beren and Luthien played out in the RoP timeline- I guess it's not necessary for Finrod to die into order for that story to still have worked? Like maybe Luthien saved both of them or maybe Finrod never went with them. But...Part of the fall of Doriath in Hurin getting Finrods fancy necklace from Mim the dwarf after he's taken over Finrod's Kingdome in his absence- so if Finrod survived up to the fall of Doriath and past that- how would that work? I'm sure it could, there are ways to work around it so the story can still play out with those changes- or maybe they changed more major parts of the story like the fall of Doriath! That would be bold but not out of the question.

Maybe it's also possible that Finrod did still die during the Beren and Luthien story but that just happened after the defeat of Morgoth? IDK if that makes sense, because then how would Thingol have gotten the silmarill that leads to the fall of Doriath and all that stuff with Earendil and Elwing-? that has a lot more continuity changes so less likely.

Ok, moving on from Finrod. His death is at least canon from the Silmarillion, but Celeborn going missing is not. Or at least, it isn't mentioned. But one thing about Galadriel and Celeborn is that they were retconned into the story after most of the Silmarillion was written, so their presence it is extremely spotty and sometime inconsistent. It's basically mentioned that they fall in love when Galadriel and her brothers go to Doriath and she stays with him in Doriath while Finrod finds his kingdom, Nargothrond. Then she's mentioned talking to Melian like once after that right before the Dagor Bragollach (one time Morgoth surprise attacks a bunch of elf cities) and then...They basically disappear for the rest of the book until it starts talking about the rings of power in the 2nd Age-

So...There's already a lot of missing spots in there story. That's one of the reasons I think it's cool they made Galadriel a protagonist in RoP, because what she's doing in those times is very vague, though more so in the 1st Age than the 2nd- but her character could still shed some light on what she was doing then- Especially when Celeborn is introduced, cuz that's gonna require some background explanations.

So that's all just to provide the context that there is barely any context for what those two were doing before RoP takes place.

Another note about possible timelines for Celeborn going missing is its relation to Finrod's death. This is not confirmed, but I've always worked with the assumption that Celeborn went missing before Finrod died. This is based on some factors- such as Galadriel's seemingly more cheery nature when she calls him a "silver clam" before he goes off to battle---This doesn't sound like the traumatized, hardened Galadriel we know from her response to Finrod's death. Also, as other's have pointed out, if Finrod had died before Celeborn went to war and Galadriel had already become a warrior, why wouldn't she have gone to war with Celeborn? It's possible they were just going to different locations, but I don't think she would chide him to not join the fight is she was also doing so.

Running with that assumption- If Finrod did die saving Beren as he did in the Silmarillion, that means Celeborn would've gone missing in some battle before then, maybe the Dagor Bagollach. This would mean he would have missed out all everything with Beren and Luthien, everything with Turin, and everything else with the fall of Doriath at the hands of dwarfs and elves. Which I think would be a shame. There is still conflict in having missed out on a significant tragedy, but I think having him witness all those tragedies would be more interesting- and his bitterness towards dwarfs would be more understandable if he was physically there to witness their betrayal and slaughter of his people.

As I've said, its possible and probably likely that they'll change it so Finrod died much later, and this is another one for my reasons for thinking that. Aside from the other plot holes that creates, Finrod dying after the defeat of Morgoth opens up to possibilities for which battle Celeborn went missing in, so I'll continue with that assumption.

So, let's start with what Rings of Power canon we know. Not a lot, but in Celeborn's one mention in season 1, Galadriel says "When he went to [the War], I chided him." So he didn't go missing on some personal quest or whatever, he specifically went off to fight in "the war". One issue this raises is that Celeborn is from Doriath, and Doriath doesn't give a fuck. Doriath does not send any of its people off to any battles in the Silmarillion until it starts falling apart. The closest we get to Doriath elves fighting is when they hunt down the dwarves that killed Thingol and then defend themselves from the dwarves and the sons of Feanor.

One way to get around this could be making it so Celeborn and Galadriel left Doriath at some point to operate on their own. Maybe they went to live with Finrod in Nargothrond (I think it is mentioned that Galadriel stayed with Finrod there for a while, but Celeborn isn't mentioned? And I don't remember if that's in the Silmarillion or one of the unfinished tales- which are more subject to flexible canon). In which case, Celeborn could've gone off with Finrod to one of the battles- This is an interesting idea as it could show Galadriel and Celeborn being more independent and maybe dissenting from Thingol after his sus decisions with Beren and Luthien. The next battle after that story would be the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the unsuccessful battle with Morgoth right before the Fall of Doriath. The problem with him going missing in that battle, again, would be him missing out on all the drama of the Fall of Doriath.

The second explanation for Celeborn going to war would be that he goes to fight after the Fall of Doriath. It makes sense that he would be more willing to fight after seeing the destruction of his people, even if that wasn't directly at the hands of Morgoth. Galadriel's joking disposition may not make as much sense in a setting after her husband home was destroyed and his family was slaughtered- but maybe everything still felt lighter back then as long as they were together. The most likely battle he went missing in after that would then be the War of Wrath itself, the final defeat of Morgoth.

Another possibility is he went missing during the Fall of Doriath, but that wasn't much of war as it was a siege, and I feel like Galadriel would have at least tried to help out in some way in those circumstances.

Overall, the two most likely battles I see him going missing in are the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (the 2nd to last attack on Morgoth) or the War of Wrath (the final defeat of Morgoth). The Nirnaeth Arnoediad, or some earlier battle, may make more sense for Galadriel to not go Celeborn as they hadn't experienced the tragic loss of Doriath yet, but I guess the same could be said for her not going with Finrod later.

I think I prefer him at least surviving up to the War of Wrath, as that means he was around to see the Fall of Doriath, and experience all the ~fun~ trauma of that, which is one of the things that could make him more unique as a character.

There is also the question of if Celebrian is even born yet and if so, where she is. As Galadriel and Celeborn's lives are so vague in the first two ages, so is Celebrian, their daughter. I don't think we know for sure when she was born, but I believe it is mentioned in Unfinished Tales that Celebrian was alive and with them by the time they first went to Eregion. Obviously much has changed as neither Celeborn nor Celebrian were present for the fall of Eregion in Rings of Power.

Personally, I don't believe Celebrian is even born yet in RoP. As other have pointed out, Galadriel starts the series as one who has lost everything, one who has no ties and nothing left to lose. This is fundamental to her hunt of Sauron and her eventual fall to the manipulation of Sauron. It doesn't track that she would be doing all this while she has a living and present daughter to worry about or keep her grounded. It's possible both Celeborn and Celebrian are missing. I feel like should would have mentioned that to Theo when she told him about Celeborn, but she's also managed to only mention her supposedly dead husband once in 16 episodes, so clearly she's a master at putting those particular traumas in boxes to never be spoken of. I feel like having both of them be missing to show up later would be a bit too cluttered and it'd be smoother to just say she isn't born yet, but anything's possible.

I'm pretty sure the "canon" about Celebrian being born before the fall of Eregion is from Unfinished Tales anyway? Which I think of as more like a draft of Tolkien's ideas for the family, not canon in the sense of the SIlmarillion or the published stories.

Lots of "canon" falls apart around Galadriel and her family as they were added in so late and Tolkien seemed to die before writing his "final" story for them. And this is an adaptation, they aren't meant to follow "canon" like the gospel anyway, as we've seen. As I've said, the very lack of solid story around Galadriel and her families experiences through the first two ages is more exciting than anything, as it leaves so much room for the writers to get creative them and write a thrilling story that we haven't seen before. This is a chance to shine light on characters that fall under the status of "unfinished" in Tolkien ever-changing world, such as Celeborn. The only "canon" (Silmarillion) information we have on Celeborn for the 1st and 2nd Age is that he lived in Doriath during the 1st Age, he was somehow related to Thingol and later Nimloth, and he and Galadriel were in love. There's other supplementary, unpublished notes that either expand on these traits or straight up contradict them.

Based on letters nearing his death, Tolkien was clearly still thinking of how Galadriel's families story could go, but as he never "finished" with them, if such a thing is even possible, we'll never get that "canon" story from him. So it's up to us- or, in this case, it's up to the writers of the Rings of Power. So we'll see!

Wow, that was a long-winded way to say "I dunno"

[hopkei]

Kentaro-senpai, please take good care of Yusei~