#Hi future me. It's a very simply recipe.

[vengefulcooking]

Just made a quick egg sandwich today and it was so good that I want to write down the instructions for myself for the next time I'm in a pinch, and by 'pinch' I mean 'so hungry oh my god, it's 10 pm and I haven't eaten since 1 because I was out and ran out of food I'd carried with me'. So it's a quick and filling snack.

Put eggs to boil (longest task, may take 12-15m on full heat so do this first)

I'm lucky that right now I get to use my housemate's air fryer, otherwise toaster it is.

In the air fryer, were buttering a bread, and for extra pizazz, I happened to have sesame seeds from the last time I went to the Japanese fast food plade downtown. Amazingly, that's a thing. Sprinkled those on too because they taste great toasted. It's also absolutely times like these I aspire to someday own a panini press. Start toaster/air fryer. I'm moving in a couple of weeks and I think the thing I'll miss the most of the air fryer. And having a bit of leg room, that too.

eggs done? Remove the shell, smash in a bowl with a spoon or fork. Add some Mayo, pepper, salt, mustard. Mix.

Breads done! The butter has set in, the seeds are toasted. Spread egg spread, eat!

Ideas for next time:

Maybe throwing in boiled chicken

Chilli powder? Makes everything nicer.

Slight chopped onion if energy, but honestly it already tastes great.

That's it! Quick and filling thing. Now to eat actual dinner...

[merakiui]

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

[enmi-land]

ʬʬʬ 𝓨OUTUBE.COM ▹ NOW PLAYiNG . . .

ⓘ THE M iN MiLA STANDS FOR MEME MATERiAL . . .

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) FANMADE. #2023. ꗃ PREViEW A compilation of Mila’s fairly recent funny moments.

CLIP 1, WEVERSE LIVE

“Hello everyone, welcome to my special Weverse live.” Mila stands in front of the camera, which is set up in the kitchen of what appears to be a hotel room, wearing a fuzzy hoodie with bear ears and matching shorts. “‘Mila you’re so cute’?” she reads out while squinting. She shakes her head and waves her finger. “No, no—I am not cute. Today, I am a chef.”

Mila takes a few steps back and holds her arms out. “That’s right, everyone. Today, I’m in the kitchen because I’m going to be learning to cook braised stew for my future husband.” She smiles and throws her hands up in a cheering motion. “Yay!”

As Mila prepares her ingredients and utensils while reading the recipe on her phone, she answers comments from viewers, which all seem fascinated with her sudden decision to cook stew.

“I’m training,” Mila answers, “So I can make my future hubby lots of yummy food and be a good daughter-in-law.”

But five minutes later, and she doesn’t seem to be doing so well.

“Everyone, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Mila says as she transfers the pot of (burning) food to the counter. “If my husband loves me, it won’t matter if I can’t cook, right guys?” She smiles as she holds two thumbs up. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Which, yeah, but also—good food would still be really nice to have too.

CLIP 2, YOUTUBE SHORT

Mila decides to prank Heeseung while he’s in the studio filming a Weverse live at the company building. She watches his live and approaches the room he’s in, before turning the lights off in the hallway. She then makes a loud banging noise on the door and, upon seeing Heeseung about to stand up through his live feed, immediately starts to sprint off, recording the whole thing on her phone.

She giggles quietly as she runs, her camera’s focus moving erratically. But halfway through her escape, Mila tropes and ends up falling to the floor with a loud “AeGH!”

Thankfully, it isn’t live since she would worry Engenes (or be mocked for it by her boyfriends), so Mila simply laughs and rolls over. But at that moment the lights turn on, and Heeseung appears, causing Mila to jump back screaming, “YOU SCARED ME!”

“What are you doing?” Heeseung asks, both confused and concerned.

To this, Mila immediately jumps off the floor and runs off, hiding her face as if Heeseung didn’t already recognise her.

“Milana,” he calls out down the hall as she flees, “where are you going?”

She doesn’t turn back and instead yells, “It’s not me!” in a voice that totally sounds very much not like her, at all. (It’s totally her.)

CLIP 3, WEVERSE LIVE

“I like ass-thetics too,” Mila says in response to the comment. But Kiara ends up choking on her drink as she registers her pronunciation of the word, turning to Mila with a surprised expression.

“Wait—say that again,” the older female says.

Mila blinks. “Ass-thetics?”

Kiara very visibly smothers a laugh as she turns to the camera, before turning back to Mila. “You mean ‘aes-thetics’?”

“That’s what I said,” Mila replies, looking confused. “Ass-thetics.” 

Kiara bursts out laughing, and has to lean her head on the table to hide her face from the camera. Mila, on the other hand, turns back to the camera and flips her hair over her shoulder with a judgemental expression. “Anyway, like I was saying…” 

Mila reads out another comment, this time, more confidently than before. “‘I like Mila’s ass-thetic’,” it reads, causing Mila to respond with, “Thank you. I have a very nice ass…thetic.”

The pause between the two syllables of the word, paired with her pronunciation, causes Kiara to almost fall off her chair with laughter. Her shoulders shake and she has to hold on to Mila’s arm to stop her from leaning back too far. All the while, Mila simply ignores the older female and nods sagely at the camera.

“It’s true,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I have a nice ass—”

CLIP 4, BEHIND THE SCENES SKETCH

“How do we know where the center is?” Kiara asks the choreographer when they’re told to practice without a marker for their Sweet Venom choreo, which starts slightly off-centre.

To this Mila replies confidently, “the center is wherever I am.”

And then she has a sassy expression as she ticks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m the center.”

Period.

CLIP 5, WEVERSE LIVE

Mila is talking to the camera when she receives a text. As she picks her phone up, she gasps and announces to Engenes that Sunghoon and Jake are on their way. After a while of deliberation, she decided, “Hold on, I’ll lock the door.”

She giggles to herself as she leaves the frame for a bit and comes back to sit down, before putting a hand to her lips. “They won’t be able to get in.”

Just as Mila is about to continue with her live, there’s a loud sound coming from the door. Mila looks over and her jaw practically unhinges, before she’s covering her mouth with her hand.

“H-how did you get in?” Sunghoon and Jake approach her and she moves back, using the rolling wheels of the chair that she’s seated on. “I locked the door…”

“Why did you lock the door?” Sunghoon asks, and uses his foot to stop her from moving away any further. His expression isn’t visible since he’s not facing the camera, but his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are looking down at Mila.

Jake throws an arm around Mila’s chair and brings her back to the center of the camera frame as if nothing’s wrong, a smug smirk on his face as she addresses the Engenes watching their live. Sunghoon’s hand is seen resting on the back of her chair, but Engenes notices that he subtly reaches up or grip the back of her neck, before leaning down towards the camera.

Through it all, Mila is staring at the camera, expressing a wide range of emotions from “did that just happen?” to “I’m so screwed.” Engenes don’t know what happens after, but they do know her unadulterated look of complete bafflement will forever be funny to them.

The woman is just too stunned to speak.

CLIP 6, WEVERSE LIVE

“Mila, there’s something behind you,” someone says in the comments. Mila clicks her tongue and gives the camera her best look of disgusted judgement.

“Gurl!” she says, holding up a finger and doing a ‘no-no’ motion, “You’re not fooling anybody.”

She then goes back to reading comments, not noticing that there is in fact something behind her. It may not be a person, but something nonetheless.

Mila looks to the side for a second, but probably catches movement in her peripheral vision, because she’s whipping around on her chair to face the spider that’s been dangling from the roof for the past five minutes.

Mila immediately lets out the most unholy screech she’s ever managed, and flies backward in her chair, followed by a loud bang as she (presumably) falls to the floor.

“Gah, get it out!” The fans don’t see anything except the sight of Mila throwing random things into the air, even long after the spider is gone. She eventually resurfaces in front of the camera, eyes wide with panic. “Everyone, is it gone?”

Like, yes girl, it’s gone—gone to the afterlife.

CLIP 7, WEVERSE LIVE

“We met an Engene today!” Mila says excitedly to the screen, as she narrates the events of her day to viewers. “We were walking down the street together, and she came us to us like ‘Oh my gosh, I’m a huge fan,’ and I was like, ‘Awww thanks!’ And we took a picture together.”

“Right,” Riki says, nodding along.

“She was really pretty, too,” Mila adds.

At this point, no one knows if Riki even heard anything Mila just said, because he’s still staring at the camera, licking his lips as he nods—though it seems more like out of habit than for any real meaning. To the viewers at least.

Mila clearly doesn’t think the same because all of a sudden, her head turns to him at the speed of lightning. Riki looks at her and makes eye contact, before asking, “What?” 

Mila opens her mouth to say something, but then decides against it and just turns to the screen. This time, it’s clear she’s in a bad mood, because she doesn’t have a hint of a smile on her face. Instead, she puckers her lip and gives Riki a harsh side-eye, and then turning to take a sip of her drink… very loudly.

For the rest of the live, she continues to give telling side glances at Riki, as well as loudly sipping on her drink, which Engenes will never forget to edit using a “bombastic side-eye” audio in the background.

(Riki, please tell your girlfriend she’s pretty, too.) 

CLIP 8, EN-LOG

When Mila has to go through a haunted house with Kiara, she busies herself by dancing and signing random songs to hide just how scared she is.

“JUST WANT TEN MINUTES,” she sings loudly, before jumping when one of the actors jumps out before her. “OH LAWD—“ she hands her head down and scurries off, continuing to sing the lyrics of her song. “NAE GEOSO DONEUN SIGAN—!”

It gets to the point where she’s switching between songs and dancing free wrong choreography because all she wants to do is get out of this place. But of course, she ends up being scared so badly she screams and falls to the floor, before completely passing out.

Well, pretending to, anyway.

“Yah! Get up,” Kiara says, shaking her still body on the floor.

“Can’t I just stay here?” Mila asks. “I’m already dead anyway.”

Kiara almost says something like, “Think of your boyfriends!” But, fortunately for Mila, she doesn’t.

CLIP 9, PRESS VIDEO

Mila is working along the streets when a reporter approaches her, asking her to pose for some photos.

“Uh, I don’t know, I’m a bit busy,” Mila replies nonchalantly while wearing a pair of sunglasses. However, as soon as she says this, she’s striking a not-so-subtle model-like pose in the middle of the street. A second later, she’s walking again and confines talking: “I might not have time to take photos.”

Yet, she, immediately after saying this, spins and stands next to a bouquet of flowers on display in front of a florist shop on the side of the street, doing at least three different poses to show both it and the name of the florist off like the professional voluntary brand ambassador that she is.The photographer doesn’t say anything, though, and simply takes the photos with quick shutters of the camera.

“Like I said,” she says as she continues walking as if nothing happened, “these days are very busy.”

She nods to herself and struts off with an exaggerated catwalk, stopping every meter or so to strike a random and quite frankly ridiculous pose. But what can she say? It’s difficult multitasking.

CLIP 10, FANMEET

Mila is listening intently to a fan as she spills all the tea, before her expression turns into one of progressive disgust the longer the fan goes on about this particular subject. Mila promptly puts her hand on the fan’s face, before looking her deeply in the eyes.

“Unnie, listen to me,” she says, as the fan stutters on their words. “He’s just a man—a really trashy one, too. You can do better. Just leave him.”

CLIP 11, SEND-OFF EVENT

“Mila, can you sign my photocard?” Mila is happy to oblige the request, until she looks at the photocard in question. She is absolutely flabbergasted at the confession and stares at the Engene in front of her with absolute betrayal. The fan has the decency to feel bad, and starts to apologise. “I’m sorry! I just—hahahaha!”

Mila holds the photocard to the fan’s camera to show off the photo, which is of Mila when she was younger. A very unflattering photo of her, if you ask Mila, since her hair is a mess, her clothes are a mish-mash of colours that don’t go well together, and there’s drool on the corner of her mouth. 

“Seriously?” she asks the fan, her hand on her hip. “Of all the pictures—you know what, I’m just going to take this.”

The fan gasps. “NAURRRR!”

“Fine, fine, give it here,” and then Mila proceeds to pull a pen from her bra, an action which has the fan screaming her lungs out, causing Mila to once again look at her with the same look of disbelief from before. “Girl, are you okay?”

CLIP 12, WEVERSE LIVE

“‘Jay sounds like a father,’” Mila reads out the comment after Jay scolds some Engenes for staying up too late. “Right? He acts like one, too.” She turns to him and says. “Daddy.”

Mila doesn’t realise the weirdness of her statement until after she states it out loud, and burst out laughing when Jay turns his head at breakneck speed. Mila covers her mouth and leans against the desk to hide her expression, but her shoulders start to shake from her laughter.

When she looks up again, her face has both a look of embarrassment and amusement at the same time, as Jay continues to stare at her with a hard gaze. As soon as she locks eyes with him, though, her smile drops. She looks between the camera and him, and realising that he isn’t as amused, presses her lips into a thin line and awkwardly fiddles with her hands.

“Sorry,” she says. And when Jay finally looks away from her and changes the topic, her eyes look around the room awkwardly. “So, anyway—!”

CLIP 13, FANMEET

“Mila, why did you cut your hair?”

Mila gasps at the question, as if remembering something, and covers her mouth. “You won’t believe it!”

She leans closer to the Engene in front of her as she recounts her tale, which starts during a night out with her friends. “We were walking around somewhere, but I really don’t remember where because I was drunk—anyway! I got home and was knocked out as soon as I went to lie on my bed. But when I woke up in the morning and went to brush my hair, I noticed I couldn’t run my hand through my hair! A piece of gum got stuck there!”

The Engene gasps. “So what happened?”

“I tried to get it out myself by cutting it, but I didn’t realise how hard it would be to cut gum out of my hair, so I ended up just cutting all my hair off… I had to get it straightened out by a hairdresser and it ended up really short like it is now.” Mila nods solemnly, before cracking a smile. “My hairstylist cried, though—it was kind of funny.”

CLIP 14, EN-O’CLOCK

It’s during the episode when there playing billiards. Mila has to sit on the side of the pool table to get a clearer shot, and is aiming the cue stick when she suddenly flips her hair over her shoulder. She then leans down exaggeratedly, revealing the slope of her neck to the camera.

Jake does a low whistle of appreciation, and the others laugh.

“Ooh, sexy!” Kiara cheers, clapping her hands.

“What even?” Jungwon says with a smile. “Excuse me, this is a family-friendly show!”

“Oh, sorry sorry!” Mila sits straight again and takes her shot. But immediately after, she leans against the pool table and poses saucily for the camera again. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

“What even?” Sunoo asks, covering his mouth as he watches Mila’s antics. “What is she doing?”

Nobody really knows anymore—not even Mila herself.

© ENMI-LAND, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, REPOST.

taglist⠀( OPEN ! ) ⦂ @em1ejiee @menichoi @dracoslovergirl @rosas-in-the-garden @blossominghunnie @lovelypham @cornenhapovs @nee-issaire @jwnstars @tommina @queenriki7 @onlyuyu

[dawndelion-winery]

Mad Scientist's PA

Part 2 to this but can be read alone

Dottore × GN! Reader

    Being Zandik's favourite person had its pros and cons. Mostly cons, you'd say, for he was very much like a cat in the sense that he was very demanding of your attention when it was convenient for him, bestowing upon you the subtlest of gestures of appreciation in turn, be it a nearly unnoticeable nod or a barely audible hum of approval.

    "Here," you huffed, dropping a small bag of cookies on the table as you took your seat beside him (he had oh so thoughtfully "helped" you apply for all the same classes as him), to which his gaze barely flickered over, his hand never ceasing the motion of scribbling on loose parchment. To an outsider's eye, it might seem like he was ignoring you, but you knew better. The fact that he had even made that subtle motion was telling enough he was acknowledging you; had it been anyone else, he'd have continued act as though they weren't there - or should they encroach on his personal space, lash out.

    You simply carried on as he did, laying out your things and beginning your own note taking until the class reached a point of discussion. As per the arrangement (decided by Zandik), he was your discussion partner.

    "I think you could afford to learn a few new recipes," Zandik grumbled as he bit into a cookie. His face was impassive, bored, with crumbs sticking around his mouth. Regardless of his complaints, he was getting through the baked goods at an alarming rate.

    "And I think you could afford to get breakfast before class," you retorted, to which he scoffed, rubbing the crumbs off his face with his sleeve and pointing at you. "Then bring me breakfast before class."

    You narrowed your eyes at him and sighed as you returned to your work, knowing full well there was no winning arguments with him. This worked well enough in your favour, since Zandik didn't take well to being disregarded. And his solution to reclaiming your attention? Activating tutor mode. Almost like flicking a switch, he scooches his chair closer to you, leaning over your shoulder for an actual discussion on the material. In times like this, you could almost forget what an overbearing slave driver he was.

    You hated to admit it, but classes were a breeze with him. As much as you'd like to attribute it to your own quick wit and understanding, you knew better than to ignore how much help you've gotten from Zandik - there were things he'd taught you that you were sure even the professor's weren't aware of. If things carried on the way they were until your graduation, you'd doubtlessly be qualified for any career you wanted. As you thought about it, Zandik prodded your cheek with his pen, asking what had you so deep in thought, and rolling his eyes as he resumed writing, pointing out how you'd missed a good few pages worth of notes.

    You scrambled to try catch up, muttering about how you were just thinking about the future. "Just wondering what I'll be once I graduate."

    "What's there to think about?" He scoffed as he slid over the notes you'd missed. "You'll be my personal assistant, just like you are now."

    You didn't quite process his words while you were rushing to catch up, but once class had ended, it finally hit you. "What do you mean? I can't just work for you my whole life."

    "Why not?" He seemed genuinely confused, as though he'd never considered your protests a possibility. "I'd pay you well."

    "To fetch things for you? Running errands like some intern?"

    "That and handling my experimental data...and my chores...and meals...oh heck, let's just call it miscellaneous tasks and more."

    If he had the social awareness to read the disgust on your face, he sure didn't show it, grinning at you without a care in the world.

"By the way, have I ever told you how much I enjoy your cooking?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Zandik."

    You did end up as his personal assistant. You comforted yourself by insisting it was your choice - no one paid as generously as he did!! It was the logical decision to make. Were you sent on the most random of tasks and expected to be at his beck and call 24/7? Yes, but compared to slaving away for hours each day, you only ever really needed to focus on the occasional odd job here and there. The rest of your time could be spent as you wished until his next task so long as you remained contactable. He was pretty lax like that. As odd as Zandik was, he wasn't delusional enough to believe you'd stay with him when anyone would be happy to hire you fresh out of the akademiya. Which was really what led to the working perks with him.

    "Coffee, my dear," Zandik - or rather, Dottore as he went by now - demanded without so much as raising his head, only lifting his mug and holding it out for you to fill. Begrudgingly, you dragged your feet over, bringing the coffee big with you.

    "It's four in the *yawn* morning...Za- Dottore...can we just go to bed already..." you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

    "Of course you're free to sleep. I'll wake you when you're needed."

    Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you set down the mug on the counter, letting him know you'd be off. Yeah, maybe don't take his word for it next time. His idea of walking you was screeching your name til you showed up.

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Commissioned by @monstersealclubber

[kodiackwrites]

A New Flavour-Wonka X Reader (NSFW?)

Not proofread, we die like real men

It had been a long two months in the basement of Mrs. Scrubitt’s laundry house, All my days had been spent well, scrubbing and cleaning the never ending laundry pile. Life was made a bit easier but the others but, after hearing everyone’s stories and listening to about a million jokes from Chucklesworth, I just couldn’t see any light of the future. That was of course until the light came right through the laundry shoot, Willy Wonka. A young, charming man who, yes had a bit to much enthusiasm but it made things fun. He and Noodle had been off and about most of his time, but he’d spend at least a couple of his days in the basement. But due to his lack of following instructions, he’d found himself with a tear in his coat arm, and a scratch underneath it. “Ow-!” He whined, catching my attention as I stacked a couple folded sheets, “Is everything alright Wil?” He looked up, tears threatening to fall from his eyes, “I caught my sleeve on the edge of the table-“ he responded. I took a few steps over, taking his arm in my hands and looking through the torn material at the wound below, “nothing we can’t fix.” I said with a smile as I found the nearby, dusty, first aid kit. It certainly wasn’t the best but it worked. I dug through it and found gauze, alcohol wipes, and a small roll of medical tape, I helped Will take off his jacket, and rolled up his undershirt. “take a deep breathe, these never feel good.” I said as I brought the wipe to his skin, Quickly and thoroughly cleaning the wound. Before tossing it away, “That was horrible-!” Wil complained, making me smile at his innocent, childlike demeanour. I wrapped his arm tight in gauze and taped it down. “There we go! All patched up,” I said pulling down his sleeve, “What about my jacket?” He asked, a nervous look upon his sweet face, I looked at the coat that lay in his lap, “Just come by my room this evening I’ll get it all fixed,” I paused, rubbing his shoulder, “but for now I do need to get back to cleaning.” I added with a smile,

—

I had just finished threading my needle when wil knocked on my door, “Come in!” I called as I tied the thread. He came in, Putting doen his coat, taking a seat beside me. Making himself quite comfortable, “Thank you for this Y/n, How can I repay you?” He asked as I began passing the needle through the fabric. “Oh Will, it’s very okay! I don’t need repayment.” I said, carefully weaving through the fabric. “But you’ve been so kind, it’s only fair.” He added. I simply shook my head. He sighed before digging in his pocket and placing a small box on the table in front of me, with ‘thank you’ misspelled across it. It made me chuckle as I pushed it aside until I tied off his coat, Handing it back to him, “Thank you Y/n! And please, open the box!” He said warmly, “only if you insist,” I respond, grabbing the small gift once more, pulling off the top to reveal a small bubbly chocolate, with pink and white marble throughout the milky brown colour. “Is chocolate your go to gift?” I asked metaphorically as I brought the sweet to my lips, taking a bite from half of it, the dreamy milk chocolate hit my taste buds, with hints of caramel and marshmallow. It made me feel warm, Safe, no no, it made me feel, I couldn’t even put a name to it if I tried, “do you like it?” Will asked, looking at me with a warm smile, “I love it, it’s perfect, maybe my new favourite.” I responded as I ate the rest, Looking over Wils body, it made me feel warmer, that’s it, that was the feeling. lust. “I have to ask, what kind of chocolate is it?” I asked, making him blush and stutter nervously, “A new recipe I’ve been trying- just a mix of uhm-“ he couldn’t find his words, I slid my hand up his arm, onto his chest, “Mix of perhaps, Want? Lust even?” I asked, my hand sliding down to his abdomen he squirmed, letting out a small breathe, “perhaps- I didn’t mean too I just wanted to- oh~” he let out as my hand slid over his crotch. He was whining and panting like crazy despite barely being touched,

To be continued 🫶

This was totally inspired by someone but I can’t find their @:(

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet—Donny Donowitz | IB headcanon

Link to my IB masterlist

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Affection is Donny’s weakness. Whether it be giving or receiving he is always wanting to touch you in some way. This could be his arm around your shoulders while Aldo is debriefing the squad, your head on his shoulder by the campfire, or light kisses to the forehead before a stressful situation.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Being friends with Donny is basically signing up for chaos. He’s the type who would suggest doing stupid shit and you have to follow in order to ensure he doesn’t kill himself doing it. Laughing to the point of ab cramps is the best way to describe moments with Donny as your bestie.

The friendship started before you two shipped off to France. You were probably the squad’s nurse or high ranking next to him and Aldo that you guys interacted more than with the Basterds. The friendship sorta naturally happened to the point it’s hard to even put a date on when it started.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Physical touch is the mans love language so of course he likes to cuddle. Holding you in his arms with the radio playing while you two doze in and out of sleep is the best feeling in the world. “Doll,” he’ll make grabby hands at you, “c’mere let me hold ya.” He’s the big spoon obviously, but also he likes when he’s laying on his back and you’re curled into his side.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Hell yeah Donny wants to settle down—the literal dream for him is to own a home with you in a nice area where you two get to grow old together. You two would likely run the barber shop or another business and be the couple who give back to the community.

Donny, surprisingly, is a descent cook. Really he specializes in certain dishes that are family recipes. And best believe he can stir up some smacking pasta. You never have to worry about a messy home or kitchen because the Army embedded it into his brain that orderliness and cleanliness is essential…..except on Sundays. That’s y’all’s break day.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d rather scalp himself than end things with you. If anyone is gonna break hearts, Donny will sacrifice his own to prevent you from experiencing it.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Being a bachelor was honestly what Donny expected he’d be all his life. Yeah he dated and had flings but never did it occur to him he’d want to settle down and build a future with someone. When you came along it was like he had an awakening. Immediately he saw the house with a yard full of animals, kids running around the premises and a ring on his finger. After you two got engaged Donny wasn’t quick to rush a wedding especially since you two had just returned to the states. He wanted to work as much as he could to give you the wedding of your dreams.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Despite being a giant beefy man that he is, Donny is very gentle. His touch is like feathers and always carefully handled as to not hurt you. Anytime you’re sad or distress his approach with you is cautious. Asking questions like, “Do you need to talk or want to be alone?” Whatever you decide he’ll respect even if it means walking away to give you space.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Are you kidding this man lives and breathes for hugs. He gives the best hugs of the Basterd (Wicki coming a close second) so you take any chance you can to hug him. Donny won’t even hesitate when you ask for one or he’ll simply bring you into an embrace he notices you’re under distress.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Considering he realized he loved you in the middle of a legit war, Donny probably said it quick. And by quick I mean right when it hit him like a truck. You two had been best friends by that point to he was worried to an extent it would crumble before his eyes. But to his utter surprise you said, “Oh, Donny, are you blind? I’ve been waiting for you to say something forever! I love you too, you rascal.”

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Okay so while he hardly gets jealous when the Basterds or his friends playfully flirt with you, he WILL become a different person when someone he hates tries to swoon you. Of course he’s confident in y’all’s relationship and knows you’d never betray him, he just fucking hates when an asshole attempts to get your attention. “Jealous again, baby?” “NO……maybe.”

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Donny are best described as ‘cheeky’. He’ll send you a smirk with eyes reading, ‘Imma kiss you right now,’ before smacking his lips against yours or your cheek before running away. You can’t help but giggle when he does because it’s so adorable and always puts a smile on your face. Your lips and jaw are his favorite places to kiss, however, when he’s feeling frisky Donny will trail his mouth down your neck and collarbones. For him, the Sargent loves to be kissed on the lips as well. He’ll never admit it but Donny is a sucker for when you kiss his chest.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Donny is amazing with children. It’s one of the things you love about him. Even if you two do not plan to have children he loves to spend time with nieces/nephews and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the type to teach the kids in your neighborhood how to play baseball. He’d also offer discount and free haircuts to the children and teens who cannot afford one. If you do have/adopt kids, then expect Donny to be the best father ever. Always attending their school functions and sport games (most likely baseball) and taking your kids to the zoo, museum, Red Sox games, etc. He is their #1 supporter and will do whatever possible to make them happy.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

During the war y’all’s mornings started bright and early at the ass crack of dawn. Donny would be the first one up considering he was in charge of getting the Basterds into formation, but he’d make sure to give you a kiss on the head as a good morning before leaving. When there is the rare chance of staying in an inn or motel then he’s all over you with cuddles and waking you up with kisses.

Back home in the states Donny is the type who will put the coffee on the pot as soon as he wakes up to get you a coffee before your eyes open. Then if he has time he’ll run to the cafe by the corner of your street to get your favorite breakfast. “Is that what I think it is?” “Only the best for my baby this fine Sunday morning.”

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

I can see Donny as a night owl. Really it was a result of the late nights overseas where he had to keep watch of the camp. The habit carried over when he returned home in which he would stay up listening to the radio or reading a book. You’d have to force him to come to bed—-often making him a warm cup of milk or run a bath. But once his head hit the pillow mans is out like a light and holding you to his chest.

[actual-bill-potts]

Talking with the Hobbits who had come to live on Tol Eressëa, Finrod found, was often a delight, always interesting, occasionally discomfiting.

Take for instance his fairly mild assertion that the noble cabbage, as a vegetable, could be improved upon. He was met with twin glares so fierce he was surprised he didn’t burn to ash then and there, and had to surreptitiously check his hair for burnt ends. Then he was plied with recipes that prominently featured cabbage, and not allowed to speak on any other subject until he had meekly promised to try at least five separate dishes which the Hobbits promised to prepare with their own hands.

So he had that to look forward to.

But they were very wise in the way mortals were wise, practiced in the art of letting go, embracing the joy of impermanence. Sitting with them, hearing the histories and legends of their people, was a rare pleasure; and hearing the tales of his own people from their mouths brought new meaning to the old, old words. The Tale of Fingon and Maedhros, for instance, was not tainted for them by knowledge of future horrors. It was simply a love story. Bilbo had written a poem about it; and when he recited it in his quavering voice, Finrod was moved to tears twice over: in admiration for a love that had - however briefly - conquered all evil, and for his cousins who had been so long dead.

When Bilbo came to the end of the poem, Frodo let out a long sigh. “I love that story,” he said in his light high voice. “It was my favorite when I was a tween.”

Bilbo looked at him in surprise. “It was? You never mentioned.”

A tinge of color touched Frodo’s cheeks. “No, well, I suppose I wouldn’t have at that,” he said. “It took several years after I had passed my majority for me to admit why I loved the story so much - and by then you were off in Rivendell, bothering Elrond with your impudent poetry no doubt!”

“Impudent!” said Bilbo laughing. “Well, perhaps; but he never said a word about it. That was all his stuffy advisors; and Estel of course - but he teased me for everything. Talk of impudence! I could not remark on the sun’s rising but he must say his piece about how Hobbits are so near the ground they must see the dawn well before Men and Elves, or some such rot.”

Finrod joined them in laughter. “Who was Estel?” he asked curiously. “He sounds very like Elros. For all his majesty, he could not resist offering me a step-stool whenever I greeted him, that I might look him in the eye - and I was a mere hand-span shorter than him! He took far too much delight in being taller than an Elda.”

Bilbo chuckled. “You’re more right than you know, lad; Estel is none other than Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, your - I suppose he would be grand-nephew-in-law? - and King of Gondor and Arnor in Middle-earth.”

“Really?” Finrod said in surprise. “Why was he called Estel?”

Bilbo blinked. “Has Elrond not told you?”

“I doubt Elrond has wished to speak of those days much, while the grief is so near,” Frodo said gently.

Bilbo nodded. “True enough; well then, I will tell the story,” and he told the tale of how Arathorn son of Arador had been cruelly slain when his son Aragorn was yet young, and all that followed. Some of it Finrod had heard from Elrond, and others who had come from Rivendell; but other parts of the story, such as Gilraen’s words to Elrond, were new and moved him greatly.

“High is the valor of the Edain!” he said when Bilbo had finished speaking. “They have proven it in every Age; and the Edenith no less than the Edain.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo dryly, “there are many poems to that effect, I believe. I have even composed one myself - if you count Eärendil as a Man, of course. Accounts differ.” He turned to Frodo. “But you, my lad, have not yet explained why you loved the Tale of Fingon and Maedhros so much!”

Frodo met his eyes. “Can you not guess, Uncle?”

Bilbo held his gaze for a moment; then he chuckled. “I suppose I can, at that! What a very eligible bachelor you were, for far too many years. Ah, I am sorry, Nephew.”

Frodo laughed; then sighed. “No need to apologize! How were you to know, when I did not see it myself for so long? In any case, it would not have made a difference. The Ring took all of that from me. Perhaps it was better that I was not encouraged -” he stopped. “Well! Never mind.” He looked over at Finrod. “I am sorry, Zir; we are getting into personal matters. I will leave off the reminiscing, and we will talk of happier things.”

(That was another thing that delighted Finrod about the Hobbits: they had given him another name! They called him Zir, the Wise - or so he was assured - in their own tongue. “We cannot let the Men and Dwarves get ahead of us,” Bilbo had said, upon being introduced to Finrod, “may I call you Zir? That way you can complete the set, and be called wise in every tongue.”

“Besides, he is at least twice the size of our Samwise,” Frodo had added, laughing; and although Finrod did not quite understand the connection between Samwise and Zir he was too delighted by the name to inquire further.)

But his friend was not laughing now. Finrod said gently, “You need not, if your heart is troubled. I am happy to listen.”

“Well - perhaps not now,” Frodo said, glancing slightly at his uncle; and Finrod nodded. He did not wish to grieve the old Hobbit; and he turned the conversation down happier paths with the ease of one who had once sat between Elu Thingol and Angrod at table.

But later, when he was getting up to leave, he looked into Frodo’s eyes which were so sad and tired for all their wisdom, and said on impulse, “Frodo, would you like to look at the stars with me for awhile? And Bilbo too, of course,” he added, for politeness’ sake; but Bilbo looked at the both of them from under his white brows and said, “I am too old for such Elvish nonsense! You go on, and I shall stay beside my cozy fire,” and if his eyes were full of rue they were also laughing in the way of mortals.

Finrod offered his arm to Frodo; and they went out through the little gate and settled upon a bench. Frodo tipped his head back and gazed at the Valacirca, face solemn. There were not yet many threads of silver in his hair; but the stars caught the edges of his curls and crowned him with such light that he could have been silhouetted against the vessel of Tilion.

Finrod sat quietly beside him, feeling the stars kiss his own forehead; and after a moment Frodo spoke.

“I have come into the uttermost West,” he said, “and I have been healed in body; but not even the Valar can remove the touch of the Shadow.”

“Yes,” said Finrod sadly. “If they could, much evil might have been undone.”

“Or not!” Frodo said. “Perhaps greater evil might have come from such absolute power. Or so I tell myself, anyway.”

Finrod nodded; then he asked, “Was it frowned upon, to be - as you were - in your homeland?”

Frodo laughed a little. “To look upon lads with desire, rather than lasses? It was not frowned upon, exactly; but it was not mentioned in polite company either. I was considered strange enough already without adding to my list of peculiarities!”

Puzzled, Finrod asked, “Why should you be considered strange?”

Frodo looked at him, seeming a little bemused. “You do not hesitate to place your finger on the center of a sore, do you?”

“I am sorry!” Finrod exclaimed. “I have been scolded for that since before the Sun rose; and yet I continue to - “ he paused - “put my nose where it is not wanted, as I am told they say in the Shire.”

Frodo chuckled. “It is quite alright! I was mostly teasing you; you are extraordinarily blunt for one of the Eldar.”

“I am told it is very charming,” said Finrod, hoping it was true.

“Well - perhaps! But anyway, you might as well ask why I was not considered odd; the list would be shorter. I was an orphan, and raised mostly by the Brandybucks - who are quite the wild family - and then by Bilbo, who was an eccentric old bachelor who loved to tell stories and was rumored to have bags upon bags of gold in his hobbit-hole.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Finrod said sincerely. “It is difficult to lose a parent.”

“Thank you!” said Frodo. “I miss them every day, though I have not seen them since I was a faunt; my mother loved poetry, though she did not often write it, and my father loved to listen to her - or so I am told…but I am losing the thread. Scholars and scribes are not looked upon with particular favor in the Shire; and I was both! Besides which, I went on far too many walks, and did not eat enough, and was rather sickly as a child.”

Finrod blinked at the list. “Your homeland sounds a bit peculiar,” he remarked.

“Peculiar you might say; close-minded is another word,” said Frodo, “or simple, even. But I loved it all the same.”

“I can understand that,” said Finrod, thinking of the foolish Elves who had once dueled in the streets of Tirion in the days before the Darkening, and how he had mourned its shining walls and soaring towers for so long.

“Sauron got his hands on it before the end,” Frodo continued, “or rather Saruman did; and much of its innocence is gone, and with it a great deal of the prejudice that has long plagued it. I am - not sure I prefer it so. I had rather be laughed at, than treated so gravely; muttered about than reverenced; particularly so when I did not do much to deserve it.”

“Did you not?” said Finrod, thinking of a laita te, laita te at the end of Frodo of the Nine Fingers - for Galadriel had given him the music at once.

“I bore the Ring of Sauron,” said Frodo, “for eighteen years. Perhaps the greatest claim to heroics I have is that for seventeen of those years, while the Ring only stirred in its sleep, I behaved - decently. But the Lay does not sing of that!” He sighed. “It was wholly evil. It sought only to dominate, to grasp and whatever it might lay hands on. My hands. I thought - for so long, I thought - I am terribly depraved, I am wicked, I must be careful - I could not see a lovely lad, or even a lass, without wanting to devour them whole, I could not catch the glint of coin without thinking that ought to be mine: and I did not give in, but the evil seeped in anyway. So you see I did not really win.”

“I don’t see how you didn’t,” said Finrod; but only half his mind was on his words. The rest was thinking, in horrified fascination, of what it must have been to hold Sauron’s soul close for seventeen years. How had Frodo not gone mad?

Frodo must have seen some of what passed in his thought, for he said, “My - friends were always there. They lifted me up; reminded me what it was to laugh. Without them I would have been lost. Merry, and Pippin, and above all Sam.”

Finrod was silent; and after a moment Frodo continued, “It was almost a relief, when I was stabbed upon Weathertop; for I felt the chill of Sauron’s hand on me and it was familiar. The evil had not come from me, after all - or at least not wholly.

“And yet, with all this experience - wise by experience, my name means - I looked upon the Ring of Sauron, there in the wasteland that was Mordor, and I desired it. I still do; and its shadow lies upon my heart. I lost so utterly that there could be no recovery. Yet it is of this moment that the bards sing.”

Finrod said, “I know a little of having one’s greatest failure memorialized in song; but I cannot see failure in your actions. It seems to me,” he continued, “that a great violation was visited upon you, and that despite this terrible wound you traveled to the Dread Lands; and that by daring to set your strength against an Enemy who could have crushed you with a thought you won the freedom of all peoples. No Fingolfin are you, with mighty Ringil! Yet you came to the Black Gates nonetheless.”

He was a little in awe. Seventeen years! Of course Sauron had not been at his full strength then; but Finrod had spent only a month in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth and he had been weary and sick at heart when he arrived in the Halls. And Sauron had not brought his full strength to bear against him anyway, after that one moment when their Songs clashed and Sauron’s had proven the greater.

Frodo had looked up sharply when Finrod began to speak. He said, “A failure! You would consider your part in the Lay of Leithian a failure?”

“My part,” said Finrod, observing the Lay with an academic eye, “narratively speaking, is to represent someone who died in chains. A fine contrast to Beren and Lúthien, no doubt!”

“You broke your chains,” Frodo pointed out.

“Ah! The shackles of immortality; those are what remained. It is even mentioned in the Lay, I believe; Finrod walks with his father Finarfin…well, I do! I cannot deny it! And in doing so, I am the anti-Lúthien: the one who did not break his chains after all.”

“Is that how you interpret it?” Frodo exclaimed. His academic nature was clearly getting the better of him. “I have always thought that you were free, at the end: free of your Oath, and the literal chains that bound you.” Then he blushed. “I am sorry! It is easy to forget that the Lay is not only a legend! It is not right to speak so.”

Finrod was slightly amused, and deeply touched. “That is very kind of you! But I do not mind it; King Felagund, who lived under the hills, is long gone. He belongs to the singers and the poets. I remember my friends Beren and Lúthien, who were young and kind; and I am glad they are loved by so many.”

“That is very strange to me!” Frodo said, “I cannot quite regard my own Lay with that kind of detached interest.”

“Yours was not written two Ages ago,” said Finrod, thinking of the first time he had heard Release from Bondage. It had - hurt. He had been glad for the chance to accord Beren and Lúthien honor; but would have happily cut himself out of the song altogether.

He grew serious. “But it was a failure. If you wish to see what true failure looks like, Cormacolindo, look to the Lay! My people rejected me; then I set my strength against Gorthaur, there in the tower I had built, and lost; if I broke free, it was too late to save any but Beren; and I - I died with my hands yet bound.”

Frodo’s face was filled with compassion; and his gaze was far away. “Sauron’s strength is great,” he whispered, “and his will is all in dominion.” Then he seemed to come back to himself. “You know,” he said, meeting Finrod’s gaze now, “I thought of you often in the Black Lands. I did not know you, of course; but I thought of the golden Elven-king who had battled Sauron and fell. It was a - comfort, of sorts. If I fell to the Ring at last, I would be in illustrious company. And then I did; it took me, body and soul.”

Finrod felt something approaching rage fill him at the thought of Sauron laying a hand on this mortal, who was so frail and small. Then Frodo smiled, seeming to catch the thought. Those bottomless eyes glinted; and as through a glass inverted, Finrod saw a strength of will so fierce and indomitable it took his breath away. Defeated this one had been at the last; but he had not come to the fight unarmed.

Frodo looked away, up to the stars again. “I still long for it,” he said quietly. “I gave up the world for it once, and I know in my heart that if it were before me again my hand would reach out, whether by my will or no. The Shadow is on me.”

“That may be,” said Finrod, “but it was not your fault that you were - violated in such a way. I know a little of such,” he added very softly.

Frodo shrugged. “My fault or no, I will carry it until I die. But the burden is perhaps lighter shared.” 

His eyes were tired; they reflected the stars. He smiled suddenly. “I thank you, you who have been named Nóm by Men, Angolodh by Elves, Zir by Hobbits! My heart becomes merry in your company.”

“I am glad,” said Finrod, “for mine is certainly in yours! I am told this is a common side effect of Hobbits!”

Frodo laughed. “Gandalf did not tell you that, surely? He is of the opinion that we are the primary cause of head-aches in Middle-earth, I believe.”

“No,” said Finrod smiling, “it was Elrond. He is quite fond of you.”

“He is quite fond of Bilbo, you mean,” said Frodo. “I cannot imagine why!”

“Can you not?” said Finrod, amused. “Elrond is quite fond of ingrates, I have noticed.”

Frodo swung around in shock, grinning. “Why, Zir, that was quite unkind of you! An insult worthy of a Hobbit Common-room! I had not imagined you had it in you.”

“I am full of surprises,” said Finrod. “You ought to invite me over for tea more often.”

“I think I will!” said Frodo. He rose slowly. “And now I think I had better get to bed. The stars cannot sustain me as they do you - to my everlasting regret!”

Hobbit and Elf parted at the gate, Frodo to bed and Finrod to the winding path down the hill. He took the path to the shoreline, seeing as he did so the light of Eärendil shining upon the ocean.

He was singing as he walked. 

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Pancakes

Set post-game. Thea Dekarios wakes from her trance to smell pancakes and investigates. SFW.

Based on this art.

When Thea Dekarios ended her trance, the first thing she noticed was a very distinct smell.

Pancakes?

PANCAKES?!?!

While she knew Gale was an excellent cook (as good as Mum, and that’s saying a lot), she did not know how utterly delicious his pancakes were. When she asked about the recipe, he mentioned it was a secret Dekarios family recipe. And winked. I’m a Dekarios now, so tell me what makes those pancakes so damn good. She tried as quietly as possible to sneak down the stairs and into the kitchen without alerting him, but a particularly squeaky floorboard made her husband aware of her presence.

“Good morning, my darling girl!” he said happily, flipping a pancake with every bit of flair she had come to expect from Gale. To say that he was a changed man was a gross understatement. For the first time in his life, he’s truly happy and at ease with himself. He loves teaching. He…loves. So much. “How did you rest?”

Leaning against the doorway into the kitchen, she smiled. “Good. I relived the night we told each other how we felt, and before you ask, it was just as lovely the second time around.”

He barked a laugh. “Well thank gods for that, eh? That was such a magical night, my love. Sometimes I can scarce believe that we found each other in the first place…and that by some miracle we are married and making a life together here in Waterdeep.” His attention went back to the pancakes. “I made you chocolate chip, sweetness. They’ll be done in a moment or two. And coffee,” a mage hand appeared and began to pour her a cup. “Will be done in a second.”

Thea shook her head, still smiling, and sat down at the table. The mage hand brought her the coffee in her favorite mug. It has me in my cat wildshape painted on it. “So much doting this morning, Mr. Dekarios. Have I done anything to deserve it?” She teased, the corners of her mouth quirking into a grin. “Or will I be doing anything to deserve it in the future?”

He flipped the pancakes onto a plate. “Mrs. Dekarios, you should know by now that the answers to those questions are ‘yes’ and ‘yes.’ And this,” He turned towards her, a look of merriment on his face, pulling at his robe slightly to expose a hairy leg to his upper thigh, making her squeal with laughter. “is only a taste of your reward.” As he laughed (the most wonderful sound in the world), he brought her plate of chocolate chip pancakes to her with a bow. “My lady’s breakfast. Hot and fresh.”

“So, like you then, love?” Hot. Fresh. All mine as I’m all his. She wrinkled her nose and giggled as she sliced into the first pancake. Oh fuck me, these smell amazing.

He rolled his eyes playfully, pouring three large globs of batter on the griddle. “I’m in too good a mood to protest this time, dearest. I’ll simply take your word for it that I am, indeed, hot and fresh. Speaking of which, I did take a shower, so by that logic, I am fresh at the very least—”

“Gale?”

“Yes, my love?”

She brought the first forkful of pancakes to her mouth. “You’re the hottest and freshest man in my life, now please come here and give me a kiss.”

His eyes widened, and he rushed towards her. Cupping her face in his hands, he gently kissed her lips. Perfect. He’s perfect. “Forgive me. I was too taken in by you. You see, darling, you’re somehow more beautiful when you wake from your trance…” He shook his head, kissing her once more. “Pancake duty calls. Don’t want them to burn.” He hurried back to the griddle and hummed a song Thea recognized from their wedding.

As she lifted the first forkful of pancakes to her lips, she sighed happily.

It was worth it.

All the pain.

All the misery.

Having to share my head with a damn tadpole.

It was worth it for this.

“Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms.”

My darling Gale was absolutely right.

[bonearenaofmyskull]

Yeah, I saw the reblog and naturally it made me curious, if you wanted Clarice to save Will obviously you also wanted Will to be away from Hannibal otherwise what's the meaning of saving here? You also said her role will be like Abigail who would now pull Will out of his darkness so everything indicated a future where we see hannigram being separated from each other and we don't really have a problem with that at all.

Thank you for the polite question. I'll do my best to explain.

So first of all, don't worry yourself with what I want from the narrative. I absolutely have biases, the same as everyone else, but most people I meet don't think the way I do, and I don't really know to shore up where the discrepancy lies. In short, no, I do not think that saving Will from Hannibal necessarily means that they need to be separated from each other (or that I want that): in my mind, if Will's really saved, then he could withstand Hannibal's worst moral onslaught even if he were in close proximity. If he needs distance, then he's still morally vulnerable, and that's not really saved, is it? And that kind of explains what I mean by "saved."

Therefore, I don't equate "saved" with Will not having a relationship with Hannibal. We don't see these things the same way. As you see it, if Will is "saved," there's no Hannigram, but that's a non-sequitur: it doesn't necessarily follow. It's possible that Will could theoretically be free from Hannigram and not be saved, and, conversely, he could be saved and still have Hannigram. These are separate things, and either prospect simply requires a different type of writing to make it happen.

The show has already established--quite firmly--that Will's rejection of Hannibal is not sufficient to put Hannibal off, and it's already shown a season of them officially "broken up" where they're not really broken up at all. Being separate from Hannibal is not really a recipe for being saved from him. It didn't work when Will had a wife and kid and dogs and a wilderness home and everything he ever wanted in life, and that's because saving, for Will, is something that has to happen on the internal landscape of his mind with how he relates to the world, Hannibal, and most importantly, with himself.

This idea also assumes that Hannibal himself is immutable as a character, that he can't adjust his worldview to accept a version of Will that isn't the sheepdog wanting to savage the sheep. That's a really risky assumption in a show where the main theme is about transformation. When I made my post about Hannibal's baptism, this is the question that I was posing. I don't know where change would take Hannibal, but I very much can't assume that change is off the table in this regard. All of Hannibal's significant changes have been because of Will, and to some extent, Abigail. Clarice would stand positioned to take up Abigail's missing role in at least some ways, so whatever she may do to change Will, she may also do to change Hannibal. Whatever those things may be, she needs that level of power over the narrative if she's able to come into it at all.

So change, whether we call it saving or something else, is something that's on the table for both men.

Now, I'm actually with you in some ways in the sense that it's hard to see the show's dynamic going forward if Will gets to a point where he's saved, as in done, past tense, it's over, no more changing. So it being done implies the end of Will's character arc. And that implies the end of the show--the intended end, not the Cliffening. Will's the main character, and I don't see the show continuing without him, especially with the rights issues and precariously small amount of show that we might get even if they were able to bring it back in any meaningful way.

So from the point of view of "saved" implying an end to the character change, it does imply an end to the show. But that end could mean anything: maybe he dies. Maybe Hannibal dies. Maybe Clarice dies. Maybe they ALL die, muahaha! With that in mind, I don't see Will being saved as necessarily being indicative of Hannibal and Will being split up: as the S3 deleted post-credits scene implied, there's a version of ending the show where they're together in death, forever.

And that doesn't mean that I even think they're going to die, any one of them. I'm just pointing out that Will's "saving" as an ending leaves the show with any version of Hannigram or no Hannigram that it wants to leave. The possibilities are endless.

For all these years that I've written about Hannibal, since literally season 1, what Clannibal shippers have always wanted in some form was for Will to clear out of the story in some way to make room for Clarice and Hannibal to be together, on the show, so that they could see their ship in action. I can relate to this desire, but I don't think it can happen by Clarice "saving" Will from Hannibal. Because if that happens, then it isn't that Hannigram is over...it's that the show is.

[evvlevie]

Evies toolbox: the easiest shifting method I can think of for people who need instructions 🧰❣️

Hi Besties! It‘s your favorite Shifting Blogger Evie again and today I am gonna teach you how to shift the easiest way I can think of, that also doesn’t require visualization.❗️Disclaimer: under no circumstances do I claim that I am the creator of this method, or that this is something original or never done before. This is simply an instructional post aimed at people who struggle with manifestations and love to be told what to do, because they have struggle using the laws. Do not refer to this as „Evies Method“ or anything in the future, I do not want to be accused of stealing methods or anything 🫶🏻. ❗️

♥️ INTRO ♥️ I am a Virgo. If there is anything I love, it‘s following rules, laws, instructions and being told very clearly how things are supposed to be done. As somebody who has been on shift-tumblr for a while I noticed that instructional posts are very rarely given, and I know why, I mean manifestations or shifting is nothing that a certain recipe can get you 100%, because it‘s a mindset-thing not a doing-thing. But I can relate to people just wanting a clear picture instead of a vague idea of how things should be done. So I will decided to give you the instructional post you have been looking for, based on how basic manifestation works to keep it light and breezy and to get you to the mindset that achieves things.

♥️ HERE IS WHAT TO DO ♥️

realize and accept that whatever you want will never be out of reach. Stop pressing on the idea that in order to get things there is something that needs to be done. That’s incorrect. You simply need to desire it. That’s how manifestation works.

Decide that you succeed at every shifting attempt. Law of assumption ➡️ Whatever you assume to be true is true.

Since the law is a law: 🎊congratulations! 🎊 You now succeed at every shifting attempt. Be happy about it, feel the way a person that shifts every time they try would feel. Walk around your house with pride of the best shifter the universe has ever seen. Jump up and down, smile until your face hurts and embrace it. Listen to Ariana Grandes „just like magic“ like someone who can relate, because you in fact, can relate. Don‘t be afraid to accept your assumptions. The law never fails. You are now a master-shifter, here is your medal: 🥇😽💋

When doubts aka the old version of you comes through saying „you are such a fool for thinking that, after all that failure you have achieved, that will never work, it’s way too easy and you are stupid for falling for that“. Take a moment and actively decide to take away significance from these thoughts. Remind yourself through affirmations: „oops! Silly me! That was the old version of me! I know that’s not true because literally every time I try I succeed! Haha how funny I used to think that way, anyways imma go back to being fucking amazing at shifting, don‘t know who let that old me back into my head.“

what to do when you think like that, but seem to fail at your attempts: persist. You tried waking up at Hogwarts and woke up in your CR? No biggie. You have not been proven wrong today. Your assumptions are still true, and you are still the best shifter of the 21st Century. The 3D- reality is only reflecting your thoughts. If you keep persisting that, yes, you are so good at shifting you succeed every fucking time you try, then nobody can take that away from you. Fuck whatever the 3D is. You‘re the most talented shifter that walks the earth right now, I am so jealous even, so no. Treat the 3D like the fucking internet, don‘t believe just because you see it.

🌟🌞BONUS-QUEST FOR EXTRA MOTIVATED SHIFTERS🌞🌟If you do not have Aphantasia also known as the inability to create images in your head, you have qualified for an extracurricular step 👀🙀😼. Whenever you daydream about your DR, like when you imagine certain things you want to happen for the time you spend in the other reality, feel everything as if you are already in these scenes. Thoughts manifest. So when you imagine your desired scenarios, imagine them as a guarantee to experience them and enjoy the little scene as intensely as you can. Instead of thinking „omg hopefully I get to experience that soon“, think „yes, I am so glad that I get to experience this, thank fuck i Shift every time I try, it‘s the best ever!“

♥️ WHY IS THIS GOING TO WORK? ♥️ Because what ever you assume to be true is true. I know that we might have some sceptics reading this, and I am going to give an explanation on why this is going to work regardless if you believe in its legitimacy. The thing you are practicing with the persistence and affirmation-reminders is classic conditioning your mind and subconscious. Your subconscious does not know the difference between what is fake and what is real. It only knows what you tell it. It also doesn’t know the difference between a joke and the truth. That’s why you can gain confidence if you pretend to be confident. That’s why you will get a foot-fetish if you constantly joke about being a foot-fetishist and so on and so on. So yes. It will work. As long as you persist and keep your mindset right, this can not fail. The law never fails anyway, so there is no reason to be afraid. Also: your thoughts is what manifests. You think you can never fail shifting ➡️ You never fail shifting.

♥️ OUTRO ♥️ I am not going to take credit for anything of this because this is all based on the countless posts of loa/shifting bloggers and it would be wrong to pretend that I came up with anything of this. All I simply did was summarize all the information you all can find yourself on here, to make it easier for you to understand how to apply the law correctly to achieve the things you want to achieve. This „method“ can be modified to your liking depending on what affirmations you want to use. You can change „I shift every time I try“ with „I always wake up in my DR“ or „I am in my DR“ I tried using the last one for a long time and I struggled with it the hardest. Other than that, you are always welcome to use whatever affirmations you can come up with. If there is ANYTHING I can help you with you can send me an ask, I love to reply to those, and last but not least: there is no reason to doubt yourself (🥇 here is your medal remember?). Sincerely:

yours in every reality

Evie 🫶🏻

[angelmelon]

MEET ANGELICMELONNNN

hi guys it’s me hit artist Angelicmelon He/It pronouns

I used to be called CheezyBakedRat on Amino. If anyone remembers this very niche era of our life DNI/hj

3rd gen Irish Diaspora living on Shawnee land, plan to move to Ireland with my beautiful partners and my service doggy, Little Melon when I turn 18 or soon after for the better disability benefits and connection to my ancestry

I am a veiling Satanist, I only veil part time but I aspire to begin veiling full time one day!! I veil as a spiritual protection, I find it gives me a clearer mind and clearer energy

My favorite fruit is watermelon 🍉, though I like many other fruits and foods!! I like pomegranate, macaroni and cheese, chocolate hummus, mint ice cream, all things sweet, and I make a damn good Waraq Dawali (I think. I know I will end up very embarrassed when an actual Middle Eastern person tries my Waraq Dawali recipe.)

I am pro 🇵🇸!! If you support the displacement or harm or death of indigenous people in any capacity DNI. In other words, if you support Israel DNI. You do not belong on my page and I will eat you

Other DNI Criteria include:

🍉 Endogenic systems or any other genic that is not traumagenic systems. System hopping is not real stop being delulu 😭🙏

❤️ TERFSSSSS!!! BOOOOOO GET OFF MY PAGE YOU PUS POSTULE COVERED ARBYS BAG GREASE PLAGUE ERA VAMPIRES!!! TRANS PEOPLE EXIST!!!

🍉 Fundamentalist religious folks of any kind!! I am chill with pretty much everyone of every religion!! However, I do not feel comfortable nor safe around fundamentalists. This may mean many things to many people, but the definition for this page is any religious person who proselytizes to others unprompted, or any religious perosn who utilizes their religion for purposes of eugenics, discrimination, or other forms of hatred rather than the love and respect religion is supposed to entail. I’d also prefer not to interact with any person who deems proselytization necessary; not necessarily to me, I already said that. Just deeming “spreading the word” to people necessary. You can do that with good actions, you don’t need to with missions or money.

❤️ this should be very common sense considering literally everything I have said up to this point but IF YOU HAVE WEIRD GROSS FETISHES BOOOOOOOO GO AWAY I am a minor 🙅 I guess some people apparently don’t care about that which reminds me IF YOU LIKE MINORS BOOOOOO DIE 🖕❌ I AM APPROACHING YOUR LOCATION AS WE SPEAK

🍉 non casual Hazbin fans. If you defend Vivzie go away 💔

oh yeah BYF

🍉 I am very VERY mean I apologize I am not exactly the most well socialized person

❤️ I WILL post and reblog Palestine and other humanitarian related things related things, regardless of graphic nature. People should be well familiar with what’s happening in Palestine right now, and I think people should know if they don’t already. I will make sure to reblog any educational posts I see!!

🍉 I make a lot of jokes at the expense of certain Christian denominations, I was raised Catholic and have quite abit of Christian religious trauma expanding beyond my raised denomination. Chances are if I bully your denomination it’s because the church unfortunately traumatized me somehow. I hold no ill will towards any person, but the institutions done screwed me up

❤️ I am a OSDD-1B haver and system. Will not talk about it much. Though if another alter posts something, be nice!!

🍉 HUGE oversharer. Like huge huge oversharer. I will tone it down from how I am in other spaces because iiiiii frankly don’t want my immediate family to know I have a Tumblr page 😭💔 you might be wondering how would they find it?? They would Not I am simply paranoid

❤️ I AM TAKEN X2!!! Shoutout to my lovely beautiful partners, neither of which follow me on Tumblr. It’s okay I only just started actually using this account 🙏 they’ll probably follow me in the future

🍉 may use this account to practice Arabic skills just abit, i have been learning!! Please, do critique my skills, it helps me learn!! Marhaba, esmi Angelicmelon!! wahadhih safhati ealaa Tumblr!!! 🫶

❤️ if you make transphobic BS and make it public I will comment on it sorrryyyyyyy jk not sorry 🖕

🍉 OH YEAH OH YEAH i have certain words that can trigger my Vasovagal Syncope, I can’t exactly say them and I don’t blame people for posting about them without knowing but know I will avoid certain posts like the plague

🍉🍉🍉 thank you for being on my page!!! 🍉🍉🍉

[leothil]

do you have any hockey fic recs? i’m itching for something to read

Oh absolutely! Fair warning though, they'll all be mattdrai (Leon Draisaitl/Matthew Tkachuk) fics since that's the kick I've been on for more than a year now. But if you want to check out more pairings, the authors of these fics are a good place to start! And, of course, the fics I don't mention from these authors that feature the same pairing too, because I simply can't list every single fic they've written that I love.

I'd also like to state for the record that @trippedandfell was the one who got me into reading hrpf while @onward--upward provided lots of recs for me, so for a wider selection of pairings they might be a good source <3

head above water by yourblues (@msmargaretmurry) that kicks off in an alternate summer of 2022 where Matthew is having a no good very bad time inside his own head. The crushing weight of your own expectations etc. Scenes from the fic written in another pov are found in the fic series, and I highly recommend reading those as well after finishing the main fic!

the land between our bodies also by yourblues, where Leon is the one having a no good very bad time after Matthew's trade to Florida. Surely calling him won't lead to anything bad.

The Next Next One also also by yourblues. And I lied, this is a Dylan Strome/Connor McDavid fic, but it grabs me by the throat like nothing else.

preference by daisysusan (@hopetorun), a winner's room fic that had me gnawing at the back of my chair.

wait a year also by daisysusan, and ok I lied again, this is a Quinn Hughes/Brady Tkachuk fic, in which once, in their teens, Brady said he'd marry Quinn if neither of them were married by 30, and Quinn doesn't dare to believe he was being serious.

linger by @bropunzeling, an omegaverse fic following them from the infamous ASG in 2020 to summer 2023. A/B/O is not my usual cup of tea, but this hit all the right buttons!

contact high also by bropunzeling, a sex pollen fic that had me go yes... hahaha... yes!

only fools rush in also also by bropunzeling, in which Matthew and Leon make a drunk bet during the 2022 All-Star game and suddenly find themselves married. An all-time fave!

Muscle Memory by @blaahaj, where it's the future year of 2023 (this is written late 2020), but Matthew got a bad enough concussion to make him forget almost everything past november 2019. Absolutely delicious amnesia fic!

Growing Into Someone also by blaahaj, where Leon and Matthew both play in Kölner Haie during an NHL lockout.

liebe geht durch den magen by lighthousetowers (@blankvcrs), where Matthew is a recipe/cooking youtuber that Leon starts watching. Incredibly funny!

slip under the tongue into translation also by lighthousetowers, in which Matthew decides to learn German during the 2020 lockdown to better be able to antagonize Leon on the ice. A lot of Leon's internal thoughts about living your life in a different language than your emotional language resonates very heavily with me.

the kids are alright also also by lighthousetowers, where Matthew is an elementary school teacher and his class gets a visit from the Oilers.

broken glass by dilangley, with born werewolf Matthew and bitten werewolf Leon, and the cultural differences that inescapably arise. Not a/b/o. It's incredible how much lore and personal history has been fit into 13.7k words!

The hockey but make it football series from RippingOffZeppelin. Both mattdrai and mceichel. I know nothing about american football, but I've been mesmerized by this series! I believe part four is the one that was actually written first, and I think that's the one I read first too, but imo you can read them in either the series-chronological order or published-chronological order!

comment for engagement also by RippingOffZeppelin, in which Matthew is made to start a youtube channel to improve his own optics on the Flames after he's gotten some bad press. It becomes very popular, and leads Matthew into some interesting situations!

long ago that current caught us by puckthisshift where werewolf!Leon can hear a siren call to him in Florida.

[the-cosmos-withinus]

Shadow Puppets AU - Civilian Belos and the first Grimwalker

In the Shadow Puppets AU, Philip and Astrophel travel to the future via Time Pools after Philip heard about them from Luzura. It took them a little while to find them themselves and in the mean time, Philip had discovered the recipe for creating Grimwalkers in a book of forbidden arts. Thinking he could use it to resurrect his brother he created the first Grimwalker, and was severely disappointed when it turned out Grimwalkers were not actually a form of necromancy to bring Caleb back.

During the first few months to a year that the trio were in this new future, they simply lived among the people figuring out what the next step in their plan will be, learning about the current political landscape, how they could use it to their advantage and making preparations such as making the artificial staffs and coming up with their scheme to pass off Astrophel's power as the Titan's.

-Adam came out of the ground appearing to be in his early twenties, Philip recognized that he wasn't Caleb and immediately rejected him.

-He tried to abandon Adam several times, even vocally dismissed him and told him that he was simply a cheap copy of Caleb that would never be good enough

-However, a Grimwalker's loyalty to their creator can be tough to break and Adam kept coming back attempting to prove himself to Philip, even when a violent episode with his curse resulted in him cutting out Adam's tongue.

-When Adam still wouldn't leave him alone after this, Philip finally decided to keep him around as a sort of errand boy, and humored him a lot more than some of the later Grimwalkers when he compares their loyalty to Adam's.

-Adam gets his own staff and despite being allowed to wield whatever type of magic he desired with it, has a strong proficiency in construction magic and enjoys stone carving

-He never got the title of Golden Guard in life, that is something Belos bestowed on him after he died in the Crusades, and gave to his successors in his memory

-Despite many years later that Belos would create and adopt Hunter as his nephew, Adam actually looks the most like he could be the child of Caleb and Evelyn, which is only one of the problems that Belos has with him

-Not super important, just a flavor thing, Adam needed glasses and before he had his tongue cut out, Adam was very soft spoken and shy anyway so Philip and Astrophel tended to accidentally forget about Adam being mute.

Edit: Bragi wanted me to add that Astrophel likes Adam way more than Philip does

[stormyjisung]

When it rains, it pours. K.SY

He was sunshine, i was midnight rain.

Pairing. Soonyoung (svt) x f!reader

Genre. Angst

Wc. ~ 1.5k

Synopsis. Soonyoung was scared of changes, he held onto the past like his life depended on it, replaying fond memories in hopes that it'll dim the fear of the future within him. He was terrified of changes, you weren't. Isn't that a perfect recipe for heartache?

Extra. it's been raining since morning, and although I love the rain I was in the mood to write something angsty. Warning, not proof read, so excuse the mistakes.

"You're leaving?"

His voice came out louder than soonyoung had expected it to, bouncing off the now moderately empty room

"Hi soon" came a tired reply from the girl standing with her back facing him, hands preoccupied with stuffing her clothes in the cream colored suitcase.

"You're leaving." He repeated his words, this time the confusion had left his tone.

"Yeah" she sighed. Soonyoung felt like his head would explode at the lack of information, he felt betrayed, hurt even. They were best friends. They were supposed to stick by each other till the very end. They were lovers, their love was supposed to decorate this one horse town with pretty shades of pink and lilac.

The dynasty soonyoung had imagined they'd build together slowly began to wobble as if it was built on paper.

"Yeah? Yeah?! Really? That's all i get?"

It was ludicrous. Incredibly ridiculous how she thought she could simply pack up and leave.

"I don't have anything else to say, soon"

He hated it. He hated how that nickname always made him weak, "of fucking course you don't. You never do!" It was as if a mist made up of pure anger and sadness was slowly clouding his mind causing him to lash out.

"I'm sorry" she replied placing her folded top into the suitcase,

Before she could say anything else soonyoung gripped her forearm, turning her around and staring deep into her eyes, "You're sorry? You say you're sorry but you don't sound sorry!" His grip fell slack the longer he stared into his favorite pair of eyes, helplessness was what he felt in that moment,

"What am I supposed to do soonyoung? I got accepted into my dream college, and the new session starts on monday" she turned around to finish folding her clothes leaving him flabbergasted.

"Then what am I supposed to do?! What meaning does this town hold if you're not here?!"

"Then move out with me," she held his hands abruptly and for a split second he thought everything would be okay with her warm hands holding his cold ones, he desperately wanted to believe everything would be okay, but he knew only fools would believe a lie as blatant as the one he had been repeating to himself, but then again maybe he was the fool.

"Move out with me, we'll find a place to stay in Seoul, you would find amazing dance academies there soon, so much better than the ones here." It was as if all the warmth had disappeared, and an ice cold bucket of water was being poured on him.

He ripped his hands out of hers, holding them close to his chest as if someone had physically hurt him, "I ... can't. I can't do that"

"Cmon soon!! what does this town have that Seoul doesn't?" He could hear it in her voice, the kind of tone she used only when she was desperate. A weird ache settled within sooyoung, knowing that she's hurting as much as he is but the only difference is that she wanted out, and he didn't.

She was always the go getter, chasing dreams left and right, running and running till she could no more, home held no meaning to her maybe because she never truly had one. But he recalled one late autumn afternoon when she had kissed him on the cheeks, softly whispering, "You're my only home" into his ears.

His blood rushed to his cheeks, and it was that same day he decided she was the one who built his paradise.

Ah, sweet ignorant bliss.

If only he could rewind time back to when they were young, dumb and careless.

"Why are you so desperate to leave! You grew up here for fucks sake, how can you just pack up and.... leave!" He yelled allowing the dam to finally break.

"Because I know I'd never achieve the things I want to if I stay here!" Her voice matched his own, "Yes, I grew up here and yes everything was fun while it lasted but we're growing up soonyoung" her voice now slightly above a whisper, tear filled eyes looking at him, "I can't stay here and I most certainly cannot spend my whole life living here, I could but I don't want to. I wouldn't be happy. This town means a lot to me, you mean a lot to me but..."

"But?" He repeated, hurt beyond explanation

She walked upto him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, "i wouldn't be happy here"

He felt his own tears wet his cheeks, her gentle touch softly brushing them away, "Why?" He choked, "do I not make you happy?"

"Soon" she breathed, softly kissing his forehead. He let himself revel in the feeling, closing his eyes as if trying to engrain how her lips felt in the back of his mind. "You make me the happiest"

He could feel the contradictory words coming,

"But this place doesn't make me happy."

He should've known. Her heart and soul was too vagabond to be tied, and he didn't blame her, she was always meant for something big, even as a child she took the risks he was too afraid to even think of. He played it safe and she played with fire, he'd seen her get burned endless times but somehow she comes back with a stronger lust to be free.

From what? Soonyoung would never know.

Opposites attract they say, and soonyoung couldn't agree more.

"So you're going" He opened his eyes to see tears streaming down her face, but there was sparkle in her eyes as she nodded. He felt guilty, wanting her to stay here with him when she's obviously meant to be out there making a name for herself.

Soonyoung couldn't keep many promises and he didn't bother making them either, but he made one last winter, to keep her happy and he knew if he asked her to stay, all it would take would be some cajoling and she'd stay but he knew a piece of her would die

And who was he to keep her when she has already left? Her happiness had always meant more to soonyoung than his own

"I'm sorry"

He kissed her. Allowed himself just another moment of self indulgence. He felt that she owed her atleast this goodbye kiss. It was unlike any kiss they've shared, it wasn't light like the one they shared when leaving the school premises,

Or passionate like the one they shared in the bathroom of a party, or sensual like the one they shared last week.

It was sad. It was like a rose wilting slowly, loosing all it's beautiful vibrant color, petals withering were the only proof of it's once alluring existence. He'd remember her, he'd remember her even when he'd forget everything else. She was loved by everything he had within him,

He'd remember the way she smiled, the way she'd bite her lower lips whenever she got nervous, or how her hands shook when angry, or how soft her lips were.

He stepped away, the gentle twitch of her hand wanting to reach out to him didn't go unnoticed. She smiled while whipping her eyes, "soon, you were one of the best things that has happened to me"

"You were the only best thing that happened to me" He replied with an equally sad smile. He was halfway out her old bedroom when he stopped,

"You never knew when to stay" He concluded more to himself than to her, eyes meeting her puffy ones, she giggled mirthlessly, "and you never knew when to leave"

Perhaps there was a more deeper meaning to her words, but before he could figure it out, he walked out of that door, that house and onto the streets. It was pouring, and he found it fitting;

when it rains, it pours.

A/n. I'm self projecting at this point lol. The amount of people I've disappointed by telling them I wanted more is insane, but hey, it's my life, I'm the one who has to live it, might as well make it beautiful while I'm at it :)

Reblog to show your appreciation!

[hauntedhokage]

For the prompt idea you reblogged

“i’ve seen parts of you no one else will ever understand.  i see who you are.  what you are.  and i think you should stop making yourself smaller to make the world comfortable.”

I’m positive you’d find a perfect setup for that

Itachi & f!reader

“I've seen parts of you no one else will ever understand. I see who you are. What you are. And I think you should stop making yourself smaller to make the world comfortable.”

note: i've got not a clue where this came from but I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt list

Your family’s tea house sat slightly off the beaten path, but business was good. You got to move around, taking orders and delivering tea and other treats to the patrons, and had been doing so since you were strong enough to tote a full teapot around. There was once a point where you thought you could go out on your own, potentially build a new life where you wouldn’t have to serve tea and other treats to get by. You weren’t strong enough to be a shinobi, that sort of training started young and you’d never be able to hack it now, but you were talented with a sewing needle. Maybe gain apprenticeship under a tailor and meet your spouse when you mended their trousers, retire at a decent age with a couple children who were pursuing their own dreams.

That dream was ripped away from you when your parents had not so kindly let you know that dreams were for people with futures brighter than yours - destined to take over this tea house after they were to die and you’d hand it down to your own children when you died. That was how things were. 

But you didn’t let that make you miserable. As a small side business you would mend clothes for travelers, even sometimes sewing in extra pockets or weapons pouches for the traveling shinobi who knew to ask. Your parents weren’t exactly pleased but business was business and you kept quiet about it since they didn’t like to hear about your sewing when you should have been working to perfect making your grandmother’s rice dumpling recipe.

It didn’t bother you until you’d met Itachi. 

He was the first to probe into why you stayed put tending to a shop for unkind parents. Simply stating “they’re my family” was not an appropriate answer for him, and you could tell that he was disappointed that you didn’t have a stronger reason to deny yourself your goal.

It didn’t help that you saw him frequently, always with a request to patch something up for him. You won’t forget him asking you to sew up his blue friend, both men telling you that it was just like mending a torn shirt when you’d protested that you weren’t a doctor. That event led to a dilapidated shack becoming your version of a night clinic, one that was only visited by Itachi and his friends in the black cloaks decorated with red clouds. You didn’t know what half of your supplies were called, but you were always reading through the medical book that was dropped off with the kit - a gift from Itachi you’d assume even if he wasn’t the person to directly hand the black case to you. 

“Do you sleep here now?” he asks one night, pointing to the pillow and blanket that were neatly folded in a different corner than the other bedding reserved for your patients. You shrug, closing the book before you stand and stretch.

“Sometimes. If it’s raining when I don’t have to wait around for you or your teammates, or if my parents were particularly pushy about marrying me off. Not often, though.”

“You should leave. You’re a talented doctor now, even without medical ninjutsu skills you’re very valuable. Besides, your dumplings taste better than your mother’s.” 

“You can tell the difference?”

“Yours are sweeter,” he says as if it were obvious, and you rub your arm as you consider what he’d said. “You’ve grown beyond the expectations of your family’s teahouse, and would do well to move on to a location or employer who appreciates your talents.”

“But they’d never-”

“It’s not about what they want, it’s about what you want.” He cuts you off, and you know he’s growing impatient by your indecision by that alone. You’d spent many a night with Itachi while Kisame slept off his latest injury, tossing quiet questions back and forth until he told you to go to bed. You’d even had the honor of patching up one of his own injuries, only once, but it felt like a lifetime achievement award. You knew he was right, knew he wouldn’t be telling you to leave this if he didn’t think there was a place for you but you couldn’t just leave. Your parents wouldn’t let you.”

“I've seen parts of you no one else will ever understand. I see who you are. What you are. And I think you should stop making yourself smaller to make the world comfortable.” That was unexpected, and you fiddle with the pencil you still held in your hands as you consider that. He was right, and the more you thought about it you were certain that Itachi was the only person who had ever asked what you wanted. 

“How do I leave if they won’t-”

“If you want to leave, then I’ll take you away tonight.” 

He made it sound so simple. What about your clothes and other needs? Your savings were now stored in your medical kit, so you supposed you could buy whatever it was you needed. Itachi and his cloaked friends had paid you quite well, you’d be able to make it on your own if you had to. 

“Then take me away from here.”

[rice-enjoyer]

A taste so sweet ; it makes all of your senses rot, from within.

a/n: this has been MARINATING in my drafts since august. reader is a cook/chef from Liyue! ~3.0k words! this is not sagau, for once, wow! a mostly harbinger-centered fic, i was simply not feeling it with scaramouche, sorry simps. (my boy pants though. - pantalone is finally in the spotlight! the wording of this fic seems to make it easy for me to go on and on about him.) dottore does get his routine paragraphs that are a mile longer than everyone else's, he's still my favorite war criminal <3 cw: gn reader, x reader format. food, probably everything that has to do with preparing food, reader gets kidnapped, reader has some angst added and self-esteem issues but it turns into fluff very soon. few mentions of death, (reader's and a side character's)some obsessiveness + possessiveness, reader ACCIDENTALLY cuts themselves with a knife, very short-lived and harmless wound.

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As the saying goes: The way to anyone's heart is either through their pants or stomach - you chose the latter, being a well-known chef from Liyue. You sort of had to. How did you end up becoming the 11 harbingers' personal chef? Well... You liked to participate in those little cooking competitions, that's how. Always being on the podium, never getting anything worse than 3rd place. You grew up loving to participate, even as a child - not expecting to win, but to learn. Knowledge when it comes to cooking, baking, recipes, and how to alter them just fascinated you, ever since you were young. Xiangling was a close friend of yours, and you've been thinking about signing a contract, to work in a restaurant. You went home, already planning your future as an official chef for the restaurant. With new responsibilities in mind, you sigh deeply in the empty hall as you take off your shoes. Your mind was filled and rattling with all sorts of new problems to antagonize over. You were worried, deeply, but concealing that should be the best, weakness has no place in your heart for now. Maybe later, when you are a bit more comfortable with being employed at a new place. Everything was going too well. Maybe you'll even make friends! And, as you'd joke, fate really despised you. Only, it wasn't a joke this time.

The Fatui are everywhere, you can't deny that. But you started to notice a new pattern as you were about to start working at Wanhmin. Day by day, more and more agents show up around your workplace, then on the street, you live in, you were sure someone broke into your home the other day. But there was no evidence, so what can you do? Stay paranoid, and vigilant. Only one problem with this seemingly flawless plan. You are so exhausted from working one day that you didn't lock your door. You were already busy making dinner, craving stone harbor delicacies since it was easy to prepare - you hear the door creak open. Your train of thought has abruptly stopped.

Now, for the exact beginning of your pitiful reality. It all started with an offer you just can't refuse, literally. A misunderstanding brought you to Sneznhaya, how very tragic. The person rummaging and searching for something in your house made eye contact with you, as you were trying to arm yourself with a single, very average, and rather dull kitchen knife. Mistaking you for someone else who had information worth taking, maybe until your lifeless body would get thrown into the soft snow. While the only thing at your disposal was cooking knowledge, and your lowly excuse of a weapon. Such a sorry fate, for you, and that cicin mage who suddenly vanished shortly after failing such an important mission - never seeing your kidnapper again. You were naive, fate leading you by the hand into a pit you can never truly crawl out of.

Lucky for you, meeting your end would've been too kind of a finale to your seemingly short-lived story. Seeing how you are useful in a way, death's cold grip didn't pull you into the night. In the end, you did sign a contract to work, just not in the restaurant. Becoming head chef for the palace rather quickly, your talent would've been wasted, and, no one would want that now would they? Seeing how you were pleasant to be around, compliant, and mostly, quiet, you were just perfect. Having to serve food for the recruits, and agents were no big deal. You'd even strike up conversations with them, some of those were quite lovely. The problem was that after a while, the harbingers have taken an obvious interest in you. You were too frightened to notice that, at first.

To cope with your sudden change of scenery, of environment, to digest your experience, instead of sleeping at night, well, you'd walk. Restless, going from empty room to empty room, looking out the window. With whatever little moonlight was illuminating these rooms, you'd wonder, if you could ever rest, in a place so cold, so distant from your entire being. And so, the cycle continued, you'd wake early, still dark outside to start preparing for the day, exhausted from not getting any rest. Hands full of idle work, thoughts filled with uncertainty. You dreaded lunch, more so than before. Slowly, you climbed the ranks unintentionally, and because of your hospitality, every single cook, maid, and housekeeper tried to shove all of their scarier duties toward you. You may stutter and show minimal signs of discomfort when talking with any of the harbingers, but you wouldn't break under pressure, therefore, the other staff would live to see another day for a job fulfilled well. But knocking on their doors, when you knew you'd be bothering all of them, wishing they'd just, interact with you as little as possible. Oh but fate just hated you, you were just sure of it. You danced the same, off-beat waltz around the palace at dinner. It took you a while to understand but they hated each other so much. Your daydream of not having to talk to them on a daily basis, having them together at a single location, like one of the many dining rooms was never happening. There are a few exceptions, of course, but by the looks of it, they'd rather eat glass than willingly talk to one another. It was night again, so you'd get yourself ready for... walking. And restlessness.

And so, you thought you were replaceable, anyone can cook, bake, and make dishes taste divine, with the right background and experience.

Anyone could be you.

Oh, but how wrong you were. None of them would admit it to you, of course. Prideful creatures they are. The slow, slow change was seen by all, yet no one talked of it. Annoyance at your presence turned to quiet acknowledgments, nods, and slowly, questions. Having as stressful jobs as theirs, it was nice to hear you chatter about simple practices you do to complete your given duties. It was a breath of fresh air, literally. Some even asked you, - if it was only the two of you, - that you would not use their titles, as it makes them feel closer to you, to being human. They were all oh so curious, about your process, all your thoughts about how to make those extremely difficult Fontaine pastries, what was the difference between baking and cooking, and exactly what would it take to poison them, but before that thought could continue, you reassured them that would never happen, as you are the unofficial taste tester, also eating the exact same things they do, and so on. So, instead of quietly humming to yourself, feeling alone, you realized, they were just as lonely as you. And so after months, you'd find yourself humming along with Columbina. She'd ask to dance with you, and, who were you to deny her a little fun? The pots overboiling had different plans, of course, but you managed. She prefers sweet and light dishes, but the ones with some sort of sweet or tangy filling are her favorites. Like taiyaki, for example. Only because that means there's usually some extra cream on the corner of your lips, and she can easily fluster you by holding your chin in place to clean it off with her finger, sighing in delight while your cheeks become tinted with red and babble at her sudden boldness.

As you were having breakfast, Sandrone was showing you her newest altered automation, mouth full of a slice of an egg, spinach, and cheese pie you cooked for her, it was hard to make out what she was saying, but you listened. She seems to prefer mild salty flavors and portable dishes, which is understandable, seeing how much she's focused on her work. Her favorites are bread specialties you make oh so very often, mora meat, or bread pockets made with fresh fish. You only noticed this when one of her robotic assistants asked you to explain in great detail on how to make the foods mentioned, to produce the exact same result as you do.

On your way to the market, Arlecchino just happens to run into you, saying how the orphanage is not far from the market, knowing very well it's in the complete opposite direction, but you indulge her, talking as if you've known each other forever. You play into her fantasy of having a friend, but after a while, it seems to be genuine. You were homesick the day before, so you made a big batch of lotus flower crisps and took some with you. The sweet aroma from your bag intrigues her, and she now has a favorite snack to eat, not only because it's sweet, but mainly because it reminds her of your walks to the market.

La Signora, she scares you the least. While it seems that she's just as cruel and terrifying, she has known love at one point in her life, teaching you ancient recipes from Old Mondstadt. When making one of them is a success, her subordinates are eternally grateful to you because it puts her in a better mood for days. One dish she really likes and has told you that it reminds her of the past is northern apple stew, so you make it for her whenever you can.

You'd genuinely smile when Tartaglia compared your cooking to his mother's, saying it has a similar "warmth". Another advocate for seafood and fresh fish, he has told you many times when you make Wanmin-style black-back perch stew, he feels like he's right back in Liyue. He's constantly complimenting how skilled you are with a knife when cutting meat. Perhaps it's an invitation to sparring? Who knows, he is never quite clear on that.

Capitano is very against it, however. That's why there's never a direct and clear answer to his question. Why harm the one person who can make good food? This just fuels Childe to annoy you further. Not only because it's fun to do so from Tartaglia's perspective, but also because it's a sure source of Capitano's attention. He is not picky at all, quite the opposite. But there is an obvious preference for meat-heavy dishes, like braised meat or minty meat rolls. A small nod of appreciation that makes you smile softly.

Pulcellina is assisting you to send your letters that are addressed to your family almost weekly, making sure that your loved ones don't think your disappearing meant certain death. He reads them in secret, or so he thinks. How could you not suspect it when you've learned that there is no privacy in this cold place left for you? To your surprise, you've found another pasta lover through him, making most, if not all of Liyue's noodle-centered foods.

Dottore seems to think you want some sort of favor from him, he's far too focused on his research to realize that being a chef is your actual job. It appears that way, but he does care, whenever one of his clones drops by the palace or he meets with them personally, there seems to be a small batch of select spices on your desk or some sumeru roses. How surprisingly thoughtful of him. In exchange for his efforts, you often make Sumerian dishes, such as biryani.

Going out of your assigned guest room, that later on becomes your very own, starting the day with drinking bitter and dark coffee with Pierro. He has told you many times how certain flavors you use in your recipes remind him of a faint memory that tastes like home. You are more than welcome to stay in his presence, "You are no bother, truly." - he finds himself saying rather often. If you have any writing to do, please, feel free to knock on his door, working in solitude is so much more tedious, even if there aren't any words exchanged between the two of you.

Much later, after finishing up in the dead of night, you'd find yourself drinking authentic Liyue tea with Pantalone in his office. You'd sometimes look over his shoulder, interested in what he was writing so quickly. He swears if he were to start explaining, it would bore you tremendously. There have been times when if you'd say one of his colleague's names, he'd listen to you a bit too eager to hear any form of gossip you'd pick up on. You've found yourself a person to actually converse with, good job! There have been occurrences when you'd find yourself getting a bit too comfortable on a sofa in his office, his velvety voice accidentally lulling you to some well-deserved sleep. Don't worry, a secret like this will never be the topic of the newest talk. That would mean sharing your company, and your limited free time with others, and that is certainly the worst. At least with him taking a liking to you, there is nothing in all of Teyvat you are short of. Fate is forgiving to you, just this once. Sometimes voicing your concern about how this is all a bit too much, he'd laugh. "Oh, please. I sincerely hope you are doing this out of formalities." Dismissing whatever humane insecurities you have left like it's the most normal reaction one might have.

You were the last one to notice that closeness, of course. Both figuratively and literally. You were doing a million things at once and accidentally cut yourself while chopping vegetables for dinnertime. A small diagonal cut going from the knuckle of your index finger to the middle of your thumb, nothing major, you think. A voice, coming from behind you thought otherwise. You turned to your left, only to feel two short taps on your right shoulder. "Oh, that could get infected if you don't treat it. Hm. You probably should." - A dramatic sigh left his mouth, probably because there wasn't anyone else around. "Come, you have work to get back to, and so do I. But I can't focus on said work if I'm hungry." Of course. Dottore. The concept of personal space is foreign to him, not leaving you any time to protest or even process what he said. Grabbing your arm a lot more gently than you expected you are being pulled or rather, taken to that god-awful lab again. His tone of voice is...softer, it seems. After a long series of walking, going outside to feel the snow decorating your face in a flushed red because of the cold, going down numerous staircases, you end up at your destination. Keys jingling, ancient iron walls creaking.

He gestures at a chair for you to sit down at. You do, while looking around, this place still irks you. "Tch, I can't just clone you and make you anew, Pierro made one of me sign a contract to swear by it, ugh. Take better care of yourself. This is an order." Judging by his tone, how fast and seemingly carelessly said those words to you, he probably wanted to keep all of this to himself but failed spectacularly. You let out a hearty laugh. The first one in months. Your guard crashes down, into the unwelcoming environment. Your laugh brightens every dark corner of the lab, for a short moment. Someone so apathetic getting worked up over something so trivial really makes you chuckle. "Hah, sorry I apologize." - you deeply inhale to catch your breath. - "I could make something extra for your troubles. Would you like anything specific, Doctor?" "Something sweet should suffice." He finishes wrapping the bandage around your hand, suddenly wincing in pain. He applied something antibacterial to the bandages, but you were too distracted having a good time to notice.

Most of them complain to you about their workload, their colleagues, everything. You now know way too much about the harbingers. You've made them softer towards yourself, but also towards each other. You are acquainted with all of them now. Dottore gloats about being the first one to make you laugh as some huge achievement, like one of his usual cruel experiments on his subjects. You do hear of this, from a maid who took your refreshments to the meeting room. Another thing you hear of from the same maid is how delighted they all are that you don't they don't have to share your attention with the Balladeer, as he is currently busy wreaking havoc in Inazuma. This makes you feel a little honored, but still uneasy. The course fate has picked for you made you so much more than you bargained for.

You hum softly. The same flavor of pride has set its poisonous teeth in you, just like it has in theirs. The walls they've built around themselves are turning into dust in your hands. You've awakened something humane in them, but, only towards you. And, of course, you would never dare to admit it, but they've changed you. You were still kind, and considerate, but the hunger for knowledge in your eyes... it has a different spark, a darker tint, barely noticeable, but it's there. Knowing you can... access information with no trouble, your view of the world, of fate, changed.

They all take great satisfaction in this, it was one of the few times something could be called a genuine team effort. Don't expect them to work together for another cause, unless it's the Tsaritsa herself declaring war. Her cold and gentle gaze makes you feel at ease when the palace is as empty as the poor people's eyes, glassy and dull who dare say anything against her Majesty's principles.

Making a cozy home for yourself in a place like this would make any workplace hire you in an instant, but why would you want to leave now? Maybe a visit to your family, making up for the many weeks and months of not seeing them, sure. But you'll come back, no matter what. You do seem to have some say in the matter, but smiling politely and declining is the way to go for now. It's quite a funny thing to think about, how you have the world's most feared feeding from the palm of your hand. Yes, you are sure of it now, fate has changed you.

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