#and gravity is essentially constant

[littleflorablr]

I believe the Norton books - I want to say specifically The Borrowers Afield, but don't quote me on that - mention that borrowers' hands and feet are proportionately a little larger than humans', which could translate to improved gripping ability.

Incidentally, if you want to, I'd be interested in seeing the scope of the vitamin D examination post expanded; it recently occurred to me that most house borrowers are unlikely to get much access to protein or fresh produce, due to those being refrigerated and/or bulky

We already know the borrowers’ size puts them at a slight disadvantage when it comes to survival, but how does their size positively impact them? (scientific/biology answer)

Hi everyone! This post is going to be a little continuation of the previous post I did about borrowers’ fall damage. If you haven’t read it, I recommend checking it out (here)! In this post, I will talk about some scientifically proven advantages that borrowers have. BTW word count is like 1000.

Throughout all the borrower stories I have read, I have found some interesting constants: borrowers heal quicker than humans, recover from illness faster than humans, are genetically faster and stronger relative to their body mass, need little to no vitamin D to survive, etc. In fact, the original book by Mary Norton and a few of its adaptations mention a peculiar “borrower sense” that Arrietty and Pod Clock seem to have, which allows them to sense humans before they appear. However, scientific backing and evidence is rarely provided. Here, I will evaluate the legitimacy of many borrower conceptions.

1. Superhuman agility, durability, and strength

Borrowers tend to be depicted as having the superhuman ability to climb up structures relatively the height of skyscrapers with no sweat, but does this have to do with the muscle they built up over time, or does the answer lie in their genetics and body make-up? My non-proven scientific hypothesis is that both of these answers are correct. While yes, the fact that borrowers spend their entire lives exercising definitely plays a role in their off-the-charts abilities, there is also a not-so-talked-about genetic and biology explanation for this, the first reason tying back to my previous physics post.

I explained earlier that bone strength relative to body mass is greater for borrowers than it is for humans, because bone strength is determined by cross-sectional area (length squared) and body mass is determined by volume (length cubed). Therefore, body mass decreases faster than bone strength. This same idea can also be applied to muscle tissue, meaning borrowers’ muscles become stronger relative to their body mass as borrowers are scaled down. For example: a borrower 1/18th the height of a human would have 1/(18x18)th the bone strength and muscle strength, and 1/(18x18x18)th the body mass. This means they are relatively 18 times more durable and stronger than humans. Bone strength correlates to durability and muscle strength correlates to strength. This concept also explains why ants are able to lift 50x their body weight.

This increase in muscle strength, other than increasing borrower’s raw strength, will also allow borrowers to jump higher and move more quickly.

More reasons why real-life borrowers would be comparatively way faster than humans has to do with shorter neural distances, less inertia, and relativity to size. First, the distance between the borrower’s brain to their hand, foot, legs, etc is way smaller than it is for humans. This means that their brain is incredibly more efficient when it comes to sending signals to parts of the body, increasing borrowers’ reflexes and coordination. Also, their legs would be able to move faster because muscle contraction time is less. Muscles work by contracting, and smaller animals’ muscles are able to contract faster relative to their body size because their muscle fibers are shorter and therefore electrical signals and chemical reactions move through them more quickly.

To explain how less inertia helps borrowers move faster, lets reflect on the most basic physics principle: force = mass x acceleration. Mass and acceleration are inversely proportional, therefore someone with a smaller mass needs less force to reach the same acceleration. To put it simply, a greater inertia makes it harder for somebody to overcome momentum. Because borrowers have almost no inertia compared to humans (body mass is directly proportional to inertia), they would have to put in almost no force to accelerate quickly, take sharp turns without losing balance, stop quickly, and jump high. This is because they are able to overcome momentum very easily. Think about how squirrels or mice are able to dart around very quickly.

Almost done! Lastly, I just wanted to mention genetics. While strength and speed are greatly impacted by someone’s own exercise routine and diet, the genetic lottery can also have a say in someone’s athleticism. For example, the way somebody’s fat is distributed after they eat and the efficiency of their metabolism are often hereditary traits. I would assume that after generations upon generations of training in the walls, staying in great physical shape, and an unhealthy/unreliable diet has led borrowers to perfect their metabolism within their genes to suit their needs. I believe they would have a very slow metabolism so they could store their energy for longer and go longer without eating. I also believe their borrower’s fat would naturally be stored in places on their body to keep them warm, for example their joints.

Fun fact: the odd haircut poodles are famous for is a result of competitive swimming. Poodles were often raced in the water, so they were shaved all the way down to make them faster. However, people kept the fluff on their joints to keep poodles warm while leaving the smallest amount of fur as possible.

Okay, I got a little off topic but do with that information as you will. In conclusion, borrowers should be scientifically faster, stronger, more durable, and more agile than humans (comparatively). Imagine a borrower darting around on the floor in a blur, or jumping onto areas taller than them and off ledges ten times their height. I hope this was as interesting to you as it was to me! I appreciate everyone who took the time to read this it makes me feel super good when people like the same stuff as me. If you want to learn more borrower science, please vote below on what I should research next:

[honey-pages]

Learn your Lesson - Viktor x Reader

Description -

After an intense lecture, Viktor invites you to his study where he ensures you learn your lesson.

2.7k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. NSFW. Sex. Teacher/Student. Riding.

@kskajjwiqqj

Viktor was nothing like the other professors that you had met. He was younger, known by his first name, and was quite clearly very attractive. You had been invited along to a skills class with the rest of your department and any interested outliers. Viktor was the reason you attended. You aspired to impress him, to become his student. There were always rumours circulating, however with Viktor, the only thing you had heard was how impenetrably private he was.

His back was to you as he wrote on the board in chalk. It was strange seeing someone in the position he was at such a comparable age to yourself. You did not even want to consider how old professor Heimerdinger was. The way he looked standing there authoritatively in his everyday suit was immaculate. It was taking your attention away from his teaching.

“The principles of Hextech's functions are fundamentally rooted in our understanding of magic's interactions with our reality. The volatile nature of unrefined hex crystals stems from this. Magic in and of itself cannot be quantified with precision, only comparatively by constants. “

He was presenting half to himself as the majority of the room looked out of their depth. He stopped asking call and response questions a while ago as he had no responses. Now he was picking on people.

“So, why is it an impossibility for magic to be married to our understanding of, say, gravity? “

No one makes to answer the question. You wait for a few seconds as he looks quite disheartened. He sweeps over the room. Silence. He locks eyes with you. The questions weren’t essentially that difficult, they were just to register attention. Most of the things he asked were things he had previously mentioned or things that were graspable by taking the things he had taught and applying its logic.

You put forward an answer, “It is impossible to apply something which lacks numerical quantification to a concept as characterised by numbers as gravity. You'd end up with too many unknowns. The best you could manage is to average those constants, which is not precise enough when working with hextech “

“Close! It is certainly a challenge, although not impossible, to determine properties of a gravity field under magical influence, in precisely the manner you have described. However, more fundamentally, the issue lies in the fact that the gravitational constant is a dimensional property defined by distance and mass, while any magical constant lacks such constraints. But very very good thoughts Miss (Y/N).”

He knew your name. As he responded to you, he did a double take, watching you. You caught him scanning your whole person, losing his train of thought for a second. He smirks before catching the thought he had just lost. It was quite noticeable, the effect you had just had over him, and you were almost certain that it wasn’t just because you were the only one answering questions. Maybe the times you had thought he was being personable were something more?

He was finishing up his teaching, but still whenever he referenced something you had put forward or said something particularly related to your thoughts, he looked at you.

“We've discussed today a number of approaches to applying magical principles in our limited understanding of physical laws. The crux of what makes this application an impossibility is as follows: A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property. “

He addresses you, “With all the answers you have given, Miss (Y/N), I perhaps should invite you to speak with me privately afterwards.”

As he calls over to you, you realise the invitation he has just extended to you may not be one of a regular professor. Students are beginning to pack up and filter out of the hall, noise levels rise. Your seat on the first row, closest to Viktor, enables you to be one of the first out of your seat. Your courage feels disembodied and far from you now as you face him without the defence of the group setting.

“I’d like that. When are you free?” You ask, smiling and holding his gaze. It feels more difficult at close distance to deal with his focus, like the sun being beamed through a magnifying glass.

“Come to my study.” He suggests.

He collects his jacket from the back of the chair, folding up papers and books from the lectern and placing them into his bag. He holds back a little longer, waiting for the last of the students to have left the theatre. The room feels much smaller now you are alone together.

“I am serious about your potential, Miss (Y/N). I think with some support you could do great things.”

You flatter, “If I had a teacher such as yourself Viktor, I would already be doing great things.”

“You look beautiful today.”

You fluster, it was unexpected. You stumble.

“Flattery doesn’t work on either of us.”

“I’m serious Viktor, take me on as your student.”

He pauses.

“What was my final point in today’s lecture Miss (Y/N).”

Your mind was blank. Not strictly due to a lack of memory, focus or attention as you can guarantee to certainty that your attention was on Viktor, but due to how completely attracted you are to him. As time passes, his gaze becomes more confident. He knows he has you where he wants you.

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property.” He reiterates. “It is no issue that you have forgotten. I have identified exactly where to begin tonight’s lesson.”

You walk with Viktor through the corridors and leading passages to his study. It is an interesting place in an interesting building. It is decorated beautifully, with full bookcases and large empty boards scrawled with workings. It is a small place that looks well used and lived in, as though it were an external reflection of his internal musings.

“Make yourself at home.” He insists.

You place down your belongings in one corner, neatly out of the way of any space Viktor might need. He sits down in a chair in the corner opposite to the one you stand in, and ushers you to sit in the respective seat. Although you are diagonally placed, the smallness of the room almost presses the caps of your knees together. It is cosy and feels like a special place to be invited to.

“I do not usually invite people here, even if they are prospective students.”

You smile, not knowing quite what to reply to show gratitude, humility and not betray the all-consuming attraction you have towards him. Ever since he said you looked beautiful, any hextech knowledge you may have unlocked had been jumbled and rearranged to make some sexual collage.

“I meant it” He states.

“What?”

“You look beautiful today”

You try to play it off cooly how much that compliment meant to you. “I thought we had agreed not to flatter.”

“I wanted to be clear. I didn’t just say it because I wanted to compliment you. I said it because I meant it (Y/N).”

You freeze up again. Your pulse began to be audible through your ears and your blood ran hot.

“You look flustered.” He recognises, sitting forward.

He reaches out a hand to touch your knee. He looks concerned. He doubts the appropriateness of his actions for a second before reassessing. You are both adults, he has no direct power over you, you are both consenting to being here. Then why did this feel so strange. It felt dream like to him. He had fantasised about you for so long, had stalked your progress in your studies. He had seen potential in you from the moment you were accepted through intake, in fact he made the decision.

You sit up too at his touch. In doing so, you shifted in your chair, your legs widened slightly. Due to the change in position, his hand now sits significantly higher up your thigh. A happy accident. Viktor understands why you are so nervous. He is also aware as to the position he now has you in. In his office, in his chair, with his hand on your thigh.

He tries to make you more comfortable, “Let’s take this back to hextech. Ah yes, perfect, what was the last thing I mentioned in today’s lecture?”

You stared absolutely blankly. Every time you had begun to think real words, Viktor had knocked you back ten steps. Now you were at square one again. You tried to recall the words, but they were fuzzy and blurry and so far out of your reach.

“Viktor, I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” You plead.

“Come on, Miss (Y/N), with your answers earlier we both know what you are capable of.”

“My brain feels foggy. I think I am misremembering.”

“An educated guess is the first big step.”

Throughout the conversation, the intensity of eye contact and body language meant that neither of you had realised that Viktor’s hand now held dangerously highly on your upper thigh. He looked down at his hand on you. It had not felt like he had moved it that far up. You realised that you had gradually been spreading your legs further apart. Gravitating towards one another. Everything leading to one eventual outcome. This was all the confirmation that was needed.

“Come here” He asks, smoothly.

You hesitate, blushing.

He pats his lap, sinking back into his chair. “A good student does what they are told.”

You hesitated not only due to feeling intimidated, but that you were not wearing any underwear. To make it more noticeable to him, you were also wearing a skirt. Of all the days to be sitting on Viktor’s lap, today had to be the one. You climb up onto his lap, sitting side saddle, keeping your knees together.

“So rigid. Where was this posture when you were just spreading your legs?”

“It’s not that Viktor, its- “Your voice trails off.

His hands find themselves around your waist and hips, feeling and calculating, building and rendering what you must look like underneath. His touch is comforting, his hands are hot and hungry. You want to give yourself to him, allow yourself to be devoured.

“I’m not wearing underwear.”

Viktor’s hands stop moving momentarily.

“Is there a reason you came to my lecture without them?”

You don’t answer. You shift more comfortably into his lap, directly onto his crotch. He is satisfied without an answer. He decides that if the outcome of your studies today was to catch him, he was very much in your reach. As you shift in your seat, his hips jolt forward, grinding up into you. It is uncontrollable for him.

“Open them for me Miss (Y/N).” He continues

Viktor guides your hips to move you to straddle him, shifting your legs apart. He watches your movements, eyes focused on you. He raises his hand to his mouth, placing in two fingers, coating them with saliva, before pressing them to you. He slides them over your clit and then down to your entrance. You are already slick with wetness, mainly from the anticipation and mental chess he was playing with you.

“So wet for me already.” His voice is silk. “What a prepared student you are.”

You uncontrollably push forward against his fingers, increasing the pressure against yourself. You moan out accidentally.

“Beautiful” He watches, “And if I place them here, then what noise will you make”

He flicks his fingers over your clit, hovering them over your entrance.

“Please.”

“What was the last thing I said in today lecture Miss (Y/N).”

Your chances of remembering were zero even though he had repeated himself. You really had no excuse for not remembering but it was so impossibly difficult now. You rut against the tips, desperate.

“Viktor, I’ve forgotten again.”

“Such a shame, you seemed so attentive. You will learn and progress, you just need encouragement.”

He unbuttons and unzips his trousers, angling upwards to pull them under his hips and down his thighs to his knees. As his underwear comes away, he springs free. He is exactly as you expected. Seeing him explicitly feels like a sin in itself. With both hands on your hips, he shuffles you forwards to be directly positioned above his waist.

“Information recall is important Miss (Y/N).’ He states. “Repeat after me.”

“Yes.”

He spells the words out slowly. “A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property.”

The words are alien to you, meaningless now. You try to remember, there are two long ‘D’ words, two alliterative ‘C’s. The second he says it, it’s gone from your head again.

“Your turn”

“A dimensionless… cannot contain... dimension” You know it is incorrect even as you say it.

He grins, watching you unfold under the pressure. He begins to stroke himself slowly. You may as well be dripping on him. He lifts your shirt and unbuttons your bra.

“I can do it” You insist.

He removes the shirt and bra, exposing you before him.

“Dimensionless constants contain… no, define…”

He is quickening his pace, pleasuring himself with speed to the vision of you in front of him, stumbling over words he has fed you. So desperate to impress him.

“Viktor, please can you say it again.”

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property” He moans and signs as he speaks. Punctuating the words as they fall out of his mouth. He aligns you with him as he prepares for your repetition.

You reply quickly while it is fresh in your brain, “A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property”

He slams quickly upwards and inside of you, stretching you around him. You scream out his name. He doesn’t stop moving, furiously thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. He gets deeper as you sink down on him.

“Again, Miss (Y/N)”

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property”

There is no slowing Viktor down and you hold onto the chair for balance. He has both hands gripping either thigh and his face is warped in concentration and pleasure. His fingers are gripping firmly and roughly.

“I am going to fill you Miss (Y/N).” He commands, “So deeply that you will feel me inside of you until your next lecture.”

“Please Viktor- “

You are filling the study with swearing and ecstatic cries. It isn’t soundproof, Viktor knows that well enough in hearing conversations outside of his door. He wonders how they will react to him holding you down on his cock as he finishes, the sounds you will make. Whether people will hear his name, will recognise you as the prospective student who seduced him and got fucked consequently.

He has slowed his pace slightly, using his hand to rub your clit. You feel yourself building, unravelling. He feels you internally tense around him, gripping his cock and pulsating around it. You will finish imminently.

“I’m going to- “you pant. “Your fingers will- “

“Do it, (Y/N).” He is near his end too, “For me. Show me how badly you want it. Give me no choice but to undo you.”

He speeds up his fingers, forcing you through a powerful orgasm.

“Viktor- “You scream out.

You are shaking, quivering but he doesn’t stop. He removes his hand and buries it into your hair, tilting your head back, pulling you downwards as he pushes upwards.

“Take it” He demands, “My perfect student. Look at you - a whore.”

With these words, he firmly grabs you and holds you still, as deeply as you can manage. He feels himself twitch and spasm, coating your insides with his thick load. He begins to thrust a few more times to feel the wet slapping noise that he has reduced you to. He is at a loss of breath, a loss of words.

You collapse onto his chest, folding into his arms. It feels good being held there as your heart rates begin to settle themselves. There is something pure and honest about the way you both interlock after such an extreme session. He smooths your hair back, kissing you across the face, planting thoughtful kisses on your forehead. He sinks deeply into the chair, as you sink deeply into him. Together you fall into a tired, lazy nap.

Tag List - @gubkkki, @veru-boom

[stellaspectral]

Can I request a rottmnt Raph x Female-Reader? I was thinking about a first encounter were Raph falls in love with the Reader at first sight (I’m picturing a very adorable/shy and girly reader who likes pink and cute stuff because I am like this, but you can make it more vague so that more people can insert themselves in her if you want) but he’s very insecure about it because 1) it’s the first time that he has a crush 2) he is a mutant turtle while she’s human 3) he told her that he was wearing a costume so she doesn’t know that he is not human. I don’t know if it’s enough for a request, I hope it’s okay! Thank you, have a good day! <3

A/N: Hey, anon! No worries, this is definitely enough for a request. I really enjoyed the idea of Raph falling head-over-heels at first sight, and writing the insecurities that come with that. Especially given the whole ‘mutant turtle’ situation. I also tried not to make it too angsty and attempted to stick to a mix of shyness/sweetness and a bit of awkwardness in their initial encounter.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

This Fluttery, Warm Thing (fluff/mild angst)

❤️ ROTTMNT Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, meet cute, awkward banter, mild angst, hopeful ending. All characters are aged-up.

The late afternoon sun casts an orange and gold glow on the sidewalks of New York. You’re walking home, humming a little tune, clutching your favorite tote bag that has embroidered flowers and a stitched patch featuring a cute cartoon mascot. It’s been a good day, filled with the satisfaction that comes from a successful treasure hunt.

Inside the tote, nestled amongst your usual essentials, is the prize: a small, perfectly square box. It’s the reason for the extra spring in your step, the silly grin on your face. You’d been searching for this specific blind box series—the limited-edition Cozy Cumulus Pals—for weeks. They’d vanished from online stores almost instantly.

According to rumors, only a few brick-and-mortar shops had received any stock. You’d almost given up hope after striking out at two different hobby stores last weekend. But today, on a whim, you’d ducked into that tiny import shop tucked away on a side street. And there it was: only one box left. You’d snatched it immediately, the cheerful, pastel packaging feeling like a tiny victory in your hands.

Your heart had given a little leap as the cashier scanned your purchase. She hadn’t batted an eye at you as you practically vibrated with excitement. But to you, your acquisition felt momentous. And now, walking home, you resist the constant urge to check if the box is still safely inside your tote.

You can almost feel its light weight, imagine the crinkle of the plastic wrap. Which character would it be? Pillow Puff? Naptime Nimbus? Or the rarest, the rainbow variant of Sleepy Stratus? The anticipation is a delicious little hum beneath your skin.

A cab honks impatiently, pulling you back to the bustling street for a moment. You sidestep a hurried commuter, tightening your grip on the tote’s strap. Just a few more blocks. Then, home, a cup of tea, and the delightful little ritual of unboxing your long-awaited, incredibly cute find.

Yes, it’s definitely been a good day.

Suddenly, your foot catches on an uneven crack in the pavement you didn’t notice. Gravity takes over and you stumble, a gasp escaping you as the contents of your bag—carelessly left unzipped in your happy distraction—spill onto the sidewalk. Papers flutter, your wallet skids a few feet away, a tube of lip balm rolls out of sight.

And the thing that makes your heart plummet the most is your treasured keychain, the one with the charm shaped like a fluffy alpaca with rosy cheeks, bouncing precariously close to the gaping maw of a storm drain grate.

“No, no, no!” The words burst out, laced with genuine distress. You scramble to gather your belongings, dropping to your knees, ignoring the scrape of the ground.

You reach for the keychain, your heart sinking as you see it teetering on the edge of the grate—and you know you won’t be able to grab it in time.

Before panic can truly set in, a huge shadow falls over you. You freeze, mid-reach, and slowly look up. Standing there, blocking the sun, is the largest person you have ever seen. He’s incredibly broad-shouldered and … green? He wears some kind of red bandana mask over his eyes, along with wraps. Or whatever they are.

But before you can process the sheer strangeness of his appearance, his massive, three-fingered hand darts down with surprising speed. He deftly scoops up the tiny keychain, rescuing it nanoseconds before it’s about to tumble into the depths of the drain.

He straightens up, holding the delicate charm carefully between his thick thumb and forefinger, and looks down at you. Behind the mask, you see his eyes—surprisingly expressive dark pools—widen slightly. There’s a flicker of something you can’t quite place. Surprise? Alarm? You tilt your head.

He seems almost … flustered.

He holds out his hand, offering the keychain back. His movements are careful, hesitant, as if he’s worried a sudden move might make you bolt. “Uh,” he starts, his voice a deep rumble, but much softer than you’d expect from someone his size. “This … this yours?”

You’re still a bit stunned by the near loss of your keychain and the presence of the guy who saved it. Finally, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “Y-yes! Oh my gosh!” you say, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. As you take back the keychain, your fingers brush against his, feeling the cool, slightly rough texture.

He helps you collect the rest of your things, and you stuff them back into your bag—making sure to zip it up properly this time.

“Thank you so much!” you say. “I thought it was gone for sure.”

“Yeah. No problem,” he rumbles again, his voice still low and gravelly, but definitely tinged with … discomfort? He takes a half-step back, clearly signaling his intention to leave.

“Wait!” you blurt out, feeling a sudden need to acknowledge the sheer oddity and kindness of the moment. “That was… really amazing. How you caught it. I mean—” You gesture vaguely with the hand holding the alpaca keychain. “—you’re incredibly fast.”

Now that the immediate crisis is over, you take in his appearance again. The green isn’t paint; it looks … real. And you felt the almost scaly texture of it. And the shell—wait, is that a shell strapped to his back?! It looks ridiculously heavy, yet he moved with an agility that defies his bulk just moments ago.

He shifts his weight, his gaze flicking down the street, then back to you, the awkwardness radiating off him in waves. He seems less like a menacing figure and more like someone caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, despite having just performed a random act of kindness.

The question escapes before you can stop it, fueled by unfiltered curiosity. “Um … sorry, this is maybe a weird question, but … what are you?”

You see him physically recoil, just slightly, his posture stiffening as he blushes. He looks away sharply, down the street—anywhere but at you for a few beats. Then his gaze snaps back, masked eyes wide.

“Oh! Uh, yeah—costume!” He coughs, forcing the word out. It sounds unnatural, like he’s tasted something bad. “Big … comic fan convention nearby! Ya know, sci-fi stuff.” He gestures vaguely down the street, though you don’t recall seeing any signs for a con.

But hey, it’s New York. Stranger things happen before breakfast. “Wow,” you say, in a sort of bewildered admiration. “It’s incredible. Seriously, the detail is amazing! The skin texture looks—and feels—so real.”

Again, he blushes. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Thank you.”

You realize you’re still holding the keychain. “But thank you again. Really. You saved my favorite little alpaca.” You hold up the fluffy charm again.

He looks at it, then back at your face. He seems to be studying you, taking in your eyes, the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The nervousness is back, rolling off him in waves. He looks profoundly uncomfortable, yet unable to look away. It’s surprisingly sweet.

In a giant-green-man-in-a-costume kind of way.

Because who did he think he was fooling?

“N-no problem,” he finally stammers. “Just … uh … watch where you’re goin’, okay? Sidewalks are … rough.”

“I definitely will now,” you promise, offering a small, shy smile. “Thanks again, um …” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“Raph,” he blurts out, before looking startled, as if the word escaped without permission. “Name’s Raph.”

You tell him your name. “It was nice meeting you, Raph.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He then repeats your name softly under his breath, as if testing the sound of it. “Nice … nice meeting you, too.” From behind the mask, his intense and strangely vulnerable eyes still lock on yours.

Then, an awkward silence stretches between you. You clutch your bag, suddenly very aware of the surrounding city sounds returning to focus. He opens his mouth slightly as if to speak, then closes it again. Almost as if he wants to say something more, but has no idea what.

“Well,” you say finally, breaking the spell, “I should probably get home. Dinner and all that.” You tilt your head toward where you were originally going. “But thank you, Raph. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem,” he says, taking a half-step back, as if forcing himself to give you space. “Get home safe.”

You nod, offer one last quick smile, then turn and start walking away. Curiosity compels you to glance back over your shoulder after a few paces. Raph is still standing exactly where you left him, a giant green statue silhouetted against the setting sun, watching you go. He looks strangely … lonely.

You feel a pang of sympathy.

But what you don’t feel—or see—is the internal chaos erupting within Raph as your figure recedes down the street. You don’t feel the thunderous, frantic thump-thump-thump of his heart against his plastron, a feeling entirely new and almost terrifyingly strong. He just met you, just saw your shy smile, the way your eyes lit up when he rescued your keychain.

You don’t see how his entire world has tilted on its axis.

And detonated.

Wow, he thinks. She’s … she’s … wow.

Then the crushing weight of reality slams back down on him.

Costume? COSTUME?! The word screeches in his head, mocking his panicked lie. Smooth move, Raph. Real smooth.

But what else could he have possibly said? ‘Hey, thanks. But I’m actually a giant talking turtle mutated by alien ooze. Nice to meet you?’ Yeah, right. You’d have run screaming.

She’s human, the thought follows, cold and heavy. Beautiful, gentle. Human. And he’s … this. Green, hard-shelled, different. A monster in the eyes of the world.

He clenches his fists. This feeling—this fluttery, warm feeling in his chest—is completely foreign. Because a crush? On a human, who thinks he’s just some guy in a costume?

He lets out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. Confusion and a strange, aching sweetness war within him, making him feel dizzy. He stares down at his own large, green, three-fingered hands, then back up at the now-empty stretch of sidewalk where you stood just moments ago.

“What is Raph supposed to do now?” he murmurs.

He replays the encounter in his mind. You hadn’t recoiled in horror. You looked surprised, maybe a bit flustered. But not terrified.

And most importantly, you didn’t run.

He looks down at his hands again, the hands that saved your keychain, the hands you’d briefly touched without flinching. A new thought, small but persistent, flickers to life within him. Maybe being different didn’t have to mean being alone. And he doesn’t know how.

But he knows you’ll find each other again.

[comicarc]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 (𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Main Continuity Mark Grayson/Reader > Best friends with Mark Grayson, she had lived a simple life. Yet, when Omni-Man winds up in the GDA's hospital leaving a plethora of unanswerable questions in his wake, both their lives change for better or worse. 【 wc: 2260 】

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A/N: I haven’t seen many long fics for og Mark so here’s my go at it!

“Hey Mrs. D!” y/n exclaimed as Debbie walked into the kitchen. 

Smiling at the girl munching on cereal beside Mark, the woman enthused, “Shouldn’t you be heading to school?”

Chuckling at the remark, y/n responded with a shrug, “Guess I got lost on the way.” 

The girl was practically living at the Grayson residence at this point as she visited in the mornings, hung out after school, and left the house as late as she possibly could get away with. Debbie didn’t mind the constant presence for she had come to adore the girl as her own, but she had wondered many times what encouraged her desire to distance herself from her real family. 

Noticing his mom turn her attention to the buzzing TV, Mark noted, “Looks like Dad’s saving the White House.”

As Debbie went on her rant about how the White House had essentially become cannon fodder over the years, being decimated at least twice a year now, y/n sipped the last ounce of cereal in her bowl. Turning her head to the kitchen, y/n saw Omni-Man entering the house, implying that it was time for her to leave and allow them to enjoy some family time. 

Nudging a distracted Mark, y/n whispered, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Shutting the door behind her, y/n unslung her backpack from her shoulder and leaned against the garage door, admiring the cloudless sky. The sun was shining, the temperature was just perfect, and Omni-Man had saved the day yet again. She only wished her life could go as perfectly as this day.

Growing up next door to Mark ever since they’d been born, y/n always felt a hint of envy for the Graysons. With a loving mother and an attentive father who, despite carrying the world on his shoulders, still made time for his son, her best friend had the perfect family. She had only ever wished to have the same or at the very least, two parents as present and caring as his. 

Walking out mumbling something under his breath, Mark suddenly jumped up into the air posing like his father. Losing her shit at the sight of him as his shoes barely made it three inches off the ground, y/n mocked, “Whoa there Omni-Kid, don’t let gravity stop ya.”

“Haha, very funny,” Mark replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the girl who remained hunched over with hands on her stomach as she attempted to contain her laughter.

The two trekked onward down the street toward Reginald Vel Johnson High School, with Mark rambling about how his hopes of getting powers were getting crushed by the minute and y/n lost in thought. Mark had whined about his lack of superhuman abilities for years, none the wiser to the fact that y/n had already manifested some of her own. It was a secret she had maintained for years now, only beholden to one other person.

She had hated her abilities, for they only wrought unwanted attention and immense responsibilities that most others seemed oblivious to. Not even Mark considered how having the ability to lift trains and literally move mountains could change someone’s life. She had to be ever so gentle with her every move to make sure she didn’t flick a piece of trash into the next building. She had to learn to control her hearing, to drown out the myriad of noises surrounding her so that she could hear what the boy beside her was saying. She had to realize that every move she made endangered the lives around her. It seemed she was the only one in the world to think of these powers as a curse. She guessed that was probably the reason why the Graysons kept her around. Her aversion to power and all that came with it allowed Omni-Man to trust her with his identity, and subsequently, Debbie. 

After fifteen more minutes of this dynamic, the two finally reached school just as the morning bell rang. They each went their separate ways, waving each other off at the entrance knowing they’d be seeing each other soon enough.

A day of classes passed, and Mark was headed off the BurgerMart when y/n received a text from her father. “I need you home ASAP.” 

He had rarely ever texted her. The man would always call if things were urgent or leave notes on the counter for her to read when she went back home, but texts were reserved for life-or-death situations. Upon receiving it, she quickly made her walk home slightly faster than what it would normally take her, wary of using her enhanced abilities in public. 

Barging into the dark house, y/n called out, “Dad?”

He walked from the shadowed steps of the stairway to the sunlit living room holding a package. She could see the disappointment strung across his burrowed eyebrows. Seating himself on the couch and sliding the package across the coffee table toward where y/n stood, he sighed.

“You still talk to her?” He began, anger laced in his words. 

He had every right to be mad, just not at y/n. “She’s still my mom.” 

“Your mom? After she cheated, moved out, and never came back?” 

y/n winced knowing he was right, she was for all intents and purposes a deadbeat. Yet, her mother would still call to check up on her and they’d have girl talk, gossiping about the latest drama in the neighborhood or raving over a show she’d watch. She needed a mom just as much as she needed a dad, but her father couldn’t see things the same way. After all, he couldn’t forgive the woman who upended his life so easily.  So, she remained quiet, unable to formulate any response to his stinging words. 

“If you want your mother so bad, maybe it's time you stayed with her. In fact, why don’t you start now.” 

y/n didn’t want to test his anger, for his words were amplified enough for her to receive the message. He just didn’t want to see her, for she reminded him of what he lost. It wasn’t the first time he ‘kicked her out’ so she knew she’d have to sneak into her room through the window for a week before he’d cool off and return to his normal state. 

Retreating from her house y/n had to figure out what to do to pass the time. She could go to the Grayson residence, but she felt she had been imposing her presence on them as of late. Walking down the street slowly she decided that the best way to kill time would be to roam around the city, contemplating a reality where things were different. 

A few days passed since then, and she hadn’t talked to Mark in a while. Her guilt ate at her every time she left her home for his, for she felt like she was insulting her father’s attempts at salvaging what was left of her family. All her anguish had caught up to her the last few days and she coped with it as best she could alone, but the weight of it all was too heavy for her to cry away. So she sought solace in the one place she felt comfortable, with the Graysons.

Ringing the doorbell, y/n was met with a perturbed Debbie. Before she could even step foot inside, the woman inquired, “Have you seen Nolan?” 

Shaking her head no, Debbie elaborated, “He didn’t come home last night.” 

Standing behind her, Mark reassured, “Mom, stop worrying. He probably got buried under a mountain again or something.”

As Debbie searched the room for her purse, she added, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Huffing in defeat, y/n handed the black bag to the woman, smiling, “He’ll be fine. He always is.” 

As y/n headed to Mark, eager to know what he’d been up to in the days they hadn’t talked, Debbie opened the door to two agents with sullen faces. One of the men motioned for the woman to call for Mark while the other instructed, “We need you two to come with us.”

As y/n approached the two, following them out the door, one of the agents held her back, clarifying, “Just them.”

“She’s coming.” Debbie enunciated as she stepped into the car, steadying herself by gripping Mark. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Any number of things could have happened for Cecil to bring Mark into the Global Defense Agency against Debbie’s wishes. With a comforting hand rested on Debbie’s on the ride there, she’d been imagining all the scenarios from enlisting Mark into Teen Team to telling them about leaks in the department. Never in a million years would she have thought she’d ever see Nolan Grayson lying unconscious, beaten half to death, in a hospital bed. 

He’d been there for her more than her real father. More than anyone. Aside from being the only stable adult male figure she could actually look up to, the man had taught her how to control her powers. He was the only person she trusted to know what she was capable of and in turn, he gave her lessons. How to fly 101, how to fight, how to hone her senses to feel normal. In every sense of the word, he felt like the father figure she never had.

Seeing him in such a state left her more fearful than mad, more saddened than vengeful. For now, it confirmed the fact that she cursed the ones she cared for with pain and misery. First her own parents, and now Mark’s. She couldn’t comfort either Grayson or feed them with pacifying lies. So as quickly as she had run to the bedside, she left the room. Closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, y/n attempted to center herself. 

A moment later the door to the room reopened and out stepped Cecil with a request. “If you couldn’t tell already we’re a bit short-staffed in the hero department. We need you to go out there.”

Scoffing, y/n asked,“Why not the Teen Team, or literally any other active agent?”

“You’re the closest thing to Omni-Man we have left kid, besides Mark.” Mark? He got powers?

If not her then Cecil would prey on Mark’s unsatiated desire to be like his father and she knew that would lead him down a path he’d regret. Weighing her choices, she apprehensively agrees to help him just this once. Her only condition was that if the threat could be handled by the Teen Team then she would leave. Cecil simply nodded along, eventually telling her to suit up and head downtown.

Her powers resembled those of War Woman save for immortality as far as the Omni-Man and the GDA speculated, so Art awarded her with a similarly designed costume. She wore a blue armor-plated skirt paired with a red-trimmed golden breastplate. Her armored boots, reaching up to her knee were of a similar color scheme, complimenting the upper half of her body. With an armor that only covered her most essential parts, neglecting her limbs, y/n was accessorized with gold gauntlets and given a lasso, sword, and shield as her primary weapons. 

Flying into downtown, she had arrived just as the green aliens were filtering through the portals. There was already a bloody mess on the streets with severed limbs flying around the air with each blast. Taking out her shield, she protected herself from the firing squad and slowly progressed forward. If she could reach the center of the herd of aliens, she could punch and slice her way out, leaving them vulnerable enough to force a surrender. 

Soon enough she managed to end up right where she wanted to be, in the thick of battle. Unsheathing her sword she decimated many of the front-line forces. Just as she was finishing up, y/n saw one of the tanks direct its blast at a hero clad in blue, yellow, and black. Turning her body to see if she had time to save him, y/n saw the Teen Team finally make their entrance with Atom Eve saving the new guy.

Immersing themselves into the battle as the new guys flew away with a woman in his arms, y/n called out, “Y’guys got this?”

Holding back the unrelenting bodies that began to pile on her shield, y/n could faintly hear Robot yell, “We have a greater probability of success with you here.” Great. 

More aliens kept piling on, and her sword was becoming more an more blunt as she held off the forces. The Teen Team & her were able to keep the aliens at bay long enough for enough people to escape and for the aliens to shrivel up. As they were dying in hordes, y/n lowered her shield, placing it back on her back as she was dumbfounded at the sight. 

Turning her head she headed straight to Atom Eve, starting with an interrogative tone, “Did you do this?”

“We thought you did,” she replied equally as puzzled. 

Regardless, the threat was subdued and that meant y/n could head back to the GDA headquarters to be where she was really needed. On her way there, she stashed away her hero costume, changing back into the civilian clothes, before entering the building. She had barely registered the trail of blood leading into Nolan’s room until the doors opened to reveal a bloody Mark in a hero costume hunched over Omni-Man. 

“Mark? You’re–”

-ˋˏ ༻💫༺ ˎˊ-

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•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

[jackethockey]

Taste

Warnings: smut, sex scene, explicit language

Word count: 8917

Summary: In summary, this fic tells the tale of two childhood friends, you and Jack Hughes, whose lives diverge post-high school when you pursue sports management at Rutgers University while Jack stays in Michigan. Despite your promise to stay in touch, the distance and the arrival of Jack's girlfriend, Lily, cause your communication to fade. Years later, after graduating and beginning your career, you serendipitously reconnect when you become an intern for the New Jersey Devils, where Jack is a new recruit. The bond you once had is rekindled, growing stronger than ever as you navigate the challenges of his NHL career and your own aspirations. As you both grow closer with each other again, the unthinkable happens between you for the better.

this fic takes a bit to get into the good stuff but its all part of lore i swear

“He pins you down on the carpet, makes paintings with his tongue.”

One sun-kissed afternoon in the final weeks of high school, you and Jack sat cross-legged on the lush grass of your backyard, surrounded by the comforting hum of the nearby lake and the whispers of the swaying trees. You had known Jack since kindergarten, his mischievous grin and boundless energy an ever-present force in your life. His brothers, Quinn and Luke, were like additional siblings, their bond with you strong but distinctly different from the one you shared with Jack. As you both gazed into the horizon, the future loomed large, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. You spoke of your dream to study sports management at Rutgers University in New Jersey, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of apprehension. Jack, ever the free spirit, shrugged off the notion of college, his eyes gleaming with plans of adventure and self-discovery. You knew the distance would test your friendship, but you also knew that pursuing your passion was essential. With a bittersweet smile, you promised to stay in touch, no matter how far apart life would take you.

As the day of your departure approached, the air grew thick with the weight of unspoken words and the sweet nostalgia of shared memories. You gathered Jack, Quinn, and Luke in your living room, the space that had hosted countless laughs and heart-to-hearts over the years. Your eyes searched theirs, trying to capture every detail, to hold onto the essence of your friendship in the amber of your mind. You hugged Quinn and Luke tightly, feeling the warmth of their embraces and the reassurance that they would always be there, even if physically apart. Then, you turned to Jack, the one who knew you best, who had seen you at your highest highs and lowest lows. His eyes mirrored your own, a silent understanding passing between you. With a tremble in your voice, you promised to call, to email, to visit, to never let the miles come between you. He nodded solemnly, a gentle squeeze of your hand speaking louder than any words could. As you pulled away, the gravity of goodbye settled heavily on your heart.

The early days at Rutgers were filled with the comforting rhythm of your daily calls with Jack. His voice remained a constant through the cacophony of new experiences, a thread of home weaving through the fabric of your new life. You shared tales of your rigorous classes, the excitement of living in a dorm, and the thrill of exploring the East Coast. In return, he regaled you with stories of his new job at the local sports store, the weekend adventures with Quinn and Luke, and the occasional mischief that still found its way to him. The conversations grew longer, the laughter louder, and the connection between you remained unshaken.

Then, one fateful spring, Jack's voice grew distant. His calls grew less frequent, his texts more sporadic. You chalked it up to his busy work schedule and the natural ebb and flow of life, but as the months rolled by, the silence grew deafening. You had heard whispers of a girl, a new spark in his life, but you didn't let it bother you, not at first. You understood the need for space and the excitement of a burgeoning relationship. However, the gaps grew wider, the conversations shorter, and the ease you once shared became strained.

Her name was Lily, a girl with a laugh that could light up a room, according to Jack. He spoke of her in hushed tones, a secret joy that you felt you had no part in. Initially, you were happy for him, eager to meet the person who had captured his heart. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the realization sank in. The calls grew less about you and more about her, and soon, it seemed like Jack had forgotten the promise you had made to each other under the shade of the old oak tree back in Michigan. His stories shifted from tales of the three musketeers to tales of two, and you felt like a forgotten piece of the puzzle that no longer fit.

One day, without warning, the calls stopped altogether. Your messages went unanswered, your voice mails unreturned. The silence grew heavier than the books piled on your desk. You tried not to let it consume you, but the ache of his absence grew with each unanswered ring. The friendship that had been your compass now felt like a fading star, lost in the vast sky of change.

As you graduated from college, the memory of Jack's laughter and the warmth of his friendship had dimmed like an old photograph left in the sun. The promise of staying in touch had become a distant echo of a past that seemed so much simpler. You had moved on, grown stronger, found new friends, and chased your dreams, but the thought of Jack, of what could have been, remained a silent companion in the quiet corners of your heart.

And so, you stepped into the world beyond Rutgers, armed with your degree and the lessons of friendship, distance, and change. The story of you and Jack remained unfinished, a chapter that you hoped might one day be revisited, but for now, you had to accept that life had taken you on different paths, paths that no longer intersected as they once had. The future you had so eagerly discussed in your high school days had unfolded in ways you couldn't have imagined, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of nostalgia and a hope that the tapestry of fate had not yet been fully woven.

Following graduation, you threw yourself into job hunting with a fervor that mirrored your determination to keep Jack's memory at bay. After weeks of applications and interviews, a golden opportunity arose. The New Jersey Devils were looking for a new Sports Management intern. Although you did not know much about hockey, you still wanted to give it a chance which you would not regret.

The day of the interview was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement. You arrived at the Prudential Center dressed to impress, ready to tackle any challenge thrown your way. The interview went smoother than you could have hoped, your passion for sports resonating with the team's management. Before you knew it, you were being offered the position, and you eagerly accepted, eager to start your career in the bustling world of professional hockey.

On your first day, you were given a tour of the grand arena. The smell of fresh ice filled the air as you walked down the gleaming corridors, each step bringing you closer to the heart of the sport you started to love. As you approached the rink, the faint sound of skates slicing through the stillness grew louder, a rhythmic symphony that sent a thrill down your spine. The tour guide led you to the benches, explaining the layout of the area and the routines of the players during games. Your eyes widened as you looked out onto the ice, where a figure skated with a grace and familiarity that seemed almost surreal.

It was Jack. His eyes, once filled with the mirth of youth, now bore the focused intensity of a professional athlete. He was one of the new recruits for the Devils, his dreams of adventure and success intertwining with the sport you now cherished. As your gaze met his across the ice, the years of silence melted away, replaced with a mix of shock and elation. You watched as he skated towards you, his eyes lighting up with the same warmth you remembered from your childhood. The universe had played a cruel trick, but as Jack's hand reached out to give you a firm shake, you realized that perhaps it had also delivered a chance at redemption for the friendship that had once meant everything to you both.

The moment Jack's hand enveloped yours in a firm shake, the years of separation melted away like spring ice. His eyes searched yours for any trace of the hurt or anger that the silence had left behind. "I can't believe it's you," he exclaimed, the awe in his voice a balm to your bruised heart. "What are you doing here?" he asked, a hint of hope and confusion weaving through his words. You stumbled over your own, trying to explain your journey to Rutgers, your love for sports management, and the serendipity that had led you to the Devils. The tour guide looked on with a mix of curiosity and amusement, clearly not expecting this emotional reunion. As the reality of your shared destination sank in, Jack's smile grew wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that was as familiar as the warmth of a childhood summer. "Fate has a strange sense of humor, huh?" he said, his voice laced with wonder. With the sound of skates echoing around you, you both knew that the universe had thrown you a lifeline, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between you. This unexpected reunion was more than just a coincidence; it was a testament to the unbreakable bond that had endured through the seasons of life. As you stood there, the rink a silent witness to your rekindled friendship, you couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just perhaps, the pages of your story had not been torn apart but merely folded over, waiting for the right moment to unfold once again.

The rest of that day at the Prudential Center passed in a blur of handshakes and introductions, Jack acting as your guide through the unfamiliar world of professional hockey. The players, coaches, and staff greeted you with curiosity and welcomed you into the fold, the buzz of the reunion reverberating through the hallowed halls. You watched in amazement as Jack moved with the confidence of a seasoned player, the grace of his movements on the ice a stark contrast to the nervousness you felt in your own skin. After the initial shock had worn off, you found your voice and shared your experiences at Rutgers, the internships you'd completed, and your hopes for the future. Jack listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, as if trying to absorb every word, every memory you had missed sharing. You talked about his own journey, the sacrifices he'd made, the endless hours of practice, the scouts that had come and gone, until finally, the Devils had seen something in him that no one else had. His voice was filled with the same passion you had heard in your daily calls, but now it was for a sport, not just for adventure. The conversation flowed as easily as it had back in Michigan, the bond between you as strong as ever, despite the years that had tried to erode it.

As the arena emptied, Jack led you to the locker room, the sacred space where he now called home. The scent of sweat and victory hung heavy in the air, a testament to the battles waged on the ice. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. "Do you... do you want to grab dinner?" he asked, the question tentative but hopeful. You nodded, unable to hide the smile that spread across your face. As you stepped out into the New Jersey night, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the puddles from a recent rain, it was as if you had been transported back to your teenage years. The distance between you had shrunk to nothing more than a heartbeat. You walked to a nearby diner, the same one you had dreamt about in the quiet dorm room nights when homesickness had hit the hardest. The comfort food and the familiar banter washed away the years, leaving only the warmth of friendship and the promise of a new chapter.

Over milkshakes and burgers, you delved deeper into each other's lives, sharing the stories that had shaped you both since that fateful goodbye. You spoke of the late-night study sessions, the friends that had come and gone, and the moments when you had doubted your path. Jack, in turn, regaled you with tales of the rinks he had played in, the coaches who had pushed him to his limits, and the quiet moments of triumph when he had scored the winning goal. Lily, the girl who had once felt like a wedge between you, was now a cherished memory, a stepping stone that had led him to the NHL. As you sat there, the chatter of the diner fading into the background, you realized that your friendship had not disappeared; it had merely evolved. It had grown stronger in the face of distance and change, ready to stand tall once more.

The hours melted away, and before you knew it, the diner's lights began to dim, signaling closing time. You exchanged numbers, promising to stay in touch this time without the need for daily reminders. As you stood outside the diner, the cool evening air a stark reminder of the real world waiting for you, Jack pulled you into a warm embrace, the kind that only a best friend can give. "Thank you for coming here," he murmured against your hair. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

You stepped back, smiling up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you for being exactly where I needed you to be," you replied, the weight of his absence in your life lifting like a fog dispersing in the morning sun. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turned to walk away, the promise of a new dawn in your heart. The future stretched out before you, a thrilling unknown filled with the potential of reviving a friendship that had stood the test of time and distance. As you disappeared into the night, the echo of your laughter dancing in the air, you knew that no matter where life took you, the bond between you and Jack Hughes would never truly fade away.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of adjustments and rekindled camaraderie. Your internship with the Devils became a tapestry of long work hours and stolen moments with Jack. You found yourself drawn to the rhythm of the team, the roar of the crowd, and the thrill of each victory. Your friendship grew stronger with each shared meal and stolen glance, the threads of your past intertwining with the bright fibers of your newfound future. Jack introduced you to the players, who welcomed you into their tight-knit circle with the ease of old friends. You watched him practice, his dedication to the sport leaving you in awe, and in return, he sat through countless hours of your work, asking questions about contracts and marketing strategies with genuine interest. The dynamics of your relationship shifted, morphing from high school confidants to professional peers, each supporting the other's dreams. You saw him grow not just as a player but as a person, his maturity and perseverance inspiring you in ways you could never have imagined. And as the first game of the season approached, the excitement in the air was palpable, the anticipation of a new adventure you would navigate together, side by side.

The first game of the season was a whirlwind of emotions for you. From the electric energy in the locker room to the deafening roar of the crowd as Jack took the ice, you felt as though you were living a dream. You sat in the stands, your heart racing as the players skated out for the national anthem. The spotlight found Jack, and the camera zoomed in on his face, a mix of focus and exhilaration. You couldn't help but beam with pride, knowing that the boy who once shot pucks at your garage door was now living his dream before thousands of people. Throughout the game, you watched him glide across the rink with an ease that belied the complexity of the sport. Every pass, every shot, every strategic move was a testament to his talent and hard work. As the Devils scored their first goal, Jack's name echoed through the arena, and you felt your heart swell. This was more than just a job; it was a chance to be part of something greater, a chance to share in Jack's success.

During the intermissions, you found yourself pacing the corridors, a strange mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel the pulse of the game resonating in every corner of the building. You watched as Jack's teammates slapped him on the back, sharing words of encouragement and strategy. The camaraderie was infectious, and you found yourself longing to be a part of it. You had always loved sports, but being behind the scenes of professional hockey was an experience you never could have imagined. The smell of the locker room, the sound of skates cutting through the ice, and the thunderous applause of the fans were now part of your new reality.

As the final buzzer sounded and the Devils secured their victory, you could feel the vibrations of the cheers in your chest. You rushed down to the locker room, eager to congratulate Jack. The moment you saw him, sweaty and exhausted, the grin on his face was worth every mile that had once separated you. He pulled you into a fierce hug, his eyes gleaming with happiness. "We did it," he said, and in that moment, you knew that the years of silence had not been wasted. Your friendship had weathered the storm of time and change, emerging stronger, ready to face whatever the future held.

The celebration was a blur of handshakes and congratulations, the air thick with the scent of victory and the promise of new beginnings. As the players filtered out, Jack grabbed your hand and led you back onto the ice. The lights had dimmed, and the rink was quiet, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the game. You looked around in wonder, feeling the cold bite of the ice beneath your feet as Jack skated around you, spinning in circles with the grace of a figure skater. "This is what it's all about," he said, his breath coming out in little puffs of mist. "The love of the game, the rush of the crowd, and knowing that no matter what happens out there, you've got someone cheering for you."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. In that moment, you realized that your paths had not diverged as much as you had feared. You were both chasing your dreams, just in different arenas. The bond between you had not been lost; it had merely transformed into something new, something that could withstand the tests of time and the challenges of adulthood. As you watched Jack pirouette on the ice, you knew that no matter where life took you, you would always be part of each other's stories, forever connected by the unbreakable thread of friendship that had been woven into the fabric of your lives.

With the echo of the final buzzer still ringing in your ears, you and Jack found yourselves back in the quiet of the now-deserted rink. The ice glistened under the soft glow of the arena lights, a serene stage where moments of triumph and defeat had unfolded just hours before. The air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the sticky warmth of the summer afternoons you'd spent together in Michigan. As you laced up your own skates, the leather a familiar comfort from your college days, you felt a surge of excitement. You had never been on the ice during a professional game, let alone had the chance to skate with a player of Jack's caliber. He offered his hand, and with a gentle pull, you found your balance on the unforgiving surface. The cold bit at your cheeks as you pushed off, the sound of your blades slicing through the ice a sweet symphony that resonated deep within. For a moment, you felt like you were back in time, two friends chasing each other around a local rink, laughter echoing off the walls. 

But the reality was far grander than any childhood memory could ever be. Jack's movements were fluid, a dance of power and precision that spoke of the countless hours he had dedicated to this sport. As you clumsily attempted to keep up, you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the journey that had led you both here. The friendship that had once been the cornerstone of your youth now stood tall and unshaken amidst the glitz and grind of professional hockey. Each stroke, each turn, brought back memories of shared dreams and whispered promises. And as you skated alongside him, you knew that no matter how different your paths had become, the heart of your friendship remained unchanged. This was more than a reunion; it was the start of a new chapter, one where you could both cheer each other on, no matter which side of the rink you stood.

Jack's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, signaling that it was time to wrap up the night. "Why don't you come back to my place?" he suggested casually, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hand still lingered from your earlier handshake, and as he led you off the ice, you found yourself nodding in agreement, curiosity and an undeniable attraction tugging at you. The ride to his apartment was filled with comfortable banter, the kind that comes from years of shared history. As you stepped into his space, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of victory from the game still clinging to him, you couldn't help but notice how the atmosphere had shifted. The air grew thick with unspoken desire as you both removed your coats, your bodies now just a whisper apart. You turned to face him, and the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. His eyes raked over you, the hunger in them making your pulse race. You felt your own attraction mirroring his, a magnetic pull that had been building unnoticed beneath the surface of your friendship.

You sat down on the couch, the leather cool against your skin, and Jack followed suit, his leg brushing yours. The TV flickered in the background, but the only thing you could focus on was the heat between you. You began to speak, but the words got caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. The silence stretched, your eyes locked onto his, and the world around you seemed to fade away. You could feel the tension coil tighter with each passing second until it was almost unbearable. The sudden realization that this moment was more than just a friendship hangout hit you like a slap of cold water. You licked your lips, and Jack's gaze dropped to your mouth, his own parting slightly. It was as if you were both poised on the edge of a cliff, the anticipation of what could happen next making your heart race. Without a word, you reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. The space between you closed, and when your lips finally met, it was with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. The years of friendship had transformed into something new, something thrillingly intimate and overwhelming.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat of his hands as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. The fabric of your clothes seemed too restrictive, the layers too many. You tangled your fingers in his hair, the softness of it sending a jolt of electricity through your fingertips. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, lost in the kiss, but when you finally broke away, panting and flushed, you knew that there was no turning back. The line had been crossed, and you were both ready to explore the uncharted territory of your relationship. The rest of the night was a blur of passion and whispers, of discovering each other's bodies and souls in a way you never had before. And as you lay in his arms, the echoes of your love-making still resonating in the quiet apartment, you knew that this was just the beginning of a love story that had been written in the stars all along.

Jack's hands slid from your waist to your thighs, his grip firm as he effortlessly lifted you, making you straddle him. The sudden shift in position brought his hard, throbbing cock pressed against your pussy, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier to the intimate connection your bodies craved. You gasped into the kiss, the pressure of his arousal sending waves of heat through your core, making your pussy ache for more. You could feel your own wetness seeping through your panties, your body's response to the raw passion in his touch. His hands roamed up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples through your shirt, and you moaned, grinding down onto him. The friction was exquisite, the promise of what was to come a tantalizing whisper in the air. As you rocked your hips against him, you felt the urgency build, a desperate need to be closer, to feel every inch of him inside you. The world outside of Jack's embrace ceased to exist, and all you could focus on was the delicious pressure of his cock and the wetness that was pooling between your legs. The anticipation was unbearable, a sweet agony that made you whimper with need. You broke the kiss, panting, your eyes locked onto his, and you knew that this was the moment you had both been waiting for, the moment when the unspoken desires of your hearts would finally be laid bare.

Jack gently broke the kiss, his eyes never leaving yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. With a smooth motion, he lifted you off the couch, setting you down on the plush carpet. You could feel the heat of his desire in the way he handled you, the gentle yet firm touch that sent shivers down your spine. He knelt before you, his hands moving to the button of your jeans. He undid them slowly, the sound of the zipper echoing in the quiet room. With trembling hands, he slid the denim down your legs, leaving you in just your shirt and panties. You stepped out of the puddle of fabric, feeling exposed but incredibly aroused under his hungry gaze. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you before his eyes dropped to your underwear, the fabric now damp from your arousal. With a wolfish grin, he hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down, revealing your wet pussy to the cool air. The sight of your wetness made his cock twitch with excitement, and he couldn't resist leaning in to inhale the intoxicating scent of your desire.

As he took in the sight of you, sprawled before him, Jack's eyes shone with a mix of love and unbridled lust. He gently parted your legs, his gaze never leaving your face as he took in the pink, swollen flesh that was begging for his touch. He traced a finger along your slit, watching as your body shuddered in response. He teased your entrance, the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit, making you gasp. The anticipation was exquisite, your body begging for more. And then, without warning, he stopped, his eyes locked onto the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. With a wicked smile, he brought his face closer, his hot breath sending shivers across your skin. He flicked his tongue out, making paintings with his tongue and tasting the sweetness of your arousal, and you moaned, the sensation of his tongue on your clit sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. He took his time, savoring every moment, licking and sucking with a passion that was both tender and fierce. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as you writhed under his ministrations, your body a symphony of sensation as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

With each stroke of Jack's tongue, you felt yourself spiraling closer to the precipice of orgasm. Your hips began to buck, your moans growing louder as he sucked and flicked with masterful precision. You threaded your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly, your body trembling with the effort to hold back the impending release. But Jack was relentless, his mouth working in tandem with his hands, which had moved to your ass, gripping and lifting you closer to him, angling you just right to hit that perfect spot. The pressure built, a delicious ache that grew more intense with each passing moment until it was all you could think about, all you could feel. And then, with a final, forceful flick of his tongue, you shattered, your climax crashing over you like a wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You collapsed against him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you up as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your body. His lips moved to your inner thighs, placing gentle kisses along your skin as you came down from your high, your heart racing and your breathing uneven. 

"Jack," you murmured, your voice hoarse with passion, "That was..." Words failed you as he looked up, a smug smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He stood, his own need palpable in the tension of his body, his erection pressing against the fabric of his shorts. "My turn," he said, his voice low and filled with desire. You nodded, unable to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given you. The night was still young, and the fire between you had only just been stoked. This was the beginning of a passionate exploration, a dance of love and lust that would rewrite the very essence of your friendship, binding you in a way you never thought possible.

Jack's strong hands reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the sculpted abs and defined muscles of his athlete's physique. You couldn't help but admire the way the light danced across his chest, highlighting every ridge and dip. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuttoned his shorts. The fabric slid down his hips, and his cock sprang free, thick and hard, a testament to his desire for you. You reached out to touch him, the heat of his skin burning against your fingertips. He groaned as you wrapped your hand around his length, stroking him gently, exploring the velvety head with the pad of your thumb. His breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered shut, his body visibly responding to your touch. You felt a thrill of power, knowing that you could affect him so profoundly. He took your hand away and guided you to the bedroom, his own need for more pressing against your hand as he led you. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across the walls, creating an intimate sanctuary for the two of you. He laid you down on the bed, his body following, his weight pressing you into the mattress. 

His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he were trying to devour you whole. His hands roamed over your body, setting your skin alight with every caress. You felt the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, and you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. With a groan, he pushed into you, filling you completely. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, the years of longing and friendship coalescing into a moment of pure, raw passion. Each thrust was a declaration of love and desire, a promise that you were his, and he was yours. The friction between your bodies grew more intense as he picked up the pace, his hips moving in a rhythm that had you clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you matched his movements with your own. Your breath mingled with his, your moans a sweet symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo through the room. 

The connection between you was palpable, a force that seemed to transcend the physical, weaving your souls together as tightly as your bodies were entwined. As the tension grew, Jack leaned down to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling his cock hit that perfect spot deep within you that had you seeing stars. The world outside the bedroom ceased to exist as you climbed higher, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. And when you finally fell over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave, Jack followed, his warmth spilling into you, the intensity of his release mirroring the depth of your own. You lay there, panting and sated, your hearts beating as one, forever changed by the love you had just shared.

You clung to Jack, your bodies slick with sweat and entangled in the aftermath of your passionate union. His breath was hot against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the rapid thud of his heart, the pulse of his life force resonating with your own. Your legs remained locked around his waist, unwilling to let go of the connection that had just been forged between you. As the intensity of the moment began to wane, Jack slowly pulled out of you, the sensation making you gasp. He rolled over onto his side, taking you with him, and cradled you in his arms, your heads resting on the same pillow, your breaths mingling in the stillness. He kissed the top of your forehead, the gesture tender and filled with a love that went beyond the physical. The warmth of his embrace was a balm to your soul, and you knew that nothing could ever break the bond that had been formed that night. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the path you were on now was one of love, passion, and a friendship that had transformed into something much more profound. As you drifted off to sleep, your bodies tangled together like the roots of the old oak tree back in Michigan, you realized that sometimes, the universe had a way of bringing people together in the most unexpected of ways, and for that, you were eternally grateful.

The following days were a whirlwind of stolen moments and passionate nights, as you both balanced the demands of your new roles within the Devils' organization and the burgeoning relationship that had caught fire between you. You found yourself sneaking glances at Jack during team meetings, your thoughts straying to the way his muscles had felt under your fingertips, the taste of his skin on your lips. Every time you were together, the chemistry was palpable, your bodies seemingly drawn together by an invisible force that neither of you could resist. The nights grew longer, filled with whispered confessions and gentle explorations that deepened the connection you shared. As you lay in each other's arms, the quiet murmur of the city outside Jack's apartment windows serving as a soothing lullaby, you talked about the future, about how this newfound love could fit into the lives you had so carefully constructed apart. The excitement of the unknown was thrilling, but it was also tinged with a hint of fear—what if the flame that burned so brightly now was just a fleeting spark that would eventually die out? 

Yet, as you listened to the steady beat of his heart and felt the warmth of his body, you pushed those thoughts aside. For now, all that mattered was the here and now, the feeling of Jack's love surrounding you like a warm blanket, keeping the chill of doubt and fear at bay. Each day was a new adventure, a chance to learn more about the person who had been your confidant, your rock, and now, your lover. The love story of you and Jack Hughes was no longer just a distant memory, but a living, breathing entity that grew stronger with every shared kiss and whispered "I love you." And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you began to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe had always had a grander plan for the two of you—a plan that had led you both to the very heart of the sport you adored, to find not just success, but the kind of love that could conquer any distance.

Jack took you by surprise when he suggested a date under the stars, a nostalgic nod to the countless nights you had spent together as children, lying on the hood of his old car and making wishes on shooting stars. The air was crisp with the promise of fall, the leaves whispering secrets as they danced in the gentle breeze. He led you to a quiet spot by the lake, a place that had been your sanctuary in the days before the world had grown so large. He spread out a blanket, and you lay down side by side, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth against the cool grass. The stars winked at you from the velvet sky, a silent audience to the love that had blossomed between you.

As you lay there, Jack reached over, his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together in a gesture that felt both familiar and brand new. His thumb traced gentle circles on your palm, sending waves of warmth up your arm and into your chest. He turned to you, his eyes filled with the light of a thousand stars. "You know," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "I've loved you since we were kids. And now that we're here, together, I want to make it official." His heart was racing, you could feel it through his touch. "Will you be my girlfriend?" The words hung in the air, suspended like the stars above, filled with hope and naked vulnerability.

You searched his eyes, finding the love and friendship that had been the foundation of your lives. The moment felt like a perfect circle, a culmination of all the moments that had led you to this very spot. You felt your own heart swell with emotion, your voice a whisper. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "Yes, Jack Hughes, I'll be your girlfriend."

The weight of the word 'girlfriend' settled over you both, a warm embrace that seemed to seal the bond you had rekindled. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise. As you pulled away, smiling through your tears, you cuddled closer to him, feeling his strong arms wrap around you. Together, you stared up at the sky, the stars a testament to the endless possibilities that lay before you. The future was uncertain, but as long as you had each other, you knew it would be bright.

Jack's arms tightened around you, his embrace a silent declaration of his own love and commitment. The stars above seemed to shine brighter in celebration, their light dancing on the lake's surface and casting a soft glow on your entwined bodies. As the night grew colder, you both moved closer, sharing warmth and whispers of future plans. The feeling of his heart against yours was a constant reminder of the unspoken promises you had made—to support each other, to cherish every moment, and to never let the distance come between you again. The sound of the lake's gentle waves served as a soothing backdrop to your newfound love, a rhythmic reminder of the life that flowed around you, just as your love for each other had grown and evolved over the years. With every shared breath and tender touch, you felt the weight of the past lift away, making room for a future filled with excitement and love. And as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his love and the promise of forever, you knew that the journey ahead, no matter how challenging it might be, would be worth every step if it led you back to Jack's arms, to the place where you truly belonged.

The following weekend, Jack had a game, and you watched from the stands, feeling a sense of pride and love swell within you as he glided across the ice. The crowd roared as he scored the winning goal, and as he skated over to the bench, he searched the sea of faces until his eyes found yours. With a grin that could light up the entire arena, he blew you a kiss, his eyes alight with the fire of victory. After the game, you met him in the locker room, the air thick with the scent of sweat and camaraderie. He pulled you into a crushing hug, his damp hair sticking to your forehead as he whispered, "I did it for you," his breath warm against your ear. The other players cheered and clapped, some teasing him good-naturedly about his newfound fan club. As you walked back to his apartment, hand in hand, the excitement of the game still pulsing through your veins, you knew that the path you were on was the one you were meant to follow. That night, you made love in the glow of the setting sun, the warmth of his body and the passion in his kisses echoing the victory of the day. It was a celebration of your love, a declaration that no matter where life took you, you would always find your way back to each other. And as you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart, you knew that together, you could conquer any challenge the universe threw your way.

As the days grew shorter and the chill of winter seeped into New Jersey, Jack and you grew closer, finding warmth in each other's embrace amidst the frosty air. The holidays approached, bringing with them a flurry of team events and the anticipation of time apart as the hockey season went into full swing. You cherished the moments you had together, making every second count. One night, as the first snowflakes of the season began to dance outside the windows, Jack took you ice skating under the glow of the arena's lights. The smoothness of the ice mirrored the ease with which you had fallen into your relationship, and as he held your hand, guiding you through the twirls and turns, you felt your heart flutter in your chest. He was more than just your lover, more than the best friend you had ever known—he was the person who had captured your soul and made it sing. As you leaned against the boards to catch your breath, laughing at your wobbly attempts at a figure eight, Jack turned to you, the snowflakes dusting his eyelashes. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a love so intense it was almost painful to behold. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "But I know I'll do everything in my power to keep you by my side."

The words hung in the cold air, a vow that seemed to warm the very ice beneath your skates. You knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges—his games, your career, the inevitable separations—but as you looked into his eyes, you also knew that together, you could weather any storm. With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, you leaned in and kissed him, the world around you fading into the background as the magic of the moment wrapped you in a warm embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, with hope, with the unspoken understanding that no matter where the winds of fate might blow, you would always find your way back to each other. And as you skated hand in hand into the night, the stars winking at you from above, you felt the universe itself nod in approval, whispering that sometimes, love was just meant to be.

The months turned into years, and your relationship with Jack grew stronger, a testament to the unyielding bond that had formed between you. Through the highs of victories and the lows of defeats, you were each other's constant, a beacon of support and love that never wavered. As the summer sun kissed the horizon, signaling the end of another season, Jack suggested a trip back to Michigan to visit your old stomping grounds. The idea filled you with excitement, not only to see the place that had shaped you both but also to reconnect with Quinn and Luke.

The journey home was a blend of nostalgia and newfound appreciation. The familiar landmarks grew closer with each passing mile, the anticipation of seeing your childhood friends a thrumming beat in your heart. As you pulled up to the house that held so many memories, the sight of Quinn and Luke waiting on the porch sent waves of joy crashing over you. The moment you stepped out of the car, a chorus of laughter and cheers filled the air as you were enveloped in their warm embraces. The years had brought their own changes—Quinn had settled down with a lovely wife and a baby on the way, while Luke was thriving in his own adventures—but the essence of their friendship remained untouched by time.

You spent the weekend reminiscing about old times, sharing stories of your new lives, and reconnecting over the simple pleasure of each other's company. As the days grew long and the nights grew warm, you found yourself nestled between Jack and the Hughes brothers, the fireflies flickering in the darkness like stars that had descended to earth. The conversations flowed freely, the laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood streets, and it was as if the years had never come between you. You watched Jack with a soft smile, his eyes alight with the joy of being home, with being surrounded by those who had known him before the NHL, before the glitz and the glamour. It was a gentle reminder of the boy he had been, the friend who had held your hand through the storms of adolescence.

The visit was a balm to your soul, a chance to recharge and remember the roots of your friendship. As the weekend drew to a close, you felt a pang of sadness, but also a renewed sense of purpose. Life had led you back to each other, and as you held Jack's hand and said your goodbyes, you knew that no matter how much the seasons of life changed, the core of your bond would remain unshaken. With a promise to visit more often, you climbed into the car, ready to face the future together, hand in hand. The road ahead was long, but with the warmth of Jack's love and the comfort of your shared past, you had no doubt that you would conquer every challenge with grace and emerge even stronger, ready to face whatever the universe had in store.

Jack had planned the perfect adventure for the both of you and the Hughes family. He had picked a serene spot, a hidden gem nestled in the heart of the Michigan wilderness. As you all piled into the car, the anticipation grew with every mile that passed. The destination was a secret, known only to him, and the excitement of the unknown thrummed through the air. When you finally arrived, you found yourselves in a clearing surrounded by towering pines and a tranquil lake that shimmered under the warm embrace of the setting sun. The serenity of the place was almost tangible, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

As the family set up camp, Jack took you aside, his hand firm and warm in yours. He led you to a secluded spot at the water's edge, a small dock that jutted out into the lake. The wooden planks creaked gently underfoot as you made your way to the end, the water lapping gently against the posts. He turned to face you, his eyes shining with a love that seemed to have grown with every shared moment. "This place," he began, his voice low and earnest, "has always been special to me. It's where I came to think, to dream, and to escape." He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of what he was about to say. "And it's here, where I want to tell you that I've been in love with you since the day you moved in next door."

The words hung in the air, a confession that seemed to resonate with every fiber of your being. You searched his eyes, the depth of his feelings reflected in the pools of emotion that had gathered there. He dropped to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box, and your heart skipped a beat. "I know we've been through a lot," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "but I can't imagine a future without you. You're the one I want to share every victory with, every heartache, every moment of joy." He opened the box to reveal a ring that sparkled like the stars you had wished upon so many times together. "Will you marry me?"

The world seemed to stop as you stared down at the ring, the sunset casting a warm glow on everything around you. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, the weight of his love too much to bear. "Jack," you managed to whisper, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you more than words can say." You nodded, unable to form coherent words. "Yes," you breathed, "yes, I'll marry you."

He slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal feeling like it was sealing a promise that had been in the making for a lifetime. He stood up and took you in his arms, the kiss that followed a declaration of forever. As you wrapped your arms around him, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, the lake, and the promise of a future filled with love and happiness.

The proposal had been a perfect culmination of your journey, a testament to the love that had grown between you despite the distance and the years apart. The rest of the night was a blur of excitement and joy as you shared the news with Quinn and Luke, their faces lighting up with happiness for the two of you. The fire crackled in the campfire, casting a warm glow on the faces of your loved ones as you reveled in the warmth of their congratulations. The stars above twinkled down on you, as if in approval of Jack's heartfelt declaration.

In the quiet moments, you found yourself lost in thought, the reality of your engagement sinking in. You had come so far from the days of playing street hockey and sharing secrets under the old oak tree. Now, as you gazed into the flames, Jack's hand in yours, you knew that the adventure ahead would be the most exciting one yet—the adventure of building a life together, forever entwined by love and friendship. And as the night grew late, and the laughter of your friends and future in-laws grew softer, you curled up beside Jack, feeling the warmth of his love and the weight of the ring on your finger. You closed your eyes, your heart full to bursting, and whispered a silent thank you to the universe for bringing you back to the place you truly belonged—in Jack's arms, ready to face whatever the future had in store.

[unreliable-narrator-2845]

massive info dump abt an au im working on below ( +art)

some doodles from an au im working on w/ some friends... it's kind of a riff off of both the portal swap au and mr bill pines au... essentially, the brothers are swapped from the beginning - stanley is seen as the smart, successful one, and ford a bit of an outcast black sheep of the family, seen as bad luck because of his extra fingers. stanley is the good, normal one, the one with all the people skills, and ford is the 'brute' slacker, and seen as far more stupid than he really is. stanley is the one who invented the perpetual motion machine - and ford destroys it on purpose out of frustration and jealousy, and is the one that gets kicked out.

ford goes down the path of crime, like stan did, but he's a little more, uh... intense about it. he can't go off of people skills, he's gotta bring actual stuff to the table, so he travels to weirdness pockets (smaller than gravity falls) and basically turns the whole criminal underground on its head by his uncanny ability to harness this stuff. people do not like him, but he's VERY useful, so he gets to live in constant fear of whether people doing deals with him are going to leave him alone after or kill him after, since he can't tell which is which.

unlike stanley, who i think would absolutely hesitate to actually do severe physical violence (past beating people up) even while during his homeless years, i think ford wouldn't hesitate as much. ford has absolutely killed people. he will kill again.

how i see it going down is that bill, doing his usual dealings and such, has one of his hosts killed by ford while he's in it after ford witnesses a crime. he goes "haha! oh shit! a witness!" and then gets his neck fucking snapped the moment he advances on him. bill is Not Particularly Pleased, until he actually gets into ford's dreams, and is... impressed.

i am a simp for bill being a simp - in this au bill doesn't bother manipulating him, he wants this rugged badass to be his husband NOW. when they make a deal, ford writes a paper contract that they regularly update. bill and ford have a very mutual deal, to say the least, and they get married - and ford is the one to take his last name, since he cut contact with the family who kicked him out, so he's mr. stanford cipher (which i think is a good au name?). stanley is the one w/ the middle name filbrick in this au btw.

behind the eye scar: ford got into some shit with the cartel. this happens after his and bill's marriage, but what bill can do is limited w/o being physically present, so he has to watch in horror as they torture ford as he tries to find a way to get his husband out. this is the inciting incident that makes him particularly antsy about getting a portal up and going.

meanwhile stanley in gravity falls comes across an interesting cave...

trivia:

bill could minorly heal the eye, but only so much. the eye is now permanently bill's, or at least in his coloration. ford keeps it closed, but it opens fully when bill is fully possessing him. their contract details that bill can come and go only with ford's explicit permission. they often have a half-possession going, where bill can enhance ford and take only mild control, if any at all.

ford has 4 depictions of bill across his body, all tats. he has lots of vague triangle tattoos also, and the portal shape on his back. bill is fond of possessing the depiction on his throat, which he can move around as he pleases

bill's priorities during the initial writing of the contract were extremely funny. ford was trying to figure out the exact details of mind access, body access, etc, and bill was just gushing about "WE NEED RINGS!!!" and "i get to take you on 4 dates before i propose hehe"

stanley went to BMU and was dormmates w/ fiddleford. they are covertly (not legally) married (because 1980s) and went to gravity falls together. stanley and ford both have an interest in cryptozoology in this. ford avoids gravity falls like the plague because he knows stanley would probably be there

^^ addition to the above: stanley's full name is Stanley Filbrick Pines-McGucket, though he is only Pines-McGucket informally

stanley also still has his mullet. sue me. also he has glasses because he needs them and he's a nerdy science guy in this one

i really enjoy the pre-portal 1980s part of the timeline. can you tell. there's so much potential here. i am frothing at the mouth.

anyways............................................. more content soon. repurposed an old empty sideblog to maybe dedicate to this au/gf content. we shall see.

[natequarter]

What does “the doctor is a function of the universe” mean?

this is an eldritch eu time lords thing - the gist of it is that the time lords defined and shaped, not the universe itself, but time - they shaped and define the arc of history. another related idea is time lords are Made of Maths (think logopolis/castrovalva), or, distinctly, that, having defined the universe, the time lords are an essential part of the universe. they are not just defined by maths, but made of physics. and the doctor, of course, [ANGRILY KICKS THE TIMELESS CHILD] is a time lord. see the book of the war on the "great houses" (time lords):

It’s long been held that the Great Houses may well have been responsible for many of the physical laws of the universe as they’re now known, but even that misses the point. The Houses are those physical laws. The laws are extensions of their own selves, of their identities and of their culture. In theory, the idea that anybody might be capable of going to war with these bloodlines is utterly ridiculous. In theory, it would be like going to war with gravity, or with a colour, or an element, or a geometric shape. In practice, however, the last fifty years have shown that it’s somehow possible.

see, separately, the entry on the anchoring of the thread:

The early universe was effectively structureless, but the Great Houses seem to have known that this state of affairs wouldn’t last. Given enough time it would inevitably begin to develop a definite framework, as new cultures emerged across the span of the continuum and new species began to impose their own versions of meaning on the continuual strata. The ever-nervous academicians of the Homeworld knew they wouldn’t be alone much longer, and most likely feared how other intelligences might influence the shape of the future: in theory the coming generations of species could be so different that a collision between them and the Houses would be as catastrophic as a collision of different forms of matter. Already, early deep-time explorations performed by the Houses’ pioneers had shown that there were things at work in the formative future, things which simply couldn’t be classified or even monitored by the Houses’ own technology. Attempts had occasionally been made to avert the existence of such things, often using the most violent and primitive of the early time-technologies.

But the Houses’ grand solution was to create the structure of the future for themselves. They were to stitch their biologies into the substance of creation at the most fundamental level, root themselves (or at least their culture) into the continuum, build a framework through which sentient life – their kind of sentient life – could understand, monitor and manipulate time in the outside universe. The bonding would make them virtually indestructible, as a society if not individually: the price would be infertility and cultural stasis. For the universe to remain constant the Houses would have to remain constant as well, and indeed the entire noosphere-core of the Homeworld would have to exist outside the main body of time. Or at least, outside the meta-structure of history which they were about to create.

it's a bit complicated, but that's the gist of it.

[mysticstronomy]

HOW FAR BACK IN TIME CAN WE SEE me cryIN SPACE??

Blog#469

Wednesday, January 8th, 2025.

Welcome back,

The Hubble and James Webb Space Telescopes have observed the most distant star ever seen – Earendel – whose name means morning star. Even though Earendel is 50 times the mass of our sun, and millions of times brighter, we would not normally be able to see it. We can only see it due to an alignment of the star with a large galaxy cluster in front of it whose gravity bends the light from the star to make it brighter and more focused. The galaxy cluster essentially acts as a lens.

Astronomers see into the deep past when we view distant objects. Light travels at a constant speed (3×108 meters per second). So, the farther away an object is, the longer it takes for the light to reach us. By the time the light reaches us from very distant stars, the light we are looking at can be billions of years old. Thus, we are looking at events that happened in the past.

When we observe Earendel’s light, we are looking at light the star emitted 12.9 billion years ago. We call this the lookback time. That’s just 900 million years after the Big Bang. But because the universe has also expanded rapidly in the time it took this light to reach us, Earendel is now 28 billion light-years away from us.

Hubble’s successor, the James Webb Space Telescope, may be able to detect even earlier stars. However, they would have to be nicely aligned to form a gravitational lens so that we can see them.

One of the main goals of Webb is to know what the early universe looked like and when early stars and galaxies formed, thought to be between 100 million and 250 million years after the Big Bang. And, luckily, we can get hints about this by looking even farther back than Hubble or Webb can manage.

We can see light from 13.8 billion years ago, although it is not starlight, because there were no stars then. The farthest light we can see is the cosmic microwave background. The cosmic microwave background is the light left over from the Big Bang, forming at just 380,000 years after our cosmic birth.

The universe before the cosmic microwave background formed contained charged particles of positive protons (which now make up the atomic nucleus along with neutrons) and negative electrons … and light. The charged particles scattered the light, which made the universe a foggy soup. As the universe expanded, it cooled until eventually the electrons combined with the protons to form atoms.

Unlike the soup of particles, the atoms had no charge, so the light didn’t scatter and could move through the universe in a straight line. This light has continued to travel across the universe until it reaches us today. The wavelength of the light got longer as the universe expanded … and we currently see it as microwaves. This light is the cosmic microwave background. We can see it uniformly at all points in the sky. The cosmic microwave background is everywhere in the universe.

Originally published on https://earthsky.org

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, January 11th, 2025)

"IS SPACE DARK OR BRIGHT??"

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

I don't understand all the unwarranted yotasuke hate that happened for a while. Maybe I'm exaggerating it in my mind, but it felt like a lot of people just kind of wrote him off as this douche who hates talking to people when that's not the case at all.

It was either that or they'd overexagerate his shyness to the point of infantilism. Like I read a fic where literally every time he speaks, he's stuttering.

I feel like in a lot of fandoms, not just this one, people write off characters like this as having only one personality trait and completely ignore all the other facets of their being.

With that in mind, here's my personal opinions and analysis of Yotasuke :D (probably will devolve into hcs, but what can I do amirite?)

I feel like the best please to start would be his relationship with his mother, since that seems to have a lot of impact on his behavior in the earlier half of the story.

From what I can tell, yotas mom is a single mother. I'm not discounting the quality of care single mothers can provide, but there is a unique set of struggles that accompany single parenthood. From what is established in the manga, his mom has an unhealthy attachment to him. This causes her to be simultaneously very strict and weirdly lenient. Things like encouraging him to make friends and be independent while also accusing him of abandoning her when he does. Yotasuke is a kind natured person, so he doesn't want to be ungrateful or rude to his mother because he understands the struggle it takes to raise a child. At the same time, due to constant manipulation and abuse, his self esteem is essentially nonexistent. This might sounds strange because of how he deacribes his art or other things, but he seems to not think highly of himself as a person. This makes it harder for him to speak up about his thoughts, feelings, etc.

I feel like his response to being nervous or scared to talk to people is to be rude. I know this sounds dumb ash, but I think that to be the case because I do that mess too. It's scary to say what you're feeling or thinking, and being nice to people sometimes feels vulnerable, so the easiest thing to do is be blunt and short and maybe mean so maybe they'll stop talking to me and think I'm a jerk which is good because they probably wouldn't want to be friends with me anyway if they got to know me. Again dumb ash and I'm probably projecting, but I feel like that's his attitude a little bit. At least toward yatora. This does improve over time, but I wanted to bring it up since that seemed to be a root of a lot of that early yota hate.

The only reason he's so secure in his art is because he knows it's a fact. He's the kind of person to observe quietly and make inferences and conclusions based on the things he's observed. That coupled with his low self esteem and he's probably found every possible fault in his art and perfected it. Since he's been drawing for so long, it's almost second nature at this point to draw. So from an objective and personal point of view, he knows he's great at art. It's as much of a fact as gravity and that's why he doesn't doubt it.

I also think this could connect to his perception of art as his only option. When you put all your eggs in one basket, you'd better make SURE that's a sturdy basket. That's exactly what he did.

About art being the only thing he could do, it's not. I feel that the root behind his 'only option' being art is his childhood and his mother. It's shown to us that he excelled in academics too, even being one of the top students in the advanced placement classes in high school. If he wanted to, he could have pursued somethibg else and been successful. While the mindset he started out with was rather unhealthy, I think that in recent chapters, he's starting to develop his own sense of self in relation to and apart from his art. I think a large indicator of the motivation behind his art changing is the part of the story where the throws away all the decorations he made when he was little. They were precious to his mom, but not him, and as he's beginning to think if himself as a separate entity from her, he's cut her from being the motivation behind his work. He's the reason he pursues art. He wants to draw, and he'll draw what he wants, regardless of other's opinions of him. He's adopted the mindset of doing what he wants even if it's a detriment.

This is reflected in what he says to yakumo, who was still grieving the loss of sarada after over a year. Yotasuke knows it's not 'good for you' to hold onto grief forevee. He knows the 'right' choice is to move on, whatever that means. But what he deems more important than what everyone else says, or what the 'right' thing is is the opinions of the person feeling the grief. If you want to move on, move on, if you're not ready to move on, don't force yourself, even if you end up never being ready to move on, what matters is that you're true to yourself and your emotions. This ultimately helped yakumo take the final step to put saradas death behind him, but that wasn't his intention. Yota told Yakumo he doesn't have to move on, no matter how many people tell him he should, he doesn't owe it to anyone, even himself, to move on. Yakumos ultimate decision was entirely of his own volition. Not because his friends told him to, or because he 'owed it to her' or because the world was moving forward without him or even because he owed it to himself, but because he wanted to.

I think that shows the mindset that he's developing. The core of his philosophy is to stay true to himself, whether it be to his detriment or his betterment.

[isnotwhatyourethinking]

The Warrior & The Healer - Chapter 2

Cassian x Winter Court Healer Reader

Summary: Y/n's healing powers are unparalleled, a gift from the Mother that she wields with precision and care. Sent to Velaris under the guise of a diplomatic mission, Y/n is secretly bound by a darker duty—spying for the Winter Court's ruthless war general, Isarn, to protect her imprisoned mother. But as she works to heal the wounds inflicted by Hybern, a chance encounter with a certain Illyrian warrior changes everything.

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: thank you so so much for your support, never thought I'd finish chapter 2 so fast but this fic is consuming my body and soul and yea I got a little carried away, hehe

Warnings: all aboard the angst train, no stops. a dash of sexual tension, little language warning

The early morning sun was just beginning to cast its golden rays over Velaris as I approached The Sanctuary. The previous day’s whirlwind of activity still echoed in my mind. I hadn’t slept, consumed not only by Isarn’s deceit but also by thoughts of my mother. She was still captive, her safety hinging on my compliance with Isarn’s cruel bargain.

The agreement was to gather information about the Night Court for him, trading secrets for her well-being. The toll of this pact pressed upon me. Was she safe now? Was she suffering? Isarn's silence was an intentional torment, leaving me to imagine the worst, both about my mother's fate and the guilt of his lies about Rhysand’s court.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the cool, tranquil interior. The Sanctuary was already alive with the hum of magic and the soft murmur of healers tending to their patients. Scents of ginger and calendula filled my nose. I inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the soothing atmosphere.

On top of the storm of emotions within me, I had spent the night in restless turmoil, my thoughts entangled with Cassian's emotions. Waves of his distress about the impending war and bursts of frustration echoed through the bond we shared, a constant undercurrent that I couldn’t shut out, and each surge of his concern was like a shout of desperation in the silence of my mind, keeping me on edge until the first light of dawn. My heart ached with the need to comfort him, to lose myself in those warm hazel pools. My mate. The words threatened to escape from my mouth. 

C’mon now, Y/N. Get your shit together.

"Someone had a rough night," a voice greeted me warmly, with a hint of worry. I turned to see the Night Court’s most trusted healer, standing a few paces away. Her short, piercing green eyes seemed to miss nothing, and her no-nonsense attitude was evident in her sharp, perceptive gaze. Her bulky frame and tan skin exuded strength and resilience, yet there was a comforting motherly presence about her that put me at ease.

“Good morning, Madja” I replied ignoring her comment, ice mask in place while offering a reserved smile. I couldn’t afford showing any weakness. “I’m ready to get started.” Madja nodded, her mossy eyes still studying me.

“Right. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Follow me.”

We walked through the bustling hallways, passing rooms filled with patients in various states of recovery. The first floor was dedicated to triage, with an entrance hall where healers registered new arrivals and assessed their conditions, and the triage area was divided into sections for different levels of care, each with multiple cots and egg shell-colored linen screens for privacy.

Emergency treatment rooms were equipped with essential supplies, while a nearby waiting area provided comfort for those awaiting care. Supplies were stored near the loading dock, where deliveries were processed. I steered clear of that area, the mere thought of it sending a chill down my spine. How could the Cauldron be so cruel? The gravity of my secret hit my throat, my eyes burning with panic. I forced the frost in my veins to shake the feeling, and kept walking behind Madja.

The second floor focused on healing and rehabilitation, with patient rooms, healers' stations, physical therapy rooms, and a common room for social interaction and visits. Herbal storage and preparation areas ensured that potions and remedies were readily available. The third floor reminded me a bit of the offices at my own healing center, it housed healers' quarters, administrative offices, training rooms, a meeting room, and a library for study. I was impressed. The Night Court had truly spared no effort in providing every possible resource to aid their people. 

I also noticed that despite the severity of the trauma, there was an underlying sense of hope and determination that seemed to permeate every corner of The Sanctuary. As Madja led me into a room where the most seriously injured were being treated, many of them elderly, unable to walk or leave their beds, their faces etched with pain and weariness, my heart ached for them.

“We’ll start with these patients,” Madja said, her voice steady and reassuring. “They need our help the most.” I nodded, steeling myself for the work ahead.

I approached the first patient, an elderly fae female with a deep gash across her abdomen, and I concentrated, letting my magic flow through me: I focused my thoughts and emotions towards my hands with a gentle touch I knew could knit wounds with the chill of winter, mending flesh and bone with a breath of frosty air. Tendrils of crystalline ice seeped from my fingertips, curling around the laceration like delicate vines, and icy filaments dissolved into her flesh, numbing the pain and sealing the tissue with a cold that felt like the first snowfall of the season.

The female sighed in relief, her pain easing as the cut finally closed. I moved on to the next patient, and the next, my powers flowing with a rhythm that was both instinctive and sedative. I could draw out poisons and infections, encasing them in frost before shattering them into harmless shards. With a mere thought, I had reduced their fever to nothingness, the heat of illness vanquished by my frozen gift.

Madja watched me closely as we kept working, her sharp eyes noting every single detail.

“You have a remarkable gift,” she said, her tone impressed. “The way you control your powers… it’s extraordinary.” 

"Thank you," I replied, feeling a warmth in my chest at her comment. Somehow, her praise reminded me that the ice of my powers was more soothing than burning, because I knew I was using them to do the right thing, or at least that's what I had told myself in an attempt to release some of the guilt I had been carrying around with me these past few days.

We continued to work side by side, tending to the most serious injuries. There was a quiet camaraderie between us, a mutual respect that made the long hours seem less daunting. By the time the sun was high in the sky, we had treated most of the patients in the room. I was exhausted but satisfied, my powers drained but my heart somewhat lighter. For the first time since arriving in the Night Court, I felt a glimmer of peace. 

“Take a break, Y/N.” Madja said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve done more than enough for now.”

I nodded, grateful for the respite. As I stepped outside into the courtyard, I let the warmth of the sun wash over me. I took a deep breath, allowing the sun's rays to seep into my bones, slowly melting away the residual frost that always seemed to linger.

The courtyard was quiet, a rare moment of peace in the bustling Sanctuary. I found a secluded bench and sat down, unwrapped the biscuits the House of Wind had so kindly given me for lunch, and closed my eyes, letting the scent of lemon verbena and the sounds of the city wash over me.

The week passed in a blur of activity. Each day was filled with healing sessions, consultations, and endless rounds of the Sanctuary’s various floors. I was always on the move, my powers in constant use as I tended to the wounded and sick. Thank the Mother above, the work kept me busy, too busy to dwell on the gnawing anxiety that lurked beneath the surface.

In the evenings, I would return to my quarters at the House, exhausted but fulfilled. I kept my distance from Cassian, avoiding him as much as possible. The bond was a constant presence, a gilt thread that tugged relentlessly and reminded me of the connection I yearned for, although could not afford to acknowledge. I focused on my duties, on finding a way to secure my mother’s release.

By the end of the week, as I made my way to the office floor of the Sanctuary, I noticed Rhysand and Feyre standing near a window, deep in conversation. They didn’t seem to notice me as I approached, their voices low and serious. I hesitated, then moved closer, keeping my mental shields firmly in place. This was an opportunity to gather information for Isarn, and I couldn't risk passing it up.

“…Amren’s illusions were crucial,” Rhysand was saying. “She wove them into the minds of Hybern’s soldiers, making them believe they were drowning in the Sidra River.”

Feyre nodded, her expression grave. “It was terrifying to watch. Some of the soldiers were convinced they were reliving their worst nightmares. The illusions were so powerful they couldn’t distinguish them from reality.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I listened, my ragged breath coming in short, shallow gasps. 

Amren. The Ancient One, as she was called in the Winter Court. I had heard tales of her powers, whispered in hushed tones among those who dared to speak of her. Stories of her origins were shrouded in mystery, but the fear and respect she commanded were undeniable. I had never had the opportunity to meet her; she was always locked away in her apartment, immersed in some secret task given to her by the High Lord. Feyre had mentioned it to me once over breakfast, her tone casual but laced with apprehension.

The thought of Amren’s powers, of her ability to manipulate the mind and body so completely, sent a shiver of fear down my spine. What kind of creature could wield such abilities? And what could she possibly be working on, under Rhysand’s orders? This was my chance, I had to relay this information to Isarn. Perhaps it could be used as leverage in my negotiations for my mother’s release. If he knew the extent of Amren's powers and how the Night Court was planning to use them, he might find a way to exploit them, turning them to his advantage. Not that this thought made me happy, but it might release me from my bargain, so I needed to find a way to communicate with Isarn without raising suspicion.

Rhysand continued, his voice grim. “We need to be prepared for anything. Hybern’s forces are unpredictable, and we can’t afford any missteps. I’ll check with her tomorrow to see if we have any updates on the book.” 

If the task given to The Ancient One was to work with this book, it had to be relevant to the war, more so to Hybern. Carefully, I retreated down the hallway, my chest pressed with the weight of the new information. 

My thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and determination as I made my way back to the healing wards, until I saw the towering, bulky Illyrian walking in from the loading dock. I had to remind myself to breathe, to ignore the thread painfully tightening like a thick rope around my heart. Gods above, what is he doing here?

Cassian spotted me before I could turn away, his hazel eyes lighting up with recognition. “Y/N!” he called out, his voice a mix of surprise and warmth. “How have you been? Settling in okay?” 

Fuck, why is he always so nice?

I forced the ice mask onto my face, hiding the turmoil inside.

“General. Can I help you?” I replied swiftly, my tone freezing cold, as I intended.

He frowned slightly at my sharpness but didn’t back down. “Just checking on the supplies,” he said, his voice still friendly. “All good?”

“Fine.” words coming out of my mouth like shards of ice. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m busy.”

He assessed me with those beautiful eyes, a mesmerizing blend of molten gold and earthy brown, like the first rays of dawn kissing the rugged terrain of a mountain, like a dance of light and shadows, a promise of passion, of unyielding lov—“talk later, General.” 

I had kept our interactions short and concise, barely acknowledging each other, despite his friendly attempt to reach out. I couldn’t blame him when his expression hardened, his usual warmth replaced by a flicker of irritation.

“You know,” he said, his tone sharp, “you don’t have to be so damn difficult all the time. I’m just trying to help.”

I kept my gaze steady, refusing to let his words pierce the icy facade. “I don’t need your help,” I replied coolly. “I can handle things on my own.”

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer. I visibly winced when the shadow of his ominous wings covered the sunlight on my face, his presence looming and intense. His eyes studied mine with predatory intent, slowly lowering to my lips, forcing a smoldering rage to simmer in my inner thighs.

Mother help me.

He must've perceived my inner struggle, his lips slightly curving upwards.

“Fine. But just so you know, pushing everyone away won’t make you any stronger. It just makes you alone.”

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit, that same rage raised to my cheeks but I did not falter. Not now. Not in front of him.

“And why, by the Cauldron, do you care?,” I said, my voice laced with annoyance but barely above a whisper.

Cassian’s eyes softened for a moment, but then he straightened, wings barely shuddering, his demeanor shifting back to that of the disciplined warrior.

“Whatever, sweetheart. Suit yourself.” 

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, closing my eyes to the intoxicating scent of cedarwood that clung to the air. I drew in a long breath, trying to steady my racing heart, but the effort was in vain. His presence lingered, a ghost of warmth in the cold, a reminder of what I was pushing away.

The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders, a burden of truth I didn’t want to acknowledge yet. I watched him disappear from sight, my heart aching with every step he took, while the need for his touch burned under my skin, an itch I couldn’t scratch, a longing I couldn’t deny. Mindlessly, I reached for the silver drop resting on my chest, seeking its familiar weight as a way to anchor myself. The cool metal against my skin offered a semblance of comfort.

I couldn't permit myself to let him in and no matter how much it hurt, I had to stay focused, strong.

Words of a fool, I thought.

When I finally returned to my quarters that evening, I was too exhausted to think. I collapsed onto my bed, my mind spinning with worry and fear, as I looked out the tall window, admiring the sight of Velaris from my room.

And what a view that was: the streets were alive with what felt like distant laughter, and the soft glow of faelights were casting a warm, inviting aura over the city, making me sigh with heaviness in my heart, wishing I could walk those streets without a care, to feel the freedom and joy that Velaris offered its residents. Yes, the Winter Court was my home, but somehow the thought of strolling through the city of Starlight unburdened by the weight of my mission, my mother’s arm interlaced with mine, her laughter mixing with the sounds of locals, felt like a dream. A fantasy. The vision brought a bittersweet comfort, a reminder of what I was fighting for. 

My eyelids grew heavy, and I felt myself slowly blinking, each blink longer than the last.

I gathered the last bit of strength in me and I wished, I wished to the stars for a way out of the bargain with Isarn, for a way to help both the Winter Court and the Night Court in the looming war, despite Isarn’s selfish motives.

Tomorrow, I would go back to the Winter Court using the excuse of fulfilling my unattended duties there. The thought of facing the cruel fae responsible for my cursed fate filled me with dread, nevertheless I knew it was necessary. I had intel to relay, to see if it could be used as leverage for my mother's release. The risks were high, but the stakes were higher.

My vision blurred as I struggled to keep my eyes open, the comforting darkness of sleep beckoning me. As I drifted off, I prayed one last time to the Mother for the strength to continue, for the courage to see this mission through, and for the wisdom to find a way to protect those I loved. 

Chapter 3

taglist:

@bravo-delta-eccho @yamisuke @randomperson1234sblog @anxious-cactus @lilah-asteria

dividers by @estrelinha-s

[craftingcare]

The Spinnamake Solar System

The Novitas: After the planets had been moved a safe distance, naturally they needed a new sun, so Allma Mighter made a new one using his own heart. Aside from shining a bright pink rather than a warm yellow, it works exactly as the old sun did.

Spinchgardhen: Spinchgardhen (aka Spinch) is the second planet from the Novitas, and planet that regular Anthries live on. Reminiscent of many other stereotypical hospitable planets its lush with all kinds of flora and fauna on land and under the sea, and four seasons that cycle through the year. It's essentially the closest thing we have left of anything like Earth, and they've been working hard for a millenia to continue preserving that. It possesses a single barren, rocky moon named Leaf.

Katsupdog: Katsupdog (aka Katsup) is the closest planet to the Novitas, and the superheated home of the Animons. The surface is composed of many volcanoes surrounded by dense free-floating islands across an expansive ocean of lava, despite how comically inhospitable it seems, life thrives regardless. It has four moons named Musa, Maya, Anch, and Bee-Q, all home to strange fauna that's often imported to Spinch to be kept on farms to harvest their associated condiments. It also has one large ring around it that is made of a lava stream flowing in a constant circle around it without a source.

Penutshell: Penutshell (aka Penuts) is the third planet away from the Novitas, and the heavenly home of the Anthrels. It used to be mistaken for a gas giant because of how it seems to be made of entirely cloud cover, but most of the clouds are actually huge floating islands. Strangely enough, the further down you go the denser the clouds are and the colder it gets. The true surface of Penutshell is a dark and barren landscape that's difficult to access and in a constant frigid winter, and there's been an ongoing snowstorm down there for the past 2000 years. It has a single moon named Kashew, known for having low gravity and almost zero surface traction... it's been difficult to find out much else about it. The pink and yellow rings around Penutshell are also an anomaly, as they seem to be made of a material most easily described as "solid light", while this makes them a dazzling sight to behold, they also are extremely hot and will vaporize anything that comes in contact, so be wary.

Spinklesea: Spinklesea (aka Spinkle) is the furthest planet from the Novitas, and the deep ocean home of the Aquanthries. This planet is especially known for its beautiful megafauna coral reefs in the shallower regions, which tends to be a tourism hotspot for its neighbors. Spinklesea is home to a lot of undiscovered wonders beyond that, and a lot of hard to explain phenomena thats still being studied, such as the giant whirlpool that's seemingly been spinning ever since the planet was created that gives it that swirl appearence, but these explorations are very dangerous due to very aggressive deep sea creatures with a taste for anthries. Spinklesea is also home to three especially odd moons: Chocobar, a moon thats a giant half eaten chocolate bar, the chocolate is frequently harvested and sold as a delicacy and oddly it always seems to grow back, yet the giant bite mark remains, many think its a snack that Fore Goeful never finished. This regrowing has to be cured with treatment before consumption, and eating it untreated or straight from the source can cause various illnesses. Then theres Jammies, a moon made entirely of rich soft serve vanilla ice cream and giant pink sprinkles, it has no core, it's genuinely just frosting all the way through, however eating the pure stuff straight from the source is also dangerous and causes Vanillomania Frostica... this doesn't always stop people though. And lastly theres Raniwob, this moon is just a giant glass prism that turns the light from the Novitas into a rainbow that shines down onto the surface, Spinklesea is tide-locked with it, so people have to travel elsewhere to travel to go and see it.

[cherryblossomchronicles]

I'm halfway through the show, Queen of Tears, and something that I've seen floating across is the anti Hyun Woo sentiment regarding how he treated Hae In initially and was just trying to do it all for the will.

Something to understand here is that in situations such as his, where he was emotionally empty and just a shell of himself who was just functioning, he didn't have the bandwidth to understand the gravity of situation that was Hae In's terminal illness.

In Hyun Woo's mind, he didn't have Hae In's support anywhere, be it against his in-Laws or in the company. She is silent against her family and hostile and argumentative in the company. He doesn't know what all she does for him on the sly or in backstage. He is not aware and Hae In never made the effort to change that situation.

All that pressure, anxiety, gear and emotional drain took its toll on Hyun Woo's emotional capacity. Stuck in a state of constant negativity, his initial reaction to Hae In's illness might be a form of self-preservation. He shuts down completely, unable to process the additional emotional burden of her mortality.

Something to remember is also the fact, that although he was thinking of it, the one thing that pushed him to draft the divorce papers were the talk of their child, whose entire identity and life was being decided by Hae In's family while she had no opinion on that and couldn't care less. This entire situation fueled the fire of resentment burning within Hyun Woo. Here was Hae In, seemingly indifferent to the future of their potential child, the very thing that initially distanced them. It felt like a repeat of their early struggles, where her family held all the cards and Hae In remained silent, leaving him to battle alone.

This perception, however flawed it might be, explains his impulsive decision to draft the divorce papers. Exhausted and emotionally hollowed out, he saw the child issue as the final straw, a symbol of their inability to stand together. He might have been grasping at a desperate solution, a way to force a change in their dynamic, a cry for her to finally fight for him and their future.

Of course, this doesn't paint Hyun Woo as a hero. His actions were undeniably hurtful, a clumsy and emotionally charged attempt to solve a complex situation. But by understanding the immense pressure he was under, the constant negativity seeping into his core, we can see a flicker of vulnerability beneath his anger. He craved Hae In's support, her voice alongside his in the face of adversity. Perhaps, the divorce papers were a twisted plea for her to finally break her silence, to acknowledge his pain and fight for their future together.

Here's where empathy becomes crucial. While his actions are undeniably hurtful, it's important to consider if they stem from malice or a desperate attempt to cope.

Think about it this way: Imagine a cup overflowing with negativity. Hyun Woo's daily struggles with his in-laws, the lack of support at work, and the constant emotional strain have already filled his cup to the brim. When Hae In's illness is revealed, it's simply too much for him to handle at that moment. He doesn't have the emotional space to understand the gravity of her situation, let alone offer support. in fact, it's easy for him to consider her death as an easy escape since his capacity for empathy or his love for her was essentially buried under all that negativity.

[that-ari-blogger]

The Thesis Knows Where You Live (Destiny Part 1)

She-Ra is a series in no small part about tragedy. It is cyclical, built around a spiral of abuse that drives people to their lowest points. This is a story in which the narrative itself is a force in the story and exerts its will on the characters.

There is another word for this, trauma. Or more accurately, the scars left behind. Physically, yes, but more often than not these are mental refractions of actions and consequences.

As a result, the narrative usually displays itself in subtle ways. The set design influencing the characters’ moods, the coincidences that happen at just the right time to disrupt entire character journeys. Most obviously, in the abject fear that corrupts everyone’s motivations.

But, what if we wanted to get more clear with it? What if the narrative got frustrated with how well everything was going and decided to flip the table entirely?

Then you get an episode as gloriously unsubtle as Destiny Part 1.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Lord Of The Rings)

I want to start with context. As in, why is it that the show feels the need to be this heavy handed with its themes.

Most blatantly, this is the penultimate episode of the series’ “darkest hour season”, so it’s going to be dark and have dark themes and have time be a significant element and have themes around time running out.

However, it is also reactionary. I think the story itself is an antagonist. Tragedy is something to escape from (hold this thought), and assigning a will to it allows it to take steps to keep the protagonists held within it. Although I want to be clear, I don’t think this is a conscious character, I think it’s mora aligned with the setting. It is a force of nature; it is the world itself.

Because of this, I think that will is trying to gain a foothold on the story in the same way that gravity reacts to a ball being thrown in the air. It tries to bring it back down, and there’s a little more nuance to that metaphor.

The bluntness of this specific sequence is a display of what that kind of writing can do. It telegraphs that it's hiding Entrapta's eyes from you and continues to do so for several minutes. It builds dread and suspense. Also, remember this specific type of shot.

Now it’s time for “Writer explains Physics to the internet”.

So, gravity is magic that is always acting on a thing. It pulls the little thing towards the big thing but it doesn’t stop pulling. The reason the ball comes back down isn’t because gravity didn’t notice you throw it, it’s because the force of your throw was momentarily stronger than the force pulling the ball down. As time passes because of other magic such as air resistance and physics, the ball loses upwards power and the gravity, which stayed constant (I think) eventually becomes the stronger force.

I am fascinated to know how much of that I got wrong.

The point I am making here is that the will of the tragedy was constant. The characters nearly escaped, they got pretty far, but then they lost momentum, and began to fall back, gaining more and more speed until we hit this episode, at which terminal velocity is achieved, and the ground is closing in.

Essentially, everything is going pear shaped and getting worse at approximately 9.8 metres per second per second.

I love the mask as a character design element for Entrapta. It's a facade, but it's cracked. She is presenting a brave face, but its fractured. Specifically, it is a break that disrupts her vision. She needs to take it off to see properly.

Speaking of which, Beast Island.

Last episode, I presented the hypothesis that Beast Island is the dumping ground for First Ones technology as a metaphor for that cycle of abuse on a grander scale. I.e. the first ones didn’t care about Beast Island or Etheria, they just needed a place to store their baggage.

In this episode, Entrapta looks directly at the camera and agrees with me.

The Heart of Etheria is a nuclear weapon. It’s a bomb that can destroy anything it wants, uncontrollable, self-destructive. It is unsubtle and unnuanced in every aspect. It doesn’t care who is nearby or who it is fired at, it will just destroy them. Just enough warning to know you are buggered, then nothing.

It's the inherent cosmic horror of humanity. The fact we are capable of caring makes it so much more terrifying when we actively do not on such a grand scale.

The thematic implications here are obvious. The first ones didn’t care. They were self-destructive but found a loophole. Instead of sacrificing themselves, they found someone else to do it for them.

No specific example is given for why Etheria was chosen of all places. Magic exists elsewhere, but Etheria got picked because it was the most convenient. The First Ones didn’t have any grievance against the planet at all.

They didn’t even create She-Ra. It was just the first being they found who could last long enough to fire the weapon before she was vaporised.

A foreign power came to a place to mine a resource they wanted, then appropriated and corrupted a deeply significant element of that place’s culture and used the place as a pawn in their own schemes, giving no attention to the people who actually lived there except through the lens of coldness and usefulness. Once again, there is a word for that, and this time, it’s colonialism.

Which is actually a bit weird. Because the First Ones and the Horde were and are unaligned. I don’t believe it is stated directly, but it is heavily implied that those two were the ones fighting in the first place.

The reason I say this is weird is because in stories, sides in conflicts on this scale are usually thematically distinct. There is usually a clear good and evil.

In Lord Of The Rings, there are a lot of ideas going on, but one key theme is free will in relation to war. The Uruk-hai exist only for battle, and have no say in their purpose, while the heroes have something to protect and something to die for. The Hobbits are the embodiment of creature comfort. Hearth and home vs conquest and conflict.

Look, it's this same shot again. One character in the foreground, one in the background. Both showing their emotions plainly but neither able to see the other. Dramatic irony and secrecy. This episode uses this shot a lot.

But the Horde is signified by empire and colonialism. The visual in Princess Scorpia of the family crest graffitied with the Horde logo comes readily to mind.

Having the First Ones mess around with the same theme muddies the water.

These are two sides; the relativity is almost irrelevant and Etheria just got caught in the crossfire. If the nuclear weapon signifies the cycle as also relating to the war, then Etheria represents the common soldier. The person who is told to die for someone else’s cause and that they will be a hero if they do.

Alternatively, Etheria might be a representation of the land itself, scarred by bomb after bomb, riddled with trenches like cuts across a corpse, each full more of blood, flies, and rotting flesh than anything else under the moon. It is the field of poppies, trying desperately to grow, but unable to shake that crimson from its mind.

If the land is a character, it is capable of being harmed, it is capable of being hurt, and it is capable of being traumatised.

Not so subtle detail: Entrapta rises slightly when she tells Adora about her lack of agency. The shot is looking upwards when it receives the news to make that information seem more powerful and imposing. This plan is bigger than Adora, and the show wants you to be afraid of it.

It was true that the relativity of the two sides didn’t really matter, because to Etheria, these are just two colonial forces who want to use it.

What if the Heart of Etheria was a defensive project? Does it matter?

Thematically, yes.

If the project was defensive, then we are led back to our claims about the cycle of abuse. The First Ones wanted to protect themselves, and in doing so, destroyed someone else. They sacrificed Etheria to set themselves free, passing the torch somewhere else, and leaving naught but memories in their wake.

And it didn’t even work!

The First Ones are nowhere to be seen. Their grand scheme failed; they lost the war. Their reaching for safety did nothing but cause more misery and it didn’t even get them out of the hole they found them in.

That is the cycle of abuse in a nutshell. Victims trying to save themselves in the only way they know how, with faulty tools that don’t succeed, and to everyone around them, to Etheria, the difference between victim and abuser is sometimes not even a different face. Thematically, the difference matters, but practically, it couldn't be less important.

Violence begets violence, the only way to stop, is to stop fighting.

But then you would lose, right? Kneel down and let tragedy overtake you? No!

That is the mindset instilled by the vines in Destiny Part 1, just shut up and let destiny run its course. This frames the idea of “just stop fighting” as something said by abusers to their victims, which becomes a Catch 22.

You either fight, in which case you lose. Or you don’t, in which case you lose. It’s a trolley problem.

But I’m going to let you in on a secret. Trolley problems are contrived as all hell. They are engineered to be as simple and unnuanced as possible, and while these situations do exist in real life, I will wager that there is always a third option. It will be more difficult, sure, but it’s possible. Trolley problems feed on a lack of hope, the trick is to let them go hungry.

In this case, don’t stop fighting, change how you go about it. Learn from the cycle, do better. You don’t find peace, you make it. So, find a way to do that.

In other words, take the initiative and start to exert your own will on the story around you, which leads me back to the poppies, to the gravity, and to the tragedy.

Shadow Weaver has just had the rug pulled out from under her, so she is resorting to her old tricks to try and gain back control.

Poppy fields are some of the most humbling things you will ever see, especially on the site of a battlefield. They are the only things that can grow, but they symbolize that the earth is still trying to change. The seasons still march on, and more will come.

Yes, they are wounds, but they don’t run from them or fight them, they bear them like a badge of honour. They remind you of what happened here, they make you think, and they stare you dead in the eye when you try to set up another battle. You may have forgotten, but the land remembers. It will remember every step you take; it will welcome you when you fall, and it will stand warden over your soul. Never again.

Again, scale. This plan is bigger than Adora and Bow. They are powerless against it. That makes it scary, but it also works like a Darksouls boss. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and the more satisfying they are to defeat.

Keeping that in mind with gravity, because I know at least one person who will read this and take issue with my explanation. Gravity doesn’t pull the small thing towards the big thing, it pulls them together. It just finds an average spot between them. The bigger the thing, the more influence it has and the closer that average location is to it.

If we finagle a bit and substitute physical size for impetus within the narrative, or more simply, agency, then the idea of outgrowing your trauma has a new meaning, doesn’t it?

You will meet in the middle, drawn closer and closer as you lose your ability to move. But if you grow and gain power over your own life, eventually that trauma will orbit you. It will be a part of you always, but it won’t be something you revolve around, it won’t consume you. You are still pulled together to meet in the middle, but you control where that middle point is.

Daniel Dae Kim is a global treasure. He kills every line and thrives in bombastic moments of drama and comedy. Which is why I want to highlight the smallest moment. Specifically, the tiniest of wavers when he says "Brightmoon". Genuinely one of my two favourite lines in the entire series.

Finally, there is tragedy, and here I want to set up the finale with some framing. As in, why do we partake in tragedy? I claimed that the genre is something you escape from, and if you are in a tragedy, my advice will always be to leave. But why do we watch stories we know are going to end well?

Even more peculiarly, why do we enjoy doing it? Tragedy is definitively unfun. So why are they so popular?

The answer is catharsis. You read a tragedy because it makes your world better. Stories aren’t moralistic tests, they are just ways of communicating, and most often, what they are communicating is “this is interesting.”

You read stories to make you feel, and in my opinion, the best part of a tragedy is the moment you stop reading. The story makes you emote in a controlled environment, and you get the best of both worlds from those emotions being both real and not real. They are real in the way that you felt them, but they are unreal in the way that they won’t affect you as much as if you had experienced the heartache.

You feel the joy of escaping from traumatic behaviors, but you didn’t have to live through that trauma to get there.

The moment you stop reading is the moment you realise it isn’t real and that you can go about your day. The story has changed you, and now it is setting you loose on the real world.

Your objective is to leave, the tragedy’s is to come with you.

Final Thoughts

I want to be clear here. Subtlety does not equal good or bad writing. There is a general rule these days, especially on Tumblr, that complexity and effectiveness are the same thing, and I think this is bollocks.

Firstly, this is partly because people can’t tell the difference between subtlety and subtext, which is frustrating. Subtlety is a tool that you can use, subtext just happens whether you like it or not.

But second, this is Tumblr. People talk nonsense all the time. Some of the best posts on this website are a sentence of someone being as blunt or strange as they could possibly be and either being incredibly insightful or incredibly funny. Writing is about finding the right tool for the job. Sometimes that is a wood chisel, sometimes it’s a chainsaw.

Next week is the finale of this season, with Destiny Part 2. Stick around if that interests you.

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[gravitycircuit]

Gravity Circuit has recently hit 60K total units sold!

Never in our wildest dreams did we expect the game to sell as much as it has done in just a few short months. As such, we thought this was a moment to celebrate, with new art provided by @jmanvelez!

Now, you might be asking: why are we taking a moment to celebrate such a specific number? Well, in truth, we were planning on doing a celebratory announcement earlier, at 50K. We were on track to hit that in December, but then the holiday sales happened. Thanks to the holiday sales on various storefronts, we essentially skyrocketed past 50K, climbing all the way up to 60K before the sales were over, so didn't have the time to prepare for it! Goodness, the sales performance just continues to surprise us. All in all, the reception and feedback we have received over these past months have been overwhelming, and we can't thank you, the players, enough. You are the best. Now, you might be curious about the sales distribution among the platforms? Fret not, we have prepared a pie chart for you (based on sales as of January 18th, 2024):

Note: PS4 and PS5 are coupled together due to crossbuy. This means that if you purchased the game on one, you can download it on the same account for the other at no extra cost.

On PC, the game is available on Steam, GOG, Epic Games Store, as well as Stove (Korea). Out of these, Steam is the most popular storefront.

On consoles, the game is available on Nintendo Switch and Sony's PlayStation 4 and 5. The game is also physically available on afore-mentioned consoles, by Pix'n'Love (PEGI), Red Art Games (ESRB) and Oizumi Amuzio (Japan).

Given the amount of wishlists on Steam before the game's release, as well as us getting Steam Deck verified by Valve, PC outselling the other platforms is not a wholly unexpected outcome. Steam is a huge storefront, after all.

But after all the sales across these platforms, what about the reception? Well, even on that front, Gravity Circuit has performed better than even our wildest expectations, as shown by the collage below:

Truthfully, before the game's release some six months ago, we weren't sure about what the reception ultimately would be. As a developer, it can be difficult to distance yourself from whatever project you have been working on for so long, to see the game for what it is. So, ultimately, it was up to you, the players, to determine the game's overall quality. Needless to say, we didn't expect the majority opinion to be this good, both from critics and players alike!

To provide some background: throughout the development, there were a plentiful of sleepless nights, fueled by stress, energy drinks, boatloads of work, and constant lingering doubts about the game's potential success. Creative endeavors while on a deadline are never easy, but we soldiered on, so to try and complete the game to the best of our abilities. Now, months after release, it has been a truly humbling experience that players have enjoyed Gravity Circuit as much as they have. Such a warm reception has made all that effort behind the game worth it. Again, we can't thank you all enough.

Of course, it might go without saying that even with all this positive feedback, the game hasn't been without its own sets of issues. Especially around the game's launch we had to do multiple quick rounds of bug fixes, so to address various situations and oversights that had slipped past us during development and Q&A. While doing all this was taxing, it's perhaps thanks to these rapid, quick responses that have helped minimize any lasting impact that the various game crashes and bugs could have otherwise had.

Essentially, on that point, our policy has been to accept any and all feedback from players with open arms. Whether positive or negative, we have read all points of feedback, and even responded to them wherever we have been able. Ultimately, this back-and-forth discussion with players has then resulted in us implementing various additions and changes post-launch (Speedrun Mode, Armor Paints, Boss Rush, small quality of life additions, etc), completely free of charge. And while we do try, it's not exactly realistic to act or respond to every bit of feedback without fundamentally changing some of the game's DNA. Nevertheless, we do try our best -- and perhaps hold onto the lessons learned for any future endeavors.

In the meanwhile, we at Domesticated Ant Games want to thank you all for all the support so far from the bottom of our hearts -- and we wish you all a good start to 2024!

[mvdtu3]

GQuuuuuuX episode 9, not my favorite but still a solid episode. Things with the storyline are clearing up as everything comes to light, and we hurtle towards a grand finale. We've got a few big reveals regarding the actual nature of the GQuuuuuuX Universe to discuss and a few interesting parallels and thematic content with regards to Lalah's and Machu's views on the future and their differing forms of dreams/motivations. Ultimately I'm looking forward to the grand finale that the show appears to be building to. I'm expecting it to be pretty crazy given the nature of the show thus far, and I am all in on it.

More discussion on some of the new stuff below:

So the big reveal at the end, the Rose of Sharon being Lalah and the Elmeth from another timeline (as it doesn't seem to be exactly the same as the standard UC universe according to Lalah's dialogue), and 'the other side' literally being other universes. Essentially, we've got a Multiverse plot on our hands here. I understand the concern that some may have with this. Multiverse stories in large franchises need to be handled carefully lest they deteriorate into a constant stream of meaningless 'OH WOW LOOK AT THIS' pile of reference slop. However the Multiverse elements of GQuuuuuuX seem to be limited enough that I think that series will manage to use the elements wisely and maintain the focus on its own characters.

I've also seen some speculation that Shirouzu isn't actually GQuuuuuuX Char, but rather main timeline Quattro. With the suggestion being that they swapped worlds in one of the Zeknovas. I personally disagree with this assessment both because it would be, in my opinion, uncharacteristically bad writing for this show, as it would really diminish the impact of both versions of the character. And because it appears that objects or people transported between universes have an 'unstable existence' in the GQuuuuuuX universe. As is represented on the Elmeth and Rose-Lalah by them being semi-transparent against a background of the Kira-Kira, which is a property not present in Shirouzu, indicating that he is native to the GQuuuuuuX timeline.

Because of this instability I don't think there will be any characters jumping in from the UC universe or others to help the GQuuuuuuX ones. At most, maybe the Newtype-Ghost of Amuro will offer some guiding words to Machu like he does with Hathaway in his series.

I think the only universe-jump that has occurred in this series so far is the one performed by the Rose of Sharon, which according to dialogue probably involves Lalah dying as she does in the original series, and then being transported to the GQuuuuuuX universe in the middle of the One-Year-War, preserved in the Elmeth's cockpit in the process. I think that this event probably took place before the Red Gundam had the Alpha Psycommu installed, and the phenomenon of the jump along with the Elmeth itself is what caused Psycho-Tech to advance so much faster in the GQuuuuuuX timeline. This is supported by Kycillia knowing about the Rose during the Solomon Drop, placing these events before that.

Moving on from that long point, we have Machu. Its interesting to see her actually arriving at Earth and finding everything rather underwhelming. The planet itself is beautiful, but the gravity feels the same and she is quickly confronted with the problems of people on Earth.

I also find it interesting to see how Machu interacts with Lalah, with a particular focus towards how they differ in terms of their motivations, and Machu's inability to understand Lalah's refusal to go with her on a whim. It really shows how, I suppose, 'in the moment' Machu is with regards to her motivations outside of her friends (this should have significantly more thought given to it, particularly when considering GQ-Lalah's trauma, but I am not up to that right now, sorry).

Looking forwards to next week and the remainder of the show. It seems like the series is building towards one large, final sequence around the Solar Ray. It seems like a lot of plot threads (The relationship between Machu and Nyaan, Challia's plan to assassinate the Zabis and Shirouzu's plans as well) will come together around this singular set-piece. I think the series will go more for a character focused ending with Machu, Nyaan, and probably Shuji. With most of the plot resolved but large elements of the world still left only partially addressed. This is probably a necessity given the limited number of episodes, and it is a valid choice, even if it will cause annoyance to some. But we will have to wait and see.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hii India

You already said a few things about Harry taking a break.. now that the last show is over and Harry saying goodbye over Instagram, what do you think?

A lot of people have the opinion he’s going to be gone for quite a while now. Whatever it is I’m glad he’s taking the break. For me it’s a confirmation that he’s still dealing with the mess that fame is in a healthy way and I’m going to be here for when he decides to come back. I’m going to miss him so much though.

And I would love to hear your take on things. Do you think this is a goodbye for a longer time period? Or is it more an goodbye for him, to be okay with the fact that things might never be the same as they were during this tour? That his fame is changing and he accepts that he doesn’t have to control it?

Hi, love 🩵

Hmm. So, I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this, but practically speaking, for the first time, the set up of a new stunt is a hopeful sign. If they’re finding a way to keep Harry in the press, however low the profile (🤞🏼), it’s for a reason. My hunch is that he is tying up with Loewe in some way, and in that sense, I don’t think it will be long ‘til we see him again, physically (however infrequently).

But, I also think touring is tougher than he makes it seem, physically, mentally and emotionally. I think all the things he realized during COVID, about being a better son/brother/friend (and partner) is a driving force in this seemingly more urgent need to find balance. It’s certainly a shift from the way he was working/talking during Fine Line, but I also think that’s the point.

He’s now in a very rare “natural” break in his career as a musician. We haven’t had any confirmation that he’s re-signed with Columbia (although I have no doubt that he has), so for all intents and purposes, he’s currently publicly free from professional obligation for the first time in a long time (at least in terms of his music) and that is going to feel very, very odd for someone who’s been working essentially non-stop (whether in the spotlight or behind the scenes) for over a decade. I think that novelty and sense of impermanence is something he’s trying really hard to embrace; to meet with excitement rather than fear. So, for the most part, I stand by my original thoughts.

But, if I can add:

I think Harry is the kind of person that is very aware of the gravity of fate and sheer magic that has gone into his success. You can see it in the way he talks about there being “no reason he should be getting to do this instead of anyone else” and how “we’re all the same” and “this doesn’t happen to people like me very often”. In this way, I think there’s a constant groundedness about his person and an acceptance of the vulnerability of his career and his success — in other words, he knows that lighting really might not strike thrice, and I think he’s preparing himself for that. There was a moment on the last Late Late show, when he was comparing himself to Will Ferrell and he said something like “Will has longevity and I’m more a flash in the pan” (untrue, but I digress) and what struck me about that line was how acutely aware he is that things can change for him at any moment. It’s similar to his “whatever people say about you, it’s not true. If people say you’re the best thing ever, it’s not true” quote on Howard Stern; like I think it’s one of the themes of his life, having to have a firm hold on reality so that the ‘inevitable’ crash is manageable.

He also seems to be trying to learn from the lives of other musicians/celebrities, and take those lessons to heart by applying them to his life and his work. in the end, I think what he’s trying to do is just accept that there are no guarantees; that he doesn’t know and has no control over whatever happens to the world while he’s away or what he’s returning to. I think the reason it sounds so definitive and scary and existential is because it is all of those things, for him. This is a big change, and he’s giving it its space and weight for the first time, because it is the first time he’s been able to say a proper goodbye (1D hiatus was rushed, HS1 went directly into FL, FL ended abruptly during COVID… there’s a pattern.)

Bottom line though, is that I know for certain Harry fucking loves music and touring. It’s a compulsion, for him. It’s in his DNA. And that’s why I’m not scared that he’ll leave forever, because I’ve always hard the feeling his music nourishes him just as much (if not more) than it nourishes us. He does what he does for himself, and we’re a bonus, and as an artist, that is the best reason to do anything and the only reason to keep coming back to it, regardless of the uncertainty that awaits him.

Not to make this novel any longer than it is, but I’ve also had a recent thought that occurred to me: Harry is 29, which means he’s currently going through his Saturn return.

I’ve asked my therapist (who is also an astrologist) for a bit more literature on Saturn returns, cause I’m super curious about how that might be affecting him. (For background, all my friends got married around the times of their Saturn return, and both my best friend and I picked up and moved halfway across the world during ours so at least for the people in my life, it seems like it is consistent with big change, and from the way Harry is talking, it seems it might be affecting him the same way.) I’ll get back to you. 😉🪐