#just crucible ask things

[dainix-suggestions]

What's hotter fire or catboys

Depends on the fire and depends on the catboy

[robotsprinkles]

god

anyone got a script for telling someone

“I’m not having this argument with you, because honestly, you don’t have the right to tell me I’m wrong about this. Every time we’ve had an argument of this sort where I comment or joke or complain about something in some game we both play and you immediately tell me that the thing I’m joking/complaining/commenting about is wrong — every single time, you insist you’re right and that I’m wrong, that my memory is flawed and yours is flawless because you ‘bought the game at launch and got x rank or played x amount of content or have x amount of hours’ —which you keep saying even when I tell you I swear I’m right because I’ve literally consciously changed the way I play whatever game it is to account for whatever I’m commenting about — to the point where I start questioning my own memory and sanity — every. single. goddamn time you’ve done this I have always. and I mean always been proven right the moment I do a basic google search on the topic we’re discussing. You’ve never been right once. not a single time. You’re always wrong (and often blatantly so) and yet you insist your claims are correct and mine are wrong without ever doing as little as a basic google search, and even when I show you concrete proof of any form or quantity you continue to double down and dig in your heels and insist you’re right. So we’re not going to have this argument, because your track record in correctness of belief and statements is a flat zero, and you’ve demonstrated every single time that you refuse to accept you’re wrong, so I’m not going to waste my time or energy on you.”

?

[eorzeashan]

man wtf, wtf. Goodwill Hunting. I didn't expect to get slapped in the face with all the glaring issues I'd ever experienced in college but. wow. I fucking cried. the emotional gaps between people from different economic backgrounds, different chances at economic and academic success....when you're a student who also faced that daunting bracket of having your college path be literal life and death for what comes after and always having to be adjacent to people where this is what they've lived in their whole lives, and then how different that is next to those who can't have that chance ever and the sheer uncertainty and fear of it. the trauma that comes from a background of abuse and how it confuses others from the outside who can't understand why you'd pass up the chance for something better from their view economically, academically, emotionally. it hurt so much.

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[kryannoy]

what's not to love about xiangli yao

genre: fluff, headcanon

character: xiangli yao

a/n: my heart was stolen and sadly enough, i'm not loyal to jiyan anymore😔

He's such a gentleman.

I can see him as someone who's really sweet and caring towards his partner.

The type that would definitely bring flowers to your first date. Then, buys different gifts that you would like once he's gotten to know you better.

He has a list of the things you're interested in based on your conversations with him—whether it'd be games, books, shows, etc. He memorizes them so he can give gifts later.

If it's not obvious enough, his love languages are gift giving and quality time.

No matter how busy he is, or how he loves to be couped up in his lab, he will make time for you.

You need him to pick you up? He's on his way. You need necessary items? He's checking out. Need cuddles and attention? Yes please, consider it done.

He wouldn't mind you coming to his workplace, he'll let you stay in the lab while he does his research.

The one time you accidentally knocked his crucible off the table your heart dropped.

He saw your scared expression—your eyes so shiny with your tears begging to stain your cheeks—but he never had the intention to yell at you like you were a kid to begin with. He knows better that it was all an accident.

He approached you and there you started rambling about how it happened and apologized repeatedly until he picked up both your hands and asked, "Are you hurt?" with the most gentle voice you've heard and a worried look. You melted!

He loves to secretly and not-so secretly take pictures of you. He has a camera specifically for you only.

He loves to make plans ahead—for tomorrow, next weekend, next month, heck, even next year and years ahead. He even slipped out his plans of getting married to you and having kids and such. Boy, you never thought it was possible to see how red he can be.

He's always so calm and keeps a cool head. Even when you're yapping about your day and such, he'll attentively listen to you. However, his habit of watching you talk always gets to you and annoyingly, he doesn't get it. His face would look so soft, his gaze is gentle and he always puts a smile.

"Don't look at me with those eyes!" "What eyes?" Definitely happened.

He just can't help it. The way you get excited, or have that angry pout, it was all too adorable for him. He's just so in love with you.

If you're the one to tease him, expect lots of stutters and blinking eyes. He can hide his blush all he wants but the sudden silence and avoiding eye contact are obvious hints he's flustered.

When you patted Xiang-LEE's head when you are fully aware that Xiangli Yao was taking control, he went speechless and stumbled with his words.

But when you patted his actual head, he malfunctioned. He could not maintain eye contact with you at all after that.

Another thing he loves is when you play with his soft hair, but he gets way too shy the whole time no matter how hard he tries to stay calm. If he feels comfortable enough to succumb to the embarrassment, he buries his head into the crook of your neck to hide his blushing face.

If you tease him too much, he might actually burst his bubble.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Academy! Coryo x Academy!Reader,

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus is a warning in and of itself. Smut, p in v, tittie sucking, tittie fucking, cum licking, groping, cussing, first time, just the tip is NEVER just the tip, Obsessed!Coryo, Big Breasted!Reader, Pervy!Coryo, Virgin!Coriolanus, Virgin!Reader, Shy!Reader

When you hit puberty you begin developing breasts faster than your peers. When the other girls are in training bras you're wearing an underwire. And then when everyone hit high school at the Academy, well they're in cute little demi-bras and Lacey bralettes while you're in full coverage/support bras. You have a drawer full of underwires, front closures, etc. Yes, your bras are cute too, but unlike the other girls at the Academy you have to go to a special bra/lingerie shop that specializes in products for large breasted women.

Your mother was shocked that you're so busty since she's on the smaller side. Your older brother, Rein, was so afraid that you'd be taken advantage of or find yourself in trouble with boys because of having big boobs at such a young age. He more of less big boob shamed you (which you learned after dating your boyfriend wasn't cool) and convinced you to wear larger/baggy shirts to hide the size of your boobs.

So for years you listened to your brother and wore larger shirts. Underneath your shirts you always had a strappy tank or a cami on over your bra, to work as an undershirt/barrier between your skin and the larger, baggy shirts you always wore.

One day, when you're in your senior year literature class, you feel like you're being watched. As if somebody's breathing down your neck. You look over your shoulder, trying to catch whoever’s staring you down in the act, only to see your classmate with his head buried in his book.

Coriolanus Snow.

You've known him since kindergarten. He's best friends with Sejanus Plinth. You're friends with both of them, but it's not like you hang out with them alot. Or actually it's not like you hang out with Coriolanus a lot. You hang out with Sej. In fact your mother encourages it. But you think that's cause his family's filthy rich.

You just brush off your feelings as silly, as being paranoid. The boy with a halo of light golden curls wasn't leering at you, he had his prominent nose in his copy of The Crucible. He was the top of your class; very serious and studious.

Of course he's engrossed in his book. The same book you and the rest of the class are reading.

It's about the Salem Witch Trials thousands of years ago in a New England colony of North America during the Pre-Panem times. The book's actually a screen play by a famous writer- Arthur Miller. Your teacher says that there's a film too; that once the class has finished reading the book, testing on it, and writing the thesis on it, then the class will watch the movie.

Oh, you can't wait for that.

You go back to reading your book, causing Coriolanus to let out a tiny breath he didn't even know he was holding. The top student was, in fact, staring at you like you hung the moon and stars. Truth be told, he stares at you in the few classes you share.

Coriolanus always sits behind you, looking at you longingly. He's known you for at least 12 years now, but it wasn't until this year that he realized he needs you.

Biblically!

Coriolanus is enthralled by you. There's just something about you, he can't quite put his finger on it, that makes his cock twitch and his balls tingle. His palms go sweaty and his mouth waters. He can't look at you without getting hard.

Hell, he's thankful for the godforsaken kilt that's apart of the Academy uniform otherwise he'd have visible wet spots (cum stains) on the crotch of his pants. Yes, he cums just by staring at you and fantasizing about all the things he wants to do with you.

God, how he wants to fuck your pussy for bad. You're such a smart, sweet girl and he's got a dark desire to fuck you dumb. He also wants to fuck your throat until your vocal chords are shit to hell. Damn, he wouldn't mind tearing up your ass either.

And of course, he wants to eat your cunt. He also wants to suck on your titties. Coriolanus will never admit it, but he's a boob guy. Bigger the boobiea the better.

But that's the only thing about you that puzzles him. Your boobs. He can't get a good estimate on their size by looking at you because you always wear baggy and loose shirts.

Coriolanus often imagined what your tits look like underneath your light blue uniform shirt. He hopes that one day he gets the chance to find out.

Almost being caught staring at you was what Coriolanus needed to give him the courage to approach you. He's been staring at you like a creep since Fall and it's now late Spring, so it's time to make his intentions known.

Coriolanus’ icy blue eyes look at you from over his book as he hatches a plan to get you to go out with him. He knows that you're friends with Sejanus and that the big bear of a boy has a crush on you, so he needs to make his move fast.

Maybe after class?

Yes, Coriolanus decides he'll approach you after class.

You're packing your stuff up in your Academy issued leather satchel whenever a shadow falls over you. You look at, curious to see who's casting a shadow over you, only to see Coriolanus’ tall form towering over you.

“Hi, Coriolanus.” You smile, closing your satchel.

“Please, Y/N, call me Coryo.” The handsome blonde boy insists with a smile.

“Okay, Coryo.” You agree to use the nickname while slinging the satchel over your shoulder. “So?...”

“I was wondering, my darling, if you, perhaps, would like to eat lunch with me?”

“Are you asking me out on a date to the mess hall for lunch?”

“Yes?” Coryo smiled, sounding nervous.

You thought it was so cute how Coriolanus Snow, who's usually so composed and confident, was a bundle of nerves asking you on a lunch date. His cheeks were flushed and the tips of his ears were pink.

“Okay, let's go.” You tell him, smiling happily.

And that's the moment that Coryo snagged you up as his girl.

You've been with Coryo for a couple of months now and the boy's eager to get into your panties. So eager that if he doesn't fuck you soon then he's going to explode and die. Well, not really just metaphorically, but still…If he doesn't get to stick his desperate over horny, pervy big cock into your tight virgin cunt he's going to lose his mind.

And it's not like his sanity's that stable to begin with. He's already a bit obsessive with you.

The 10th Hunger Games is fastly approaching and nobody really gives a shit. There's commercials for it on CapitolTV, but people’s grown bored of it. It'll be airing in about 3 weeks, starting with the reaping on July 4th.

And of course in your social studies class you're learning about the reason for the games- again. The Academy teaches it every year. It's overkill really. Of course, your teacher assigned a group project about the good of the games, blah blah blah. You could care less, but of course your boyfriend volunteers to be your partner for the project.

And he cares.

Not about the games, but the grade that the project on the good of the games can grant the two of you.

So, that's how you find yourself in your bedroom on your bed books scattered around and a poster board on the floor one afternoon after school. Your mother's staying the week with her boyfriend, trying to fuck and marry her way out of living paycheck to paycheck, so you're home alone with Coryo.

Which is why your project supplies are scattered all over and Coryo's got you in his lap, tongue shoved down your throat as he kisses you like a starving man that's just been given his first meal in years.

You've kissed Coryo before a few times since you've been dating, but nothing like this. Nothing were you're all alone with no one to interrupt you, where you have the freedom to maul each other's faces off while breathlessly melding your lips together and rocking your lower bodies together.

Coryo hasn't been able to cop a feel of your boobs yet, since you've never been alone for too long or always had the fear of somebody walking into the room on you. But now, since you've got your apartment all to yourselves for a few days, your boyfriend with the light golden blonde curls is finally able to fondle your tits. Unknown to him, you're very busty.

And unknown to you, Coryo's a simple man with simple tastes when it comes to a woman's body. He's a classic T&A man.

He loves himself some good old tits and ass. And the bigger the titties the better.

Coryo's mouth pulls away from yours, leaving a messy trail of spit hanging between your kiss swollen lips. As you pant, trying to catch your breath, your boyfriend's leaving sloppy open mouth kisses along your jawline and down your neck. You feel warmth pooling between your legs and let out a little mewl, but then your eyes go wide as you feel Coriolanus' large hands each grab at one of your large breasts.

Coryo smiled into the crook of your neck as he realizes that you're hiding some big ole boobies underneath your loose fitting uniform shirt. Fuck, he squeezes your big boobs again while lifting his head up. A wide, manic grin spreads over Coryo's face. “You're hiding some big titties under this baggy shirt, huh, baby?”

“Coryo…” You sigh, feeling a bit embarrassed, while trying to squirm away from him.

“What's wrong, Y/N?” Coryo asks, feeling a bit rejected as you try to push him away. “I thought we were having a good time fucking around?”

“We were but then…” You trail off, only to wave a hand in front of your big boobs.

Coriolanus’ brow knitted and his nose twitched slightly in disbelief. “What? You mean you're embarrassed that I grabbed your perfect, squeezable tits?”

“It's embarrassing to be 18 and have boobs bigger then some grown women, Coryo. It's-” You began to explain why you're self conscious about your big breath only for him to, oh so eloquently (not) interrupt you with, “That's bullshit, Y/N.”

You blinked at him, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

“I like titties; ass too, and believe me the bigger the better.” Your boyfriend, who’s usually so prim and proper, bluntly tells you.

“Yea?” You ask a bit thickly, feeling all of your nerves fluttering in your stomach like butterflies.

“Yea.” Coryo nods, a lopsided grin on his lush lips. “How ‘bout you show me what's underneath your shirt? Hmm?” He suggests, waggling his brows.

“Okay.” You nod, causing your boyfriend to quickly unbutton your shirt.

But as soon as he pushes your open shirt over your shoulders he's signing in frustration. Tilting his head and giving you a sideways look, he dryly asks, “Why're you wearing another shirt for?”

“I always wear a cami over my bra. It's a barrier between my skin and the loose fitting shirt; it also slims down the bulk of my boobs.” Was the explanation You gave your stumped boyfriend.

“Well, I don't think that you need to do that anymore, Y/N. And, darling, I also think that you need to wear shirts that actually fit you.” Coryo tells you his honest opinion while grabbing the hem of your strappy camisole, he pulls it up. You raised your arms, letting him pull it up over your head. Tossing it over his shoulder, he licked his lips as he saw your big boobs threatening to spill out of your bra. “Let's free these puppies, shall we, baby?” He rhetorically asked, icy eyes gleaming with joy.

You nod and unhook your bra for him. As soon as you finish taking off your simple, but supportive bra, your boyfriend's on you like a magnet. His hands are grabbing and jiggling your large breasts while he burries his face in your cleavage.

Coryo feels like he died and went to Elysium as he sucks and nips the the sides of your boobs, where your cleavage is. Oh gods, how he loves your big ol’ boobies. Being face first in them turns him on, makes him harder than he's ever been in his entire life.

Coryo pays your big breasts lots and lots of attention. He sucks, kisses, and nips them all over before alternating sucking and pinching your nipples. He massages, gropes, jiggles, and fondles your big tits. He even takes his shirt off and makes you ride his thigh while your chests are pressed together.

Fuck, he just loves the feel of your perfectly big titties.

You're laying on your bed, legs spread wide open as Coryo fucks you with just the tip of his cock. Because just the tip doesn't count. It's not real sex if it doesn't go all the way in.

At first the two of you agreed to mutual.masterbation sitting across from each other on your bed. But then with how horny and pervy your boyfriend is, that turned into you two practically inches away from each other with him saying that the tip of his cock would feel so good in your cunt. That you could rub your clit and get off while he could jack off and get off.

At first you were iffy about it, saying that you've never done anything like that before. But he assured you that if you didn't like it then he'd stop.

Well, as it turns out you really liked it and he didn't stop.

“Coryo, your tip feels so good.” You mewl, rubbing your clit as you were trying to satisfy that itch you needed to scratch, that tingling feeling twitching deep inside of your wet cunt.

“Fuck, baby.” Coryo half groaned, pumping his shaft while lightly thrusting the tip of his cock in and out of your juicy wet cunt. His large cock’s red and angry with arousal. If he doesn't fuck you, really fuck you balls deep, then he's going to go completely insane.

Not like he isn't already halfway to looney tunes town already, but still…

“Baby, please, just let me slide my cock all the way in. Let me fuck you; make us both feel so good.”

“But I don't have the birth control implant; were too young for an accident.”

“How bout after you cum I pull out and tittie fuck you; cum all over ‘em big ol’ titties I love.” Coryo suggested while bucking his hips a tiny bit harder; making his tip slide a little bit deeper into your slippery wet cunt. A cunt that wants to greedily suck his cock inside of her warm, wet depths.

“Okay.” You nod. “But you have to promise to pull out and cum my tits, Coryo.”

“I will, baby. I promise, I will “ Coryo quickly swears before slamming his hips into yours and sliding his cock past your barrier and into the tight, hot, wet canal of your virgin cunt.

Or should he say no longer virginal cunt. Just like his 8 inch cock's no longer a virgin cock. Oh, how he loves the fact that he's finally fucking you after so long.

Coryo, having never fucked anyone before (just his fist and he's desperately humped his pillow a few times while fantasizing about you too, but he'll never admit) was a bit jumpy and all over the place with his movements. His thrusts were uneven and all too buckled. You were feeling desperate for some kind of relief so you start canting your hips up, chasing your high. A high that you desperately need.

Your hips rising up to meet his grounded your boyfriend's thrusts, gave him a guide on how to pace himself. Well, how to pace himself as best as he could cause he still wasn't really slowing down or something out of his motions.

It's only his first time (yours too) so it's going to take a couple more times of exploring each other to get more comfortable with fucking. He's a horny teenager after all.

Seeing your big tits bouncing around as he fucking you desperately into the mattress had Coryo in a trance. Goddamn, how he loves watching your big boobies jiggling around. The sounds of them smacking against your skin was like music to his ears.

The platinum blonde with a halo of curls dipped his head down and began sucking on one of your nipples while squeezing and smacking your other boob with his large hand. His free forearm was bracing the mattress, keeping him balanced and upright as he frantically fucked you like a bitch in heat.

Oh god how your tight pussy felt so good around his cock. And playing with your big titties as he rutted against you was.the icing on the cake.

The feeling of his large cock sliding in and out of your cunt, slamming into your special spongy spot, paired with the feeling your his mouth and his hands on your boobs had you nearing your peek. One on your hands was on his shoulder, nails digging into the skin; sure to leave marke, while the other was between your legs rubbing your clit.

“I'm so close, Coryo.” You whine, causing him to pull his mouth off of your boob with a loud pop.

‘Let me play with your pussy, baby.” He tells you, batting your hand away from your pussy only to replace it with his own. As his thumb quickly rubs fast circles against your clit, he fucks you fast while ordering, “Fondle your titties for me, baby.”

So, as he continues to pound you fast and desperately, you play with your nipples and grab at your big boobs- just like Coryo told you too.

Suddenly, the feeling of everything’s too much and the dam breaks. White hot pleasure shoots thru you as you let out a mix of curses and Coryo's name.

Coriolanus groans as he feels you soak his dick. The feeling is heaven. It feels so good. He continues to fuck into you until your panting and coming down from your high, then he's quickly pulling out of you and scrambling to straddle your chest.

“Y/N, hold your tits together so I can fuck the space between them.” Your boyfriend instructs you, causing you to quickly do as you're told. He quickly positions his dick in your cleavage only to start bucking his hips back and forth.

A throaty moan fell from his throat as he held onto your headboard, looking down at the sight of his cock slipping between your big breasts. “Oh, fuck…that's so hot…” Coryo chokes out in a deep moan. He watched his cock slip in and out, in and out of the tight space you made for him between your perfect breasts by holding them together.

And suddenly, with a final thrust,.his balls are twitching and he's emptying out rope after rope of hot, thick, cum on your boobs.

You stop holding your boobs as Coryo carefully stops straddling your chest and takes his place next to you on the bed. You thought that he was going to reach over to grab some tissues from your bedside table, but he didn't. Instead, Coryo used his tongue to clean the thick, pearly cum off of your boobs.

Yes!

Your boyfriend's so obsessed with your big titties that he licked them clean.

That shocked you.

And then after your big boobies are clean, Coryo kisses you passionately. You can taste the slight saltiness of his cum on his tongue as he slips it into your mouth. It's a very erotic kiss, to say the least.

When you break apart for air, Coryo gives you a satisfied smirk. Pulling you into his chest as he lays back in your bed, he tells you, “That was perfect, baby.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tells you, “We need to get you some shirts that show off my beloved big boobies better. How can I go back to not seeing them on display after what we've just done?”

“I’ll talk to the Academy’s uniform department, get a couple of new shirts in my right size.” You tell Coryo, causing him to smile like a kid in a candy store.

Your project for your social studies class was half-assed and you had to skip your lunch period to work on it in the library since you spent the entire week meant to work on it fucking Coryo. But it all worked out. You and Coryo ended up getting an A+ on the project. You and Coryo also had lots of fun fucking each other and learning each other's bodies.

But one thing that never changed is how obsessed Coryo is about your large breasts. He's so obsessed with them that he'll just cuddle with you and rest his head on them. Something that freaks out your mutual friend, Sejanus Plinth, when he witnesses it at school during lunch and break periods.

But what can you can say? Coryo’s obsessed with your big boobs, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Especially when the mentoring project comes around…

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 47: Prince (pt1)

Malleus says at NRC he is not “the future king of they who follow darkness,” he is just a student. Azul also says they are equals at school, which is likely why no one but Sebek and Silver refer to him by any special honorifics.

We get occasional reminders of Malleus’ status throughout the game: when a chef ghosts tries to teach him how to crack eggs for just in case he wants to make sunny-side-up eggs for breakfast Malleus responds, “Me, prepare my own breakfast?…heh, you say the most amusing things. Would that such an occasion ever arise.”

Malleus says that in Briar Valley food was served to him the moment he sat down, so he never realized how much time and effort was required to make it. Malleus handles a knife for the first time during the Culinary Crucible.

Malleus seems eager to learn how to do things on his own, but those around him are reluctant to let him: he says a mentor (possibly Lilia) told him that he must be able to take care of himself and provided him with books that on how to go shopping and how to use washing machines.

Malleus says that he did a lot more for himself in his first two years at NRC before Sebek arrived, and tells Deuce about a time he tried handwashing his clothes in the kitchen when he was unable to find Diasomnia’s laundry room. Though he asked for directions to where the washing machines were, Diasomnia’s students insisted on washing his clothes for him instead.

Malleus still wants to do as the students do, however, and these days he will regularly use things like washing machines by going into the laundry room late at night or early in the morning when there is no one around to stop him.

Malleus says that he is now capable of using both washing machines and dryers.

[fictionalreads]

This Was Never Meant to Be What It Feels Like

A/N: Hey y'all! I'm not really a writer so this is my first time posting any writing here on Tumblr, but I'm apparently incapable of not thinking about Armando (*Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa plays in my head) so this kind of...happened. I figured I'd share ☺️ Also, I know Armando thinks Aretas is his dad in the movies but I changed it a bit.

Title is from Satisfaction by SiR (if you haven't heard it do yourself a favor and go listen)

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Original Female Character

Fandom: Bad Boys Movies

Prompt: Shay (OC) wants to get to know Armando better and figures her best bet is to ask when he's...relaxed.

Warnings ⚠️: Uh...complicated parental relationships. Talk of smut, but no actual smut.

“Tell me something.”

“Hm?”

Shay kept her focus on drawing invisible shapes on Armando’s shoulder with her finger. Her blue stiletto shaped nails going down almost to his elbow before finding its way back up to his collar bone. It was something she did often after they had sex and she knew it calmed him much like it was now. His breathing had slowed into something calmer than the frantic breaths of ten minutes ago when he was trying to catch his breath. The open window blew in a decent ocean breeze, adding to the peaceful feeling in her bedroom. She tried to play it cool, like she wasn’t disturbing the moment, wasn’t asking him to do the one thing she knew he hated - opening up.

Shay had been seeing Armando for about three months now, and she knew next to nothing about the man. She knew it was a red flag, hell she knew he probably wasn’t a law abiding citizen, but she couldn’t help it. 

There was something so magnetizing, so sensual about his presence. He commanded attention even though she got the feeling he wanted nothing more than to blend in and be lowkey. She couldn’t help but notice the way he held himself, the way he spoke and moved with the confidence of a man who was sure of himself. Don’t get her started on the way he smelled - it was divine and pure man.

The point was basically this - he was a ten but he refused to tell her more about himself.

Shay was determined to get to know him better, because despite playing things close to his chest, she was in love with him. She didn’t know his last name, but she knew he would bring her flowers and food if she was having a bad day just to make her smile. She didn’t know what he did for a living - honestly, part of her was glad for this if it was illegal as she was imagining. Plausible deniability. - but she knew if she needed him to, he would fix anything she needed him to or at least find someone who could. She didn’t know what his crucible entailed that made him like this, but she knew he loved her like she was something precious.

So she was taking the risk that this would blow up in her face. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” She kissed his chest, like she was softening the blow of the question. Not that she needed to, it was an open ended question on purpose. The more freedom she gave about the topic, the more likely he was to answer.

He gently shifted her to the pillow as he lifted himself on his elbow, facing her with a suspicious look on his face. “Like what?” God, what she wouldn’t give to take whatever hurt that made him so distrustful of her just wanting to know him away. Who had betrayed him? Who took advantage of his trust and made him so wary of genuine love?

She thought over her answer, a million topics coming to mind but needing to pick one that wouldn’t have him shutting down immediately. Armando had let the conversation start but he could end it if she said the wrong thing.

“Your family.” She could feel him pulling away as if it was physically happening so she quickly explained her choice. “Did you grow up with siblings? Are your parents married?” Bare minimum. 

It seemed to have worked he looked at her as if debating what to say, if anything, before laying back down and staring at the ceiling. The relaxed man that was in her bed mere minutes ago, gone. Now he was tense, as if ready for a fight. She slowly and obviously resumed her previous position on his chest, giving him time to tell her no if he needed the space. Her nails went back to their drawings in the hopes of calming him enough to talk. He took a breath before, “I grew up an only child. My mom was my world, she taught me everything I knew.”

Her nails stopped moving. “Was?” It was the word that caught the most of her attention out of everything he just said.

“She passed away a few years ago.” His face was blank, as if he was just stating a fact of life rather than talking about the death of the person that raised him and whom he clearly loved.

Shay rubbed the shoulder she wasn’t laying on in an effort to comfort him.“I’m sorry to hear that.” Armando shrugged it off but she could tell it still hurt him. “What about your dad?”

“Our relationship is…complicated at best. He wasn’t around for most of my life. We were introduced a few months before my mom died. I didn’t even know who he was to me until my mom told me on her deathbed.” 

“You never asked your mom about him before?”

“If there was one thing I knew about my father growing up, it was that my mom hated him. She always told me that he left us behind and didn’t look back at all. As a kid I was curious but as I got older, I started to hate him too. I mean he was supposed to love my mom, and he turned on her and left me behind like I was trash. Fuck ‘im. Now I know it wasn’t so black and white.”

“How so?”

“The few times my mom spoke about him, she always heavily implied that he knew she was pregnant with me and left anyway. Looking back, she never said the words. When I confronted my father about it, he said they were a doomed couple that wasn’t ever going to last. They were both too selfish. Said he didn’t even know she had been pregnant until we met.”

“Sounds like he cares. I mean if he knew do you think he would have been around?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind he would have been there, raised me. I know he loves me, that he just wants what’s best for me, but I’m just having a hard time accepting it. I spent so much time hating him that reconciling this truth with this perception I’ve always had of him is hard.”

“Not to mention it means confronting that you didn’t know your mom as well as you thought you did. The woman she was to you isn’t the woman she was to others.”

“And she’s not here to explain it, which just makes me mad all over again. He’s usually the target of my anger.”

“Makes sense to me.” She shrugged in response to his questioning look. “He’s here. Add in the fact that he wasn’t there for so long its easy to blame him for a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Like a flip had been switched, he once again moves her onto the bed and hovers over her.

“Enough about them. Talking is not exactly what I had in mind for us tonight,” he pleads. 

She could see the desperation and fear in his eyes. She had a feeling that being that honest with her scared him. He wasn’t exactly the vulnerable type and telling her all this put him on display in the most raw way, an unknown for him. It also meant he had to be honest with himself about he felt, something she didn’t think happened a lot. He wanted to escape the real hurt he was feeling about it all, he didn’t want to face what the truth might mean for his memory of his mother. If a reprieve is what he needed, she could do that for him. She would do that for him.

She bit her bottom lip, looking at him through her lashes, feeling herself get wet at his suggestive tone and slight touches. “What did you have in mind?”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The next morning she woke up alone, his side of the bed cold. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence as he often left before she woke. She was used to him leaving and coming back randomly, sometimes being gone for days. After their conversation and the way he seemed to just need her last night, she figured this was coming. Something told her him leaving was different this time, that she had pushed him too far. She had the sickening feeling that he wasn’t coming back.

Round two had been fast and rough, needy in a way. Round three had been teasing and playful, like he was apologizing for being so rough before. Round four was…slow and passionate, reverent almost.

It felt like a goodbye.

A/N: 🫣So how'd I do? Let me know in the comments. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! OH AND HOW SHOULD I TAG THIS?! Anything I should add to get more people to see it?

Part 2 Part 3

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Tell You The Truth, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.9K

Summary: She's been dating Rafe for a week and Y/N can't help but notice the way all men on campus seem to be avoiding her.

Masterlist

It’s been a week since Rafe and Y/N started dating and she has noticed something strange happening around campus. Everywhere she went, men would keep a distance from her as if she put on men's repellent every morning. She can’t seem to figure out why. 

She was running a little late for class because Rafe was enjoying being wrapped up in her embrace as he napped, so as she entered her lecture, there were very few places to sit. There is one seat wedge in the far right at the back of the class. It is between two boys, but she has no choice because she doesn’t want to interrupt the class by going to the front. She apologizes as she makes her through the row. Her bag swings off of her shoulder and she makes sure she doesn’t hit anyone by accident. As soon as she is settled in the seat, her neighbours on both sides look over at her and panic seems to pass through both of them. She thinks nothing of it, continuing to get her things out of her bag. Almost simultaneously, both boys get up from their seats and move to the front of the class, leaving Y/N confused as to what happened. She puts her nose near her armpits and she doesn’t smell bad, so she doesn’t know why they would leave. The professor begins the lecture and she shakes it off. 

———

After class, she decides to go to Starbucks to get Rafe his coffee and a snack for herself. She walks into the store, waiting in line for her turn. The man behind the counter works pretty fast and the line dwindles in a matter of two minutes. Y/N is waiting patiently for her turn. The customer in front of her moves out of the way and allows the cashier to see Y/N. He holds up a finger to her, disappearing to the back. A female employee comes out to take Y/N’s order. He must have gone on break she thinks to herself, but as she waits for her items, she notices the male cashier returns as soon as she is helped. Odd. She also can’t help but notice how a male employee makes her drink, yet another female one hands Y/N her stuff. 

———

The next day, Y/N is in the campus library, looking for a book for class. Her eyes skim the different plays, but she doesn’t see the one she needs. Needing to head to class soon, she approaches one of the student workers for help. “Excuse me, could you help me find The Crucible, please?” she calls out to him. He continues to push the return cart, not turning in her direction. He must not have heard her. She tries to catch his attention again and is ignored again. Maybe, he is deaf, so she runs in front of him to visually catch his attention. When her body crosses in front of the cart, he looks at her quickly and heads in the other direction, leaving his cart behind. Her blood boils. He is clearly avoiding her like all the other men on campus and she is tired of wondering why. 

She runs after him, gently grabbing his arm to turn him to her. “I know you heard and saw me so why didn’t you stop to help?” she scolds. A dark look crosses her eyes while a scared one appears in his. He scrambles away from her, almost tripping over himself. “I-I shouldn’t be talking to you. Ask your boyfriend,” he stutters as he runs to his cart. Her arms rise and fall to her side. This is all so frustrating. What could Rafe have possibly done now?

———

Her class finishes early, so she decides to go to Rafe’s room like she has been doing for the past week. This time, however, she has a bone to pick with him. Rafe sits on a beanbag with Topper beside him. They are both focused on the game of Call of Duty on the TV screen. “Hey, Angel. How was your day?” he asks, pulling his attention to Y/N while Topper just nods to acknowledge her and goes back to playing. Rafe can see the annoyance in her eyes and pauses the game, much to Topper’s dismay. “What’s wrong?” he worries, rushing to her side. She steps out of his touch, “How come when I asked the librarian why he ignored me, he said to ask you?” Topper knows where this conversation is going and stands up. “I just remembered I need to write an essay.” The couple waits for him to leave the room before continuing the conversation. 

“I don’t want anyone else telling you lies. So let me tell you the truth, Angel,” he says. She gives him a motion to go on. “I may have made a campus-wide announcement that if any guy bothers you, they would have to deal with me. I guess people are taking it seriously.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Of course, they took it seriously. You’re Rafe Cameron. The last time you made a school-wide decree you put someone in the hospital.” Rafe nods, thinking back to that night. “Right, that may not have been my best moment. But I promise, Angel, I just told them not to hurt you. I didn’t say to avoid you like a pariah. They must have gotten the wrong idea,” he guesses. She takes his hand in hers, “Well, you have to fix this. It makes me think something is wrong with me when guys randomly switch seats just because I sit next to them.” “I will. By the end of tomorrow, everyone will treat you normally,” he promises while kissing her temple. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[dainix-suggestions]

hi dainix. on a scale from one to ten much much does tearing into a rotisserie chicken with nothing but your bare hands sound rn

I wasn't able to eat the bug I was roasting so dare I say splendid

[pickingupmymercedes]

Let's get out of here - Lewis Hamilton

Part 2 to Get me out of here

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Angst, Lewis to Ferrari, Toto being an ass.

wordcount: +2k

a/n: Another gp weekend, another angsty. Again, thanks for the anon that sent the request in the first place.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Weeks morphed into a tense purgatory. Contact with Toto was reduced to terse, impersonal emails about meetings and business matters, each one a fresh stab of betrayal. Inside, you were a battlefield. The dream job you'd meticulously carved out felt poisoned. Disappearing into thin air held a morbid allure, but the media frenzy that followed every fleeting glimpse of you in London mocked that escape route. The rumor mill churned like a deranged engine, fueled by your forced seclusion.

Lewis, ever the optimist, became a whirlwind of distractions. Romantic getaways felt like empty gestures, movie nights a pale imitation of your usual comfortable silences. He understood, his unwavering gaze holding a silent question you couldn't answer. He knew you bore the weight of the accusation, a shield for someone who didn't deserve it.

The first Grand Prix in Qatar became a crucible. Fans, poisoned by internet speculation, mobbed you outside the circuit, their questions laced with accusation. You forced a pained smile, the words of denial a lump in your throat.

The harassment continued inside the hallowed grounds of the garage. A senior Mercedes director, his face a mask of grim disapproval, cornered you. "Why?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth. "Why betray the team like that?"

"It wasn't me," you blurted, the denial instinctive. But the truth, a tangled web, wouldn't unravel without ensnaring Toto. Seeing your hesitation, the director scoffed, leaving you mid-sentence with a dismissive shake of his head.

Fury welled within you, choked back by the ever-present weight of your secret. Lewis, having witnessed the exchange, rushed to your side, his face a mask of thunder. He didn't waste time confronting the dismissive director. Instead, he grabbed your arm gently but firmly, his grip conveying a silent message of support.

"Come on," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Let's get out of here."

Without another word, he led you away from the accusatory stares and hushed whispers that seemed to cling to you like a second skin. You found yourselves in the familiar haven of his driver's room, the door shutting out the noise and tension of the garage.

Lewis turned to you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and concern. He reached out, cupping your face in his warm hands. "Y/n" he began, his voice thick with emotion, "we can't keep doing this. You can't keep taking the blame for something that isn't your fault."

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You leaned into his touch, finding solace in his unwavering belief.

"I know," you choked out, your voice strained. "But what else can I do? If I expose Toto, it will tear the team apart."

Lewis sighed, his frustration evident. "He shouldn't have put you in this position in the first place. This whole thing is unfair to you. You deserve better."

He looked at you intensely, his eyes searching yours. "There has to be another way" he said, his voice firm. "We just need to find it."

You clung to that sliver of hope. Lewis was right. There had to be a way out of this labyrinth of lies and betrayal. But what was it? You felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Noticing your despair, Lewis softened his tone. "Let's not make any rash decisions right now" his voice gentle. "We'll figure this out, together. You're not going through this alone."

A single tear escaped your eye and traced a warm path down your cheek. You nodded, a silent thank you for his unwavering support. Lewis was right. You weren't alone. And somewhere, buried beneath the fear and anger, a flicker of determination ignited. You wouldn't let this break you.

The following days were a whirlwind of forced smiles and practiced indifference. The media camped outside your hotel, their cameras flashing like hungry eyes in the night. Evenings were spent with Lewis, his presence a comfort, but the unspoken question in his eyes gnawed at your conscience.

Two weeks later, the Australian Grand Prix loomed. The oppressive Melbourne heat felt almost suffocating compared to the media storm that had followed you all the way from Qatar. Every interaction felt laced with suspicion, every headline a fresh jab of accusation.

You knew you couldn't keep going like this. The anger towards Toto simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of his betrayal. But the thought of exposing him, of fracturing the team that felt like a second family, was equally agonizing.

Lewis, ever the pillar of support, sensed your internal turmoil. "You can't stay silent forever." he kept saying to you, his brow always furrowed in concern.

His words rang true. You couldn't. But confronting Toto directly felt like a declaration of war.

“I know, but simply denying won’t do it” you’d tell him over and over.

A desperate idea flickered to life on the media sessions of Thursday. Susie. Maybe, just maybe, she could be the bridge you needed.

Ignoring the knot of apprehension in your stomach, unknowingly to Lewis, you made your way to her hotel room. Surprised but welcoming, she ushered you in. With a shaky breath, you poured out your heart, the accusations and the weight of the lie that threatened to crush you.

"I can't do this anymore, Susie," you finished, your voice tight with emotion. "I can't keep taking the blame for something I didn't do. Something has to change."

Susie listened intently, her face a mask of understanding. She'd seen the relentless media reports, the accusatory whispers that swirled around you. You weren't the first woman in Formula One to be unfairly targeted, and Susie knew that sting all too well.

"I can only imagine how hard this has been for you" she said softly, placing a comforting hand on yours. "Being a woman in this sport, you learn to navigate a constant storm of doubt. But this…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

A sliver of hope flickered in your chest. Maybe she could reason with Toto, maybe she could make him understand the damage he'd caused.

"Can you talk to him?" you pleaded. "Make him see what he's doing? I can't stay if this continues."

Susie's gaze softened, filled with empathy but also a flicker of helplessness. "I wish it were that simple, love" she said. "You know Toto. He's stubborn, fiercely loyal to Mercedes. Interfering in something like this… it wouldn't be helpful."

Disappointment washed over you, heavy and cold. You had clung to a fragile hope, only to have it dashed.

Susie squeezed your hand. "This isn't over" she said firmly. "We'll figure something out. But you can't leave Mercedes out of impulse. You've built a career here, a reputation. Leaving now, under these circumstances, might just play into the narrative everyone's already creating."

Her words were a bitter pill to swallow, but they held a truth you couldn't deny. You couldn't let the rumors win, not completely. But staying meant navigating a minefield, waiting for the right opportunity to clear your name.

You tried clinging to a semblance of normalcy within the familiar routine of practice sessions and driver briefings the following days. Lewis tried to keep the outside world at bay, but the tension crackled in the air between you.

On Sunday morning, just as dawn was painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Lewis woke you with a frantic shake. "Babe, there's something in the news" he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

He fumbled with his phone; his brow furrowed as he scanned the article. You sat up, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight.

"A source close to Mercedes " Lewis started, his voice catching, "came forward to a British newspaper." He took a deep breath before continuing, "The leak… it was Toto."

The anger flared, hot and sharp. "Do you want to call him?" Lewis offered, his hand hovering over his phone, but you stopped him.

A strangled gasp escaped your lips. Relief, anger, and disbelief warred within you. The truth, finally, but at what cost?

"They say he didn't intend for you to take the blame," Lewis continued, his voice low and grim. "But he didn't exactly try to correct it either."

"No" your voice surprisingly steady. "Not now. Let him stew in his mess for a while."

The race that day was a chaotic spectacle. Both Mercedes cars, Lewis' included, DNFed. The silence that descended on the pit wall was deafening, broken only by the crackle of engineers scrambling for answers. You watched it all unfold with a detached numbness. The disappointment and the bewilderment of the entire team, felt like distant echoes compared to the storm raging within you.

News of Toto's betrayal had sent shockwaves through the paddock. Reporters swarmed the Mercedes hospitality area, a feeding frenzy of speculation and accusations. The team, caught completely off guard, retreated behind a wall of stoic silence.

As the post-race celebrations erupted for the other teams, you found yourself isolated. The jubilant atmosphere felt mocking, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. The media, starved of official statements, descended on you like a swarm of angry hornets.

"Did you already know it had been Toto?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in your face.

"Do you believe he should face repercussions?" another chimed in, his voice laced with a hostile edge.

You held their gaze, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I have no comment on Mr. Wolff's actions," you said, your words ringing with a newfound resolve. "But, I'm here to stay. My future in Formula One is mine to write."

The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a declaration. You wouldn't be a victim. You wouldn't let Toto, or anyone else, control your narrative. A strange mix of emotions churned within you – relief, anger, and a simmering resentment that threatened to boil over. You knew you couldn't let it fester. You needed closure, not just for yourself, but for your future.

With a steely resolve, you knocked at Toto's open door, the familiar space now tainted by a sense of betrayal. He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before morphing into a mask of guarded indifference, although his jaw remained clenched. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Why, Toto?" You finally asked, your voice laced with a quiet fury. "Why did you throw me under the bus?"

He sighed, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes for a fleeting moment. "It was never meant to be you," he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

"But it was," you shot back, your voice rising slightly. "The media frenzy, the accusations, the looks in the paddock… it was all me, taking the blame for your mistake."

Shame flickered across Toto's face, quickly replaced by a defensiveness that grated on your nerves. "It was a calculated risk," he said, his voice regaining its usual authority. "A risk that ultimately backfired."

"A risk that nearly destroyed my career," you corrected him, your voice firm. "Do you have any idea what these past weeks have been like?"

"I deserve the truth, Toto," you continued "Why did you do it?"

He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low, his eyes unable to meet your gaze. "There were… external pressures. Sponsors, the board… they were unhappy with the results, and then losing Lewis. We needed a scapegoat."

"So, you chose me" you stated.

He remained silent, his shame a palpable presence in the room. You didn't need his answer. It was clear. You had been expendable, a pawn sacrificed in the high-stakes game of F1.

Taking a deep breath, you forced down the pain. There was no point in a screaming match. You needed a clean break, a chance to rebuild your career on your own terms, your time at Mercedes was over. The betrayal had severed the trust, leaving behind a cliff that no apology could bridge.

"Consider this my resignation." you said, your voice ringing with finality. "I won't be a pawn in your games."

His eyes widened in surprise, but there was something else there too – a grudging respect, perhaps, for your strength.

"You're making a mistake," he said, his voice softer now.

You shook your head. "No. I'm finally making the right decision."

You turned to leave, the weight of the past weeks lifting from your shoulders with each step. There would be challenges ahead, the uncertainty of finding a new team, the whispers that would likely follow you. But you were free. Free from the stifling loyalty to someone that didn't value you.

Later that evening, back at the hotel, you finally found Lewis in a tense silence. The weight of the day, the double-edged sword of vindication and betrayal, pressed down on you both. You offered him a tired smile. "There's a lot to unpack," you said, your voice raspy.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth a comforting presence. You leaned into him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos, Lewis' unwavering support was the only thing that felt certain.

Realization dawned on Lewis' face. "You think Susie had something to do with it."

Taking a deep breath, you started "A couple of days ago, I talked to Susie."

Lewis listened intently, surprised by what you had just said "I thought maybe, just maybe, she could talk to Toto, reason with him."

You shrugged, a hint of a sly smile playing on your lips. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. But one thing's clear," you met Lewis' gaze, your eyes filled with newfound resolve, "Being at Mercedes today felt tainted.” You breathed out “I resigned. It’s time for me to find my own home."

Lewis' face softened, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He squeezed your hand. "Wherever you go," he said, his voice filled with unwavering support, "I'll be with you."

You looked at him, his gaze a promise and a comfort. You smiled, a genuine one this time. You would rebuild your reputation, stronger and more resilient than before. The leak might have been Toto's fault, but your comeback, that would be a story entirely of your own making.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[autumnslance]

G'raha's Leadership in the Final Days

Finally got PunchyCat to the Final Days, and while we often speak to the big cutscene where G'raha "goes into Exarch mode" and takes command in the chaos, before that he and the WoL run around Radz-at-Han investigating the Blasphemy, and even there, G'raha's many years as Exarch really show through in how he interacts with the traumatized and terrified people.

Rahdvira: Sisters have mercy, what is happening to the world!? What am I to do…? Is nowhere safe!? G'raha Tia: Settle down, friend. The danger has passed…at least for now. If it's not too painful to remember, could you tell us what you saw?

and at the end of the man's tale:

G'raha Tia: That is enough, my good man. You were brave to share with us your tale. Many of your fellow merchants are safe. The High Crucible, too, has survived mostly unscathed. Pray stay close to your friends and loved ones, and rest your body and mind while you are able. G'raha Tia: I suspect that is the most we can expect the people here to tell us. I think it best we find a place outside the bazaar where we might rest and review our findings.

Choosing to Speak with G'raha...

G'raha Tia: It might distress those still traumatized by the incident to discuss what we've learned within earshot…

He also remembers the details of how WoL knew Khalzahl (thanks to that great memory of his, hearing the reports of the first trip to Thavnair). As Mihleel is shaken by remembering the terror erupting at her tables, however...

G'raha Tia: Forgive me. I would not have you recall the memory if it brings you pain. If I could, I would ask just one more thing.

After getting directions to Khalzahl's neighborhood, WoL and G'raha question an older woman:

Mahti: I don't travel much these days, but my daughter's told me not to venture outside. Stuck in here as I am, I've heard little about these bizarre goings-on. G'raha Tia: Rest assured, the city is safe for now, but the situation may change without warning. G'raha Tia: I urge you: stay close to your daughter, and be prepared to take refuge should the satrap order it. Mahti: Yes, I shall do just that. Thank you for your concern, and pray stay safe as well.

And then the sleepy Arkasodara down the street:

Parigha: Hmmm…? Could you come back another time? I just woke up, and I'm not exactly in the mood for idle chitchat. G'raha Tia: Well, that's one way to avoid the panic, I suppose… G'raha Tia: Pardon our intrusion. You may not have noticed, but a great danger has come to Thavnair. I encourage you to stay alert, and prepare to flee the city should the situation turn dire. G'raha Tia: But before we leave you in peace…pray allow us to ask a question or two.

And finally, when dealing with Djinabaha at Ruveydah Fibers, helping the employees pack things away before he'd even talk, G'raha finishes with this as we go on to the next quest (and Ahewann's fate).

G'raha Tia: My friend, we must take our leave. I pray that your establishment is spared further tragedy. But remember: your lives are far more precious than any wares. If you are ordered to flee, do so without hesitation. Djinabaha: Indeed… I thank you for your concern, and pray you two take care as well.

G'raha knows how to talk to people shaken by disaster, calming and reassuring, and giving them clear advice and action to take to keep themselves safe. It's a handy precursor to his taking command in the next cutscene, reminding us that he is, unfortunately, all too familiar with events similar to these, and this steadiness, thoughtfulness, and concern comes from too many years of practice.

[keeksandgigz]

thinking about eddie and witchy as it comes closer and closer to halloween

He's totally the type to start decorating for Halloween as soon as September hits. He goes around every Spirit Halloween in town to decorate his apartment and the record store (there's also no Spirit Halloween in Hawkins, so it's been his new obsession since he's moved to San Francisco). His house looks like Beetlejuice vomited in there.

He picks up a really ugly witch caricature on a broom "Look, it's you" he laughs wholeheartedly, but the sour expression on your face as you crumble the little statue in his hands to dust seems to find his joke anything but funny.

You don't get it. You don't understand the mainstream aspect of Halloween, but it's the time of year where you feel the most powerful, the most active (Eddie is aware because his dick has not known and will not know peace until October 31st has passed- not that he's complaining). Your house is full of altars to honor your departed family, and you're much more active in your practices, as Eddie sees you cleansing your home every night after you come home.

Since you could remember, the night of Halloween is sacred. You retire with your coven up into the mountains, for three days- which Eddie was really sad about, since he wanted to spend the evening watching scary movies and passing out candy- to celebrate the witches' new year. Those three days are used to celebrate ancestral magic and honor the dead, eating dinners in silence and lighting torches for the dead.

Despite the terrible news that he was given, Eddie was extremely curious about your Halloween weekend.

"So what, do you just dance naked around a fire? And if you do can you please send me a video" he begs, as you roll your eyes.

"It's not the Crucible, Ed" you retort, getting closer to his ear "But we do have a pool of moon water we swim in before we come back" you whisper, and you swear there's the deepest tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"Does your coven rent this place out? Like an Airbnb kinda thing? Asking for a friend" you see him swallow a lump in his throat. You just hit him in the shoulder and laugh.

whew i miss them

[space-blue]

SOTE rant (1)

One thing that I find very annoying, is the propensity for Lore video makers to completely jump on the DLC and analyse it in a void. Everyone is theory crafting like the base game doesn't exist anymore.

Everyone is taking Miquella's approach as the go to for divinity 101 and acting like only the people name dropped in the DLC matter, except for Radagon, who is very important, despite NEVER being named, ANYWHERE in the SOTE game files.

Oh no, excuse me, he's named ONCE in a delete dialogue (unless he speaks during battle but I was under the impression that he never does?) from Radahn:

Yet everyone is out there saying Marika used the gate to make herself a god and created Radagon in the process. And that he was created that way as her lord, and then immediately fathered Messmer and Melina.

But I... kind of don't see it? Why would SHE need to use a special vessel ritual like everyone is theorizing?

She already has a sworn lord : Godfrey.

Why is everyone making these Marika centric lore videos and never dropping the names of key characters?

Godfrey. Serosh. Maliketh. Why is nobody asking themselves WHEN did Marika get granted her "brother" Maliketh by the three fingers? Why is nobody making speculation on whether she had a pact with Hoarah Loux before becoming a god.

He could very well be the vessel needed. He doesn't need to have his soul separated from a body or any such nonsense. That's what Miquella ended up doing because he had no choice if he wanted to use Radahn.

Here is what we know of Godfrey :

Godfrey was a ferocious warrior. When he vowed to become a lord, he took the Beast Regent Serosh upon on his back to suppress the ceaseless lust for battle that raged within. The first demigods were The Elden Lord Godfrey and his offspring, the golden lineage. Crown of Godfrey, the first Elden Lord. The age of the Erdtree began amongst conflict, when Godfrey was lord of the battlefield. He led the War against the Giants. Faced the Storm Lord, alone. And then, there came a moment. When his last worthy enemy fell. And it was then, as the story is told, that the hue of Lord Godfrey's eyes faded. Helm of the Crucible Knights who served Godfrey, the first Elden Lord. Weapon of Godfrey, Elden Lord. It was broken in a battle fought as leader of the Tarnished during the Long March. This weapon is symbolic of Godfrey's vow to conduct himself as a lord, later becoming an emblem of the golden lineage. In the days of the past, a crown was warranted with strength.

The first demigods were The Elden Lord Godfrey and his offspring, the golden lineage.

This line either means that the voice of the game is lying, wrong, or not knowledgeable enough. Or that Messmer is not a demigod, or that Messmer is the son of Godfrey.

And while he does have red hair, he is cursed with a red flame... And his little sister, Melina, doesn't have the distinctive red hair of Radagon's children. She's also not a demigod as far as we know.

Messmer and Melina are named M like Mohg and Morgott! We have plenty of hints that they could be Godfrey's children, first and foremost being the canon base game text asserting all demigods first descended from him. We simply don't know otherwise.

It's also asserting he was the first Elden Lord, and not second or a later addition.

There's also his vow to conduct himself as a Lord, which seems like something he might have done prior to Marika making him Lord.

The beast depicted is Serosh, aged counselor who guides the golden lineage. The black nails protruding from golden fur are said to represent Serosh, Lord of Beasts, who went to become King Godfrey's Regent.

Serosh is very mysterious, and we just know he's some sort of limiter. I've made plenty of posts arguing for Maliketh and Serosh being the same type of beasts from the same global origins.

Beasts are reverred by the Hornsent! Our first boss is their storm beast guys, and the head looks quite similar to Serosh. Who, BTW, is also a spirit form?? Who turns real on command?

All this to say, it doesn't sound impossible at all, to me, that Marika would have come to the gate of divinity already having a lord lined up -- Godfrey -- and counsellors giving advice on how to execute her plan : Serosh and Metyr mother of fingers.

I assume it would be in Metyr's power to grand Marika her (necessary?) Shadowbound beast.

Isn't it interesting that Maliketh is a Shadowbound Beast? In our Shadow Realm DLC? He's never mentioned in the files, sadly.

But all of these people are key to Marika's ascension. I wish people would think about them more when they do their lore videos and not just roll right into creating Radagon out of thin air.

What bothers me most about the secret rite here, is that it says "the secret rite of the divine gateway", like THE rite, not A rite. It could be THE other one is not secret...

But more importantly, the line "usher in a god's return" just really does not fit EITHER of Miquella OR Marika. Neither of them is returning!! Maybe the God of Placidussax would be returning, but both Marika and Miquella are/try to ascend for the first time.

Miquella is also the only one with anyLord shennanigans we know of for sure.

I think Miquella divests himself of everything in order to comply with this ritual. So he has something to "return to". He sheds everything, so that he can pass through the gateway. But he's returning to an Empyrean's birthright. To a demi-god.

But we don't know that this is something Marika would have needed. We don't know that she used this specific ritual. After all, circumstances are VERY different for her :

The Gate of Divinity is fresh and bloody, implying a recent mass sacrifice. And then she plucks Gold from a corpse or receptacle of some sort.

None of this is depicted in Miquella's return, and he's not trying to emulate his mother, because her way of doing things came with a curse loaded "original sin". So we even have reason to believe Miquella would not actually be replicating the same ritual.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Celebrating Ramadan With Ace and Deuce

Platonic Ace x muslim!fem!reader x Deuce

Masterlist

First of all these boys would be so accommodating with you if you’re a muslim

They’d try to learn as much as they could about your religion either from you or asking a few Scarabian students.

They’d even ask the Scarabian students for things like lunar calendars or tasbihs or travelling prayer mats in case you need one 

They do their best to make sure you’re comfortable if you’re the type that has issues being too close with the opposite gender, always making sure to keep a respectable distance between you and ensuring that the rest of the student body do the same

If you want to pray, they’d just wordlessly use their bags as your sutrah and basically be your bodyguards until you’re done 

Also, for the hijabi girlies, they’d be so respectful. If your hair starts to show they’d avert their eyes quicker than you could blink and inform you. If anyone bothers you or looks at you in a way that you’re not comfortable with, they’d be decked onto the floor in a flash.

You bet they would have a few spare hijab pins or carry an extra shawl in case of emergencies 

Anyway, back to Ramadan

So when you tell them about fasting, they’d first get all shocked. Poor Deuce is besides himself thinking that you’ll be starving yourself for a whole month before you elaborate on how it’s just from sunrise to sunset and then explain the spiritual significance for it. 

Not going to lie, these guys are so the type to be like “you can’t even drink water?? 🙃”

They’re both super proud of you and are just in constant awe of your strength 

I feel like they’d want to do it with you as a show of unity, and to help you with your homesickness, but since they’re both athletes (especially with Deuce being in such a high stamina/adrenaline sport like Track and Field), you suggest that they start with half fasts to ease themselves into it

(also props to everyone that still works out during fasting hours - you’re all incredible and absolute superheroes. My mum goes to the gym practically every morning and I’m still amazed every time.)

Also, when you’re doing your make up fasts to compensate for the ones you missed due to mother nature, you bet they’ll be right by your side fasting with you

I bet Deuce would feel genuinely offended if someone ate in front of you. Like he’d just stare at someone as if they’re smuggling contraband instead of just munching on their sandwich.

They make sure to do as much as you can so you could rest as much as possible. They set the table for iftar and suhoor (they even get up before you and wake you up), and do the cleaning up whilst you go to pray

Food usually comes from Sam’s shop or Trey (I don’t remember how they were during the culinary crucible but I really wouldn’t want those two in my kitchen before iftar whilst I’m fasting)

They’re always carrying your bag/things and practically never leave your side. Ramshackle is practically their second home at this point.

They love to learn more about your practices, especially traditions that you would do back home and you feel so loved to share that with them. You even teach them arabic (which ends with you getting a stern talking to from Jamil when Ace practices your lessons during basketball club)

Having a henna night with them would be so fun, just listening to nasheeds as you apply henna to both yourself and your best friends (who would take it so seriously and make such a noticeable effort to stay completely still until it dries and it’s both endearing and hilarious)

Okay but one time my sister fell asleep on her hand with henna on it and she woke up the next morning with a faded orange matching pattern on her cheek and that totally happens to Ace

They would totally (with Scarabia’s help) decorate Ramshackle with lights and lanterns to make it all festive

Just the two of them acting as your family in this strange new world 💛