#sometimes people need to ask themselves does this need to be made? does this story need to be continued?

[cannibalcreeps]

have you seen the hills have eyes 2? If you have, what do you think of the mutant who helps the protagonists? I think it's very cute, like when he plays with the military's keys 😭🥺 he just want to help

I haven't watched it fully no, mostly cause I'm just not up for watching disappointing sequels atm and also don't want deal with the beginning of the movie just yet.

I already know a lot about it as I've read, watched and heard everything about the film and the comics (which I despise and wont take into lore) (watched as in scene snippets) THHE 2 is treated like WT7, it doesn't exist for me, simply cause of how poorly written and executed it is with story and character.

Hansel is cute in design, but I wished he was handled better, when I first saw pictures of him I had hopes he was maybe a scholar type that had the misfortune of being born in the wrong, horrid family and does his best to help as long as he doesn't get caught, but was sourly shown that is not at all what he's like and he's more an odd mashup of Pluto and Ruby. (Being Pluto-like personality but Ruby's compassion, if you could call it that)

Big reason I have a disdain for it is I've seen (and heard) it feels like they grabbed Lizard, split him into multiple men, made them bigger and stupider and went "this is a THHE horror movie"

There is a lot I could get into about it, eventually I'll watch it fully but when I do I am sure there will be even more to say.

[cripplecharacters]

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust. 

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries.  You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hello!

How do you leave a good comment on a work when you notice a large error? Or a small error,m I get so nervous to leave a comment nowadays because not many people have clear statements regarding criticism. So, I'm hesitant to point out anything out/ leave a comment that's anything but positive.

I remember a few months ago, on a BNHA work, I corrected the timeline of canon events that author got wrong (because the WIP seemed to be going down that route of "canon adjacent" work that spawn from a canonical event). The author had a message beneath the chapters that "all comments were welcomed," so I thought it was okay to leave the type of comment I did. But I dealt with several aggressive messages from the author and the author's friends about needless critique and how rude I came off as afterwards (I apologized,but I still got messages for a while).

The whole thing freaked me out a bit because I hate any semblance of confrontation ,so now I'm nervous about commenting any work- even those with explicit statements on criticism (welcome ,not welcomed,etc). I leave kudos and such ,but sometimes I debate over whether or not the author needs my comment about their typos. I try to sandwich a critique between two compliments like everyone says,but then I end up with a paragraph-length comment, and I worry about coming off too strongly.

I'm rambling,sorry.

Is there a guide to good comments for criticism in fanworks? Besides not giving criticism when criticism would not be welcomed??

Thank you for your time.

First of all, I'm sorry that you had such a bad experience. I'm sure that was awful for you, and I totally understand why it would freak you out.

When it comes to correcting things in fanfic, there are a lot of things to take into account.

Why does correcting the error matter to you?

How well do you know the author?

How long would it take to make the correction?

There are others, but these are the bigger "buckets" I see most of them fitting into.

If the error matters to you because you get annoyed when you see typos, for example, then that's more of a "you" problem. You can download the fic and edit out the typos and then when you reread it, you won't have to worry about them.

If the error matters to you because you'd be embarrassed if you had posted a fic and there were typos in it, that's also kind of a "you" problem. If the author feels the same way, they'll likely have an author's note indicating that they want to be notified. Otherwise, they're likely resigned to the idea that typos will happen, and if they reread their work themselves, they'll edit them out if and when they catch them.

If the error matters to you because it's non-canonical, this one is more of a wait and see. Maybe the author made the error by accident, but it very well could be on purpose. Perhaps that small change is relevant to the overall plot they're developing. Maybe it's just a thing that they personally hate in canon and have decided that they don't want to include for that reason. Maybe it's a genuine error that they'd be horrified to notice later. There's no way to know.

And that last one is where we come to the second item above. If you know the author well, you can message them and have a chat and bring it up there. I'd recommend just starting out by talking about the story as a whole and what their plan is for it. As I said, maybe what you see as an error is actually a conscious choice that they've made for the story that they want to tell. During that conversation, you'll be able to figure out whether it's actually an error and whether they'd want it pointed out or not.

If you don't know the author well, you could point an error like that out in a comment but then you need to think about the third factor.

Typos take seconds to change. Plot points take hours, days, weeks, or longer. Asking someone to put in a lot of time to make a change to something they've already been working hard on can be really demotivating - even crushing.

For a lot of authors (possibly even most?) they put a lot of work into their fics before they ever get to the point of posting them. They've read, revised, planned, and plotted. They might even have additional chapters already written that are in the revision process and just haven't been posted yet.

Especially in long works, authors look to the comments as a cheering section to urge them on towards completion, so posting corrections or pointing out errors can feel like someone standing up and booing. I think that's what happened in that BNHA situation you referenced in your ask.

That's why the general suggestion when it comes to commenting with corrections is just to not do so. If you want, you can comment about all of the things you like in the fic and then ask if the author wants a beta. That would allow you to have those conversations about their vision for the fic, and it would also allow you to offer feedback before the work is posted and while it's still being edited and worked on.

Otherwise, if it really does bother you, I'm afraid you might just need to dip out and find a different fic.

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 6)

Masterpost

Lois prides herself at being good at rolling with the unexpected. Unfortunately, all of her experience with aliens and supervillains and magic has not prepared her for Danny.

Danny has a disconcerting habit of dropping disturbing or traumatizing information in an off-hand way, seeming to not even realize the implications of his own words. It started with what he said about the dimension he'd grown up in discriminating against people with powers, then with what he'd said about the red son and the lack of superheroes, but it just keeps happening.

Lois tries not to call attention to it, because she prefers it to the alternative, which is Danny shutting himself up in his room and refusing to talk to any of them.

Lex Luthor is on the nightly news-- as he so often is-- and Lois has to explain the man's many crimes to Danny. (No, Jon, it is not a rant.)

"Oh," Danny says. "He sounds like Vlad."

"Vlad?" Lois asks.

"Yeah, Vlad Masters. He's my godfather. He's a total fruitloop who wanted to marry my mom and make me his son."

Lois carefully does not react. She wants Danny to tell her things. She wants to know what his life was like when she wasn't in it. "That sounds..."

"Yeah, he tried to clone me. Well, I guess he succeeded, but none of them were stable except for Ellie, and she wasn't really that stable to begin with."

"Ellie?"

"Yeah, short for Danielle. She went by Dani-with-an-I for a while, but she decided she wanted her own name."

That is not the part Lois was looking for clarification on. She goes with it anyway. "Tell me about her," Lois says, and tries not to be concerned about Danny’s descriptions of a teenage girl who apparently lives and travels on her own because she doesn't like to be stuck in one place. Ellie doesn't even get the full benefit of being quarter Kryptonian, living in a world with a red sun.

The four of them are sitting down to dinner-- pizza again; one of them should probably cook sometime this week, but Lois and Clark are both on deadlines-- when Clark asks Danny more about his adoptive family, the ones he grew up with.

He looks sad, the way he always does whenever his adoptive parents come up.   Lois can hardly blame him, when he lost them in such a sudden and traumatic way.  

"They're scientists," Danny says.  "Or they were.  They studied, um, the Ghost Zone and the things that live there.  They didn't really understand it at first-- they thought all the-- um, everything from there was evil and needed to be killed, but they learned they were wrong eventually."

Lois meets Clark's eyes and knows he is as concerned about what happened before that 'eventually' as she is.  Still, neither of them comment, not wanting Danny to clam up again..

Jon, however, has no such reservations.  "That's really messed up."

Danny shrugs.  "Yeah, kind of.  They came around, though.  And I think they blamed themselves for how bad the GIW got because they were the ones who designed the weapons."

"The GIW?" Lois asks, instead of what she really wants to know, which is: Your adoptive parents designed weapons to be used against beings from another dimension??? Did they know what you were? 

"Guys in White," Danny says.  "I don't think that was their real name, but they were from the government."

"Your parents built weapons for them?" Clark asks, his tone deceptively light.  "I thought they were scientists."

"They dabbled in a lot of things.  But they were fantastic engineers."  Danny segues into a story about some of the modifications his adoptive parents made to their car, which is a topic only slightly better for Lois's heart.

Later that night, Lois is sitting in bed, checking her emails on her phone, when Clark sits down next to her and turns on the white noise machine they keep on the nightstand.  (It's the only way to have private conversations when your child-- children-- have super-hearing.)

"I'm concerned about Danny," he says.

"No shit."  The more Danny tells them about the dimension he grew up in, the more Lois hates it.  "But there's nothing we can do now except be there for him."

"I know people who have traveled across dimensions, you know," Clark says.  "I could always ask for a favor."

"You won't," Lois says.  "Because if you do, I'm going to end up committing felonies in another dimension."  

Clark smiles humorlessly. "What makes you think I wouldn't be there with you?"

"Because you're a better person than I am."  Clark never believes her when she says that, but it's true.  Clark is a fundamentally good person.  Lois tries to be a good person, but there's a reason she's not a superhero.  

-----

Kon intended to stop by Metropolis several days ago.  Or at least call Clark back.  But he’d gotten sidetracked by an earthquake in Southeast Asia, and then by Dr Light causing problems in California.  

He gets a few hours of sleep back in Smallville, then remembers that he’d planned on dropping by Metropolis and meeting Danny days before.  He walks the last few blocks to Lois and Clark’s house— flying would be way too noticeable in their neighborhood— and lets himself in.  He walks up to the living room and spots Lois there, furiously typing on her laptop.  

Kon is man enough to admit, at least within his own head, that Lois kind of intimidates him. Sure, Clark is physically stronger, but there’s an intensity to Lois that Clark lacks.  She glances up at Kon, and even though she’s smiling, he still feels pinned under her gaze.  

Kon shifts uncomfortably, reminds himself that unless he turns into a corrupt businessman or something, he’s not actually in danger from Lois Lane.  

“You here to see Danny?” she asks.

“Yeah.”  Kon shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.  “I figured I should probably meet him.”

“He’s in his room,” Lois says.  “He’s not… It’s not a good day, but maybe he’ll talk to you.  He hasn’t exactly gotten the chance to be around anyone his own age since he showed up.”

Kon knocks on the door to Danny’s room.  

“Come in,” a voice calls from inside.

Kon’s first thought is that he looks more like Clark than Danny does.  Stupid; of course he does.  He’s Clark’s clone.  But then, Jon resembles Clark almost as strongly as Kon does, so maybe it wasn’t a completely stupid thought.

Danny is sprawled on his stomach across his bed, phone in his hand.  There’s a video playing on it— someone talking about the history of the Justice League— but he’s ignoring it, watching Kon with a wary expression.  The room is still as bland as it ever was; other than the clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor, there’s no sign a teenage boy lives here.

“I’m guessing you’re Kon?” 

“That’s me.”  They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment.  

“Have you actually seen any of Metropolis, or have you just been hanging out in here?” Kon asks.

“Lois took me shopping for some stuff,” Danny says.

“Okay, no,” Kon says.  “You have got to get out of this house.”  

“You don’t even live in Metropolis,” Danny says.  

Kon shrugs. “Doesn’t matter; I’ve spent more time here than you.” There’s an old-school arcade he’s been to a handful of times, and a couple of places to eat.  Anything has got to be better than Danny hanging out and brooding in this sad bedroom by himself.

It's a warm day outside.  The sun shines down on the two of them as they walk in near-silence toward downtown.  The awkward silence doesn't quite break until they're at the arcade, competing on an old racing game.  

"I don't think we have this one in my dimension.  The other dimension.  Whatever."  Danny says.

"Yeah?"  Kon speeds ahead of Danny in the game, just in time to cross the finish line.  Danny groans.

"Yeah, but this world doesn't seem to have Doomed, either," Danny says as they start another race.  "There's a lot of little differences like that."

"That's gotta be weird," Kon says.  

"Yeah, Clark kind of freaked out when I told him the sun there was red."

Yeah, Kon can see why.  They talk more as they play more video games, and Danny tells Kon about his friends and what they'd do when they were hanging out in his hometown of Amity Park.  The main people he talks about are his best friends, Sam and Tucker, and his older sister, Jazz, but he mentions a few others.  

"Wait, who is Ellie again?" Kon asks, after Danny shares a story about a prank she pulled on another kid at Danny's school.  They've left the arcade, and are hanging out at the diner a few blocks away.  It's not the coolest place-- in fact, it looks like a grandmother decorated it-- but Clark introduced Kon to it, and it has great food.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Danny asks.  "She's my clone."

Kon chokes a little on his soda.  "You have a clone?"

-----

Danny is probably being paranoid.

Scratch that, he's definitely being paranoid. Lois and Clark have been nothing but nice, and they're clearly used to weird things happening. Like, even aside from the whole alien superhero thing, Lois just saw a kid fall out of a portal and decided to help?  Plus, Clark is an actual superhero.  

Even his— the Fentons came around on the whole “ghost powers” thing.  Eventually.  But he’s gotten used to hiding, to trying to blend in.  

(And what had them accepting him done for them in the end?  They’re dead, the GIW killed them.)

He’d rather hide than suddenly discover that Lois and Clark aren’t cool with their long-lost son being half dead.

Some of his powers he can pass off as Kryptonian— super strength, flight, enhanced senses.  He knows Lois saw his ghost form, and though she hasn’t asked about it, he’s pretty sure it’s just a matter of time.  

These thoughts circle through his mind over and over, only leaving him temporarily when he’s hanging out with the Lane-Kents.  

His bio family.  

That’s not much better, though; there’s a sadness in Lois and Clark’s eyes whenever they look at him, although they try to hide it.  Jon just a kid, and clearly doesn’t know what to make of the whole situation.  Lois keeps saying they are going to introduce him to more people, especially people his own age, but Danny shies away from that.  He doesn’t want to meet more people.  He doesn’t want to get comfortable here.

Still, he’s glad he came out with Kon.  An afternoon of videogames and greasy food hasn’t solved any of his problems, but it’s a nice break, and Kon has already promised to introduce Danny to his friends— a whole team of teenage superheroes.

“I can’t get over how many heroes there are here,” Danny says.  “Like, why do you even need that many?”  Sure, it would have been nice to have some more backup when he was Phantom, but in this world there seems to be at least one superhero for every major city, plus some extra.

Kon shrugs. “Natural disasters, alien invasions, supervillains, street crime… No one can handle all of it.”

Out of all the things he’s encountered so far in this dimension, this might be Danny’s favorite.  Even more than the proven existence of aliens.  Back home, Amity Park needed Phantom, even if they hated him.  But the world here doesn’t need Phantom.  

It’s kind of freeing, and Danny hates it.  He doesn’t want to like anything about this dimension more than his own.  

Would it really be that bad?  You might be stuck here forever, a little voice inside his head whispers.  

He ignores it.

[fatkish]

hello!!!

I was wondering if you could do a dadzawa x student! Reader who starves themselves and says they’re not hungry because they don’t really feel hungry at all if you get what I mean(s3 ep42)

So basically they js head off to bed once they get to the camp instead of eating and stuff and he’s concerned for their well being and yeahh. Sorry I’m not a really good explainer but I’d really appreciate it if you do this request it would mean a lot to me considering I am a person who sometimes unintentionally starves themselves

Anyways I hope you have a good rest of your day/night, and thank you once again!!

I totally get this. Due to my middle school experience, I went from having breakfast at around 7:00-7:30 am with lunch at around 11:00 am to breakfast at 6:30 am an lunch at 1:00 pm. This was horrible for me because I would sit in class with my stomach growling before lunch. It made me develop horrible eating habits, so I get it. Anyways, onto the story.

Aizawa x Student Reader (Platonic): Eating Habits

You and your class had just walked out of the forest after having spent hours making your way to the campsite, dodging and fighting Pixie-Bob’s earth monsters

Despite all this, you still weren’t hungry, you didn’t plan on eating and were planning to just take a bath and go to sleep

When Aizawa told you guys to grab your bags off the bus and put them away before heading to dinner, you grabbed your bag with everyone else and headed inside

You went into your shared room and set your bag down in your spot. You began to unpack, rolling out your bedding, getting it all made up

As everyone left to go eat, you decided to clean up and take a shower to get rid of the dirt from the day

Aizawa has always been observant, so he definitely had noticed how you rarely went to lunch to eat, you’d either nap, play games, or do your own thing in the classroom

There had been times he’d seen you eating your homemade lunch in the classroom away from others, so he assumed that you had an issue with eating around other people

When he didn’t see you eating among his other students, he assumed you were too shy to get food or perhaps too tired

So he went to find you and make sure you got food in you

When he found you and told you where the cafeteria was and to go eat, he was surprised and concerned to hear that you didn’t plan on eating and planned instead to take a bath and go to bed

Aizawa wasn’t so keen on this plan of yours

He asked you why, to which you replied that you weren’t hungry. He told you that that’s not good enough of a reason

He then gave you a lecture about how the body needs food especially with the training you’re going to be doing

He thinks that there may be more to this and hopes that the reader doesn’t have some kind of eating disorder

He decides to go get the reader a small plate of food and bring it to them

Once he does, he tells them that he wants to see them eat what’s on the plate and then he’ll let them sleep after that

Aizawa isn’t one to budge from this so you eat the food. Upon seeing you slightly struggle he decides to sit down and try to talk to you

As you talk to him, he asks if there’s a reason why you have a hard time eating

You tell him you’re just not hungry

He asks if you’re bulimic or anorexic or have some kind of underlying issue that has caused this

Seeing where his thoughts were going you quickly and throughly reassured him that you just have a hard time eating when you aren’t hungry

Throughout the camp, Aizawa makes sure to keep an eye on you and lets you take a break to eat whenever you do get hungry

He may be strict, but his number one priority is to make sure his students are taken care of

[jpitha]

Call on Me

Everyone has a "meeting the Humans for the first time" story.

Everyone.

I don't know what it is about them, but they are memorable. They have this... ability to be so odd and yet so intriguing. I think it must have something to do with that planet they come from. I've seen it, but you'll never catch me down on its surface. Even if I could breathe their atmosphere, I'd worry my stuff would just burst into flame. I know it's stilly, but I'd still worry.

My Human story?? Mine is years old at this point, but it still sticks in my memories.

I was working in - I guess the humans would call it Border Patrol - a few years ago in a star system. It wasn't my home system, I just worked here. It was a pretty boring job. Ships would Flash or Flip in, we'd scan them, ask for their destination, they'd pay us their tariffs if they needed to, and they'd be on their way. Sometimes people would attempt to smuggle contraband in, though most of the time that didn't happen.

I can neither confirm nor deny that once or twice we accepted a little "bonus" to be somewhat... lax in our contraband scans. But, you know how it is. Everyone has bills to pay.

Anyway, This one time, we received report that a ship had Flipped in. By now, other members of the Coalition had bought the human made Flip drives, so it wasn't guaranteed that a ship that Flipped was human, but it was still more likely than not. As we completed our initial scan, we were able to verify it was indeed a Human ship, a freighter that was named Honeysuckle.

This ship was odd though. Most of the time when a ship would Flip or Flash in, we'd ping them, they'd reply and we'd scan. Then. if we needed to, we'd intercept.

This ship was completely silent.

No lights, no engines, no comms. We hit them with everything we could think of - even the emergency frequencies - and there was nothing. We called the main station in-system for advice, and they said for us to come up along side and if able, to board, and see what was wrong.

We approached, slowly and carefully; we knew all about how Human ships are well armed and... are quick to defend themselves. The whole time we approached, we were signaling on all frequencies asking if they needed help. Once we were close, we even tried flashing our maneuvering jets to see if they had a complete communications failure.

Nothing.

We circled around the ship once or twice, searching for damage and found nothing. This close we were able to do some deep scanning, and our ship reported that there were many life signs onboard, and that most of them were concentrated in a large hold towards the middle. The command deck and living spaces were empty. Almost as an afterthought, the ship reported that Honeysuckle was vibrating slightly.

I looked up from the report at the camera the ship AI uses. "What does that mean?"

"Unknown. Their reactor does not seem to be operating in overload, though it is currently outputting a high amount of energy."

I stared out at the image of the ship, floating in the midnight blue, wondering.

I clacked my wing covers together once, a gesture of resignation. "We've been ordered to board. Do you see any reason why we shouldn't?"

"We will have to connect directly. We do not have suits with maneuvering jets, and we do not have a docking umbilical. The humans have a Coalition standard airlock though, we are able to connect."

My antenna twitched. "Very well. Proceed to connect directly. I will lead the party onboard the ship."

A short while later, me and two others suited up and went to our airlock. We were just wearing regular suits; we didn't have any armored suits, and we carried no weapons. Remember, we were glorified inspectors. I watched out the small airlock window as the human ship grew closer. With a puff of reaction gas and a heavy thunk we were attached.

Immediately, we noticed the sound.

The human ship wasn't just vibrating, it was playing music. In the vacuum of space, we couldn't hear anything, but as soon as our ship made physical contact with theirs, the vibrations transferred to us, and our ship at once began to play a strange repetitive song. We hadn't turned on our translators, so we couldn't understand it, but it had a strong, regular beat and lots of repeating phrases. I looked at my colleagues and they gestured confusion.

"Ship, what's going on?"

"Unknown. Honeysuckle's vibrations are apparently in the form of a song."

"Is it on purpose?"

"Unknown."

"Is it safe?"

"...Unknown."

I buzzed my wings - like a sigh - and sealed my suit. I couldn't breath their atmosphere anyway, and I had a... feeling that something was wrong.

Our airlock cycled normally, but theirs would not obey our commands to open. However, being humans, theirs did have manual override levers and wheels, so after a few minutes of struggle, we were able to open theirs. Our ship took on the puff of their breathing gasses and safely vented them to space.

We stepped into their ship and before we could close the airlock from the inside, we started to hear the music louder. I snapped my translator on, and the song was translated.

Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me

I listened for a few seconds, but that seemed to be it. I closed the airlock and opened the internal door.

The music was deafening.

Even through our suits, it was loud enough to make my wings vibrate. I can't imagine how loud it was in the ship with all their thick air.

Everything on board was vibrating.

We did a quick tour of the small ship and found nobody. We confirmed from the scans that the Command Deck was empty, the living quarters were empty, seemingly the whole ship was empty.

Finally, we made it down to the cargo hold that our ship had said was the location for everyone. It felt impossible, but the music here was even louder.

I looked back at my colleagues, and they were clearly frightened. This whole thing seemed so unusual and odd and neither of them had met humans before. I'll be honest, I was terrified. I only knew the stories.

Humans were incredible warriors.

Humans were banned from fully a dozen stations.

Human weapons would reduce most Coalition species to a pile of viscera.

Humans could take over the whole galaxy, but found that boring, so they didn't.

Humans make friends with anything.

Humans will take incredible risks, especially if it means helping one of their friends.

I had figured that half of the rumors were fakes put out by the humans, and half were fakes put out by their enemies. Which were which though, I had no idea.

I pressed the toggle to open the door.

My senses were assaulted. It's the only way I can describe it. Besides the music, there were flashing lights, some kind of vapor in the room and the people.

So many people.

More than I had ever thought would be on a ship this size were in the room.

All dancing.

They seemed to be completely lost in the music. I've never seen anything like it before or since. The three of us stood in the doorway, completely in shock.

Everyone danced around us, oblivious. I keyed my external speaker, and said "Hello?" but I don't think anyone heard me. I dialed the volume louder.

"Hello?"

Finally, one of the humans heard that and turned to me, and was so startled they screamed and jumped back. This startled us and we jumped back as well. The scream caused everything to come to a halt. The music stopped, the lights came up, and a voice called out over a speaker system, "It everyone all right? What's wrong?"

I stepped forward, their small binocular eyes pointing directly at me. "Um. Welcome to Coalition System 4589. You didn't respond to any hails or scans, so we were dispatched to check on you. Is..." I looked around again to the dozens of humans staring at me, most of them damp from their odd active cooling system. "Is everyone all right?"

A tall human with closely cropped hair seemingly materialized next to me. Even covered in their... cooling fluid, with her hair damp, she had an air of authority to her. "I'm Captain Lina Franklin. Everything is fine here, it's just-" She turned to look at the crew and turned back to me. "-It's 'Dance Party Wednesday'."

Even through the clear bubble of my suit, I must have made quite the expression. She was familiar enough with our body language - or her ship told her - and she seemed to fall over herself to explain things.

"We have some themed days in the week to help relieve boredom. We do the Dance Party once a month, and the last two times, we had to postpone it because of engine issues, or problems with the ship. This was our first one we were able to do and we must have... gotten carried away. We're fine, thanks for checking in on us. We'll get cleaned up and signal the Coalition Station our destination and purpose."

The spell broken, everyone started to shuffle towards us and make their way back to their stations. The lights in the room were bright and sterile, and the vapor slowly dissipated. Soon the only evidence of what was going on were the lights in the ceiling, now dark, and a rather large speaker system in one corner.

I turned to the captain. "Sorry for interrupting your celebration."

She smiled with her mouth closed. "It's all right. We'll get cleaned up and get on our way." She stopped at looked at the three of us. "It's too bad, really."

"What is?"

"That there are so few Coalition sapient species that breathe the same atmosphere as us. People rarely get to see what we're like. When we're on Coalition stations, we're always in our suits. You got to see us as we are."

We said our goodbyes, and headed back to our ship. As we disconnected, their ship came back to life, and they took off towards their destination, and I sat in my chair, wondering if I really was missing out by not being able to know the humans better.

[undercoverpena]

x. oh, just to be with you

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

He's aware of everything. 

How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.

Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory. 

He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win.

Then came you.

Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you. 

Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed. 

It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar. 

Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing. 

All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired. 

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him. 

His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight. 

you have nice handwriting  I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more.  I like how you wrote baby Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now? Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it. 

Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle. 

He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat. 

Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go. 

Naturally, he asks about you. 

It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.  

“You should get some sleep, Pop.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”

Your lady. 

Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering. 

now youre back in reality you sure about us  Never been more sure about anything, baby.  just wanted to check  You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying.  left a mark on me  Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.  

“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.” 

But Javi isn’t tired. 

Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.

For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return. 

Now, it’s different.

There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town. 

You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.

Fuck, he misses you.

Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.

Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...

Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is. 

How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control. 

He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.

Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.

He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.

Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep. 

But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you. 

why aren’t you asleep?

Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.

I miss you too. 

I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip. 

told you that you’d miss it once it was gone

I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.

youre right

One day, right?

if I could make that tomorrow I would

You really missing me that much? 

not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby 

Gonna make me cry. 

dont cry I can’t wipe them from here 

So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home. 

did the person you sit next to seem to mind 

They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better. 

so they thought you were broken up with 

I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying. 

fuck you like me a lot 

I like you a regular, normal amount. 

I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount 

That’s the tiredness talking. 

you know it isnt 

I feel the same. I really miss you. 

I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow 

Okay, but so do you! 

ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people 

go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned 

You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.

Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart. 

Javi hates that you’re right. 

It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre. 

"Mijo."

He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.

His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins. 

“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.” 

Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison. 

Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.” 

“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."

The tapping.

He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.

"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.” 

Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck. 

If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it. 

To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise. 

Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot. 

He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery. 

“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”

“Hmm.” 

Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame. 

Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.

Because he heard the song in the diner with you. 

Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you. 

“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.

He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.

Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit. 

Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.

When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager. 

“Our song?” 

“Yeah.” 

Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?” 

He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.

You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough. 

“You tricked me.” 

“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.” 

Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:

“You have a beautiful voice.” 

“Fuck you, baby.”  

Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves. 

Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage. 

And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing. 

Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.  

“I—I miss….”

You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”

Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”

He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day. 

He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended. 

“How was yours?” 

Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.

“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”

Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.” 

“Won’t tell you then.” 

“No. Please. Tell me, baby.” 

He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?” 

Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain. 

He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch. 

“Fuck—“

“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.” 

“Hermosa…”

His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck. 

“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.” 

Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about. 

“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.” 

Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…” 

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.” 

Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.” 

“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.” 

Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking. 

“Want an extra clue?” 

“An extra? You're spoiling me.” 

He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“ 

His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.” 

“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“

“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?” 

“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.” 

Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.” 

“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.” 

“Off me.” 

It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt. 

Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?” 

“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.” 

Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.  

AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Prologue

Summary: Only nine and ten, she does not know much about the world and when she acquires a job at the Red Keep as a maidservant, she catches the dark and ominous attention of the One-Eyed Prince. Unsure if she even wants it, she may realise that the realm is not so kind to lowborn women, regardless of the situation they find themselves in | Word Count: 1.4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, dub-con, mean Aemond, manipulation, gore, blood, violence, major angst

A/N: This is intended to be a dark one, so please read all the warnings before continuing. Warnings will be highlighted when needed. Aemond’s gonna be pretty mean, self-serving and not at all very nice in this one! Basically a spoilt prince reaping the benefits, so beware. You know me, I love a bit of angst.

She liked being early to rise.

It meant that for a few small moments, she could pretend that the hallways were all her own. However brief they were. It was a small slither of peace for the young maidservant. 

That was at least until the Red Keep began to wake. The murmured whispers of the staff to one another, organising the various meals for the royal family, making sure their clothes were ready and prepared, ensuring that their rooms were neat and tidy for their arrival back to their chambers and drawing their baths at their behest.

It was tough work at times, but it was good, honest labour and for her services, she was paid much more than she could have even dreamed of. That said, most of it was sent to her younger siblings where she could spare it, but it was still entirely novel and rewarding to earn her own coin.

It was a fine, clear day like any other. The servant’s quarters were bustling with busy maidservants, rushing around after their allocated jobs. Most of the other maidservants were of a similar age, but their temperaments fierce away from the forced politeness they were obligated to offer the royal family. It could very often get catty. And sometimes it was best to say little at all, where it could be helped. People talked, gossiped and made fun for themselves in the dreary, everyday lull of being at the behest of King and Queen. She did not blame them for making said fun, but perhaps it was naïve of her to believe it could be done without cruelty.

One particular girl, who was not much older than her, assumed a role akin to a elder sister amongst the little band of maidservants. She had chestnut hair that was braided like the other staff, in plaits and pulled behind the head, stuck with pins and out of the way. Her name was Hedi and possibly short for something, but she dare not ask.

“Ah, there you are,” Hedi smiled in a sing-songy way, gesturing for her to come and join them, “You are to go to Prince Aemond’s rooms and take his clothes with you. He will be expecting for his old bedsheets to be taken away,” she instructed, oblivious to the way the little maid servant's eyes widened. 

“Hedi, I have never-”

“Better you meet him now and get it over with, child,” she responded, pushing the bundle of clothes into her hands, ignoring the unsure look on her face. 

She had heard many things about the One-Eyed Prince. Aemond Targaryen. The second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

Since her employment at the Red Keep only a few moons ago, she had rarely seen any of the royal family with the exception of infrequent refills of their wine decanters at the dinner table. And even then, it was rare she could get a proper look at any of them as the halls were dark and lit only by candles at the table, obscuring some of their faces.

She had only heard stories of them.

Upon employment, Alicent had instructed Hedi that the new staff were not to be around her first son, Prince Aegon, by any means necessary. And though at the time, Hedi was not given any more information, she told the rest of the maidservants that she surmised that some wrongdoings caused the previous staff to leave King’s Landing altogether, moon tea in their bellies and a purse of gold dragons to keep their silence.

This did nothing to calm her nerves though, for she sometimes saw him walking around the Keep. Though she was advised to not spare a glance, she felt the weight of his eyes on her, and the other maidservants said the same.

Princess Helaena was a sort of anomaly. Nobody ever really saw her. Or perhaps she just made less of a fuss compared to her brothers. The few times she had seen the Princess at the table, Helaena had been staring forward at her plate, murmuring things under her breath.

That only left him, the One-Eyed Prince everyone so lovingly called him. 

She had seen him only once, to her knowledge, at the aforementioned feast. He had been sitting at one end, his seeing eye downcast, looking anywhere but at the individuals he called family at the table before him. He seemed to not move an inch throughout, as if deep in thought. 

She took a deep breath and walked the long, winding path to the main halls of the Red Keep, along the corridor where Prince Aemond’s chambers would be. She whispered to herself that it would be alright, that the other maidservants were just trying to rile her up with fear for the man, for they’d said that he frightened them terribly. 

Willing the shake out of her breath, she stared at the door for a while, thinking that perhaps if she waited for a moment it’d be easier. But it just sent her heart racing even more. Her small fist gingerly knocked. 

“Prince Aemond,” she called softly. 

There was a moment of silence and muffled rustling inside the chambers, presumed to be his bedsheets. 

“Enter,” a groggy, male voice called out in return. 

Without thinking on it for another moment, she quickly slipped inside and though she did not mean to, her eyes briefly looked upon the Prince in his bed, halfway through sitting up tiredly. But her eyes were quickly drawn away once she had realised that there were no clothes on his person, and so with pinkened cheeks she darted to the chair and placed the clothes atop it, making sure everything was there for him before drawing the curtains. Feeling somewhat flustered and out of sorts, she brushed the wayward curl from her face that had fallen loose from her braids and felt that hot annoyance as it continued to tickle her face. 

She ties the curtains together to keep them drawn and her heart quickens when she hears him get out of bed, stretch with a tired groan and pad over to the table near the fireplace. He pours himself a drink of water and is quiet for some time. 

“You are not my usual maid,” he says and when it is clear he is speaking to her, she turns around finally, offering a small nod. 

He is tall, almost unnaturally so. He wears only his nightclothes on his bottom half and leans against one of the armchairs, regarding her with an indescribable look in his one good eye, the other has a sapphire wedged inside, and she thought it must be uncomfortable to sleep with it. For a moment, she swallows nervously, he is broad and strong looking, but not in a burly way, and on his fair skin of his bare chest she can see several scars, all silver from age and hairline thin.

“No, your grace. I was sent to attend to you today,” she responds, shockingly evenly, clasping her hands in front of her before nervously smoothing her hands over her apron.

She sees the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, seemingly annoyed, “Hm,” he responds as he sips his water, “Will you be attending to me from now on?”

Her tongue wets her lips nervously, “I am not sure, your grace.”

He seems like he wants to say more, but he just stands there, across the room, looking at her and enjoying the way she continues to shrink under his gaze.

She pushes that stray hair behind her ear once more as she moves to strip the bed, working quickly and without looking back towards the quiet prince. She can tell however, how his gaze never seems to leave her, watching her with interest. 

“What is your name,” from his lips it almost doesn’t sound like a question, more a demand.

Wound tight with anxiety, she tells him her name, which only makes him turn one side of his lip up in some form of a smile.

Once she has all the sheets folded and ready to take away, she stands with hands clasped, “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning, your grace?”

He taps his finger against the glass he’s holding, as if in thought. And it’s extremely difficult to avert her eyes from the firm planes of his chest, but for the sake of politeness and her position, she forces herself to.

With a soft shake of his head, she gathers the sheets in her arms and makes for the chamber doors and her hand barely brushes the handle before his voice calls out her name.

“Yes, your grace?” she answers, a dusty pink covering her cheekbones with her nerves.

With a genuine, mischievous looking smirk, he strides widely towards her and her eyes never leave his face, feet planted firmly where she stands.

“I want you to attend to me from now on.”

General Aemond Taglist (DM me if you want to be removed)

@risefallrise​

[gloomwitchwrites]

*stumbles breathless through your door*

I SAW YOU'RE ASKING FOR STORY REQUESTS!!

*fixes the Caps button*

Sowwy!!

Anyway!!

Please can I ask for:

1. Lord of the Rings

2. Bathing (innocent)

3. Thranduil

4. I leave free hand to you. Just some nice relaxing bath with his love (can he his new queen or soon to be) some pampering with hair and skin care, something along those lines. Fem!elf!reader if I may ask that!

xoxo Firelight

That entrance into my ask box is a solid 10/10. No notes. Just perfect.

Technically, I’m not taking story requests, but I am taking headcanon requests for all the fandoms I write for. So, this will fall into the “what are Thranduil’s bathing habits” realm. So like, what he does alone and with a partner. But it’s obviously on the innocent/fluffy/romantic side of things.

Personally, I’m all about a soft Thranduil who knows how to pamper himself and his partner. I've kept this one on the gender neutral side.

Word Count: 585

1k Follower Event Rules

ao3 // taglist // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist

Thranduil’s bathing habits when he’s alone:

A bath is Thranduil’s reset. There is no one that attends him during this time. It’s a chance for him to slow down and to let go of the pressures of the day. When I mean that no one attends him, I mean no one. It is he that fills the tub with water. Not one of his subjects. Thranduil uses that time to disconnect and to think only of the task at hand. He is always making choices, giving orders, and overseeing the wellbeing of all. Filling the bath is a moment of peace. There are no responsibilities here.

Thranduil soaks before he scrubs or washes his hair. He will close his eyes, tip his head back, and rest. This could take a few minutes or even ten before he opens his eyes again and begins the process of lathering up some soap.

Thranduil washes his body first before his hair. The soaps and scrubs he uses are always made from ingredients that are found within the Woodland Realm. He is resourceful in that regard. That same goes for his hair. Anything and everything are sourced from the forest, if possible.

Thranduil reads in the bath (if it’s just him).

Usually doesn’t eat but might have a snack. There will always be wine. That’s nonnegotiable.

Doesn’t remove himself from the tub until the water has gone cold. He likes to stay in as long as possible.

Loves a warm towel afterward.

Thranduil’s bathing habits when he’s with a partner:

Similar to how he draws the bath from himself, Thranduil will do the same for his partner. It’s an act of service, but also a way he shows affection. He wants to do it, and he always makes sure to have it done before they can arrive to bathe themselves. He might seek help from an attendant to prepare other items like candles or fetching wine and food, but Thranduil likes to do most of it himself.

Because of who he is and all the things he must do in a day, a bath is his time to reconnect with his partner. During this time, they are alone, and are unlikely to be interrupted. Truly, this is the only time for Thranduil to spend time with his partner since most of his day is spent taking care of his people.

Whoever Thranduil is with, they are not to lift a finger. This is about them, not him, and he goes to great lengths to make that happen. His favorite thing to do is recline in the tub with his partner leaning against him. This way, Thanduil can cuddle them but also take care of them. It’s the best position to wash their body and their hair.

He is prone to gentle touches, almost an absent-minded sort of motion. He does it without having to think about it. Skin against skin is usually what he needs and not in the physical sense of need. Connection is more important here.

Thranduil enjoys conversation but it is not a requirement. Sometimes just being in each other’s presence is enough.

Thranduil will not allow his partner to do anything for themselves while in the bath. Won’t get angry about it but he might have a twinge of attitude if they keep resisting. Thranduil just wants to take care of them.

Will make sure his partner removes themselves from the bath before they grow cold.

Thranduil will insist on drying them himself.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot

@firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @therealbloom @ninman82

@thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[xie-xan]

Under the mistletoe

Pairings: Neuvillette x gn!reader

warnings: nothing, just pure fluff

Furina decided to throw a Christmas party for everyone in Fontaine and it was being held in the opera house. Everyone was of course having fun.

Neuvillette felt a tad bit overwhelmed by all the partying, Don't get him wrong, he enjoys seeing the people of Fontaine having fun and enjoying themselves but he needed some privacy.

And so he decided to sit in his office as he drank the dark hot chocolate made by the melusines themselves. He wasn't particularly a fan of sweets but since the melusines spent their time making the drink, he couldn't say no. It was dark chocolate anyway so it wasn't too sweet.

He sat there in silence allowing himself to relax in the warm and quiet atmosphere. There was a sudden knock on the door which snapped him away from his trace.

"Monseiur neuvillette?"

A soft muffled voice called.

He set the cup of hot chocolate down on his desk stood up and walked towards the door and opened it.

He opened the door and saw (Y/n) standing there, in their hands was a small gift wrapped in a blue ribbon. He and (Y/n) were close as they would sometimes help them with paperwork, (Y/n) was also the person to whom his heart belonged but they don't know it yet.

"Ah, Greetings, please come in, It is cold outside," he said opening the door to let them in.

(Y/n) entered the office and Neuvillette closed the door behind them. His office was very warm and comfy.

"What brings you here?" he asked once he closed the door and fully faced them. "Ah, I wanted to give you this" (Y/n) said with a soft smile as they handed him the present.

Even by the small gesture, it was enough to make his heart flutter as his eyes softened a bit and he smiled ever so slightly, truly a rare expression to see on his face. An expression that he's only willing to show them and not anyone else. (also the melusines)

His hands brushed with theirs and it was enough to bring warmth to his cheeks with the small contact he muttered a small "thank you" with his cheeks tinted pink (which looked adorable)

(Y/n)s eyes wandered around the office when they looked up and saw a beautiful mistletoe hanging on his office door where the two of them stood.

Neuvillette followed their gaze and saw the mistletoe as well as she cleared his throat "I wonder who put that there…"

"It must have been one of the melusinses" (Y/n) said with a light chuckle that warmed his heart. "Do you know the story behind it?" they asked.

Neuvillette thought for a second "Oh, you speak of the Christmas mistletoe, it's quite a popular tale around Fontaine especially during the Christmas season" he spoke as if his heart wasn't beating so loudly through his chest, he even started to wonder if you could hear it.

"Do you believe in it?" (Y/n) asked. "Not particularly, it seems like a silly tale in my opinion" he muttered as he admired the way (Y/n) looked.

They wore a scarf that was wrapped comfortably around their neck preventing them from getting cold, their nose were a bit red and puffy due to the cold weather outside, and their figure was illuminated by the warm light of the fireplace near them.

They let out a soft chuckle at his response.

"You're right, but yet again.." (Y/n) trailed off

"Bad luck does sound rather troublesome.."

"Let's not be cursed by bad luck then."

"As you wish, ma chérie…"

(A/n) Happy holidays everyone! I'm currently working on a short venti x reader series that will probably be posted next week or earlier^^

[ganymedesclock]

Tell me more about parasites and their hosts. Do you think the dynamic works if neither is aware of the other?

Before all else, any simplified dynamic has nigh infinite potential and how you explore it depends entirely on what you personally are looking for.

In my own case, a lot of my relationship with the idea of parasitism comes from my own mental health being strongly dependent on where I live- being able to return to home like a save point in a horror game. This sense of constantly being dependent on comfort, not merely as a normal person is but to the extent that I've felt like I'll be unable to cope if I can't get home in time or haven't built adequate mini 'safe rooms' (e.g. my car or a hotel room) to recharge, has formed a lot of my relationship with the idea of parasitism and the idea of haunted houses.

Both, to me, centrally focus on the idea of dependency on equilibrium. A house can't really chase you down- while there's certainly haunted house stories that give it the power to trap or pursue, to me, the most compelling angle is often one of necessity. Someone weighing the ghosts, the violence, the blood on the walls, and having to ask themselves if this is really worse than being homeless, or losing some advantage or shelter that you have here that can't be found elsewhere.

In the case of parasitism, the host is the haunted house. It may be simply indifferent to the parasite's survival; it may be actively hostile to and trying to rid itself of the 'guest'. But both parties have to weigh the odds- is it worth tearing into your own walls just to get at the interloper, is it worth staying in a place that unknowingly tolerates your existence at best and hates you at worst if the alternative is being laid barren in the world?

As a child, I remember reading the Animorphs books and one thing that always struck me as an unexpected source of pathos was how bleak and miserable the yeerks' default existence was. While we mostly experienced them from the horror of their would-be victims, people terrified and paranoid that those around them were being controlled, made prisoners in their own minds... the book where Cassie is briefly host to a yeerk and the first thing said yeerk does is, rather than focus on their agreement or advantages, start running around wildly and making use of Cassie's morphing power for the sheer wild euphoria of being able to.

As much as they are the Bad Guys in the story- invaders, body snatchers, sometimes sadists- there's something to be said about the torture of a fully sapient and intelligent being living as a nearly senseless, barely mobile creature by default. A tapeworm is perhaps lucky it cannot evaluate its existence in comparison to other life forms.

And, yeah, sure, parasites trip a particular contrarian reflex in me that I always want to root around and play with things that are seen as too icky or evil to be 'worth exploring', whether or not there's even any actual morality attached to things. Parasites do nothing on a basis of sadism- 'parasitism' is how they survive just as much as herbivory is how a rabbit survives.

It's instead on a basis of need.

And the point where we need others- especially imperfectly, reluctantly, warily, always hesitating on these dynamics of exploitation- and especially when it comes to the body which we often see as the most private bastion of the self- is where some really juicy dynamics can spring from.

[kxsalt]

True story: I have a sub with a voice kink and an age gap kink (among many others, she’s a complete whore) so I recorded this and sent it to her and she’s been listening to it the last few days to make herself horny. Text as follows, might post the audio later:

I’ve been thinking about why I like fucking younger women lately. I’ve always just assumed it was for their bodies: cute perky breasts, tight pussy, that needy doe-eyed expression.

But as I get older I find women my age just as physically attractive, sometimes even more. Even so, I still prefer to fuck a girl at least five years younger than me, ideally closer to a decade age gap.

I’ve realized that it’s not just about her body. Though enjoyable, my favourite part is her mind.

A girl in her early twenties is still finding her way in the world. Unsure of herself, she needs clear direction. She asks big questions, and she needs confident answers.

Who am I? You’re a slut.

Why am I here? To be used for sex.

What should I do? Take your clothes off and bend over.

Obviously, anyone who calls themselves a sub should already know these answers. Anybody can ask to be fucked senseless, the difference is that she needs it. A little needs those answers reaffirmed, and nothing is so comforting as physical affirmation.

She needs to feel my cum running down her leg, so she knows she’s a slut.

She needs to be slapped, and choked, and spit on, so she knows that she’s being used.

She needs to be ordered around, so she knows exactly what to do.

Taking advantage of her desire for attention and direction, she becomes pliable, obedient, and perfectly useful. Lots of people have rough, filthy sex; but she needs it. She needs to be a trembling, cum-drunk, messy whore so she knows her place in the world.

Not that I think she’s completely naive, it’s that her nature overwhelms her reason. She knows a prudish society told her she shouldn’t, but she can’t stop. An ancient evolutionary instinct overwhelms those modern social constructs.

An instinct to let her caretaker bring her to the den, keep her warm and fed and safe, and to breed her over and over and over again. She finally takes a break from thinking of all the things people told her she had to be, or not be, or could or couldn’t be, and she just is. An animal, made by God to fuck and eat and rest and do it all again the next day.

She curls up in my arms, blissfully present, absolutely willing to be used again for her perfect purpose.

[nekropsii]

hello oh great provider of art and analysis, do you have any tips on how to correctly analyse a character?

Funnily, I don't think there's a correct way to analyze media, but there are incorrect ways to do it. But my advice for sound analysis is as follows...

Look at Canon. Reference it as heavily as physically possible. Take into consideration who the author is, and what their intentions would be. Extradiegetic Analysis is extremely important. Commit to it. Do not pussyfoot around Extradiegetic Analysis. Take into consideration the story, its tone, who it's made for, who it is marketed towards, what messages it's trying to convey, how, and why. Use Occam's Razor heavily. Ground yourself, turn off "Fandom Brain", and your own personal headcanons. Remember that Characters are Plot Devices, not People- they are put in the story for a reason, and they serve a particular function within the narrative. Ask yourself what that reason is, and what that function is. It's important to get a firm grasp of the story and the characters in it before extrapolating. Ponder their relationships with themself, others, the world around them, their task at hand. Try to take into account framing, themes, motifs, and symbolism.

Grab anything that really stands out to you, see what you can do with it. Analyze why it stands out to you. Does it match your own personal experience in some way? Does it remind you of something else? Does it seem to be setting something up within the context of a story? Are the curtains blue for a reason? If not, should they be? What if they did? What function would that serve?

Analysis is largely asking questions and trying to answer them. Sometimes those questions are posed by the thing you're analyzing itself. Sometimes the question comes from your heart. Sometimes it emerges from something you've latched onto that isn't quite there - a blind spot in the narrative, missed potential, et cetera.

Again, Occam's Razor is your friend. Get very familiar with it. And... Do not consult Freud on anything. If you feel the impulse to consult Freudian analytical concepts without prompting from the narrative itself, that's the devil talking to you. Beat it to death immediately. We do not need Freudian analysis of children's cartoons. We literally do not need that. It will be wrong.

This is one I'm seeing more and more disregard for lately, especially with regards to minority headcanons... Consider the real-world implications of your analysis. I do not think it is very "woke" to headcanon unrepentant sexually abusive assholes as trans women, or characters who are known for their loudness, aggression, and abusive natures as Black. Consider optics for maybe, like, five seconds. Analysis is just as much an act of introspection as it is an act of dissecting a piece of fiction. You need to be able to ask yourself why you're seeing characters the way that you're seeing them. Sometimes that answer is latent bigotry. Unpack that. Work on it. Sometimes the answer is that the author is a bigot and trying to tell you something about the group of people a character is supposedly representative of. Acknowledge it. Unpack that. Work with it. And I mean that seriously- you cannot just skirt around bigotry without perpetuating the bigotry yourself. Analysis will, by way of the vulnerability of the practice, get uncomfortable at times. Be ready for that.

Think critically and think for yourself. A lot of people shoot themselves in the foot by being reactionary, and/or letting other people do the thinking for them. Again, analysis will get uncomfortable at times. It is vulnerable, introspective, and an act of challenging yourself and your worst habits. Commit to that.

Oh, and have fun. Yes, I just spent several paragraphs talking about how analysis is challenging and uncomfortable, but don't make yourself have a genuinely bad time on purpose. You truly do not need to give yourself an attack or episode for the sake of an internet post or something. Horror movie rules - know your limits and respect them.

That's all for now, I think. There's infinite nuance to this subject, but I believe this is a decent 101 post.

[odxrilove]

☆ JEONGHAN BOYFRIEND HABITS

pairing: jeonghan x reader

genre: headcannons, fluff, established relationship?

a/n: 2nd part of the seventeen boyfriend habits series (requested) !! sent an ask to suggest the next member! ask to be on the taglist or fill out the form!

back to seventeen boyfriend habits masterlist!

☆ playing with your hair when you talk intensely

a few months into your relationship with him, you had found out jeonghan once used to have long hair and he then openly expressed how cute he found you, with whatever hair type you had at that moment. that day ended with lots of giggles after an intense round of back and forths. jeonghan had always loved your hair, whether it was long, short, curly or straight, and he had always loved listening to you talk. so why not make the experience of listening to you even better by playing with your hair? it’s a mix of two things he loves, it’s perfect! (that were his words when you first asked him why he was braiding a lock of your hair). you soon realized it wasn’t a one time thing but also noticed the fond look his eyes held as he slowly twirled a strand of hair around his finger, a playful smile on his face while he nodded along to your story.

☆ sitting close to you whenever you eat out

jeonghan loves eating out and he loves it even more with you by his side. by his side doesn’t only mean going with him in his words. for jeonghan, it also means right next to him, knees touching and fingers interlocking under the table. it means, sitting so close that whispering in each other’s ears is a given, an arm thrown over your shoulder as you shudder in delight. and it means being able to hold your thigh in a protective manner whenever he spots a guy checking you out, it means feeling the way your skin trembles under his hand when you laugh at one of his jokes, it means reassuring you with soft brushes of his thumb on your knee when you have to order and giving you a quick adoring kiss when you successfully do so. for jeonghan, it means love and loving you.

☆ always tells you all the gossip

when you first met jeonghan’s friends and they tried to introduce themselves to you, they made it very clear that one of the younger ones, seungkwan, was a gossiper. the gossiper. you just held back a laugh and moved on but there was a lingering question in your mind, how was it possible that seungkwan was the gossiper of the group when you definitely knew nobody could be worse than jeonghan himself. it triggered you for a few days before you finally asked him, and his answer was simple; “because only you showed that you deserved to know the very precious and dangerous info i have.” you could only smile and pinky promise him to keep that info for yourself.

☆ stealing your cutlery and demands a battle when you disagree

it’s been a well known fact for years that jeonghan likes to tease and to prank people, more so the people he’s fond of. also another fun fact about him is that he loves to hold cutlery in his hands; a knife, a fork, a fake sword (if you think of that as cutlery of course), you name it. a funny joke of his ended up turning into a daily thing he does, your whines of disagreement never discouraging him. it’s kinda cute how he holds up the cutlery in his hands though, as if he was a knight in shining armor ready to save whoever was in dire need to be saved. sometimes jeonghan relents and gives you your cutlery back with a pout but most of the time you accept defeat and come back with a plastic sword he diy customized specially for you, ready to take back what was rightfully yours.

perm. taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse

svt bf habits taglist: @baldi-2 @soov @ggyulicious @enhacolor @shuabby1994

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Next part of the hand saga!

Prev, Next

@daboyau

@phoebepheebsphibs

@littlemissartemisia

@that0n3shr00mi3guy

“Answer our other questions first! I don’t trust you after everything you’ve done! After everything you’ve caused! You….you helped kill my brother!” Donnie screeches, hand on his tech bō shaking so badly out of anger he worries he might break it.

“I never meant for you to be harmed this way. You won’t believe me when I say it, but none of this was born from malice. I haven’t spoken until now because there was no need to. As for why I’ve been tormenting you….it’s for a reason you are not going to easily accept.”

“Just say it already!” Leon insists.

“I did it because I was asked to.”

Raph nearly hits the hand with his fist, just barely hitting the ground next to it.

“You think we asked for this!?”

“No. You didn’t. Someone else did.“

“Who!? Who would ask for this to happen to us!? To everyone else!?” Donnie asks.

“To put it simply, the people who made you.”

“W-We don’t even know our original parents….” Mikey comments.

“No, not just you. Your entire world. Everyone in this competition is formed from a collection of ideas from an author or authors. These authors gave you the titles you go by. They sent you here to compete. To meet other characters in their own stories. To promote their own stories. That’s how this started. No Fun in Fungus, they simply sent an “ask” of mushrooms, spores. Then your author wanted more, one for each of you.”

“What possible reason could there be for doing this to us!?” Donnie grits his teeth.

“To give more to your story. To bring you all closer together. I too was created in this way, for this purpose. I have merely been a tool to different beings. It may sound ridiculous, maybe even insensitive, tragic, but you should consider what you have gotten. What you’ve learned. When Karai was brought here, you were even told not to think too hard about such a concept.”

Each of the brothers want to make the argument that it’s crazy, but they do in fact remember what the competition mod said to them.

“Even Misa giving you those flowers was an ask sent by an author. These asks…..they were all in good fun. Hurting you was just to make comfort all the better. You were never supposed to die. You were never even supposed to be seriously injured. I just enjoyed seeing all the stories coming from the spores so much. It’s gone too far. It’s why I want to help now, before someone is killed in a way they can’t come back from. No Fun in Fungus was already over, they were supposed to rest. You all still have a lot of story left to tell, it’s not supposed to end here.”

The four of them take in this crazy amount of information they’ve just been told. Can they really trust the hand after all they’ve been through?

“What can you even do to help?” Leon questions angrily.

“The spores are not the only item I possess, as you know. I am intertwined into your and No Fun in Fungus’ storylines. For that reason, I am able to bring out what is called a plot device.” The hand moves to the side, revealing TNT charges connected to an empty base.

“There’s nothing in there.” Donnies says dryly.

“Sometimes plot devices are there to urge the story forward in different ways. In order for this to work, I need mystic energy from each of you. That may be difficult for Michelangelo in his current state, perhaps I could find another one-“

“Mikey, my brother I love so much, I did not bring you back from the dead for you to kill yourself again. Lay. Down.” Leon threatens.

Mikey lays back down.

“It does not have to be him. Because of your being separated at first, you haven’t had the chance to completely understand ninpo. It seems only Mikey truly has.” The hand explains.

“You mean the sacrificial martyrs? Why would we want to know about them? Mikey’s been doing that way too much already!” Leon complains.

“Hamato have sacrificed themselves numerous times, that is true. You’ve seen it be true. Ninpo isn’t inherently about dying for a cause. It’s just how it’s been used a lot, considered the only way. It also has been used to save. Out of love. You’ve seen that too. Ninpo is about the connection to your family. That’s why Donatello was able to use it. That’s why Mikey woke up and used it. When you’re about to lose who you hold dear, your connection strengthens more than ever.”

DvD glances at Mikey. They stare at each other for a second or two. It’s true that they’ve been through an experience nobody else could, or should, truly replicate.

Maybe DvD sort of understands why the NFIF group are the way they are. Obviously he knows how it feels to want to protect his brothers after almost losing them, but what he’s learning is why they’re so willing to throw away their lives even for people who just look vaguely like family.

It’s so much easier to experience pain than to experience someone you love going through pain.

It’s a sentiment he wouldn’t have even considered before everything they’ve been through. Something Draxum never would have let him ponder.

He loves his family.

It’s messed up, they lost years of being able to know each other, there was so much distrust, and things aren’t even close to perfect right now.

But this is his family.

Even April, who has zero blood relation to them but still went through all this just to help.

Misa, who’s yearned for family and takes the role of an elder sibling because she wants to take care of others despite her young age.

Karai, who is related to them but wasn’t originally even supposed to know them if her mission had succeeded.

Something he’d protect with his life.

The hand brings the container closer. DvD looks back at it and hesitantly puts his hand on it. A purple, glowy, shiny substance pours inside. He takes it back after a moment, feeling like he was drained a little bit, but otherwise fine.

Raph and Leo look down at it in surprise before the latter takes on more of a bitter expression.

“I’m the one who took care of Mikey. I protected him. I did my best every single day for years to feed him, clothe him, give him what he needs. I was there for him longer than any of you. Why don’t I have powers like him and Donnie? Are….are they closer….than we are?” Leon frowns deeply.

“No! Leo, I love you just as much! I promise! That’s not how it is-!” Mikey voice cracks from how raw his throat still is.

Raph gently rubs his shell.

“He’s right. Connection to family doesn’t mean how much you love them, but how you think about yourself in relation to them. Insecurity about your place in it.” The hand stares.

Leo feels all eyes on him and starts messing with the material on his pants to avoid addressing what was just said.

“Welp, no insecurity here. Must be something else.”

“The fate of the multiverse might be in danger at this point, you’re going to avoid talking about what we already practically know? Why you left Mikey before-“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Leo yells, interrupting.

He holds onto Mikey tighter.

Mikey presses his cheek against Leo’s and nuzzles into it as much as possible.

“I….I haven’t….gotten over anything. When I got spored, it reminded me of everything I’m afraid of. I….I…..still can’t accept that any of you love me! I-It’s hard work to even like me, loving me? I-Impossible! Nobody actually does! I-I made Mikey feel like he has to be loyal to me because I took him in. I forced him to never leave me and then I left him! And then he forgave me because he’s so nice and lovable! He’s a pretty painted picture but I’m just a bunch of shredded pieces that I can’t tape back together! Why can’t someone just finally sweep it all up into the trash!?” Leo sobs.

Raph, Donnie and Mikey’s jaws all drop. They’ve been aware of just how hard it’s been for Leo to understand that he’s wanted, a real, true part of the family. What they didn’t know is just how lowly he really thinks of himself.

Leo sniffles.

“I’m cursed. I always have been. Even if I am a part of this family, I shouldn’t be. Look what happened! To Mikey! To gram-gram! To all of you! Not just now, but before too! And you saw what happened to the NFIF guys! Leo helped feed me and Mikey and then he went missing and I just know whatever is happening in that room to him is awful! NFIF Raph held me and tried to protect me and he’s still back there too! You’re all going to get hurt or die or worse with me around! I-I should be alone, I should at least be punished for everything I’ve-!”

DvD, surprisingly, is the one who pulls Leo into as tight of a hug as he can manage without hurting him.

“Shut up.”

“Wh-What? Is….is this supposed to make me feel better or are you angry?”

“Both! The only person who thinks you’re not worth anything is you! How dare you say that I don’t care about you!? I do! You should care about you too! You want to stop being a burden!? Then don’t make us live without you! If you weren’t here, Mikey would be dead right now. If he hadn’t wanted to be with you and didn’t leave those families, we wouldn’t have this family. We wouldn’t have found each other. Give yourself more credit.”

Leo goes back to hiccuping sobs as he buries his face in DvD’s shoulder.

Mikey starts crying as well, despite how much he’s already been doing.

“I-I’ll rip up my picture a-and we can make one up ourselves! I-I can give you tape! J-Just please, d-don’t go again! I-I love you so much!”

Leo pulls him more into the hug, they wet each other’s faces with their tears.

Raph wraps around them all.

“You told that other me before about how you know he’s not a bad guy. How we’ve all made mistakes. You should give yourself the same benefit of the doubt. You aren’t cursed, bad things……just happen. A lot. What was going to happen to the NFIF guys would have without meeting you. But now because they met us, we can help them. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not glad you’re in the family, Leo. I love that I know you. I love you.” He rest his chin on top of Leo’s head.

Leo and Mikey keep crying until they’ve finally calmed down.

The hand once again offers the container towards Leo.

“How….do I do it?”

“Think of your family as a something within you, and release it. Raphael, you as well.” The hand urges.

“What? Me? But didn’t have any breakthrough or anything…..”

“Right now is the moment you feel closest to your family. It may also help to remember who is not here, and wanting to get her back.”

Leo and Raph nod, both placing their hands on the container. Red and blue pours in before the hand takes it away.

“Where…..are you going to find a replacement for me?” Mikey brings up.

April suddenly bursts inside the room.

“You guys! He took Misa!”

April had kept walking until they could no long hear Mikey scream. It took everything she had to not go back to help. Misa wanted to go back too, but as grown up as she thinks she is, nobody should be seeing that.

Nobody should be experiencing that.

It’s not like the turtles were adults either. They shouldn’t have to listen to their brother scream and beg for the nightmare to end. It’s something they have to do though because the only good adult they have around has been taken.

It’s painful to not be able to do anything else, but this is incredibly important. Misa needs her right now.

“Is….little big brother….going to be okay?” Misa asks, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“He’s got everyone else with him, they’re going to do whatever he needs them to.” April assures.

Misa looks down.

“I want to help Raphie too.”

April bites them inside of her cheek. Guilt for leaving him is gnawing at her as well. Wasn’t there anything else she could have done? All that guy has being doing this whole competition is trying to protect everyone from the spores.

Who protects him?

“We’re going to, when we have a plan.”

“But….but it’s going to be too late!” Misa whines.

“Hey, we don’t know that. Maybe….maybe the void guys helped out and he’s coming back to us now!” April suggests, vaguely aware it’s probably a huge lie.

Misa pouts until footsteps draw her and April’s attention.

“Raphie!!” Misa shouts excitedly shouts, wriggling out of April’s arms.

“Misa! Wait!” April reaches out too late.

The young girl runs up to NFIF Raph who picks her up. They smile at each other.

“Hey, kid. Glad I found ya. I have something real important I need you to do.”

“How can Misa help?”

“I need to borrow your portal sword.”

Misa gladly hands it to him.

April sees a glowing, blue tear roll down his cheek.

“Misa! Get away from him!”

Misa looks at her in confusion before seeing Raph’s eyes fill with blue. She begins grabbing at her sword but he keeps it out of her reach. He then holds her tight, close to his plastron and tucked under his arm.

Raph’s smile falls. The glowing tears fall freely down his cheeks with no signs of stopping. He looks over at April with a sorrowful expression.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I really tried. I just….there’s no reason for me to fight anymore. My family is all back there. Even if I did fight, everything I do fails.”

“Raph! That’s not true! Fight it, we can save your brothers together! You don’t have to do this!”

“No, doing this is the only way he won’t hurt Misa. It had to be me. All we need is the sword and to use her as bait. She’ll be okay. I’d promise, but….my promises don’t mean much…..” He opens a portal.

“No! Raph! Misa!” April poofs to get close, but ends up falling on top of nothing after the portal disappears.

“Where did he take her!? Back to that room!? Are they sporing her again!? She can’t survive that! Mikey didn’t!” DvD panics.

“Hold on, what do you mean he didn’t-WHY IS THE HAND HERE!? IS THAT TNT!?” April points.

“Be not afraid-“

“IT TALKS!?”

UIFY Raph explains what happened. April feels like her feet are stuck to the floor. It’s only been 15 minutes and things somehow turned even more disastrous.

“H-How are we going get more ninpo!? That could kill Mikey again!”

“It can come from you-“ The hand starts.

April slams her hand onto the container.

“I want to save them! Please work! Do your magic thingy!”

Shockingly, it does work. Green pours into the container and the colors all being swirling with each other. They glow even brighter.

“This should be enough. I can set up the charge behind the wall that houses the main mushroom.”

“Wait, won’t that hurt the other me?” Leo brings up.

“He’s survived worse.”

“That’s not a good reason!”

“He’ll be alive and the spores will be gone. Is that not what you want?”

“It is, but-!”

The lights suddenly shut off.

DvD quickly turns on the light from his phone.

“Oh what now!?”

“Hello everyone in the competition! It’s your new overlord, Audrey III!” Donnie’s voice calls from a speaker in the room.

Oh no.

DvD quickly searches the room for some medical masks which he puts on and passes out to his brothers and April once they’re found. If he thinks what’s about to happen is really happening, they need protection.

Leo careful puts Mikey’s on for him and then carries him on his back as they all leave the room.

There’s panic and chaos everywhere from the sudden darkness. People are bumping into things and shouting.

The nearby vents start releasing the familiar, sickening spores.

“Don’t resist. Or do, your fear is tastier that way.”

[odinsblog]

“I sometimes hear people say that Russia was forced to attack Ukraine because Ukrainians wanted to join NATO. Those people also often say that NATO promised it would not expand to the East, but later broke this promise. And this, allegedly, is the reason why Russia keeps attacking its neighbors.

If you have ever heard people say something like that, please know that this is not true. And it will take me less than five minutes to prove with facts that both statements are false.

First, let's have a look at the timeline of events.

Russia first invaded Ukraine in February 2014 by occupying the Crimea peninsula. At that moment, Ukraine was a neutral country by law and expressed no intention of joining NATO whatsoever. For instance, during the Revolution of Dignity, the protesters insisted on Ukraine joining the EU, not NATO. It was only in autumn 2014, after many months of war, that Ukraine abandoned neutrality.

So what came first? Russia attacking Ukraine, or Ukraine wanting to join NATO?

The answer is clear.

Had Russia not threatened Ukraine's existence, there would be no reason for our country to seek collective security. So please do not repeat the lie that, I quote, “Russia attacked because Ukraine wanted to join NATO,” end of quote. This does not correspond with the facts.

Now let's have a look at the story of NATO allegedly promising not to expand to the East.

If you ask people who say this, when exactly, such a promise was made and who made it, most of them will not be able to provide a clear answer. Spoiler, because no such promise has ever been made and the whole story is a Russian fairy tale.

Those more sophisticated will tell you that the promise was made to the President of the USSR, Mikhail Gorbachev. They may even refer to the 1990 U.S.-Soviet negotiations on the reunification of Germany. Again, let’s consider the timeline.

In summer 1990, when these talks were held, the Soviet analog of NATO, the Warsaw Pact, still existed. Its dissolution, let alone the Soviet Union's dissolution, was not on the cart. No one even talked about it or imagined it. It was only next year, in 1991 that the Warsaw Pact, and later the USSR, quite unexpectedly ceased to exist.

Now explain to me just how the very issue could be even discussed in the summer of 1990. It is not surprising that Mikhail Gorbachev later himself refuted this falsehood. When asked by a journalist whether any such promise had been made, he said this was a myth.

Now let's look at it from another perspective. How could NATO even promise anything like that?

Initially, it is not NATO that decides which country joins it. Countries themselves need to want it. And actually, the membership criteria are very difficult. It requires a lot of political will and reform. All the NATO members that joined it after 1991, really wanted to be part of it.

Their people wanted this.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question for Russia: Why were all of the nations that had been part of the Soviet Union or the Socialist bloc so eager and desperate to join NATO?

Well, maybe because in three decades, Russia has invaded or incited war in at least three of its neighbors, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine. At the same time, Russia has not dared to invade any of its NATO neighbors.

Do you see the pattern?

The only reason for countries in the vicinity of Russia to seek NATO membership has always been and remains the need to protect their people from Russia.

Therefore, Moscow has only itself to blame for the fact that all of the central European and Baltic nations ran away from it and hid under the NATO umbrella as quickly as they could.

Do not let Russian officials or their supporters in the West fool you. Russia attacked Ukraine not because NATO expanded to the East, or because Ukraine wanted to join NATO. Russia attacked because it denies Ukraine's right to exist and wants to conquer our land and kill our people. It is through our shared strength that we can and must stop Russia and put an end to its aggressive plans for the rest of Europe.

For this to happen, keep supporting Ukraine and don't buy Russian lies.”

👉🏿 https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2014/11/06/did-nato-promise-not-to-enlarge-gorbachev-says-no/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/686191406300184576/appeasement-does-not-work-appeasement-didnt

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/684530801484922880/believing-putins-reasons-for-invading-ukraine

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/742088177664344064/violated-agreements-1991-russia-cosigns