#thoughts with leel

[woolmasterleel]

I had this really detailed attack all sketched out and my program closed before I could save, the world is cruel

[leelreallylikespersona]

AU where Minato doesn't use the Great Seal and instead takes the Nyx egg home

[detonatethegemapples]

[yaldabaothappreciationhours]

Okay but what if Mementos had mushrooms...

[fatherbaldest]

This meme was sent to me and I immediately got to work

Loki took like two seconds, but Balder

"Do something quick" YEAH SURE, but I had fun, I love drawing Balder so much ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

[genshxn]

*emerges from damp cave, throws this at you and disappears again*

you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up

as inspired by the fact that dottore is very likely wearing a harness or some shit under his shirt 👍

(calling dottore a manwhore (half-jokingly); yanking that mfer around or smth idk; also not beta read lmao) this is a leel bit spicy???? i think? i have no idea anymore lmao

he certainly seemed to love talking. did he just love the sound of his own voice that much? with a loud sigh, you leaned your head on your wrist, barely processing anything he was saying. you heard the words, but they mostly just glazed over you.

something something clones... fancy-biology term you've heard maybe once... more clone bullshit... more words flew over your head. so instead, your attention instead wandered to his attire. that was a fancy new look he had, you thought. it was about as pompous as he was with the feathers and glowing accents.

what caught your attention the most was the harness he had on. it's such an expected choice of wardrobe for him, almost laughably so. you silently wondered what would happen if you pulled on it? of course, you weren't going to try such a thing. yet.

your eyes continued to wander over him slowly. he paced around in front of his desk, occasionally stopping to lean on it, or make some sort of exaggerated gesture.

"so i thought that sort of technology would maybe work for some sort of clone, but without him actually here, it's a bit hard to recreate it, y'know... are you even paying attention?" dottore sat back against his desk with his hands behind him, propping himself up. you couldn't see his eyes hidden by his mask, but you knew he was staring right at you with near-tangible annoyance.

"yep." no you weren't.

"really now? then do tell me what i was just talking about."

"i don't know, but i was paying attention to you. what's up with that new outfit?"

"i've been talking to... perhaps more at you for the past two hours and you only notice my clothes now?" dottore's head tilted in perplexity. you were barely paying him any attention of any sort, so yeah, it took you a little bit.

you could understand everything he was saying perfectly fine now, you were just actively choosing to ignore him. "what's up with that choker, huh?"

you couldn't see the expression his eyes were making, but you knew that his slightly agape jaw was a look of complete disbelief. you got up from your seated position across from him and approached him in front of his desk. you leaned in just enough that you could feel faint warmth radiating off him, but still without contact. he instinctually backed up just a tiny bit from you. "...what?"

"oh, look at that. looks like it connects to something under that shirt." you slipped two fingers underneath his choker and pulled them towards the connecting ring in the middle.

"oh my archons, what do you want?" dottore's voice sounded even and impatient, but his quickly preceding swallow suggested otherwise. it was getting easier to read him. (at least this clone)

"to see where this leads, you manwhore." you pulled his head down to your level to mutter into his ear.

"EXCUSE M—" dottore pulled back indignantly, but he was quickly interrupted by your succinct movements. you flicked his beak-like mask upwards, revealing the rest of his face and his bright red eyes beneath. then you yanked the ring of the choker again with greater force and slammed your lips against his.

you leaned into him, bearing more of your weight on him as he began to falter. he wanted to put his hands on you, but he was only going to fall over if he moved them anywhere. he would be even further at your disposal if he was lying on the desk. but he didn't quite want to risk that right now.

your free hand found its way into his mint-coloured hair. it's exceptionally soft under your fingers as you practically manhandled him. your strong grip was admittedly the only thing keeping him upright.

your other hand had begun to work its way down the middle strap of the choker, only to be interrupted by his done-up collar. but that wouldn't stop you, not now, and not before. you undid the blue cravat with one hand and slipped it off him, then moved to singlehandedly undo the top few buttons. you were quite good with your hands, being part of the fatui. being dottore's 'assistant' also helped.

his legs began to feel weak. he was slipping, knuckles turning white from their grip on the desk. he was trying so hard not to fall back.

breath be damned, you thought as you pulled back with a gasp of air. both of you panted, pupils blown wide. his pale face was dusted in a blush. his collar was a mess, by your handiwork. but your suspicions were confirmed. it definitely seemed like he had some sort of harness on, as the middle still continued down over his sternum and further below.

"sorry, i kinda just wanted to make you shut up," you said as you finally caught your breath again. "you talk way too much."

now it was dottore's turn to ignore what you were saying. "hah, who would have thought that a simple change in wardrobe would make you act this way?"

"you say that like it was intentional?" you raised your eyebrow at him.

"who knows, maybe it was?" he shrugged.

"my lord, you really are a manwhore," you quickly said before shoving him down onto the desk, this time working his bound-up coat off.

LMAO SORRY THIS IS SO GOOFY.

DOTTORE'S NEW FIT GOT ME ACTING UP

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Current, after this PARTIES: Leila @amonstrousdream and Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Leila's home SUMMARY: Inge shows up to comfort Leila, but the other ends up comforting her in stead as they speak about motherhood. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death

Though the role of supportive friend often saw Inge dragging her people out to a club or something else indulgent, she knew tonight was not the night for such things. And so in stead she found her way to Leila through the astral, bringing along a bottle of a sweet white wine. She was polite enough to knock on the door of the room Leila was in, to not just pop in completely unannounced.

She wished, not for the first time, that Cassius was here. He was better at these sensitive things.

In stead she gave a half-hearted smile as the door opened, reaching in for a half-hug and a kiss on each of Leila’s cheek. “Alright,” she said, “Let’s wallow in our misery together, shall we?” She wiggled the bottle. “With this guy.”

Everything hurt. Not a single blow had been landed on her, and yet Leila felt as if she was a breath away from dissolving into that fine shimmering dust that she was composed of. For as valuable as they were, sometimes it was a curse to have feelings. She thought she knew pain, thought she knew fear, too, but now both sensations felt entirely new and a million times worse than they ever had. 

When the knock at the door came, the mare didn’t know whether she should feel relieved or miserable. At two hundred and twenty-six years old, she should have been able to handle situations like these alone. After all, she’d spent two centuries in solitude. But when she forced herself up and opened the door, it took her strength not to burst into tears. 

She hugged Inge tight- probably tighter than she ever had before. “You are a saint,” Her voice wobbled slightly as she pulled back. “Thank you for coming so quickly…”

Leila pulled her into a hug and Inge returned the gesture after half a (not-)heartbeat, tucking a curl behind the other’s ear as the embrace ended. She took the other in properly, noting the wobble in her voice and the expression on her face. 

“Come on,” she said, moving in and closing the door, pulling the other along towards the couch. The bottle of wine was discarded and ignored for a moment as Inge sat the other down and sat next to her, taking Leila’s hand. She was better at the physical proximity than knowing what to say — she was enraged, that much was certain. But that anger was best not acted upon, considering how she’d ended up stuck on a wall last time she’d tried. 

She gave a soft squeeze. “I think you’re putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, Leels.” Responsibility had never fit her well. She preferred to breeze to life, to skip away at the sight of trouble, but here she was. In Wicked’s Rest, still, with more hunters closing in on her and her kin. “Do you want to talk?”

At least she wasn’t alone anymore. Hurt was a close cousin to fear, both finding ways to crack the mind and soul into nothing but shards and fragments of themselves. It was worse, being alone. But she was lucky to have a friend in Inge. Leila wished that she’d met the woman decades ago… maybe then she wouldn’t be so fragile. 

She let herself be pulled back across the room to the couch. The house had felt so deathly quiet for weeks. Most of the time she didn’t mind the silence, the solitude. But today wasn’t that time. The mare was grateful to have company, grateful for a hand to hold in the midst of the category five shit storm that had unleashed itself on the family she’d pieced together in Wicked’s Rest. 

If she were in a better state of mind, she might have chuckled at the little nickname. Instead, the mare’s dark eyes were fixed on some distant spot as the words churned deep inside her. It took a moment before Leila could force words to come out, her throat clenched so tight to keep tears away. “I finally have a family here… I have wonderful people in this town. And two young women who call me something like a mother. Something I never thought I would get to be. I died and became this. One I can’t keep safe at all, she keeps getting nearly killed by the slayers who see us as monsters that don’t have souls… and another who told me to leave when I tried to check on her. After I promised I wouldn’t leave her. She insisted I leave and I left to give her space, and now she’s… she’s blocking Metzli, and she’s ignoring Ariadne, and I feel like I can’t breathe because nothing I say or do can help- I can’t help… I can’t-” The dam broke, and the sob that Leila had been holding in swallowed up the mare and her words. 

Two hundred years and all she had amounted to was a monster and a failure. Ironic, that she could have all the time in the world and still not be enough.

Leila spoke of motherhood as something that had been robbed from her after she had died and that she had found again in Cass and Ariadne. Inge was not sure what to make of the statements, what to say to console her, especially not when she started to cry. So in stead she pulled her close while her own stomach contracted, pulling Leila’s face to the nook of her neck and shoulder so the other mare would not have to see her expression.

It took a while for her to form a response, to push pass the rock that formed in her throat at the topic at hand. “You know, Leila,” she began, “That’s what I think it is to be a mother. You cannot always keep them safe. You cannot always protect them.” And she was not thinking about Ariadne or Cass or any of the younger people in town who had to face hunters — but she thought of Vera. A young Vera, crying inconsolably. An older, teenaged Vera wrought with heartbreak. An old Vera in the hospital. “Most of the time it feels like falling short, but that’s what it is. The most you can do is be there.”

And Inge had not been able to do that. She’d grown distant and absent, had traveled the world once Vera was old enough – or so she thought – to stand on her own two legs. She had lied and kept secrets, in the name of protection, but had driven a wedge between herself and her daughter. To even start thinking of Ariadne as a child of hers would be preposterous, an insult to Ariadne and herself. She wanted to shake Leila and tell her to stop doing that exact same, to save herself from this self inflicted curse. She swallowed in stead and reached for the bottle of wine, letting Leila go. “It’s never enough, what you do. But you do it. And that counts for something.”

She hardly noticed herself being pulled in to rest against Inge’s shoulder. This strange heartache was like being human all over again. It was like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and every cell of her was unraveling itself. Leila had been given some… strange gift, a second chance by the universe, and yet seemed to fail over and over again. But there was comfort in the crook of Inge’s neck, in the gentle embrace of a friend… of a sister. 

And then, Inge began to speak.

She forced herself to steady her breaths just so she could listen. The words that left the other mare’s mouth were a surprise. Each one seemed to have a deeper story attached- one that was not spoken of and yet persisted as a part of Inge. As if motherhood was not simply a concept to Inge, rather, it was something she had experienced first hand. Leila slowly lifted her head from the crook of Inge’s shoulder, sniffling (like some pathetic little thing, Leila, really-) as she studied her expression… her words…

“It counts for something…” She repeated those words, trying to taste them on her tongue. She hoped that, somehow, her failures still counted for something. But it felt like it counted as a loss. With a push to her feet, Leila trudged to grab some glasses that she had abandoned nearby, knowing the promise of company and drink were coming soon. “You… you don’t have to answer this, but it sounds like you’re speaking from experience…”

“It does. It matters,” she confirmed. Leila got up and somehow it was cold, for a moment, as if there had been any bodily heat shared between their bodies before. Inge was relieved for it, for the absence of the other mare and her proximity. She’d undressed a part of herself that she preferred to keep clothed, a side of her that had truly died years and years ago and then died again in that hospital.

She unscrewed the bottle of wine and let the other’s words hang in the air. This was when she was meant to confess, to lift the veil once more, but in stead she waited for the glasses to be placed down so she could fill them. Leila offered her the room to not answer, to keep her memories and past lives close to her chest. Inge wasn’t sure what to do — because to not answer, to evade was to confess all the same. She filled the glasses of wine and took one, taking a sip and letting the bubbly, sweet-yet-sour liquid pass through her esophagus.

“I had a daughter. Before … I died and came back. She was eight, when it happened.” She pulled her legs close, ankles hitting the ridge of the couch. “I tried, to be good. To be good a mother. Sometimes I think I was. Sometimes it was … you know, how it is. To become what we are.” The nights filled with terrors and then having to dole out that same terror to continue living. “But I don’t want to blame my shortcomings on that alone. Because I did, you know? Fall short. I think sometimes it was inevitable.” She took another sip. “She was magnificent, though. Despite it all. Not because of, not — I would never think myself so arrogant. But I think I did good, in some areas.”

The glass of wine in her hands felt sharply cold, and Leila clutched it closer like it would shock her out of her foolish tears. It was her sole focus until the moment Inge’s voice filled the space once more. Only this time, she did not offer advice. She offered the story behind the advice. 

Had. Had a daughter. Not have. 

Oh. 

The mare pieced the puzzle of Inge together slowly as she recounted bits of her tale. A mother who lost her life and then returned to her daughter, trying to raise a girl when her own existence had changed so dramatically. Eight was so young to lose a mother. When she had been eight, Leila had still been hiding behind her mother’s skirts or escaping into the orchard to be hidden in trees. Even if Inge had come back, it couldn’t have been easy for either party… especially on nights where her little girl's mind wove terror instead of sweet dreams. But that sort of loss… it was unimaginable, what Inge had gone through. And yet, she still persisted. And yet, she was still here. 

She wanted to say she was sorry. Or that she was sure Inge had done a good job, that she had been a good mother, that she had done her best. Instead, Leila rested a hand gently on Inge’s arm. There were no good words. When words did come out, “I’m sure she was spectacular… what was her name, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

Leila did not argue with her. Leila did not apologize for her loss. Leila let a small silence linger and then asked a question that was like a soothing warm drink after a cold winter day. A comfort, a mercy. Inge took it and sat with it for a moment, resisting the urge to drain her glass and fill it a second time, and this time to the brim. Memories were sharp and jagged. Vera had died in a hospital room. Ariadne had been almost murdered recently. Failure was even sharper. 

“Vera,” she said. She leaned into the touch for a moment. She wondered what Leila would make of it, this past she kept sheltered. If she would take it as a warning. It could happen, after all. Ariadne could die. Cass could die. And though they were less likely to slowly wither away of disease, there were plenty of other threats hanging over their necks. 

And no, Inge would never claim that they would have to stop loving. To live an immortal life without love was impossible — but the risk of loss weighed heavy. “Her name was Vera. She was … yes, she was spectacular.” She did drain her glass now, taking hold of Leila’s hand. “I did not come here to speak of her. It’s you tonight is about, no?” 

In the life of a mare, memories were a gift. What were dreams and nightmares- the natural ones- more than a tangle of thought and memory weaving themselves together in a tapestry that could only be seen by one? Leila did not need to share in a dream or a memory to know the love and loss that Inge kept locked up deep inside. It was an honor to know the past. An honor to hear the name. And it was a beautiful name… Vera. It meant faith, or truth, if she was remembering correctly. It occurred to her as she listened that perhaps to know Inge’s truth was to know Vera, if not in person, then in memory. 

There was pain in being a mother. To love was to know pain- it was an inescapable truth. But it was better to have loved… far better to love than to shield oneself from the scars. She gave Inge’s hand a tight squeeze, words having abandoned Leila for the moment. She loosened her tongue with a long sip of bitter-sweet, slightly effervescent wine. “I think…” The mare leaned forward, taking the bottle and refilling Inge’s glass, “I am very lucky to call you my friend, Inge… Very lucky.” Without another word, Leila tucked herself back in beside the woman, letting her head rest on her shoulder. 

To be a mother was to know heartache. But at least it did not have to be something carried alone.

Leila refilled her glass without her needing to ask and then tucked herself close to her. Inge still felt that warmth, the one that was akin to the hot chocolate after a cold winter day – this too was a memory, a sensation of a life long passed – and she pulled up her legs, wrapping one arm around the mare. Words fell short, as they often did, but she had this. It seemed Leila understood that, too. 

“Well,” she said, drawing a circle on the point of Leila’s shoulder, “I consider myself quite lucky to call you a friend, too.” And perhaps tragedy would strike either of them. Maybe a hunter would inevitably chop off one of their heads before the decennium turned, or maybe Ariadne would finally be caught in a trap she could not get out of. But for now there was this, and that counted for something. Much like motherhood, this was the best they could be — there, for one another. She let out an exhale that served no purpose, took another sip from her glass of wine and squeezed Leila’s shoulder. “Thank you, for asking and listening.” 

[lonely-shine]

Meet the Apprentice: Shell (revamped!)

Aaand with this we have all the apprentices re-introduced!

So! Shell is the apprentice that has actually had some significant changes here since their first introduction. So let's look at that!

The most obvious is probably her familiar, Leel, which was previously a ferret but has recently been changed to a cat. The ferret was really cute, and I initially liked the idea, but it never really clicked. Almost thought maybe Shell wasn't meant to have a familiar until I realized that it's not the familiar that didn't fit, just the species. Would probably have realized sooner if I wasn't so set on giving everyone familiars of a species not used in canon, lol.

The second change, and something that I did announce during Apprenticember even if not in a proper post, is that Shell uses hearing aids! I didn't include this in her first introduction because I didn't feel like I knew enough about deafness at the time to properly include it, but I've tried my best to be better informed since then, so it's now official ^^

I'll make a proper post about how Shell lost her hearing and developed her aids in a future post, but long story short: when Shell was in her middle 20s an alchemy experiment went wrong and caused a small explosion, giving Shell partial but permanent hearing loss. Because she specializes in enchanted items, she made her aids mostly out of professional curiosity about if it was something even possible to make. She also knows sign language (if I ever depict it, it will be LSC (catalan sign language) because that's the one I'm learning).

[chroniichorror]

leela ananya rajan

[ SIMONE ASHLEY, 29, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ] Welcome to Antioch, LEELA ANANYA RAJAN ! Local sources report that you’ve been in town for 4 YEARS and are known to be PATIENT yet SELF-CRITICAL. Others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in the DEAD TO ME SKELETON as THE GRIEVING FIANCE, but most know you for your work as an ENGLISH TEACHER at ANTIOCH HIGH SCHOOL We’ll see you around town soon ! 

Character Name: Leela Ananya Rajan Nickname (s): Leels, Lilu, Ani Face Claim:  Simone Ashley Birthday: April 27 Place of birth: London, England Sexuality: Heterosexual Zodiac: Taurus Sun MBTI: INFJ Moral Alignment: Lawful good Occupation: English teacher Place of work: Antioch High school Subplot affiliation: Dead To Me as the Grieving Fiance 3 positive traits: empathetic, resilient, patient 3 negative traits: self-critical, guarded, emotionally reserved Languages: English & Tamil Love language: Acts of service Biography (optional): 

Leele Ananya Rajan was born in London on April 27th into a close-knit British-Indian Tamil family. Her parents, originally from Tamil Nadu, India, instilled in her a deep appreciation for her cultural heritage. Her mother was a social worker & her father was a university professor. She has a younger sister, Priya, who she shares a close bond with. She was an introspective & academically inclined child, developing a passion for literature early on.

She pursed her Bachelor's degree in English Literature at a prestigious university in London. During her undergrad studies, she participated in a study abroad program, where she met Aaron at a university literary event. The two shared a love for literature & education, & their bond grew quickly. Aaron was immediately captivated by Leela's intellect, her passion for literature, & her cultural heritage. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, revealing shared values & interests. His gentle demeanor & thoughtful nature resonated with Leela, sparking an immediate connection.

After completing her Bachelor's degree, Leela earned a Master's degree in Education, specializing in secondary education & curriculum development.

Aaron was an Antioch native & wanted to return home after his graduation & receiving his degree in Environmental Engineering. And five years ago, Leela moved there with him & it seemed like the perfect place to settle into her environment & start a family. She embraced her new community, appreciating the slower pace of life compared to bustling London.

On their second anniversary of meeting, at a scenic overlook in the Oregon countryside where they often went for natural walks on stargazing, Aaron proposed. A serene, secluded spot overlooking a valley filled with wildflowers; this place had been where they had spent countless hours talking, dreaming, & growing closer to each other. It had also been the place where they had their first serious conversation about their future together. Aaron had incorporated elements from both their cultural backgrounds into the proposal. He laid out a blanket with traditional Cherokee patterns & decorated the area with lanterns & flowers. He prepared a picnic with a mix of traditional Tamil dishes & Indigenous cuisine, reflecting their combined heritage & the blending of their lives. Knowing how much she loved literature, he gave her a. beautifully bound journal filled with his handwritten notes & reflection on their relationship throughout the years, along with passes from their favourite books.

After settling into their new lives, they welcomed their first born son, Ravi, & later their first born daughter, Lila. Aaron was a devoted & loving father, deeply involved in the upbringing of his children He took every opportunity to teach them about their diverse heritage and the importance of environmental stewardship.

On the evening October 5, Aaron was tragically killed in a hit-and-run accident while walking home from the store, having bought something for Leela, who was pregnant with Lila at the time. The driver fled the scene, leaving Aaron seriously injured. Emergency services arrived promptly, but despite their efforts, Aaron succumbed to his injuries before he could be transported to the hospital. She had been waiting for him at home, Ravi next to her on the couch, ready to say goodnight to his father. The usual routine. Instead, there was a knock at the door & two policeman with sorrow on their faces to inform her of the murder of her fiancé. The sudden and violent nature of the accident left Leela in shock when she received the news late that night. The news of Aaron’s death shattered Leela’s sense of normalcy. She was overwhelmed by grief, compounded by the responsibility of caring for their young children, Ravi and Lila. In the days that followed, Leela faced a whirlwind of emotions and practical concerns. She was thrust into a legal battle as she worked with local authorities to find the perpetrator. The tragedy left her grappling with profound loss and the weight of her new reality.

Leela's Children:

Ravi

Age: 3 years old Birthday: July 19th Personality: Ravi is an energetic and curious toddler. He has a vibrant personality and a natural curiosity about the world. His laughter and enthusiasm for life bring joy to Leela and their home. Connection with Leela: Leela shares a deeply affectionate bond with Ravi. She is attentive to his needs and is dedicated to nurturing his development. Their relationship is characterized by a strong sense of love and mutual support. Leela often engages Ravi in activities that stimulate his creativity and learning, such as reading together and exploring nature.

Lila

Age: 6 months old Birthday: October 7th Personality: Lila is a calm and endearing baby. She has a gentle demeanor and is often observed gazing around with a sense of wonder. Her presence is soothing, and her smiles bring comfort to her family. Connection with Leela: Leela has a nurturing relationship with Lila. Despite the difficulties she faces as a single mother, Leela finds solace and joy in caring for Lila. She sings lullabies and shares stories with Lila, blending Tamil and English traditions to foster a sense of cultural heritage.

Headcanons

Secret Poet: Leela has a hidden talent for poetry. While she primarily focuses on prose in her teaching and reading, she writes poetry as a personal outlet to express her deepest emotions and reflections, often using it as a way to process her grief and experiences.

Cultural Fusion Cooking: Leela enjoys experimenting with fusion recipes that blend Tamil cuisine with local American ingredients. She often creates unique dishes that celebrate her heritage while incorporating new flavors from her life in the U.S.

Gardening Hobby: To find peace and a sense of accomplishment, Leela maintains a small garden in her backyard. She grows herbs and vegetables, and often involves Ravi in the gardening process, teaching him about plants and nature.

Favorite Spot in Nature: Leela has a favorite secluded spot in a nearby park where she goes to think and reflect. It’s a place where she feels a deep sense of connection to her surroundings and can escape the demands of her daily life.

Tales of Her Childhood: She often tells Ravi and Lila stories from her own childhood in London, weaving in elements of Tamil folklore and her family's traditions. These stories become a cherished part of her children’s bedtime routine. She'll share with them stories Aaron told her of his life & his culture.

Book Club Leader: Leela is an unofficial leader of a local book club for parents and educators. She organizes monthly meetings where they discuss literature and share their own writing, fostering a sense of community and intellectual engagement.

Custom Journals: Leela keeps a collection of custom journals, each dedicated to different aspects of her life—one for personal reflections, one for teaching ideas, and one for memories of Aaron. She decorates each journal with meaningful quotes and sketches.

Music Ritual: Every Sunday evening, Leela plays a mix of classical Indian music and soft rock while preparing dinner. It’s a ritual that brings her comfort and helps her unwind from the week.

Artistic Touch: Leela has a knack for creating handmade decorations for her home, particularly around the holidays. She enjoys crafting items that bring a touch of her Tamil heritage into her American home.

Dreams of Traveling: Despite her busy life, Leela dreams of taking her children on a trip to India one day, to introduce them to her family’s roots and show them the vibrant culture and history of her heritage.

Counseling: Leela attends grief counseling groups after the passing of her fiancé, Aaron.

Wanted Connection #1: Babysitter ( 0/2 )-- someone to watch Ravi & Lila when she has late school days. Happens at least 5-8 (3-4/person) times a month & she pays the best she can, plus feeds you each time. Maybe you watch the kids together, maybe you watch them at separate times & that's why there's two of you. Wanted Connection #2: People who knew Aaron ( 0/? ) -- Leela & these people would be somewhat friends who constantly check on her after the passing of Aaron. Chances are, they were closer to Aaron then Leela, but they still have respect & appreciation for the woman. Wanted Connection #3: Book club members ( 0/? ) -- self explanatory.

[yomiurinikei]

Hello Yomiuri.. I really need to ask some Kinji Uehara headcanons from you because of the illness type I have

I have illness named "no brain, only Kinji" and only thing can cure it is great and tasty hcs for him.. kehehe.

uh oh!!! what a serious condition… don’t worry, your medicine is here now! though…. really, what’s so bad about only having kinji in your head?

i think he deserves it. kinji <3

~*~

•based off canon, we can assume he stays at one church/convent-esque environment, and it’s linked to/has an orphanage. i 100% believe he’s all the kids favorites

•like. all the kids love him. sure, they like the clergy in general. but kinji can’t exist on holy ground without being swarmed by little ones!

•i think he’s overall more playful/a bit gentler with them. he’s likely to sneak a kid something sweet to have, stuff like that

•ALSO. i think he’s the best about like… we see he’s very accepting of people who don’t share his religious beliefs. i think that also applied to the children, which definitely earns him some credit

•he gets that a lot of the kids didn’t… really choose to be at the church, so he doesn’t get after them for not paying attention during service the way that other priests do

•speaking of. i think he often wonders what he’d have been like if he wasn’t adopted by his dad…

•seeing as he still uses his birth mothers surname, i think that while he does genuinely enjoy being a priest and takes comfort in religion, his devotion/service started as a way to get closer to his adopted dad

•especially with his dad being a respected bishop… it was a way to be connected to him, and to show others that he belonged with his dad!

•he wouldn’t change the course his life has taken. but he does wonder sometimes…

•maybe a bit of a odd bc but i think he really likes babies + is v good with them

•the church was only ever asked to care for like… newborns/vv youngin’s on rare occasions, but whenever there was a baby at the orphanage, kinji would always be nearby

•all the adults notice like. that he tries to “coincidentally” be nearby to help with the baby aksksks,, 

•he knows he can’t really have his own children due to his religious path, so if he did obtain a kid of his own, it’d be through adoption, and likely wouldn’t be a baby. so he appreciates it when he can spend time with an super leel one

•he just think they’re nice!! was fascinated with “….this is just a tiny little human. a person, yes, but one too little to even understand that they’re their own being” as a kid and that never went away

•i think he’d be fascinated by rhythm games if he was exposed to them!

•probably goes like… oh that’s not that hard it’s just clicking buttons in a pattern. but he struggles at first and that surprises him

•hmmm. i think he has a hard time vocalizing his thoughts? this is fairly based in canon, it’s not just a random hc

•ofc we know he has the philosophy of not speaking when there’s nothing to be said. but i think to a degree that stems from him struggling to verbalize what’s in his head

•sharing how he thinks/what he feels could just fuck things up. so if it’s not a necessity, it’s better to just hold ur tongue, in his mind

•tbh i think he like… deep down really wants to be closer with his classmates. but he’s nervous that he’ll make a bad impression, and they won’t like him, plus he knows he’ll likely just go his own separate way after graduation, so….

•overall i think he needs to make friends it’d be good for his brain

•mkay some less serious stuff! i think he does a really good job with spice in terms of not feeling. in pain, and that sort of thing, but he gets a really bad runny nose, and it’s obnoxious to him

•overall i think he’s not very adventurous with his food? he’s probably very “food is fuel” brained, even if he doesn’t realize it. he eats to not be hungry, not because he likes to eat 

•we shouldn’t let him watch brokeback mountain. something that’s been in the back of my mind for a lot of this is my thoughts on how his time at hpa would impact him but like.

•i think if he watched brokeback mountain it’d fuck everything up. it’d change him mentally. he’d come out of it a changed man. 

•anyways. i think the others bully him into getting social media so they can keep up with him and all that cool stuff.

•he keeps getting mass reported off twitter tho. lol. 

•no one knows why no one understands it he doesn’t do anything weird. he just wakes up and his acc has been suspended again

•i think he just tries to avoid how he feels a lot when it comes to his social relationships. 

•his ftes and how he latched onto yuki as a friend very very quickly makes me feel like he’s got some emotional needs that he doesn’t know are going unfulfilled

•i think if he got into a circumstance where he felt romantic attraction + let himself be emotionally in touch with that feeling he’d be vv like…

•i don’t want to say it’d consume him (unhealthy), i just think he’d become very oriented towards that feeling?

•like. oh having friends feeling love being close with other people. feels nice and is satisfying and is good. oh. hm. surprising 

•so yeah. if he was interested in someone, i think it’d take up a lot of his thought!

^this is kinji except like… with emotional connection and a sense of belonging and community and feeling valued by a group of people. (Text: I believed in God as a kid bc I always felt so moved during worship songs at my megachurch and then I went to a One Direction concert and felt the same thing and realized I just like live music)

•i don’t think i should be allowed to talk about my thoughts on kinji and religion and personal growth and like. any of that anymore tho. changing subjects again i think he’s got a low sugar tolerance he feels sick rlly easy when eating sweets

•THIS HAS GOTTEN VERY LONG. whoops. will leave u with this parting gift. i think he didn’t have a whole ton of toys and the like growing up, not because his dad didn’t care (i think he had a v good dad tbh) but just. because. not like they were going out to the stores ya know?

•so i think his dorm in hpa is p lacking- he has the standard amount of blankets and pillows on his bed and then he has all the stuff he needs for his studies

•i think one of his classmates should get him a stuffed animal tho. cuz he’s always off in his room studying? so he’s by himself :(,, so someone gets him a friend!!

•i have a few bull plushies i think he deserves one of those. i don’t have reasoning for this (los toros -> spain -> italy?? ??? maybe? ??????) but it’s real to me and a good note to end this on!

[scotianostra]

William Julius Mickle was born on the 29th September 1734 in Langholm, Dumfriesshire, which is now called Dumfries and Galloway.

His father was the Reverend Alexander Meikle, a minister at the parish church but, other than that, little is known of Mickle’s early life. On the death of his parents he ended up in Edinburgh, being cared for by an aunt and attending a high school in the city. It seems that he developed a love of poetry from about the age of 13 when he discovered Spenser’s Fairy Queen and it is believed that he styled his own early writing on it. By the time he was 18 he was already half way through the composition of an epic poem and had produced two tragic pieces along with other, shorter pieces of work.

He started his working life at an Edinburgh brewery, helping his aunt with the accounts, but soon moved south when the business got into difficulties. As a shareholder he was actually declared bankrupt in 1763 but did not wish to hang around to face his creditors. He then took up a position as a corrector with the Oxford Clarendon Press company, the job apparently allowed him plenty of leisure time which he spent writing.

His literary efforts met with both success and failure in even measures but the piece of work that really brought him to the attention of the literary world was a translation of the Lusiad from Portuguese which first appeared in 1771. It was so successful that it was reissued eight years later. He wrote this while lodging at the manor house in Forest Hill, Oxfordshire and the work resulted in a significant boost to his finances, so much so that he was able to stop working at the Clarendon Press in order to devote himself to literary pursuits.

From around 1765 onwards Mickle was able to write and publish a number of short poems while occasionally writing religiously-themed pamphlets of a controversial nature, decrying the likes of Voltaire. One of his most famous pieces, written in Scottish dialect, was There’s nae luck aboot the Hoose, although other writers have laid claim to it. It’s a fairly mournful tale about how a wife struggles when her man is away from home, at sea.

And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Mak haste, lay by your wheel; Is this the time to spin a thread When Colin's at the door? Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockings pearly blue; It's a' to pleasure my gudeman, For he's baith leel and true. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side, Put on the muckle pot, Gie little Kate her button gown, And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw, It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been lang awa. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk, Been fed this month and mair, Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And mak the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? Ah, there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like cauler air, His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair! And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave— And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave. And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa.

Following the release of new edition of The Lusiad, Mickle had a stroke of good fortune in that he was invited to sail to Portugal as secretary to the captain, a friend by the name of Johnston. When they landed at Lisbon he was warmly received and, over a period of six months, he set about learning as much as he could about the nature and customs of the people there.

On his return home he married the daughter of his former landlord at Forest Hill in June 1782, and they set up home in the nearby village of Wheatley. He was now financially secure and spent the rest of his life at leisure, writing occasional pieces as he felt the urge.

William Julius Mickle died on the 28th October 1788 after a short illness, aged 54, and was buried in the Forest Hill churchyard.

[woolmasterleel]

WHat if I hit them both with the IV gun and then fused them, they could be called Peace and Tranquility... They would be so pleasant

[leelreallylikespersona]

This is super self indulgent I think but an AU where the final bosses (+ others) make up a team and have their own adventure would be really fun I think

Maybe this would get me off my ass and finish up the humanoid designs I want to do...

[detonatethegemapples]

I had a dream where, if you completed the true arena in under 15 minutes, Magolor Soul would show up in Magoland.. it had a little cutscene where he came out of a portal and waved at the player, it was very cute ◕_◕

Makes zero sense for them to be there since Magolor is right there... but it would be so funny if his crowned/ soul form was in Magoland as well, just hanging out

[kshamyakhadkacrwr-blog]

Leels, I am already bawling. I’m supposed to be doing english homework right now, not crying ;( I was thinking about how lonely it’s gonna be now. Who am i supposed to call to do homework with? Who do I talk to when i’m done w everyone else’s shit? You being gone now it’s such a weird thing. It hit me so hard that night that I wrote the post. Just the thought of you and me not having the same classes and not walking hand in hand down the hallways in such a foreign concept. I know our other friends are still here but without you everything just feels so lonely and sad. How am I supposed to do math homework without you? I’m actually gonna die.. I DONT WANNA DO THIS WITHOUT YOU! HIGHSCHOOL IS GOING TO SUCK :( I wanna move there with you so bad. It’s been forever since I last saw you. This palce is absolute shit without you. I miss being dumb with you <3 and i miss your hugs so so much. I really wish I could use those healing powers right now on myself to make all this hurt a little less.  

- Aisha (15/08/2020)

[tiorx]

i used to know a girl named soleil but i had only seen it spelled, so once i called her 'sol-lay' and she looked at me kind of annoyed and said 'it's sol-leel.' so for like a week i thought i had been wrong about how to pronounce the word soleil, but no. she just had weird parents