#to save 5 seconds of processing time

[starsciencees]

God is there anything more annoying than my team lead coming to me and complaining that my readable code is slightly less fast than his unreadable nightmare idea?

A. Bitch we're using python. It's not fast. We already made the tradeoff for readability against speed

B. This code doesn't need to be fast and is fine

C. Everyone else's code is definitely slower than this and he doesn't have shit to say about it

Like ok yes, if I just put all the random functions into one file and shook them up it would be faster. But I'm still only going through the data once which is better than everyone else and also fuck you no one will be able to understand the outputs if they aren't explicit somewhere!

[lystring]

@orangenottangerineart drew my dnd character Bird!!!! I couldn't be happier omg ♥️😻 she's a tabaxi bard, a disgraced court jester, n honestly just a silly lil kittycat

[salemlunaa]

☀︎ YOU’RE NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE, YOU’RE LAZY AND AFRAID ☀︎

And this will cost you a lot of time that could be spent with your desires…

You have all the information, why aren’t you applying. You tell me you have been in this community for 6 months, a year, 2 years+, but how many of those days you’ve spent in this community have you actually applied, how many of those nights did you actually apply and don’t just fall asleep after 5 seconds.

And i know why you’re lazy, it’s because you’re scared, you’re scared of inducing process, whether it be success or failure. You make yourself busy with scripts and subliminals, “i’ll script this really cool thing first”, “i’ll scroll a little on tumblr first” “lemme just look at the success story hashtag before i do it, it really motivates me” You try and distract your self, you delude yourself into thinking you’re being productive but really you don’t want to, if you wanted to you wouldn’t be here and I will ALWAYS stand by that. You put it off until the last minute and then when it “doesn’t work” you run back to tumblr acting like you actually did anything.

a really good analogy from @archsariel333 - “you buy the pens, the notebook, you plan for the book you’re going to write but, you never write it”

“let me just add this one thing to the plan”, “let me look at inspo for book covers and art styles for illustration”, “let me go to my book writers group on tumblr and see if they have anymore advice for me even tho i know how to write a fucking book”

I know it’s comforting and validating to be in the “waiting period”, the period of anticipation. You want to go shopping for a vacation, pack your suitcase, look at reviews on social media, plan the pics you’re going to take, but getting on the actual plane can be scary, you ask yourself “what if they deny my boarding pass”, “what if i fail to make it on time”, “what if im not eligible to fly for whatever reason”, you don’t want to leave your comforting circumstances and even the trip itself scares you just a little, so you cope by buying all the vacation outfits in the world, saving inspo pics into a pinterest board, looking at vlogs of other people going to that place. You can’t bring yourself to get on the fucking plane.

You need to apply, and properly, 2024 is almost over, the amount of weeks we have left isn’t even in the double digits anymore, I don’t want you to make it to the end of this DECADE still keeping the tumblr “foryou” page company, watching people coming and going feeling paralysed as people who came here later than you pass you by. I know the feeling sucks but whose fault is that?

I want you to scrap the amount you’ve been here. Since you’re the operant power right? I don’t care how many weeks, months, years you’ve been here, scrap it, you’re going to start afresh and you’re going to actually apply, when you have the time, you’re not going to go back to your notes app, notion or pinterest to script some more, you’re going to apply.

A lot of you have the knowledge that majority of the world doesn’t and time on your hands, do you know how powerful and extremely fortunate you are, to have time AND knowledge? i don’t think alot of you understand how much of a privilege that is you are unstoppable yet you stop yourself out of fear that you will “fail” to tap into the void and let yourself down. You are so privileged to know what you know and to have the time to apply it, so do it, your not gonna scroll on tiktok for a few more minutes or shove a million subliminals down your throat to “prep yourself” you’re just going to take a breath and do it. Induce pure consciousness, and if you fall asleep scrap that assumption and do it again.

Look at your life right now, do you honestly like it, do you like envying others for having what you can have at the snap of your fingers. Do you like the life you are living?

I want you to tell yourself that you will not be the reason for your own demise. you will NOT be the reason that it’s 2026,27,28 and so on and you don’t have what you want.

please just go and apply, i don’t even know you guys and it hurts watching you kill time when you could’ve had everything a day ago, an hour ago heck even 5 minutes ago.

apply apply apply, don’t let this feeling be the reason you “fail” 💋🍑

[gazemaizeisdead]

13 Pitches For Ratatouille 2 (Rata-TWO-ouille)

With the success of Inside Out 2 (now only the second-highest grossing animated film of all time after being freshly dethroned by Ne Zha 2) Pixar has announced today that Coco 2 is in development, which will follow Toy Story 5, Incredibles 3, and “Hoppers”, a promising if controversial Bugs Life spinoff (time will tell if the decision to keep Kevin Spacey on comes back to bite them).

It seems we are firmly in the second major era of Pixar sequels; at this point it’s easier to imagine the end of the world than it is to see a future devoid of Ratatouille 2 (Rata-2-ouille). To that end I have taken the liberty of inventing several fresh directions for the series to take. Brad, if you’re reading this, my schedule is extremely busy but I am willing to talk if you would like to meet with me about expanding on any of these.

Six months after La Ratatouille opens, a new restaurant across the street takes Paris by storm, run by a mysterious unknown named Bessières many are lauding as the next Gusteau. Remy doesn’t view cooking as a competitive process, and his business hasn’t been hurt at all despite a perceived rivalry in the media, but an especially positive endorsement from Ego gets him curious enough to ask that Linguini sneak him in to see what the fuss is about. Remy discovers that Bessières (Kumail Nanjiani) is actually a fellow rat chef, and strikes up a friendship with him as the first friend he’s actually been able to discuss his passion with. The situation takes a dark turn when Bessières reveals himself as a rat supremacist à la a young Malcolm X, who rejects the Gusteauian ideal that anyone can cook — in his worldview, only a rat can truly be an artist, and humans have treated their kind too poorly to be allowed to continue controlling the world. Bessières tries to raticalize Remy and enlist him in his plan to shock human society with a series of rat terrorist attacks across Paris and elevate the social position of rodentkind, but Remy resists him and narrowly manages, with the help of both his human and rat friends, to prevent Bessières from blowing up the Eiffel Tower. Remy makes a stew that’s so good that it snaps Bessières out of a hyper-realistic rat panic attack and instantly fixes his anti-human bigotry and they open a new restaurant together. No real structural changes are made to fix rat-human relations but Remy gets a cute new rat-sized oven at the end of the movie and makes Bessières a rat-sized creme brûlée and that makes them both smile

Chef Skinner returns from disgrace with a restaurant entirely staffed by robots — anything can cook, declares Skinner to mocking crowds, who change their tune when they discover that the food is just as good at anything Gusteau made in his heyday for the same price as a big mac. Critics still think it’s a joke, but the public can’t get enough of Skinner’s new concept, and he begins buying out one Parisian restaurant after another and replacing the workers with his automatons. Remy and the “rat-pack”,  a team of five diverse marketable rat-children he is training to follow his pawsteps (Awkwafina, Kenan Thompson, Jenny Ortega, Millie Bobby Brown, Chris Pratt, his last name cleverly stylized as Chris P. Ratt in promotional materials) team up to infiltrate the robo-kitchens and see if they can find a way to stop Skinner. They discover that the robots are fake and are all actually controlled by enslaved rats, whom they free. Following a rat gundam fight where a living swarm of rats battles Skinner’s ultimate machine in the Seine, Remy sacrifices himself to save the rat-pack and actually dies. Skinner goes to prison (where it is heavily implied that he will be killed and eaten by prison rats) and the rat-pack makes crepes in Remy’s honor

Emile movie. Remy and Linguini travel the world to compete in a global culinary competition while Emile accidentally joins a rat spy agency to stop an evil conglomerate from smuggling fake truffle oil into France. Remy is in this movie for six minutes and has nine lines of dialogue, Colette is unvoiced

Another rat-pack vehicle, this time with Jenny Ortega swapped out for Olivia Rodrigo, who stars as a young rat looking to make a name for herself and become Remy’s apprentice years after the events of the first film. An aged Remy has become disillusioned with cooking and lost his passion for creating after the sudden death of his rat-husband, but the rat-pack works together to help him find inspiration and learn to love food again. This is actually a sequel to the Emile movie, although Emile himself only appears partway through the movie to enjoy a short zoom call with Remy and then later to call the Chris Pratt child an extremely offensive rat-slur (which he is reclaiming, the usage is considered appropriate by the film; Linguini tries to repeat the joke later himself and is immediately cancelled by everyone)

Film based on the in-universe Gusteau documentary that inspired Remy to be a chef. A young Gusteau (digitally-recreated Anthony Bourdain) works his way through the unforgiving 1960s hellscape of French cuisine to fight for his third and final Michelin star. At first this seems like a small plot hole because in Ratatouille restaurants are able to get up to five stars but at the end of the movie Gusteau’s food is so good that the Michelin company has to change their system to add extra. First M-rated Pixar film, ties the record for second most F-bombs in any movie ever

Everything that happened in Ratatouille 1 happens again exactly as it did the first time but it takes place in Italy instead. No new characters and it’s not a reboot, it’s just the same plot in Italy, everybody remembers the first movie happened but they weren’t able to internalize the lessons they learned after they all decided to move to Italy because the train ride was very long. Remy has to once again balance his rat and human lives and Linguini finds out his Mom was secretly an Italian chef so he inherits another famous restaurant and Ego is sad again. Skinner wants it to be illegal for rats to work in restaurants, but it already is illegal at the start of the movie, so he lobbies the EU to make it legal so he can then get it made double illegal. This is also a sequel to the Emile movie, Emile farts on the pope

Three disconnected episodic interludes about Remy (Dan Castellaneta), Linguini (Phil LaMarr), Colette (Tara Strong) and the entire rat-clan learning the true meaning of Christmas. Olaf cameos in the second short as a monster chasing Remy during a hallucinogenic nightmare he has after staying up for a week straight trying to create the perfect fruitcake (only later does he realize that the only truly perfect fruitcake is the one you share with family). Disney+ exclusive

Fifteen years after the first movie, Colette’s crazy sister (Sarah Silverman) returns from her exile in Elba to try and steal the soul of Linguini and Collette’s firstborn son Bouillabaisse (Jack Black) to use in an ancient culinary ritual that will allow her to take over Paris. Remy is dead and a ghost in this movie, it’s revealed that the Gusteau he kept talking to in the first movie was NOT a figment of his imagination, that was the real Gusteau; cooks of significant skill are able to continually defer their true deaths by making tasty enough food for the grim reaper (for reasons that are only alluded to, this form of necromancy only works for the french, in a comforting throwback to the nationally-segregated afterlife system implied by Coco). This movie also touches on the themes of rat discrimination more seriously; Remy is directly compared to Rosa Parks. Remy’s great granddaughter Madeline (Zendaya) and Bouillabaisse, guided by spirit Remy, defeat Colette’s crazy sister and use the power of the culinary ritual to reveal the truth of rat society to the human public. The movie ends on a bittersweet note when it turns out that only french rats are sapient, all the other rats are just rats

Remy and Linguini reunite to battle the Underminer and his robot army and stop them from destroying the surface world and polluting the atmosphere to turn the whole planet into an artificial underground. At the end they leave the underground for the first time in the movie during the final battle and the Underminer turns good because he sees Paris and realizes that he doesn’t need to terraform the surface world because the hellish aboveground wasteland he wants already exists. 62 on metacritic

Live-action remake of Ratatouille, but instead of going the Lion King CGI abomination route this uses actual trained rats who are voiced over Milo and Otis style (in that their mouths don't move and no effort is made to sell even the illusion of this, not that 40,000 real rats are ritualistically killed during production). In order to truly echo reality all dialogue is spoken in untranslated french regardless of the version of the film you are watching, except for Emile, who only farts (though is insinuated to be farting in the same language as the viewer). The rats constantly pee on everything just like real rats though this is never acknowledged. The Grammy and Annie award-winning songs "Le Festin", "Colette Shows Him Le Ropes", "Dinner Rush", and "Ratatouille Main Theme" do not feature (save for the trailer and brief EDM remixes of their motifs during the end credit blooper segments where we get to see all the silly mistakes the rat actors made during filming!) and are replaced with silence and sad coughing sounds. No rats are harmed in the making of this film but many many french people are

Followup to the live-action remake, Remy's dad Django prequel movie. IntergeneRATional trauma movie through the frame of a friend of Remy's Dad, Git (that one super fucking buff rat running around in the kitchen during the scene where they're stealing, you know the one) recounting the story to Remy and Emile shortly post-Ratatouille after they have a fight and decide they can't be brothers anymore. It is pointed out that Remy is a prince; the subtle implication that Remy grew up in Anton Ego's childhood home and was able to cook a meal that so perfectly matched his nostalgic preferences because he learned to cook using the same books and techniques as his mother is made explicit here, making the original movie much better and more cohesive as a result. We learn that Django actually had dreams of being a chef himself as a young rat and was friends with little Ego (Seth Green). Remy and Emile interrupt the central narrative multiple times throughout the story with witty banter and wacky interjections. Halfway into it after the tragic misunderstanding scene where Django only overhears Ego says that he's sick of rats (he leaves the room before hearing the -atouille) Emile points out that Git's story doesn't make any sense because rats only live for 1/35th the human lifespan and Ego and Django couldn't have been childhood friends. Blood instantly starts running from Git's nose before he collapses and dies and Remy and Emile realize that Chef Skinner has manipulated their entire lives through his magic time machine. The brothers work together to fix the timeline and even manage to save Gusteau, who we learn was murdered by Chef Skinner; but Skinner was only a puppet (literally!) of an evil future version of Remy who Remy himself defeats in "Rat Combat". For as well as this works as a thematic climax, the weaknesses of the trained rat conceit do begin to reveal themselves during the final fight scenes when so many crusted dribblings of rat piss and shit accumulate in the Skinner's actor's hair and eyebrows that he's unable to stop crying for the entire segment

Romcom Toy Story crossover in the style of "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" where Remy falls in love with a stuffed toy rat. Django and the toy's adoptive parents (a Pet Rock and a 2nd generation Tamagotchi, who had faced parallel discrimination themselves in their youth but don't see it as equivalent to what their son is doing) eventually do give up their bigoted ways but the relationship falls apart anyway during the same night due to Remy's obsession with his career. Heavily marketed as featuring Pixar's last LGBT character

Low stakes fanservice vibe sequel where the rats and humans work together to put on dinner theater at La Ratatouille (they do Madame Bovary, Colette reluctantly stars but kills it, Emile is forced to control Linguini for all his scenes after he has a panic attack and faints and does just as good of a job). This one is also an Emile movie but it's stealthy about it. Also a jukebox musical

[luvyeni]

1095 DAYS ,, 방찬

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ exinmate!bangchan x fem!reader wc. 1.3k

genre. smut

🦢◞  including ... oral ( m. receiving ), unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink

request. HERE I AM AGAIN! Ahem so I want a chan smut "he comes out of prison after 2 years for killing your psycho ex and you wait for him at home dressed in his fav way ;)" yeahhhh sounds horrible and freaky but I trust you ;)))

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy it probably one of my favs in a while !

❪ masterlist! ❫

1095 days; 16 hours, 30 minutes and 23 agonizing seconds since you could wake up to his arms warmly wrapped around you in the morning, hear his laugh when he tells you a corny joke that you laugh at just to make him smile— it was finally coming to an end.

3 years before you met chan; you were in a very physically and verbally abusive relationship with your ex; he destroyed you and everything around you— if it wasn't for chan you probably wouldn't have escaped; he saved you, and after he saved you he protected you, didn't let anyone harm you.

when your ex began to stalk you again; finding your shared apartment with chan, breaking into your home thinking you were alone; fortunately for you; you were weren't, but you couldn't say the same thing about your ex. he left out in a body bag, but the love of your life; the only man to protect you was also leaving out that night— in handcuffs.

the court process was long and stressful; and in the end he was sentenced to 5 years in prison for the murder of your ex— 5 years which you told him you'd serve right by his side; well on the outside.

it was the hardest time of both your lives; seeing him locked up in a cage when you went to visit him; sometimes covered in bruises due to fights he would get into with other inmates. only being able to speak to him for short periods of time, most of the time it was him listening to you cry about how you missed him and you needed him, which only made him upset; but he would never change what he did , if he could go back and do it again, he would.

luckily it was all over; he was released, 3 years later; 2 years before his release due to good behavior— he couldn't wait to be and to touch you, it was the first thing he thought about as he walked through those gates. “look at you.” lee know a good friend of his waited with his car. “you’re fucking jacked, did all you do was work out?” he pulled the boy into a hug. “ah! so good to be out.” he said. “and that's all i could do man, that and think about my girl.”

“speaking of your girl; don't worry we made sure she was straight the entire time, she's waiting for you at home.” he smiled getting into the car. “take me to my girl.”

staring at yourself in the mirror; you looked sexy, and it was chans favorite. “perfect.” you smiled to yourself, heart pounding, you'd finally have him in your arms again— you'd finally have him inside you again. “baby?” you heard his voice , the door closing being him. “oh my god!” you shrieked, running out of the room. “channie!” you jumped into his arms. “babygirl.” he lifted you up. “fuck i missed you so much princess.”

“i missed you too.” you said , he groaned. “seeing you and not being able to touch you was fucking torture.” he said. “it's been torture.” you whined, kissing his neck. “i needed you.” he moaned as you bit his neck. “it's not the same using my fingers.” he could feel his cock hardening in his sweats. “then how about i give my pretty princess what she's been needing for the past three years?” he hummed against your skin. “let's take this too the bed room baby.”

he carried you to the room, sitting you down on the bed, taking in your outfit. “oh baby i surely did miss this.” he sighed. “good cause you're getting this for the next few months.” you looked at him with glazed over eyes as you sunk to your knees, hold the waistband of his sweats. “yeah?” he said. “gonna suck my cock?” you nodded; pulling his pants down, along with his underwear , his cock almost slapping you in the face. “missed this so much.”

you grabbed the base of his cock; kissing his tip. “fuck baby , give me what i've been missing.” you sunk down on his length; his head knocking back as you began to bob your head up and down. “that's it baby, suck my cock.” he hadn't felt this in so long; unable to ever have privacy in a prison cell; he was force to be celibate the three years he was locked up. “fu-fuck baby , not gonna last long; take it fully choke on daddy's dick.” he grunted , your removed your hand from stroking what you couldn't fit inside your mouth, holding his thighs as you took him fully , gagging around his length. “yes fuck!” his thick accent and deep moans , shooting straight to your cunt , making you moan around his length. “fuck baby gonna blow my load , gonna take it right fuck , take it right down your throat?”

he began to thrust himself; using your throat. “fuck baby im gonna cum, gonna fucking cum?” he released over and over. “fuck im cumming!” he shouted , cumming into your waiting mouth , pulling out cumming onto your cheek. “good girl , taking daddy's cock like that.” he moaned, slapping his cock on your cheek. “time for daddy to fuck that pretty pussy of his.”

he helped you up. “as much as i love this pretty outfit, it's time to take this off so i can get a good look of your pretty body.” you slowly took off your lingerie, he watched you , stroking his cock. “you like daddy?” he smirked. “so fucking much princess , your pretty photos is what kept me sane for those three years.” he groaned. “go ahead and get on the bed for me.”

he cursed as you climbed on to the bed , spreading your legs revealing your wet center. “so wet baby, you really missed my cock didn't you?” he got in between your legs. “so-so much.” you moaned. “missed it so much.” you said , running your freshly manicured fingernails , pink with his initials , down his abs. “please fuck me.”

he wasn't gonna deny you or himself , pushing himself inside you. “oh yes.” he moaned. “this is what i've been missing.” he slowly rocked his cock inside of you. “ch-chris.” you moaned. “so-so fucking big.” the familiarity of his cock stretching you out , giving your cunt exactly what it wanted after so many years. “go faster please.”

he pushed your legs against your chest. “want daddy to go faster, fuck you deeper?” you nodded, he folded your body in half , pounding into you. “fuck!” you screamed. “this what you want?” he plowed into you. “for me to ruin this pussy?” he hissed. “yes please!” you cried out. “fu-fuck princess , daddy missed you so much.” he cursed. “missed feeling you squeezing me like this.” he groaned , the last three years were hell , now that he was out , he wasn't going back , he would never leave you for that long. “shit im gonna cum.” he moaned. “me-me too.” you moaned. “please cum inside me.”

“yeah? want me to cum inside you, give you a baby?” he cursed, he was ready to settle down with you, he had it all figured out , get a job at changbins auto shop; marry you and start a family. “please chan , give me a baby.” he kissed your neck. “channie im gonna cum.” you moaned. “gonna cum all over your cock.”

“fuck baby do it, cream daddy's cock.” he watched your mouth drop open as you came. “oh fuck that's it baby cum for daddy.” he groaned. “gonna cum.” his thrust began to falter. “fuck im cumming!” his cock twitching as he came deep inside you. “shit.”

he pulled out; watching his cum leak out. “mhm , not done baby , daddy's still hard.” he began to thrust inside you. “chan.” you shook in overstimulation. “ch-chan please fuck me.” he smiled. “don't worry baby.”

“daddys got so much more cum for you pretty girl.”

©LUVYEN

[n7punk]

Tumblr Backup Options: None of them do everything

Cheeky but true. I'll go through what's good and bad about each option though so you can decide which balances out for you.

Covered: native export, WordPress (kinda), TumblThree, tumblr-utils (kinda)

Native Export

If you go to "https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/yourblogname", at the bottom of the page is an export option

Once you hit the button to start the request, it will start processing. Feel free to log off, this is going to to take a few hours. You don't need to keep it open. ~22k posts took roughly a day for me. If you have a small number of posts and get stuck, you're probably broken.

When it's done processing, you can hit that download backup button and then wait some more as you wait for the zip file to download. Mine failed the first time after like twenty minutes, and then I had to start over. I think it took 1-2 hour(s) and I'm almost certain that was on Tumblr and not my internet. And that was the zip file! So make sure your computer can be on for a while before getting this started.

So what do you get?

A media folder, conversations folder, and posts folder

Media folder: Every single photo, gif, and video that has ever been on your blog or in your DMs. There is no context data attached (except for dm images which do say which conversation they're from at least), but they seem to be in chronological order because they seem to be titled by the post's ID (the string of numbers in the address bar after "/post/"). They look like "100868498227", "100868498228_0", "100868498228_1"

When you see something end with "_0" and up that means the photos are in the same post, so _0 represents the first image in the post, _1 represents the second, etc (at least, I think).

Conversations folder: HTML export files of every DM history you have on your blog. These are actually pretty well formatted, see example here.

Posts folder: html subfolder and posts_index.html file

posts_index.html: File listing every single post on your blog by post ID on its own line with no other context. Example of a line: "Post: 780053389730037760". The ID number will link to the post in the html folder

html subfolder: contains a submissions subfolder and stripped html file versions of every post on your blog. See below first what the post looks like on Tumblr, and second what the post looks like in the html folder

The way you seem to be intended to use this is to open the file index, select a post ID, and be jumped to where that post is saved as an html file, but I don't know why you would bother when the index doesn't provide any information about the posts inside it. The posts all have extremely minimal formatting. See a reblog chain below.

Notice I said ALL posts on your blog. Photo posts without a caption will just have a broken image icon and then the date and tags. Theoretically, it might be that if you unzip the entire export folder that allows it to automatically link to the image saved in your media folder. I have no fucking idea, unzipping the folder was estimated to take two hours so I didn't do it. Let me know if you do though so I can update this post!

The submissions folder is such a rabbithole I made a post just on it but long story short it's asks you haven't replied to

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't want to download any programs or files from the internet just to backup your blog, 2) your blog is relatively small, so digging through the ID files isn't a big deal, 3) you mostly just want to download either the images (which will be browsable via thumbnail previews in the media folder if you unzip it) or conversation history, which are fairly well formatted, 4) you don't need to update your export often/ever, because you'd have to request it from the start and download the entire thing all over again, 5) you want to be able to read your text posts clearly and don't care about preserving the full formatting, and/or 6) you don't plan to reupload this information elsewhere (say on... a WordPress blog)

WordPress Automatic Ex/Import

Move your post's from Matt's right hand to his left! WordPress (another product of Automattic) has a native Tumblr importer found under your WP Admin dashboard for your site under Tools > Import > Tumblr.

How does this work? No idea! I hit import 2 days ago and it has done nothing. Maybe I'm stuck, maybe it's permanently broken. It says to contact support if it's been over 24 hours but they don't make that easy. I disconnected from Tumblr (you can only port over a blog you have the login of) and reconnected and it still said it was importing. I don't think it's ever going to do anything.

Presumably it's supposed to 1:1 import every post on your blog onto the WordPress site, which will result in a whole lot of stolen art because there's no way to select just your original posts. Also, you'd need enough storage on your webhost to house all the posts (this honestly might be my problem, but I was planning to delete all the non-original posts once it imported.... anything and backfill what it didn't get to). The one thing I'll say about this option is that it's the only one I've seen so far that exports drafts and queues as well.

I mean, if it exported anything. If this ever does anything I'll update this post, but either my blog is too large or this tool isn't totally functional anymore.

TumblThree

(previously TumblTwo, etc)

TumblThree is an all-in-one program requiring no extra downloads beyond the main Zip, and was last updated fairly recently at the time of this post. In order to run it, unzip it into one folder and run the main .exe. It has a full UI interface with lots of very descriptive helper text to help you select the right options for you without looking at the wiki. I think it's user-friendly for non-tech people.

There are a lot of options in TumblThree to change what output it gives you, but I'm going to start with the largely universal parts first:

Everything from one blog will be exported to one folder, no subfolders or sorting. As a result, the output is very messy and difficult to wade through, but post metadata and the photos are named in the same way so you can scroll, see an image preview, and then click on the metadata txt for that post and read the caption.

Depending on your settings, you can export all photos, videos, text posts, etc as their own files or exclude them from the export entirely. For the different types of media posts, you can independently select if you what to download just the media, just the metadata for it (everything that surrounds the post when you see it on Tumblr, such as the caption, OP, tags, etc), or both.

Master txt file: For every type of media metadata you export, a correspondingly named txt file will be created (images.txt, answers.txt, etc) that contains the text/metadata of every post of that type in one txt file. This is also the default behavior for exporting text posts.

Note: for text posts (which includes asks/answers), it only creates a master txt file if you do not select "Save texts as individual files", in which case it will only save each text as an individual txt file and not make a master file.

The formatting on these files is so brutal I won't even give examples, but they're unreadable. Being a .txt file, there is no native formatting, so it exports in html formatting.

Example: instead of a post that says "I want to go swimming", it exports: "I want to go < b >swimming< / b >" (minus the spaces around the b) as the post body, which is a big part of what makes it unreadable, because there are a lot of hyperlinks in all the header information listed below.

Each post in the master txt exports with: Post ID, date, post URL, slug, reblog key (no idea what that is), reblog URL, reblog name, title, [the text/caption itself], and tags.

Theoretically this means you could ctrl+f "cybertrucks" in the master txt file and then browse all your posts making fun of Tesla owners by tabbing through the returns. This is not possible with any of the previous options, and only is possible because it's all in one file, as ridiculous as it is, which is why getting that master file is so important.

For the trick to get both the individual text posts and master text.txt & answers.txt file, as well as my recommended settings and details on how updating backups works, see the read more at the end of this post.

The images.txt includes all the information listed above, but with the following additions: photo url (NOTE: this is the url on Tumblr, not a link to where it is in your folder), photo set URLs, photo caption, and "downloaded files" (NOTE: this is the name of the file it has downloaded)

The video.txt is similar to the above

The use case for this would be similar to what I described for text posts above: search keywords from captions, tags, etc and when you find what you think is what you want, copy the name from "downloaded files" and search your folder to find the actual image

I really hated TumblThree's output the first time I looked at it and then I realized the single file is the only way to make browsing tags workable, because otherwise you would have to have a folder for every tag, and posts with multiple tags would have to be duplicated between them. I'm not pressed on finding a txt to HTML converter right now but it could be an option in the future if you wanted to make things more readable.

Okay, let's get into the non-universal stuff you can customize in settings, because it's like, everything:

File names: We've already established you can search with the downloaded file name for images, but what will that be? Whatever you fucking want. Post date, reblogger name, post ID, post title, original file name, you can make it any and all of these in any order you want! You can have actually useful file names! Personally I like %e_%p_%q_%i_%x which exports as DateTime_PostTitle_BlogOriginName_PostID_IteratingNumber (note: you need some kind of unique iterator to be valid so two files don't have the same name, such as multiple photos from one post). Look how much searchable information that gives me, in chronological order! It decreases your need for the master txt file.

Tip I wish I thought of before doing my massive export: make one of the unique headers from the master txt file part of the exported file name so it's easy to search for it after identifying it in the master file.

Files scanned: this is the only method I've found that lets you back everything up, remember what it backed up, and then lets you add any new posts since that date without having to download the whole thing again. That's a game changer, but see the read more below for limitations.

You also have the option to rescan the entire thing if you want.

Post type: T3 (I'm abbreviating it now) also lets you export just your original posts, just reblogs, etc - again, giving you the most control of any options. It also lets you export replies. I, uh, would not do this because if you have any popular post on your blog it might have hundreds, or thousands of replies but hey, you can do it!

You also have the option to only download posts with a certain tag.

Blog options: You can export literally any blog you have the URL of. In fact, if you copy a blog URL while it's open, it will automatically add that blog to its UI and create an empty folder for it. It makes it easy, no private key required. I do have mixed feelings about the concept of exporting someone else's blog... but I'm also planning to do it to some of Crew-ra's blogs so... my digital horde must grow.

You can also queue blogs up and leave it to run through a lot of them. It is a lot faster than Tumblr's native export, I started this import well after I started typing this post and it took a few hours, probably not all that much longer than just downloading Tumblr's export took (and that's while running it alongside other data copy operations because I'm backing up a lot of stuff right now).

I do recommend doing a test export with a sideblog, I was able to use wild-bitchofthenorthwoods as a test import since it only has one post and it has media, so it was super quick.

(I do want to note, I think the number of downloadable items starts out matching the number of posts on your blog without scanning them until you start the export - but if you choose to export everything as its own file, you're going to end up with way more than that because a post with three images would be multiple files)

Things T3 cannot export:

Since in its simplest form it's just accessing the public upload of your blog, it cannot export your drafts, queue, or conversations

It cannot export posts as HTML files, and thus cannot export them with readable formatting natively

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't care about exporting your DMs/conversations, 2) you want the ability to export only certain kinds of posts (original, photos, using a tag, etc), 3) you want to control the titles of the exported files 4) you don't mind wading through massive folders, 5) you want the ability to search tags (using the txt files), 6) you want the ability to update your export without starting over from the beginning, 7) you either don't want to reupload this information somewhere else, or you want to upload it somewhere that supports automatic HTML conversion (for instance, you can switch a Tumblr post from a rich text format to HTML, same with AO3, so you can put it in as HTML and then hit post to see it turn into a rich format. This techically makes T3 the most versatile/useful export option if you're planning to do anything with it other than browse your own files).

tumblr-utils

Full disclosure: haven't tried this one. But others have! tumblr-utils is a no-UI, python-based backup software. This means in order to use it you have to type commands into the terminal. If you don't know what I just said, don't use this one.

If you do, you'll need to separately download python and youtube-dl just to get this one running. You'll also need to give it your personal Tumblr API key and feed it commands deciphered from the wiki page I linked. Here are two different guides people have written on how to use it. Output:

Obviously I'm guessing based on the documentation, but one thing that is nice is this tool allows you to save each post in its own folder. Presumably each post is multiple files like we saw with T3, so this would make it easy to group them, but it also means you'd have to look in every single folder to find anything.

It seems to break posts up into timestamp folders by month, again, helping with management to narrow down where you have to search

It allows you to save only certain kinds of posts at a time like T3

It allows you to backup posts only from a certain time period (so if you keep a little .txt note of the last time you backed up, you can easily add only the new posts into your backup without having to start over from the beginning)

It allows you to only save posts under a certain tag like T3

It allows you to save only original posts

It's the only one I've found that lets you back up your liked posts

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't care about exporting your DMs/conversations, 2) you want the ability to export only certain kinds of posts (original, photos, using a tag, etc), (okay now we get to the points that aren't also covered by T3), 3) you want posts to export already broken into folders, whether by post or by month, 4) you want to back up your likes, 5) you don't care what file names look like, 6) you're comfortable with the command line/coding and don't need a UI.

Summary:

None of these options are ideal for reuploading your files anywhere (except WordPress), but I do think TumblThree is the best of the options because of the written HTML formatting in the txt files being useful for websites that support automatic conversion (or require HTML input).

For starting another blog, WordPress wins. If it works. I'm trying to be generous here.

For searchability, T3 wins again.

For versatility... yeah you know it's T3, but tumblr-utils has a lot of the same features, too!

For sentimentality (aka conversations), it has to be the native export. There literally is not any other option.

For queues and drafts, the only theoretical option is WordPress. If it works.

For likes, the only option is tumblr-utils.

Every option does something the others don't, so theoretically to cover everything, you have to do all four options. Actually I would say do the native export if you don't have a lot of posts and aren't a freak like me, check it out, and if it doesn't work (I know it's finnicky) or you don't like the export, go with TumblThree. This also means you'll at least have your conversations even if you don't end up using the native export any other way.

And I wish it could go without saying, but don't repost people's shit, y'all. I'm backing up everything for my records only and it will never be shared with anyone else, or even browsed as long as using Tumblr instead is an option.

TumblThree adding to old backup quirks, recommended settings, & master file backup solution:

Adding to backup quirks:

From my tests, when you scan a blog you've already backed up to just add new posts to it, it does not update the master file, so if you want to update it, you'll have to do the steps I list at the end of this post. It might be possible it does update if you force rescan, but I highly doubt it.

If you scan a blog you previously backed up under more restrictive settings - say you only backed up original text posts as one file before and now you've selected to back up absolutely everything - it will only download up until the time you last backed up that blog. It will not blow past where you last downloaded to download all the photos and videos it didn't get before just because they're selected now. This is great for doing after using the master file solution I'm showing below, but if you do need to download everything after doing a more restrictive scan, you can once again follow the first few steps below to do so.

Recommended settings:

This will obviously vary by what you're trying to do, but one or two things weren't immediately obvious to me and I did say I think this was the best solution for less technical users, so I want give my personal recommendations. Settings can obviously be found under the settings button at the bottom of the screen (you may need to use the scrollbar on the UI for, which is separate from the scrollbar on the blogs panel), but when you click on a blog, when you click "Details" in the right sidebar, you can also see your most important settings at a glance and adjust them to whatever you want them to be "per blog". I believe TumblThree remembers what you last used for the blog and applies the things in settings only to new/other blogs.

The thing that is going to vary the most is how many different types of posts you want to back up (text, video, reblogs included, etc), so I'll leave that up to you. If you're going to export a media type, though, I generally recommend exporting the metadata too.

I already gave my preferred file names above and again that's going to be something that varies a lot by people. Hover over the "Filename template" box and it will give you all the options in the legend you can combine via underscores.

Leave "Skip .gif files" off unless you're hurting for hard drive space. This removes all the gifs from your download, and the reason this is provided as a separate setting is because gifs have relatively massive files (at least compared to a text file)

I'll be honest I haven't seen a difference between turning on and off "Group photo sets". Because of the way file names work, most conventions will naturally lead to photos from the same post all being in a row.

"Save texts as individual files": if you only want texts to be saved as their master text.txt and answers.txt files, uncheck this. If you want the individual files I highly recommend you also download the master file for searching purposes, in which case my recommendation is this:

1) Select to export texts only, leaving off all media options, and uncheck the "Save texts as individual files" option. 2) Export the blog. This will only result in two files, answers.txt and texts.txt. 3) Move these files elsewhere on the computer to save them. 4) With T3 closed, delete the folder for the blog and the blog's Indexes (see instructions at the end of this post for finding these). 5) Reopen T3, which shouldn't remember it ever saw the blog and create a new folder for it. Turn on the "Save texts as individual files", as well as any other media posts you want to download. 6) Export the entire blog again. 7) Move the texts.txt and answers.txt file back into the blog's folder.

I leave all other options on the Details tab off, except for:

"Force rescan" scans past the point it last backed up and searches the whole blog again. If you have a big blog, this is going to burn time. This is needed for the number of downloaded items in the panel to be accurate but I don't know why you would care or turn this on unless it lets you skip steps 3-4 above, but my blog is too big to burn through testing that, so if you try it, let me know and I'll update this post!

Master file backup solution:

See my 7 steps from above to skip having to do this, but if you accidentally do things out of order and then realize you still need the master files for texts post after backing everything else up, here's how you get it with minimal pain:

T3 will make an "Index" folder in both the main folder for the program where the exe is located and the destination folder where you have your blogs backing up (note: these were two very different places for me, if you just have it back up to the automatic Blogs folder within T3's folder, it might not create a second Index folder).

To make T3 "forget" what it has backed up previously so it goes through to the beginning and makes a master file that includes everything, all you have to do is remove the Index file(s) for the blog while it's closed so it doesn't remember it anymore. I backed my index up in another folder.

Check off for it to only download text posts, and then uncheck the "Save texts in individual files" option. This will cause it to only create the master answers.txt and texts.txt file on the rescan.

The combination of only going for one post type and only downloading one file for it means this rescan is relatively fast. When you look at your Blogs folder, you'll find a new folder has been created for your blog name (in my case, there was "n7punk" and "n7punk_2) and your output is in the new folder. I just moved it over to the original folder.

At this point you can restore the indexes, though I've only gotten it to half recognize them. I can get it to recognize my original n7punk folder so everything can stay there, but the total downloaded items is stuck at what it was when I did just the text posts. I don't really care, it was mainly the folder thing I wanted to fix. If you have lag between your last full backup and your master-only backup, this might cause some issues? I don't know because I made sure there wasn't lag, so I recommend doing another backup to add any missing items before doing this method.

You can also use this technique if you want to download only your original posts and then download everything else to a second folder. Adjust the setting to only download original posts, download the whole blog, close T3 and delete the indexes, rename the folder to whatever you want ("n7punk_original", etc), and then reopen T3 and set it to download everything and run it again from the start.

[froggiewrites]

Puppeteer

Pairing: Doffy x Reader

SFW

Summary: Your life is perfect. Doflamingo has made it that way. But a small slip of the tongue makes you think maybe your husband had more of a hand in the events that lead you to him that you initially thought. Warnings: Fem!Reader, Angst, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Possessive Behavior, Yandere, Doffy is...Doffy Word Count: 7.7k Notes: I've been working on this piece since November, so I'm SO excited to have finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy it!

Your life was perfect. Your husband made sure of it.

You had anything you wanted, when you wanted it, without exception. The life of a queen, even before he had gifted you a crown.

But that wasn’t what mattered to you, really. It was nice, but what you were truly grateful for was how Doflamingo had saved you. From the world, from betrayal, from yourself. You were at risk of falling into a dark place when you met him, and he lifted you up, brought you comfort and protection. To you, his cloak might as well be the wings of an angel.

He insisted that it was nothing. That was simply his job as your lover. He tended to ignore the fact he was not your lover at the time. Destined from the moment you met, you suppose. 

“You might not have known it, but you were always mine. I was simply doing what’s right.”

You had always thought that line was sweet. You thought he meant you were destined, that you were his and he was yours.

For the first time in your life, you were having doubts about that.

It was a small slip up. Almost nothing, really. Baby 5 often goes on long tangents, so it’s a wonder you even noticed what she said, let alone processed it. But while extolling the virtues of her latest obsession, claiming this was true love (as they always are), you couldn’t help but notice an odd phrase in the middle.

“He’s so reliable! He was so worried about me, he said I’m ‘too naive’, and that I need someone to look after me. It reminds me of how Doffy is with you! Isn’t it so sweet that he wants to protect me?” She’s beaming, and you can barely get out your question as she tries to continue her ramble.

“Why does he remind you of Doffy?” Your husband is reliable, of course, and he does his best to look out for everyone in the family, but he would never call you naive. He had never, once, in your decade of marriage implied even for a second he thought you were incapable of looking after yourself.

You had asked him once, very early on in your relationship, why he insisted on doing everything for you, why he waited on you hand and foot when he knew that you would never ask that much of him. He had smiled at you gently, an expression you were sure no other person on the planet had seen, and spoken with such fondness you couldn’t help but melt. “I do this because I love you, little bird. You don’t need to read anything else into it.”

So when Baby 5 smiles again, saying, “He looks at me the way Doffy looks at you,” you can’t help the way your heart drops. You haven’t met this suitor, but you know the way men look at Baby 5. She isn’t a partner to them, she’s a target. A victim. Prey to be lured in and devoured. Your instinct is to say this is simply another delusion on her part, another desperate illusion from her need to be needed. But the way she says it, the look in her eye, it seems far more based in reality than the rest of her spiel. 

But that can’t be right. Your husband loves you, respects you. This is just another part of Baby 5’s incurable lovesickness, her romanticization of any man that gets his claws in her. “The way he looks at me, huh?”

“Yeah! It’s so romantic.” And then she’s off to the races again, completely unaware of the seed she’s planted.

You can’t dig it up, no matter how hard you try. Once a thought is in your head it cannot be unthought. So instead you bury it, as deeply as you can, and you pray that it will not take root, will not be strong enough to break through the soil. You love your husband, your life together. You will not ruin it through unearned paranoia. 

When he comes to bed that night, he finds you lying awake, staring at the ceiling. His voice and hands are gentle, as they always are with you. He has never spoken to you the way he does most people, has always given you the kindness he denies others. He still has a temper, of course, but on the very rare occasions it has turned to you it has been mild, and the apology has been quick. 

“What’s wrong, little bird?” He lays next to you, his arm immediately coming to wrap around you. The weight is comforting, familiar, something that has made you feel safe for as long as you can remember. You try to relax into him, but a voice in you whispers we’re trapped. You feel like you can’t breathe. You want to ignore it, suffer in silence, but your ever observant husband notices immediately, removing his arm with a frown. “Did something happen?”

You sit up, moving toward the window. You need air. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just anxious, is all.”

“Anxious?” His frown deepens. “Darling, you have nothing to worry about. What is it? Let me help.” He follows you, reaching around you to open the window for you, letting the night air in. Your turn to face him. With his arms on either side, his eyes flashing in the moonlight, for a moment you feel like nothing more than an animal in a cage, with a predator bearing down on you.

But then the cold air hits your back, those terrifying eyes are filled with concern, and your husband is back. Of course everything is alright. Of course you have nothing to worry about. You’re happy. Doffy has made sure of it. “It’s just…a horrible feeling I can’t shake. Nothing is actually wrong, I promise.”

He purses his lips a moment, displeased. “If you need something, you’ll have it. You know that, right?” His hand rests on your cheek, cradling you as though you’re the most precious thing in the world. To him, you truly are.

“I know, my love. I promise, it really is nothing.”

He lets out the smallest puff of a sigh. “Alright. I’ll let it go for now. Come back to bed, darling. I won’t be able to sleep without you.” His words start as an order, but his tone turns almost pleading. Doflamingo does not beg, of course, but for you he can at least command politely.

“Of course.” You practically fall into his arms, allowing him to carry you back to your bed. He holds you tightly, as though he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers the moment he loosens his grip. For a moment you swear you see some tension around his eyes, a slight clench of his jaw, but when you rest your head on his chest it all seems to vanish.

“Goodnight, little bird,” he whispers, pressing the ghost of a kiss to your temple. You fall asleep pressed firmly against his chest, where you’re meant to be.

You bury your doubts. You love him. He loves you. Why is such a small comment enough to throw you? Do you have that little faith in your husband?

Or did it simply uncover concerns you were ignoring? Force them into the light of day when you would much rather have let them rot?

You’re happy. What else could you want or need?

A month passes, then two. You’ve forgotten the conversation. You must have. You don’t lay awake at night, overturning small interactions in your head, desperate to find some hidden meaning in it.

He always calls you little. Is it simple affection, or is it demeaning? Does he see you as less than?

Of course not. Not your Doffy.

“I think I might want to visit home.” You bring it up casually, as you’re tucked against his chest. He’s in his throne, lounging, perfectly relaxed, with you perched on his lap.

He laughs. “Darling, you are home.”

“I know. I mean–I want to visit my home island.”

A miniscule tightening around his eyes. “Why would you want to do that? After everything that they put you through?”

You knew he wouldn’t be keen on the idea. You can’t even figure out why you want to go back, because he’s right: they put you through hell. You were miserable before Doffy got you out of there. Your home had chewed you up and spit you out, and there’s nothing left for you there. It really wasn’t home at all, not anymore. Doffy never liked you referring to it as such.

But a few bad years can’t erase everything it was before the fall. You can remember your childhood, sprinting through the most beautiful flower fields with your friends. Diving into the creek, coming up soaking wet, freezing cold, and feeling freer than you had since. You remember the taste of the pastries at the cafe you used to work at, the same one you met Doflamingo at. In many ways, it was still and would always be home, no matter how long you had been away. No matter what the people there might have done to you.

“I know everything ended terribly, but…”

“But?” A raised brow, a slightly bulging vein on his forehead.

“I still have a lot of good memories from before. Places I miss. People I might be able to forgive, if I saw them again.”

His nostrils flare. His controlled smile finally falls. “Forgive? Darling, they don’t deserve your forgiveness. They don’t even deserve to live in the same world as you, let alone have the privilege of seeing you again. This has been a fun joke and all, but let’s end it here. Going there will only hurt you.” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, hugging you to him protectively.

Possessively, part of your mind whispers.

“It’s been nearly a decade, love. I’ve changed. I’m sure they’ve changed. And…I feel like all of that still hangs over me, sometimes. Even though I’ve tried to let it go. I think going back to see it would help me finally loosen the hold it has over me.”

He doesn’t say no, because you hadn’t been asking for permission. You were simply informing him of your thoughts. He couldn’t make your choices for you. He had never taken away your ability to decide, not once. But somehow his displeasure makes your heart quicken, your stomach churn. When Doffy is displeased, something in you screams that you’ve done something wrong, something you need to fix. You didn’t do anything that he would disagree with, not if you could help it. You always told yourself it was simply because you were partners, that it was natural that you would factor in his opinion.

But how many times had he asked you about his comings and goings? How many times had he told you his plans, instead of just disappearing and reappearing when he decided the time was right?

“You should protect that delicate heart of yours, darling. Who knows what going back would do to it?”

“But I’m different now. Older. Stronger.”

He chuckles, like you’ve told him some silly joke. “But still soft.”

You want to disagree, but there’s something in his tone that makes you feel so horribly small. Weak and vulnerable, some storybook damsel waiting for your prince (or king, in this case) to come sweep you away and fix everything for you. “Do you really think that?”

His eyes narrow slightly at the tone in your voice, the hurt hiding beneath it. His own voice grows softer in turn. “You’re a sensitive soul. It’s one of your best qualities, dear.”

You nod, pushing your face into his neck. You can feel him relax beneath you as you desperately try to stop your thoughts from racing. Are you sensitive, weak, soft? You cannot recall anyone else ever calling you such things. You had been so headstrong when you were young. Perhaps that’s what drove everyone away.

You clutch his shirt tightly, as though tethering yourself to him will simply fix all of this, calm your mind and bring back the peace you used to enjoy. That’s how you got all of this in the first place, really. A strong hand on your back, guiding you away from the burning flames of your old life.

The feeling doesn’t leave. It infuriates you how deeply it’s weaseled its way into you, such a small thing turning over and over and over in your mind. Something so meaningless threatening to pull you apart at the seams. You can feel your edges fraying, feel the way you’re starting to fall apart.

You can still hear Baby 5’s voice whispering in your head. Just like how Doffy looks at you. 

For the first time in your life, you intend to keep a secret from your husband. You scribble the messages quickly, shoving the papers back into your desk when you hear footsteps coming down the hall. You know that you aren’t doing anything wrong, but the idea of disappointing him, disagreeing with him, makes you sick to your stomach.

It’s only once you feel his hand on your shoulder, see his pursed lips as he looms over you where you were lost in your work that you remember that the reason you have never kept a secret from your husband is simply because you couldn’t. He knows everything about you, everything that happens under this room, everything happening within the borders of Dressrosa. You never stood a chance. 

“Darling…” he doesn’t need to continue. His sigh says enough, sets you on the defensive. 

“I never said I wouldn’t send them,” you mutter, a childish anger overtaking you. “And I don’t need your permission.”

His lips set in a thin line. “I never said you did.”

“It’s been nearly a decade. They’ve probably changed. And if they haven’t, then at least I can say I tried.”

His free hand pinches the bridge of his nose as his brow furrows. “Little bird, you’re the only one who ever tried. They never gave you a thing.”

“They gave me plenty.”

“What, then, did they give you? Pain? Suffering? An unending desire to please everyone around you?”

“They gave me plenty, before everything happened.” You can feel your muscles tensing, an unfamiliar anger bubbling up in your chest.

“I can’t recall a single kind thing they ever did for you, my dear.”

“I had a life before you, Doflamingo,” you snap. “Do you really think I’m so helplessly stupid I’d try to reconnect with someone who was nothing but cruel to me? They used to be kind. They used to care about me. Something changed. And if something changes once, it can change again. I’m not some doe-eyed fool begging for a kind touch from a hand that’s only ever bruised me. I’m just going to give them a chance to redeem themselves, or at least explain themselves.” You’re breathing heavily, teeth clenching. You very rarely raise your voice at your husband, but you’re tired of this. Of him looking at you like you’re so defenseless, so pathetic.

There’s a strange look in his eyes when you finish, something you can’t place. He takes his hands off of you, putting them up in surrender. “Of course, dear. I didn’t mean to imply you were incapable. I simply worry about my wife.” There’s an emphasis on his last words, on your title, your role. “But I suppose I shouldn’t presume to know about…your life before me.”

He spits the words like they’re poison in his mouth.

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before you realize the situation you’re in. You’re the one keeping secrets. You’re the one who snapped. You’re the one who wouldn’t drop the issue. You, you, you. A part of you screams that he’s the one who pushed you, but aren’t you still the one who jumped?

“...I’m sorry, love, for snapping. I know you worry.”

He doesn’t move.

“I understand why you’re concerned, really. I just…this feels like something I have to do.”

Still nothing.

“If they don’t respond, then I’ll drop it. I just want to take a chance.”

He lets out a breath, before he wraps his arms around you. “Of course, dear.” His grip on you grows a little tighter. “I just can’t help but want to protect you. It’s my job, after all. And I take it very seriously.”

“I know. I appreciate the sentiment, I just wish you trusted me a bit more.”

His voice grows softer. “Oh, dear, of course I trust you. It’s everyone else that I don’t trust.” He chuckles quietly. “Well, if it’s really that important to you, I won’t stand in your way. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

You sigh, burying your nose in his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And so the envelopes are sealed the next day, handed off to a servant to be shipped off.

You keep telling yourself the letters don’t mean anything. Don’t have anything to do with the creeping dread slowly overtaking you. This is simply an act of connection, of potential forgiveness. It has nothing to do with your home life. But you can’t deny the way your eyes keep nervously drifting over each envelope labeled with your name, the disappointment when it never has the return address you were hoping for. Weeks pass, then months. 

Whenever he catches you lingering near the mailbox, Doffy always gives you a sympathetic look, a small click of the tongue. “Don’t you see, darling? You expect too much of them. You give people far more credit than they deserve.”

“It’s all the way in the North Blue. Mail can take a while to get there.” You don’t sound convincing, even to your own ears.

He sighs. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this, dear.” He approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around you, tucking you tightly against him, rocking you slightly. “Don’t give your attention to those unworthy of it. You have everyone and everything you need right here.”

He’s right. He’s always right.

You wait anyway.

The letters never come.

You expected this, it stings anyway. Even now, they can’t even spare you a thought. Your life was ripped to shreds, and they can’t even give you this. You don’t even exist in their memories anymore. You’re the only one who carries this pain, and you do it alone.

You try to talk to Doffy about it again, and while he plays the doting husband, you can see the satisfaction in his eyes. The pity in his face as he cradles you, the condescending, “Oh, dear, I knew you’d hurt yourself like this. You don’t need them," just screams I told you so. You can only be thankful he doesn’t say it aloud, his smile all teeth as he chuckles and pets your head like some pampered pet.

But he wouldn’t do that. He loves you.

The restlessness you feel doesn’t subside. You’ve taken to wandering aimlessly through the palace, as though you’ll suddenly find the answers hiding around a dusty corner and you’ll find the peace you so desperately crave. You want normalcy again. You want to lay in your husband’s arms and not wonder how much of his softened gaze and gentle caress is a lie, a carefully constructed act meant to keep you where he wants you. You know it isn’t true, really.

But the gnawing continues all the same.

The answers you wished for come in the form of an overfilled trash can.

You occasionally bring snacks to Doflamingo while he’s working. He doesn’t like you being in his office for long, preferring to keep you separated from the messy goings on of his work life, but you can tell he enjoys these small visits. Sometimes, on days when he isn’t busy, he pulls you onto his lap, allowing you to curl into him and enjoy the feeling of safety in his arms as he fills out miscellaneous paperwork or checks over maps. You used to cherish those moments.

Today’s conversation is brief, Doflamingo’s frustration with some issue or another clear in his every action. His teeth are clenched even as he thanks you, even as his lips brush against your temple before you turn to leave. You can’t help the jitteriness you feel, the way his discomfort sends a buzzing through your body. Once he makes it clear you cannot fix the issue (in as gentle of a tone as he’s capable of), you’re ready to make your escape, to hope the nausea subsides once you’re far enough away. You’re so upset you almost miss the envelope in the trashcan next to the door, no writing visible except for the return address.

It’s from a little island in the North Blue, known for its beautiful flower fields. 

You can’t help the choked noise that escapes your throat.

“Are you alright?” His eyes glance up from the paper in front of him, the slightest hint of concern behind them.

“What’s this?” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your hand begins to reach for the trashcan, but you pull it back at the last second. No, it can’t be. And if it is, you don’t want to know.

“What’s what, darling?”

He wouldn’t do this to you. It’s a coincidence. There’s dozens of businesses on the island, many of which might be useful for a king and even more useful for a pirate. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, do this to you.

“This letter.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, your hands shaking. The only thing that keeps you from exploding is the genuine confusion on his face. “What letter?”

You fish it out of the trashcan, slowly bringing it back to him. It’s covered in spilled ink which has soaked through the paper. It’s clear that the letter inside is ruined, and the only thing you can make out on the front is a street name and the island. “Why was this in the trash?”

He frowns, his brow furrowing. He reaches for it, investigating it so thoroughly you can convince yourself this is the first time he’s seen it. It’s only when his gaze falls to the address that his eyes light up in understanding. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Was this for me?”

“I don’t know, dear, but there’s certainly a chance.” His voice is gentle as he reaches for you. “I’m sorry if it was. I don’t know what happened.”

It’s unlike him to apologize. It’s unlike him to admit to not knowing, to not being in absolute control. But god, you want it to be true. You want the comfort he offers. You fall into him, pressing your face into his chest, barely holding back a sob. “What if it was? What if that’s the only response I’ll get, and it’s gone forever? What if my only chance at peace has slipped through my fingers?”

His hands are gentle as they rub circles on your back. “I’ll figure out what happened. I promise whoever did this will be punished, little bird. I’ll never tolerate someone hurting you.” His lips brush against the top of your head, kind and caring and protective, exactly how you’ve always known him to be. “I had others in my office earlier, I’m sure one of them did this. I’ll find out who.”

It takes him nearly an hour to calm you down, but he does it without rushing. All of his work, his empire, set aside for you. How could you doubt him, even for a moment, with your proof of his devotion right here?

He tucks you gently into your shared bed after you calmed down, encouraging you to take a nap to recuperate. A glass of water is left by the bedside for you, and he places an extra blanket on top of you to keep you warm and cozy. 

You don’t know how long your nap is. It certainly isn’t long, considering the sun is still in the sky, but it was enough to ease the pounding in your head from the sobbing. You aren’t thinking as you crawl out of bed and begin to wander in the direction of your husband’s office. You’re still a little upset, a little off kilter, and while it may be selfish to interrupt him twice in a day you want to bask in his care a bit more.

An angry voice stops you in your tracks.

“You threw them out?” He sounds furious, his voice booming down the hall. You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, should trust your husband to take care of it, but you linger near the door anyway.

“You said to get rid of them!” You don’t recognize the voice, but you recognize the fear. It’s how everyone sounds in front of Doflamingo, faced with his power and grace. With the knowledge he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he needed to them to get what he wanted.

“Yes, and I expected you to do it right! Burn them, rip them up, whatever it takes! To make sure nobody finds them! Not leave them sitting at the top of a trash can, in my office, where anybody can see them! I’m used to being surrounded by fools, but this is beyond comprehension!” You hear the cracking of wood, and somehow you know he’s broken his desk. As much as you want to stay and hear the rest, the bile rising in your throat forces you away, back to your room, where you can hide under the covers and finally break down.

He had been taking your letters. You knew that, really, but you had so badly wanted to convince yourself otherwise. He had made sure you would never want to go back, simply because he didn’t want you to. He took your choice away. Why was he so desperate to keep you here? What harm was there in you finally letting go of everything that happened?

You had been miserable. You had spent years terrified that Doflamingo would abandon you next, just like your family and friends did. You had clutched him so tightly your knuckles turned white, and he had cooed and assured you he would never leave you, not like they did. “I love you, little bird. You’re mine. It’s my job to protect and care for you, and I intend to do that for the rest of my life.”

Is that how he wanted you? Insecure and desperate to remain at his side? Perhaps he loved you because you were easy. So eager to please, to bend yourself to his will until you nearly snap as long as it keeps him around, keeps anybody around. Maybe he was as desperate as you were, in a way, because it didn’t have to be him you latched onto.

You bite your cheek hard enough to draw blood. No more thoughts like that. It had to be Doflamingo. He was your husband, your family, and nothing can take that away. Not even this betrayal. Surely he thought he was doing what was best for you. He may be selfish, but never when it comes to you.

This was controlling, it was wrong, but it wasn’t cruel. And as loathe as you are to admit it, it wasn’t out of character. He’s always been in control, his entire life. It wouldn’t seem wrong to him for that to extend to some of yours.

You should go in and talk to him. You should figure out why he would do this. Some twisted form of protection? Jealousy? Fear? You should do something, anything, to get to the bottom of this.

You crawl back into bed instead.

You accept his embrace when he joins you. You don’t push him away when he rolls on top of you, whispering how much he loves you, how happy he is that you’re his. You fall asleep in his arms, as you’ve always done.

You spent months begging the universe for answers, for some sort of proof, and now that you’ve gotten it, you’re sticking your head in the sand. What a coward. You can’t even bring yourself to be angry with him. Maybe you’re in shock, or maybe he’s just done such a good job at clipping your wings you simply don’t know what to do without him, and you don’t care to find out. You tell yourself you just love him, trust him. You ignore any whisper in your head that says the contrary.

The days pass normally, as quickly as they always do. You almost feel normal, after a while, have almost convinced yourself that everything is fine, as it’s always been.

The bird at your window is a surprise. It taps hurriedly, almost as though it’s afraid to tarry for too long. The letter tied to its leg somehow isn’t.

The script is hurried and messy. You recognize it immediately. It was written by a boy you had once run through the wild with, one you had shared every step of growing up with. It was his betrayal that had hurt the most.

The letter is nearly impossible to decipher. Your friend always did have terrible handwriting. You used to tease him for how nobody else could figure out what he meant, how sometimes even he couldn’t read his own writing. But you were always good at it, somehow always on the same page as him, no matter how small his chicken scratch was.

I didn’t expect to hear from you ever again. I’m glad I did. I’ve missed you, all of these years. I’ve wondered if you were safe, if you were happy.

I’m sorry for my cowardice. I’m sorry for pushing you away. But I was scared. That pirate made himself very clear: get away from you, or he was going to kill me.

No.

No, no, no.

No, that can’t be right.

I don’t know if he meant it. But with everything else that came after, I suspect he did. I don’t know what he said to your landlord, or your boss, or anyone else. But I know he spoke to them, and I know you were gone soon after. I’m sorry I was never brave enough to tell you in person, or to send you this letter until now. I didn’t know where you went, and I was sure you’d never want to speak to me again anyway. 

I’m glad you’re safe, or as safe as you can be. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I would be now, if I could. Not that that means much, really.

You place the paper down, shoving your head in your hands. No. This can’t be true. He may be controlling, he may be overprotective, but he would never hurt you. Not like this. Your husband would never have purposefully made you miserable. He would do a lot, but not that.

But you can’t help but remember how perfect his timing was, every time. How he’d gently encouraged you to open up in the days after you realized your friends were ignoring you. How he found you sobbing outside of the cafe after you’d been fired. How he found you idly wandering the streets after your landlord kicked you out. How he found you every time, right on time, assuring you that you didn’t need to worry anymore, that you could just rely on him now. That he always looked after his family, and he would love for you to be a part of it.

You look back on your life together. Had you ever made the choice to be here, or did he simply lure you in with the right bait every time? How many steps had you taken without realizing he was the one leading you here?

You could excuse a lot, deny even more. You can tell yourself again and again that he loved you, that everything he’s done has been for your own good. But hurting you? Hurting the people you loved? Even you couldn’t justify that.

He doesn’t even look up when you walk into his office. He hums quietly in acknowledgement, his pen scratching softly against the page. It’s only when you furiously slam the letter down on his desk that he finally looks at you.

“What’s this, darling?”

“I finally got a response. An intact one.”

He glances down at it, sneering slightly. “Intact? Dear, that’s illegible.”

“Did you threaten my friends for talking to me?”

He’s an excellent liar, a well practiced one. But you’ve known him for a decade, spent hours staring at him, starry eyed, tracking his every move. You can see the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“How many people have you done this to, Doflamingo?”

He huffs. “None. What are you talking about? Who said this to you?”

“Why do you want to know? So you can make good on your promise to hurt him?” You begin to pace, fury bubbling beneath your skin. “I can’t believe you would do this.”

“I want to know so I can know who you’re believing over your own husband.” He puts on an air of hurt, one that tugs at your heartstrings, but you won’t fall this time.

“I have tried to believe in you again and again, pushing down my doubt because I was so sure my husband would never do anything like this. But the evidence just keeps coming.”

“What evidence, exactly?” He snaps, annoyance slipping through. “The crazed ranting of some jealous old acquaintance? One who hurt you beyond repair a decade ago?”

“The first goddamn letter you tried to get rid of, first off all.” He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Don’t try to deny it, I heard you losing your mind on whoever you told to do it. I tried so hard to tell myself you were doing it out of some misguided attempt to protect me, but this proves you just did it to protect yourself. You just didn’t want me to know what you’d done.”

He sighs. “Dear, you’re working yourself up into a frenzy. You couldn’t have heard something that never happened.”

“Don’t lie to me! God, you must think I’m so stupid. You always have. And why wouldn’t you? I’ve fallen for everything, this entire time! I kept telling myself that this was normal, that you loved me, that this was what I wanted. I was so scared of losing you I let you look me in the eye and lie to me every goddamn day.”

“You want the truth?” He’s standing now, walking around the desk that separated you. “Can you handle that, dear? We can’t take back our words.”

You barely suppress the frustrated sob working its way out of your mouth. “Yes, please, give me the truth. That’s all I want.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, the way it always does. God, he has to make this so hard. “I’ll always give you what you want.” He reaches out, but you take a step back. He gives you your space, for now. “When we first met, I may have had a few…long talks with some people you knew. Just to make my intentions clear.”

“How many people?”

“I can’t recall exact numbers.”

“Are you why I lost my job at the cafe?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Are you why I got evicted?”

“Yes.”

You curl in on yourself. “God. What the hell? Why would you do this to me?” You can feel your world crashing down as every memory of the last ten years is tainted, rotting from the inside out. It was never real. None of it. “Why would you ruin my life? What did I ever do to you? Why did you pick me up after like some stray dog? Did you feel guilty?”

You expected anger. He was always prone to it, after all. You had expected his tense shoulders and gnashing teeth, a fierce insistence that you were wrong to be upset, to question him. That he was right like always, and that anything he did was simply the best option to some grand end goal you couldn’t see. What you hadn't anticipated was the confusion: the look on his face so lost it was almost childlike. "Ruin your life? You wanted this. I gave you what you wanted."

"You think I wanted–what, to be miserable?”

He has the audacity to look concerned. “Are you miserable? You’re supposed to be happy.”

“Happy? You hurt people! Hurt me!"

He bristles at that. "I never hurt you. You are my wife, my family, my responsibility. I look out for you. I protect you. Those obstacles were–"

"Obstacles? Doflamingo, they were people!” 

“They’re nothing compared to you.”

You feel like you’re slamming your head into the wall. What is he not getting? Why does he not seem to think he’s done anything wrong? Why would he hide it if he thought he was right? “Nothing? I–God. What would ever make you think I wanted any of this?"

"You told me yourself!" He says it with such conviction.

You’re about to scream, to run out of this office and into the night, never to be seen again. He must be insane. More than you ever thought possible. 

But suddenly you remember it. A small conversation, a month or two after you first met. You didn’t even know his name yet, only knew him as the handsome blond who always tipped well. He had been sipping his coffee slowly, an excuse to keep occupying the table and, in turn, you. His question had seemed so innocent then.

"Do you want to leave this place?"

"What?"

"Are you happy here, I mean. Do you really want to stay here, working yourself to the bone, when you could be living in the lap of luxury?"

You laugh. "I don't know what kind of luxury I could get so easily. Things like that don't just come to people like me. I have bills to pay."

He hums quietly. "But if it could come? Would you really still be here if you had someone to take care of you? If you didn't have to worry about all of this?"

You give a sardonic smile as you wipe down his table. "Mister, you say it like it's so easy. I have things to do, people to help. I couldn't leave them behind just because it'd be better for me."

You can't see them through his sunglasses, but somehow you feel his eyes pierce through you anyway. "But if all of that wasn't a concern? Then you'd want to leave?"

"Sure, in that fantasy world, I'd love to see what the world has to offer. But I live here, in reality, and I have another table glaring at me, so I'll be back in a few minutes."

And that was it. Such a small exchange, barely worth noting.

You never thought much of the conversation. You really didn't. But sitting here, now, you're starting to see it for what it was to him: permission. An invitation to do whatever he thought would get you here. Why wouldn't a pirate act on such an opportunity?

You can barely swallow the bile rising in your throat.

“You couldn’t have possibly–” Your voice catches, and through his frustration you see something almost resembling pity peek through for just a moment. Somehow that’s the most infuriating part of all of this.

“Couldn’t have what? Thought you were being honest? I knew you were, darling. I knew you were meant to be here. I knew you would never have taken the first step with everyone in that shithole holding you down. What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what you should have fucking done! You don’t ruin lives over a stupid flight of fucking fancy–”

“Don’t call it that.” There’s that oh so familiar rage. His teeth clenched, his nails digging into his fists, his eyes burning so hot from behind his glasses you can feel the room raise a couple degrees. “Don’t you dare demean what we have. Don’t dismiss the last ten years. You are my wife. My partner. Mine.”

He’s stalking toward you, long past worrying about frightening you.

“Don’t you dare treat my devotion like some schoolboy’s crush.”

You think you would laugh if your heart were not beating out of your chest. Before today, you would have sworn your husband would never hurt you. But now, you don’t know if you can trust anything you think. Not anymore. Clearly you’re an idiot, naive and foolish, incapable of sensing danger even when it’s right in front of you. So when he reaches for you, you flinch.

He has the gall to look hurt. His posture relaxes as he reaches for you again, slower this time. His hands reach to delicately cradle your face, but you pull away, curling in on yourself. “Don’t touch me.”

“Darling–”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me. I’m not your darling. I don’t even know who you are. My entire life is a lie.” You barely manage to hold in a sob. He boxes you in, trying to pull you into his arms, wash away your pain as he always does. You fall to the floor, curling into a ball, desperately trying to avoid him. This familiar softness might break you. “Don’t touch me.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t back away. “Your life isn’t a lie, little bird. Everything that matters is still true: I’m your husband and I love you.”

“Do you?”

The corner of his eye twitches. “Of course I do. Do you think I would do all of this for anyone? Only for you, my dear. Only you’re worth all of this. I’m sorry for frightening you, but I promise everything I have ever done is for you.” His voice is soft and cautious, as though he’s trying to lure in a wounded animal. You suppose in a way he is.

“What did I do to deserve this?” You pull yourself in tighter, your nails digging into your legs, the pain the only thing grounding you.

“You didn’t have to do anything. You were mine from the moment I saw you.” He says it with a dreamy tone, one that could be easily confused for a normal husband, so deeply in love with his wife. But beneath it there’s an obsession, a depravity to it.

“I don’t want to be yours.” The pitiful protest of a child, weak and wavering.

“Oh, darling, you don’t mean that.” He bends down to look you in the eye, put himself on your level. The condescension sets your teeth on edge. “I know you’re upset, dear, but you shouldn’t say things like that. A lesser man would be hurt.”

“A better man would believe me.”

You see the flash of rage that he swallows down before he opens his mouth again. “You’re lucky I’m patient, lover. Who knows what would happen if I took these little provocations seriously.”

“You never take me seriously.” So much of your life spent under the thumb of a man who didn’t even trust you to choose him yourself. Who didn’t trust you to choose a life together.

“You’re clearly overwhelmed. Take a minute to collect yourself.”

He didn’t disagree. So many lies for so many years, but he can’t give you the one you really want to hear.

“I want to go home.” Your voice is so pathetic, so broken.

“You are home.” His voice is gentle, but firm. A statement, a command beneath it. He leaves no room for disagreement.

“No. No, I’m not.” You close your eyes, picturing fields of your childhood. The smell of the flowers, the feeling of the sunlight on your face. The last time you had truly been free.

“You’re home, and you aren’t leaving.”

You feel yourself being pulled forward, your arms moving of their own volition.

No, not their own.

His.

His strings force your arms around him as he engulfs you in a suffocating embrace. His voice is no less sickeningly adoring than it was before. "Do what you want to me, darling. Hate me, fear me, hurt me. Rip me to shreds with your own two hands if you wish. But don't you dare leave me. You can do whatever you want as long as you're home safe."

Your voice trembles as you whisper, "And what if I wanted to leave?"

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, the condescending amusement of someone hearing a child wish for the impossible. "You don't. If you wanted to leave, you wouldn't have come here. Wouldn't have confronted me. Hell, you would have left the moment you found that first letter. Face it, little bird, you chose your cage. You love it here."

"But if I really wanted to?"

He smiles, all teeth. "Then I'd find you and bring you home.”

When he leans down to kiss you, you don’t have the energy to pull away. You can’t even feel afraid anymore as a deep sense of resignation washes over you. Ten years. Ten years of your life, gone if you leave. Your past burned under Doflamingo’s watchful eye, ensuring you have nowhere to return. Where else can you rest except your marriage bed?

It is that same bed he carries you to now, as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. The same bed where he takes you, as he has all these years. The same bed you’re pinned to, weighed down by an arm thrown across your waist. Despite everything, despite the fear and rage choking you, the feeling is somehow comforting.

Neither of you speak of it the next morning. What is there to say, really?

Your life is perfect. Your husband has made it so.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[bloomzone]

2025: #13 The Wake-Up Call: stop wasting time and own ur education

⚠️ : harsh motivation

『Let me cut the bullshit and get straight to the point: you’re wasting your life. I said it. u sit there, complaining about school, whining about how “hard” it is, scrolling through your phone like the world owes u something Cuz it doesn’t. No one is coming to save your lazy ass.』

✒️..Cuz a big number of ppl think education is a joke !? You think skipping class, half-assing assignments, and coasting through life on autopilot is cute? Hell nah pookie. It’s fucking pathetic. While you’re sitting there making excuses—“I’m too tired,” “This subject is boring,” “I don’t see the point”—there’s someone out there grinding, pushing, sacrificing everything for the life you’re too scared to fight for.Do you know what it feels like to be stuck? To have doors slammed in your face because you didn’t put in the work? That’s the life you’re signing up for every time u choose to be lazy. Every time you say, “Fuck it, I’ll do it tomorrow,” you’re digging your own grave. You’re giving up on the one shot you have to make something of yourself.

But you’re not completely fucked yet.

Yeah, school sucks sometimes. I get it. Waking up early, dealing with uninspiring teachers, and subjects that feel pointless—it can feel like a waste. But here’s the truth: life doesn’t care. The world is cutthroat, and if you don’t show up, it’ll eat you alive. You either hustle, or you get crushed. That’s it.

So, what do you do? You fucking start. No more excuses, no more procrastinating. Here’s how to get your shit together:

1. Set a Fucking Goal

Stop floating around like a goddamn leaf in the wind. What do you want? What’s the dream? You can’t hit a target you don’t aim for. Write it down. Visualize it. Make it so real in your mind that you can taste it. Whether it’s becoming a doctor, starting a business, or simply getting out of your current situation—know your “why.”

2. Get Ruthless About Your Time

Stop wasting hours scrolling through TikTok, bingeing Netflix, or playing dumbass mobile games. Track your time. Every second you waste is a second you’re giving to someone who’s working harder than you. Use a planner, set alarms, make a schedule—whatever it takes to get shit done.

3. Start Small, Stay Consistent

You don’t have to study for eight hours on day one. Start with 30 minutes of focused work. Use the Pomodoro method: 25 minutes of pure focus, 5-minute break. Do that four times, and you’ve already put in two solid hours. Consistency beats motivation every damn time.

4. Stop Waiting for Motivation

Motivation is bullshit. It’s flaky, unreliable, and temporary. What you need is discipline. Discipline is doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like it. Hate studying? Too bad. Set a timer and do it anyway. No one said this would be fun .l talked abt this click here !

5. Surround Yourself with Hungry People

If your friends are lazy, you’ll be lazy too. Cut out anyone who’s dragging you down. Find people who are grinding, who push you to be better, who make you uncomfortable in your mediocrity. If you can’t find those people, be that person. Lead the fucking way.

6. Own Your Failures

Stop blaming teachers, parents, or the system. If you failed, it’s on you. Take responsibility and learn from it. Failure isn’t the end—it’s feedback. It’s the world telling you where you need to improve. Use it.

7. Reward Yourself, But Only After You Earn It

Studied for two hours? Cool. Take a 15-minute break. Finished your assignment? Great. Watch an episode of your favorite show. But don’t let rewards come before the work. Earn your dopamine hits—they’ll feel a hell of a lot better.

8. Stop Romanticizing “Easy”

Nothing worth having comes easy. You’re not entitled to success; you have to fight for it. The grind is what separates the winners from the losers. Fall in love with the process, even when it sucks. Because that’s where growth happens.

9. Remember Who the Fuck You Are

You’re not some weak, helpless victim. You have the power to change ur life, but only if you stop feeling sorry for yourself. The world doesn’t owe you shit. You owe it to yourself to rise up, to push harder, to become the person you know you can be.

10. Think Long-Term

When you’re tempted to slack off, think about your future self. Five years from now, do you want to look back and say, “I gave it my all,” or do you want to drown in regret, wishing you could go back and do things differently? The choice is yours—every single day.

Stop Fucking Around

You’re not a kid anymore. This is your life. Every decision you make is shaping your future, whether you like it or not. You have one shot at this. Stop wasting it. Get off your ass, open your books, and start fighting for the life you want.

the pain of hard work is temporary, but the pain of regret lasts forever. So choose wisely. Do the work. Stay hungry. And when you’ve finally made it—when you’re living the life you once dreamed of—you’ll look back and thank yourself for not giving up.

@bloomzone 📇

[freakaszoyd]

Missin' You Already

Synopsis: You're finally getting the time to spend with your girls after you all planned a long-awaited trip away for the weekend. But how will ony take being away from you?

pairings: semi-clingy!ony x black reader

warnings: nsfw, more suggestive, use of the n word, not proofread fr (lemme know if I missed something)

"Onyyy!!" you whine, irritated, while pacing around the room. where the fuck did you put it? You JUST had it no way it could be gone just like that.

"hm?" he says more interested in the game than you. this just makes you more irritated. You have somewhere to be in not even 30 minutes.

You and your girls have been planning to go on a weekend getaway after you all agreed to the stress of jobs and life. This was the one time you could see all your girls in one place and relax all at the same time.

"Ony did you see my phone? imma be late!" you say flipping the sofa cushions up and down.

"Nah ma, i ain' seen it. did you check the dresser?" ony asks nonchalantly while still keeping his focus on the games screen not even sparing a glance. Of course you checked the dresser, that was the first if not second most obvious place to check.

You let out a sigh knowing he'd be no help in your search. You end up finding it in the bathroom on the sink. "how'd it get here?" you think, but you have no time to fully process it and give ony a quick, "I found it." before rushing back to the bedroom to gather the rest of your things.

Rolling your suitcase out to the living room you ask "Baby can you take me over to shy's place? I don't wanna be late." he looks over at you while removing one side of his headphones. "Yea ma don't worry bout it. I'll take you over there... just after this match" placing his headphones back on and refocusing on the game.

He cannot be serious. You've told him about this trip for weeks and now he's making you late.

"Baby please! everyone's probably already over there and im gonna be the only one that's not!" you pout in hopes of him immediately taking you to your destination.

"cmonn mama. just sit on my lap here" he pauses the game and pats his thigh and you hypnotically make your way over and place your self on him. He was dressed in his signature black sweats and his black compression shirt. Dont know what it is but it gets you everytime. "you're gonna be gone all weekend just give me 5 more minutes witchu baby. I know you're gonna miss me too" he gives you a peck on the cheek. you sigh and say,

"but I don't wanna be late" you whine hoping he'll just get up and take you.

He gives you this confused look while saying "but baby you're always late. it don't make a difference now." you look at him shocked. "fashionably late" he's quick to save himself.

"I know that's right, don't try to play me" you both laugh at each others antics. "but for real let's go, you know how long this has been planned I wanna go like now ony." you tell him as you start to get up but he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you on him.

"but maybe I don't want you to go mama." he teases. damn he's too cute. how can he switch up so fast? what happened to 5 more minutes?

"ony" you say his name in seriousness. nows not the time for this you gotta go he promised to take you.

"I'm serious mama, I don't want you to go" his tone is whiney but alluring all at the same time. he leans up to kiss you pouty glossed lips. it'd almost be sensual if it wasn't for how quick it ended. "you don't love me no more so you tryna go away wit yo friends for the whole weekend?" he says smirking. he knows what he's doing. "I know what yall doin there anyway, bouta be flirtin wit other niggas n shit tss" he shakes his head and pushing you off jokingly. "I guess I can take you."

You smile "Baby I'm not. you know you my only one" you bring your finger to brush his nose, a little habit you developed to show your affection towards him, and kissed it right after.

"yea I believe you ma" he chuckles. You stand up out of his lap and start to gather your things again to get ready to leave.

"wait baby, shit. why you in such a rush? s'not like they gonna leave you here. damn" hes gripping his arms around you harder to keep you in place but now he's kissing up on your neck. you know he's trying to be slick and get you to stay. "how can I let my pretty baby go when she looks this good hm?" he breaths into your neck and keeps kissing on it.

you let out a soft moan and started to lean into his affection forgetting all about your plans. he starts to tease you, kissing you everywhere but your lips. he knows exactly how to get to you.

"cmon mama, just let me say goodbye to her." rubbing on your clothed pussy. ony whispers in your ear, "just a quickie I promise." you're hesitant. you know it's never a quick fuck with him. he loves to make you feel good inside and out. so there's no way he'll ever leave you dissatisfied. which is why you say:

"Fine." with a playful smirk on you lips.

Because what would he do without you?

[hyperfixatinator]

Where is the line?

In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.

Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:

What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?

Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.

Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.

The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.

Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.

What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."

The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.

Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.

This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.

In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.

Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.

Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.

But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.

However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."

For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.

Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.

Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?

Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.

Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.

In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.

It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:

Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?

From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.

After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.

But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?

Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.

In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.

Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?

Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.

Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.

In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."

Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?

Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.

What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?

We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.

We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.

Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.

Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.

I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.

Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?

We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.

So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.

Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.

Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.

This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:

"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.

The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!

It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.

Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.

Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.

Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?

That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.

Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.

If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?

You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.

So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!

In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."

Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?

Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?

What changed?!

Where does Tim draw the line?

I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.

Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.

That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!

In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.

It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.

"I believe in every choice I make!"

Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.

Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!

Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?

[edible-emerald]

Ok so PVP civilization??? I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS???

Spoilers for episode 5 btw

So first off the REVEALS THIS EPISODE??? And the fact that most of them were to the viewer and not to Evbo???

The first reveal I want to talk about is PRINCEZAM REVIVING. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. This means WAY MORE THAN YOU MIGHT INITIALLY THINK.

Princezam's character, in nature, is selfish. He talks highly about how Evbo repeatedly dying is heroic, and while he may be subjecting himself to endless torture, he's saving so many lives, he's a hero, he's a good person. It's implied that Zam believes, if he were in Evbo's position, he would do the same; that he would let himself die to save others. But it's a lie. Because he IS in Evbo's position. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. But he kept it a better secret than Evbo, which is the only reason why he hasn't been endlessly farmed yet.

The second reveal Princezam gives that also shows more about his character and motives is that Evbo has a limited number of revives. He isn't immortal. He's on his last life. If he dies again, he'd be gone forever. And Zam knew this.

And I think something is really, really interesting about this. Because in episode 4, Zam's motive is to make Evbo die over and over indefinitely so he can keep increasing durability of the iron swords and increasing life span. Still an interesting character, but him KNOWING that this solution is temporary, and him KNOWING that Evbo will die permanently soon, changes everything. His motive wasn't to save the iron swords, I actually think he couldn't care less about them. His motive was to kill Evbo.

What else would it be? Why else would Zam KNOWINGLY make Evbo die over and over with every death coming closer to permanent death? Because for whatever reason, Zam wanted to get rid of Evbo. But why? Yes, it's true he was the chosen one. But that leads me into my next point:

Is he?

The only real thing that made Evbo special enough to be the chosen one is that he could revive himself after dying. But he isn't the only one who can. Zam can too; and I believe Tabi and a few other people can as well. So IS he the chosen one? Personally, I don't think he is. I think that someone else is the chosen one, but I'll get to who eventually. What possible motive could Zam have for wanting Evbo dead, if he isn't the chosen one?

Evbo was a diamond sword.

OKOKOK HEAR ME OUT

Evbo was a diamond sword who's memories were erased. He was threatening to like do something (maybe become a netherite sword?) that Zam and others didn't approve of and maybe he was working with Tabi, so both of them were killed and revived in the wooden sword level. But Evbo's memories were erased in the process so Tabi decided to manipulate him and get to the top without him this time. That brings me to the next point.

Tabi has history with some of the diamond swords. Specifically, Ferre. We don't know what yet, but I believe like I said above that she and Evbo were previously diamond swords, and were trying to do something and ended up being killed. Evbo's memories were erased but Tabi's weren't.

I think the reason the diamond swords were willing to let Evbo back in and not Tabi is because he lost all his memories. Maybe, he'll get some back and realize that the diamond layer is corrupt or evil in some way, and team up with Tabi to defeat them. But I don't think so. I think Tabi is evil and had either roped in Evbo, or worked with Evbo but losing his memories made him change.

Anyways, on the topic of reviving, I think it's also safe to say Zam was a diamond sword. First off, he seemed to know the diamond swords personally and disliked them, calling them 'bottom feeders' (which by the way is so fucking funny I giggled so much at that line) also we know he can revive as well so safe to say he was killed and revived there. Maybe he was in the plan (that may or may not exist idfk) with Tabi and Evbo and was killed as well. But I doubt it, considering how he treats Evbo, but then again, his character is very selfish and antagonistic. I think his ultimate motive is to rank up to a netherite sword (which may be godhood like in parkciv?? but we don't know) and he's trying to kill Evbo to take out the competition.

Also this is a minor thing but now we finally know why Zam kept his door closed in episode two, because he had an armor stand too and didn't want the secret to come out.

Now for the final reveal: Parrot has a backstory. And I think I know what it is.

Parrot is the real chosen one.

Ok my evidence for this is mostly speculation but also if Evbo isn't the chosen one than who?? Parrot is a really odd character, like every time he talks it just feels like there's something off about him. He talks a lot about the chosen one, but he acts. Weird. Around Evbo when he finds out that he's the chosen one. Also, for someone so devoted to the chosen one, he's still very much alive; and I point this out because he has a mansion AND a video journaling machine. That costs a lot of swings and I have a feeling he hasn't really ever paid respects to it. Even though he says he has. And why would he? BECAUSE HE'S THE CHOSEN ONE.

If Parrot isn't the chosen one, either one of two things are probably true:

he was a diamond sword

he was a/the netherite sword

I don't really know how these would work in the story the same way the chosen one theory would, but yeah

Thank you for reading my ramblings :33 hopefully I didn't miss anything lmao

ALSO??? WEMMBU AND MINUTE IN A EVBO VIDEO???? HELLO???? IS THIS REAL LIFE????????

[inuyashaluver]

Leah williamson:

reader plays for chelsea and they have a match chelsea vs arsenal

north london is ? - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend are enemies on the pitch but absolutely smitten for each other

warnings: suggestive? little swearing - whole lot of fluff, not proofread oopsies

a/n: happy september my loves!!! i eat this shit up, your honour! thank you for the request, enjoyyyyyyyy

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

if there was something that leah felt immense pride over, it would be her lifelong club. arsenal was her home, her place of comfort, and who would’ve expected the girl that bleeds red to be in love with someone that bleeds blue?

leah williamson of arsenal was in love with you, from chelsea.

—

you and leah, the two peas in a pod were incredibly infatuated with each other. it all started in national camps, you and leah collectively making it up in the ranks together. originally, the two of you were best friends, exactly two months apart in age, 5 minutes away from each other's houses.

the progression was natural, and so unbelievably unexpected. you and leah literally began dating out of nowhere.

it was after both of you had training for your respective teams, you went to leah’s, did your usual routine of making dinner together, watching at least three movies before you would head home.

though this one time, when leah walked you to the door, things took a turn.

“alright, babe, drive safe please” leah breathes out, her hand cupping your cheek, smiling at you sweetly before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

you both didn’t even process what just happened. you nod diligently, “i will lee, see you tomorrow!” you grin, closing the door behind you, walking all the way to your car before you freeze.

leah just kissed you. you rush back up to her door, about to knock before leah quickly swung it open before you could even say her name.

“i just kissed you” leah exclaimed, you nod, your hand coming up to touch your lips, “you just kissed me” you confirm, both of you stared at each other for a moment, seconds going by, though feeling like hours.

you and leah both giggle, her hand coming to yours and intertwining them, the other angling your face upwards before she placed her lips on yours once more, slowly backing you into her house. and that’s when you realised, you were in love.

—

you and leah moved in together quickly, a new house the two of you have called home for 5 years. the funniest thing about your relationship, the two of you being in rival clubs. though, you and leah loved it.

you and leah were incredibly flirty in your relationship, teasing being one of yours and leah’s main attributes. you were competitive in the best way, keeping your relationship off the pitch saving the both of you completely.

“oh don’t you look gorgeous!” you tease, coming up behind leah and hugging her from the back. the girl was literally just wearing blue. she laughs, leaning back into you with a cheeky smile as she raked her hair back into a ponytail. 

“well look at you, missy” she gawks jokingly, referring to her red shorts you were wearing, you hop up on the bathroom counter next to her, the girl not hesitating to stand between your open legs while she continued to get ready for bed.

“this means nothing, cappy” you smile at her, booping her nose with your finger before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

she smiles the moment your lips touched her skin, still feeling giddy after all these years when you showed even the tiniest bit of affection. “mhm, and this colour means nothing, baby” she says cheekily, scrunching her nose up cutely before kissing you.

her hand rests on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. when she pulls back from the kiss, she grins at you wolfishly, “but i love you in red” her eyes taking in your appearance.

“sorry but not happening, beautiful” you smile, kissing her again before pulling her into a hug, literally clinging onto her. you always missed her, even when she was right in front of you.

“alright then, maybe we should take the red off” she teases in your ear, her finger making its way to the waistband of the shorts, pulling them back to snap back against your skin.

you chuckle, pulling back to look at her. she smirks when you look her up at down, your hands going under her shirt, “only if i can take the blue off you, i know you don't like it and i can't have you dying on me” you mockingly pout, smiling right after seeing the way leah was looking at you.

“my sweet baby, it's a deal” she laughs, pulling you into a languid kiss before dragging you out of the bathroom.

—

when it came to derby days, oh did you two have fun. you would get ready together dressed in two different club training outfits, being incredibly flirty until the moment you got to your cars and went into game mode. it was hilarious.

“listen, you can score a goal but not past me, got it, darlin’?” leah says sternly, though eyes forming complete hearts as her hand squeezed your cheeks together. “nah, i’m gonna get it past you on purpose” you grin, pulling her hand down to hold it instead. 

she narrows her eyes at you jokingly, her free hand pinching your cheek. “cheeky” she smiles, her hand going from a pinch to a loving caress of her thumb.

“do your best and be careful please, lee baby” your other squeezing her shoulder tenderly. she nods seriously, “you too, my girl” thumb still caressing the apple of your cheek.

you smile and nod at her, letting her hug you tightly, slightly lifting you in the air before she put you down again. “go or you’ll be late” she grins, kissing you sweetly as she pushes you more towards your car.

“always captain williamson, aren't you? it’s not a lioness game” you tease, leah rolls her eyes fondly, squeezing your hips. “yeah, yeah” she cuts you off, kissing you again before opening your car door.

“i love you, my love who is on the wrong side” she teases, “i love you too, my love who is also on the wrong side” you smile cheekily. “ha ha, funny” she kisses you again before pushing you in the car. 

“come on, i don’t want you to be late” she ushers, “if i’m late, i could miss the game and you could win, silly girl,” you tease. leah thinks for a moment, “you’re right actually” she tries to pry you out of the car.

you laugh closing the door, waving at her with the cheesiest smile ever. she waves back in a way that matches your energy before watching you drive away, smiling when you turned off the street before getting in her car and making her own way to the bus.

—

as both teams warm up on the pitch, you and leah began the teasing again. leah walked up to you, hand on your hip as you talked to niamh about something random.

“this doesn’t look like warming up girls” she teases, you shake your head, recognising the touch and voice quicker than the speed of light.

“and what are you doing, lee lee?” you smile up at her, booping her nose with yours, something niamh grimaced at fondly before walking up to aggie to leave the lovebirds alone.

“i can’t come say hello?” she smiles, spinning you around to face her. you can’t help but smile back at her, feeling the love bubble up in your chest.

“are you sure you’re not spying?’ you tease, leah gasps, “never!” you laugh, your hand squeezing her bicep. she gives you a quick, tame kiss before separating from you. "you're forgetting i know you better than myself" she flirts, "you too" you tease.

“do your best, babe” you pull her in for another quick kiss, “you do your best, lee” she smiles, “alright, now go away, you’re distracting me” she jokes.

you laugh in surprise, giving her a playful shove, “you came here! you’re on my side!” you shake your head, leah runs backwards, shrugging her shoulders, “nah, babe, never!” she winks, blowing you a kiss before going back to training.

—

the game ended with an arsenal win, though you managed to score a goal, the score just rounding off to be 2-1. a derby was always a hard match to play, especially if it was at the emirates.

you and leah always saved each other till last at the end of a match, a tradition even from when you were both best friends. she gives you a bittersweet smile when you spot her towards the middle of the pitch, she holds her arms out to you.

you smile, walking into them and letting out a long sigh, leah always gave the best hugs, especially after a loss. “you played so well my love, that goal was class” she says comfortingly, her hands rubbing up and down your back.

there was always a little disappointment after a loss but leah made it so much better. “you played amazing, lee baby” you smile up at her proudly, your hand brushing a stray hair off her forehead from her ponytail. 

“i’m proud of you, darlin’” she kisses your forehead, swaying you gently from side to side, always knowing how to make you feel better as if it was second nature.

“i’m proud of you, baby” you grin, “i almost got that second goal past you, huh?” you tease, leah groans and rolls her eyes with mock anger, “nah, you did not” smile fighting its way to her lips. 

“i did so!” you place your chin on her chest as you look up at her, “listen here, you little shit-” she laughs, though is cut off when you rip yourself from her arms and sprint around the pitch.

the both of you laugh so hard as she chased you around, leah managing to catch you and tackle you to the ground.

you both huff and puff, running around like that after 90 minutes was rough.

you both stare at each other before breaking into another fit of giggles, letting leah help you off the ground before you both went and did a lap of photos and signatures together, just the way you both liked it.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily keiraaaa

liked by bethmead_ and 44, 232 others

leahwilliamsonn: fav time of the year with my fav person xx

view all comments

yourname: you're just saying this cause im not in my chelsea gear

↳ leahwilliamson: WHATTTT? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

↳ yourname: sure, hun

yourname: my fav time too actually

↳ leahwilliamsonn: i'm not your fav person?!

↳ yourname: OF COURSE YOU ARE

↳ yourname: just not on derby days

↳ leahwilliamsonn: touché

[asphaltwhims]

Edit this screenie with me!

This is an unused screenie of Penny Pizzazz and Marcus Flex. Feel free to save the screenshot (Dropbox link below) and follow along with the instructions, or play around with it and do your own thing! I’m going to keep the instructions as simple as possible; hopefully they make sense.

Note: My process is kinda involved, but it’s a relaxing hobby for me. You do not need to do all of these steps! If the process doesn’t bring you joy, don’t bother!

I’m using procreate, but I’m also a photoshop user. You can use any software that has layers and blend modes :)

Instructions and downloads under the cut!

Dropbox link to the screenshot, and overlays!

1. Let’s start with shadows. The first step is to create a new layer. Put the blend mode to “multiply” (this darkens anything you draw on the layer). Then select a soft brush. We’ll start with Penny’s face. Use the eyedropper tool to choose a shadowy color of her skin (hold your finger on the color you want).

2. Decide where the light will be coming from (we’ll be placing it behind them on the top left). Deepen the shadows already made by the game, and add some shadows opposite to where the light will be. Choose a darker color to match each area you’re drawing on (Penny’s hair, her shirt, Marcus’ skin, his sweater).

When you’re finished drawing the shadows, go into your layer and lower the opacity. Less is more!

3. Choose the eraser (set it to soft brush). With a light hand, soften any shaded areas that are too harsh. Basically you want to blend the shadow with the skin using the eraser. You can also use Gaussian blur!

4. Let’s add some background lighting. This will also be our guide as we add bolder highlights in the next steps. Make a new layer and set the blend mode to “add.” Take your soft brush and a yellowy-orange color, and draw some glowy light coming from the top left.

Lower the opacity and take the eraser and erase much of the light on the right side of Marcus, and erase a bit of the light on their skin/ hair/ etc (like we did with the shadows). You can use Gaussian blur here too!

Note about lighting and highlights: experiment with the color of light, because some will look better depending on the environment and the sims skin tones. Because Penny and Marcus have dark skin, a bolder or darker yellow/orange will look much better than a pale yellow.

5. Let’s start adding more highlights! Make another new layer and change the blend mode to “add.” Choose a yellow-orange and paint some highlights on Penny’s hair, her left shoulder, her chest, cheekbone, and the left side of Marcus’ face. I made the image on the left a different color so you can see where I put the highlights.

Lower the opacity, and use the eraser or Gaussian blur to blend.

6. More highlights! Make a new layer and set the blend mode to “overlay.” Overlay lightens while adding color. I use “light pen” for any outlined highlights (the outer left of Penny’s hair, Penny’s shoulder, the left side of Marcus’ face), and I use a soft brush for the rest. Lower with the opacity, and use the eraser to blend.

This is a great time to play around with other highlight colors! I’m sticking with yellows, so I chose a peach color. Note: the red is to show what I drew.

7. We’re going to import a light leak overlay, and set the layer to “screen.” Then take your eraser, and erase any areas where you don’t want there to be too much light (red areas).

Finally, I’ll merge the layers together and bump up the highlights by going to adjustments > curves. Then I’ll add noise, and a vintage dust overlay. Sometimes I do more than this, sometimes less. I also like to draw hair strands and stuff, but that’s a whole second tutorial.

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |15 - Final|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.6k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Everything happened so fast, first she was getting her inhaler, then next thing she knew Amber was shooting Liv in the head. Tara didn’t think when she grabbed Amber’s arm, she just was trying to save Sam and then you. Tara had spent most of her time duck taped in the closet until Sam rescued her. She had wanted to go find you, but Sam wouldn’t let her, she said they needed a plan. Their plan worked, after Richie and Amber’s little monologue Amber came to get her again, finally separating the two and allowing Tara and Sam to make their move.

While Sam took out Richie, Tara handled Amber. She shot her best friend in the head. She didn’t even hesitate to do it. She did it partly because Amber was running at her sister, Gale, and Sidney with a knife, but another part of her just wanted her dead. She hadn’t fully processed it yet, but she knew Richie was with Sam the night she was attacked, the night that started all this, that meant Amber attacked her. She also wasn’t stupid, she knew Amber didn’t like you, she didn’t think Amber’s hatred was also murderous but now she knew, Amber was the one that had hurt you, Amber was the one who killed Dewey.

She couldn’t get the image of what happened out of her head. When she didn’t see you with the others she ran into the kitchen, seeing you lying in a pool of your own blood. Your shirt was soaked in blood, it seemed Amber stabbed you over a dozen times. Your right pant leg was also soaked in blood where Amber had shot you.

Despite all the blood Tara didn’t hesitate to drop to your side, ignoring the pain of her own injuries. You were still conscious, looking directly up at her but it didn’t seem as if you were really seeing her. Tara kept whispering to you but there was no reaction, you just kept staring at her with love then confusion. She tried to get you to stay awake, but you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Tara waited impatiently as the paramedics came. She had to be held back by Sam as they loaded you onto a backboard, into the ambulance, and then took off. Tara wanted to ride with you, but the medics refused and made her get in her own ambulance. She was vaguely aware of Chad and Mindy being loaded up as well, but her mind was only on you.

She couldn’t lose you; she didn’t know what she would do without you. You were the only one who was always there for her, the one person who loved her unconditionally, she couldn’t handle losing you. You were too good for her, she always knew that, but now it was clear. Her best friend tried to kill you and wanted to make you suffer just because Tara loved you and not her. You didn’t deserve any of the pain Amber and Richie inflicted on you, you deserved so much better than all of them, you’d didn’t deserve to die because of them.

Tara was sitting in the waiting room; she had been there ever since she was discharged. You were still in surgery, and they wouldn’t let her see you. She couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it was like for you, you were at her side the second she woke up, you had to wait around for hours not knowing if she’d live or die. The only difference between you waiting and her waiting was that she had Sam by her side, you had been all alone.

“Ms. Weathers?” a doctor asked, snapping Tara out of her thoughts.

She instantly sat up, Gale sat across from them, she had been there since getting herself looked at as well. Tara nor Sam hadn’t said a word to Gale, they barely acknowledged them when Sidney came up to sit with Gale. She knew you wanted nothing to do with Gale but the one good thing about having Gale there was that they could get answers. Gale was your birth mother, she was family, the doctor had no problem informing Gale of your condition, he had refused to do so when Tara asked for an update on you.

“Yes?” Gales said, standing up on shaking legs.

“It was touch and go for a while,” the doctor began. “But she’ll make it.” Tara released a breath; you were going to be okay. “Her previous stitches were ripped open, she was stabbed fifteen times,” Gale tried to hold back a sob. Tara couldn’t help but bring a hand to her mouth, you had lost so much blood. “She was shot in the knee, luckily the bullet was a through and through. It will take a lot of physical therapy but I’m hopeful she’ll be able to walk without much issue or assistance.”

“Can we see her?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “But I’d like to keep it to only one or two people.”

“Thank you.”

Tara’s eyes fell to the floor when the doctor left. You were stabbed so many times, even more than she was. You were shot, you were actually shot, Amber shot you in the fucking knee. Tara couldn’t even imagine the kind of physical therapy you’d need, even if the doctor thought you’d be okay.

“You should go,” Gale said, snapping her out of her thoughts. Tara looked up at her, furrowing her brow. “She’s definitely not going to want to see me,” Gale gave a sad smile. “You should be there when she wakes up.”

Tara nodded, not able to find her voice. She looked back at Sam to make sure it was okay. Sam nodded and offered her a soft smile. “I’ll be right here,” she whispered.

Tara nodded and hesitantly made her way down the hall. She knew it was over, but she was at ease knowing Sam would be just in the waiting room if she needed anything. She didn’t intend to leave your side though, not until you woke up, probably not even then. You were by her side the entire time and she would do the same for you.

Tara let out a shaky breath as she rested her hand on the door handle to your room. She finally pushed the handle down, struggling as she tried to squeeze through the door with her crutches. The doors were heavy, she was regretting not asking Sam to walk her to your room. When she finally managed to get into the room without falling, she was instantly met with the sight of you unconscious in the hospital bed.

She made her way to your bedside, looking down at your broken body. You were in a hospital gown; she could see the bandage around your arm from when you had first been slashed with the knife. She could make out the bandaging around your shoulder where you were stabbed peaking out from the gown by your neck. Your leg was wrapped up, propped up with something hanging from the ceiling to elevate your leg but also prevent you from moving it. Based on how you looked at the moment it would be a while before you could properly bend your knee again. The one thing she couldn’t see was all the stab wounds under your gown, she knew they were there though.

She gently plopped herself down in the chair by your bed side, scooting it as close to you as best as she could. Then she just stared at you, you didn’t look in pain at least, you were unconscious and were probably being pumped full of all kinds of meds, but it brought her comfort knowing you didn’t seem to be in pain at the moment.

She wondered what went through your head as you sat at her bedside waiting for her to wake up just a few days ago. She couldn’t imagine what was going through your head because her mind was spiraling. All Tara wanted to do was get up and pace around, she wanted you to open your eyes so she could see that you were okay. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, the exhaustion from the past few days catching up to her but she didn’t want to sleep knowing you might wake up.

You had a TV in the room, but she didn’t bother turning it on, she didn’t even want to try flipping through channels to put something on in the background. She slouched down in the chair, resting her head on the back cushion as she kept her broken leg stretched out. She kept her gaze on you, the light rise and fall of your chest being the only thing she could focus on, she could hear the steady beep of your heartrate monitor as her eyes got too heavy for her to keep open anymore.

Tara’s eyes snapped open, she winced as she jumped awake, jostling her leg a little too much. She looked around trying to figure out what startled her until her eyes landed on you. She furrowed her brow until her eyes widened at seeing you looking back at her.

“You’re awake!” she sat up in her chair. She was sure she would have jumped to her feet if she could. “How long have you been awake?” She was mentally kicking herself; she should have been awake and alert when you woke up, what if you had needed something.

“Just a minute,” you whispered. Your eyelids still seemed heavy with sleep; Tara wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out again a minutes later. “Are you okay?”

Tara let out a small chuckle, but it quickly turned into a sob. You got stabbed and shot, you were literally on the brink of death, and yet you were asking if she was okay. You frowned and tried to sit up once she started sobbing, as if you wanted to comfort her. She was quick to wipe her tears when she saw you drop your head back down onto the pillow, pinching your eyes shut as you gritted your teeth, trying to hold in your scream. She didn’t want you straining yourself just to try and comfort her.

“Take it easy,” she ordered. A few more tears fell but she ignored them, it was her turn to make sure you were okay. You opened your mouth to argue with her. “I’m fine. You’re the only one I’m worried about.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

“I thought I lost you,” her voice cracked. “There was so much blood, it just kept coming, there was nothing I could do,” she shook her head. The image of you bleeding out on the kitchen floor was forever burned in her head. “They didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

“Hey,” you whispered. You moved your hand across the bed like you were trying to reach out to her, but you winced at the slight movement.

Tara didn’t hesitate to reach over and grab your hand with her good hand. She closed her eyes and let out another sob, your grip was weak, but she could feel you. “I’m right here,” you said again. “I’m okay.” Tara nodded, taking in your words, you were right there, she was touching you, she could feel you, you were okay.

“Now, is it over?” Tara looked up, she didn’t miss the fear in your eyes, you were trying to be strong and comfort her, but you had been bleeding out, you had no idea what happened, you had no idea if Ghostface was still out there.

“It’s over,” Tara nodded. “I’m okay, Sam’s okay, Gale and Sidney.” Your jaw clenched slightly when she said Gale’s name, but she decided not to comment on it, you had enough to deal with.

“Chad and Mindy?”

“They’re going to make it.” Tara’s full focus had been on you, but she managed to get updates on Chad and Mindy while at the hospital, their mom had been kind enough to inform her. She had yet to visit them, but they were sharing a hospital room, awake, and already arguing with each other.

“Richie and…” you swallowed, wincing before you could say her name, Tara wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain or because Amber was the one who had done this to you.

“Dead,” Tara said, some lingering anger dripping into her tone. Your eyes widened at that. “Sam took care of Richie, and I shot Amber.”

You remained quiet for a few minutes. She knew you weren’t friends with Amber, and you never seemed to trust Richie, but it was still a lot for someone to process. “Are you okay?”

Tara looked down, thinking to herself, she really didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. She knew she shouldn’t be okay, there was no reason she should be okay, no one would be okay after what they just went through. “Yeah,” she tried to sound convincing.

“Tar-”

“Can we talk about something else?” she rubbed the back of your hand, giving you a sad smile. The last few days had been filled with nothing but darkness and pain, she just wanted something good.

You stared into her eyes for a moment, clearly searching for something. She was hoping you’d just let it be for now and let her change the subject. “Where do you want to go?” you finally asked.

Tara furrowed her brow until a genuine smile broke out on her face. “New York,” she said easily. She wanted to get the hell out of the small town and as far away from Woodsboro as possible.

“Sounds perfect.”

 Tara got up from her chair only to sit on the edge of your bed. She ran her fingers through your hair as she looked down into your eyes. “I still want to graduate first.”

You let out an exaggerated groan, but it quickly turned into a chuckle. “Then we can finally live out our dream,” she whispered as she leaned down until her lips were barely brushing against yours.

“I’m pretty sure your sister will be living with us,” you whispered back.

“Don’t ruin it,” Tara sighed. She smiled as she finally connected her lips to yours, giving you a long, yet gentle kiss.

She knew you were right. Even if the two of you moved to New York she was sure her sister would follow. Just as she knew that Sam would never settle for letting her live on her own with you. It wasn’t exactly like the two of you always talked about but having her sister back and getting to have a life with you still seemed pretty perfect.

“I love you,” Tara whispered when she pulled away.

“Love you too,” you whispered back.

“Now, get some sleep.”

She continued to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as your eyes slowly closed. “Lay with me,” you whispered.

Tara looked around until deciding to grab the chair she had been sitting in and dragged it until it was pressed up against your bed. She slipped off the bed and back into the chair. As much as she wanted to lie with you the two of you each had an injured leg, and you couldn’t move without your various stab wounds causing you pain. Tara settled for resting her head on the mattress at an awkward angle and holding your hand.

She rubbed comforting circles on the back of your hand, listening to your steady breathing as she closed her eyes. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and she was right behind you. This was the first time since she was attacked that she closed her eyes and wasn’t worried about what new horror she might wake up to.

Taglist: @r-3-becca

[writeriguess]

Hello! I have a request plz! So I got a katsuki x reader where you are izuku twin sister. You actually got a quirk that morphed from your dad's side (plasma manipulation) which when it manifested was a LOT stronger than his so he was extremely jealous about it. Over the years he treated you just as bad if not worse than izuku. You got into UA was always top of the class in marks which made it worse. When he got kidnapped so did you bc AFO wanted your quirk. You ended up saving both of you by overloading the quirk cancel bracelets (ripping your arm out of socket to break free overloading the brain power used to push yourself past the cancelers etc) he realizes that not only your strength is your abilities but your willpower also. You saved both of you. In the field when you're trying to escape you are already severely injured and you take a devastating blow from AFO that was aimed at him. And when he sees you on the ground broken something snaps into place for him. That he can't stand to see you like this. That he has loved you since yall were 5 and he was just to emotionally constipated and jealous to realize his feelings. And when you wake up a week later in the hospital he has been there the entire time waiting for you. Where he apologizes for everything and confesses his feelings

Sacrifice

The scent of antiseptic and the quiet beeping of monitors were the first things you registered when you finally drifted back into consciousness. Your whole body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, every nerve screaming in protest as you shifted slightly. A sharp inhale hissed through your teeth as a particularly nasty pain shot up your arm—your right arm, the one you had nearly ripped from its socket to break free from AFO’s restraints.

Memories came flooding back in a violent rush. The capture. The pain. The way you had pushed past the quirk-canceling restraints, nearly frying your own brain in the process just to save yourself and him. Bakugou. Your heart clenched as the last thing you remembered played in your mind like a horror film—AFO’s attack, the way you had seen it coming, how you had thrown yourself in the way without a second thought. The impact, the agony, and then…nothing.

A low groan left your lips, and almost instantly, a chair scraped against the floor. Then—

"Shit—you're awake!"

That voice.

You forced your heavy eyelids open, and there he was, Katsuki Bakugou, his red eyes wide with something you had never seen before—fear. For you. His face was uncharacteristically pale, his normally spiky hair looking like he had run his hands through it a million times. He looked…wrecked.

"Katsuki…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, throat raw from disuse.

"Don’t fucking talk," he snapped, but there was no heat behind it. If anything, his voice was thick, almost shaky. "You need to rest, dumbass."

You managed a weak chuckle, even though it hurt like hell. "Did…you just tell me not to do something reckless?"

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, hands fisting the fabric of his pants. "Tch. Fuckin’ hypocrite, I know."

Silence hung between you, thick with everything unsaid. You took the opportunity to really look at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on his thighs. Then it hit you—

"How long have I been out?"

"A week."

Your breath caught. "You’ve…been here the whole time?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course I have." His voice was low, rough. Like he was barely holding himself together. "They told me you might not wake up, dumbass. That you might not fucking make it." His hands curled into fists. "And it was my fault."

Your eyes widened. "No—"

"YES." His voice cracked, and your stomach twisted. "You—you took that hit for me. You almost died for me. And after everything—after all the shit I put you through, you still…" He exhaled sharply, his shoulders shaking. "Why? Why the hell would you do that for me?"

You blinked, stunned. Did he really not get it?

"Because I care about you, dumbass," you murmured. "Because even though you were an absolute ass to me growing up, I know you. I know you’re more than your anger. More than your jealousy. And I—" You hesitated, swallowing thickly. "I could never let anything happen to you."

His head snapped up, red eyes locking onto yours with something raw, something painful. "You should hate me." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I hate me."

A lump formed in your throat. "I don’t."

He let out a broken chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "You should. I—fuck, (Y/N), I treated you like shit. Worse than Deku, even. And it wasn’t ‘cause I actually hated you." He let out a bitter laugh. "It was ‘cause I—" He exhaled harshly, his hands clenching and unclenching.

You waited, heart pounding.

"—‘Cause I was fucking jealous." His voice was raw, cracked. "You were always better. Stronger. Smarter. No matter how hard I tried, you were just more. And instead of dealing with my own fucking issues, I took it out on you. The person who—who actually gave a shit about me."

You could hardly breathe. He was breaking in front of you. Bakugou Katsuki, who never admitted to weakness, never let anyone see him falter—was laying himself bare for you.

"Katsuki…"

His fists trembled, and then, suddenly, he was reaching for you. A hesitant, almost fearful motion, like he thought you’d push him away. You didn’t. His calloused hand found yours, grasping it tightly, like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"I thought I lost you," he choked out. "And it—it fucking destroyed me." His grip tightened. "And I—I finally fucking get it now." He took a shuddering breath, his gaze locking onto yours, fierce and desperate. "I’ve loved you since we were five, and I was too much of an emotionally constipated piece of shit to realize it."

Your heart stopped.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, as his words sunk in. "What?"

His lips twisted into something self-deprecating. "I love you, (Y/N). And I know—I know I don’t deserve you. Not after everything. But I swear to fucking god, if you give me a chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Just…please."

Tears welled in your eyes. Your body ached, your mind was still foggy, but none of that mattered. Not when the boy you had loved for years was finally laying his heart at your feet.

With the little strength you had, you squeezed his hand. "You idiot," you murmured, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I’ve loved you for years."

His breath hitched. "What?"

You gave him a weak smile. "I’ve always loved you. Even when you were a dumbass."

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And then, with a shaky exhale, he dropped his head, pressing his forehead against your joined hands. His shoulders trembled, and you realized—he was crying.

"Thank god," he whispered.

You let out a soft, watery laugh, reaching up to gently run your fingers through his hair. He melted into the touch, exhaling shakily.

"You’re stuck with me now, Bakugou," you teased, voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on your hand tightened. "Damn right I am."