#i call this poem ‘answer’ btw .

[pechaii]

#i call this poem ‘answer’ btw . #words #poetry #prose #mythology #greek mythology #orpheus #eurydice #orpheus and eurydice #quotes #writeblrcafe #poetic stories #love #mine

[nqmonarch]

Valentines Day w/ HSR Characters!

Doing Calc homework and am very stressed, i can feel it everywhere in my body. the math is just not mathing mentally today (i looked at trigonometric identities today so maybe thats why)

Just writing out some messy ideas to take a break

Btw if u sent in a request and I haven't answered it yet I am working on it thank you for your uh question ask thingy i appreciate it, i like to know what people like to read bcus tbh i like to write anything altho jingyuan gets like +10 points cus he fluffy

Valentines Day With Some HSR Characters (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Stelle)

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is old school romantic. You cannot tell me he wouldn't arrive home with a big bouquet of roses (does HSR even have roses?) and 20 other gifts, including but not limiting to boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and at least one gag gift. There's gotta be at least one, he'd make a dad joke out of it too.

Then he'd reserve one of the best restaurants on the Luofu and bring you there. He'd probably have booked a private room, thank goodness because no one wants to hear the general continuously compliment you until you're a puddle on the floor. What he is best at is attacks. But if he gets a compliment in return he'll freeze up for a moment before playfully returning it.

Jing Yuan doesn't put on his normal coy facade today, instead he just embraces how much he loves you because he's happy to still have you in his life.

Blade

Blade does not know it's Valentine's Day. It's not his fault, cut him some slack. Anyway Kafka probably reminds him that it's Valentine's Day about half way through the day to which he goes into a silent panic. You can't tell he's panicking he's just staring at the wall with a blank face, he actually looks like he wants to murder someone.

The two of you end up celebrating though! He... pulls something together, it really is something. Sure he smells like blood and the waiters are scared, and taking over this restaurant for a Valentine's Day dinner was definitely not in the script but... It could be worse. He's trying his best, really.

Afterwards you and Blade share lots of cuddles! Something he's pretty good at! Holding you just tight enough, and keeping you close to his side-- you just won't be able to get up if you want to get water or anything. He doesn't say too much but you can feel the love in each caress.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng doesn't really like going out, why would he when all he needs is right by his side? So the two of you stay on the express in the archives. What matters isn't where you are but the company. He'd probably get you a few trinkets from different places he's collected over the years, a necklace, a sick looking compass, whatever fits your vibe.

Dan Heng would probably also write you a love poem, and make you read it or awkwardly recite it in front of you. If you read it out loud though he will get unbelievably embarrassed and snatch it away from you. He'd give it back but he'd take some coaxing, be nice okay? His face is already red.

Then when the night draws to a close the two of you would curl up together on that sorry excuse of what he calls a bed. The majority of your body would be on Dan Heng's using him as a pillow, and his arms would be wrapped around your body keeping you still and warm.

Dan Heng's bed is not it man. Personally, I'd get back problems.

Stelle

"You are the one who deserves the golden trash the most," Truly romantic words from Stelle as she hands you a golden trashbag. That is just the first of the gifts she gives you tonight, and the one that's most valuable to her. It's the thought that counts right? You still have no idea what she's talking about when she mentions fighting Sampo as a trashcan...

The two of you spend a romantic night together, walking down the quiet streets of Belobog, and-- did Stelle just investigate a trashcan again? You should be used to this. On the bright side, every time she gets something cool she comes up to you with the biggest smile on her face, it's beyond adorable. Sometimes the trashcans even have good stuff, like a scarf Stelle lets you wear that thankfully doesn't smell like trash.

It's just good to spend time with the person you love. She spends her time catching you up on everything new from her adventures, and when it's too cold to stay out any longer the two of you head to the Astral Express. Where you shower together and then doze off on one of the Express' couch cushions while playing games. Your head rests against Stelle's reminding you, you're never alone.

Okay I need to get back to homework, fun break thanks guys. Imagine being alone on Valentines Day couldn't be me, I have my Calc Homework. It told me I was integral to it <3 legit peak partner material.

#hsr #reader insert #hsr x reader #gn reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #stelle x reader #valentines day #me x calculus homework

[k2ntwo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

A bunch of writers that I follow have already been tagged and responded @helloliriels @khorazir @7-percent @discordantwords @totallysilvergirl to name just a few. Now I have a few new things to read that I somehow missed the first time around as well as a bunch of old favorites to go and re-read. So much good fic is out there by so many talented writers!

In the spirit of adding to folk’s ever growing MFL list I’ll just pile onto the bandwagon with my answers as well.

 1.  How many works to you have on AO3?

56 although there are several collections of snippets that technically could be counted separately. On AO3 I'm KtwoNtwo.

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

496,860

3.  What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Sherlock Holmes (most all iterations from ACD to Sherlock) and James Bond.  However, I dabble in a good number of other fandoms upon occasion.

4.  What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Metamorphosis

Conversations from Q-Branch

50 Reasons (The Q-Branch Edition)

A Rare Breed

Brothers Three

5.  Do you respond to comments?

Yes, even if its just a “I’m glad you liked it.”  The only ones I don’t respond to are the generic solicitations to join some random contest or fic publishing website.  Those get blocked and reported.

6.  What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I don’t really write major angst but The Four Riders has got a bit as does the poem Gun in the Drawer though they both end on a hopeful note.

7.  What’s the Fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings but probably A Toast to the Science of Deduction resolves the happiest of the lot.

8.  Do you get hate on fics.

Nope.  Only got one anonymous troll alleging trademark infringement due to a title.  I fired back a factual rebuttal: basically "there is no book by that name by that author, there is no lawyer by that name, you didn’t provide contact information and btw trademark doesn’t work the way you allege" then added a set of quotation marks to the title.  Never heard anything more about it.

9.  Do you write smut?

I have but I’m not terribly good at it.  Most of the time the characters look at me then politely, or not so politely, shut the bedroom door in my face.

10.  Do you write crossovers?

Oh God Yes!  Technically I think I write fusions, where both fandoms end up in the same universe, as opposed to crossovers but I’m rather unclear on the difference between same so I tend to just call 'em crossovers and leave it at that. 

11.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I could find or prove.  I did have a couple of strange search results pop up with my use name and some fic titles attached but the websites all seem to be defunct now.

12.  Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14.  What’s your favorite ship?

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

15.  What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There’s a fic based on a song by Abney Park that I’ve got an outline for but it never seems to go anywhere.

16.  What are your writing strengths?

I can merge and/or crossover all sorts of different fandoms. 

17.  What are your writing weaknesses?

Typos and punctuation.  Being slightly dyslexic I can’t spot the former and I never know if I’m using commas correctly or not.

18.  Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I actively avoid doing so because I’d butcher it badly.

19.  First fandom you wrote for?

Emperor’s Edge by Lindsay Buroker.  I will admit that I wrote in my head, but never got around to put on paper, a number of Star Trek stories when I was significantly younger.

20.  Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I like all of them for different reasons.  The one I’m most proud of however is The Emerald Falls my Study in Emerald inspired ACD Fic.

I'd love to have some of the artists/podcasters respond to this with whatever modifications are necessary to fit the medium involved. Hours of podcast or number of artworks as opposed to number of words for example. @podfixx @bluebellofbakerstreet if you haven't responded to this thing already and I just missed it.

#20 questions for fic writers #my fanfiction

[golden28s]

Totally optional, fun Gallavich questions ☀️🌙

thanks for tagging me to the coolest person @callivich 💖

What’s a fic you’ve read more than once? i havent read that many gallavich fanfics since i watched the show in like april BUT im loving Africa and ill probably read it once it's finished

What’s a gifset you always have to reblog? s7 gifsets are really person to me but also maybe s10 and s11 because they reached the peak of softness

What’s a headcanon you can’t stop thinking about? maybe that ian would tell mickey "i told you so" when they become parents and mickey turns out to be an absolute incredible dad that will play, sing, dance anything with his children.

What’s a fanart you love looking at? maybe @gallavichonly @heymrspatel and i accept recommendations btw id love to see more fanart

What’s an idea you’d love to create if you had the time/inspiration? id probably write like a series of one shots based on taylor swift songs

What’s something you’ve discovered since entering this fandom? A new trope you love? A different analysis of the show? Something else? i think that not judging characters, like always be aware of their circumstances and what made them do or say that and that might not justify them but it explains their thought process, it explains why and gives them some sort of humanity to their mistakes idk if this makes sense but yeah that, don't judge a character too soon, try to understand them.

What’s an underrated trope or concept you’d like to see more of? the secret dating, we know they secretly dated and stuff but i feel like it's actually a really fun concept to play with despite their circumstances in the show, it gives you so many possibilities.

What’s your favourite season? And has this changed after multiple rewatches of the show? the early seasons have special place in my heart, so s4-5 and i think gallavich totally saved s7, i love that part of the season

What’s a plot hole you wish had been answered or resolved? i would've loved to see ian healing from the grooming and realizing it was grooming, it would've been nice for the character to heal old wounds and start fresh a new life with mickey in a new neighborhood ready to create new memories

What scene or moment do you feel isn’t discussed enough? the just wondering if we're a couple or not scene, we definitely should discuss more the fact that mickey answered too quickly, he absolutely had been calling ian boyfriend in his head

What line/dialogue/description from something else (a poem, a book, a tv show, a movie, or something else) do you feel describes Ian and Mickey’s relationship? im gonna quote noel fisher and as he said: "Ian's been that kind of guiding angel for Mickey so he's going to have to turn into a pretty much kind of a protective angel for Ian"

What do you think is next for Ian and Mickey post-finale? i think they're gonna learn to communicate even more, they were in really good path already. i think the writers didn't have much faith in them in that aspect but the conversation they have in s11 about going back or not to the new neighborhood made evident that they can communicate, they listen to each other and understand the reasons, each other's feelings. so yeah, i think they're gonna get even better at that and also they're not gonna wait that much to become parents. i think they eventually will find new jobs, ian will have his tomatoes and mickey will adore looking at him doing his thing every sunday morning. i really really think they finally found their peace, their home and are gonna be very very happy and disgustingly in love forever because they're also hopeless romantic and want that so bad.

im gonna tag a few people and as always feel free to do it or not <3 @lupeloto @mikhailoisbaby @mickeysgaymom @redwiccanrobin @lyricailove @energievie @depressedstressedlemonzest @juliakayyy

#gallavich #shameless #tag game fandom

[carpathianspaceprincess]

Wintering (The Irish Poem) - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel reads a favourite poem of yours, and reflects on the subject's similarities to you.

Rating: E. minors dni.

Pairing: Joel Miller x SeasonalDepression!Reader (F)

Tags: Irish coded reader. a little bit of Gaeilge. One Shot. Happy Ending(™). FLUFF. Sickening fluff. Soft!Joel. Established relationship/situationship. No smut in this but could be in the future.(❀❛ ֊ ❛„). Book a dentist appointment my friends, you will probably have cavities after reading this.

CW: brief mention of suicide and overdose attempt, mentions of seasonal depression/mental illness symptoms, mention of SSRIs. 

WC: 2.4k

A/N: Happy late St. Patrick’s Day! This work was inspired by an Irish poem called “Geimhriú” by Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh. The translation came from this post, and I only have a little Irish but it seems right. The Irish language is beautiful and I love it dearly, so I wanted my first posted work to celebrate it (i'm terrified of sharing this btw lol). I wrote this bc culture and language is nearly always left behind and forgotten in survivalist worlds like TLOU, and it’s rarely a theme in fics, but is an essential part of survival, especially for Irish communities. I may potentially expand this work to a series to explore more aspects of Irish culture as part of the story if it's well-received and I feel like it. btw this is not beta-read and idk how to format anything - this is genuinely my first time posting so there are likely mistakes! please comment if you find one, or have constructive criticisms, and of course like/reshare and interact if you had a good time reading this, it would mean the world to this little Irish gal.

(♡ ὅ ◡ ὅ )ʃ♡ enjoy!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊.

Even at the end of the world, in the fucking apocalypse, in this shitty, godforsaken place, you were still somehow suffering from a seasonal affliction. 

Depression, that is. 

Joel saw it immediately, the way you took a little longer to answer the door when he came for you in the mornings, the bags under your eyes just a little more pronounced as the days in your district grew less colourful and the dry leaves wilted to the sodden earth. He also saw how you tried to hide it and for a while, tried to respect your clear denial of something being very, very wrong. 

To your credit, you did what you could; soldiered on. Ate and slept more than usual, like a bear. Before the outbreak, you’d been on Zoloft, then Wellbutrin, but the chances of any SSRI medication still existing were so slim you knew you didn’t need to bother checking. 

Even so, it frustrated you every morning, the fact that you weren’t like Joel. That you couldn’t just get up and get on with your day, that you needed some stupid chemical to make your brain work just because the weather was cold and the sky was churning furiously, gnashing it's teeth on nothing but grey, day-in and day-out. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. You were living in near constant poverty, under a dystopian military dictatorship and in the middle of a civil war every god-damned fucking day whether the sun was shining or not, so why did the fields being barren and slick with sleet make you viscerally despise life so much more than seeing them full of fresh flowers and humming with bees? You’d still be hungry at the end of the day. Exhausted. What should the seasons matter to you now? There was no difference. No future. Not then.

You had hoped that maybe eventually, living in constant survival mode might, y’know, actually make your brain want to survive. But it didn’t. You hated it. But what you hated about yourself most of all was the fact that you desperately needed help. It was pathetic. Weak. 

Joel didn't see it that way. Well, he didn't now.

At the start he thought it hadn't been too serious. Maybe you were 'just tired'.

But then winter had nearly taken you from him that year. The sudden and shocking bone-chill of Boston post-October had him practically dragging you out of your own bed every morning for the “supply run” he had taken to bringing you along on; silently begging you to get up and keep going for his sake if not your own. Telling you if a man from Texas could survive it, you’d better get your sorry ass up and do the same. 

He’d found you then, in late December, the dead of night, throwing up and barely breathing. You’d collected enough opioids to kill a horse and tried to take your own life. You’d been lucky to see the next sunrise, and that was the last time he’d allowed you to sleep on your own. And the first time he’d heard of “Seasonal Depressive Disorder”, or whatever it was. 

You’d explained that before all this, you’d had medications that would have stopped this issue for you; so Joel, having then appointed your fragile well-being as his responsibility, had looked for some. But of course there was nothing. So much to everyone else's delight, he spent the winter just like you; because like two really fucked-up peas in a pod, if you were in a foul mood, Joel’s was never far behind. With the QZ being overcrowded, freezing, and insistent on working you both to the bone, you were always in a foul mood. 

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

So now he can admit to himself that he likes this; likes seeing the glow of your rosy, apple cheeks in the tangerine afternoon rays of a tired day. The way the sunlight dapples the colour of your hair; the lazy smile that breaks across your gentle mouth as the cool breeze caresses you both. This wheat field is completely abandoned, high bland stalks swaying quietly. The rush of the little river nearby. A perfect place to take you; you who were beaming so joyfully, could’ve replaced the goddamn sun itself as far as it concerned him. 

He feels the embroidered spine of your book in his hand, holding it away from your reach. The one you always had open on the same page, the one he caught you reading when you were supposed to have your hands on your rifle and your sharp eyes looking for guards and raiders.

“Let me read it.” he grins without realizing it, stretching a little further away as your fingers grab for purchase, pointlessly. You're too short to even touch the cover as he leans over you. “No!” You reiterate, and he frowns, a finger coming to his lips to remind you of your surroundings. Still careful. “Why not, huh? Can't be that bad if y'like it so much.” 

A slow blush stains you as you huff, dropping your arms to your sides. Like a petulant child. Admitting defeat.

“Fine, but it’s not even in English.”

He quirks an eyebrow at that, and keeps your gaze as he flips the faded, worn pages open to find the one he’s looking for. “You won’t understand it.” You whisper. But he doesn’t need to understand it, he just wants to see. It makes perfect sense to him that you're bilingual, he doesn't know a lot about you, but he knows you're smart, and sharp as a tack...as long as something interests you.

The paper of this page in particular is dog-eared to the point of severe damage, and marked to all hell, but it isn’t dusty at all. Whatever this is, he sees that it’s well-loved by you. Well-read. His curiosity gets the better of him as you make one last reach for the precious item and he, with ease and very quiet glee, denies you. 

He doesn’t try to read it aloud though, the words roll around on his tongue unfamiliar, tangled up in the calculator of his brain that is so used to the anglo-saxon american structure of speech. But he scans it quietly all the same, to your surprise. 

Ná labhair focal,

ná féach im threo,

tá duifean ar mo chroí

nách n-ardófar. 

Géillim don ngeimhriú

Ní aithneofar mé 

go péacadh na mbachlóg. 

Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh.

He clears his throat, and runs a finger along the last line of text; “This the author?” 

You peer over, nodding. He hums in acknowledgement, filing the information away for later. Then he graciously hands the book back to you, brushing your fingers with his, and you snatch it away; folding it closed against your lap. A low gust of wind makes the hair that frames the sides of your face dance delicately. You lean back on your arms then, to appear relaxed. Trying not to think of the delicious electricity sparkling under your smooth skin at his touch. Failing. You're hot, now. The humidity doing nothing to cool off the desire pooling in your belly as you look up at him through thick lashes. He's chewing a thought in his mouth, you can see it.

“Gaelic?” 

You are actually taken aback, but smile and shake your head good-naturedly at the attempt. “Gaeilge.” 

A look of confusion crosses his brow and a laugh, golden and sugary, pours from your chest. It squeezes him with violent affection for you. “Gaelic is Scottish. This is Irish. Gaeilge.” You repeat, cocking your head. “They’re different.” 

He nods slowly. He wants to ask you how you came to speak it, and is that why you have a lilt in your accent? did you come from there? From Ireland? And how did you manage to keep speaking it after the outbreak?

 But, he thinks those questions can wait til later. You'll tell him your story on your own terms when you're ready, and he respects that. What he does know is that this must be important to you somehow, and he's happy to focus on that for now.

 “You gonna tell me what it’s about?” 

“I could...but those are meant to be read and understood in the spirit of the language they’re in. They’re not meant to be in English.” You season the last word with some disdain, teasing.

He gives you a dry look and you laugh again. Rolling his eyes and pretending to fall over, he pops back up and props his dozy head with his elbow against the coffee-brown and burgundy leaves that have scattered and broken on the ground beneath gale-swept branches. Then he waits. 

You take him in in all his intensity, the way his curls ruffle against his hand. The sleeves of his shirt pushed to his elbows, muscles and tendons flexing and taut, brown in the sun and from working outdoors.

You guess you do owe him one. Reaching your free hand towards him, he turns his face into your gentle touch on his jaw, and you just about explode. How could you deny him anything when he looks like this?

“Alright,” You give in, and it feels like the easiest thing in the world.  

The book opens once more, and his pretty eyes follow your slender finger against the printed words with his gaze; you feel observed; shy. And you begin, your voice unsure of itself. But his hand on your thigh is cosy, encouraging.

“Don’t say a word,

Don’t look in my direction,

There’s something on my heart 

That can’t be lifted. 

I give in to wintering 

You won’t see me

Til the buds begin to blossom”. 

“Til the buds begin to blossom.” He repeats slowly, intentionally. 

“You a man of literature now, Miller?” 

He exhales sharply. “Not at all, ma’am. Just a curious one.”

The corner of your lips tugs upwards at this easier side of him - and you hum as you close the book and set it down with care, next to you. You each settle against the other comfortably then, taking in the sights and scents around you. A tranquility has made home inside your bones, with the feeling of his warm front against your back and you raise your face to the rays of sun; still beaming onto you from the early evening sky. Your whole body rests now, soothed by his presence.

Comfortable silence blankets over you both, for a few minutes. 

“So, d’ya like the view?” He asks all of a sudden, kicking his feet back and stretching against the massive tree he’s got you both behind - completely hidden from the view of the gate patrol. He’s been scoping this place out for weeks, he knows it’s safe. 

You feel his shirt ride up against your back and it ignites something that quickly dwarfs anything mellow or peaceful inside you.

“Do I like it, Joel Miller?” You repeat incredulously, turning around and crawling onto his lap; with only a little grace. His rough, calloused hands instinctively come up to your hips, and the denim of your worn jeans suddenly feels far too tight and restrictive for the kinds of lovely, fuzzy messages your body is giving to you. You straighten up, leaning in to breathe; a faint hint of whiskey, lot of smoke. Lot of man. Yours. Your man. 

Before you can unleash the teasing reply you had tucked away for him, an unwelcome thought sobers you. He notices the shadow cross your pretty face, the terrible memory flickering away in the back of your mind. Calling back to your thoughts before, you realise very abruptly that you do owe him one. In fact, you owe him your life for this very afternoon. The seeping heat on your skin and the pastel wildflowers. The gorgeous vermillion colour of the sky. The rush of contentment in your heart.

“I never would have even seen this sunset if it wasn’t for you.” You murmur, lowly enough that he has to strain to hear it. A grumble rumbles in his chest but he says nothing in reply, so you stay quiet, and take his larger hands into yours. Trying to convey how grateful you are with your touch. Hoping it'll osmosis or something. Knowing you can never repay him for his selflessness, his friendship, his sacrifices. 

He clears his throat then, to get your attention, and you lock eyes with him; searching and deep. Knowing. 

“You know I love it.” you whisper, appreciating the deep brown irises framed by spectacular eyelashes. The eyes you’d know absolutely anywhere. “I love it more than anything.”

You’re not talking about the view anymore. 

 He knows it, too; lines softening at the complete adoration on your face, the vulnerability; the way you’re giving it all to him. And he wants it even though he really shouldn’t. He wants you exactly like this for the rest of your lives. Warm and happy, tucked up next to him in some butt-fuck middle of nowhere place in the sun, tending to your garden and reading your books and your poems, unbothered by the harsh realities of the world revolving around you. Away and safe from the sickness and cruelty of the cities.

 He watches carefully the radiant glow that’s touching your expression, and he can’t help but understand then, why you like that poem. 

It’s you. 

In moments like these, when you’re pressed up against him and smelling so sweet he feels heady and drunk, it’s much harder to shove away those very domesticated thoughts he’s been having; of you and the kind of things he wants to give you. The kind of life he wants you to have, together. Although he couldn’t tell you out loud, not yet anyway. He’s working on it. 

You wonder what he's thinking about, leaning to press a soft kiss to his chin to bring him back to earth- closing your eyes at rough stubble brushing against your cheek. You feel an earth-shattering smile and wish you could see, but it’s gone by the time you raise your head again. 

What you do see is a tanned arm reaching behind you to pluck something from the soft earth.

It’s a sunflower. Bright and plush and golden. 

 Like you, he thinks. 

Firm fingers gently and deftly push your strands aside, carefully slipping the green stalk of it right behind your left ear.

Leaning back to peer at you and admire his handiwork, he tucks his hands behind his head.

 He compares what’s in front of him now to his memories of last month; your face tear-tracked and pale in his bed, telling him you didn’t want to live. Him never knowing how to help you, spending those bleak evenings with fear poisoning his every thought, constantly worrying he would come back home to you cold and still. Wrapping himself tight around you in his bed late at night in the hopes he could somehow just piece it all back together by holding you. The memories the experience brought up for him; the ones fuelling his terror of failing you, like he failed her. 

And now you here, surrounded by spring buds blossoming in the sweet change of the season. Wildflowers, peonies, just like you, so easily pleased by the sun and the green of the forest and the view from the top of your apartment building once the snow had begun to melt. Softened by just a little bit of warmth and a lot of love. A lot of care. He's proud of you and how hard you've worked to drag yourself out of the place you were in.

He’s suddenly finding it difficult to control the way he wants to cry with relief. 

You don’t know any of this, of course. But the way he observes you so deliberately sends little shivers down your spine, despite the humidity and haze. You do feel kind of silly sitting like this though, so you reach up to pull the flower from your hair, but his fingers grip your wrist hard and fast before you can get to it and they tell you otherwise, pressing indents into your skin that you'll remember later tonight.

“Don’t.” He says softly. “I like it.”

You try to stop the grin from breaking out but fail miserably, and he's dazzled by it. One smile, and he’s completely and overwhelmingly filled with love for you.

 Yes, he thinks; even at the end of the world, even in this shitty fucking place, this apocalyptic nightmare, you still somehow manage to blossom in the sun.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #tlou #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal universe #happy st paddys day #lmao #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader #pedrostories #pedrohub #irish in my fics? you fucking bet

[nicosraf]

May you list out the classes of Angels in your story? I know Lucifer is a Cherubim and it’s implied that Uriel is an Ophanim and Rosier is a Seraph! What are the list of the Angel classes from the other characters? Is there a class system with the hierarchy of heaven?

Short answer: I wrote in cherubim, seraphim, and ophanim, though there isn't any hierarchy/class-system in Heaven.

Michael is a seraph (towards the end, he's described as having six wings), and I imagine Baal to be a cherub, Asmodeus to be an ophanim, Phanuel to be a seraph, Raphael to be a cherub, and Azazel to be a seraph. (I say 'imagine' because one of these might shift but I'm like 80% sure on it.)

Long answer about celestial hierarchy and etc.,:

You made a mistake asking me this because I have really strong feelings about about The Celestial Hierarchy and about Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. I actually recently finished studying the The hierarchie of the blessed angells: their names, order and offices: the fall of Lucifer with his angells, which is some 1635 didactic poem by Thomas Haywood that I need to post pictures of because it was very pretty, so thank you for reminding me. I’m only mentioning this because Pseudo-Dionysius (and Heywood) are in this camp of theology guys who think there’s a type of angel assigned to each sphere around the Earth to correspond to the old Ptolemaic model of the universe. What this means is that most old angelology books are all trying to force this connection that isn’t biblical, and this is why the whole hierarchy is pretty messy.

Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite himself was also just someone pretending to be St. Dionysius the Areopagite. Whether he did it out of respect or to try and gain some legitimacy for his angel fanfic – who knows. Either way, I'm not a fan of him (and apparently neither was Milton, who is my lover btw), and I think there's a really long conversation to be had about why early Christian authorities may have liked the idea of a hierarchical heaven with levels of authority, rather than only God's authority reigning over paradise. Hm.

Anyway, I personally don't think a paradise can exist where there's a strict hierarchy in place. And in the Bible, there is no referenced hierarchy beyond the fact that there appears to be a chief of the angels, which is Michael. (Catholic Bibles tend to include Raphael calling himself an archangel, too, if I'm remembering correctly). The only "types" of angels that are explicitly referenced are the seraphim and cheurbim. "Ophanim" as a term isn't found in most Bibles, but they're described, so I've accepted them too. (It's worth noting that the Bible never refers to the seraphim, cherubim, or ophanim as angels, so they might not even be angels at all but some other celestial things.)

The way I interpreted it is that these three are the non-material forms of angels, which they're actually not in often. This is my personal interpretation of the fact that angels are only present and described strangely (you know, that "biblically accurate angel" meme) in proximity to God's throne.

For story reasons, angels are almost always enfleshed, so their different "types" don't come up much, but they do have casual knowledge that differences exist, like when Baal instructed Lucifer to take out "only two" wings. But it's clearly a difference that doesn't have an effect on their society.

Dw, there will be more on the "types" in the books to follow. As a side note, it was kind touchy to write the categorization at all into ABM. I didn't want to make it a big thing because 1. equality among the angels is pretty significant to the story and 2. I was afraid angel categorization could become a sort of quasi-gender or, even worse, quasi-race for them.

But yes sorry for ranting I hope this answered your question ahsjdsajdhlhjsl <3333

#sorry for being so annoying my god #getting into angels is only fun for the first day because it looks like there's so much neat lore but then you actually get too into it #and become very annoying about sources #the hierachy IS a mess though #why is “archangel” so low like be serious #what is a principality #ahjadshljahads #i do enjoy the hierarchy books sometimes though because theyre fun to read #ill post pics of the manuscript i worked with!!!! #soon #mine #ask #angels #theology rant #making that a tag :/

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Blindly 1/4 (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, and minor unrequited (?) Hvitserk/Reader

Prompt: From the Love Prompts category: Amnesia.

Word Count: 2661

Warnings: Well, amnesia, for one. The Reader character is the one with amnesia btw. Mentions and/or descriptions of war, death, fighting, injuries, and drowning. Some fluff hidden there with all the angst. My writing.

A/N: This was fun to write! When I brainstormed this prompt I also wanted to write a fic where Ivar is the one who forgets something/everything, but the other one I have planned would demand an amount of motivation and time I do not have right now lol, so I decided to go for this one for the 500 thingy, and if I ever circle back to the other idea, I might write it as a separate thing from this challenge.

Sorry for the ramble, hope you like this!

When you wake, the gasps of a woman just pulled off to shore heaving your chest, the images of dark waters closing over your head still present in your mind as fresh as a memory, you find yourself face to face with a stern looking old woman, who orders you to lay back down.

Though you do not want to give her the satisfaction of ordering you around, a sharp pain pulses on the side of your head, and you lay down on the soft bed with a wince. Though, while even the soft lights make your head throb with pain, you follow the woman with your gaze.

“Where am I?”

“Kattegat.” She replies. You grit your teeth, biting your tongue to keep yourself from answering that you know that, that you want to know why this house is unfamiliar, why the woman by your bedside is a stranger.

She doesn’t even look at you, doesn’t even react even when you cannot keep yourself from flinching away when she reaches up to check an injury on your forehead.

“Did Queen Aslaug send you?” You ask her, and clearing your throat to try to make your voice a tad less hoarse, you try again, “Has she sent word to my family? About…about whatever happened to me that warrants a healer by my side?”

You finally get her to look at you with those questions. The woman, grave features made worse by a frown, searches your gaze for a few moments. Instead of answering, she barks an order to a young thrall that scurries out of the room, leaving you alone with this stranger.

“You are a smart girl.” She enounces it slowly, as if she’s starting one half of a poem and you are supposed to know the other.

“But not keen on flattery,” You retort without hesitation, searching her gaze with the same intensity she looks at you with. “Does my family know I am well?”

Her eyes linger on you for a few more seconds, before she turns her back to you and focuses on a table with what you are sure are remedies and herbs you have no intention of letting her make you drink.

Gruffly, she answers, “Soon they will, my Queen.”

“Your what?”

“You are in a fragile state, tis best you save your strength.”

“I will, once you tell me why you are calling a blacksmith’s daughter a queen.”

“Whatever I call you, you make no demands from me when you are under my care. You fell into the river and almost drowned, you ought to concern yourself with your health, not your name.”

You offer a long sigh in response, moving to sit up on the bed. She immediately tries stopping you, but you swat her hands away. You regret defying her, for you are certain the reason she tried slowing you down was to keep the headache that seems to split your head in two from worsening. Which it does, but you refuse to show her and give her the satisfaction.

“If you make no use of your tongue to tell me the truth, I have no issue ridding you of it.”

When she turns to glare at you, you offer only a tilt of your head to the side, expectant. There’s a small twitch in her expression, you do not know if anger or fear, but you care for neither, you just want her to tell you what is going on.

Whatever it is she was to answer with is stopped short by this strange knocking sound, and you only notice it because of the way the woman tenses at the sound. You realize after a few moments that it isn’t knocking, for it is getting closer and closer; and the closer it gets, the more clearly you hear the shuffling sounds accompanying the dull knocking on the wooden floor.

As the door opens you are already opening your mouth to ask who it is that is making such noise, but any questions die on your lips.

“Ivar,” You gasp, sitting up even against the gentle push of the healer’s hand on your shoulder. Your eyes are wide as they take him in, and without meaning to you are leaning back, away from him. “You’re…you’re walking.”

It is only then, as if you needed to speak such thing into existence for you to notice what has changed; that you can take in the rest of him, realize the only thing familiar about the man before you -standing before you- is the blue of his eyes. Past the braces encasing his legs, you notice the way his posture is prouder, his upper body larger, his hair longer, his face scarred.

Your breaths quicken, and your hands curl into fists as you try making sense of this, of any of it. A small cry leaves your lips as you close your eyes to try and calm down but are only able to see dark water closing in around you, so you force yourself to open your eyes and look at him.

All that is left of him, of the him that is familiar and real, is his eyes.

The blue eyes you fell asleep thinking about just last night. Blue eyes, vibrant blue eyes, that give away so much.

Blue eyes that now dart to look at the woman by your bedside. You look down at his hand, his free hand, for the other is occupied holding a crutch that is keeping him standing, and notice the nervous movement, the way it clenches into a fist before relaxing, over and over again. You never saw him do that before.

“So it is true?”

“It is, my King.”

“What is?” You press before the healer can answer, “What is happening?”

His nose furrows and his lip curls into a snarl, yet it is an uncharacteristically contained anger as he orders, “Out. Now.”

The woman doesn’t even make a sound as she leaves the room.

He won’t look at you. You want to demand that he does, you want to scream for him to help you make sense of any of this, but words die in your throat and strength leaves you so suddenly you feel like trembling.

“You think my mother is Queen of Kattegat.” Is what he starts with, eyes carefully set on a spot on the floor.

But while he won’t look at you, you cannot take your eyes off of him. Behind all the unfamiliar, all the change, it is still Ivar.

Ivar, pale and swaying where he stands. Ivar, with eyes shining and jaw clenched tight.

“Am I dead?”

You seem to stun him enough to have him look at you.

“What?”

“You are dead, you…you drowned. Your mother, she told me.”

“I’m not dead, and neither are you,” He tells you firmly, but his eyes soon fall from yours, and his lips part to make way for a breath that even to you sounds shaky. “You…you will be fine.”

“Was I not before?”

The laugh leaving his lips is humorless, “You aren’t now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve forgotten me.” He tells you, and it sounds as if the words were ripped from his throat.

Expression twisted into a grimace, you spit out, “Has dying turned you stupid?”

“I didn’t die.”

“And I haven’t forgotten you,” You retort in the same tone. Yet, at the blank stare he offers back, the blank stare of a man you do not know, you are pulled back to the ground, forced to set your feet on the unfamiliar earth. You shake your head, pressing your lips together to keep a cry from leaving you, “No, no, you are lying to me.”

“Why would I lie to you, hm?” He presses, and at least his anger you know well, at least his anger is familiar.

“How long, then? How long have…have I lost?”

“I returned from England five years ago now.”

You want to cry, you want to cry and to run and for everything to make sense again. Even if you thought the man you…even if you thought Ivar was dead, that pain was better than all this chaos.

You can do nothing but nod your head once, looking off into the dim hearth ahead, wringing your hands together and clinging to what is left of your mind in the silence that follows.

Startling both Ivar and yourself, after a few moments of quiet you start,

“They called you King.”

Ivar sighs, and out of the corner of your eye you notice his head drop.

“I will tell you everything, just not…not n-…”

“Do you want to know what they called me?” You ask shrilly, offering a laugh that sounds insane to your own ears to try and amend the harsh words. He knows what you are asking.

“We are married.” He confirms quietly, yet firmly.

“I’m smart enough to figure that one out, yes,” You mutter, almost to yourself. You notice he moves to stand, and turn wide eyes to him, “What are you-…? Where are you going?”

“You need rest if you are to heal.” He answers coldly, and that knocking sound of his crutch hitting the wooden ground echoes somewhere hollow in your chest.

____

The girl that you assume is your personal thrall now, or has been for a while for all you know, tells you many things about what the world is now, about the person you are now, about has become of the people you loved and love still.

She keeps you company as you rest, slips into the room quietly once Ivar has left, and she tells you stories. She tells you of Queen Aslaug’s murder, of the war that made Ivar king, of the conquests of the Great Army over Wessex and beyond.

She answers many of your questions, questions you feel you cannot ask anyone else. And so when you ask, she tells you she has never seen anyone love as you as your husband love done another, she tells you she and many others dread to know what would have become of Ivar if you had died, she tells you he is more alike the boy you once knew than he’d like to admit.

But there are many questions she cannot ask her, and many things you want to discover on your own. So the next morning Ivar comes by to visit you, when his hand slips onto yours to squeeze lightly in greeting before releasing you, you don’t let him.

Lifting your gaze from your hand holding onto his, you look into his eyes. Familiar eyes.

“We are married.” You tell him, slowly, though not tentatively. As a reminder, if nothing else.

And he notices, for the corners of his mouth curve into a smile as he moves to sit down on your bed. Your eyes follow the ungraceful movements, linger on the crutch he discards by his side.

“We are.”

“Why are you avoiding your wife, King Ivar?”

“My wife has no idea she is my wife at all, and to her I am not a king.”

“Well, unless you plan on divorcing me, which would be a truly terrible thing to do now of all times, you will have to deal with it, ‘not a king’ Ivar.”

There’s the smallest of twitches of his nose that give away some sort of irritation, but his thumb offers a tentative, almost hesitant caress over the back of your hand, and your heart does this foolish little leap inside your chest.

“Did you mourn me?” He asks suddenly, gaze intent on yours, as if searching for the answer before you are to speak it. “You said the last thing you remember is word of my father’s boats sinking. Did you mourn me, when you thought I had died?”

The realization that he is asking this earnestly, not intending to make a point from your answer, falls on you like a weight was dropped on your chest. Brows furrowed, you sputter for an answer,

“Of course I did, you idiot,” You take your hand from his hold, and notice how he curls the hand now bereft of your touch into a fist. “Did you mourn for me, while I lay on the bottom of that river?”

He flinches at your words, but hides it well.

“It’s not the same.”

“Yes, it is,” You argue without hesitation, but despite your certainty you cannot face the pain laid bare in his pale gaze, you cannot face this man you sometimes know like you know yourself and sometimes don’t know at all. Instead, you look into the dim flames of the hearth ahead, and start anew, “I have…many questions.”

“Ask me, then.”

He follows the movements of your fingers, and it would take more than losing your memory for you not to notice the way Ivar tenses at the realization of what you are focused on, the way his shoulders coil with tension, the way his breath catches in his throat.

“You didn’t give me a ring?” You ask quietly, not hurt but instead curious. He is still a man you remember little of, for what you remember of him is a boy quick to anger and strangely enough quick to trust as well, but if there is one thing you know about Ivar, something you are certain is as unchanging as the mountains breaching the skyline, is his…possessiveness.

You were friends as far as you can remember -though with the knowledge you have now of what the years meant for the both of you, you can admit you never were just friends-, and Ivar always demanded to be your priority, always made sure they all knew it was him you spent your time with, always insisted on getting your attention above anyone else.

Ivar clears his throat and blinks a couple of times, but keeps himself so painfully still, keeps his eyes so unnaturally focused on the ink surrounding your fourth finger, that you almost regret asking.

“I did. It was-…it wasn’t with you when we found you.”

You don’t know what kind of comfort you could give now, you don’t know what kind of comfort he’d welcome, or need from you. You don’t know what the woman you became would do, what the man he became would crave.

So instead you offer a flat smile, and take a deep breath.

“I am glad I have this then,” You admit, tracing over the design, in which you can almost see the delicate trace of runes, that circles your finger where your ring should be. Your eyes dart to his hand, and find it bare of ink. “You don’t have it, the ink.”

“You didn’t ask me to.” He answers, voice rough, heavy with pain and something else, something you can’t quite reciprocate yet.

“You would have if I’d asked?” You venture, a foolish smile curving at your lips, girlish and daring. It seems much more real, tangible, than a gold band could ever be; for you can take off a ring, but you cannot erase him from your skin. And it seems so strange to you, that mere days ago you were worrying he’d let his mother find him so foreign woman to marry and breed with, and now you can call yourself his wife.

After all, to you no time has passed between the afternoons you would spend together by the pier, with you coaxing smiles out of him and treasuring them like gold for your hoard, with him offering gentleness like it was a secret and asking for it in return with a hesitation that in him always looked like imposition.

For a moment, perhaps, you manage to remind him of those days as well, for Ivar’s lips curve into a faint smile, expression softening.

The admission is quiet, almost as if not even you are meant to hear it,

“I’d do anything for you.”

Thank you for reading! I’m thinking I’ll post the next one tomorrow. I don’t know if daily updates are too much, but idk, it’s only four and it’s not really that good so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ivar Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @encounterthepast​​ @thegeminithrone​​ @1950schick​​

Hvitserk Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​​

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #hvitserk x reader #ivar the boneless #hvitserk ragnarsson #500 fucking hell thank you ily

[so-na-gi]

For the ask game: 4, 17 and 22

Thank you! Answering asks on tumblr is so retro.

4. If you DNF any books, what was the pettiest reason you put a book down this year?

For the record I DNFd an impressive 14 books in 2023 LOL

I think the pettiest would have been when a translator used hungarian slang/informal words I did not like (kitchen by banana yoshimoto)

17. A book you reread this year? Did it hold up to how you remembered it?

I reread 3 books and YES:

a middle grade book from a local author

cocteau's poem collection, i read it twice in a row before returning it to the library

cocteau's les enfants terribles, read in the spring and then in the fall, i think i could appreciate it even more the secont time around, knowing more about his style and symbols. Btw one of the characters is called Agathe

22. What are some books you discovered this year that you added to your tbr?

I really want to read the Night Circus after reading the Starless Sea

More Kazuo Ishiguro after reading Klara and the Sun

Nonfiction works by Cocteau like the Difficulty of Being and the Art of Cinema

#Tumblr doesnt let me paste the questions in the freaking answer #ask #books

[freezegirl]

walk with me. i know the prophecy of the seven canonically has a line that is "to storm or fire the world must fall" but what if, in my pjo au for kie, it's "to ice or fire the world must fall" instead as a nod to that robert frost poem (which is also kie's fav poem btw) and as a nod to warren and kie. and what if the seven, in my pjo au for kie, are the stronghold seven? seven half-bloods shall answer the call. to ice or fire, the world must fall. an oath to keep with a final breath, and foes bear arms to the doors of death.

#//yes i saw 1x05 of the pjo show the brainrot is back; those three kids are my kids and i love them with all my heart #//they are all icons; they are all the moment #freeze girl / percy jackson. #queue.

[nostalgia-tblr]

For the gets real fanfic writer ask: 🎈💞💋💌

Have a nice day!

Ooh, I'll have to go see what these are! Apologies in advance for if I accidentally answer the wrong emoji (I've done that before)!

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

It does change, I know/think it has changed. People used to said was a bit poetry-like, and they don't say that any more so it's not just me who thinks that. BUT this is not a bad thing! These days I worry a lot less about individual words but that means I'm able to write longer fics (especially in the past year or so) and I feel less awkward with explaining plots and whatever. I do still overthink the words a bit (maybe? writing is ABOUT overthinking words, isn't it? so it's probably fine?), and I'm sure nobody else cares whether I do this or not but I do stop and spend several minutes going "I need a word that starts with this letter and it has this many syllables and ideally ends in a sound like this one." Because it's a poem! Except not!

I also like alliteration and puns! And using words that kind of rhyme but they also don't! I have also got better at smut in terms of it's now a lot easier for the reader to work out who's put what where due me being less vague and more willing to just call a cunt a cunt. :D

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

The characters! That's the whole point of fanfic for me, as I am not vastly into worldbuilding stuff generally. As a general rule I won't a write a character into a fic if I can't 'hear' their voice in my head. (Possibly wrongly, I tend to consider canon characterisation work 'good' or not based on how quickly I feel like I can replicate the character's voices myself.) And when reading fic the thing most likely to put me off is if the characters don't sound like themselves. They can do things that seem a bit odd for them, or extreme, but they have to sound like themselves while they're doing them.

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

I have done this one here earlier :)

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

The next chapter of what I lazily refer to on tumblr as 'The AU' is part 5 but after THAT it's chapter 6 which is where the murdering starts! I have vastly oversold the murdering aspect of this fic (at least in terms of the number of murders) but I do feel like this is where things finally start to kick off. This particular murdery bit is actually what I was referring to here when I said things had gone a bit darker than intended.

It's entirely possible that half the readers will just nope out of the story once the killing starts but that's a them problem not a me problem, and if people can't appreciate a spot of surprisingly-romantic murder then... well they're probably very well-adjusted members of society, now that I think about it?

And also I like the last line of the entire fic. I wrote that bit months ago and I still like it, and I think that's a good sign. The final scene sets out how things stand now that [SPOILER], and various people feel emotions about various things, and then I just sort of... do this face: 😉 Not me myself, obviously, but like. The story. If the story had eyes and a face. (Nobody is allowed to say they're disappointed when they get to that last line, btw. You all have to pretend you think it was really good and a wise choice on my part. You're also not allowed to ask what happens after that, because I'm not letting this thing get any longer than it already has to be.)

#replies #writing ask meme #i hope i answered the correct emojis! #there i go setting the reader up for disappointment i'm so thoughtful like that #fic related

[rickie-the-storyteller]

The Looking Glass...

Hey guys! Great news...

I want to finally share who the mystery blogger is.

Just kidding lol. But I wanted to talk about it a bit more on here, since people have started to speculate about it (which is great btw!) and I wanted to go over its background and overall role in the story a little bit more.

I've gotten a lot of interesting guesses. Some of which make sense. Others that... well, don't. To put it as simply as possible. But that makes sense, seeing as I haven't shared much about it. Until now!

The Looking Glass wasn't always this controversial blog - it started out as an innocent space where the writer would share their opinions on life and words of wisdom, as well as their own creations and interests (whether that was poems/stories they liked to write, artwork they did, songs and playlists they'd listen to, videos, books/tv shows/movies they enjoyed or whatever else). In fact, it never used to be called "The Looking Glass." It was called "Geek Heaven." And it was written by a self-proclaimed geek (Obviously lol).

It wasn't until around November 2010 that the name changed to what it is currently (after several years of no posts at all, after one of their most popular posts got a ton of backlash and traction), and the whole site got a complete makeover. It got revamped into the blog it is by the events of book 2 - deep dives, commentary and analysis of news, trending world events and stories. While that was a small amount of what the blog used to do, it was now entirely what it was. And evidently, this was a good move. The Looking Glass picked up a LOT of popularity in a short span of time, and by the events of UVC, it had nearly a million followers (mainly from the UK, but in other places as well), got nominated for a bunch of awards (including the "Best New Creator Award," which was usually given to YouTubers) and was seen as a reliable source of news and info by a lot of people due to how well written and well researched it was, despite being run by an amateur.

What I will say about the identity of the blogger is that it's rather convoluted... I'm honestly still trying to make that aspect of the story a little more simple/neater, especially in the third instalment (which is where Stephanie finally finds out who it is. I will be sharing what I've got for book 3 so far at some point, don't worry). It isn't just a clear-cut answer of one singular person (I mean, it is. But other people are responsible for it, if that makes sense. This is why there are a ton of red herrings within this mystery - many people are related, but not every single one of those people is the blogger lol).

Another small clue I'll give is that it isn't Stephanie's stalker. You know that plot point of her being wary of someone seemingly stalking her once she starts the investigation? Yeah, that creepy person following her around and trying to freak her out isn't the same person who's been writing about her online. A few people think it is the same person, but it isn't. I won't tell you who the stalker is here, since that's not what this post is about, but to give you a little hint, it is another person we know. Not incredibly well, but still.

Here are the most popular guesses (as far as I know):

Alice - I think I've straight up said it wasn't her in the past... but one or two people think I've been lying about that lol (and by that, I mean my friends from school). I'm not. Making that clear right now. Alice is actually one of the main people trying to figure out the identity of the blogger. And fun fact - she actually finds out before Steph does. I guess she is a bit of a detective lol.

Ben - A guess I got when discussing this plot element with some friends... I noticed that most guesses where from the female characters, so I pointed out that I never mentioned gender in the blog's title or description. So then people started pointing at Ben (and other guys, but Ben mostly) since it would be a major twist if it were him. And I agree with that... but Ben technically already has a major twist in the story lol. Doesn't mean he can't have another one, tho. You know how I'm like.

Holly - Putting this one here for my sister, tbh. She loved the whole Holly storyline from book 1, and she wanted me to bring her character back somehow. And she does appear in book 3 briefly (that news will make her happy lol). It's interesting to think about, though, since Holly's whole thing was that she got expelled for cyberbullying and had to leave... only to be 'replaced' by Steph the following year. Like, she took Holly's place in the friend group. So there's a bit of a connection there, even if the two girls haven't officially met yet.

Bret - Another huge twist if it were true. And it sort of works on some level... He and Steph get really close in the sequel, and she does confide in him a lot. Alice also guesses him at one point due to not being able to trust him anymore. Understandable, I guess, considering what he does in the sequel.

Aisha - Haven't talked much about her or her sister on here, but I have with my school friends. They thought she's a good pick for the blogger because she's a writing student with the same level of sassiness that Alice has. It fits nicely, you must admit. Plus the other characters don't know her particularly well, but she is very observant and is good at getting to know other people.

Charlie - Red herring. But it fits well in terms of his general attitude. Another quick little fun fact - out of all the people to not know from the beginning, this guy is the first to find out. Not that that changes the overall narrative much... I mean, it's not like he does anything big with that info, but it's still rather cool.

Elise - Last person I'll mention here. This is a more recent guess I've got, so I thought I'd mention it. It's another one that would be a huuuuuge twist in the story if it were true, especially knowing what Elise is like as a character... and considering her arc throughout the story (especially her role as a rival to Steph in book 3. I felt like that was a logical step for her in book 3, since book 2 was her realising the reality of having Steph as a friend, and deciding that that wasn't what she wanted). She's very principled and very much about finding justice and truth, and she is also deeply hurt by a lot of Stephanie's actions, so there's some motivation to her potentially being the blogger as well... I'd say this fits, too.

I got other guesses, too (my fave being Dylan lol. Imagine freaking Dylan being the blogger lol. Connor was another one that got me🤣), but these ones are the most popular and intriguing to me.

Who do you think it could be? Let me know your thoughts!

More Steph's Crew-related stuff coming soon (as well as my plans for the blog as we wrap up 2023 and move on into the new year).

#rickie-the-storyteller #writerblr #steph's crew #the looking glass #secret blogger #suspects

[mosraev]

Lyrics through the decade 9/11

I've decided to collect all the songs I've made through the last decade and share my favourite snippets with you guys. The pictures for the backgrounds will (as much as possible) be pictures I've taken the same year as the lyrics were written. The full lyrics may or may not be made official someday.

Part 9; 2021

Now we've arrived at what I can call the personal era which started with me coming out to myself as nonbinary within the first three months of the year. After that a lot of the songs I started to make became a therapeutic tool getting to reflect over my thoughts and feelings about different topics.

More info under the line

Stay creative, my fellow foxes 🦊💚

Song 1 (pic1); Marco

This is not as much a song as it is 2-3 pages of me in lyrical form thinking through my newly out feelings as a nonbinary person. The 'song' is named after my middlename that on this time I believed would be my new name. Also, to fit with the very personal meaning of this song this is indeed a picture of me having gender euphoria looking in the mirror (although 9 months after the song was written)

Featured lyric:

Starring at the mirror softly repeating the name.

Trying to repeat the rush of joy hearing it for the first time.

Song2 (pic2); Aromantica

A song where I tried to reflect over my feelings as being an aromantic person since I also around this time has been coming to terms with being aro more and more (although I had come out to myself as aro one or two years prior).

Featured lyric:

((Extendend)) I held you and I kissed you

Because I thought that was what I had to.

And it’s funny how pathetic I was playing the part.

I’m not lovedrunk, I’m sober.

I realise that, now it’s over.

This is not who I am.

Song3 (pic 3+4); Altid Nat

This song is the exception to the rule I guess since it is less about my own personal identity explorations but again it is still about me and my feelings getting to be close to people with the loser covid-19 restrictions. You can hear the song here btw.

Featured lyric:

Original (pic3); Jordens trolde, de danser foxtrot over Danmarks bøgetage

((Extended)) så er det nu, vi sprinder guld af alt det som der kan ske i drømmeland.

For det er altid nat et sted på verdensplan.

Translated to English (pic4):

the trolls of the earth dance foxtrot in Denmark's treetops.

((Extended)) It is now we weave gold of all

that can happen in dreamland

cause it's always night somewhere in the world.

Song4 (pic5+6); Forstadsfabeldyr

This is an interesting one since I had less than a week to write and produce it on summer camp where I wasn't out yet so I wanted to make it somewhat mystical about what in the world I was referring to (thereby not outing myself before time) but also I really felt like getting out my hurt feelings about becoming the represent queer whenever people learned about my identity. (hint the swearing is back)

Featured lyric:

Original (pic6); Verden er så satans monokrom

for alle farverne er vasket ud med hvidt.

Translated to English (pic5); The world is fucking monochrome.

All the colours has been washed out.

Song5 (pic6+7); Glas v.2

Quite an interesting one that shows how my way of making songs has shifted since I originally made myself the challenge to make a song inspired by a poem on a playing card about rocks wanting to be glass and then the first version was meant to be about eating disorders (not told from my own pov) but that didn't connect with me so instead I told about nonbinary gender dysphoria (that is way more my own pov and so a therapeutic song instead)

Featured lyric:

Original (pic7): Når svaret for dem er hverken "han" eller "hende"

kommer de nemt til kort.

De ville så gerne kunne passe ind,

men kabalen går ikke op.

Translated to English (pic8): When their answer is not "he" or "she",

they'll easily come up short.

they'd love to fit in, but

the patience doesn't come up.

#lyrics #english song #danish song #2021 #aromantica #marco #altid nat #forstadsfabeldyr #glas #mosraev #mosræv #yes but humans here are me at the time #(most pictures I have from this point onward are selfies which is not always convenient :'D)

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

the greatest earthbender in the world!

i don't think i went as deep with this one as i did with the others, but i feel like toph might appreciate just having some bangers.

1. sleep to dream - fiona apple

this mind this body and this voice cannot be stifled / by your deviant ways

an extremely grounded song, sonically and in the imagery of feet on the ground, while also being about breaking free and refusing to be stifled. that tension of her character makes it a bit hard to find songs sometimes.

2. army of me - björk

and if you complain once more / you'll meet an army of me

toph's no-nonsense, no whining teaching style. she very much believes in being self-sufficient, to a fault.

3. song of the traveling daughter - abigail washburn

probably my fave on this playlist, and just an extremely cool song in general imo. bluegrass artist abigail washburn lived in china for a few years, and adapted a poem called the song of the traveling son to be about a traveling daughter (like herself) and set it to music. i imagine it as the soundtrack to toph's globetrotting adventures. you can read the translation on genius.com.

4. the bullpen - dessa

forget the bull in the china shop / there's a china doll in the bullpen

a recommendation from the write-in question on this uquiz i made. one of the few answers that wasn't about zuko.

5. rebel girl - bikini kill

they say she's a dyke / but i know she is my best friend, yeah

this is what i mean when i don't feel like i went as deep with this one. this is a great song, but it's kind of an obvious choice for a powerful female character playlist. toph is a dyke, though. this song is more fitting for her than, say, katara.

6. cherry bomb - the runaways

hello world, i'm your wild girl

8. paradisin' - rina sawayama

same as previous.

7. just a girl - no doubt

i'm just a girl in the world / that's all that you'll let me be / i'm just a girl / living in captivity

same as the previous two, but also it legitimately does fit toph's relationship with her parents. "i'm just a girl, all pretty and petite" - "my daughter is tiny and blind and helpless"

you say i'm misbehavin' / but i'm just a kid so save it / let me have an unforgettable time of my life

toph in "the runaway". the details in the verses don't fit, but the chorus is spot-on.

8. river road - crystal gayle

i grabbed some clothes and ran / stole five dollars from a sugar can / a twelve-year-old jailbreaker running away

obviously the bit about marrying a man doesn't fit but "twelve year old jailbreaker running away" is so toph. i first heard this song on the muppet show btw. that version doesn't apply to toph as much bc it also has a bit about coming home but it is charming.

9. glory and gore - lorde

you could try and take us / but we're the gladiators

a song about kids changing the world, with the metaphor of violence-as-spectacle. fitting for our child heroine who spent time as a pro-wrestler

10. comeback kid - sharon van etten

yeah, i'm the runaway / i'm the hardly stay / let slip away

about toph trying to come home and reconcile with her parents.

#day late for toph day. my apologies #toph #my playlists #nina's personal log #Spotify

[girlartemisia]



Seeing as you seem to be the expert and legal mother of Guido Cavalcanti, I'd like to know what sources you'd recommend for researching him. I'd really like to look more into his works and history but kinda have no idea where to start.

Yes, hello, I'm glad to answer you in the role of his legal mother and I'm happy you want to get to know this beautiful poet!

So, it really depends on which language(s) you can read

If you know italian: you're in luck! because (obvioulsy) most of the important papers are in italian and they're the ones I know best.

I think that the best way is to start simple: read his Wikipedia page, just to get a veery basic understanding of him and kinda get a feel of the subject. Buy the book of his complete poems and get acquainted with his writing and the thoughts/interpretations of the curator (I would suggest the BUR version or the one curated by Domenico De Robertis. Ideally, I'd get both), have fun developing deranged thoughts and let him speak to you! This should be a pleasure, not a task :)

Online there are also lots of papers freely available, so if a particular topic or detail intrests you, google it and you'll probably find something; particularly there's an app called Academia, which offers many documents for free, here, for example, are a few:

L'incredulità di Cavcanti

La Vita Nuova e le Rime. Sul rapporto tra Dante e Guido

Sul Canto X dell'Inferno e Guido

Sulla poetica di Guido

(you don't need to read them right away, these go more in depth on the subjects, so it depends on you)

And on YouTube I recommend a video to understand some basics of what critics suppose is Guido's philosophy (suggestion: fish back your knowledge on Aristoteles, particularly the basic concepts of his "metaphysics" and then his work on the soul):

Su Averroè e la filosofia musulmana

Finally, here are some names of authoritative critics who offer interesting points of view:

De Robertis, De Sanctis, Contini, Corti, Barbi, Malato, Ciccuto.

You'll soon realize two things:

1. It's impossible to not talk about Dante and his works to understand Guido, so the number of sources will expand quite a bit!

2. there are lots of diffrent and contradicting interpretations on him so as a general tip: be open! Don't discard an opinion immediately but give it a chance, ponder it! (and I think this is a general rule for any type of study xD).

A little unrelated, but not too much, I recommend the books:

- La moglie di Dante by Marina Marazza. I'm particularly fond of this book because it's what got me into Guido Cavalcanti and it offers two important things: a sense of what life was back then in Florence and a female point of view, particularly from a woman who is often (unfortunately) forgotten in history, Gemma Donati (mind you, there are a few made up details because it's a story, but don't be deceived, it's overall accurate!). However it's not a must, because Guido is a side character.

- Eternal War by Livio Gambarini. It exists both in Italian and English, its a series of four fantasy books on Guido and Dante. It offers you an alternative version of reality if their respective beliefs both concretely existed, and it's amazing (mind you, this comes from someone who doesn't like fantasy xD)! You can also find lots of references to their literay works, so you can have fun spotting them! Bonus point: the author low key ships them 👀 These books too, however, are not a must, so only read them if you find them interesting. ^^

Anyway, I cried a little at the end of both lol so read at your own discretion (actually, the first book made me cry twice).

As for english sources, I'm afraid I'm not informed enough, but from what I've seen I find they're usually less accurate, especially the american ones (perhaps because italian literature is very diffrent from theirs). However I'm not saying there are no good sources. If someone, in fact, knows some feel free to add them! I would also like to read them :)

(Btw, I'm also working on a pdf of Guido's complete poems translated in English + footnotes, if you're interested. The translation will be as close to the original text as possible)

On the other hand, I believe french sources are valid too, so if you know French you can give a look, but I can't point you in any specific direction since I only read a few French papers and that's it (I don't speak French, I only partly understand it because it's similar to italian, and latin also helps me jsksj).

So uhh I hope this is a decent starter pack, thank you for the ask! >3

#guido cavalcanti #medieval #ask

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

into the gloom you left behind

Title taken from the poem It Bruises, Too by Kwame Dawes.

Prompt: Left Behind

TMNT IDW.

(tw kidnapping, family separation, very tangent references to noncon, grief, guilt, implied mind control, mental health issues, catatonia)

You can find the whole collection on AO3 here.

Dear Leo,  

I honestly don’t know if this letter will find you. I’m going to print copies off of Don’s computer and leave them all over the city, stick them in places we used to go together—some of our good scavenging spots, that library you like, that one cool spot by the river, the access tunnel into Broadway, some of your favorite spots in Central Park or the High Line. Like messages in a bottle, cause if you leave enough one's gotta find its destination.  

I’ll even try to leave a few near the Foot stronghold if I can. That place stinks, btw—how can you stand it, dude?  

Hold on, I should probably let you know who's writing to you just in case the amnesia theory's right. In fact, maybe I should give you a rundown on who you are while I'm at it.  

Your name's Leo--full name Hamato Leonardo. You're a kickass leader, an amazing ninja, and you love to read even though you don't give yourself a lot of time for it. You've got a dad who's also a teacher and a rat, a mom who loves you a ton even if she's not around you anymore, and three awesome younger brothers: Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo. I've drawn a picture of us on the bottom, so you can get a better sense of who we are. Sorry if it's a little rough.  

We've got some cool friends, too, but I don't want to name them in case this ends up in the wrong hands. The rest of us are already way too deep in...I guess you could call it a war? And we might be on different sides. Don't worry, though! It's not your fault and you're gonna remember where you belong pretty soon.  

I'm Mikey, your youngest and coolest brother, and I'm writing to you because...because, well, I know you don't like it when we curse, but we fucked up, Leo. See, we were running from this guy named Shredder, a really bad dude who killed us in our past lives (Donnie wants me to add "might have" so fine, whatever, he might have killed us in our maybe past lives).  

Anyway, he wants us dead now, and he hurt our friend Casey real bad, so we were running away from him trying to get Casey to the hospital. Only you got hit by a tranquilizer or something and you fell, and we didn't see you. None of us even noticed we were gone until we were at the hospital, and by the time we went back to look for you it was too late.  

You were...changed. You didn't recognize us anymore. You were all weird and violent and we were so scared, but under it all I could tell you were hurting. Shredder hurt you so deep you couldn't even figure out who or where you were, not really.  

I know it's not you, though. It's not. I don't know exactly what happened to you, but I'm trying to keep believing that you didn't mean to hurt us. The Leo I know would never attack his own brothers like that.  

Although I guess it wouldn't be entirely out of left field. We did leave you behind, after all. I guess that's why this sort of feels like an apology letter as much as anything.  

I'm sorry, Leo. So very, very sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you and I sorry we messed up and I swear on my life that when you come home, we'll never leave you behind again.  

I say when and not if because you will come home. We've been working around the clock to get you back, trying to figure out how to get you away from Shredhead. There's an answer to what's been done to you, a cure.  

I don't know if the Tin Can used electricity on you like the Winter Soldier, or magic like Splinter thinks, or demons like in all those movies you don't let me watch, but we can figure it out. We're smart that way.  

Although I gotta admit, it is hard to get our shit together the way things are right now. I don't think I ever realized how much work you put into leading and coordinating us, keeping us all on task. We're all guilty and stressed out and we keep getting into fights when we're together, fights I know you would have shut down right away.  

But even when we fight, we agree about how much you love you. Because you are loved, Leo, so very much. You're one of the most loved turtles in New York, maybe in the whole world. I don't know if it feels like it right now, but you've got a whole family who loves you to bits and who's not going to stop before you're home.  

Raph misses you a ton, you know. You guys fought before everything happened, but it doesn't matter anymore, not that it ever really did. He'd do anything to get you back. And Don's working himself to the bone trying to figure out how to help you, to give you the protection you need. Master Splinter spends every day meditating, trying to figure out how everything fits together, how to help you the most.  

And me? I do what I can. I'm trying to keep your room clean, you know, without messing up your stuff too much. When I'm not doing that or out looking for you I've been trying out some new Japanese dishes, stuff I think you'd like for your welcome home feast. Cool, yeah?  

If that's not enough incentive, you'll be able to pick the show for every movie night for a month after you come back. We've decided. Raph's gonna bitch and moan about it later, but whatever, he'll live. I don't even care if your stuff is burning, because seeing how happy it makes you is enough.  

As I'm writing this I'm thinking about what you might be doing right now. I want to think you just train all day like you used to and bitch at Karai or whatever, that all Shredder makes you do is kick some Savate around, but I don't know.  

He could be making you do bad things, or doing bad things to you, things we can't see. Sometimes I hear Donnie and Raph talking about it, but they always clam up when they walk by. I think they know something I don't but I'm too scared to ask.  

And you know what? I don't care. Whatever he makes you do, whatever happens while you're with the Foot, you're still our brother. There's nothing you can do to make us stop loving you and doing everything we can to help you heal. We'll look after you, Leo, I promise, same way you look after us.  

You're going to come home, and then we're all going to kick Shredder to the moon and go out for the best pizza we can find. You know, Chicago-level pizza. That's a promise, big brother, and I always keep my promises to you, same way you keep your promises to me.  

I have to go now, dude. I've got a meeting with someone who's going to help me figure out how to get you away from Shredhead and bring you home. I'll tell you more when you get back, okay? You'll want to hear all about it, and you know how much I like to tell stories.  

Love love love love,  

Mikey  

P.S. I promise not to watch any more episodes of She-Ra until you get back. Yes, you do too watch it with me, even if you're supposed to be way too macho. I've noticed that you're in the room every time I turn it on, you know.  

Oroku Saki doesn't crumple the letter or throw it at the wall, although the paper crinkles ever so slightly as he lowers his hand. He lifts his head, gaze unreadable through the helmet as his eyes bore into the black-clad man kneeling before him.

"Where did he find this?"

The man shifts a little, eyes darting anxiously. "Lion...no, Princess and Crow, my lord."

Saki nods. "I see. Outside a pizza shop?"

"Yes. DG's Corner, I think it was called. Should we stake it out?"

"Perhaps. I will have to think on it." The Shredder turns the letter over in his handle, examining the picture carefully drawn in colored pencil. A rat and a woman hold hands over four small turtles in red, purple, orange, and blue. Each figure is carefully labeled, including the one in blue, who is designated You (Leo).

"Did you see when or why he picked it up?"

"No, my lord. I apologize," the man replies, eyes downcast. "He was leading the group when we realized he'd stopped, and we found him holding the letter in his hands."

Saki nods slowly. "What happened?"

The man shrugs. "He just looked kind of confused, my lord. A little blank. We could see him staring at the paper, but it didn't really look like he was reading; his eyes weren't moving. He looked so out of it we thought he'd been hit with--"

"And then what?"

"Well, he looked up at us--through us, almost. It was...odd." The man squirms slightly, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the ground. "I asked him what it was, and he said he didn't know. I mean, I could tell it was English, so I wasn't sure how he couldn't figure out something, but he just told us he had to go back home. By the time we got back to the base, he was, well..."

He gestures to the turtle sitting next to him. Oroku Leonardo sits with his back straight, chewing his lip gently as he stares off into the middle distance. He clearly has not processed what his companion, his erstwhile second on his last mission, has said, or any other part of the conversation. He has clearly not been processing anything for a while.

Saki sinks to his knees before the little turtle, lifting Leonardo's chin. "Her spell's fighting back, good," he says, almost to himself. "I hope she manages to shore the cracks up properly."

"Sir?" the other Foot soldier asks.

"Take the chunin to Mistress Kitsune," Saki orders, not looking up. "She will undoubtedly be able to help him. When she's done there, bring him back to my chambers."

"Yes, sir," the Foot soldier says, rising to his feet. He's got the look of a man carefully not knowing the full meaning of back to my chambers.  

"Oh, and Lieutenant?" Saki calls, giving Leonardo a little nudge. The boy stands up obediently, if a little hesitantly, and Saki rises to join him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have Kitsune take a look at you and the other soldiers on that mission as well. It wouldn't do to get any unseemly rumors started."

The man's eyes widen slightly behind the mask, but his respect and fear for Saki are stronger than his terror of Kitsune. "Yes, sir." He bows out of the room and heads off down the hall, Leonardo trotting at his heels.

Saki looks back at the troublesome letter. Tracking down and disposing of them all will be tricky, but luckily his soldiers are very good at destroying things without question. Leonardo will never have his doubt or mind shaken by such a pitiful silly little piece of paper again.

He turns to the nearby fire and tosses the paper in among the flames. It's gone all too soon, chewed up and devoured, with nothing but a bit more smoke to mark the way.

_____

The street names Lion, Princess and Crow, and DG's pizza shop are shoutouts to my amazing fellow writers and freaks-in-arms @leonsi, @princessgemma12, @crow-dog-blogs, and @dg-darkfantasy.

#tw guilt #tw kidnapping #tw noncon mention #tw grief #tmnt #angstpril #angstpril2022 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt idw #tmnt comics #idw comics #michelangelo #mikey #leonardo #leo #oroku saki #shredder #the foot clan #tw family separation #foot leonardo #epistolary #foot soldier #tw mind control #tw brainwashing #tw mental health #tw catatonia #brainwashing

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

hii!! okay hi cool sO if it’s not too much trouble could i get a preferably male mcu/tasmv matchup please?<3

m'names hero:) (she/her) and my friends usually call me rosie or ro--and i'm an entp/enfj if you're in the mbti stuff

as appearances go I’m 5’1 and I’m Italian, english, and asian. i’m a bit tan, ‘ve got light brown hair with bangs and considerablyy big, brown eyes. now cough I hope m’not coming off as shallow but I’m really proud of my body? work really rather hard on it and I quite like showing it off from time to time— as should everyone, we’re all hot shit ;) i breathe sundresses, usually wear little bows in my hair, and I wear my grandmother’s pearls 25/8 they make me feel like a pRINCESS

I have the tightest core friend group of 3 including myself— they’re my soulmates, really, we met at a museum and everything. In the literal sense I have no problem with conversation in general it’s my favorite thing I could talk about absolutely anything. if I ever meet a cute boy tho.. dear god it’s over me I’m a blushing mess— moreover my love language(s) are physical touch, words of affirmation, and gift giving (I like things that reflect how proper beautiful I am sue me💅)

I write poems and short stories, and i play guitar and sing, i’ve actually won a few awards for that, and uh I’ve probably read a good couple hundred books in my life time— I like to think I have near perfect vision but my friends say I’m damn near blind— and I’ve only really read the classics.

I’m a huge movie buff too, again I’m a classics fiend *but* my current favourites are Juno and Matilda— unfortunately my parents passed their respective individuality complexes onto me it’s been quite the ride

uhhh what else- i’m the top of my class and my school’s first asian vice president!! yay!!! And oH I don’t really have a type, I just know charisma is so, so painfully attractive, and I love a good height difference but who doesn’t ;)

lots and lots of love please don’t feel any pressure in answering this quickly or at all (i'm so sorry this was so very long) I’m in no rush luv you <33

I love your name by the way, reminds me of Laurie from little women:)

You're the sweetest omg! You mentioned wanting a matchup for the mcu and tmr in a follow-up, so I'll be doing that :) Ro is an absolutely amazing nickname, btw!

This took a while, I'm so sorry for that! I hope you still enjoy it regardless!

For the MCU, I match you with...

Steve Rogers/Captain America

You’re in charge of catching him up on movies he missed while he was busy being a popsicle.

Even though you weren't from the forties, there was something about you that immediately put him at ease. Almost a sense of familiarity in this strange millenium.

The first time he ever hears you sing, his jaw quite literally drops. He goes full goldfish-mode for a few seconds, and it's as endearing as it is funny.

Dates can be anything from going to a museum, getting dinner at some fancy restaurant, or just sitting quietly on the couch together while you both read.

Steve can use the occasional words of affirmation. On a day-to-day basis, he's a pretty confident guy, but during missions he can have a tendency to second-guess himself. It helps having you around because even when he feels like he can't trust his own judgement, he knows he can trust yours.

Newt

Let's say you two met because you were both working in the "gardens". The Glade is only so big, however, so you probably saw each other around before that. But you really started talking in the gardens.

Newt is an easy-going guy, but he does know pretty much everything that's going on in the Glade. He knows how you're always up for conversation, so he tries to take that opportunity.

And then finds it incredibly endearing when you turn into a stuttering mess.

There really isn't much to do for fun around the Glade, but singing happens to be one of them. Well, if Wicked is kind enough to let you remember any songs. In case they do, Newt has definitely asked you to sing for him -and then tried to learn the song himself. He's a horrible singer though.

You can't really go on dates because again: the Glade is pretty small. But Newt will wake you up in the middle of the night to sneak off into the woods, only to reveal he's planned the most romantic moonlit picnic.

This is long overdue, but I hope you still enjoyed it! Thank you for requesting and have a lovely day/night <3

#request #matchup #matchup request #mcu #tmr #the maze runner #marvel cinematic universe #mcu matchup #tmr matchup #mcu request #tmr request #steve rogers #newt tmr #newt x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader