#I LOVE MY TERRIBLE WIFE!!!!

[epithet-beloved]

Hi, I came across your blog and I thought it would be prudent to say you're all doing awesome work! Especially the platonic ones like Mentor Naven.

I would like to request a platonic regarding Mera meeting a museum specialist/worker/manager and eventually befriending and convincing the latter into giving her a job at the museum. And later on, letting her try to deal with her epithet problem via the new Arsene Amulet artifact.

Some angst is possible, especially when the museum fellow finds out about what happened to Mera (they might not even know that she wanted to steal and use it for self centered, awful reasons in the first place).

OPTIMIST

synopsis… Mera finds your dedication to preserving Sweet Jazz Museum’s artefacts quite worthwhile.

ft. Mera Salamin, Indus Tarbella (mentioned), Percival “Percy” King (mentioned)

tags… platonic relationships, betrayal, mera is kinda not a great friend, but it’s okay because she’s pretty, and also she feels guilt, hints of mera being touch starved, guys i’m in love with her

word count… 1245

a/n… i think she should do whatever she wants 😍 OBVI had to take the req for my wife even if it was platonic … live laugh love mera salamin <3333 ✧ 🦝

“Shit—!”

You’d lift your head hearing your new colleague curse.  You watch her squint at her finger, biting her lip in a hiss.  Ah, she must have hurt herself.  You calmly stand up and approach the short woman, who’s grimacing and looking around – probably for your other new coworker.  They came as a complete package, you were told, one couldn’t be without the other.

Kind of sweet, you think.  Mera must be softer under all that edge.  You hold your hands out, hovering over her’s.  She eyes you warily.  Your expression is gentle, conveying all you need without words.

With some hesitation, Mera lets you examine her injury.  “Ah,” you breathe once you turn her pale, cold hand under yours.  She shivers under it.  “A splinter?”

Mera furrows her brow when you question her.  “Yeah.  What of it?”

“I have some pliers in the first aid kit.  I’ll go get it.”

The tiny lady would scoff at your efficiency.  Christ, she’ll live.  Just another block of pain to the tower.  Still, she doesn’t complain (much) as you pick the wood splinter out anyway.

You laugh slightly at how Mera yanks her hand away from you as soon as you are done.  “It’s a pity – your epithet must make life pretty difficult.”  Mera narrows her eyes.  How do you know about that?!  You answer just as easily, “it was included in medical history for your job application.”

“Thought no one reads that sorta crap these days.”

You smile.  “I’m just a special sort of boss, I suppose.  Take a break for a sec, right?  You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Mera’s stomach churns with something unfamiliar when you express your care.  It’s not like the nausea that comes with standing up too fast, or the nerves when she’s dancing with Indus…  She pushes it down and follows you through the sea of wooden crates despite your wishes, out of spite.

You just happen to be the manager of the Sweet Jazz Museum, and you also just happen to meet Mera at a conference about the Arsene Amulet.  She seems intelligent, though prickly, and upon mentioning the Amulet being shipped to your part of the Museum, the woman practically lit up.  She told you that she and her colleague were particularly interested in learning about the Amulet up close.  It’s with some convincing that she received a job offer from you, but the light in her stare that’s normally as cold ice is something that made you believe good could come from this.

You were so kind to Mera.  So easy to trick.

The churning in her stomach gets worse.

“You said the Arsene Amulet was being shipped with this collection?”  Mera asks in an attempt to ignore what she’s feeling, which is a regular occurrence for her.  She stopped at one box, tempted to open it, before you put your arm between her and the box.  She shoots you a glance, trying not to grimace.

You catch her glare anyway, and giggle.  “The Amulet, I don’t know which box it’s in, but… we shouldn’t be so touchy!  It can steal your epithet away, just like that!  Isn’t that just fascinating?”

“Losing your epithet.  Wouldn’t that be just the worst?”  Mera dryly replies.

You didn’t catch her sarcasm as you nod.  “Exactly!”

Listen, you weren’t an idiot.  You have a feeling as to why Mera is so insistent on seeing the Amulet.  It made all too much sense – her bodyguard, her condition, the way she literally begged you for a job.

But, you also were an optimist.  Feeling yourself go soft, you think, why not?  She can get a taste.  It’s the least you can do to ease her of this pain.

You open the crate, to Mera’s surprise.  She steps aside as you dig through the contents, before taking out the thing she’s been hunting for what seemed like her whole life.

“I…”  She gulps.  “I didn’t think I’d see it up close like this!  Haha…”

You glance at her, amused by her attempt to not seem so excited.  You can see her hands twitching, as if close to grabbing the Amulet out of your hands and running off.  You handle the Arsene Amulet gently as you put it over your neck.  The weight of it hanging from your neck is a lot of responsibility, and you take a breath as you move in front of Mera.

“...What’re you doing?”  She stiffens.  “You better not attack me or something!”

You fake a mope.  “Aw, do you have that little trust in me?”

“No!  N-Not that, just…”

“Then just let it happen.”  You hold out the actual Amulet out towards Mera.  She watches as it glows, and then becomes blue as it drains something from her body, watching what looks like a blue sparkly substance seep through the edges of the jewel in the centre of the artefact.

Then, Mera felt nothing.

“The Amulet is a powerful thing,” you explain calmly as Mera processes the numbness.  “If it takes an epithet, then it’s contained within the jewel in the centre, but the outside design sort of makes sure it doesn’t escape!  Neat design, hm?”

“Y-Yeah…”

You were really doing something that’s probably (most definitely) illegal.  And for what?  For her?  Don’t make her laugh.

…But then, what else could it be?

A sob catches in Mera’s throat.  You wonder if you’ve done something wrong, and approach Mera carefully.  You don’t even take a step before she does something entirely unexpected– throwing her arms over your shoulders and just crying.

“...I know,” you say, attempting to ease the woman by carding some fingers through her hair.  “The lack of pain must be a real breather, huh?  Too bad this can’t last forever.”

She holds you tighter.  That isn’t why she’s crying at all.  In fact, your words make the churning in her stomach worse.

✧ ✧

The next morning hangs a banner of dread over your beliefs.

The critical incident house call you received when you woke up was the stuff of nightmares.  You hold the mug tightly in both of your hands as the policewoman across from you asks questions.

“I see,” she responds to your recent answer, writing into her notebook.  “I think that will be all.  Thank you for your cooperation, and I apologise for the paperwork this brings.”

“It isn’t the paperwork I’m worried about,” you sigh.  You decide to be honest.  “How’s Miss Salamin?”

The policewoman furrows her bushy brows, before flipping a few pages back in her notebook.  “Well, the little girl from the incident used her epithet to relieve her of her chronic pain for a while.  I suppose it’s something.”

“What’s her sentence?”

“Nothing confirmed yet,” the policewoman assures you, and approaches to squeeze your shoulder.  “Though it’ll probably be a long while – and some public service work thrown in.”

You sigh in relief, but it’s still heavy in the air.  “Right.”

How could you be so stupid?  Really, the signs were right there, and you let Mera just walk all over you.  Some manager you make.  You should have been more responsible.  And actually read the job applications you get.

Oh, and if you only realised, the woman would be sitting in the back of a cell, the churning in her stomach becoming a typhoon.  She should have seen this coming.  The guilt of it all.

Stupid girl.  Her emotions are as laughably fragile as her body.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

phyuri 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[mari-thesapphic-lady]

quality is terrible but LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE IS!!

[tategaminu]

"Callum chose his girlfriend over family". Wrong‚ Callum chose family over family. 👍👍👍

[shirecorn]

Tumblr keeps popping up to sell me ad free dashboard. But what it doesn't understand is that me and the ads have a sort of symbiosis at this point.

The guys from the fake gameplay trailers for a predatory mobile app are my blorbos

[eye-merely-jest]

sstardew valleyb….

this game is making me SICK i don’t know how some of you out there manage …

i keep catching myself giggling and kicking my feet over a dumb blond FOOL of a man and i DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF ANYMORE SEND TWEET

[mylittleredgirl]

people call babylon 5 a “space soap opera” and they’re right! of course there are the sweeping dramatic arcs and the rise and fall of dynasties, but it’s also:

lochley being sheridan’s ex-wife for no reason and them keeping it a secret for half a season, also for no reason

that one episode where there’s an alien ceremony where everyone has to reveal a secret and fully three people confess their love

every time they block a conversation like this:

[too-many-eels]

Hello? Hello?

[dewwshi]

he may be the better swordsman but we all know who wins the wrestling matches

(psst i'm on bluesky now i guess?)

[deepwinterstrawberry]

paper doll outfits!!!!!! as requested by the folks below, my wife, my bff, and me 👗✂️✨

[prismatic-ink]

what if Lizzie didn't die?

nobody's ever fallen out of the void before, so no participant has ever come back to tell the tale of what that's like. the communicator says she's eliminated, and everyone shrugs and carries on, because for all they know, she is. Maybe there is a ground to hit down there, or some monster that swoops in and kills in a single blow.

but the thing is - there's no end in a void. it just continues forever. and ever. and ever. it's simple physics; a void/vacuum is a blank space, a complete and total absence of anything at all. there's nothing there that could have killed Lizzie because, by definition, nothing is in the void at all. not even time could have gotten her.

now imagine being condemned to a place (or as close to a place as the void can get) where you will never see anything again, hear anything again, falling falling falling, towards a ground that will never appear. a place where you can never look into anyone's eyes ever again. eventually, a green streak in brown hair is the only memory you have of another human existing that hasn't been lost to the millennia you've spent falling. this place where you will be the only thing that exists, the only thing that will exist, and the only thing that has ever existed, slipping through the cracks of time, eternally in solitude.

wouldn't that be a fitting place for a woman who spent all her time on solid ground alone, with almost nobody to care for her? falling so far out of the bounds of reality even the watchers don't know she's still alive? so beyond the reach of anybody that nobody will ever hear her calls for them to come to her, let alone heed them? and let's be honest, if they could hear her, would they even come?

and who knows, maybe when the next season rolls around, for some strange, inexplicable reason, the watchers can't find Lizzie. It's no trouble, they can construct a new Lizzie from her memory, even if it's one season behind. and maybe this time, Lizzie has better luck and lots of friends. she doesn't really get why Scar is so apologetic, or Joel so clingy, or even why she constantly feels like she's teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to fall. but that's just her being silly, right?

all the while the original Lizzie falls forever. forgotten again.

[aei-ro]

I have a beautiful healthy relationship with my wife. We’ve been married 7 years and it’s been perfect.

That said if anything ever happens I want Ianthe tridentarius to be my rebound and give me the antithesis of my current relationship.

[glasskoi]

thinking so hard about ace time travel au where hes sent back at the moment of his death & tries to save his mother while knowing that his fate is already set in stone... really love the idea of ace meeting a 24 year old marco while the world is so chaotic with the death of the pirate king & getting to know each other over the months and then ace is just gone... it haunts marco that he never knew what happened to him

[avnasace]

honestly even if he is a pretty bad person in the silm i want more curufin content. like this is a guy who grew up with 'everyone sees me as a copy of my father and nothing else' syndrome. he was the son of his father, and the father of his son. thats got to be rough.

and with the oath and the many spirals of bad decisions, he is definetly not the paragon of goodness, but ultimately he is a person who was once loved, by a wife and son and brothers and parents and so i refuse to believe he is completely irredeemable in spirit.

its also interesting to me that he is the middle link between the creator of the silmarils and the creator of the rings of power, its quite sad, for a person literally named little father, and also even sharing a fathername with his father, that he has nothing to show for himself with his own craft is pretty tragic honestly.

[koruga]

it's so wild that the ithaca saga is just one song, bold artistic choice to just have the challenge five times for your final album.

[ohthewh0rror]

SAVE YOUR TEARS.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — you should know better than to go behind your husbands back.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 1k

TW: domestic violence and implied torture

A/N: this is actually an excerpt from this Tom/halfblood!OC story I’m writing, but I don’t know if I’ll ever actually post it, so I’ll just replace her name with Y/N and post the snippets here.

Y/N’s hands grabbed desperately at Tom, his stride keeping him just a step ahead of her, just out of reach. She could feel the tears drip onto her own robes, throat aching as she pleaded with him to not do this. That’s their boy, their only son. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as Tom kept on his path to the boys room.

Knowing they were growing closer and closer to his room, Y/N gave herself one last desperate push to grab Tom’s arm. She felt her fingers manage to snag the sleeves of his robe, and with all the energy she could muster in the moment, she yanked him.

The action only served to make Tom more mad, “unhand me!”. His voice was razor sharp, vaguely unrecognizable, as he yanked his arm from her grasp. In all their years together, she’d never seen him so angry, making her fear for their son only grow. Tom quickly turned and quickened his pace, the distance growing more and more between them, as her legs began to feel like jelly.

He made it to the room before her, making sure she wouldn’t get the chance to step in. Y/N twisted, turned, and pulled on the old brass knob hoping by some miracle it would open.

But it never did.

Y/N could hear the screams from the room, her head hanging in defeat as she crumbled to the ground. Her own screams of sorrow joined Mattheo’s as Tom punished him.

She curled into a ball onto the floor, and for the first time since she was a child, prayed to the muggle God to let Tom have mercy on him.

Y/N sat in the clawfoot tub unable to move. The warmth of the water and the smell of eucalyptus should have brought her some sense of peace, but ever since Mattheo’s “punishment” earlier, she felt as if a part of her had withered away. The crushing guilt and bitterness towards not being able to stop her husband left a bitter taste on her tongue. The seed of resentment that had planted itself in her heart had sprouted, firmly planting itself there.

The sight of Mattheo on the floor, twitching, blood smeared on the edges of his mouth, made her mouth run dry. The thudding of her heart threatened to cease as her heart broke in two, she rushed to him. As Y/N knelt next to her son, she gingerly cupped the back of his head, bringing it to her lap. A shrill wail escaped from between her lips and she looked at her son, who was out of it from whatever spell Tom had used against him.

She knew Tom was becoming more ruthless by the day, but she had hoped that it’d never come to this. Perhaps she was delusional, but she—

The quiet of the room was broken when the door clicked open, breaking her out of her thoughts. Y/N didn’t bother turning around or acknowledging who it was as she already knew. Y/N kept her sight trained on the wall as she listened to her husband's shoes click against the tile. Out her peripheral she could see him lean lazily against the counter, staring at her. “You knew he was being swayed against me, didn’t you?” Tom asked her. He sounded calm and collected, and that terrified her more than his anger. She contemplated lying, but decided her chances of living were better if she just came clean.

“Not exactly, I just had my suspicions, that’s all,” finally, she looked at him, and what she saw terrified her. His eyes looked dead, the blue of them shades darker than they should have been. They pierced right through her, leaving her feeling exposed. Breaking eye contact with her, Tom began to remove the outer layer of his robes, before working his way to the suit he wore underneath. He rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt up to his elbows before turning back to face her.

Her eyes never left him as he lazily made his way towards her. It took everything in Y/N not to shrink away, unsure of if she should trust him in this moment. Tom sat on the edge of the tub, his hand reaching out and cupping her cheek, his thumb running over her lips. He gave her a small smile, eyeing her, almost as if he was admiring her. She relaxed slightly, thinking she had been spared from his ire.

Only after she relaxed did she understand his true intentions. Instantly, his hand slid down to her throat, blunt nails digging into the side of her throat as his grip tightened. Before she had a chance to react, Tom shoved her down into the soapy water, holding her there. After a few seconds Tom brought her back up, unable to open her eyes that burned from the soap suds. Tom only let her take a single breath before he shoved her back under, holding her there a little longer than last time.

This time Y/N came back up choking, trying desperately to get the water out her lungs. Her hands shot up, gripping Tom’s wrist, but he was unphased as he stared down at her struggling to breathe. As her coughing died down, his grip loosened as Y/N’s eyes began to fill with tears. She could feel her whole body shaking as she feared what he was going to do next.

Tom released his grip on her neck completely, raising his hand and bringing it up to wipe her wet eyes, unbothered by the involuntary flinch she gave. “Do not let me hear that my wife and son are trying to conspire against me again. My love for you is the only thing that saved the both of you tonight,” Tom told her. The underlying threat left her terrified and unable to speak; she gave him a nod of understanding, hoping he’d leave her be now.

Tom placed a kiss on the center of her forehead before getting up, leaving Y/N alone with her own thoughts once again.