#I am unwell about them

[marstheluminary]

it stings, doesnt it?

[cometblaster2070]

i just really like the way these two progressed throughout the volumes like it genuinely makes me so happy seeing how far their relationship has come.

(the whiterose drought is getting to me yes how did you guess)

regardless of shipping them or not, i think it's just a little strange how we've had a lack of weiss and ruby interactions over the past few volumes yk.

regardless, these just make me happy:

like looking at how in their earlier volumes weiss was clearly NOT a fan of most physical interaction between her and ruby and tended to lean away or move away.

and cut to a few volumes later and we have these adorable moments; moments where weiss not only accepts or reciprocates ruby's touch but also initiates it sometimes.

anyways yes, i love them sm, i miss them, and i'm genuinely PRAYING for more moments between them in Volume 10.

[bloodied-serpent]

Abandoned by the man whose legacy you helped build, whose reputation you defended in the face of scrutiny and scorn from everyone you knew, whose dream you believed in even when he himself doubted it, whose family you safeguarded without complaint and with the utmost loyalty. A man you looked up to, a man you held so high he blotted out the stars, your man, your Albrecht.

Not knowing why he left, why he asked you to make sure he never comes back, why he didn't say those simple words, not once.

Why, why, why.

But knowing that he didn't take you with him. He left you behind, alone and burdened by all the responsibilities you've shouldered for him in your long years together, so everlastingly committed to him that you would not dare betray him, even in your bitterness. Waking up to find your entire world gone, and needing, despite everything, to still be in service to him, his plan, his ideals.

Were you ever good enough? Or were you just useful?

But you still fought for him, for what you built together and what he-you believe in, you fought for that one sliver of hope that one day, somehow, he'll come back, and tell you he loves you. You devoted every fibre of your being to upholding that legacy, that dream. His and your dream.

And then you find out he left because of you. Albrecht loved you so much that he chose to sacrifice himself, the one you hold most precious, so he can save you. And it still wasn't enough. You are worlds apart, fighting the same foe, with no certainty that it'll be enough, no guarantee of success. But you still have to try.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

It’s kind of interesting to me that Bill, Barry and Klaus seemed to all undergo a dramatic change from being fairly lighthearted adventurers having the time of their lives and helping people to terrifyingly controlled killing machines over the same space of time even if it’s through different circumstances.

Klaus definitely seems to think that the Heterodyne Boys would never approve of what he’s doing and that they’d find another way if they were there. And they probably wouldn’t be immediately on board but I think what Klaus is forgetting is that Bill and Barry changed too.

He seems so shocked that Barry didn’t trust him enough to come to him and the thing is, while Barry was probably shown some fairly compelling evidence, the chances are that after everything he went through and the revelation that Lucrezia betrayed them he was in a headspace where he could be made to doubt anybody.

Now who does that sound like? Someone becoming paranoid as fuck of everyone around them due to general trauma plus trust issues caused by Lucrezia and the world in general that they thought they’d helped only for it to then turn back to tearing itself apart as soon as they’re gone.

The paranoia heightened exponentially by the need to protect the child that is the only good left in their life while being convinced (not entirely incorrectly) that everyone is out to take them from them and maybe they could afford to go about things differently if it was only their life at stake but they aren’t taking any risks with the child’s.

Klaus is so certain that he’s compromising on morals because someone has to and that because Bill and Barry were perfect heroes who’d never hurt anybody they didn’t absolutely have to if they were around they’d insist on a more gentle approach but this wasn’t Klaus’ approach the last time he saw them.

Klaus himself changed no matter how much he seems to have rationalised that this was always ‘his way’ but he seems unable to understand, based on his reaction to Adam and Lilith, that his friends aren’t the same people he left behind either, they’re mistrusting, they jump straight to conflict and they will do absolutely anything to protect Agatha the same way he’d do absolutely anything to protect Gil.

(I don’t think Adam and Lilith were in the wrong in any way, they were just operating on extremely incorrect crucial information and acting accordingly, exactly like Klaus is for the entirety comic! There is a very important parallel to be had there!)

I’m not entirely sure that Bill and Barry wouldn’t do the kind of things Klaus does if it was for Agatha’s safety (*cough* locket/overlay parallel *cough*) but to Klaus believing that would actually be worse.

He knows he’s effective but he doesn’t think he’s a good person and it would disrupt something very fundamental for him if he couldn’t say definitively that Bill and Barry were completely good in all the ways he isn’t.

To him Bill and Barry are the same optimistic young men he knew before everything went south who’d always look for a solution to spare as many lives as possible just like he can’t afford to, who’d obviously come to him if they were there because they look for the best in people just like he doesn’t know how to anymore.

And when Barry heard that Klaus was back I bet that he needed to believe that Klaus at least had stayed the same. Except he didn’t and Barry didn’t, none of them did.

[ttheatre-trashh]

no because even my theare friends actually have to tell me to shut the fuck up about ride the cyclone i just go on and on and on and they literally have to beg me "please go back to talking about hamilton or newsies" i just just look at them with the most AURGHSS look in my eyes

[thisonelikesaliens]

on this fine saturday morning I'm thinking about the burial mounds arc again and how the official translation doesn't seem to fully capture the sacrilege of 亂葬崗 which is a mass grave where you dump bodies without the respect they deserve (i.e. nameless. think mass death from massacre and plague and other unclaimed bodies in general)

(亂 luan means messy/chaos which is a key word here)

that wen qing and her family were able to make a name and a life for themselves at a mass grave, however ephemeral that was, just hits that much harder

[transkingcobra]

having Thoughts and Feelings about Halsin trying to help an “elf” durge to “relearn” how to trance when he notices the poor thing sleeping poorly for 8 hours instead every night

[orangeslikesbread]

i made them hold hands🥺

[flickerintwilights]

Going back to the intro of s2e1 because I am going crazy about it, the way that Ambessa takes Mel's shoulder and like... shows some obvious concern for her health and wellbeing, oh god it's so insane. Like aahh she cares so much it's such a shame she's going to be a shitty mom for the rest of the season

[heycerulean]

do you think jacobi was raised religiously? do you think he grew up going to church? do you think he ever believed in the christian god, in any god? do you think he hated himself for believing there were better things? do you think he turned back to his faith to try to heal, and found nothing, and hated himself even more? do you think he hated himself for hoping there was something out there that could save him, and that he wasn't strong enough on his own? do you think that, once he met kepler, that changed? do you think he saw kepler as more than just a savior, but a god? the thing he'd been looking for since he could remember? that this, this must be what he should've felt, the fear yet the feeling that he has to keep coming back? do you think that once kepler died, and even before that, jacobi fell into doubt again; not just from the lies, from the chaos, from the fighting, but from how his god was gone? that the thing that had saved him was gone? that it had never existed at all? that maxwell and him had just blindly followed a force that never meant the best for them? do you think that's the moment he finally turns to himself, to his own mind, for comfort? do you think that, once everything around him is gone and dead and burning, he finally realizes he was some kind of god all along? that they all are? that everything is something to follow? do you think that's the moment he realizes he doesn't have to believe in anything if he doesn't want to? that he doesn't need to anymore?

[https-hunter]

My tinimmy ranking. I was coerced by DT to make this and I’m sharing it with the class

[i-mybrunettelady]

hail, mighty hero

zaeim and nyra share a moment in kourna. set during long live the lich (lws4). mind the spoilers. 2k words. mature.

Allied Encampment is bustling with life. But it’s not the kind of life that would indicate happiness; in Zaeim’s head, that kind of life is almost a fragment of his imagination. It certainly is for the poor souls of Istan, or even Vabbi. Here in Kourna and the real world, it’s a life of anxiety, a life of uncertainty, of vague hope. People are carrying their restlessness with them and looking up at the leaders of this makeshift resistance group to make sense of it. 

Zaeim feels that burden intensely. He guides his Sunspears, makes plans, tries his hardest to not break nor bend under pressure. Every time he sees a wounded or dying Elonian, he sends a prayer to Kormir and it weighs his heart down even further. Every time there’s an accident, or a failed scouting mission, Zaeim wonders if they’re all going to die and Joko will remain the tyrant of Elona forever. 

So when he feels this way, he turns to Nyra. She stands tall, proud, indomitable and entirely mad. Her eyes shine with something wild and barely restrained, like fate itself had carved a chasm in her soul so now she’s trying to rebuild it back with parts of the real world. She attracts attention wherever she goes and people flock to her like moths to flame. From a distance, she looks radiant. Up close, Zaeim wonders when she’s going to burn out entirely. 

She can’t seem to fight off a sunburn from days in the sands and amongst the army. Her hair, short, messy and in constant disarray, has lightened to a near blonde, a contrast to the areas of her face that caught the beginnings of a tan. She has growing dark circles under her eyes and ever-present dirt beneath her nails, be it blood or tar or whatever else. Comfortable tunics she wears are more filled with creases and dust by the day, patched where they’d gotten nicked in the fights with Awakened. She hardly looks like their leader, Zaeim thinks, as worn out and bitter and restless as everyone else. 

He knows deep down, however, that it is her light this whole thing is centered around. And so, he can’t look away. Especially not when they’re discussing tactics, when she’s explaining things in that strangely accented Elonian of hers, or when she settles on a decision and cuts a clear line in the sand. I have listened to your suggestions. From this point on, you are with me or against me. 

Hardly anyone dares oppose her.

And thus Zaeim finds himself drawn to the moments where he’s with her. He likes the reassurance in her eyes. He likes the subtle nature of her smiles. “I’ve never been very expressive, in terms of.. Face,” she said one night, reclining against a wall. Zaeim raised his gaze to her face. “Do you mind that?”

“Some people are simply not,” he replied, with more eagerness than he’d intended. “I don’t doubt that you’re genuine about this and about Elona. Kormir knows you want Joko dead as much as anyone else here.” 

“There can only be one biggest dick in this desert, yeah?” she huffed and blew a curl of hair away from her nose. “For fuck’s sake, I need my hair to grow faster.” 

Zaeim smiled. “That growth spurt went elsewhere with you, it would seem.” 

Nyra laughed. It was a solid, deep sound, echoing in the small cottage they’d claimed as their base of command. “I’d say Joko stole it and I wanna get it back.” 

“Or Sayida.” 

“Sayida is wiser than Joko.” 

Zaeim shook his head. “Debatable, but I will not argue with you.” 

“That’s smart,” Nyra said, in a gravelly tone. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve suspected a threat. “You are wise too.” 

Zaeim doesn’t consider himself wise. He doesn’t think Nyra herself is wise, either. All he knows is that between them, and supposedly Sayida, and the Olmakhan and the Primeval ghosts, they can take down Joko and see a free Elona. 

Sometimes, that is enough. 

Other times, though, he wants to see Nyra the woman, Nyra the person behind the legend. Then he watches her movements, and notices, rather quickly, that her right shoulder is almost always stiff by the end of the day. She’s careful to not move her right hand much unless she has to, and the occasional stretch she does brings about a pained expression. She doesn’t bring it up, however. 

He understands. He has old wounds too. But in the grand scheme of Alysannyra Ainsaph, that one thing feels like a game changer. She goes from a symbol to a person, and from person to a symbol in a way Zaeim is familiar with, as the Spearmarshal. It makes him want to hold her close, feel the heat of her skin and the roughness of her sunburnt cheeks, in a union that so few people can actually understand. 

She comes to him in a dream, once, and there, she kisses him. And maybe Joko kills them all without Zaeim ever having tried to recreate that dream in real life. Zaeim hopes he musters up the courage to try. 

Opportunity presents itself rather unexpectedly. There is an Awakened Inquest incursion that Nyra herself chooses to annihilate, and that has her painfully rolling her shoulder to try and relieve the ache of it all day. In a break between planning, when the maps are in the safety of Canach’s hands for the moment, Zaeim takes a chance to lean in and whisper in Nyra’s ear, “Does your shoulder hurt?” 

Nyra almost hits his head as she raises hers. “What?” 

Zaeim blinks and steps away. “I noticed your shoulder is stiff and I wanted to offer relief. There is something that us Sunspears use and that I have a little bit of in my pack for old injuries.” 

“Relief, Spearmarshal?” Canach snickers, still looking at the maps. “I do think our dear Commander would love some relief! She’s had so much on her shoulders for this little war of yours–” 

“That’s what you take from this,” Nyra drawls, unimpressed. “Anyone you wanna fuck, Canach?” Zaeim blushes. 

“My hand suffices, Commander.” 

“Good. Stay out of the poor Spearmarshal’s business then. Maybe his hand doesn’t suffice.” 

Miraculously, Canach backs down. He offers Nyra a smile and returns the maps in her hands. “I will ponder on the tactics, Nyra,” he says quietly. “I will also see if Gorrik has any advice on the matter.” 

“Gorrik?” Nyra raises an eyebrow. She huffs out a breath and leans in. “Lie better next time, you asshat.” 

Canach grins. “He knows more than you think he does, Nyra.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed.” 

“Get lost, though,” she jerks her head towards the door. “Think about tactics elsewhere.” 

Canach salutes her and heads to the door. He makes sure to close them as loudly as he possibly can without breaking the damn thing. Zaeim watches him go and crosses his arms over his chest. His face feels hot still and he digs his nails into the exposed skin of his upper arms. Yes, Kormir curse him, he does want to sleep with Nyra, and is that a crime? Is it a bad thing if a man wants to sleep with a woman? 

“Zaeim,” Nyra says, “if you frown any harder, you’ll get a permanent wrinkle.” 

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns,” Zaeim grumbles and looks away. He then clears his throat. “I hope you’re not offended that I–” 

“That you find me attractive?” Nyra taps a nail against the table. The wide stance she’d assumed earlier when talking to Canach now becomes a long, lean form. The wood creaks under her weight when she leans against the table. “No.” 

“But?” Zaeim looks back at her again. She’s rubbing her clothed arms. She’s the only fully clothed and covered person in this entire camp, barring Gorrik and Taimi. She has bandages up to her knuckles. “Are you hurt?”

“Zaeim, I’m more scar tissue than skin behind this patched up tunic,” she says after a while and laughs awkwardly. Zaeim stares. It somehow never crossed his mind that she too might have insecurities. His head has a hard time wrapping itself around that notion, that the Godkiller and Dragonslayer is insecure about her scars of all things. 

“That is hardly a concern to me, if it is any consolation,” he offers softly. “There are a lot of scarred Sunspears.” 

She looks him up and down. Her eyes linger on his arms and legs and on the peek of his chest, before she looks him directly in the eye. Zaeim squirms under inspection. He knows he looks older than he is; life of a Sunspear is hardly easy, and beauty is the first thing to go when you choose to defy Joko. In the grand scheme of things, it’s least relevant. But right now Zaeim wishes very hard that he’d been born a noble, a prince of Vabbi or Istan, someone she would find easy to look at. 

“For what’s worth, I think you’re attractive too,” she says and Zaeim’s head shoots up. She sounds a little sad. 

Zaeim breathes out. “I still have my ointment, if you’d like it.” 

She considers for a moment, and as if to prove a point, goes to roll her shoulder. She stops halfway. “Yes,” she says. She rises from the table that creaks thankfully, and carefully pulls some of her tunic down to reveal her right shoulder. Zaeim sees the tail ends of angry, dark pink burns, but when she catches it, she raises the sleeve so they’re covered again. 

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he points towards a little stool near him. She walks over, playing with the material of her sleeve, and turns her back to him as she sits. His breath catches in his throat. The scar there is gnarly, deep, like something had tried to tear her spine off. It sits in an uneven line at a weird angle too. 

“It would’ve been worse without surgery,” she says, distantly. 

“Is there a way to–”

“No.” The finality of her response makes him close his mouth and dig through his pack. He unscrews the little clay pot and a familiar, slightly pungent scent spreads across the room. Zaeim says nothing as he softly rubs the cream into the knotted flesh. The only sounds in the room are the scoops his fingers make and their breathing, rugged and tense. 

She has tan lines, he notices. Her skin is hot where he touches it. Every so often she turns her head to look at him, and her eyes seem so impossibly big and insistent, conflicted in a way he can’t possibly decode. The sunburn makes their purple hue stand out even more. Zaeim’s hands itch to touch and caress more of her. He imagines his lips on her exposed neck, his hands in her hair. This close, she’s less of a symbol and more of a living, breathing person, with dark circles and a haunted stare and greasy hair, and he cannot get enough of it. 

“Kiss me,” she says. Her voice is rough and rich and breathy. It echoes in Zaeim’s ears like a drum. 

“Gladly,” Zaeim mutters and closes the clay pot. He could die tomorrow; it would’ve been a damn shame if he didn’t leap at an opportunity to kiss her. The pot clinks as he returns it carelessly to his pack and washes his hands free of the ointment. Nyra watches him with a strange expression. 

“What?” Zaeim asks and his heart wants to beat out of his chest. He feels its thunder in his throat. 

“You remind me of someone,” she says softly. “It’s– it was a man as dedicated to his dream and his duties as you are.” The way she implies the man is dead makes it seem targeted, almost a reproach. She’d mentioned a lover before, back in Tyria, but that he is dead. Zaeim has no idea who this man is and senses the topic is too raw to discuss further, but he wonders.

Self reproach is the only thing worse than regret. 

Zaeim crouches before her. This close, she smells like the cream he’d put on her and sweat. “Do you want me to kiss you? Truly?” 

Her eyes blaze. “Enough consideration,” she bites out, “I’m not fragile, for fuck’s sake!” And she pulls him to her and crashes her lips to his, digs her hands in his locs. Zaeim moans under the attention, and he would’ve felt bad about it if it wasn’t swallowed by the domineering force of her lips on his, even if closed. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

After a moment, she takes her head back a little, as if snapped out of a daze. “You probably wanted something sweeter,” she says quietly. “This was anything but.” 

“I will not lie,” he replies, “my usual idea of a first kiss is something that isn’t a metaphorical devouring.” 

Nyra blinks. “We can kiss slowly, if you’d like,” she says and plays with his locs. And then adds, with a grief so big it could swallow the world, “It’s been a long while since I had one of those. Probably don’t deserve them either. But..” 

Zaeim stands up. “This chair is a little uncomfortable,” he says. Nyra follows suit, close enough so he can feel the heat of her body. “I am certain there are more comfortable places in this house for people to kiss.” 

“Walls have hardly ever failed,” she suggests. Finding a little nook that’s big enough for both of them is a challenge, but when they finally do, and when he kisses her again, with his hands on her ass, the world falls away. 

Kormir knows they both need this. Kormir knows they both need a lot of things. And thankfully, Kormir, bless Her, provides. 

[stardust-falling]

As satisfying as it is when Shen Jiu murders Qiu Jianluo and co, it would have been objectively better for him and everyone else if he hadn’t.

Because Yue Qingyuan came back to the Qiu manor.

It couldn’t have been that far apart, right? At most a few months or so, more likely just a few days. If Shen Jiu hadn’t massacred everyone and burned it down, then the illustrious Xuan Su Jian, Head disciple of the foremost sect in the cultivation world, would have shown up at their door and taken him away from there.

Based on what QHT said, SJ had already been released from his slave contract (the validity of that statement is obviously something that could be questioned, but culturally and socially it would make more sense that it is true, considering how unacceptable it would be for a noble’s daughter to marry a slave, SJ would have been nominally a member of the household, even if he wasn’t treated that way by QJL). He wasn’t legally bound there, even though it could be socially frowned upon for him to leave, and it would have been extremely difficult for him to do so on his own. If YQY were there to help him, though, that would be much easier! YQY could protect him!

So, if SJ hadn’t murdered Qiu Jianluo and had just waited a little longer, there would be:

A) the promise that YQY made being kept, and their relationship not destroyed, and they might have even talked things over

B) Wu Yanzi wouldn’t have had the chance to destroy SJ’s self-confidence and he wouldn’t have ended up with such a massive hangup over his late start, and he would have probably done better without that.

C) as a result, most likely less of a bitter rivalry with LQG since so much of that stemmed from comments about SJ’s age

D) SJ feeling less of a need to sabotage young talent’s cultivation for his own insecurity

E) Less crimes to hold against him! No massacre, no WYZ… he’s basically completely innocent.

He still has so much trauma, and he’d still probably be hung up over the cultivation progress a bit, but without WYZ’s putting him down things would be much easier, plus he would have had his trust in YQY restored, which means that there is still one person that he trusts, even if he still distrusts everyone else.

Of course it’s satisfying for him to strike back against his abuser! But he would have probably been much happier and better off in the end if he had just waited a little bit longer.

But SJ had no way of knowing just how close YQY was to fulfilling his promise, which adds a whole additional layer to the tragedy of Qijiu.

Once again, the threads of blood just passing each other by.

[yrlocalghost]

i am enamoured of this creature actually. some manner of beast

[quillst]

DNDADS S2 SPOILERS!

Midnight thoughts at it again :)

Sparrow named Normal and Hero that way because Hero was supposed to be a sacrifice to save the world and Normal was just the replacement kid. He didn’t be a father to them because he didn’t want to grow bonds with them and watch them die. In the end, he didn’t even take in an optimistic hope that perhaps everything goes well without his children dying and just named them what they would be in his story. A hero and a normal kid.

You would think that she’d have at least a little bit of a relationship with Hero, the person he focused his whole attention on but instead it most likely just concerned her, made her feel alone and made her distance herself from him as much as she could. Think about it. Your dad and your uncle always takes you on these ‘trips’ to go hunting, learn how to use guns and knives, etc. without your younger brother going as well. You just have 2 fully grown adults going, teaching only YOU something. Wondering why your brother doesn’t come either and if this is a normal thing that happens to people. Then, you are told by them that you are the chosen one and now put this incredibly heavy weight onto you, A CHILD. You never asked for this but you also can’t talk to anyone else about it so you’re left alone, with just your thoughts.

And Normal. You’re ABSOLUTELY wondering why your name is Normal but your sister’s is Hero. And the fact that she constantly goes on trips with your dad and uncle that you NEVER get invited to. At a very young age, you are already questioning what is wrong with you, why does your dad not like you as much, why am I not as good as my sister. You feel isolated away from them, like there is something that everyone knows is obvious that you don’t. It makes you feel like an idiot. Even if you ask, your dad doesn’t allow you on these trips so you just stay at home, wondering. Your dad never puts in much effort to be your dad, what are you doing wrong? And if he never puts in any energy into being a parent, why should you put in effort to be his son?

Sparrow was too scared to get attached to his own children.

(I love Sparrow but my GOD, he needs to take a lesson from Ron’s books and be the dad that stepped up)

[trashdragon4]

Jedi padawan besties (they're studying btw)

My baby girl Alema again, this time before she became a mando.

Lore dump + extra sketches under the cut :)))))))

Putting this in dotpoints so that i have some semblance of order

Alema was raised in the jedi temple

she wanted to become a temple guard and wielded a double sided lightsaber

Zif (the zabrak in the first image) was her best friend

she and her creche mates had a tooka called Lutal

became a padawan at age 13, shortly before order 66 and the end of the war

was on a mission in the outer rim with her master and their troops when order 66 happened

her and one of the clone medics (whose chip malfunctioned) managed to escape via escape pod

they crash landed on an uninhabited planet

where they met my other, yet to be introduced mandos

I have so much more for her and the rest of the gang but i'm gonna call it a night for now, will probably post more about her tmrw.