#all good but very exhausting

[belabellissima]

Hey!! I'm back again!!

Thank you so much for answering all of my questions, I am DELIGHTED by all of your answers and I'm so excited to start working on a fic that (I hope) you're going to very like!

I've started working on the outline today and it occured to me that I haven't asked you one very crucial question:

How dark do you like your High Lord? 👀 Do you like when he's mean and cunning, or do you prefer him soft? (Both is definitely an acceptable answer here, but I'd definitely like to know if you enjoy when the UtM/CoN mask comes out to play)

Hello!!! 😄I’m always delighted to answer your questions! And I KNOW I’m going to love whatever you write! 💜

I do love when he’s both, but Mean Rhys hits different, ya know? 😅I adore his CoN mask and him being cunning (except for the aforementioned twisting of the arm lol), tricking/manipulating everyone into doing exactly what he wants. So definitely feel free to play around with that all you want!😄

[hinamie]

take the blue line

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it? It's a little problematic. 🤨

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

TRANSCRIPT

Bad: Go to the left, go to the left and–

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right! This way?

Bad: Left. Left left left!

Tubbo: [Shouting over him] SORRY!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Bad: You got it!

Tubbo: Thank you.

Bad: Yippee!

Foolish: [Laughs as he imitates Tubbo] "I don't know my left and right!"

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Foolish: [Chuckling] That was awesome.

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!! I think you're just dumb!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! It literally does.

Bad: No it doesn't!

Tubbo: I feel– Dude, I– [Puts his head in his hands] Mate.

Bad: [Sounding a little less-certain] ...Does it?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Does it actually?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Wait, really???

Tubbo: YEAH!

Foolish: Way to go Bad, now you're just an asshole.

Bad: Aw... :(

Tubbo: That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Foolish: [Laughs]

Fit: [Sarcastic] Yeah, it's not real guys, it's not real.

Bad: No, I feel like he's making this part up!

Foolish: You see how he was mansplaining it to you? He was kinda mansplaining it too...

Tubbo: [Rubbing his temples] Just mansplaining to me dyslexia.

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it?

Bad: No! I'm just asking if he's being serious or not!

Fit: It's a little problematic. 🤨

Bad: So it really isn't obvious, like your words?

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[eternal-sunflowers]

i don't think that people really understand how mentally fucking draining it is to live with chronic illness. like, people talk about it a lot, sure. but i feel like it is constantly kind of a shrugged off thing that people don't understand the weight off.

how exhausting it is to have your body not be able to do things, while your brain carries on as if it can.

how exhausting and painful it is to try to do things and not fully be accommodated for your needs.

how exhausting goddamn brain fog is. it gets me every day it feels like and i'm still surprised.

how exhausting and frustrating it is to be ill and to think you're having a good day, but SURPRISE, here's a flare, or a bunch of symptoms, or whatever, and now you're in pain and can't do anything. you can't make the pain stop. you just have to feel it.

how exhausting it is to know that nothing will take the pain away. that you literally just have to live with it. and that people won't get it. they won't understand that you are constantly in pain, all the time, and just have to act like you aren't.

how exhausting it is to be exhausted. the fatigue is awful. it just catches me and i can't do anything. i can't move or speak or anything. i just have to exist in it.

it's so annoying and exhausting to see my body give up and to know that i can't really do anything to stop it or cure it. it's so exhausting. it makes me want to cry constantly. i feel so tired and worn down and angry and depressed.

and yet, i have to continue on, like a normal functioning member of society. i have people look at me like an imposition. i see people talk down on chronically ill or disabled people online all the time and complain about us ruining society or taking away resources or whatever the fuck bullshit.

and it makes me feel so shitty that society perceives my only worth as my physical ability to contribute to a fucked up system.

and yet, we carry on, day after day, in hopes it will get better.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good Morning, World.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[crazymecjc]

his hands are gentle.

[turtleblogatlast]

Been thinking about how Donnie and Leo’s insecurities juxtapose each other.

Donnie is insecure about his place in the family, but confident in who he is outside of it.

Leo is secure about being a part of the family, but thinks he’s nothing outside of it.

I think it’s a very interesting comparison that reflects their respective personalities, Donnie’s “Will all I have to offer be enough?” versus Leo’s “Do I even have anything else to offer?”

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[lunarharp]

scribbly scrappoes -_-

[yangscowlick]

Because the “shrodinger’s queerbait” nonsense will never go away, indulge me an analogy (and a long post).

wlw ships are the “made from scratch” cake in a world where we only ever expect cake mix from the box.

Say you have a show where, in the first interaction between a male and female character, there is a red box. It could be a Betty Crocker box of cake mix. Because all it takes is just one smile — one wink — one raised eyebrow— and the fans don’t question it. We’re clearly making a cake here. The box is red.

Meanwhile, you have two female characters building their own relationship that have elements that could build to romance. There are eggs in the fridge. A few more episodes, there’s flour in the pantry. Sugar. Baking powder. Queer fans start whispering…we could be making a cake here. Other fans scoff “you will read into anything. They’re just eggs! Everyone has eggs in their fridge!” Maybe so, maybe not. They are written off as discrete ingredients, nothing to see here.

That red box is still sitting in the pantry. Obviously we’re going with that one, and it’s definitely cake mix. That guy and girl stood next to each other again.

The wlw relationship is now full-on batter. It was a cake recipe all along, but it’s not baked yet. The crowd that wrote off every ingredient is now saying the writers are just going to “squander” that box that could be ready-made cake mix or that they’re being “forced” to bake a cake with the very ingredients the writers deliberately bought and put in their pantry.

Now it’s in the oven, the cake is baking. That crowd will still insist it’s forced, or maybe its actually something else, or it’s rushed, or it’s pandering. Whether the writers painstakingly built a pantry to make the cake they truly wanted or they were cultivating good ingredients and realized they had the fixings for a more decadent cake and went there, it doesn’t matter. It’s still a recipe. One that fans who always have to piece together ingredients had hoped for or saw from the get-go, despite being scoffed at and disparaged. Just because that crowd didn’t see (or refused to see) those ingredients as part of a whole, doesn’t make it any less of a recipe.

And wlw fans shouldn’t have to keep writing essays to demonstrate that the wlw “cake” has all the ingredients every cake mix does, or keep pointing out that fans were ready to believe a cake was being baked when they saw a nondescript box, but that they’ll do anything to discredit or doubt the cake from scratch that’s now cooling off on the counter.

It is partly a function of heteronormativity from the audience in immediately seeing romance in any whisper of interaction between m/f characters and passing off all charged interactions between female characters are sisterly or platonic. And it also comes from writers, who are either being cautious so as not to spook corporate overlords or audiences, or who are preserving plausible deniability.

To take the analogy further, box cake mix is fine! It works! It is, practically speaking, what a lot of folks know by default. I thought I was a Duncan Hines girl once myself. Vanilla cake mix has the ingredients measured out, it’s a safe bet, it tastes like cake.

But it doesn’t mean every red box is cake mix. And it doesn’t make the cake that had to be pieced together from scratch due to censorship, caution, time, narrative build-up, what-have-you, any less of a cake.

[cementcornfield]

Did you see the clip of Joe yesterday?

Is it a clip now? Oh lord....was it funny at least?

It was the first time he ever used the F word in a conference.

He cursed? Y'all lying...I be trying to get him to curse, he don't curse when I'm talking to him...

[sciderman]

Oh man I really hope Lefty wakes up soon. Seems like the lack of cortisol is really hitting you hard. 'Bout ready to start a cult to the Adrenal Gods to make things better for you.

Hope you feel better soon!!

thank you anon!! i am not doing well but i really appreciate your kind thoughts!! please please pray to the adrenal gods. pray for me.

[sysig]

Hi, sorry to be anon, but can I ask to see the Vargas family post trick or treating? Divying the goods, or just being tired from the event? Thank you and Happy Halloween!

Day 30 - Fine, but you're taking nightmare duty

[friedrocks]

i love the utter refusal to actually communicate on the realm (at least, when it comes to factions). no one listens when they talk, everything is everyone else's fault, we are right and everyone else is wrong. it's so fucking messy <3

[sentientsky]

hey do u ever think about how crowley's eyes (a feature he's worked to hide nearly his entire time on earth) were fixated so so so firmly on aziraphale during the final fifteen, to the point where he followed the tiniest of movements, even as tears began to form in his waterline? even as his not-quite-human-heart was splintering in his chest?

CAUSE I DO

how was this permitted to be aired???? knowing full well that angsty queers like me would be sliding down the wall sobbing about it???? (also, if u want to read more about crowley and his eyes, i am once again recommending one of alex's metas: x)

anyway! full gif below the cut!

yippee!

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

🏘️