#but the death and the sound of it was terrible

[ghostlymakercat]

It hurt, everything hurt.

The ground underneath him was ice cold and send shivers down his spine, Sirius couldn't feel the tip of his fingers and the tremors were getting stronger. His head was throbbing with pain and his shirt was getting more and more soaked with something warm and sticky. He desperately tried to keep himself conscious, even when his vision was blacking out, if he dropped it was over- the door was charmed nobody could enter only leave, if he passed out nobody could help him. But just thinking of the effort it would take to get up made him heave. There was something he was forgetting, his eyes shot wide-

Reggie, he was there alone to Walburgas mercy, the sentence really didn't make sense and if his head wasn't clouded with fear he would've have laughed. His baby brother was alone he could be hurt or- No he wouldn't let her, he will protect Regulus, he will be there for him. His head was spinning, and his whole body was screaming painfully in exhaustion, his limbs heavy but he got himself to stand up, only to topple over catching himself on the wall before crashing to the ground. Every step was terrible and his urge to give up was getting stronger, but Regulus might be the only person that loved him, would love him no matter what, would still love him even if he snapped because they were brothers and they promised- brothers first.

The door was so close he could reach it with an outstretched arm, but relief hardly cut it because he still had no idea what was happening outside those walls. They were soundproof, and there was nothing more terrifying than silence in this house, silences held a promise of something deeper - unspoken.

Sirius hated silence and made sure to fill every moment with sounds, music, talks, laughter and even at night he made sure that there was something making sound when he woke up, he couldn't stand it.

Regulus was different, he lived in silence, preferred it over all the sounds - he couldn't 'read between the lines' of what people said so what difference was the silence really? it was just as untelling and much more peaceful. But even Regulus who treasured his peace over anything, hated that silent room, hated waiting because there was really nothing more he could do just Wait.

Waiting was torturous, waiting for any sigh that Sirius was alright that his brother was alive, breathing.

The doors handle was hard to turn and his fingers were slippery on the metal, his eyes turning into his head with the effort, when the door budged the wood opened with a groan, and his legs finally gave out on him, he was swept in a wave of nausea and finally he let himself let go all of it. His thin frame was shaking with sobs as he nearly choked on vomit. He wanted so badly to go on, to save Regulus but he couldn't force himself to.

He really was useless, couldn't even take care of the one person he cared the most about. He couldn't see anything anymore and the only reason he hasn't tapped out already was because of the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, but he knew that will pass. And then... Well wasn't his life just hilarious, failure of a son, hair, brother, friend... quite the list- maybe his death wouldn't be a tragedy at all-

"-rius, Sirius!, Sirius! Hey wake up! Look at me c'mon LOOK AT ME." Regulus's heart was racing his mind a loop of no's. His big brother was bleeding out, shaking and choking on his tears. He paid half mind to vanish the vomit, and the blood as he looked frantically over his wounds. This time it was bad, it hurt to look at it wounds deep angry and red everywhere. Worse than anything was the lack of response he got from Sirius.

Panic took over as he shook Sirius by his shoulders, he screamed and screamed the first thing to came to his mind. He knew, he knew, somewhere deep down that if he kept making this much noise mother would come for him, for them. He didn't know what to do, he felt insane nothing was quiet anymore, but he had to make Sirius respond to him, to let Regulus know his brother is alive.

Than something happened, something that made Regulus stop everything - Sirius opened his eyes, just for a moment but Regulus was sure of the movement, his heart finally calmed, but he couldn't be so foolish to let himself hope he spoke again, as calmly as he could having to clear his voice from all the shouting " Sirius can you hear me" he got a slow blink "good that's good, I know you're tired- b-but I need you to focus on not falling asleep again alright?" He tried for his voice to come out as held together as possible but his voice was shaking and the sentence was interrupted by his sobbing.

He didn't even realized that he was crying, but at the moment nothing really seemed more important than his brother. He tried to fight the fog that was filling his thoughts and find something useful to do. Potter.

Righ-right he just needed to get himself closer to the fireplace, rather quickly, judging by the state Sirius was in. " I'm so sorry Siri" that was the only warning The older one got before Regulus hoisted him up on his back, Sirius couldn't even bring himself to voice his pain, that was just spreading further with the sudden movement. Regulus was crying, his shoulders shaking - that was weird - he couldn't remember ever seeing Reggie cry outside of the privacy of their room. He didn't like the sight of it, his brother didn't smile much but when he did, his honest smile, not the one forced around family, it was the prettiest thing of all. Sirius frowned, Reggie used to smile all the time when they were kids... Why did he stop?

He felt the space shift from the dark to candle light, and the atmosphere was so...different and familiar...

That was the last thing Sirius remembered before the dark came over him. Regulus panted under his weight( which really want that much Sirius seemed to piss of Walburga by merely breathing it seemed this summer, leading to denial of most lunches and breakfast, dinners were sacred and there was no questioning the attendance of such thing.) Breathing deeply before shouting for help and shout he did. His ears were buzzing with the loud sounds but there was no way he was stopping now.

He felt two hands wrap around his torso, gently pushing him off of Sirius, but he didn't want to let go he caught his hand. He recognised Voices talking all around him but he kept his eyes firmly on his brother. He was crying again and when he lifted his gaze he was met with his reflection staring back at him "help him... Please" his voice broke and he felt somebody hoist him up- Potter and them sitting outside of the guest room that Effie turned into a nursery, and Potter holding his shaking hands making little controlled circles despite his panicked eyes that were glued to the door.

Regulus hated waiting. And he was so tried but he could never just fall asleep when Sirius may- no he must think positively. He didn't really want to think at all every second passing mocking him and his inability to have everything under control. But despite all his fighting against the dark he couldn't keep his eyes opened, he won't sleep of course there was no way he'd allow himself that but he couldn't control his heavy eyelids anymore.

He pressed himself into Potters side trying to make himself as small as possible.

Part1

The old house

[wasteland-wrecker]

I saw the way you looked at that man being crucified.

You hunted him down only to offer him a terrible slow death.

The pleasure of a hunter, playing with his prey.

Sounds familiar.

A man filled with grudge.

A man with no more purposes.

I could fix you, teach you our values.

If only you’d join the Legion.

In the end…

we are not so different, bunny.

———————

< part 1 > ????

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:In the Quiet Moments

Warnings: talks of death, death, crying?, mentions of car accident (i think thats it)

You barely remember the accident. Only flashes of light, the shattering crunch of metal on metal, and the weightless, tumbling blur that stole away your world. When you regain consciousness, pain sears through your chest, sharp and consuming, like a wildfire spreading through your body. You’re dimly aware of sounds—urgent voices, beeping monitors—but nothing else seems real until you hear his voice, urgent, familiar, calling your name.

“Spence?” you whisper, barely able to make out his face through your blurred vision. His hand finds yours instantly, fingers trembling as he cups your hand as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice thick and cracking, his face streaked with tears. The relief, the fear, and the sorrow in his eyes all swirl together, and you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He chokes on his words, trying to smile for you, but his expression crumbles as a doctor steps in, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with an apologetic solemnity that makes your blood run cold.

“Dr. Reid,” the doctor begins, his tone as soft as he can manage in the face of such devastation. He glances at the rest of the team who have gathered outside the room, each face shadowed with dread and sorrow. “I… I’m sorry. The impact caused severe trauma to her heart. We’ve done everything we can, but the damage is… it’s irreparable.”

Spencer’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing becoming rapid, shallow. He shakes his head in denial, his body wracked with quiet, desperate sobs. “No,” he whispers, his voice almost inaudible. “No… you have to—there has to be something. Please, just—”

The doctor swallows, his face heavy with grief as he meets Spencer’s frantic gaze. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. We’re keeping her comfortable, but the most we can do is… make sure she’s not in pain. She may only have a few hours left.”

It’s like the words don’t register at first. Spencer stares at the doctor in stunned silence, his mouth opening and closing, as if trying to shape words that will deny the reality he’s facing. His body begins to tremble as the weight of the words sinks in, and he collapses, clutching your hand as he breaks down beside your bed.

“No… please… please don’t take her,” he whispers, his voice choked, ragged, and filled with more heartbreak than you’ve ever heard in him before. His head falls against your hand, and his shoulders shake as he sobs, his tears soaking through the thin fabric of your hospital gown.

The team stands by, their eyes reflecting the same disbelief and sorrow. JJ, her hand pressed to her mouth, struggles to contain her own tears. Hotch’s expression is stoic but deeply pained, and Penelope weeps silently, turning into Morgan’s embrace as he holds her close. Even Rossi, who has seen more loss than he cares to remember, looks away, struggling to hide the moisture in his eyes.

---

The doctor steps back to give you all a moment, nodding respectfully as he leaves the room. There’s a quiet reverence among everyone as they approach your bed, knowing these are the final moments you have together. JJ is the first to kneel beside you, her face streaked with tears as she takes your other hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, honey…” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper. She blinks, trying to clear her vision, to find some way to offer you comfort. “You’ve been… you’ve been so strong. For all of us. And for Spencer. And for…” Her voice catches, and she glances over her shoulder where your little boy is standing, held safely in Morgan’s arms. He looks around, confused, sensing the sadness but not fully understanding. JJ turns back to you, and her lips tremble into a sad, bittersweet smile. “We’re going to miss you more than words can say.”

You smile, reaching out to touch her cheek, feeling the damp warmth of her tears under your fingers. “Thank you, JJ. For being my friend. For always taking care of him,” you murmur, your gaze flicking to your son before returning to her. “Please… tell him stories about me. Make sure he knows how much I loved him.”

She nods, unable to speak, and wraps her arms around you gently, her embrace filled with all the love and friendship you’ve shared. When she pulls back, she wipes her tears, nodding to Morgan to bring your son over to you.

As he approaches, you reach out, your arms weak but filled with desperation as he climbs onto the bed, his little hands clutching onto you. You hold him, burying your face in his soft hair, breathing in his innocent scent as your heart aches with the knowledge of all the moments you’ll miss, all the things you’ll never get to see him do.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, brushing a hand over his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through your fingers. “Mommy loves you so, so much. And… and you’re going to grow up to be strong, and brave, and kind, just like your daddy.”

“Mama, don’t be sad,” he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, innocent eyes. His small hand reaches up to touch your cheek, his expression confused and concerned, sensing your sadness even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

You force a smile for him, blinking back tears. “I’m not sad, sweetie. I just… I just love you so much.” You hug him close, trying to burn this moment into your memory, the feel of his tiny arms around you, the warmth of his cheek against yours. You don’t let go until you feel Spencer’s gentle hand on your shoulder.

It takes everything in you to let him go, watching as JJ takes him, cradling him in her arms as he rests his head on her shoulder, his eyelids drooping with the exhaustion of a long, emotional day.

JJ kisses his head, giving you one last nod before she slips out of the room with him. You watch them go, your heart breaking even more as the door closes behind them.

---

One by one, the team says their goodbyes, each of them leaving you with words of love, of gratitude, of sorrow. Penelope clings to you, her tears soaking into your hospital gown as she promises to always keep an eye on Spencer, to make sure he’s never alone. Morgan grips your hand tightly, his voice steady but filled with heartbreak as he tells you he’ll miss your laughter, your friendship, your unwavering kindness.

Rossi stands by your bedside, his gaze filled with a profound sadness that words can’t convey. “You’re… one of the best, kid,” he says, his voice rough as he brushes a hand over your hair. “You’ve made this world better just by being in it.”

Finally, only Spencer remains, sitting by your bedside, his hand wrapped around yours. He’s silent for a long time, simply watching you, his thumb stroking over your knuckles as he struggles to find the words he wants to say. His face is etched with grief, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he forces a small, soft smile for you, a reflection of all the love he holds in his heart.

“I… I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go.”

You reach up, brushing your fingertips over his cheek, feeling the stubble under your touch. “You’ll find a way, Spence. For him. And… and I’ll always be with you. In your heart.”

He nods, tears streaming down his face as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his lips against your skin, the feeling of his love enveloping you.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “No matter how much time passes, you’ll always be… my everything.”

You smile, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “And you’ll always be mine. Always.”

The beeping of the monitor slows, each sound growing fainter, softer, as your breaths grow shallow. Spencer holds you close, his arms around you, his face buried in your hair as he whispers words of love, of goodbye, until the final beat fades into silence.

I originally wrote this even sadder but I didn't know if I should post it because it genuinely made me depressed so I toned it down, lmk if I should actually post it though

[canonically47]

i don’t like how almost the entire fandom is on jimmy’s ass but loves curly. while jimmy undoubtedly did worse things, curly PROTECTED HIM. you cannot stand there at your computer and type straight-faced about how ‘jimmy is a horrible monster!! ...but curly could treat anya sooooo well’ like HUH??? this game is NOT about how jimmy is the worst person alive ever WITHOUT also the message of curly being AT LEAST half as bad.

because HE KNEW. and i think this is also beautifully represented through his design. he chose to turn a blind eye to anya’s struggles, HE CHOSE TO NOT SEE, and then, after the crash, he found himself with one eye constantly open, FORCED TO SEE. and by god did he see. he saw, first-hand, how protecting his absolute bastard of a friend led to the death of the entire crew and their prolonged sufferring. i saw one person suggest that the scene in which swansea kills daisuke could be from curly’s POV since it aligns perfectly with the hallway and the look he would get of the scene.

so curly, who once always protected his friend and turned a blind eye to his misdemeanors, is now forced to see these terrible events unfold firsthand. because guess what? it’s about half of curly’s fault for these events jimmy creates. because he could have prevented so much if only he wasn’t part of this toxic culture of males protecting each others from the consequences of their own actions.

now before i get any angry comments or reblogs: i do not despise curly. i do not even despise jimmy as a character. i condemn their actions 110%, ESPECIALLY jimmy’s - but i think they’re such deep and shockingly real, raw depictions of humans that not only could, but DO exist. as concepts and characters, i admire wrong organ for their bravery to create them into existence - and i hate them as people. again, they are representatives of the toxic culture males have in which they protect each other (“my buddy couldn’t have raped/SA’d/etc her because i know him and he wouldn’t do that!!” etc etc.) and it is so upsetting but so necessarry to witness this. i just wish the fandom would be willing to witness it fully, not just go “FUCK JIMMY” “so sorry you had to draw jimmy” while simultaneously pushing out curly x reader or saying shit like “curly just wanted everyone to be happy :(” “curly would treat anya better” etc etc.

this is such a raw and real story once again ruined by a fandom whose minds are rotted by hehe hot man, toxic yaoi, and amatonormativity. and yea that sounds funny when you read it but so many of the messages of the game are ignored in favor of all the above. i’m tired of it!!!

TL;DR: i condemn both jimmy AND curly’s actions and i think that you guys should not give curly a pass for protecting jimmy. if you’re going to call jimmy a horrible fucked-up monster, acknowledge that curly enabled him time and time again. also stop shipping people this is Not That Kinda Story ffs (from a tired aromantic)

[beerok23]

MACBETH AT HAROLD PINTHER (November 9th, 2024) - A REVIEW WITH SPOILERS

Now that I’m back home, I can write a considerate and not at all crazy and nostalgic post about Macbeth.

Be careful, if you haven’t seen it yet and you’re supposed to see it soon: this review has spoilers.

Please, forgive me if it has typos and if I repeat myself and if this post is so unhinged. I can’t help it, I need to vent my thoughts and feelings.

Watching Macbeth was an otherworldly experience. Something you can only dream of and when it happens it changes all your brain cells.

When David first appeared on scene, from the darkness of the first lines pronounced by the witches…well, I wasn’t expecting him. I kind of distinguished his silhouette in the shadow, and I wasn’t sure that it was him. But it was. And when the lights turned on and he appeared on the scene full of blood and gasping…well I think my world shattered. It’s hard to explain what happens when you finally have the chance to see someone you admire so much only from afar, an actor you’re so accustomed to watch anywhere everyday…and then he finally appears in front of you and he’s like materialising and it’s like magic.

I mean, he was there, with the bowl at the centre of the stage, and the blood stains and he was SO TALL and SO David and SO everything all at once.

I spent the entire 2 hours watching him from my STALL B7 seat, a PERFECT seat —because he occupies the scene at the right of the stage SO much… seriously, I was lucky to choose that seat and it was perfect. Of course watching the scene from upper seats would be awesome to better appreciate the mis en scene, but people… the HEARTACHE I got when I realized David and his brown expressive eyes were there, in front of me.

I couldn’t not watch him, the way he possesses the stage, how he moves perfectly, and the lines, and the tone, a mixture of Crowley and Staged 😭😭😭 I mean… there’s one little laugh he made at one moment that really made me think, “Ok, here’s our demon.”

And those few moments of hilarity, when they try to make the audience laugh (which I almost never did, because I was so tense for the dramatic effect of the whole thing), for example when he mimics another character’s tone to mock him. Ok, that was an original Crowley.

And then Macbeth turns into a tyrant, and he is suddenly even more indifferent than Kilgrave when he’s there on the stage, for those two killing scenes that made me shiver and gasp in outrage. Seriously, the gasp I made when I saw him with the kids…

and I trembled all night (also because it’s terribly cold in the theatre 😁).

ABOUT THE SCENES, MY FAVOURITE MOMENTS, THE STAGE AND THE DIRECTION

The scene of the apparitions is awesome. No rising him up, like at Donmar, fine, but still… incredible. With the red lights, and the actors with spasms…And the kid actor (Raffi Phillips during my show) was incredible.

I adored how they performed the Banquo ghost bit. Intelligent, brilliant. And David out of himself was perfection.

The slow motion. It was my fave artistically bit, I think. The first time it happens, you’re so surprised. It’s like watching a movie, only it’s theatre. But when it happens during the dance scene…I felt my heart explode. And the way he interacts with Lady Macbeth, the perfection of the music changing and slowing down…Oh sweet lord.

The glass. Gosh, I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I knew there were actors around the stage and musicians and singers, but I didn’t know about the glass. And the actors punching the glass to mimic knocks and sounds…Incredible tension and suspence.

And the scene with Lady MacDuff and her son’s death was incredible, INCREDIBLE. Again, MAcbeth being there on stage, as if he was really there (which he is not), holding the kid to soothe him and then…throwing him towards the killer. I felt it in my bones, David THRIVES in those moments of pure evil and you can only loathe Macbeth for being like that. And the same happens at the end, with the killing of the kid during the last fight, and when he breaks his neck…The whole theatre gasped in unison, I swear.

MY GOD HE’S GOOD. He’s so good.

The trees at the end…it was all so perfect and pure and a bliss. I can’t really explain.

ABOUT DAVID’S OUTFIT AND MONOLOGUES

The monologues…how many lines does Macbeth have? He’s almost ever present on scene and he’s so good, perfect.

The “is it a dagger” scene was…🥹 I can’t explain. And whenever he sat at the corner of the stage, being there even if Macbeth is not there. It feels like meta-theatre, as if they are trying to make us feel what he feels, even if you’re not supposed to be by his side.

The way he said “tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow”, with his perfect Scottish accent. It blew my mind. I was out of myself by then.

The kilt… well…the kilt 🖤 I’m not a sucker for David in a kilt. I wasn’t. But I changed my mind. This outfit will hunt my dreams for…a while. Years to come. But even more than the kilt, his legs and socks, and the black jackets on the grey shirt. The jackets are seriously a masterpiece.

Also, David keeping the wedding ring on stage is the sweetest thing btw ❤️

The legendary hair band, which disappears towards the end to leave space to David’s own hands; I kept watching enamoured every time he threw his hand in his hair. I mean, that’s his mannerism, and I was there to see him doing it.

And his hands. Those scenes in which he came forward with his hands moving in the air… incredible. Also, those few times in which his eyes fell to the stalls and sometimes it felt as if he was looking right at you. Amazing 🥹

ABOUT THE CAST

The cast. Brilliant, talented performers, all of them. Again the kid, my gosh how good was he? And Banquo’s understudy (NIALL MACGREGOR) was GLORIOUS and he complemented David so well!!! I have no idea how good the first actor is, but believe me: this Banquo was…a perfect complement to David. Even in his appearance, and I can totally see him playing a fine Macbeth last Tuesday, too.

Cush’s understudy (JASMIN HINDS) was AMAZING. I haven’t seen Cush, obviously, but from the clips I watched online, she gives a different vibe to the couple relationship, and you can tell that David let her manage the intensity of their connection and touches on scenes. It was lovely. She was lovely. I found they had huge chemistry on scene, and they fitted together awesomely.

I think she was insanely good and I managed to tell her after the show, when she came out from stage door. She is a very nice and sweet person, and she also congratulated me for my 10th wedding anniversary when I said to her, silly as I am, that I came with my husband from Italy to watch a married couple dying on stage on the night of our 10th anniversary. She was amused, and she was lovely. I told her that I was glad I got to see HER on scene, and I meant it 💜

The “pause” for comic effect performed by JATINDER SINGH RANDHAWA was insanely funny. All the knock knock jokes, him laughing at the audience and mocking random people, Oasis and Blur references, inside jokes about canceling the shows… He was so funny and he was so good when suddenly everything went back to normal and he became serious again in the span of a second.

How good are all these actors!

And Macduff, played by NOOF OUSELLAM. You know what? He’s the one who made me cry. When he’s told about his family’s death…he was so insanely good and realistic in his reaction, and the tension and drama on scene was so palpable and I cried with him. He was incredible.

As much as MOYO AKANDE, who was probably my favourite surprise of the night. I love her, she’s insanely good. As much as everyone else.

In the end, I’m so lucky that I got to see David performing, because if I had booked last Saturday, I would have missed the show and I would have been incredibly sad and disappointed (probably for the rest of my life). And David wasn’t still in tip-top condition, because after the last fight scene (which is a very well choreographed fight with swords), when he kneeled, he coughed (and I’ve been told that was not in character) — and it was the only little thing that made you understand that he was sick the prior week. My god, he’s such a professional, getting back as soon as he could. He was perfect and this whole production was a rollercoaster of emotions and feelings and surprises and suspence. It really deserves the world and accolades.

And I know I did not get a chance to see David at Stage Door, but you know what? I don’t care. Because this was a weekend that I totally dedicate to Good Omens in general (we went to St. James’s, and Tavistock Square, and to the bandstand in Battersea Park, which is probably my new place of the heart (broken or not, one of my favourite places in the whole world, now). And watching David on stage after a year of obsessing over the show and him and Michael felt like a cathartic moment. Ok, it’s not like meeting him and talking to him, maybe. But it’s better: it’s watching him in his raw version, in his element. The theatre has this kind of magic that television can’t provide. And I’m insanely happy to have gotten the chance to attend to one of these incredible shows.

Now I know.

09/11/2024

[mer-acle]

i know i should not ask this but, what are your Athena ig wump headcannons :3 dont worry i have alot of time on my hands

okay okay okay

I think I'm gonna make this mainly trauma/whump potential themed. Like think, how do you break the owl? lol

Pain: I don't see Athena as scared of pain in general. She wouldn't mind being nicked in battle or something (she would bc of pride and being told she has to be perfect, but not the pain) I am willing to bet she's cut herself out of curiosity of what it feels like. Now if there's pain on top of other stuff, that's when she starts to fall apart. She's not used to dealing with physical pain, and if she's otherwise compromised (read: God Games) it becomes a problem.

Breathing: That's more of a general god hc I decided for whump purposes. The gods do have a breathing reflex and while they don't die from lack of oxygen + don't have negative effects if they actively choose not to breathe (like underwater), but like... yes gods can hyperventilate... or have trouble breathing... do with that what you will (like i do, I reaaaallly do stuff with this factoid)

Water: It's a winged!Athena specific one for me, but could be applied to any version. Athena's not a fan of water in general and afraid of being fully submerged in particular. She got somewhat used to it after a while living with Triton, but since Pallas' death, it's gotten worse and she hasn't really been in the water since. (This all came to be bc I found out that owls are actually terrible swimmers bc their wings aren't waterproof so they just have to get to shore to dry off... and wings weighed down by water sounds pretty scary

Control: Kinda vague, but shapes my entire approach to her. Athena is all about control. Anything that messes with that is BAD. Fever? An injury that you can't just push your way past? Drugs, medical or otherwise? She would literally rather be in excruciating pain. Like... if she's mentally not well, having shaky hands or dropping something might already be cause for a negative spiral it's that bad. Speaking of...

Mental health (Pt. 1) (to be continued) Ah I posted accidentally okay wait I'll make a part 2 and link it 😖

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Jeff the Accountant breaks my heart. He’s born of such hope and innocence.

Accountant is the standard no-one-asks-you-any-questions-stock-answer-at-parties career answer. That’s partly the joke. But that isn’t why Ed says it. Ed’s in earnest. He thinks ‘accounting sounds fancy as fuck’. Genuinely. And his audience includes an aristocrat called Antoinette who asserts one should just ‘inherit money like a normal person’. She calls embezzlement ‘grubby’, not because of the morality issues, but because it’s having to do something for money. What must she think of working for a living?

Ed must figure these hoity-toity folk value money, so if I say I work in accounting, it’ll sound impressive. Instead he sounds like staff gone rogue.

Compare to Frenchie who wonders what the heck Ed’s thinking, and gets how to play the game. Go high! Crown Prince and Viceroy. Although Olu and he only get away with it because they’re working the sidelines and appealing knowingly to baser instincts. They have the upper hand because of Frenchie’s savvy. And of course they do receive racist comments despite deflecting class jibes through their elected personas. Ed doesn’t escape either ‘sin’.

Ed goes as high as he dares, which is professional middle class. And he likes the name ‘Jeff’, so that’ll do. No last name though. It’s as if he doesn’t have the schema or self-esteem to dream bigger.

It’s incredibly… pathetic. And I mean it in the poignant sense. Of course it all goes horribly wrong because it was never going right. Antoinette was always waiting to tell ‘Jeff the Accountant’ that he was going to ‘bore us to death’ once they’d had their fun. But he probably could’ve said he was Pharaoh himself, he was never going to win the approval of this particular set of white folk.

Objectification: the racism towards ed

In a way, though, there’s something so incredibly unspoiled about Ed here. ‘Jeff’ comes across as unworldly despite his anecdotes and japes, and misguided, unkind ridicule of Stede. Ed thinks he’s winning the interaction. Like a child who doesn’t realise the adult is deliberately letting them win; not in this instance though to build self-esteem, but rather to make the denouement all the more terrible when they finally turn the tables.

Ed has a recurring motif of not understanding what constitutes laughter. He does hear it correctly in this instance, but he cannot interpret that it’s mocking, othering, and not inclusive. And Ed only understands Gabriel’s tone quickly at the table because of Stede’s coaching.

It’s heart-wrenching that Ed thinks he’s accepted because there’s laughter and attention. That personhood is that easy to acquire in the eyes of those who have seized the power to decide its criteria and application.

[hannahssimblr]

Morning, as snow drifts pile upon the sills, I wander towards the fridge and rummage through for something to eat. I haven’t been to the supermarket in a while, on account of eating out far more than I should, but it isn’t my fault. It’s Astrid who likes to go out for dinner, and who am I to deny her the opportunity to try a new cuisine, five, six nights a week? There’s a bag of frozen pretzels in the freezer. As soon as I jiggle the bag free of the over-iced drawer, Jonas pipes up from the living room. 

“Don’t eat my pretzels, please.”

“I’m not.”

“I know the sound the pretzel bag makes.”

“It’s… I’m hungry, okay?”

“Then you should have gone to Lidl.”

I pad across the hallway and into the living room where he sits, as always, on the left side of the couch, coffee mug on a coaster, and the newspaper in hand. 

“Really? I can’t have one?”

“No.”

“If I have to queue for the bakery now, I’ll be late for college.”

“You should plan things more. Maybe if you had thought about this, you would have bought your own bag of frozen pretzels.” He takes a long, satisfied sip. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be so worried about your breakfast, when there are these ongoing, violent demonstrations in Tunisia and such. Worse things are happening in the world than your lack of pretzels.”

“Jonas, please.” I groan. He loves regaling me with tales of war, death and destruction in the morning, as if I can do anything to fix it. I know that being a human rights student fills you with this kind of permanent dread, cursed forever with knowledge of the happenings of the world, but I paint pictures at college. Sometimes I make things out of clay which explode in the kiln. That’s about as bad as it gets, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I don’t want to hear about violence and unrest before breakfast on a Monday morning. 

“You are late for college already,” he adds casually. “It’s already 8:30, and it takes thirty-seven minutes to get there.”

“It’s fine. I was going to get a taxi, anyway.”

“A taxi?”

“Yeah. I’m not walking in the snow.”

“You could have shared one with Astrid this morning.”

“Oh, you saw her.”

“Yes. In a very terrible kind of outfit of track pants and a sweatshirt far too big. She usually doesn’t look quite so dishevelled like this.”

My ears get hot. “Yes, Jonas, obviously those were my clothes.”

He pauses thoughtfully. “Well, I cannot imagine the terrible things you must have done to her clothes. I’m sure you were tearing buttons off and such ridiculous things.”

“Okay, I’m going now.”

He calls to me as I yank on my shoes by the door. “You have not yet sent the water bill money to me.”

“Oh, yes,” I reply distractedly. “I will. I’ve just forgotten the pin number for my account.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. I’ll find it later.”

“I think if I forgot something so many times, I would write it down.”

“I’m sure you would. See you later!”

“Are you home before dinner?”

“No, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“Okay! Tschuss!”

“Tschuss.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[1toreyouapart]

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f&m receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

Part 5 - Noah

Noah laid there in his bed, the only light coming from the screen of his phone. The only sound in the room the old videos he kept watching. It was all that kept him going when sobriety got to be a little too difficult. And right now, it was hard as fuck. Until the other night nobody outside of his therapist had known just how much he despised himself for the shit he had put Lilith through in the end. And now he had gone and blurted it out like a fucking idiot. Such a fucking idiot. So, rather than relapse he was going to watch these old videos as many times as it took until the anxiety passed.

Listening to her laughter, seeing the way her eyes crinkled just a bit at the corners when she smiled, in and of itself was its own form of mental torture, but God, did it help keep the urge to drink away. A reminder of what life was like before the one or two drinks every so often turned into three or four most nights of the week. Then getting blackout drunk most nights of the week. Soon it was steady drinking from the moment he woke up until he passed out later that night. Rinse and repeat.

"Noah, I swear to all that is unholy. If you don't stop recording me right now I'm cutting your hair in your sleep!"

Noah chuckled to himself as Lilly in the video stopped doing her hair to run from him, laughing uncontrollably at his feeble attempt to stop her without dropping his phone. He had been obsessed with recording every moment with her when he wasn't on tour. Some excuse of watching them when he missed her, which he did do, but honestly it was because he just couldn't get enough of her. Even when they bickered he hated not being near her, always finding a reason just be around her while she tried to ignore his presence. Which she inevitably failed at, every time. Because as much as she refused to admit it at first, she needed to be near him just as much as he did her. Once upon a time, anyway.

Heaving a weary sigh he scrolled to the next video, immediately being greeted by her and Danny dressing up a skeleton Halloween decoration. Noah outright laughed as he watched the two of them dressing the skeleton up, neither understanding the directions the other was giving. It was their first Halloween in this house, and Lilly had insisted on going all out for the kids in the neighborhood. She'd had the bright idea of dressing skeletons up as Bring Me The Horizon members to put in the yard as a skeleton band.

Just then Matt walked in, flipping the light on, blinding him.

"Jesus Christ, Matt!" He yelled, covering his eyes. "The fuck do you want?"

"You've been hiding in here too long. Get your ass up and meet me downstairs in five."

"Fuck off."

"See you in five."

Matt left, leaving the door wide open. Fucking asshole. He loved Matt, he did, but he was a fucking asshole sometimes. Couldn't he just be left to rot in fucking peace?

"Fucking asshole," he grumbled, rolling out of bed. If he didn't get down there Matt would be back, likely with a bucket of water to dump on him or something stupid like that.

Noah caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walked past it, and outwardly cringed. He looked like shit. Hair stuck up in every which way, four days worth of stubble on his face. Well, what little bit he could grow, anyway. He reached for the hoodie he'd flung on the back of his chair, pulling it over his head as he stomped out his bedroom door and to the stairs. This better be good.

***

"If you really want to make amends, hiding after having a panic attack in her kitchen isn't the way to do it."

Matt's words swam around in his head, circling over and over again. He was still an asshole, but he meant well. Of course, he was right. But how would he even go about making amends? Would she even be open to allowing him to? The way she had looked at him that night, he wasn't so sure. However, she had done everything she could in that moment to help him. Shit, it had worked better than anything anyone else did after he got home.

Carefully he leaned forward, inspecting his now shaven face. Couldn't miss any spots or it would drive him nuts. He had always been that way, but since getting sober he was more meticulous about it. Everything had to be just so or he couldn't function properly until it was fixed. Satisfied he had gotten everything he stood back up, pulling a plain white shirt over his head.

First order of business was to get cleaned up. Second was to at least attempt to get a hold of her. If she didn't answer he would just show up. Well, maybe not unannounced. That hadn't exactly gone well last time. A repeat sounded like an absolutely terrible idea if he was honest. One panic attack she might forgive, but a second one? Hardly. He was surprised she even answered her phone the last time.

Speaking of, he picked his phone up off the counter, freezing over her name. Was this a call or text situation? Maybe he should have asked one of the guys first. Jolly would probably be the one to know. He knew her best these days. Unfortunately, Jolly was out with Sadie.

Fuck it. He would text her, and if she didn't get back to him after a while then he would call. For all he knew she was at work, anyway. Heart pounding in his chest he hit the button to text her, freezing at the last message he had received from her. The night he had fucked everything up beyond repair.

"Where are you? Noah, you're worrying me."

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

[illumiera]

a new moon rises

or: there is a loom upon which the fate of every mortal is woven, and she who works it is Azura's blessed and cursed all at once. pre-i fear no fate (for you are my fate), 801 words

Near a small island somewhere off the coast of Akavir, the sea glows as though brimming with a galaxy of drowned stars. Stepping onto its shores feels like stepping beyond time entirely, like yesterday and today have fallen away in favour of a breathless, everlasting tomorrow. It feels like a crossing-over, like a journey from death-touched to deathless, and Ilmarenya—Ilmarenya cannot be certain if the salt-haired woman climbing out of the little boat is still Ilmarenya, but she knows that she must try to be nonetheless.

Nerevar—silent now, but he will come if she calls, whether as sound or as a shadow—has never required it of her. Nor has fate, which cares nothing for the name or face she wears as long as she treads the path it unfurls before her.

But her son and his father can have no other, and so Ilmarenya she must remain.

Azura stands at the base of the island’s single mountain. All the art, the statues, the carvings Ilmarenya’s fingers have traced at every shrine—they depict her as the star-touched night with a string of constellations for her girdle, but the Prince of the In-Between is never quite the same. Sometimes, she comes as midnight given body, or the wine-dark of gloaming, or flame-streaked sundown, or the golden hour moving through the air like a dream. Now, at the end—or the beginning—of all things, she is as beautiful and terrible as the dawn, and her skin is lit from within beneath a gauzy gown dyed the precise pink of early summer roses.

“Are you ready, my Moon-and-Star?” Azura asks, and her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

Ilmarenya draws herself to her full height and meets the unblinking burning dusk-dawn of the goddess’ eyes. What passes between them is nothing short of a challenge: Remember our bargain, my lady. I will give you—give Morrowind—my whole body if I must, but never that which I formed within it, never my son. Only when Ilmarenya is satisfied does she at last permit herself a single nod.

“Then come, Ilmarenya Ara’dayn.”

The goddess’ hands are warm, soft, and yet fetter-firm as they close around her own. When the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn leans in and presses her mouth to hers, so too are her lips.

—past—

—present—

—future—

—past-present-future-past-present-future-past-present-future-past—

It beats in her heart, in her head, in her soul like a doom-drum, Il-ma-ren-ya to the thundering of her pulse, and with the taste of roses and crystal sugar on her tongue, Ilmarenya sees.

Sees the spinning of the Wheel, the never-ending weaving of the loom her own hands must guide. Sees the sevenfold stories carved out by the strides of the Brass Tower, the breaking of the dragon, the wandering of the Soulless One, the making and dying of saints and soldiers alike. Sees the many paths of the world, of the worlds, of Ilmarenyas whose disparate choices tangle like caught threads, of Nerevarines who bear another name and face and fate, and sees—

Lliryn.

The image of her son is a beacon, a lodestar amidst it all. Lliryn growing—and she will not be there—into a lanky-legged young man with her nose and his father’s crow-feather curls. Lliryn the wizard’s apprentice, a scion of House Telvanni through and through, and a ghost to a father who sees only her when he looks into his face. Lliryn leaving to find her, and Lliryn collared and chained and seared from the inside out of everything that was hers, and then the fire and the wrath of their ancestors and the wrath of Nerevar come again, and Lliryn in the heart of the blaze with his chin tilted up to the moons-and-stars in prayer, in thanks, and then—

—and then she sees the First with his crown of storms, or the thrice-blessed Last with a healer’s bloody hands, or perhaps both at once, and either way, she cannot see her son, cannot see past the mess of thread that a Hero leaves in their wake. Dead, alive, a thrall of another kind—she can see everything, but not the most precious thing, not the one thing she needs to see.

Ilmarenya does not break. Boethiah’s children know that they must break the world that seeks to break them, and she—she has always been the rock upon which the waves break. Still, she remains on her hands and knees at the shoreline until any mortal’s bones would ache, and the tears that spill to the starlit sand are a bright, liquid gold.

What rises in the end is the Nerevarine, but Ilmarenya Ara’dayn, but something altogether other. Ilmarenya’s eyes, burning with all sundown’s fire, lift to the summit and the loom that waits atop it, and she begins to ascend.

[sur-i-ki]

8/20

To watch the dawn and hope for dusk

The battle was over. The enemy’s banners lay scorched and tattered across the field, trampled into the mud and blood. And all around you, men tended to wounds and dragged the fallen from the ground, the stench of smoke and death thick in the air. You search the field, eyes sweeping past broken swords and twisted armor until you spot him, standing alone on the ridge overlooking the aftermath.

He’s a silhouette against the burnt orange sky, his posture rigid, unmoving. You hesitate, fear twisting cold in your chest, but you force yourself forward. You’d fought through waves of enemies just to find him, to hear him say it was all worth it, that he was glad you were here by his side.

But as you approach, his gaze hardens, and he doesn’t turn to you. He barely acknowledges you. Your breath catches, and you know instantly that something is wrong.

You step closer, close enough to see the exhaustion and something else in his eyes—something that makes your stomach twist with dread. “It’s over,” you say quietly, hoping to break through whatever wall he’s building between you. “We won. We did it.”

He doesn’t respond, just stares out over the battlefield, his jaw clenched. The silence stretches, heavy and unbreakable. Your pulse quickens, a tightness growing in your throat as the feeling that something is terribly wrong settles over you like a shroud.

“Hey,” you try again, reaching out to touch his arm, to pull him back to you. “Are you all right? We made it through. We’re both here.”

This time, he pulls away, a quick, sharp movement that feels like a slap. The rejection stings, sending a chill down your spine. You feel the words rising in your throat, desperate and raw, but before you can speak, he finally turns to you, his face expressionless, cold.

“I never asked you to follow me,” he says, his voice low and edged with something you can’t quite place. “I didn’t want you here.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a step back, confusion twisting with the hurt. “What are you talking about?” you ask, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, even as the sharpness in his eyes makes it almost unbearable. “You… you said you needed me. You told me we’d fight together.”

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that cuts through you, and it feels like watching a stranger wear his face. “I lied,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t need you. I never did.”

The words sink in, heavy and brutal, and your chest tightens with each syllable, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out the noise of the soldiers around you. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the coldness in his voice, the harshness in his words. This is the same man who held you under starlit skies, whose words were once soft and warm against your skin, who swore he would always stand by you.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel your hands trembling, but you clench them into fists, forcing yourself to stay grounded. “After everything… all we’ve fought for together… why now?”

He looks at you, his gaze unflinching, and there’s something dark in his eyes—a finality that makes your blood run cold. “Because it was a mistake to bring you here,” he says, his tone as sharp as steel. “You’re nothing but a liability. I can’t afford to be watching over you while we fight. I don’t need someone who’s going to hold me back.”

Your breath catches, and it feels like your heart is splintering, each piece tearing away as he speaks. “Hold you back?” you echo, disbelief thick in your voice. “You know that’s not true. I’ve fought beside you, I’ve saved your life more times than I can count, and now… now you say I’m a liability?”

He doesn’t waver, his face a mask of indifference that feels like a knife twisting in your chest. “You can’t save me,” he says, his voice softer, but no less brutal. “And I don’t want you trying anymore.”

You shake your head, refusing to believe the words coming from his mouth. “This isn’t you. I know you. You’re just trying to—”

“To what?” he interrupts, his eyes flashing with something you can’t place. “Make it easier for you? For both of us? Because that’s what I’m doing. You’re in over your head, and you’re only going to get yourself killed if you keep following me.”

“But I chose this!” you exclaim, frustration and pain breaking through the surface. “I chose to stand by you, no matter the cost. I thought you understood that.”

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes—regret, maybe, or sorrow. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by that same icy indifference. “Then maybe I was wrong to let you believe that,” he says, each word hitting you like a stone. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you follow me in the first place.”

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable now, a raw, searing pain that spreads through every part of you, leaving you hollow. You search his face, looking for some sign, some hint that he doesn’t mean any of this, that he’s lying, but all you find is the cold, unyielding mask he’s put on.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. “So that’s it, then? After everything… you’re just going to push me away?”

He looks at you, and for a fleeting moment, you think you see something crack in his expression—a flash of the man you once knew, the one who held you close, who whispered promises in the dead of night. But just as quickly, he looks away, his jaw tightening.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says, and his voice is so quiet, so hollow, that you can barely hear him over the roar of your own heartbeat. “It’s better this way.”

“Better?” The word leaves your lips like a curse, anger and heartbreak twining together into something sharp and dangerous. “How is this better? You think leaving me like this, telling me I’m nothing to you, is going to make it easier?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares out over the battlefield, his silence more painful than any words could be. And in that silence, you feel the weight of his decision settle over you, crushing and final.

“I thought you were on my side,” you say, your voice breaking, the last shred of hope slipping through your fingers. “I thought… I thought we were fighting for the same thing.”

He closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping as if under the weight of something invisible, something that has been slowly breaking him apart. When he finally opens his eyes, they are distant, empty, as if he’s already left, as if he’s already a thousand miles away.

“I never promised that,” he says softly, and the words hang in the air, cold and merciless, sealing the distance between you. “I never promised you anything.”

Your heart shatters at his words, the final blow that leaves you hollow, numb. You stand there, staring at him, feeling the pieces of yourself falling away, lost and irretrievable. The man you thought you knew, the man you loved, is gone, replaced by this stranger who stands before you, unyielding and unmoved.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at him, waiting for some sign that he’ll take it back, that he’ll tell you it was all a lie, that he did this to protect you. But he says nothing, and the silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until it’s all you can hear, all you can feel.

Finally, you turn away, your steps slow and heavy as you walk back across the field, the scent of smoke and blood filling your senses, mingling with the hollow ache in your chest. Each step feels like a wound, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the love that has been ripped from you, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

The world around you is a blur, a haze of fire and ash and death, but none of it matters. Not anymore. The only thing you can feel is the aching void where he once was, a cold, gnawing emptiness that settles deep within your soul, refusing to let go.

You don’t look back. You don’t dare, because you know if you do, you might break, might fall apart completely, and there’s no one left to pick up the pieces. Not anymore.

And as you walk away, you realize that this is the true cost of love—the pain of giving yourself to someone, only to have them turn away, to leave you standing alone in the ashes of what could have been. And no matter how much time passes, no matter how many battles you fight, the memory of him, the man you thought would stand by you, will haunt you, a ghost that lingers, forever just out of reach.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[sith-shenanigans]

There were two first deaths, which were both the same death. This is the nature of the Neath. This is, perhaps, the nature of the River.

More spoilers under the cut—this time for The Shallows.

Wrong place. Wrong time. Amias can’t catch a break, but it’s probably what they deserve.

Are they a fan of the Special Constables? Not really. But, you know, when someone is bleeding out in front of them, their first impulse is to stop them from doing that.

After their little attempt at heroism, a man comes by and gives them a business card.

"We know you by reputation, of course. A lucky coincidence that you would be here during this terrible incident. Lucky for us at the Ministry, I mean. Your jacket is quite ruined."

Inspection of the card reveals that the man is from the Department of Restful Sleep. Which is a heck of a department name. So of course Amias is going to follow up on this. They can’t resist this kind of nonsense.

He offers Amias strange mysterious blue-shimmer-tinged tea. Which, for some reason, they drink.

It’s revealed that our new friend is the Under-Secretary for Hypnogogic Intrusion. Because we can’t name our Parabolan Crimes Division something that sounds like a Parabolan Crimes Division. It’s way better if it sounds like a multi-level marketing scam.

… No one tell the Masters about multi-level marketing scams.

This is about where Amias realized that they were, despite their best efforts, still a detective.

And they got the weird cases now.

Amias has now had an experience that they are going to be so so normal about. And once I’m caught up on the posts I want to make, I’m going to tell you all about it.

Until then:

[kallypsowrites]

People wanting a more bloody blood and cheese scene and I’m like: personally, that was about as brutal as I can take violence being done on a toddler. Y’all are freaks for wanting it gorier

[crabussy]

"humans are inherently evil" "humanity deserves to go extinct" okay. if that's the case why are we such a community based species. why have we seen evidence of careful amputations in ancient humans that allowed them to live longer, fuller lives. why do we have thousands of years of evidence of toys made for children by their guardians. why do we consistently find burial sites where the deceased has been buried with items of significance because the people in their life cared about them even after they were gone. why do strangers help strangers without any reward. why are most of the people you meet each day not cruel. we have ALWAYS been kind. I know it is so so easy to get swept up in all the horrible happenings in the world. these things can be extremely important to know about. but please, please please know that there are so many kind people in the world. you are one of them!

I BLOCK DEBBIE DOWNERS ON SIGHT. REEVALUATE YOUR WORLDVIEW OR SCROLL PAST AND HAVE A LOVELY DAY ALSO READ MY TAGS

[bumblingbabooshka]

In 'vis a vis' Janeway doesn't mention B'Elanna in the list of people who're worried about Tom which implies that B'Elanna didn't report the fact that "Tom" grabbed her arm, called her a disappointment and broke up with her (as Janeway definitely would have mentioned it as evidence of him acting strange if she knew about it) which makes sense on several different fronts but also makes me scream and cry loud enough to break glass.

[vulpinesaint]

listen i am geralt of rivia hater number one but one thing i actually CANNOT stand is when the fandom mischaracterizes him. took one look at this man who speaks very straight-forwardly and matter-of-fact and is a little recalcitrant with his words sometimes and went "haha he communicates in grunts! man who only says 'hm'!" and then won't even write him to speak in full fucking sentences. hello???? hello???????? yes the netflix show was a bad influence on everybody because they were trying too hard to depict geralt as a stoic manly badass but we CANNOT let that distract us from the REAL thing to make fun of geralt for. which are his Constant Unprovoked Monologues