#depend on doing a thing that stabs me directly in the mental illness

[bogkeep]

it's been over a whole month since i had a stupid argument with my parents about driving, a skill that i legally possess but hate doing because i have a special brain illness that makes me fear death and injury, but i'm still chewing over an absurd claim that it's "equally dangerous to go on a 14 hour train ride like you just did". literally how is that more dangerous. in what way. in what world. public transport is nice and good and i like it and i don't have to enter my personal torment nexus

[cheekycherry20]

So many mental changes and life themes have been popping up for me. I know when things no longer serve, I can understand my emotions without negative self talk, and although I’m not the best at putting things into action. I’m very well aware of my flaws.

Flaws being me being on my phone too often (I HAVE stopped with directly checking it after I wake up do for at least an hour), being quick to react, depending on social media/food/ and people for dopamine, spreading negativity, and lack of presence. I’ve been doing my best to stop these, but I’ve never been the best at creating plans and sticking to them. I could blame my ADHD but I’m over that, it’s no longer going to be my excuse. I’m holding myself accountable from now on.

My work life has gotten significantly worse. My boss told me a couple things I’ve been doing wrong. Like I’m too loud( volume control has never been something I’m good at), when I speak to parents I’m rude (I can admit my delivery is not the best) but the worst one is that I’m “punishing my kids”. My coworker thought I was threatening my kid but I would never have ill or abusive intentions with my children. I noticed recently with my drop in motivation and will to keep going that im sharp tongued and haven’t been as kind as I know I can be, but to think I’m capable of what she thought I was doing is a stab to the heart. I pride myself on being the opposite of what I saw and heard as a child.

When I heard the feedback I didn’t offer any rebuttals because who would believe me. I made sure to stay calm as possible and I left the room the same way. The moment I got alone, I cried. “How can they say such mean things about me”? This whole time my coworkers were smiling in my face, listening to me talk about my mental health knowing exactly why I’m not feeling myself. I picked apart the things I knew to be true, and I will work on it. I’m proud of myself for not blowing the situation out of proportion and causing a scene. But I mean it when I say “FUCK THEM”! They’re incredibly quick to tell me all my wrongs, but not what I’m doing right.

I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to present myself when I go back to work. I could continue to try to kiss up to the higher ups (who’ve never liked me and go out of their way to ignore me), but I don’t want to be liked by people I don’t even like. I could match their energy but I hate doing that. I don’t want to put anymore negativity out if I don’t need to, as well as it doesn’t feel like me.

All of this started because we’re all tired. My small support system (3 other coworkers who aren’t higher ups) have been fed up for months, but now everyone is catching up to how we feel. Kids come in sick ( EVERYONE got Covid because my boss accepta sick children), the boss is almost never in, parents stretch the truth, it’s all too much. Being at the clinic has made me understand why I love kids and my job, but I can’t do it because it’s almost like high school. I genuinely feel like I’m being picked on often, but I’m not allowed to speak on it. I have no motivation and I feel the happiness and will to live being sucked out of me every time I step in the building.

My job pays my rent so I’m forcing myself to tough it out. I don’t know if life is teaching me lessons or showing me something, but I threw in the towel a long time ago. I read somewhere that the universe doesnt allow good things to happen in spaces where you’re not supposed to be and I’m hoping thats it. My suicidal mindset has come back but in more of a mature way. I know I don’t actually want to die, my soul is just tired and lacking motivation to keep trying. I want someone to save me or give me a handout but that’s not happened and I’m ok with that.

I’m taking it day by day as best as I can. But what’s living like this. Under these conditions. I was not born to work all the time with no time to think for myself. I want to go out and have fun without worrying about pto. In the end everything will be fine but I want to feel ok NOW.

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

@loosingdreams@sayosdreams@audreycressworth@cyra04@that-golden-lyre@nessiantrashh@misswonderflower@dontgetsalmonella@caram267@bickbickbarnes@sabrinasam-blog

[starlightshore]

hi sorry if this seems a little rude, if chara isn't really bad, then why do they kill them on the soulless route?

(I always wanted to know about it)

(not rude at all! feel free to ask questions like this its no skin off my back) which “them” are you referring to? that could mean different things like: the underground, the player, Frisk ect. its a little vague)

but I’ll try to answer this with the above being vague anyway

---

hoo boy this ended up long LMAO. coming back from the bottom to say Sorry this ended up this lengthy. here’s some

content warnings: discussions of canon and implied dark topics such as: abuse, murder, death, suicide, and self harm

---

TLDR: Chara is a complex character with a rich backstory and motivations. by looking at the full game, you understand they’re a mentally ill child who is just following the player’s directions. YOU do the killing, Chara is your partner in crime because you force them to be.

Chara is the narrator in ALL routes. they are the UI, stats and narration.

it is Chara’s memories that convinces Asriel to remember how they met and how much they loved each other when alive. Chara is key to Asriel freeing the underground, they are a god dang hero

let’s look at canon Chara pre-game to fully understand what’s going on though.

-Chara lived in a village close to mt.Ebott. they decided to climb mt.Ebott for “a not happy reason” and hated humanity

-once underground, they become the sibling to Asriel and become a full fledged Dreemurr. They love their family. “it’s a dusty photo. everyone is happy.” (which, if you believe is the photo of Chara holding the flowers next to Asriel, implies Chara is smiling under them and their bangs) + the Mr.Dad Guy sweater + baking a pie for their dad

-in the underground, there’s the Deltarune prophecy. it reads as follows: “There is a prophecy. The Angel... The One Who Has Seen The Surface... They will return. And the underground will go empty.“

-Toriel and Asgore are both strong believers of the Deltarune as seen by the symbol on their clothes and homes.

-Chara has been to the surface and therefore, most believe Chara is the angel that will free them.

-Chara is a small child, who hates humanity, loves their family, and by fate is destined to free monster-kind. they are determined.

-Chara and Asriel decide to prank Asgore by making a pie with buttercups instead of a cup of butter. They learn the flower is poisonous and Asgore gets sick, but ends up fine. Chara laughs it off, but if one is paying attention to the game, you will see that their is a very common theme of smiling/laughing when distressed.

Toriel smiling, laughing when being killed in no mercy

Migospel’s whole game-play is about how one acts around others vs. alone “ Laughter hides the pain. [Alone]”

sans can be seen as a broad example

a VERY good example is the snowdrake’s mother fight:

“You laugh, and keep laughing. It's SO funny, you can't stop. Tears run down your face. | ... what? You didn't do that? [Laugh]

But it's not funny. [Laugh again]”

-Chara hates humanity (epilogue Asriel says that) and by extension, would hate themself. you can read into the tools being worn down to being blunt + no knives in the kitchen as being precautions Toriel put in place to prevent Chara from self-harming. Chara attempts suicide twice in the game’s story.. Also! It’s implied Chara was abused before coming underground. “ If you're cuter, monsters won't hit you as hard.-faded ribbon flavor text” and the fact Chara thought to kill the villagers in the first place, they didn’t get the “kill or be killed” mindset out of nowhere. + abuse can manifest in depression, anxiety, and Chara displays behaviors of coping with abuse. (harder to explain that detail, but Chara’s control-issues and distrust just SCREAMS abuse to me)

Chara is a kid with severe mental illness, implied to be abused, and all while younger than 13. that’s a lot to take in. which is also why a lot of people are upset at “Chara is evil” theories because it ignores that context and demonizes them. which is. bad. for lots of reasons. but mainly for how it handles the topic of survivors of abuse and mental illness and they’re just a freaking kid.

-anyway, long tangent aside... so this next point is more so how I interpret the order of events: Chara climbs the mountain to die, but trips and meets the Dreemurs. They become beloved by the kingdom and believed to be their savior. Chara can’t escape humanity’s history of trapping monsters or their own history of their horrible village, and when Asgore is poisoned they realize they’re bad too. It’s a common mindset of suicidal people to want to die before their image is tarnished. die while things are still “good,” when they’re still remembered fondly.

to cross the barrier, you need to have a human soul AND a monster soul. if Chara wanted to, they could of killed any of the Dreemurrs and absorbed their soul. But instead, the buttercup plan is a really freaking horrible way to die. Buttercup poisoning is awful. seriously, look up the symptoms. it’s bad. which is also why i believe Chara hated themself so much to put up with that form of death. -then they die, and become part of the Asriel and Chara fusion. (it should be stated they did not know Chara would be conscious.) the plan they agree on is to kill enough humans to break the barrier and free monster-kind, but Chara wants revenge, which is why they want to kill the humans and not negotiate like Toriel suggests Asgore could of done.

-Humans of course freak out at seeing them + their corpse and attack. Asriel realizes Chara was wrong and doesn’t want to murder, lets himself be killed. As they’re dying Chara screams “its kill or be killed” and both die. -years, possibly a century later depending on what side of the time-skip debate you’re on, Chara awakens in Frisk’s body and interacts with You, the player.

-they likely see you as the True Angel, and follow your orders just as Frisk just kinda vibes and does so as well.

-if you keep murdering, frisk distances themself from the world. (implied by what sans says about LV): * LOVE, too, is an  acronym. * It stands for "Level of  Violence." * A way of measuring someone's  capacity to hurt. * The more you kill, the  easier it becomes to  distance yourself. * The more you distance  yourself, the less you  will hurt. * The more easily you  can bring yourself to  hurt others. 

-Frisk, NOPEing out of the whole thing, just leaves Chara, who feels like they are the literal stats of the universe. THAT is why Chara is only really fully present in no mercy, and only narration otherwise. Frisk’s autonomy and how much control they have are directly tied to your LV. Frisk is only named in the pacifist ending because they’re rewarded with the acknowledgement that they’re a person.

-The biggest detail is that it’s not Chara who kills, but YOU. Chara is your partner in crime, and only attacks the player when you refuse to ERASE the world and they kill you themself. it is your power and your determination that brought them to this world, and it is through your actions they believe power is the only they must fight for.

-also, both Chara and frisk are influenced by the player and react differently depending on your actions. (the dog food bag is described as “half full/half empty” depending on your LV, a reference to how one looks at glasses of water to be more optimistic/pessimistic and Frisk will feel good/bad depending on LV when punching the mad dummy in waterfall.) Chara is always just following your lead. they’re not controlling Frisk, you are. however, they are in control of the choices (as confirmed in no mercy you don’t get to choose answers for papyrus’ question and he calls you out on it. personally i like to think each choice answer is from each kid)

anyway yeah that's my overly long analysis of how Chara’s backstory is used to define who they are and then how being revived from the dead, they follow your steps to apply the “kill or be killed” logic to it’s extreme end.

also, its not like Chara is happy about following your orders either.

they think a plant is judging you. they talk about your sins in the sans fight. they call Undyne a hero despite fighting her. Chara doesn’t want to kill Asriel, but once it happens they go ballistic, stabbing repetitively, clearly upset. that then instantly gets them powerful enough to destroy the world, as with how LV is described as distancing yourself and such. Asriel meant the MOST out of everyone, he was their best friend, forever.

[silvokrent]

So since Tyrian's arrest screen didn't list everything he was wanted for, what else do you think he did? My brother thinks arson, I think more along the lines of torture.

It’d probably be easier to ask, “What crimes didn’t he commit?”

I think you’re both right. Arson and torture seem like equally valid possibilities, but they’d have to be the result of context and circumstance. On one hand, Tyrian always struck me as someone that’s adaptive, flexible, and capable of improvisation, which is why I doubt he’d be averse to either. On the other hand, Tyrian appears to have a modus operandi—speed and stealth. Like most Faunus, seeing in the dark (presumably with tapeta lucida, the eyeshine a lot of nocturnal and crepuscular animals have) affords him an advantage many of his victims lack. That, coupled with his stinger, sets him up by default for a very specific tactic: hit-and-run assassinations. Catch your target off-guard, deliver the killing blow, then melt back into the shadows before anyone’s the wiser. Fire lacks discretion, and torture involves prolonged interaction with the victim (which increases the odds of him getting caught, as time/duration would be proportionate to the risk of being discovered).

If a situation called for it (like setting a car on fire in order to distract pursuers), or he was contracted to complete a specific job (like torturing someone for information), then I could definitely see him committing arson and torture. But if he’s recreationally killing, then I think it’s more likely that he’d indulge in his preferred repertoire, envenomation and stabbing.

The nice thing about his criminal record being truncated (with a “see attachment for more details” appended to the file) with multiple redacted sections is that it leaves a lot of room for speculation. Bear in mind that much of this is either conjectural with little supporting evidence, or my personal headcanons.

One of the things that I found interesting about Tyrian’s character was his reverence of Salem. “Goddess” isn’t just an affectionate title or a term of endearment—he literally apotheosizes her. Compare that to how his teammates interact with her. While they treat her with respect, none of them use the same venerating language as Tyrian (“Your Grace,” “my lady,” “our divine savior,” “our goddess”). This tells us that his worship of her isn’t the norm amongst her followers, which also means that he has a reason for doing it.

Personally, I’ve never been a fan of labelling people who commit heinous crimes as crazy or insane—not only because it implicates nonviolent mentally ill and neurodivergent people, and scapegoats them for the actions of others—but because in this instance, it robs Tyrian of the complexity that comes with rationalizing one’s choices. Tyrian’s decision to deify Salem shouldn’t stem from some sort of psychopathology, but rather a logical, personal, or historical precedent.

Let’s reverse-engineer this thought process:

Tyrian worships Salem.

Salem (in Tyrian’s eyes) is the extreme embodiment, manifestation, or expression of cathartic violence.

Tyrian worships this form of violence.

And what else in RWBY’s universe embodies those traits?

The Creatures of Grimm.

So, with that in mind, let’s talk about all the illegal things Tyrian’s done over the course of his life, and more specifically, why.

Archotherolatry: This is a term I coined for my RWBY worldbuilding blog. If you break down the etymology, archotherian (Greek - ruling beast, the scientific term for Grimm) + -latry (Late Latin - worship of), it translates to “the worship of Grimm.” The practice was outlawed by the King of Vale (King Ozark) after the Great War. While the decision was rooted in common sense—like, you really don’t want people to see the Grimm as gods for fairly obvious reasons—Ozark had ulterior motives for outlawing it. You see, Ozark was one of Ozma’s incarnations, and the immediate predecessor of Ozpin. While archotherolatry had been falling out of favor over the last few centuries, it was still a religion with a presence in certain corners of Remnant. Salem used to recruit these cultists directly into her ranks. By making the practice illegal, Ozma was hoping to cut off a potential source of followers.

Prior to meeting Salem, Tyrian was one of the surviving few practitioners of the faith. Not only that, but he had a particular mania about it. Grimm worship in Remnant changed depending on where in the world you went, but one of the recurring practices involved human sacrifice. Now, while Tyrian didn’t subscribe to any specific holy doctrine and wasn’t a member of any secret groups, he did adhere to certain rites and ceremonies. He savored the taking of lives, but even more than that, he enjoyed offering up his victims to the Grimm. During the months that Pickerel spent hunting him down, his trails would often lead him to secluded areas outside cities or towns. There he’d often find a large ornately-detailed circle on the ground painted with blood, with the tattered corpse of the victim lying in the center. The surrounding trees and rocks would sport eye-like patterns drawn in blood, similar to the patterns seen on the bony white protrusions on a Grimm’s body.

When selecting potential victims, Tyrian didn’t discriminate. Gender, age, nationality, race, economic background—they all bleed red, so it didn’t matter. Not technically, anyway. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy abducting business owners that were prejudiced against Faunus, or that he didn’t find ironic humor in sacrificing Huntsmen to the Grimm. He just wasn’t particularly choosy about who he sacrificed.

In a similar vein, I think this is how Salem first learned about Tyrian’s existence. Whenever her scouts or sentries returned to Evernight and reported in, they’d inform her about a man that would drag people into the woods and invite the Grimm to feast upon them. This possibility excited Salem for several reasons: not only was he predisposed to loyalty to her, but the fact that he’d clearly been doing these sacrifices for some time meant he was talented. It took a lot of skill to kill so many people without being caught by the authorities. She needed an assassin, and he would do perfectly.

When Tyrian wasn’t feeding people to the Grimm, he probably murdered for sport. He thrilled in the hunt, in the dizzying slick of blood beneath his fingers, the intoxicating coppery smell, the beautiful song of his victims as they cried, begged, and screamed. Acts of violence honor the Grimm, but in addition to that, he simply relished in the joy of killing. And he was good at it.

Of course, sacrificial manslaughter doesn’t pay the bills, so Tyrian had a day job. Well, I say “day job,” but it was more along the lines of contract killer/thief/kidnapper/smuggler. Tyrian operated largely out of Mistral’s criminal underworld, particularly in the capital (though depending on the work he was doing, he’d travel to Wind Path or Kuchinashi). Potential clients sought him out and hired him for any number of jobs: collect the debt that this person owes me and kill them if they refuse to pay; abduct the member of this rival syndicate and bring them to these coordinates; assassinate someone for me, and bring back proof that they’re dead; transport this contraband (weapons, drugs, Dust) and ensure the shipment arrives safely; kill these people and destroy the evidence; capture this person and extract information from them by whatever means necessary; follow this person without being detected, and collect information about their routine. Although Tyrian preferred jobs that involved bloodshed, he’d still accept contracts for more mundane work (even if he found it somewhat boring). Tyrian didn’t have a ton of dealbreakers in terms of jobs, though he refused to do anything that involved sexual assault. (Even serial killers have standards.)

Destruction of public and private property was likely an unintended or indirect consequence of his work. As much as Tyrian enjoyed wanton carnage, he prided himself on being stealthy and thus had to exercise some level of restraint, so as to not leave behind damning evidence in the form of collateral damage. Breaking a window or kicking in a door is a liability. Accidentally setting off a Dust explosion is a good way for the authorities to track you. That being said, there were a few memorable occasions where Tyrian absolutely wrecked shit up. Perhaps the most noteworthy of these was the day that he was finally captured by Atlesian and Mistrali law enforcement. On the day of his arrest, Tyrian caused nearly 50,000 lien’s worth of property damage, including the destruction of three Paladins.

Tyrian’s name, while spoken among the criminal element, was unknown to the public. Even so, he garnered a reputation as Anima’s most infamous serial killer. People often referred to him by his title: The Ghost in the Mist. (Years later, a documentary by the same name was released. It was an hour-long production that detailed his activity in Mistral, all of his victims, an analysis of his signature, and other relevant or interesting trivia. It even featured an interview with Pickerel, prior to his death. Tyrian absolutely loves this documentary and has re-watched it several times.)

I’m sure there’s more that he’s done that I can’t think of presently, but hopefully this gives you a general idea of all the criminal activity I think he’s committed.

[forcedsense]

Actually y’know what I’m back bitches cause I just remembered something else that pissed me off again and I think I need to explain it even further, especially because this directly affects both real life and online and clearly, fuckers gotta listen more clearly because whether you’re abled or not, some people are just fucking dumb and need it spoon fed to them.

Y’wanna know why ‘Writing out a writing disability’ that you don’t fucking have is wrong and offensive? Here’s another reference that happened very recently.

Said person I mentioned earlier, friend from high school who i’ve known most of my life, also autistic, tried to ruin my birthday last year, yeah. He was a big believer in the ‘joke’ of ‘just don’t do that’. Aka, I mentioned my blood disorder, his response? ‘Just don’t bleed’. I explained that was wrong, he got into a fit, shit happened, I said things I shouldn’t have, he escalated further and further and then took what I said out of context, made it all about him, got all my friends on his side, claimed I use mental illness as an excuse to treat him like shit and that i needed to apologize to him if i were to earn an apology, and its bullshit, and heres where thats fucked up and where it relates to this shit.

The whole aspect of ‘just turn it off’ ‘just don’t’ and all that, I realize it’s a fucking meme. It’s a fucking shitty meme, but it’s a fucking meme. It’s an ableist as all fuck meme. And you know why? Because all every single disabled persons life, they’re told to just stop being disabled. Ever since I was younger, I was told to just ‘be better at math’, ‘be better at reading’, ‘be better at communicating’. No aide, no help, just ‘don’t do what your brain literally cannot stop doing.’ That is purely ableist rhetoric, and it’s so ingrained in our society that even other non-abled people (though, I will point out as autism is a brain functionality, and despite what fuckheads like to try and make you believe, is not necessarily a disability, it can cause other disabilities, but depending on the section of the spectrum you’re on at any given day it’s not necessarily a disability and is kind of offensive to be referred to as such, and as an autistic i will punch you if you fucking say nothing i say matters because of my autism just saying, technically he wasn’t even fucking disabled anyways and was being an ableist piece of shit too. Which as an autistic he should be fucking ashamed of but that’s besides the point it’s just his fucking personality.) 

Why is it offensive to write out a writing disability, you might ask? For the simple reason of, you can fucking turn it off. You can, literally, turn it off at will. Which encourages ableist fuckfaces like my ex friends, my abusers, basically everyone i’ve ever known, probably just about everyone abi’s ever known, it basically tells them ‘this is not an issue! It can just be turned off! Just for shits and giggles haha!’ and that’s fucking offensive as all fuck. 

Which, again, ties directly into the ‘just don’t’ meme. Which, going back to the situation a few months ago, said friend not only said to just not bleed from my fucking blood disorder/cycle problems, but also to ‘just not have a cycle.’ and when i said i wasn’t okay with that, kept escalating it because he thought it was funny. When I reacted to the escalation, I reacted badly, yes, and who got called an asshole out of it? Not the person who started it, the one being insulted repeatedly and not being taken seriously when she asked repeatedly for them to stop. Which is always the fucking case with ableism. People. Never. Listen. 

Someone can literally tell us, to our faces, to go stab ourselves in the eyeball because we’re worthless for not being able to fucking read a page, and what does the rest of the world tell us? To just ‘turn off’ our disability, and apologize to the ableists who are violently mistreating us. It’s not okay. You don’t have a right to be upset for being called out when your behavior puts the rest of us at constant risk. That’s the basic context that is trying to be pushed out, that seemingly nobody wants to understand. 

The reality is: DONT FUCKING BE ABLEIST. LISTEN TO THE DISABLED WHEN WE TELL YOU WHAT YOURE DOING IS WRONG. YOU CAN ‘TURN IT OFF’. WE CANT. WE WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO ‘TURN IT OFF’ BECAUSE IT IS A PERMANANT PART OF WHO WE ARE. WE’VE BEEN ABUSED ALL OUR LIVES BECAUSE OF IT, YOU HAVENT. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE ANGRY AT THE DISABLED FOR CALLING OUT YOUR BEHAVIOR WHEN YOU ACTIVELY HARM THE DISABLED WITH YOUR BEHAVIOR. AND ANYONE WHO THINKS OTHERWISE. IS. A. CUNT.

[ohshcscenerios]

I hope you don’t mind, Anons, but I’d like to answer these two requests with one response... and I’d like to do try something new. I hope you don’t hate me for this but I’ve actually already written a piece between Hikaru and Haruhi where he is the “monster” and it’s very angsty. So I hope you don’t mind that I’ve “recycled” a chapter from one of my stories but I felt it fit your requests perfectly and I hope you enjoy :)

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty classroom as Hikaru anxiously paced between the dusty chalkboard and the jarred door. As usual Haruhi was running a few minutes late, probably trying to sneak out a few library books before meeting him in the Algebra room, but it didn't sit well with his nerves. Every second that ticked on the clock made his heart pound harder.

He had asked Kaoru to wait for him outside the main front entrance hoping if his twin were at least on the same grounds he'd feel confident enough to pull through with his plan but even with Kaoru standing directly a floor beneath him an unfamiliar vulnerability consumed him. It was almost paralyzing, to the point he cursed himself for ever sending Haruhi that text message. The only thing that kept him from abandoning his plan altogether was the fact he loved Haruhi; so much so he couldn't live with himself if he resigned to love her from afar. No, that wouldn't be like Hikaru to muzzle his heart and live the rest of life asking 'what if'. Hikaru was bold, ambitious – at least when Kaoru hung at his hip. But as of right now he was one hiccup away from throwing up his lunch.

"Hikaru?" Haruhi's head peered from behind the door frame. Once she recognized him she slid inside the classroom. He immediately saw the Chemistry workbooks piled in her arms and he couldn't help but smirk at her predictable behavior. It was enough to break the first layer of ice and it pulled Hikaru from his distressed agitation. It's go time.

"Haruhi, thank you for meeting me," he said with a smile as he walked over to join her.

"It's no problem; although I'm a little peeved you've been ignoring me all day." Haruhi rested the workbooks on a desk and planted her hands on her hips as she turned to face Hikaru. "What was that about?"

He paused, taken aback by her observation. It was true; he did behave rather odd throughout the day. Usually he and Kaoru poked fun at Haruhi before, after, and during their lectures however today he retired to his desk and focused on his notes. In truth he fought with himself all day planning how he'd confess his feelings to her after school. He couldn't focus on a single word their teacher said, completely lost in his nervousness.

"Sorry about that, I just wasn't feeling well," he shyly said as he rubbed the back of his head.

"If you're sick then you should probably head home and see a doctor." Her irked voice turned concerned.

"No, no, I'll be fine," he laughed, "I don't need to see a doctor. I just need to talk to you about… something."

Haruhi stared at him with blank eyes but it only amused him even more. She was never one to catch on quickly and it made her all the more entertaining.

"Wait, where's Kaoru?" She asked as she looked around the classroom.

That was another thing he admired about her. She understood his unique bond with his twin brother. She didn't question them, mock them, or accuse them of mental illness (though that couldn't be said about his classmates over the years) but instead accepted their contorted dependence on each other. She knew where one went the other was sure to follow, bound by whatever perversion that merged them together, and yet she still treated them as individuals.

"Oh he… uh… he has to meet with our language teacher about the end-of-term project," Hikaru fibbed. He couldn't admit Kaoru was waiting for him outside or else it would appear too suspicious. He had to make sure everything went as smoothly as he could manage, if not for her sake then for his.

Before Haruhi could prod him further he took his chance, "Listen Haruhi, I don't want to waste your time so I'll just get down to it. You're my best friend, besides Kaoru, and I don't want anything to ruin that. After all, you're the first person who ever crossed over our line. Truth be told, you may be the only person to ever do that."

Haruhi watched him with expectation, waiting for him to reveal his true intentions.

"But I can't bottle this secret anymore, it's eating me alive. I guess what I'm trying to say is," Hikaru continued, "you're a very important person to me, Haruhi. Our friendship means so much to me and I… I…"

His voice trailed off, uncertain where he was going with his ramble. He cursed himself for talking so incoherently. Haruhi just stood before him, transfixed in confusion.

"Hikaru-."

"I love you Haruhi!"

He didn't mean to yell but the accumulation of anxious stress forced it out of his mouth like a fired missile. He could only hope it landed on its target.

For a few moments the air stood still between them, dense with fearful anticipation. Haruhi's expressionless stare made him feel small. For most of their friendship he enjoyed the mystery of guessing what she was truly feeling behind her retained facial expressions but in this very moment he looked for any hint of emotion behind her large brown eyes. Anything he could latch onto as a lead.

"Hikaru…" her voice broke the silence and to his horror it was laced with disappointment. Every pillar of hope he built in preparation crumbled at his feet in a heap of dust. Every piece of encouragement he told himself as he made his way to the classroom pierced him like a double-edged sword.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered. The disbelief he felt was plainly written on his face and it embarrassed him that he couldn't at least hide his calamity. "Haruhi, I –."

"I'm sorry Hikaru," she interrupted him, "but I can't return those feelings." Her eyes were lowered to his feet and it pained him she couldn't muster enough courage to look him in the eyes.

"I should have guessed… I suppose Tamaki was right all along then; I'm too immature for my own good." Hikaru scoffed at himself as he kicked his heel against the floor. It made sense if his childish antics blocked any romantic potential between them.

"It's not that you're immature Hikaru," Haruhi reasoned, "I wouldn't pin that against you. It's just that…"

The way she abandoned her sentence grabbed his attention. Her voice carried an unfamiliar uncertainty and if anyone knew Haruhi like he did then they'd know she was everything but uncertain. She may not have a wide variety of knowledge about pop culture or high-end fashion designers but she was always black or white; never gray. But just now, she sounded doubtful in herself… doubtful enough to discontinue her thought. She was hiding something from him and he needed to know what it was – now.

"Just what?" He couldn't hide the hint of anger in his voice and at this point he didn't care to hide it. He opened his heart to the first person he ever accepted into his world and they had just rejected him. He loved her passionately but even that wasn't enough to stop his desire for retaliation. He winced at himself; perhaps Tamaki is right to call him immature if he couldn't control his emotions.

"I've already accepted someone else's confession."

"What…?" Hikaru grabbed his left arm and wondered if he was having a heart attack. His chest burned from the shock and for a second he considered dialing for a doctor. He clasped his arm tighter as the pain traveled up his neck, down his torso, and around his back and wondered if this was how it felt to have one's heart break.

"Who confessed to you?" He barely managed the words as they bit his tongue. The reality of the situation seemed to compress his body like a boa constrictor, squeezing out whatever logical sanity he desperately needed to keep himself under control.

Haruhi didn't – or couldn't – answer him, her gaze still transfixed on the tiled floor. She looked tense as if she were contemplating on telling him the truth.

Then it hit him. It was so obvious and he chastised himself for not realizing it before. The answer she held on her tongue was none other than…

"Mori-senpai?" Hikaru asked, terrified of her confirmation.

Her eyes finally met his, "Yes."

Hikaru couldn't explain what happened next. It was as if the strings that held him together finally snapped and he slipped helplessly into despair. He stared at the girl in front of him, the only person who ever penetrated his twisted isolated world, and saw her slipping through his fingers. The flame that burned for her turned into a raging fire. The flames spread through his body, the heat coursed through his blood, the pain stabbed him in the chest. The only person to ever see Hikaru for who he was, accept him for who he was, couldn't return the blazing inferno that ate him alive. He wished the love he carried for her would be enough for the both of them. He could commit to a one-sided relationship, at least for now, just to have Haruhi all to himself. Now even that was impossible because she gave her precious heart to…

"Mori-senpai!" The name tasted bitter on his tongue. It tasted like… betrayal. "Why him?" It was a heavily loaded question that demanded a heavily loaded answer, one that was sure to pierce him even deeper, but he had to know. He had to hear it from her lips.

.

Her lips.

.

"Hikaru, I can see you're upset. Maybe we can talk about this another time." Haruhi tried to defuse the tension rising between them but to no avail. Hikaru wasn't willing to listen to reason. He honestly didn't know what would save him at this point. The humiliation and heart break merged into one monster, one he didn't know how to fight.

"It's because you're living with him, isn't it?" Hikaru sneered, bearing his teeth as he fought back the floodgate of tears. "He somehow seduced you while you were vulnerable, that's it right?" He didn't consider the weight of his accusations as he continued, "That traitor, that low-life. For a man who speaks of loyalty he sure knows how to -."

Haruhi slapped him across the face before he could finish. It should have hurt. It should have broken him. It wasn't a whack upside the head or a pat on the cheek. She had swung an open palm at him and knocked him backwards a few steps. His cheek should be stinging but it didn't. Strangely, just the opposite.

.

Her skin.

.

Hikaru lunged forward and pinned Haruhi against the wall by her shoulders. He surprised even himself by his haste action but his body was running ahead of his mind; defying his consciousness and moving on pure impulse.

He expected to see Haruhi wince in fear but there was something building in her eyes, something more terrifying; defiance. She wasn't going to budge to him and it somehow drove him crazier.

.

Her eyes.

.

"What is so special about him? What does he have that I don't?" He couldn't stop the words pouring from his mouth. He wanted to bite his tongue but his civility was trapped in the backseat of his mind.

"Well first, he wouldn't do this." Her voice had bite as she stared him down.

"You should have never moved in with him. You should have moved in with me and Kaoru. We'd take good care of you. You and your dad would have liked it at our house. We're more fun! We'd do something every weekend! We'd take you to the zoo, to museums, to the amusement park, wherever you'd want to go!"

"I don't want to do those things every weekend. I don't want to be dragged around Japan like a doll."

"Mori is too serious for you. He barely speaks, he lives under Hunny's shadow, his only hobby is kendo, and he spends his evenings with his chicken for god sake! That's the kind of life you resign to? Where is the fun in your relationship? I'm better suited for you than he is!"

She raised an eyebrow, "That's what you really think?"

Hikaru wanted to say yes. He wanted to go down the list of reasons why she should accept him but he couldn't form the words. He knew he couldn't justify his actions by speaking sweet nothings. He forced her into a hostile situation; there was nothing he could say now that would break her down.

.

Words won't be enough.

.

His thoughts quickly dissipated as he looked into her large brown eyes and before he could catch himself his hand cupped her jaw and leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips stiffened as she tried to escape but he held her firm against the wall. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was the worst thing he could possibly do but he felt possessed; a puppet on strings blindly obeying his selfish instincts.

She escaped his lips long enough to shout, "Stop!" Her hands pushed against his chest as she tried to wriggle from his hold but all it did was ruffle up his shirt. Feeling her hands on his body in such an aggressive way was dangerous; it fueled his kiss further. If he couldn't receive her love then stealing a kiss would suffice.

A small voice screamed inside his head – his common sense finally awakening. It was quiet at first, barely whispering over the sound of his blood pumping in his ears. Gradually it grew louder, louder, louder until its scream nearly burst his eardrums.

.

Hikaru stop.

.

Hikaru stop!

.

HIKARU STOP!

.

Hikaru felt a large hand grab the back of his shirt collar and yank him off Haruhi. The force behind him threw him several feet backwards until he landed hard on his tailbone and skidded to a stop. It happened so fast it took him a few seconds to process what just happened. Once his eyes adjusted to the scene – and his mind snapped back to reality – his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Mori tending to Haruhi. He rubbed her arms as he offered tender reassurance for her safety. Mori's voice was soft and gentle as he calmed her down.

Hikaru couldn't believe it… Haruhi was shaking… His temporary madness affected her greatly. Hikaru couldn't believe what he just did… It felt like someone else controlled his body as he assaulted her yet he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

Mori straightened his posture and turned around. Hikaru gulped at seeing the anger warp his normally blank expression. He wanted to run but his body once against betrayed him; paralyzed by his panic.

"Hikaru, what the hell was that?" His deep voice bore through Hikaru's chest and stilled his breath for a second. He's never seen Mori this angry before. No it wasn't just anger, there was something else pulsating through him. The way he loomed over Hikaru as if he was an insect; it was a foreign feeling to receive from Mori. It was deadly. He was thankful looks really couldn't kill or else he'd leave this room in a body bag.

Mori's gray eyes turned darker as they glared into his frightened hazel eyes. His neck tightened as he restrained regrettable actions and he pulled back his shoulders until it broadened his chest. Mori resembled an angry bear ready to attack and it scared Hikaru; not only because the usually calm host now looked ready to fight him but because there was an aggression behind his protection. Mori wasn't just protecting one of the hosts. This ran deeper than that. Mori was protecting Haruhi. He defended her as if he claimed her as his own. The aura he emitted was strong… almost possessive…

"Mori-senpai…" Hikaru stuttered, relieved to hear his strength returning, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened… I lost control… oh god…" Hikaru turned his attention to Haruhi, "Haruhi, I'm so sorry. Please believe me… I didn't plan any of that. I'm so sorry…"

The last of the dark clouds that flooded his mind cleared away. He finally felt the weight of his actions and words and it was heavy. It was so heavy. It was almost crippling. They threatened to squash into a human pancake.

"You and I will talk later," Mori growled and in one swift motion he brought Haruhi to his chest and cradled her in his arm, snatched her library books with his free hand, and left Hikaru to drown in his guilt – alone. If Hikaru wanted to be honest he deserved every agonizing second that followed.

[molicioushat]

🐲THE TARGARYEN TAG🐲

I thought it would be good fun to come up with a tag for all the Targaryen lovers out there so here it is!

This tag is open to all, so feel free to participate regardless of allegiance!

I was tagged by: @naomimakesart

🐲🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🐲

1. Your favourite/least favourite Targaryen:

This was super hard to narrow down to even a top ten.

Top Ten Favorite: Visenya, Alyssa, Baelon the Brave, Baela, Elaena, Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, Baelor Breakspear, Maekar, Daeron the Drunkard, and Good Queen Alysanne.

Least Favorite: Aegon II

2. Underrated Targaryen:

Probably Septa Maegelle. She's smart and she tends to the sick and that's on top of being able to get her parents to reconcile. She's also brave since I don't think many people would willingly tend to people with greyscale. It's such a shame we only see so much of her.

3. Snog/Marry/Avoid Targaryens:

Snog Daemon the Rogue Prince

Marry Queen Rhaella

Avoid Aegon IV

4. A Targaryen who deserved better:

Hard choice, there are so many. But I would choose Princess Alyssa Targaryen because of the way she was written to get her off the stage so to speak. GRRM could have killed her off in multiple different ways (riding accident, a fall, a hunting accident, a sparring accident, an illness, appendicitis, exit pursued by bear, etc) but no she dies by childbirth. Yet another among the disproportionately many other women who died that way.

5. OTP Targaryens:

OTP - Alyssa x Baelon, Daeron x Jeremy, Daeron II x Mariah, Alysanne x Valyrian Scrolls, Aegon III x therapy, Aerea x Life

OT3 - Visenya x Aegon x Rhaenys, and Rhaena x Elinor x Jeyne (that was my secret favorite before Sons of the Dragon came out but then GRRM kinda fulfilled it by a 3rd in Fire and Blood. I'm still disappointed that it doesn't seem like Elinor or Rhaena had any communication after they survived Maegor. *sighing forever*)

6. A Targaryen you’d like to go on holiday with:

I bet Rhaenys and Corlys went on a bunch of fun trips to all sorts of places. Would be fun to go with them to Braavos or one of the other Free Cities.

7. A Targaryen you’d want to be best friends with:

Alyssa. She's described as being all her mother is and more and since Alysanne is a pretty amazing and smart person then it stands to reason Alyssa is as well. She's probably a blast to hang out with if you have similar interests.

 8. A Targaryen who just needs a hug: 

I would hug Aegon III if he would let me. Alternatively Maekar or Daeron the Dreamer.

9. Problematic Fave:

Saera Targaryen. She's a terrible person but I'm fascinated by her. I'm currently writing a meta piece on her rn.

10. A Targaryen you’d go on a dragon ride with:

Queen Rhaena. She's traveled all over and she's flown with people before. I think if we found something in common she would be a good travel buddy.

11. Favourite Targaryen bastard?

Bloodraven, I mean have you seen him in the Mystery Knight? He's a ... riot.

Non Great Bastards would probably be Gaemon Palehair because he's totally Aegon II's but he had poor Essie tortured till she would say what they wanted her to say. Because honestly he already had 2 bastards born around the same time the twins were and they were called his first bastards, he very likely had more.

12. A Targaryen you’d want as a lover:

Shiera Seastar duh. Less trouble than being one of Prince Daemon's. Mysaria would probably have me killed. Oh sure people fight over Shiera but if she's fine with it then I'm down. Plus, who would fight a person with boobs for her? How embarrassing would it be for them to lose to me?

13. Which Targaryen dragon is your favourite? 

Vhagar followed by Moondancer.

14. Bloodraven: fan or ban?

Part of the fan club.

...wait there are people who don't like Bloodraven? Is that a thing? ???

15. Viserys (son of Aerys II): evil twit or mentally scarred victim?

Uh... neither? He's not evil. Abusive yes, evil no. He might have been evil if he was in a position of power but only because of paranoia. I'm not sure he gets enjoyment out of hurting others like his father, Joffrey, Ramsay, Euron, or Aerion do. He hurts Dany because he gets angry and he has power over her.

And he's not a victim. He's a pawn in Varys and Illyrio's game. And while he does have mental issues, but I don't know if that's because he was mentally scarred. I think he's predisposed to paranoia. The situation he's lived in since the war is not helpful and it definitely was a contributing factor when Dany and him were on the streets. But I think it would have happened eventually regardless.

16. Favourite non-Targaryen spouse/consort? 

Favorite Consort: Queen Alyssa Velaryon

Favorite Spouse: Ser Michael Manwoody

17. Team Lilac Eyes or Team Indigo Eyes? 

Indigo. Everytime I think of Lilac I think of Viserys. I can't help picturing him everytime I read it.

18. Favourite quote by a Targaryen: 

It's a tie.

"Your guards are slow and lazy." - Visenya the most badass. No fucking around, straight to the point.

And

"His Grace my brother can command me. You cannot." - Baela also a certified bad ass.

Just realized these both have face slashing before these quotes. I guess it's a theme. lol

19. Most badass Targaryen moment:

When Daemon jumps from his dragon to stab Aemond with Dark Sister. Metal af.

20. Blackfyres: Yay or Nay?

NAY!

Daemon might have been an upstanding guy, but to steal a quote from Ser Eustace Osgrey, "You can know a man by his friend," and Daemon's friends were terrible people.

21. Most touching Targaryen moment:

Bolded for emphasis:

[“We are glad to have you safe home, my brother.”

Mushroom says that Oakenfist was laughing as he climbed back to his feet. “Sire,” he replied, “you have honored me with your sister’s hand, and I am proud to be your brother by marriage. Yet I can never be your brother by blood. But there is one who is.” Then with a flamboyant gesture, Lord Alyn summoned forth the treasure he had brought from Lys. ... The boy threw back his cowl. As the sunlight glittered on the silver-gold hair beneath, King Aegon III began to weep, throwing himself upon this boy in a fierce embrace. Oakenfist’s “treasure” was Viserys Targaryen, the king’s lost brother.]

This scene was so touching it made me cry. First, Aegon calls Alyn his brother which is very sweet. He could have called him his goodbrother, but he didn't. And then Alyn's whole bit how he's proud to be a part of Aegon's family but acknowledging that he can't replace Viserys. And then Aegon finally being reunited with Viserys after so long and how he doesn't have to feel guilty anymore because Viserys can forgive him. Just feels all around.

22. Which Targaryen would give the best life advice?

Probably Baelor Breakspear. He's down to earth and smart.

23. Your favourite Aegon?

Aegon V for now. May change depending on what leads up to the tragedy at Summerhall. Aegon III is a close second.

24. Which Targaryen was the most badass?

Visenya, I mean fuck but she's so boss. She fought to till she was like 74. She was probably one of the best warriors of her time during her prime. Especially since she was key to protecting Aegon during that attempt on his life.

25. Most heartbreaking Targaryen moment:

I'm just going to quote the whole section:

[... of Lady Jocelyn’s empty bed and bitter tears, and the way Princess Rhaenys wept to know that her father would never hold the child she was carrying? Far easier to speak of Prince Baelon’s wroth, and how he came down upon Tarth on Vhagar, howling for vengeance.

...

But it is said that when he saw his mother again, he fell into her arms and wept. “I slew a thousand of them,” he said, “but it will not bring him back.” And the queen stroked his hair and said, “I know, I know.”]

It's just so heartbreaking. Yes it's sad for Alysanne and Jaehaerys to lose their son, because it's always terrible when a parent has to bury a child before them.

But for Baelon, Jocelyn, and Rhaenys, they should have had so many more years with him. Baelon and Jocelyn should have grown old with Aemon! Rhaenys had her father taken from her too soon. Her children will never get to know their grandfather. Jocelyn should have had Aemon by her side to spoil their grandchildren!

And Baelon! No one knows a person as long as a sibling does. Not every siblings are friends but Baelon and Aemon were close to each other, probably each other's best friends. Baelon's grief is one that strikes me right in heart. His pain is so raw. And as an older sibling who is very close to her brother it's also one of my biggest fears. This wasn't the only time Fire and Blood made me cry, but it was the one that really stuck with me. That image of Baelon crying into Alysanne's arms as she says "I know, I know."

Oh, oh, oh...

Please excuse me while I go cry forever after that downer.

🐲🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🐲

Anyone of my followers who sees this and wants to do it, please feel free to do so!! I'm not going to tag anyone directly in case you don't want to do it.

[lavender-buck]

Hello, Laurence! I am writing a novel and I need your help. I am writing a character with autism, and I most definitely want to portray him as accurately as possible, seeing that I don't have it myself. The story is told through his best friend, Zyah, and I was wondering how to portray his autism through his friends without butchering it. You do not have to answer this question if you don't want to, but it would certainly be helpful so I can his autism as accurately and real as possible!

Hello Anon! I can’t answer very well in just one ask, but I can vaguely give some tips on stuff some people tend to slip up on/not think of! I really don’t mind this so don’t worry, I’m happy to educate people! If you would like something more in-depth or accurate to what you’d like to know, feel totally free to come off anon asks and message me, or you can send more asks like this. It’s up to you. c:

Don’t try too hard to shove it in there. To be honest, a lot of people just think I’m a little bit weird if they don’t know, all they see is a guy who gets a bit excited sometimes and is a picky eater and other very small details like that. Unless your character is severely autistic, remember that he’s still just like any other person too.

On the other hand, I still stim in public and touch things a lot if I think they’d feel good, so there’s no shame in him showing it either. It depends. I also sometimes get overly excited in public and my mother says I raise my voice or talk very fast, and once I calm down and look back on it I notice it too. Excitement and stimming are hard to stop even in public! So are negative sensory experiences, but I’ll get to that.

Stimming can be anything really, but we do it a lot and it’s most commonly flapping our hands (”Happy flaps”), making small noises (Clicking, tapping, rubbing clothing fabric together), touching or adjusting our clothing, touching something we like (A keychain, shirt, rock, etc), rocking on our feet, bouncing, swaying… You can be creative! I wave/shake/jiggle my hands in front of myself and my mom calls them “Jazz hands”, and I sometimes do them with a fist instead. A little bit off track but my mom finds it really funny and laughs and waves her hands too because she knows it means I’m happy about something. Even if he won’t do it in public, most of us will do it with our friends and around others we feel safe with. 

Bad sensory can be anything too, so be creative. Though it’s most commonly food, clothing, lights, sounds, or showers. Some of us may not like a certain fabric or shirt cut. Some of us may HATE crunchy foods. Some people hate certain noises. When faced directly with the bad feeling, as a child I would literally find something sharp like a pen and stab myself with it or rip my flesh out in chunks just to focus on any other feeling. I got angry and screamed and cried. Some of us gag, some of us get violent, some of us just cry in a ball… I’d rather have my finger chopped off than eat a hamburger, to be honest. I won’t go into detail but I hate the texture and flavor and it makes me sick for DAYS just thinking about it. Sick as in like… HURK– BLEEEEGGHHH. Now’a’days I can hold it together kinda but if I wear a fucking sock I’m gonna bawl my eyes out and find something to destroy as violently as possible even if it’s just an empty cereal box. That shit does NOT feel okay. Your main character may have to help his friend with this a lot, so be prepared to think of what calms your autistic character down. Pressure stimming (Hugs or heavy blankets), soft talking, etc?

Onto a lighter note! Let’s talk about special interests and obsessions. An autistic person can have more than one, contrary to popular belief. Usually though they’ll have one BIG one, a favorite thing, and one or two other smaller things. For me, my big thing is Armin and my smaller things are taking care of animals (I particularly love fishkeeping and dogs though) and cooking. They can also change! When I was a child, my special interest was Pokemon! I would memorize all the names and numbers and Pokedex entries in English AND Japanese and look up every bit of information possible and buy ANYTHING Pokemon I saw regardless of WHAT it was and I would never shut up about it and I’d talk about it until my mouth got dry and my spit foamy. Special interests can be ANYTHING. I know of a boy who’s interest was trains. I know another who’s into dinosaurs. I recently talked to one guy who was into Lush products. Literally. ANYTHING. A person, an animal, a hobby, an item, a machine… Anything can be a special interest. What are your character’s special interest(s)? How do they react when they see it or talk about it?

How about childishness? This can be controversial. Some autistic people are mentally younger than their physical age, while others aren’t affected. It depends on severity of the disability, and what symptoms they have. For example, I have an adopted cousin in his mid-20′s but he’ll always be an 8 year old boy mentally. Meanwhile there are people like me. Some people even temporarily regress in age. Autistic people being cutesy-wootsy babies is a very harmful and popular stereotype, though it’s true for some. Just not NEARLY as many of us as you may think. I myself have a LOT of childish habits, to be honest. I can ignore it and fess up but I feel like most of us do temporarily or partially regress at least SOMETIMES. This does not discredit us from being functioning human beings though, and it does not make us actual children if we aren’t literal kids. I can like my stuffies and blanket and being babytalked and still get my taxes done, and so can other autistic people. Is your character mature? Are they mentally stuck at one age? Do they act small and young and vulnerable when they’re upset or after calming down from excitement? Do they secretly or even openly carry stuffed animals around, watch kid’s shows, etc? Does this affect them in any way?

F O O D. Most of us will practically jump off a bridge for food, or at least certain ones. Maybe it’s the texture, or flavor, or smell, or the fact that they stim with their mouth, but food is a Godsend. I like to feel things with my mouth but I know better than to do that because of germs or choking hazards. So when I eat, I LOVE EATING!!!!!!!!!!!!! CRUNCHY FOODS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALSO GRAINY FOODS!!! We will eat anything we like, it seems. Sand is one of my favorite things in the world, and as a kid I used to go to the beach hungry on purpose so I could eat as much sand as possible. To this day I still drool thinking about the texture, it’s so GOOD in your mouth. It is not pretty, no, but it is funny in a gross way and I joke about it a LOT. I had to be curbed off literally eating sand and rocks, and now I cope by putting way too many bread crumbs on my mac ‘n’ cheese (My mom says my personal mac ‘n’ cheese bake is like eating on the beach on a windy day, haha!) or eating grits, or crunching hard candies into that texture. I also now have to portion my food very carefully and with rules because I would over-eat SOOOOO badly. A ton of us over-eat because we love eating SO much. What foods does your character like? Do they eat non-food items, or want to? Is this an endearing trait of theirs, or a weakness/gross one? Do they find it funny, or is it embarrassing? Does it make them chubby?

Last but not least, read through the first thing I said again. People tend to try too hard when writing autistic characters, which only pushes them to seem like the fake stereotype. Write a person, not an illness - We’re just people with interesting quirks and like I said most people don’t even KNOW I’m autistic, they just think I’m a tiny bit eccentric. There are definitely challenges or noticeable things when you have an autistic friend or loved one, but all in all we’re just people. 

Good luck, and feel free to message me or something if you need more or I didn’t answer how you needed.

[after-the-fxll]

Mortal Healing vs. Divine Healing: The Mechanics of Healing Magic in Aryx’s World

Mortal/Common Healing vs. Divine Healing: The Mechanics of Healing Magic in Aryx’s World

In Aryx’s world, not all healing magic is created equal.  It varies by the source of the magical energy and the species of the caster. Mortal magic can only be wielded by humans, while divine magic can be wielded by humans or angels, depending on the situation. Hopefully this will give you some idea of how healing mechanics are managed in Aryx’s world, and where he falls as far as what he is able to cast and how.

Effect of Caster Species on Healing Magic

There are three major species on earth in Aryx’s world that have the ability to cast magic of various types depending on the situation: demons, humans, and angels. As far as healing magic, only humans and angels are capable of casting it, while demons are not. This is because, just purely by biological nature and not considering morality at all, demons are physically permeated with negative energy, humans can be a combination of positive and negative energy skewed accordingly by their actions, and angels are permeated with positive energy. All healing magic is positive, so if a demon were to try to cast healing magic (if such a thing was possible, which it is not) he would injure himself in the process. When casting healing magic, one needs to be capable of one of two things: producing the positive energy to do so oneself, or having the favor of one of the Light deities for them to permit you to channel Their energy to do so. Demons… don’t have either.

The majority of humans do not cast magic in Aryx’s world. This is just because it is a complex, energy-draining, and specialized thing that most humans do not have the strength, education, need, desire, etc. to be able to do so. Only humans with natural talent (sorcerers, soul knights) or who are actually in the ranks of the church of either light god (priest, soul knight, etc.) usually cast magic. Among them, both types of healing are found: mortal healing (soul knights) and divine healing (priests). The types of magic will be covered with energy source and effect on the caster in the next section. All humans can do with their healing spells, regardless of their methods, is heal wounds and illnesses. They cannot regenerate limbs, reattach severed limbs, or bring back the dead. They can, however, remove scars and other deformities from injuries that have already healed.

Angels can only heal through divine means. (Except in really rare, weird cases, which I’ll cover in the next section). Whether created directly by the gods or born of other angels on earth, angels are physically designed to channel divine energy. All their magic, not just healing, is divine in nature. The species of angel, however, greatly affects the strength and nature of the healing spells they can cast. While there are only two power levels of humans (new souls and reincarnated souls), there are three ranks of demons and angels. There are common demons (imps, harpies, succubae, incubi, etc.), archdemons (fiends, devils, etc.), and infernal seraphim. Likewise, there are common angels (natural-borns on earth, common created angels; can exist on earth or in the heavens; one relatively small pair of wings), archangels (guardian angels, gate soldiers; only found in the heavens unless they fall; two medium- and equal-sized pairs of wings), and holy seraphim (three pairs of wings: one small, one medium, and one large sized; only found in the heavens except through intervention of The One). Rank determines power, and therefore the abilities of their healing spells:

Common Angels – Their healing magic is much like that of humans. All they can do is heal illnesses and wounds and correct scarring or deformity.

Archangels – Everything a common angel can do plus they can do it much faster. In addition, they can save severed limbs if the limb is available to reattach and a healing spell can be cast within minutes of it being severed. They are also capable of wound-transference spells, in which a protection spell is cast on a subject by the archangel, and then should that subject become wounded, the archangel would incur the wounds in the subject’s place. Wound-transference is especially performed by archangels in service to the Father of Protection, as they are defensive spells designed to protect innocents and/or those not able to defend themselves by letting the angel shoulder the damage and pain of the wounds instead.

Holy Seraphim – They can do everything archangels can do but no prayer is needed, the spells can be cast almost instantly. While not even holy seraphim can bring back the dead (only the greater gods and The One can do that), they can regenerate lost limbs and other body parts, even after wounds have healed and the limb or body part may be long gone. So for example if an angel loses a wing or a human loses an arm, years after the fact a holy seraph would be able to regrow the wing or arm from the site of the wound with a powerful spell. This spell is not instant, however, and can take up to an hour to complete, depending upon the size and complexity of the body part to be regenerated.

Effect of Energy Source on Healing Magic

Healing is not without its cost, and that cost must always be paid. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it must always be balanced… unless you are The One, heh. She is the only being with the power to create or permanently destroy energy. Even the greater gods of Light and Darkness must expend or absorb energy to balance the actions of their followers. So when healing magic is cast, essentially what is happening is that outside energy is being infused into the wounded person (because it is positive energy, its basic forms are light and heat) to replace what he/she has lost. Illness is either a loss of positive energy or an infusion of negative energy, and a wound is the disruption of a person’s aura by damaging the body. In both cases, warmth, energy, and flesh can be lost or disrupted such that repairs and replacements are needed. What healing spells do is convert positive light and heat energy into life force or flesh as needed to repair and replace what the sick or injured person has lost. This energy needs to come from somewhere (other than the wounded person) to maintain the energy balance of the universe, heh. So, it must either come from the spell caster or an outside source.

Mortal and common healers use their own energy (so their own life force) to heal illnesses and wounds. What this means is that the person is either naturally skilled from birth (a soul knight for example) or has been trained how to (a priest) infuse someone else with a portion of their own life force. This is perfectly fine to do as far as the wounded or ill person is concerned, for their missing or damaged energy is replaced and repaired respectively by the life force of the caster. For the caster, however, this can have dire consequences.

First of all, because they are parting with a portion of their life force, they will be weakened by it. They may experience fatigue, confusion, or other side effects, depending upon their skill level, amount of practice, and how many other spells they’ve cast that day. It is possible for a spell caster to inadvertently kill themselves by casting too many mortal healing spells in too little time.

Secondly, because the energy is coming from them, their bodies will mirror the illnesses and wounds of the person they are healing. For example, if I use my own energy to heal your stab wound, what will be missing from me is whatever energy was used to fill in and repair your wound, so I will end up with the same wound on my body. This might seem kindof a dumb tradeoff at first glance, but you have to keep in mind that most healers serve the Stag, the Father of Protection. It is not only their job but their deep desire to protect others, even at great cost to themselves. An adult priest can survive a lot longer with a stab wound than a small child, and so they may transfer the wound to their own body and then wait for divine healing to arrive. At least the child is safe. That is the mentality of those who serve the Stag.

Divine healers certainly have the advantage over mortal healers in that they do not fatigue or suffer negative consequences from healing, nor must they use their own life force. Angels and human priests need only have enough favor with either the Dove or the Stag to cast such spells, and then they can basically do so until the god caps it for some reason, haha, usually if too many are cast in one day. With divine magic, the energy comes from the god whose favor the caster has, and not from the caster’s own life force. In this way, the balance is kept, and the god is weakened in a very minor way for each healing spell that is cast. Gods regenerate their auras fast, though, heh.

Aryx is a divine healer. He gets the energy for all his healing spells, wards, protections, wound-transference spells, etc. from the Stag. So he heals without sustaining damage to himself, except in cases of wound-transference, since that’s what those spells are designed to do.

Exceptions to the Rule

Now… all angels get all their magic, not just healing, from their respective deities, so all of it is divine magic. Humans can go either way depending upon their religion and skill set. However… there have been a couple of very rare cases that have been exceptions to this, namely the cases of Ison and Elestra, two human lovers who, nearly a thousand years after they died, were reborn as angels, Elandrian and Elleth. (Long story, they were very special and valuable souls to the Light gods and so were given special treatment, but I don’t wanna go into all that here.) So essentially, they were common angels with human souls. They were reborn and not new souls, and they were very old, all of which makes them more powerful than the average human or angel. Plus, Elestra was a sorceress who essentially founded the Dove’s church back in the day and was (still is) her highest priestess, and Ison was a soul knight (the most powerful ever seen to date) of the Stag. Both individuals, reborn into common angel bodies, were not only permitted divine magic, but they were permitted to keep whatever natural magic they had as human sorcerers and healers. So they… totally stomped all over all the rules for healing magic, haha. Well, the spells still work the same, it is only that Elandrian can actually choose to heal using his own energy or his god’s, which is a choice 99.9% of other healers in the world do not have.