#i cannot be the only one trying to remedy this situation

[trillgutterbug]

it can't be possible considering all of us on here obsessed with hbo war that no one has yet written and published a decent queer war novel. but i ask you: where are they. where the fuck are they.

[safetypinxtales]

400 years | Azriel

summary: drinking with your best friend takes a turn when you happen upon some of Feyre's art supplies.

words: 3.2k

warnings: steamy 18+ mdni, nudity, sex is insinuated but not described, kissing, alcohol consumption (drink responsibly), reader and azriel are drunk, making out, big dick azriel, fluff, no use of y/n, neutrally described reader/no reader description

notes: happy valentines day, here's some azriel for youuu🤍 I got the inspiration for this whilst reading this fic by @solbaby7 bc who wouldn't want to draw az like one of your French girls?? Frankly there is nothing I would like to do more. Their fic is amazing and you guys should totally check it out if you haven't already! Anyways, I'm sorry for the "shut the door" type ending, but I cannot write smut to save my life so this will have to do. Hope you enjoy!🤍

masterlist

Thud.

The sound of Azriel accidentally smacking his head on the wall as he plopped down on the sofa across from you echoed within the walls of the cabin, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of you. Azriel’s own shaking shoulders and scrunched up nose let you know that he couldn’t help it either. 

But that was to be expected wasn’t it? The past hour had been filled with nothing but bubbling laughter from the both of you, giggles from Az, and some very graceful snorts… also definitely from Azriel. 

The reason why he had brought you to Rhys’ cabin in the mountains was long forgotten after the two nearly empty bottles of alcohol on the table in front of you. The heartache of getting stood up on your date earlier that evening buried under a considerable amount of drinks. 

“As long as the glass is never empty in between refills, they don’t count.”

Azriel’s words from earlier came back to you, only fuelling your cramp inducing giggles. 

That had always been your motto in times like these. A consistency that had lasted centuries. 

“I can’t breathe,” you wheezed out in between fits of hysteria, your arms coming up to wrap around yourself. But your laughter didn’t die down, and neither did Azriel’s. Your uttered words only seemed to fire him on as he tipped over on his side, hand landing a slap on the armrest.

Seeing him like this, so free and relaxed, was rare. You could probably count each separate occasion on your hands. He only really let go like this when you needed it. When the urge to drink your walls down and flush the pain away seemed like the only remedy to whatever situation you were dealing with.

It was a very rare occurrence indeed. But one of your favourites. 

Azriel’s carefree giggles, that luminous light in his eyes; you swore it could make budding flowers bloom.

You sat up straight, and the situation stopped feeling so funny as you laid eyes on Azriel’s still laughing frame. The uncontrolled giggles, and the way his wings shook in time with his chest. It was enchanting, the sight of your best friend being so relaxed, so happy. 

The shadows that were usually crowding his frame were nowhere to be seen – with the exception of the lone swirl of darkness slowly snaking its way around your wrist, coming down to entwine with your fingers every now and again.

It took a couple more minutes until Azriel’s laughter had finally seized. You both sat on separate sofas, smiles stretched wide and eyes glazed over from the alcohol you had ingested, and as your breathing started to return to normal a thought struck.

“What?” Azirel asked as he leaned forward on his elbows, a curious glint in his eyes. 

“What?” You prodded back, more confused than curious, blinking a few times to try and rid the alcohol-induced veil that surrounded you. What was he on about? 

“Well,” he waved one floppy hand in your direction, “you just perked up, it was like you grew ten inches,” he exclaimed, before continuing in a slightly lowered, bemused voice, ”and that means you just had one of your ideas.”

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards as you slowly nodded your head. He was right – you had come up with an idea.

“Well, I was just thinking about how Feyre mentioned after the last time she was here,” you stood up from your seat, swaying slightly but quickly finding your balance, doing your very best to not bump into the table separating you. “Something about forgotten art supplies.”

Like a predator sighting a prey, Azriel’s interest piqued in a moment. His razor sharp focus was on your every step as you walked towards the supply closet at the other side of the room. 

The closet was unusually dusty, a strange thing for being Rhysand’s property. He was usually very meticulous when it came to things always being spotless and presentable. But you supposed that a small, rarely used supply closet in the family cabin wasn’t a priority of his. Keeping it clean was not a good enough use of his magic. 

Luckily for you, that just made your quest easier. You just had to look for whatever was covered in the least amount of dust bunnies.

“Aha!” You whipped around to face your friend, triumphantly displaying the sketch pad and charcoals in your hands. 

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up at your revelation, grin still present on his beautiful face.

“That’s your big idea? Drawing?”

“You should know I used to be quite the whiz with the charcoals when I was younger,” you rebutted and Azriel’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. 

“I have seen your penmanship, so I will believe this talent of yours when I see it,” he muttered and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer audacity in his words. Your penmanship was not that bad.

Taking a few steps back in his direction with a huff, you flipped through the sketch pad in search of an unused sheet of parchment. You were gonna show him, alright…

You couldn’t help but admire Feyre’s old sketches as you went through the pages. Some you recognised as early-version sketches of paintings you had seen around the river house, and some were–

“Oh!” Your fingers froze as your eyes landed on what seemed to be an anatomical study. A very detailed, very beautiful, anatomical study of – oh my Gods. You felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Is that Rhysand?!”

At the screech in your voice and the mention of his brother’s name, Azriel shot up off the sofa to get a peek at whatever had managed to pull such a reaction from you. 

The warmth of his body radiated into your side as he peered over your shoulder at the drawing of the very naked high lord. 

You noticed him stiffening out of the corner of your eyes and then, like a tether snapping, laughter started to boom inside the walls of the cabin. With a steadying hand on your shoulder he doubled over in giggles so contagious it didn’t take long before you joined in with his hysterics. 

“No way,” he wheezed, “oh Gods – I can’t wait to tell Cassian!” 

The mere thought of how Cassian would react to such a revelation, the look on his face, had you clutching your stomach. Poor Rhys would never hear the end of it.

And by the cauldron, if you don’t wake up with rippling abs tomorrow from the amount of laughter this night had brought….

“You can’t blame her though,” you mused once you managed to get your giggles under control, “I mean, nice job Feyre.” A low whistle left you as you peered down at your clearly blessed high lord.

The laughter quieted down beside you and you raised your gaze to look at Azriel, only to be met with an incredulous look. 

“What, I’m just calling it as I see it!” You exclaimed and raised your hands in defence, charcoals and disrobed Rhysand still in your grasp.

His eyes flicked down to the sketch pad, before slowly coming back up to meet yours, that look never leaving his face.

“Oh, please.” 

The words fell from his lips with such cool confidence your smile faltered momentarily, eyebrows knotting together.

“You can’t be serious?” He asked, and when you stayed quiet he continued, “that’s nothing.”

Nothing?

From where you were standing, respectfully, it looked like everything.

“What? Like you can do better?” 

Your challenge seemed to light a spark in his eyes and time slowed as he took a step backwards, fingers coming down to grip the hem of his t-shirt.

One swift movement and his shirt was off, muscles rippling under his bronzed skin as he tossed the dark fabric on the floor, his eyes not once straying from yours. 

He kept backing up, step after torturous step, until his legs hit the sofa. The corners of his mouth tugged up in a smirk as he plopped down, arms behind his head, far leg propped up, large wings casually draped over the armrest.

“Draw me then, whiz,” he challenged, using your word from earlier, “let me be your muse.” 

The heat crawling up your neck, scorching the tips of your ears, were not solely from the liquor as you padded over to the opposite sofa. 

No, it was from something very different. Something strikingly sobering, yet oh-so intoxicating. 

You sat down and carefully placed the pad in your lap, flipping through it until you reached a blank page. You moved some hair out of your eyes and tucked it behind your ear, picked up a charcoal and brought it to the parchment – when you felt yourself hesitate. You took your lip between your teeth as you contemplated your next move. The risk. The absurdity. The excitement. 

He was your friend. Your best friend, and yet…

You lifted your gaze to find Azriel’s eyes locked to yours with such focus, such challenge. Like he was sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. 

His eyes flicked down to your hand, if only for a split second, as you gently put down the charcoal. He cocked an eyebrow when his gaze once again found yours. 

“I just,” you took a deep breath, “I just don’t think it’s really fair on Rhys, you know?” The shadow around your wrist flickered, as if sensing what you were about to do. The lines you were about to cross.

You watched as Azriel’s eyebrows drew together, and you fought the twitching of your lips as you continued, “I mean, you are still half clothed.”

With a slight shrug of your shoulders, you watched as your words sank in. How his eyes seemed to darken, the corner of his mouth raised in the smallest of smirks. 

“Is that so?” He mused, and you tried your best to level his stare. To not back down. Not shy away. 

With an incline of your head, you nodded. And watched his hand inch closer to his pants. Down past that dark trail of hair, to the laces tied together at the waistband. Watched as he grabbed a hold of the string… and pulled. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus on anything other than his hand. How his fingers untied the font of his pants so slowly, so delicately it felt like torture. You were transfixed by his fingers. Loosening the laces, his thumb slipping beneath the waistband…

You snapped your gaze up to his face, to find him still looking at you – studying you. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of his pants hitting the floor. With your eyes still locked to his, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. Here you were, in front of your fully naked best friend – about to draw him. 

Let me be your muse.

His words from earlier echoed in your mind as you tore your gaze from his face and dragged it lower, and lower, until…

Your head emptied. Your tongue felt about as dry as the beaches you had visited in Summer last year. Because the sight that beheld you was breath-taking. 

The length between his legs, standing aroused and proud, really did make Rhysand’s portrait look like nothing. 

A part of you had almost hoped that Azriel’s confidence had just been for show. That it was just his competitiveness shining through, a feat to best his brother. 

The reality?

Monstruos would have been a fitting word had the sight not compelled you so. Had it not caused you to burn for him. Crave him. 

Delicious seemed to be a better word to describe your friend. Beautiful. Mouth-watering. A thing of art.

Which is why you picked up your discarded charcoal and put it to the parchment. 

You studied the planes of his body, the hard lines, the soft skin. The muscles that could have been carved by the Mother herself. You avoided looking at his face though, instead focusing on the various scars that marred his skin, telling stories of battles and fights. Of brawls with his brothers. 

You felt him looking at you, however. He hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not since the sketch pad came into play.

It made it annoyingly hard to focus. 

The scratching sound of charcoal on paper stopped. 

“How long have we known each other?” Your voice wavered, mouth dry. You cleared your throat and raised your gaze to finally meet his. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, contemplating, “about 400 years.”

400 years. And never before had you seen him naked. Not like this. Not splayed out like a feast, waiting to be devoured. Not with his gaze so burning you were afraid it was going to singe your clothes to ashes. 

“Right,” you mumbled, eyes flicking back down to your hands. They were smudged with soot, your thumb and index finger blackened, that lone shadow still curiously snaking around your wrist. 

That is a very long time.

Azriel seemed to notice how the little confidence you had faltered, for he straightened somewhat from his leisurely sprawl. 

“You okay?” There was only soft concern enveloping his words, a drastic change from the tension flooding the space between you just seconds before. 

It was a very long time, indeed. So why didn’t this feel wrong? 

You let out a deep breath, “yes, I think so.” 

Your answer apparently didn’t settle his worries though, because he raised from the sofa and rounded the table between you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as he stopped in front of where you sat. 

Only when he lowered his hand – fingers coming to rest under your chin, tipping you face up – did you meet his eye. 

The heartbreaking concern written all over his face seized your heart. The soft furrow of his brow. The slight dip at the corners of his pouty lips. The brutal softness swimming in those hazel eyes. 

It took your breath away.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t trust your voice, not with the vulnerable proximity between you. All you managed was a meager nod. A small up and down bob of your head. 

His fingers tugged on your chin, and as if in a trance, you followed the wordless command and rose to your feet. 

“I need you to use your words here, sweetheart,” his voice was soft, but the underlying command was undeniable, “please.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you swallowed and managed to breathe out “I’m okay.” 

That seemed enough to ease Azriel’s concern, a breath of relief fanning across your face. 

“Good,” he murmured, almost as if more to himself.

His eyes left yours, and flicked down. To your mouth, you realised, as his thumb moved from your chin up to graze your bottom lip.

That intensity was back in his gaze, that predatory focus – all directed at you. His thumb pulled at your lip before letting go, and the shudder that overtook your body could have made the earth shake.

There couldn’t be more than a foot of space between you. 

So dangerously close.

He was your friend. 

Right? 

“400 years,” you whispered, eyes flicking down to follow the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “400 years of friendship.” 

You felt light headed. 400 years, and all could be thrown away as easy as breathing. All you had to do was take half a step.

“Three,” Azriel’s voice grumbled above you as your eyes trailed down to inspect the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“Hmm?” Your mumble was absent minded, your thoughts being too preoccupied by the male in front of you. What he would feel like. Taste like. The sounds he would make if you dipped your head and licked up the drops of sweat beading at the center of his chest.

“That’s how long I’ve loved you. Three hundred years.”

You froze. 

The thickness coating Azriel’s voice was not something you were familiar with. Nor were the words he uttered.

Your gaze snapped up to his, scanning his features for any sign that he was, for some reason, making the cruellest joke in all of Pythian’s history. But all you found was open, unguarded truth. 

Azriel loved you?

Azriel loved you. 

The rapid beating of your heart was a stark contrast to just how very safe you felt. How right it seemed to take that half step forward. To cradle his face in your hand, the other coming to rest on that glorious chest – right over his own heart. And as you felt that wild drumming beneath his ribs echo your own, nothing seemed as easy as rising up on the tips of your toes and slotting your mouth against his. 

The kiss was tentative, like the two of you were just dipping your toes in – testing the waters. You moved your lips against his, gently, savouring the feel of his pillowy lips. The feel of his body so close to yours. How the scent of him seemed to envelop you. You savoured how easily he took all of your senses hostage. 

He was everywhere.

The sound of Azriel’s wings rustling behind him, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, the taste of liquor on his lips – it intoxicated you in a way you didn’t know was possible. 

You stayed like that, gently exploring each other's lips, savouring each other's closeness, until you had no other choice but to break away for air. 

You pulled away only a few inches, rapid breaths fanning your faces. The pounding of your heart didn’t seize, and neither did his. You could feel every rapid beat under the hand still planted on his warm chest. 

“Your heart is beating very fast,” you whispered, voice shaky from your breathlessness. 

He swallowed, “It is.”

“So is mine,” you revealed. 

“Yes, I can hear it.”

Oh. 

“Will you kiss me again?” Your voice was so low, you wouldn’t have known he heard you if not for the strangled sound he let out. 

Or for how he grabbed you by your waist and captured your lips with his. 

This time the kiss was less gentle. This time he pressed your body against his as he devoured you. It was all tongues, and teeth, and needy gasps.

His teeth pulled on your bottom lip and you thanked the Mother he was holding you so tightly, for your knees almost gave out. A throaty groan escaped you as his hand cupped the back of your neck, angling your head upwards and deepening the kiss further.

Your own hands found his hair – and pulled. The deep rumbling in his chest and the way he moaned your name into the kiss was your undoing.

This kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative.

It was claiming.

And so you let him claim you. 

Your clothes were quickly discarded as you laid down on the sofa, Azriel’s body on top of yours. And as you crashed together, entangled limbs and sworn promises, you let those 400 years of friendship, of tension, of longing dictate the start of this new chapter.

A chapter of what would hopefully be 400 years of something more.

Want to be added to my taglist?

tags: @missus-shadowsinger

[twis-world]

The Remedy That Is You (Riddle Version)

Mentions: Fluff, Riddle-Centric, Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader

No matter how many a time the students of Nightraven College witnessed how their Housewarden did a complete 180 in your presence, it never ceased to amaze them.

It eventually got to the point where a majority of students began to question if you really were magickless. There was just no way your mere presence could bring out such light in their eyes, face softening and a smile so tender it was as if they were gazing upon one of the Seven.

Just how did you do it?

Riddle

“You imbecile!” Riddle’s voice boomed, echoing all throughout Heartslabyul. Fear set into all who heard it, a chain reaction flowing through their bodies as their hearts beat quicker, palms growing clammy in a cold sweat. No matter how many times their beloved Housewarden proved that he had changed, that he was no longer the cruel tyrant they all once feared, it did not stop the utter terror that ran through them when they did succeed in trying his patience.

Especially when it concerned the prized animals they cared for.

“Have I not made it clear several times that you are not to directly hit the hedgehogs?” Riddle continued to scream, face flaming red as he cradled the delicate creature in his arms. Whether or not the poor thing was shaking of its own account or fear of the one holding it was to be determined, but it mattered not with all eyes on the beholder. “Are you so dense that you cannot remember something as simple as that?”

“Housewarden Riddle,” the victim stuttered. It was a first-year clearly, face deathly pale and looking as if his soul would leave his body any moment in a fit of desperation. Anything to get away from such a ghastly scenario. “I-I…I swear it was a-a-an accident-”

“How do you accidentally do such a thing?” Riddle snapped back, nearly frothing at the mouth as he marched forward into the other’s space. The surrounding students gasped, taking a step back in turn and preparing for the inevitable as his hand noticeably itched for his pen. The first-year clearly noticed as well, eyes bulging and feet shifting in preparation to run if need be. “Even so, there is no room for such impertinence. Why, I should have your head for that!”

“Riddle?”

The effect was almost instant.

The speed at which the male stepped back was almost inhuman, head snapping back so quickly a few flinched at the thought of such inevitable whiplash. The snarl on his lips dropped, not taking on a smile but smoothing out the lines his earlier scowl created. In fact, the only evidence of his incredible fury from but a moment ago was the ever present brightness of his face, taking its time in ever so slowly draining away.

Then, they saw it.

The moment you managed to break through the crowd, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape as you surveyed the situation, the sharpness in his gaze disappeared. It was almost comical how instantly his pupils blew, nearly overtaking the storm in his eyes. Some swore that if it were possible hearts would most definitely be shining from his orbs, beating in tune with the one confined by his mortal body yet still promised to you.

Great Seven, the way he greeted you as well. It nearly ached how tenderly a soft ‘My Rose’ escaped from his lips, and it was then they all knew that in his mind the rest of the world faded away until all that lay within it was you.

“Ace nearly gave me a heart attack when he blew up my phone, spewing nonsense of a bomb about to blow the whole of the dorm,” you gently teased, stepping towards him with such ease despite the still shaking of Riddle’s body. Yet, as you placed a delicate hand on his arm, the tremors all but disappeared. “Guess he wasn’t that far off for once.”

The red fury on his face was now one of shame and embarrassment, tucking his head down and staring as he gently calmed the still shaking hedgehog. “He exaggerates…” he nearly mumbled, refusing to look up at the gentle smile you were giving him. 

You stared at him with the same fondness he just had moments ago, thumb softly rubbing against his arm. Words could not explain the relief they all felt when you looked up at them all and nodded your head back to the main dorm building, silently giving them permission to finally escape.

At the sound of their retreat Riddle’s head shot up, confusion evident. “Who gave you all permission to leave?” he called out, stepping out of your grasp and staring at their retreating backs. If his hands weren’t occupied you were sure he would be waving them in a blind fury. “Come back! You have yet to-”

“Riddle,” you interrupted, cupping his face in your hands and turning his gaze to you instead. It was a miracle that he had yet to pass out, blood still continuously rushing to his face as he had no choice but to lock eyes with you. Fingertips caressed under his eyes, exaggerated breathing from you goading him to follow with, not once turning away. Not daring to escape the land you’ve trapped him in.

He didn’t know how much time passed, just the two of you standing there and the animal in his arms long since passed out, nor did he care. Just your touch alone was enough to soothe his soul, your gaze and sweet words were simply a bonus that he thought himself unworthy of, yet here he was.

“There we go,” you cooed, dropping your hands but not once breaking contact from his face. Down his cheeks that you held for a moment, nails barely scraping down his neck in tune with the pleasant shiver it sent down his spine, dancing across his shoulders and tickling his waist before coming to a stop there. “Why don’t we sit and enjoy some tea to help calm you down more, hm?”

“It’s not yet past the lunch hour,” he responded, yet almost drunkenly. “Rule 148 states-” The small burst of laughter that left you was enough to shut him up, watching as your head tilted back and shined even brighter than the sun that warmed you both. He decided that he really didn’t want you to stop anytime soon. “Though…though I suppose I could make an exception…”

A few more chuckles rang, and you gave him another playful smile along with a gentle squeeze. “How kind.”

Yes, yes you really were quite magical.

[koenigami]

tags : fem!reader, fluff, little angsty because pining wrio scared of being vulnerable a/n: happy birthday to juicy buttocks man 🩶

WRIOTHESLEY didn’t get the chance to experience copious amounts of love throughout his life. And the little that he received, he’s not sure if any of it was ever real. Whether his foster parents’ I love yous were ever uttered with sincerity, he will never know. Even if he could, he probably would not care, because the things that they made him feel were real, even if only temporarily. 

But the things that you are able to ignite inside him- they’re terrifying him. Yes, good ol’ Wriothesley being scared. Not something that you get to see quite often, right? But it’s true. Because everywhere he goes; you’re there. While taking a lazy stroll through the Fortress of Meropide to ensure its order, Wriothesley seems to look for you in every nook and crevice of it. Your smile, your eyes, the sound of your voice. In every room that he steps, he seems to find glimpses of you. It gets worse when he realises that he cannot think straight anymore. Signing documents and reading through reports, simple and almost daily tasks for him, all of a sudden feel like hard manual labour. All due to one single person invading his thoughts and not letting go of him.

It’s a day like any other when you visit him, unloading another pile of paperwork for him on his desk, yet what you don’t expect is the sudden proximity between the both of you when he suddenly stands right in front of you. Your forehead wrinkles slightly in worry, noticing his scowl and ragged breaths. “Wriothesley-” “Get out.” Your eyebrows lift questioningly. Taking a step back, you wonder what might have led to his sudden request and rude demeanour as you’ve been getting along more than well the last few weeks. So well that you thought there might actually be something between you-

Warmth envelopes your wrist once you attempt to take the staircase, vainly trying to fulfil his wish, not even wanting to question it, only for him to pull you back. “Here.” with a gentleness that you haven’t gotten the chance to witness from him before, he guides your hand up to his head, lightly tapping the pads of your fingers against his temple. “Get out of here.” It’s only now that his tired looks become more evident. Wriothesley is desperate. He can’t hire someone to solve this problem for him, there is no one who can deal with this mess inside his head and heart except himself. 

“I would, if that is what you truly wished for.” you sigh, gracing him with that soft smile of yours before letting your hand settle on his cheek. Delicately, you trace the light stubble along his jaw with your thumb and Wriothesley, for the first time in forever, feels weak. “But the issue is that you won’t let me go.” 

And Wriothesley recognises that resisting these feelings, fighting against himself; all of it is futile. Sometimes the remedy can be worse than the disease, so letting you go without confessing his devotion to you would only torment him further. Gingerly, as if assessing whether his next move would scare you off, he leans his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the crook of your neck. Like a child seeking warmth and comfort in its mother’s bosom. And you let him. 

Embracing him and placing a hand on the nape of his neck, playing with his messy strands of hair, you ask softly, “Does the prospect of loving me seem that unpleasant to you?”  

That’s not it. And he’s sure you know that too but are merely trying to tease him in order to lighten the situation. It’s the fear of not being good enough, not being able to love you the way you deserve it, not being able to protect you from any possible harm, or even from himself. It’s the fear of causing you pain and sorrow instead of providing you with a happily ever after. 

He gulps audibly before lifting his head to look at you again, despite the lighthearted grin that he flashes you, his face carries a desolate expression. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not a man worth-”

“You truly are a scumbag, Wriothesley. You know that?” As always, you manage to leave him speechless but despite your insult, he leans back into you when you lift one of his hands and place it on your cheek. Your silky and soft skin a contrast in comparison to his rough and scarred self. “I think I should be the one to judge whether you’re worth it or not. Don’t you think so too?”

With a defeated sigh, Wriothesley can only nod before he leans his forehead against yours. Resisting you is hard but opposing you? Impossible.  That's why he lets you see past the cool and cocky walls that he has built up since his adolescence. Like a newborn lamb on shaky legs, ready to fall and get back up again, he allows himself to indulge in this newfound situation of defencelessness.

[swallowtail-ageha]

♥️ ((totally not baiting you for more Maria discourse))

Oh noes an ask about my controversial views on the most popular character with the most rabid fanbase~ and i cant help but respond to it~ such a tragedyyyy

❤️ Which character do you think is egregiously mischaracterized by the fandom?

Mariaaaaaa. In fact her mischaracterization is so bad that if i didn't latch on her BEFORE interacting with the fandom she wouldve been one of those characters i would be aggressively disliking

I just... hate fandom maria lmao. On a vacuum she is fine (eh. Kinda. She just falls into the fandom typical stereotype of the only girl in the group being the sane one/cool one with no other depth than that or kissing adeline/ maybeeee sometimes being sad for the genocide/human experimentation), but when compared to what the game shows us she just makes me mad. Fandom maria is not canon maria. Its just a random girl with swords and most generic tropes about girl with swords.

Fandom maria cannot have flaws, actually, you see. She cannot be someone who was sucked i the cycle of brutality and gleefully continued it only to realize what she was doing AFTER the situation became unsalveagable and then jump ship trying to remedy it and making things worse for anyone. Nope! Cant have any of that! God forbid female characters to have actual depth. Maria NEEDS to be the cool female hunter that is the voice of reason. She NEEDS to be the cool girlboss that always opposes Laurence's wrongdoings to the point where you ask yourself why even she is the head of the research hall if every interaction she has with him is telling him you and your plans suck. Cant be complicit in anything ever.

You see! She was the token good member of the research hall for giving adeline the key! Nevermind that she experimented on adeline (and many others) to death.

You see! The fishing hamlet massacre was justified because they were mutated!

You see! She is actually the real hero while due to her regret she actively upholds the nightmare and makes innocent people suffer more!

This is not a character. Its a cardboard cutout that can be used only and only when making her kiss with adeline, whose fanon potrayal is also as shallow as a puddle and might as well be renamed to y/n.

And like. God. Swinging the bat against an hornet nest with this take but the fact that the people who are the most adamant, the most rabid, the most likely to harass people over this headcanon do that because in their mind is feminist makes me want to bash my head against a wall. Taking a complex female character that kinda sucked and removing all of her flaws to give a shiny unproblematic "girlboss" version of her isn't feminist at all. In fact its quite misogynistic.

Anyways, thanks for the ask! Got super salty with this one, but mariacourse gets my gears grinding (esp since she's my favourite character)

Ask game here

https://www.tumblr.com/fintan-pyren/747123238736429056/ask-game-unpopular-opinion-edition?source=share

[sysboxes]

Sysboxes FAQ

Responses to some questions we frequently get! This post is long, so full responses are under the cut, but here are the main questions this post addresses, in order:

What are userboxes and how do I use them?

How do you make your userboxes?

What styles/customization can I request?

Do you have a box for X?

When can I send in a request/When will the askbox reopen?

How many requests can I send in per ask or per user?

Is there any particular media you absolutely won’t make boxes for?

Why hasn’t a box been made for my request yet?

What does X term mean?

What is your syscourse stance/Why can’t pro/endos interact?

Who can reblog/use these boxes?

What are userboxes and how do I use them?

Userboxes are rectangular images, often with an image on the left and information about a person on the right. They were originally meant to appear on a Wikipedian’s user page to convey something about a person. To use our boxes, you can reblog them to your tumblr page and/or right click to save the image for later use.

We have seen people put userboxes in their intro posts, in a certain tag on their tumblr, in Discord and PluralKit profiles, on their SimplyPlural (this post explains how), or in exchanges with friends. We generally request that you credit sysboxes when using our userboxes.

How do you make your userboxes?

Different mods use different methods, like Canva and MS Paint, but our main method of making boxes is using yerich.net/userbox. In the box that says “Left Box (ID) Text”, enter the code “src=“yourpicturelinkhere” height=“45px” width=“45px”>”, replacing yourpicturelinkhere with your image URL. Customize your userbox using the rest of the options on the site. You can screenshot your box here, or you can go to htmleditor.com and paste the “Raw HTML” code from yerich. Then you can use HTML coding to mess around with size, font, and color before screenshotting your finished box.

What styles/customization can I request?

This post details a lot of the customization options you can request, like boxes vs. banners, different fonts, colors, and images, including hand-drawn art by mods. You can also request a specific mod do your box. Most mods are adults, but if you feel uncomfortable with a minor making your request, you are free to add that in your ask. Note that if you are requesting an image that contains someone else’s art, we must get permission from the artist to use the image for a userbox.

This being said, we are not infallible to making mistakes on the origins of an image. We do try to reverse image search when provided with an image in an ask, but if you notice your art in a userbox without having been asked permission for its use, please let us know so we can remedy the situation.

Do you have a box for X?

Please search our blog using a keyword for the box you’re looking for and possible variants on it. For example, if you’re looking for a box about food, try food, foods, eat, eats, and eating as keywords. If you’re looking for a box whose keyword is a common tag on our blog, try checking #hard to find tag on our blog for boxes. If you cannot find a box with these steps, we likely have not made one yet or whatever we do have is unlikely to fit your request idea.

When can I send in a request/When will the askbox reopen?

We let people know whether requests are open or closed in three ways: the box in our intro post, the title of the askbox itself, and a post when requests first open or close with the tag #sysboxes status update. When our requests are closed, please do not send any in for “when requests are open”; it will be deleted.

At any given time, we have hundreds of requests in our askbox. We try to keep requests open as long as we can, but even with a large number of mods, there is only so much we can do. We run this blog in our free time, while dealing with work, school, and mental and physical health issues. We do accept questions/appreciation while our requests are closed, but sometimes we save them to respond to when we clear the askbox, to look forward to later.

How many requests can I send in per ask or per user?

We don’t limit how many asks a single user can send in, but if possible, we prefer you send in multiple asks if you have multiple requests. We’ll still do multiple requests in one ask, but one request per ask allows us to more easily sort and number requests. It also lets us respond to when requests will be posted individually instead of waiting until every one is queued or posted to respond to a non-anonymous ask.

Is there any particular media you absolutely won’t make boxes for?

We are okay with requests pertaining to fictives from most media, as we understand they cannot control what source they introjected from. We will not make requests that express support for harmful media. As for media we won’t do requests for introjects from, we have decided not to make boxes pertaining to true crime or nazi introjects, for our and others comfortability. This is not a complete list, as different mods have different boundaries, but we try to honor requests whenever possible.

Why hasn’t a box been made for my request yet?

If you want to know exactly when your userbox will come out, send in your request off anon, and when we queue it, we will privately respond to your ask letting you know when to expect your box. Note our queue is very long.

We do not always do requests in the order we receive them. Some requests we must discuss or reword (for length, misinfo, etc.) before making. We do not make requests that incite hate/harassment, include misinformation (and can’t be reworded), include (specific) details that may endanger the user, or put us in the middle of heavy discourse we do not want to be roped into.

What does X term mean?

This is a userbox blog, and as such, we prefer you do not direct your questions about DID here. We are not professionals (and cannot diagnose anyone), and we recommend looking for credible resources. If you cannot find anything for your question or would like resources, some of the mods are ok with asks about things relating to DID on their system blogs. Mod blogs ok with these questions include @fromthewondersystem and @thecircularsystem.

What is your syscourse stance/Why can’t pro/endos interact?

Individual mods fall across the syscourse spectrum, but this blog is overall anti-endo. In truth, we do not know nor much care whether it is possible to have a non-traumagenic system. We feel our system experiences are deeply informed by our trauma, and this is very different from endos’ experiences.

Additionally, mods of this blog have faced much harassment and harm from the pro-endo community, including being set back in recovery, misinformation, cultural appropriation, abuse, death threats, and doxxing. We are aware these issues extend beyond just the pro-endo community, but this is where we have most commonly found them. For these reasons, we do not want endos or pro-endos interacting with our blog or using our userboxes. There are plenty of pro-endo userbox blogs already.

Who can reblog/use these boxes?

First and foremost, these boxes are for people with (traumagenic) CDDs. The main people who can’t use the boxes we make are those who fall under our DNI.

We do allow syscourse-neutral/unaligned people to use our boxes - we are not here to force you to pick a side. This also includes people with alters who fall across the syscourse spectrum. People who are not pro-endo but allow pro-endos to interact with them may use our boxes, but we recommend noting that we are an anti-endo blog.

As for singlets, we ask them not to use boxes that specify they are for systems or use system-specific terms. We have decided they may use our other boxes. They may also reblog system-specific boxes for system friends. We do request that singlets do not make userbox requests, as other non-system-specific userbox blogs are out there to make requests for them, and we already receive so many.

[shorthaltsjester]

sometimes people will say “going dark” and then what they’re actually talking about is just people no longer presenting a carefully constructed version of their emotions and experiences.

like. emotional turmoil is not the same as darkness. laudna in this Fictional Universe that has tangibly different stakes wrt to death and killing than our own, is at best like . morally neutral for what she just did like. man has been secretly trying to kill you, and then just tried to do so again, killing him back is a fair choice. and even if i was someone who is excited by delilah’s inability to escape from the narrative, this shit isn’t about delilah. laudna made a choice. if delilah is back or whatever it’s a choice that laudna made because something in that grants her more control than her existing conditions did. this isn’t some Delilah Takes Over, it’s Laudna Expressly Makes The Choice To Call Forth Something within Herself to remedy the lack of control that’s been thrust upon her. if y’all want to Continue to limit Laudna’s agency (as the cr fandom is so, so want to do when a female character makes a choice that isn’t Good according to some weird system of virtue ethics) go ahead.

likewise with orym. little guy is not “going dark” because he has finally made direct action about his emotional turmoil in dealing with a situation which has similarly left him without control and has also placed him in a position where his stalwart conviction towards protecting and honouring those he loves and has lost alike is constantly met with other people he cares for going well.. what if they had a point/we are killing other peoples loved ones/etc. which like . yeah that might be frustrating and in fact might lead him to go, actually, i can’t afford to try and maintain some abject morality where I carry a locket that will literally only provide guilt. orym is completely committed to his beliefs, the locket and what it represents has never been a limit to what he will do, only a reminder of the consequences of what he might cause in those actions. but they Are at war and orym has a billion things on his plate. he can put down the locket. especially when bor’dor is the explicit manifestation of that locket’s symbolism. the subtext rapidly became the text and orym doesn’t need a reminder. it’s there in the fact that team issylra is walking away with two friends, not three.

these are character who have at every turn denied their own emotions in various forms while still being acutely aware of what they deny, whether that awareness was/is fully realized or not. many of laudna’s early convos with ashton show us that there is some awareness to the lighthearted spooky goth girl and how that persona fades when she thinks too much about what has led her and maintained that reality. likewise the entirety of orym’s story thus far is defined by his grief in a very literal sense, it Has extended from that grief to also the commitment he had to the purpose of figuring out the assassination attempt on keyleth but as we have seen, that purpose has fallen apart. paired with the quasi-reopening of his grief that was getting to see will again only to have to turn away, i don’t think there’s a lack of awareness in orym of how much he hurts. but between his actions and 4SD, that hurt tends to get buried under guilt or Responsibility.

and now, finally, both of them have admitted to that Not in the safety of small introspection or one-on-one conversations but with actions that they cannot shy away from or deny. laudna killed bor’dor and orym encouraged her to. and it Is a complex situation but truly I don’t really think it’s a “going dark” one. because they’re not giving into some overhanging Darkness of Morality™, they’re admitting that they are hurt and have long been hurting.

or, y’know, tldr for those who continue to deny laudna and orym agency or fully villainise them for whatever weird reasons . you could listen to laudna and ashton’s conversation that pretty much lays it out explicitly. laudna claims she’s weak for having chosen to kill bor’dor. ashton denies that and affirms instead that, no, she’s hurt.

[lixiesfreckless]

The Way You Shatter | h. js.

➸ synopsis: you should love him. you do love him. but not like this.

➸ starring: han jisung x female reader(ft. a mention of another skz member)

➸ word count: 1.6k

➸ general content: probably the angstiest thing I have ever written. unrequited love, established relationship, mentions of metaphorical blood

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, no real happy ending

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: a fic I wrote after I broke up with my boyfriend a few years back. I always see people talking about how hard it is to have your heart broken, but no one ever mentions the pain of knowing you have to break someone's heart, to do the right thing. so I wrote this to cope and process my feelings, in the hope that maybe this would help someone going through a similar situation. you are so not alone.

♫ recharge- yasumu

“I don’t wanna break up with you.”

Somehow, these are the scariest words that have ever been uttered to you.

For the first time, someone has given you their heart; something so precious and invaluable, fragile and vulnerable, and you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t have a clue.

He’s looking at you with watery eyes, the same eyes you once saw long nights and baby names inside of. A future. Something to build forever upon. 

Now all you see is dark umber rimmed with red.

You’re supposed to say something back, you realize. People don’t give others their heart so they can zone out and stare at the wall, leaving the blood to seep out between their fingers.

You know exactly what you’re supposed to say to make the tears stop. You want to rub the space between his eyebrows until the wrinkles that lie there smooth out, until the corners of his mouth lift in relief. You want to run so far away from him; erase any chance of you hurting him again. Invent time travel and stop yourself from saying yes too quickly.

“I don’t wanna break up with you either.”

The words taste so vile in your mouth. You hate yourself for every syllable you speak. Liar, you hear yourself say in the back of your mind. 

You almost don’t recognize your own voice; thick with tears and stress and yet so devoid of emotion. There are robots with more character. Again but with more feeling, the director in your head screams at you.

But Jisung doesn’t seem to think any of that, no— he lets out a broken sigh, squeezing your hand in his, and it feels as if you’re being suffocated. As if the thumb caressing your knuckle is slanting against your windpipe, stopping you from saying the words you desperately need to tell him.

You feel yourself continue talking. Reassuring him that you’ll get through this, that you can work through this together. That you’re just going through a dry spell. You can’t tell who you’re trying to convince anymore.

Please stop talking. Please, you’re only making it worse.

Even the people pleaser inside of you is wincing, knowing that this cannot last for long. That you cannot pretend for another second. That your words are more hollow than sparrow bones.

Please don’t believe me. Please figure it out so I don’t have to splinter your heart by hand.

Your eyes meet with his and you finally notice it. How his eyes don’t penetrate past your physical appearance anymore. How the idea of love isn’t immortalized in his irises. 

It finally clicks once you stop talking, but not in the satisfying way legos do. It manifests in your stomach dropping, the thought that no, this cannot be remedied, you have crossed the point of no return but will not be paying the price.

You have effectively shoved shards of glass into the heart in your hand. With every sentence you spoke, you mindlessly wove together a world where you could continue, with him. With his chestnut hair and round cheeks, his sweet songs and guitar melodies, his full laugh, his doc martens.

You should love him. You do love him.

But not like this.

And so the world you wove together takes its strings and wraps them around your neck, all of the promises working together against you, and you curse your tongue for being so quick to please, his eyes for begging you to make the pain go away.

“I love you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he looks up at you, eyes expectant.

You must say it back. After everything you’ve said, you have to right? Maybe the feeling will come back, if it was ever there. Maybe you won’t compromise yourself to ensure a smile again. Maybe you’ll repeat the words back and it won’t feel like you’re removing a shard from his heart, and shoving it right into your own.

But it’s in saying the words that you realize what a mistake you’ve made. You wonder if Jisung could finally tell you about the thing each of his songs talk about. Looking into your eyes, he is bound to figure out what love is.

After all, you’re much more likely to notice something when it’s not there.

“I love you too.”

In its absence.

…

“As long as you love him, I think you guys will be okay.” He raises his bottle to his lips, half expecting you to nod your head, say something, have some sort of reaction.

But you sit across from him, lifeless, and instead of waiting for the cold soju to hit the back of his throat, he tips his head forward, setting the bottle down beside him.

“Y/n,” he says with a hint of concern, “you do love him, right?”

Your eyes dart to his, big and brown, half expecting there to be worry, fear, anything to be swimming in those coffee-colored irises.

Instead you find Hyunjin looking at you with a blank expression, tracing the rim of the bottle opening with his index finger. He’s so carefully neutral about the way he looks right now, which only tells you one thing.

He already knows how you feel.

About Jisung.

You hesitated for a second too long and now you are glass, so perfectly see-through for Hyunjin to dissect and psychoanalyze. 

It only takes those two seconds of silence, your hesitation, for Hyunjin to see, to know what has been plaguing your thoughts.

“Yes.” You gulp hard. “Yes, I do love him.” Does love sound like a forced phrase?

Hyunjin is one of those friends that likes to surprise you. With his talent, his paintings, his dances, his outbursts of laughter. He is a constant in your life and yet, you never know what to expect from him.

“But you are not in love with him.”

You did not expect Hwang Hyunjin to read you so easily on the floor of his living room, to explain your situation in the simplest most detailed way possible.

Your mouth opens to fight his suggestion, because in your head, he is wrong. In your head, it is crazy that he would assume such a thing. You kiss Jisung hello and goodbye, you already have his birthday gift, you love his dog, his family, his smile, his laugh. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it enough?

Your heart knows it isn’t. Your mouth closes again.

Hyunjin knows what to expect from you, which is why even though he just made a statement, he left it open ended. Open for you to admit that it went wrong, somewhere. There’s no judgement in his eyes; part of you wonders if he’s been here before. Teetering on the line between obligation and feeling. You hope he’s never been here.

But you’ve been here, you feel like you’ve lived a million lifetimes here, and now it feels like the tear rolling down your cheek is the first step down off the tightrope you’ve called home.

You don’t want to admit it. But what’s the use in hiding it— if Hyunjin could see it, who’s to say no one else has? You don’t want to indirectly break Jisung’s heart like that.

Eight words is all it takes for him to break the glass that is you. And you shatter all over his floor.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you sniffle. He picks up his bottle and walks over to you, bunny-shaped slippers stepping on the scattered splinters of you on the floor. He crouches next to you, hooking the cuff of his hoodie around his thumb so he can swipe away the wetness on your cheek.

“Y/n. He will be okay.”

It’s no use, the dam breaks, and Hyunjin catches you as you start sobbing, releasing all of the pent up stress and worry you’ve been holding for weeks. You try to speak but it’s barely understandable, but it’s met with soft hushes, whispers of it’s going to be alright, you didn’t mean to hurt him, you tried, you tried, you tried.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you take his bottle of soju, and down the rest of it in one go. He doesn’t speak when you start stringing your tears into sentences. You let him into the darkest corner of your mind and he doesn’t snoop, he just sits and waits for you to show him around.

And you show him everything. How you never got butterflies when you kissed. How you haven’t felt your heartbeat in months. How you think Bbama understands you better than he does. How he’s never done anything wrong, but the more you try to love him the more you start to resent him. And how the thought of resenting Jisung makes you want to throw up.

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren’t in love with him, how you looked into his eyes and asked yourself, how did it get to this point?

“I don’t want to break up with him,” you whisper out shakily, and Hyunjin nods back at you, still drying your tears with his sleeve. “I know how it would break him. I can’t do that to him.” Not after you reassured him. Not after you splintered his heart and stabbed your own.

Hyunjin has a couple things he could say back to you. He could tell you that it’s no good leading Jisung on from here. That lying to yourself will make you bleed from the inside out. That he doesn’t want to see his two closest friends in tears either. 

But the sorrowful look in his eyes tells you all of that already.

“I know,” he sighs, eyes just the tiniest bit more glassy.

What more can be said, really?

[ecargmura]

The Apothecary Diaries Episode 3 Review - Ghost Stories

What the heck? Who told me that an episode that revolves around ghost stories would be this good? No one told me this episode would be so emotional and beautiful? I’m shedding tears of joy at the ending of this episode. It was so beautiful. I’m glad Lady Fuyou got a happy ending.

I assumed the episode would be about Maomao making medicine for the episodic issues, but no medicine was created this time around—only speculation and assumptions were at play. I did like how they don’t try to make Maomao create medicines for every issue or so. Some issues like sleepwalking don’t need a remedy and is more of a psychological issue than a physical one. I liked how Maomao suggested that her room be heavily guarded once she recalled several cases of somnambulism back when she was at her hometown. This was when Maomao realized that Fuyou had been faking her symptom the entire time—for the past two years.

There’s also a bit of world-building with how the palace and concubines work. Apparently, there are a lot of concubines and some of them are princesses or daughters of high status families from other countries. It now makes sense why Gyokuyou has a Japanese name while everyone else in the castle has a Chinese name—Gyokyou is from a foreign land. Why didn’t I catch this sooner? The star character of this episode Fuyou is also from a vassal state, hence a woman from a foreign land. For the concubine system, there are different ranks. If one is the emperor’s favorite, then she is a High Consort. Some concubines that the emperor do not touch are either mid or low ranking concubines. High status concubines stay in the palace but anyone under can be given away to another of high status. That’s how Fuyou’s situation was. She flubbed at a dance performance, but it was all a ploy for the emperor to lose interest in her as she waited for her childhood sweetheart to come find her. It’s a rather complicated system as the power of women in the palace reminds me of a corporate office.

Though, my only gripe was that Fuyou was more of the driving force for the episode and not an actual character that Maomao interacted with. I’d like to learn a little more about her before she got her happy ending, but as long as she’s happy, that’s alright.

While most of the other characters took a back seat, I still liked how they were handled in this episode. Jinshi is still the guy HR would hate for his lack of personal space, but he most likely means well as he also probably knew about Fuyou’s situation. I also like how Maomao keeps thinking Jinshi is a male concubine or something. Gaoshun is a cool guy. He asks Maomao to not glare at Jinshi for his master as a degradation kink. Gyokuyou was envious of Fuyou’s happy ending and that makes me wonder if she has someone she loved back home but cannot be with?

I think out of the three episodes, I liked this one the best. However, once I dive into the other episodes, that opinion might change. I still like the episodic format of these stories/cases. What are your thoughts on this episode?

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage sounds super interesting!! can we get any hints on what it’s about??

yes absolutely! I was filling yandere prompts and REALLY fell down the rabbit hole with this one, but it ended up being pretty different than I expected. the basic premise is that Homelander starts observing a perfectly ordinary citizen go about their daily routine (the reader) and gradually becomes fixated on their potential to remedy the emptiness he experiences in his own home life. they're domestically capable, nurturing, kind, and seem to him a perfect fit. on top of that, he considers their life exceptionally drab and lonely. mundane. he cannot fathom that they're in any way content when they have so little (in his opinion) in terms of material and social fulfillment.

so, he makes the elective decision to kidnap rescue them from their mundane life and bring them into his world. shockingly to him, they're not impressed! they are in fact quite angry, but he has built this up so much in his mind, he refuses to let them leave until they see reason. what ultimately comes of this is a hostage situation wherein Homelander is desperately trying to reconcile how this person can possibly be so miserable when he's offering them the world on a gold platter. it forces him to reevaluate his own perception of freedom, happiness, and fulfillment, and what that might actually mean. he also needs to come to terms with the fact that no matter how prettily it's presented, a cage is still a cage, and for all his power and self-defined freedom, he's also in one. here's a snippit!

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of the commutes and routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your routine each and every day. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke.

More and more, it becomes apparent to Homelander that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher. You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your homeless pal. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for someone you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays.

It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

[givemethesleep]

*KICKS DOWN YOUR DOOR*

Congratulations! Wizard Game Brairot has TAKEN OVER and I blame you! Your wizposting has let me properly rediscover the joy of this game and is slowly healing my inner child!

For SDW: 2, 5, and 6

For whoever your main Pirate is: 3, 22, 25

HIIIIIIIIII <3 <3 <3 home from work and procrastinating editing so woe, sdw edgy ask meme upon ye Stephanie Dragonwhisper

2 - What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

For a theurgist in her pristine white and green robes, its probably hard to believe that she was hardcore into the PvP scene in the arena! Most of her spare time between classes was spent taking turns with Suzie Gryphonbane blasting each other to a pulp. On top of this, she's also a skilled swordsman, mostly due to her travels with her adoptive parents, Zeke and Eloise, meaning lessons in Skull Island! So yes, she plays the part of the calm, collected, gentle theurgist when she has to, but SDW is violent and incredibly strong, both within a dueling ring and out.

5 - How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

I think a fun problem for SDW is that the only things she wants are things she physically cannot achieve whether she tries or not. For a time, all she wanted was to go back to Earth, to pretend none of this ever happened. But, due to the time disparities between Earth and the Spiral, there was no way she could return without spending the rest of her life in a lab. For a time, it was to become the Wizard, to take that weight off of their shoulders. But fate doesn't play that way. She cannot take the weight of the Spiral for them. She isn't strong enough. For a time, all she wants is her son back. But she knew the Drakes, watched the fallout of Malistaire's grief, and she knows better than to try. She's sick with a longing there's no remedy for.

6 - How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

Look. Listen. Okay. She's a member of the Council of Light. The backup Wizard, so to speak. And as a result, especially in her early days, she was complicit in a hell of a lot of stuff that she in no way endorsed. But she was young, and despite her shouting she was spoken over. The Council's decision to force the Wizard on without Dyvim is one of her worst moments as a Councillor. That was plain cruel. But she grows sick of that quickly and forces herself to be heard. She's angry and abrasive and challenges the Council on any and everything she deems unfair or immoral, advocating for the Wizard in their absence. She still fumbles, or is involved in decisions that go against her values, but it takes a lot for her to willingly consent to or actively do something she thinks is wrong.

As far as Pirates go, my pirates aren't p101 specific but I'm gonna talk about them anyway. He's not my main pirate but, at least for the book I'm currently writing, Fiorenzo Adathan is who we're following so for the next 3 I'll answer for him.

3- What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

Ohhhhhh boy. Fiorenzo is a coward. He is painfully aware of that. This man has not once stood up for himself, and bows to everyone else's will. He frightens easily, and is abused consistently by his incredibly unstable captain. He's aware of his cowardice for two main reasons - in running from his father, Fio forced his younger brother into being their father's heir, and a childhood of abhorrent treatment to form him into the cunning lord their House needs, and his cowardice meant that his lover, Adam, is taken hostage and subjected to a fate worse than death. And he could have done something to stop both of these things happening, but he didn't!

22 - What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

Okay so like. I struggle with alignments because I always find it more complex and situational. But the simplest answer is probably Neutral Good, which is wild for a pirate. Neutral, because, while he does have a blatant disregard for the law, he does follow specific rules to the letter - mostly so Lenora lets him keep his head on his shoulders. And, despite his y'know. piracy. he values human life above all else and is less violent than most of the cast. But again. Good is subjective here i feel LMAO

25 - What is your favorite thing about your OC? Hehehehe. He's just. He has to do so much work on himself. He's not the worst version of himself but he has so many shortcomings that make his life worse, and impact the people around him negatively. And even when he DOES get Adam back, there's no fixing the blame on Fio. Just. Chewing on him. He's Not A Good Person.

[dalishthunder]

A Game of Go

Chapter 7: Helen of Troy

[AO3 Link]

"We must try to develop greater perspective, looking at situations from all angles. Usually when we face problems, we look at them from our own point of view. We even sometimes deliberately ignore other aspects of a situation. This often leads to negative consequences. However, it is very important for us to have a broader perspective. We must come to realize that others are also part of our society. We can think of our society as a body, with arms and legs as parts of it. Of course, the arm is different from the leg; however, if something happens to the foot, the hand should reach down to help. Similarly, when something is wrong within our society, we must help."

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama

You picked listlessly at the protein bar in your hand, face filled with an emotion Ramattra couldn’t quite place.

Despondence perhaps?

Eventually you put it down on the desk, only partially eaten, with a sigh.

“Is something the matter?” He asked after a moment, placing his tools on the work bench.

You gave him a small smile and shook your head, you had for the past several days worn a similar expression… and each time he asked if anything was wrong, you would shake your head with a downright doleful smile.

“I’m fine,” You said, though your voice betrayed you.

“Do not lie to me.” Perhaps his voice was a touch sterner than it needed to be, but he had grown tired of this game; He was not going to hem and haw around an issue he could see, but could not identify.

You immediately snapped to attention, a startled look on your face.

At least you were no longer downcast.

“It’s fine, really. It’s nothing you need to worry about,” You stammered, occupying your hands with the protein bar, picking and twisting.

“I am not worried, I am… concerned. I cannot remedy something if you do not articulate what troubles you.”

You gave him a sheepish smile, “I think the lack of sunlight is starting to affect me.”

He tilted his head, “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“We actually need sunlight to synthesize certain vitamins in our body. Lack of sunlight can severely impact us, but I didn’t realize it would happen so quickly.”

“Humans truly are fragile,” He hadn’t intended for it to come out so callously, but as you winced, smile faltering for just a second, he felt a pang of guilt.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit.” There was more that you had to say, but you chewed on your words for a moment before continuing, “And you’re probably not going to like this, but there are certain micronutrients that human bodies need that aren’t present in protein bars. Not- not that I’m complaining, I knew going into this that I probably wouldn’t be eating the same sort of prepared foods that I was before, but I think the lack of vegetables or even a multivitamin might be fucking with my system.”

“Oh,” He hadn’t thought about that.

“Even if we can’t get any vegetables, a multivitamin and water-soluble fiber should be okay.” You quickly added.

Just another way for Talon to figure out that you were human.

Not that he wasn’t already positive that they figured it out already. They weren’t exactly known for being dullards.

“If that is what you need.” He stated simply, and you seemed to relax as though you had been preparing for some sort of battle. “Add it to our requisition forms. I’m sure it will be the easiest of the items on there to procure.”

“Thank you.” You swallowed before letting out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of your head. “I don’t know why I thought this was going to be a more difficult conversation.”

Something in him sank at your words, “I am a reasonable omnic.”

You seemed to bite your tongue at that remark, and he bristled a bit.

“I am.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” You raised your hands placatingly, brows furrowing. “It’s just… sometimes you don’t like my ideas, and I was worried that this would be another one of those times.”

He did not ask for your ideas.

He did not ask for your assistance.

He did not ask you to join him.

He could do this alone.

He had been doing this alone for a long time.

Ramattra stared at you for a moment, processor picking through each of your interactions, and he begrudgingly had to admit that… you weren’t completely incorrect. Since you had chosen to join his cause, he had been… less than charitable when you shared your ideas.

… Your words were not without some truth.

A pregnant pause filled the room, and you cleared your throat awkwardly, “So, um, thanks. For hearing me out this time.”

He mulled on his words, picking over them, sorting the wheat from the chaff, and after another long moment he sighed, “You said when you had first joined, ‘Follow the money. Target them, and the people will begin to rise up.’ Tell me which of those so-called ‘Hard Targets’ you deem most worthy of death and I shall bring them to their end.”

A small compromise.

Nothing that would delay his schedule, but a show of good faith.

He could see the way your hands quivered, eyes ablaze with a mixture of surprise and excitement.

“Are… are you sure?” There was a touch of horror in your voice as you spoke… you really were such a gentle creature, of course you would have your reservations, but there was steel in there as well. You could do this.

You just needed a push.

“Quite.”

You swallowed and he took a step towards you, tipping your chin up. It was a small compromise, but he still knew how difficult it must be for you. A wave of affection coursed through his processor, and found himself leaning down to touch his forehead to your own.

“Annihilation stirs at your command.”

It was impossible to miss the shiver that ran across your back, pupils dilating, blood and pulse racing under your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed after a few seconds, and you leaned into his touch, nose bumping against his faceplate.

Idly he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have your lips pressed against him.

Probably no different from your fingertips… though the texture would be different, wouldn’t it….

After all, the texture of your skin was different on your palms than on your cheeks.

How many different textures would he have discovered on your body should you let him explore it?

“You need only direct it.”

Annihilation stirs at your command.

You need only direct it.

You looked at the photos in front of you, people all smiling with shiny, perfect, white teeth.

Today you condemn someone to their death.

No trial.

No plea.

No jury.

You were the judge. The one who held the thread of fate between your fingers, scissors in hand…. Because even if you weren’t the one pulling the trigger, you were about to commit a murder. Blood would still be on your hands, blood you could never wash off no matter how necessary it was.

You swallowed, saliva thick in your throat, lead in your stomach.

You knew the atrocities these people committed regularly, you knew the world would be a better place without each and every one of them in it.

You supposed that made it easier….

Please don’t ask me to shoot anyone.

You really should have been more specific, but this had been your idea; Take out the wealthy and influential people who were actively oppressing humans and omnics alike.

You could do this.

You could do this.

You could do this.

No you couldn’t….

Yes.

You could.

Ramattra wouldn’t take any of your ideas seriously if you couldn’t follow through on even one of them.

You weren’t pulling the trigger.

You didn’t have to look your victim in the eyes as it happened.

But it would still happen.

You let out a shaky breath. You wondered if this would get any easier. If this was how Ramattra had felt when he had first decided how to help his people….

He had been born of war and violence… did he feel at home in it?

Did he feel any remorse for his actions?

… Did that even change the way you felt about him?

You knew that he wasn’t actively trying to hurt citizens, but so much of what he was doing was… crude. Like a bowie knife being used for surgery.

And you understood that that was how he thought people would listen; How he would be able to protect his people…. But you knew people. You knew how societies operated. It was kind of your whole thing.

… Okay, maybe not your whole thing considering it wasn’t what you did for a living, but still. It was something you understood intimately.

Ramattra would listen to you.

This was the first step in that.

Annihilation stirs at your command.

You need only direct it.

You could do this.

You would do this.

Today, you killed your first man.

… History would forgive you….

… Right?

Ramattra looked over the manifests you had devised, noting that you had added some food to it. Carefully worded and hidden, but food nonetheless.

Good.

He needed you alive and well… though he shifted uncomfortably at the thought of Talon discovering you. No matter how careful he was, there would always be that possibility….

He would need to train you in the art of self defense, devise some sort of weapon for you so that even when he was not by your side, you weren’t defenseless.

He wondered how you’d take to a gun….

Though his thoughts were disturbed as you were particularly loud when you threw open the door.

“Marcus Resnick.” The first words out of your mouth as you entered the room, pulling out a tablet and placing it on the table in front of him. “Inheritor of the Resnick fortune, and responsible for the merger between Nestle Co, and The Wonderful Company, and owner of millions of acres in plantations that exploit both impoverished children and the lack of omnic rights protections in many countries. Currently responsible for the civil unrest in both the Cote d’Ivoire and Cameroon, and heavily linked to the assassination of omnic rights activists Maria Santiago and André Papillon, as well as prominent political figures in the Republic of Ecuador.”

There was steel in your voice, in your eyes, in your posture as you looked at him.

“That was… quicker than expected,” He admitted. You were a gentle creature… he thought it would have taken longer for you to deliberate on the misdeeds of others to decide who he should eliminate.

Good.

Decisiveness was a good look on you.

“Yes, well… I appreciate you taking my suggestions into consideration…. And if there is anyone other than prominent politicians who deserve death, it’s probably him. Even in nations like the United States, The Wonderful Company is allowed to use fracking waste water, as well as irradiated water, to water their produce which has led to increased birth defects and cancers in multiple areas. Operating globally, they also control Fiji water which has led to droughts on the island nation that their puppet politicians have done nothing to address for the past eighty years. Even if he gives millions to charities a year, he’s a trillionaire who would grind us all beneath his heel if given the chance.”

There was so much passion in your voice, fire in your eyes, the way the corners of your mouth turned down as you spat out this man’s sins. It was… intoxicating.

He glanced at the tablet in front of him, you’d written up a report for him. He almost wished he could smile.

How quaint.

As though your words alone were not enough of a reason for him to kill.

“Not to mention the amount of pollution his factories contribute to-”

He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek, and you stuttered, trailing off. Your skin was so warm under his sensors.

Once upon a time, Ramattra had tried to understand the human condition… read their myths and legends and spiritual texts.

He hadn’t cared for much of them outside of their prose and poetic symbolism.

But looking at you now, hearing your voice, he… understood why Troy fell when they had taken Helen.

Why a war could be waged for one, singular person.

Ramattra did not take pleasure in killing.

Satisfaction perhaps… but not pleasure.

… But he had to admit that he would take great joy in pruning the world into something you deemed beautiful.

Life by life.

[6-death-spells-9]

The Confession

———

So, recently I’ve realised that I haven’t been engaging with Tumblr and the fandom community as much as I’d liked.

In order to remedy that I’ve written this little chainshipping fic — and I hope to write more mini fics in future.

Of course likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you have any prompts for me my ask box is always open :)

Warning: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, With a happy ending.

———

It starts as it usually does, with a simple question.

“You haven’t been going to therapy again, have you?”

“Oh, fuck off Lawrence!” Adam replies, always on the defensive. “I don’t need you parenting every single decision I make.”

“I’m just trying to help you Adam.” Lawrence says, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I’m not trying to undermine you and I’m certainly not trying to parent you.”

“Well, I don’t need your fucking help.” Adam grunts, still defensive, still angered.

And that’s the problem, Adam does need help, he just can’t admit it. He thinks of it as a weakness so he slaps on a fake smile and pretends everything’s alright, he’s good at masking… to everyone except Lawrence.

Lawrence can see it, can decipher the fake smiles from the genuine, can see the looks of sadness and loneliness when he thinks no one’s looking. He wants to help with that, but it’s rare Adam will let him, even when it’s gotten this bad.

Adam hasn’t left his apartment in days, it’s frankly filthy and Lawrence doesn’t particularly want to sit down in any of his chairs, despite the pain in his leg, so he stands. He’s almost certain Adam hasn’t left the couch either, he’s undressed, unkempt and unclean. He must be going through one of those phases where he can’t bear to go into the bathroom, unless it’s to go to the toilet, again. Which means he must not be eating or drinking very much to cut down his need to go so often.

Adam needs help, he just can’t admit to it.

“Besides,” Adam begins crossing his arms, a trick he often uses to make himself feel more closed off. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to, can’t afford it.”

Lawrence guessed as much, the bare cupboards, the eviction notice Adam tried to hide, it’s obvious.

“I’ve said I can pay for that, I can help you with groceries too.” Lawrence responds. “You can stay with me too if you’d like, I have the room.”

“I don’t want your money, I’m not some charity case to help you feel better about your failed marriage.” Adam yells, very much on the defensive now, insults are usually the final step before crying and slamming doors.

The comment hurts, it jabs into Lawrence’s heart and, honestly, it angers him slightly. “That’s not why I’m offering Adam, and you know it!” He says, words sharp with irritation. “I’m offering because I care about you.”

Adam laughs in self contempt. “I’m a fucking nobody, Lawrence, I can’t do anything, I can’t even bear to pick up my camera anymore, I’m good for nothing so I might as well just give up.”

“I won’t let you do that Adam.” Lawrence shakes his head, stepping closer. “I care too much about you to let you just give up!”

“Why? Why the fuck do you care so much about me?!” Adam cries, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Why, after everything, do you give a fuck?”

“Because I love you, you fucking idiot!” Lawrence blurts out.

The room grows silent, Lawrence cannot look Adam in the eye even as Adam stares at him so intensely, gaze burning into Lawrence’s skin.

“Y-you what?” Adam stutters after a while, breath hitching.

“You almost died, Adam, not only in that bathroom but in the hospital too.” Lawrence responds, voice thick as he tries not to shed tears. “And I was so scared that you wouldn’t make it.”

Adam stares at him still, his tears tracking down his cheeks now, wordlessly.

“But you did, you pulled through, and even though you should’ve hated me for… for shooting you, you didn’t, you forgave me and you were there for me.” And it’s true, Adam had been there, day and night, through his good days and his bad, even when Adam had been having one of his bad days as well. “You are that constant in my life, Adam, you make me laugh, you make me happy, you make me feel alive again, I never thought I’d feel like that ever again.

Lawrence sniffles and wipes his waterline with his thumb gently. “I found myself falling for you, but I know I’m just an old fool so I’ve kept my feelings quiet.” Lawrence admits. “But seeing you like this, it kills me… we’ve made so much progress together, Adam, please don’t throw it away.”

“Lawrence.” Adam cries.

“Let me help you?” Lawrence pleads. “I love you, Adam.”

Adam rubs his eyes harshly and stands from the couch. “Fuck.” He mutters. “I love you too, Larry.”

“You do?” Lawrence asks hopefully.

Adam nods. “Since you saved me from that bathroom.”

“Can I kiss you?” Lawrence asks.

“You should probably let me clean up first.” Adam laughs. “I’m pretty gross.”

Lawrence shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

Lawrence brings Adam in with an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the other man’s lips. He’s right; Adam’s pretty gross, but still Lawrence doesn’t care one bit.

“You were right.” Adam murmurs against Lawrence’s lips. “I do need help, my days are more bad than good, I haven’t eaten in a day and a half and… I have thirty days to move my stuff out.”

“Stay with me, Adam, I’ll take good care of you.” Lawrence replies, pressing his forehead against Adam’s, something that will constantly bring them comfort. “I promise.”

“Well, you have always been a man of your word.”

[tojixz]

Masterlist ☆ Heart Without Beat Masterlist

HEART WITHOUT BEAT: Chapter Three

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Reader

Notes: I really enjoyed this chapter, but it was extremely painful to write. I even got a little triggered by the scenes. Good luck to you all 😞

Summary: If there is no ground, there is no way to walk. From here on, is it really possible to go on?

Warnings: Pure distress, funeral, panic attack, certain reactions can be triggers. Sensitive subject. Let me know if I have forgotten anything.

Word Count: 2,6k

Previous | Next

All energy is only borrowed and will one day have to be returned.

Every person is born twice, but departs only once.

The Na'vi learn from a young age that every moment, every hour, minute, and second must be enjoyed within the blessing that is all of Eywa's creation.

You must give thanks, revere and love everything and everyone around you. Everyone understands the importance of a life.

But when it's gone, what's left?

The pain of loss is unbearable, something that many take forever to overcome. But what causes sadness if your ancestors continue to live, in peace, with the Great Mother?

Probably the lack of body heat that you will no longer feel. The lack of hugs, new memories…

Everyone fears the unknown, but death is something that is often seen.

The magic formula for overcoming matches has not yet been found, and it is probably far from it.

So what would be the remedy for wounds that cannot be mended? What is the solution, for the regret of everything that should have been done?

There is none of that, after all.

Upon hearing Neytiri's words, you froze for a moment trying to understand the hidden message in her speech.

"I'm sorry, my poor child…I'm sorry", she continued to ramble on and you continued to sink. What was the reason for her apology? What was the reason for her despair?

She wouldn't have mistaken you for someone else, right?

"For what?", your little heart fluttered in your chest, unspoken words deafened your senses. This whole situation was making you afraid.

You wanted your mother.

Neytiri was silent for a while, and then he shifted his gaze to Jake, who was also agitated by the whole scene. Just like you, he wasn't aware of the situation. His muscles were rigid and you could see lines of worry creeping into his features.

The other children just sank into silence together. Tensed by the gloomy atmosphere that was forming. Everything was a mystery and the lack of knowledge of the situation only made everyone overwhelmed.

Neytiri slowly pulled away from you, releasing you from her warm and insecure arms. She placed one of her hands on your chest, just above your fluttering heart and said softly, "You need to be strong. Strong heart."

Your ears perked up at the words. You didn't know exactly what she meant. You didn't understand.

Your mouth was dry, your soul was crying out for answers. Was this some kind of punishment?

You slowly nodded, unsure and unsure.

Neytiri looked at you for a few more seconds, which seemed like forever, and then stood up, taking one of your hands and leading you into Mo'at's tent.

Jake slowly followed behind, a little hesitant because he didn't know if he was welcome there. His curious children also followed close behind, with cautious and silent movements.

Neteyam noticed your mother's agitation when she arrived and when she spoke to you, which made him worry.

Nothing bad would happen to you, right?

Upon entering, you found your Tsahik, Mo'at, next to someone lying on the floor. She silently prayed, passing her hands slowly through the air just above her body.

You just got even more confused. Was someone hurt? What did that have to do with you?

Neytiri, who stayed behind you, placed his hands on your back and slowly pushed you towards the two figures on the ground. You walked hesitantly, shivers ran down your spine and your senses sharpened.

Mo'at nodded to Neytiri, as if to tell her to let you go on your own from then on.

You approached with cautious steps, the person lying down seemed to be in a deep sleep. It would be impolite of you to wake her.

As you got close enough to analyze the features of the figure on the floor, your own body stiffened. You were confused.

Why was your mother there?

The air in your lungs was sucked out, and suddenly you didn't know how to move your muscles.

Your mother seemed so at peace, a sinful peace.

Her body was clean and tidy, in such a deep sleep that it would be unfair to wake her, but you wanted to tell her about your day.

You just didn't understand why your meeting with your mother was such an important thing to do that required your Tsahik's presence.

You crouched down beside her, sitting on your knees so gently that you were almost unable to register the feel of the ground.

Analyzing for a few seconds, you finally put your hands on your mother's arm and shook her a little to wake her up. "Sa'nu? Why are you sleeping here?"

No answers.

Was she so tired at this point? You could hear certain movement, sighs and suppressed sobs behind you, but you didn't care much, you had another purpose.

Mo'at just continued to watch you go on with your movements, a serious and welcoming look on your face. Again, you didn't care.

"Sa'nok, Tsahik is here. Why are you sleeping in this situation?". A small twinge hit your core. You were not understanding, comprehending that situation. What was going on? What did it all mean?

Why wasn't her mother waking up?

She always woke up as soon as you called, always willing at any time to answer your calls. Always willing to comfort you.

You began to shake her harder. Wiggling her more and more. One hour she would wake up, right?

"Tsahik, why doesn't she wake up? Is she sick?", made sense, didn't it? It was the only reason you could find to justify Mo'at's presence there with you. She didn't answer you, she just closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly.

A deafening silence filled the room again. It was as if Eywa herself was listening to your inner doubts, fear and melancholic thoughts taking over. The truth is that you were never good at keeping a steady thought, at focusing on good things.

You always expected the worst.

Her lower lips trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly. But certainly not for your divinity.

Hoping she would wake up, you rocked your mother once more.

Again.

Again. Again. And again.

But nothing happened.

You were becoming distressed. The blood turning to ice in your veins as your eyes filled with spiteful tears.

"Why doesn't she answer? Why doesn't my mother answer?"

You don't ask anyone specific. Anyone who answered you would be enough.

You turned to Neytiri, looking at Jake as well in the process. Mo'at didn't look like she was going to open her mouth to say anything. You were losing hope. "Neytiri, can you help me? Please." Her last words came out as a whisper.

Neytiri covered your mouth with her own hand, sinking her head into the curve of Jake's neck. You were confused. Why was everyone refusing to help you? Had you done something wrong?

Were they punishing you?

You promise that you won't do anything bad anymore, you just wanted to feel your mother's warmth again. You wanted to listen to her, even if it was one of her scoldings.

"Mama! You are scaring me, please answer me." You continued, not satisfied with the lack of movement of the figure on the floor.

Reality came crashing down on you like a stone. But you didn't want to believe it. There was no way… she was so fine.

You finally broke. Swinging your mother with uncontrolled force as you called out to her, your voice growing louder and louder.

"No. No, no, no… Sa'nu."

That was unfair.

You weren't ready. You couldn't even say goodbye.

Was this departure some kind of punishment or a release?

Was it selfish of you to wish that Eywa would return your beloved progenitor back to you?

You were not prepared to see her go.

When you heard Neytiri apologize, you imagined that something had happened. But not something like this.

You were in denial. All this was supposed to be just a misunderstanding. It had to be.

The words weighed heavily on Neytiri's lips, but they certainly didn't compare to the weight of reality on you.

You were alone to carry this burden, it was unbearable.

Regret covered your whole being, drowning you in pure anguish and despair.

The Great Mother had not been fair. You were just a child.

Eywa doesn't choose sides, she is only responsible for the control of life. But there, surely there was a miscalculation.

Her mother shouldn't have gone like this, not this way, not now.

Reality was distorted and you, as a form of final salvation, just wished, begged, that it was all a big misunderstanding, and that in fact your mother was in your marui, just waiting for your arrival.

Maybe not all prayers are always heard. Not as Toruk Makto had been blessed.

Can you imagine how your mother was in her final moments. Was she desperate, afraid… in pain?

At least you hope she's gone in peace. But you know her. You know her well enough to know how much she must have suffered, and how sorry she was that she didn't get the chance to feel your darling little girl's skin just one last time.

And you blamed yourself. You blamed yourself for not being there for her final breaths. You blamed yourself for not realizing. You blamed yourself for not seeing how your mother was saying goodbye to the material world.

Was it selfish of you to pray to Eywa to return her mother?

She was at peace, in the warm and welcoming arms of the Great Mother, so… why? Why did this hurt more than expected?

There was no option to choose.

And then you screamed. You screamed until your lungs clamored for oxygen and your throat tore from the effort. You didn't even know you were capable of emitting such a sound. A colossal sound, which carried all her inner grudges, all her regrets.

You lower your head to your mother's chest, where it should be pulsing with a heartbeat. But where you found only silence. You never imagined that the stillness would frighten you so.

She couldn't have really left you. Not like this. Without your mother you would be alone, with no one to tuck you in at bedtime, no one to scold you, no one to prepare the best meal of your life. You had already lost your father. You couldn't survive without your mother now.

Your chest hurt, your throat ached, still not letting up with the screaming. You cried and cried, no longer aware of your surroundings.

Jake had kicked your children out of there long ago and Neytiri was kneeling a few inches away from you. Murmuring thousands of 'I'm sorry' and 'I'm so sorry'.

She was not at fault in this situation, not at all. But honestly, you didn't have the strength to care anymore.

You had everything. And now there was nothing.

Nothing important to keep close to you. You were surrounded by many, but suddenly you were alone, suffering in silence.

Neytiri came to you then, crouching down next to you and placing a hand on the back of your neck. She gave it a gentle squeeze to reassure you. But even she didn't trust that that was possible. "It's going to be okay… you're not alone."

You didn't know if she was trying to calm herself or you. Her eyes were burning from endless tears, and her voice was already hoarse from screaming. You didn't want to leave your mother, you knew she would open her eyes at some point. She was just very tired.

And so you waited.

But all that was achieved was eternal silence.

Your mother's wake was painful. You couldn't find the strength to go on with that ceremony. She was so beautiful, even without life. She was at peace.

Still, it hurt. It hurt and it hurt so much. The whole situation was tearing you apart. Crushing your heart like it was nothing. How did it end this way?

A few hours ago you were laughing breathlessly with your friends, giving your all in training, looking forward to the moment you would show your new skills to your mother. And then, it ended like this.

Your life turned upside down so fast it made you dizzy. You didn't know where to go from here.

The clan was all gathered around the small space where her mother was. Atokirinas prowling everywhere, especially around you. It's like Eywa is comforting you and telling you that everything was fine, she was safe. Prayers were able to be heard, small thanks for the life she had led up to that point, and pleas for a peaceful rest.

Her mother's hands were so cold. So cold that when it came into contact with her skin, her entire body shivered. She didn't look like herself anymore, with her usual warmth. It scared you.

You weren't ready, not like you should have been. You weren't ready to let go. The hugs, the playfulness, the gentle, loving kisses that your mother filled you with all the time. You wanted her to be there for you as you matured, to be there to put you to sleep and comfort you through the worst nights and nightmares.

It… hurt so much.

You were dead inside. Your soul was crying out for help, unable to bear the unbearable feeling of that loss. No one should have to go through this.

Mostly a child.

Mo'at allowed you to stay by your mother's side to say goodbye. The next time you saw her, she would be with the Great Mother, in a safe place. She would no longer be suffering.

Jake, as Olo'eyktan, was close by. He was also responsible for helping with the funeral, while Mo'at led the spiritual part. His sons were right behind. They too were shaken, eyes swollen from crying along with you, not as much, but their hearts whispered for sympathy.

Neteyam especially. Ever since he became aware of what was happening in Mo'at's tent, his heart broke at the sight of your state. He hated to see you cry, to see you sad. And he knew that a part of your brightness was gone along with your mother. And then he lamented. Neither of you possessed power over life, the only option being to continue with the story. But it was inevitable to think of a 'What if...'

And he felt pathetic that he couldn't help you. His only choice was to put his head down, and ask Eywa to ease, a little bit that is, her pain.

But there was also Neytiri. Certainly, she was the one who cared for you the most up to this point. She suffered with you, cried with you, and most of all, hugged you when you needed it.

Your mother and Neytiri were so close, trusted each other so mutually, that Neytiri was like a second mother to you. A new mother figure. So you broke down in her presence. Imagining that she was actually an embodiment of her mother.

Her supportive words, her warm and nurturing touches. Everything was present with Neytiri by your side. She kept you from succumbing to the darkness. You were not entirely alone.

That's what she started to do. Take care of you. Neytiri called you softly. You placed one last kiss on your mother's forehead, eyes and finally on her nose, and whispered a short 'See you later'. And then you went towards Neytiri, holding one of her hands.

She was her new pillar now. Even if in your heart, broken and aching, you were no longer the same person after that day. You wouldn't have the same brightness, the same will to live.

On that night of prayer, her soul was buried next to the body of her mother, the one who lit her path, or rather, her life. And so, a new warrior was born.

🏷; @mashiromochi @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @narutoboi

My God, that hurt so much! I started crying because I can't think of a life without my mother 😭 forgive me, but it was necessary.

Also, forgive me for grammatical errors, really!

｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍓｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to keep balance in the universe?

I am a… relatively powerful entity (???M) who is in charge of keeping the balance between life and death. Obviously, as I am only one person, I cannot keep track of the population of every dimension, so I implemented a "failsafe" to keep the balance in place- that being, if someone is revived from the dead, throwing off the balance, that person is filled with the bloodlust required to kill another being, restoring the balance. It may not be the… prettiest solution, but it has worked for a long time.

However, it recently caused an issue in one dimension where resurrection became so commonplace that their entire world broke out into war, leaving only one survivor. I "re-housed" this survivor to make up for it, but I have no excuse for letting the situation get so out of hand.

In addition, someone in the dimension I am currently staying in has learned the secret of resurrection and began reviving people. This itself is not a problem, as I have since intervened and convinced this individual to cease his work. But, apparently, one of the people he revived came dangerously close to killing my sister's significant other. At first the individual who revived him was blamed for this (apparently the dead man was quite homicidal in life, as well) but it was, in reality, the result of my failsafe. I was never exactly… close with my siblings, which is something I am trying to remedy, so I feel as though I must apologize for this mishap.

[rhapsodynew]

#everything you need to know about rock

Melody Maker Newspaper 05/08/1967 (England) Author: Chris Welsh

Pink Floyd

The Mystery of Floyd

While thousands of people in dance halls and various "vomit rooms" across the country are deafened and blinded by the late-night performances of Pink Floyd, the famous psychedelic band, thousands of people can forgive themselves for thinking, "What the hell is this?"

Are Pink Floyd honest enough when they make modest and attractive recordings like "See Emily Play" and then turn the evening into a nightmare with the help of thunderous, incomprehensible, screaming sonic torture, which, according to five American doctors, can permanently spoil the senses?

EXCITED

Floyd doesn't want to sound dishonest, but they're excited. They appreciate the contrast between their recordings and live performances, agreeing that their concerts can create a misleading impression, and are taking steps to remedy the situation.

Roger Waters, a bass guitarist with a rather elegant appearance and a penchant for frequent beer consumption, openly discussed Floyd's problems this week.

"Right now we are frustrated by the fact that for our survival we have to play in many places and venues that are not really suitable for us. This cannot continue, and we hope to find our own venues."

Roger lights up a government-approved cigarette and continues his theme:

"We all like our music. This is the only driving force behind us. All these attributes of success, like the opportunity to buy more powerful amplifiers, are not that important.

star

"Now we have something like a reputation among the public, so everyone comes to see us and we gather full houses, but the atmosphere in these places is very musty. There is no sense of celebration.

"What I'm trying to say is that what we're trying to do doesn't fit into the environment we're playing in." The support groups play "Midnight Hour", and usually all kinds of soul music, and then we join in."

I have nothing against the people who come, and I don't belittle our audience. But they have to compare everyone. Such and such a group is better than one or the other. It's like marks in notebooks. Dave Dee, Dozy, Bicky, Mick and Teach get a gold star, and Tick is very good.“

“We are listed on the club scene with a set of two stars out of ten, which means we need to try harder. “

“We had problems with the concert apparatus, and the speaker system in our case is cut off because we are playing very loudly. It's a pity, because Sid (singer Sid Barrett) writes great lyrics, but no one ever hears them.

scene

"Maybe it's our fault because we're trying too hard. After all, the human voice cannot compete with the Fender Telecaster and dual drum kits. We are a very young group, not by age, but by experience.

We are trying to solve problems that did not exist before. Maybe we should stop trying to perform our singles on stage. Even the Beatles, when the five of them worked together, sounded the same as on the record. But the recordings we're making today can't be played on stage, so there's no point in trying."

But wouldn't that be unfair?

That's the whole point. We don't think so. We still love "Arnold Layne" and sometimes have a hard time coping with "Emily". We don't think it's unfair because we can't play live what we play on records. This is completely normal for the stage. Can you imagine someone trying to play "A Day In The Life"? But this is one of the greatest tracks ever created. Many of the parts on our records are completely impossible to perform live. We do recordings, not concerts.”

"So now we need a stage act that has nothing to do with our albums. For example, things like "Interstellar Overdrive", which is great, and other instrumental compositions that are much easier to play."

Does the band get depressed when they can't communicate with the audience?

"Sometimes it's depressing and becomes a problem. There are different things that can be done. You can close your eyes to the fact that you do not communicate with the public and play for yourself. When music is playing, even if it's only ten or twelve people, it's still very cool.

"We are trying to play music that can be said to have freedom of feeling. It sounds very corny, but she is really very free."

What is the future of Floyd?

- We can't keep performing in clubs and ballrooms. We need a completely new environment. And we had the idea to use a large dome. We will have a huge tent and we will ride like a traveling circus. Inside we will have a huge screen 36 meters wide and 12 meters high, on which films and slides will be broadcast.

circus

"We will perform in big cities or anywhere and it will become the same event as a circus performance.

It's going to be a great scene. Our concerts will even be able to replace the circus!

"The thing is, I don't think we can continue to do what we're doing now. If we keep doing this, we'll all end up on the dole."