#i lost HOURS of my life in this edit that's the only reason i'm posting it

[blythesarchives]

Limbo | W.S

summary: Not quite Bucky, not quite Soldat, but all yours.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CATWS | Brief & minor SH | Mentions of HYDRA | Hints of past drugging | Light non-con | Multiple orgasms | Handjob | PiV | Emotional sex

a/n: Oh my god, I have no self control. I love writing WS!Bucky and I'm glad so many people have been enjoying it too. So, I finally got to a smut. I won't write the typical 'aggressive' WS (if I ever do it will be like a blue moon situation) because imo I don't see that, plus...I like this better lol. Edited lightly but ignore any missed mistakes pls ty ;; wc: 5.0k

You felt like your life was a complete mess.

But it was nothing compared to his.

James, Bucky, Soldat...each name he had gave him the same reaction.

Nothing.

His brow might furrow deeply, eyes glazing over with confusion as he stares intently at the floor, his gaze drifting slowly from side to side as if attempting to piece together an impossibly complex puzzle laid out before him. When his name was called, no recognition flickered across his features, no familiar warmth lit up his face.

He wasn't truly any of the identities that had once been his. Not James with his easy smile, not Bucky with his loyal heart, not the cold precision of the Soldat.

Instead, he existed in a nebulous space between all these versions of himself, these names and personas washing over him like waves, each one bringing with it fragments of memories that would surface briefly before slipping away like smoke through his fingers. Nothing concrete would stay, only wisps of who he used to be.

He was stuck, trapped in this liminal space between identities, neither one thing nor another.

You watched helplessly as he struggled, how he would desperately grasp at each fleeting memory that surfaced, trying with all his might to hold onto even the smallest piece of his past. But inevitably, tragically, even these fragments would dissolve like morning mist, leaving him once again adrift in that haunting space between what was and what is, lost in the void between his many selves.

His handwriting often too shaky to make out among the journal’s pages.

For whatever reason, the soldier had taken to you, of all people. Not even Steve could reach him without causing further distress and confusion to the poor man. Heartbreak glossed the blonde’s eyes each time Bucky rejected Steve's gentle advances, careful attempts to trigger some form of memory, some spark of recognition from their shared past, only failed.

Your own heart ached watching these interactions, seeing the pain etched across Steve's features with every failed attempt at connection and the ever growing agitation from the soldier. You didn't want to step between them, this bond that had survived decades and wars, and you couldn't explain why he had taken such a peculiar liking to you over anyone else.

For the soldier’s sake, you took your new role without complaint.

Countless hours in the medical wing of Avenger's tower proved exhausting for the both of you. Hours of treatment on his end seemed to stretch without end, punctuated by moments of crisis when you found yourself having to wrestle with him every time someone new came into the room.

Your voice grew hoarse from spitting sentence after sentence of reassurance, constant streams of gentle reminders that no one here was going to cause him harm, that he was safe, that these people were here to help. The mantra became as familiar as breathing, though no less important with each repetition.

The soldier experienced dramatic swings between states of intense panic and unsettling calmness, making each medical examination completely unpredictable. Sometimes he would remain completely still, frozen like a statue during the procedures, while other times he would thrash and struggle with every ounce of strength to escape from the men in white. His behavior was noticeably different with female medical staff, even when they wore the white coats - he showed a marked willingness to cooperate with them much more. The behavioral change made your stomach churn with the obvious implications.

As days turned to weeks, he gradually began to show signs of adjustment within your quarters. The decision to let him stay had come naturally, as every attempt to establish separate living arrangements had proven futile…he invariably found his way back to your space.

Every time.

It became a predictable pattern: regardless of the hour, whether in the dark of night or dawn of early morning, he would somehow make his way back into your room and by your side. He was satisfied sleeping on the floor, he settled himself at the foot of it or beside it, he liked the small area tucked between the wall and your mattress, a small hidden space for him to form some sense of security.

It had been several months since the day when you first took him in, watching as he struggled daily with the fragments of his shattered identity. The psychological wounds were still raw and festering, making it impossible for him to process or accept who he truly was. Every morning brought new challenges, every evening ended in confusion and frustration.

Together with Steve, you dedicated countless hours trying to help him piece together the puzzle of his past life. Steve brought out old photographs, shared stories, and created detailed timelines in journals, but despite all your patient guidance and gentle encouragement, the poor man remained trapped in a void of forgotten memories. He couldn't recall anything from his previous life, not even the smallest detail.

The mounting frustration grew in every line of his face, in the way his hands would clench and unclench as he'd violently shove away the journals and carefully curated photos. His eyes would dart around the room like a cornered animal, accusing Steve of fabricating elaborate lies as his mind wrestled between what felt true and what his broken psyche insisted was false.

"Shut up!" Bucky suddenly exploded, sending the leather-bound photo album flying across the room with enough force to leave a mark on the wall. He launched himself up from his position between you and Steve, his entire body radiating tension and hostility. As he whirled to face Steve, his eyes were wild with confusion and fear, nostrils flaring with each rapid breath.

Steve was clearly struggling to maintain his composure through all of this too. Though he tried his best to remain patient and understanding, watching his oldest and dearest friend transform into someone who didn't even recognize him was taking an enormous emotional toll. Rising slowly to meet Bucky's challenge, Steve's face was a mixture of hurt and frustration. "I'm not lying," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion, "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes - I'm your friend!"

"No!" The soldier shouted back, his chest heaving rapidly with each labored breath as he stood there, his long dark hair falling in tangled strands over his face while he shook his head violently in denial.

"You know me!" Steve retorted passionately, his voice cracking with emotion as he faced the resistance before him, desperately trying to reach through to his old friend.

"No, I don't!" The words came out as a raw, desperate cry, filled with confusion and pain.

You wanted to intervene in their intense confrontation, but for the moment you stayed silent and watched the two of them from your position, your heart racing as you observed their exchange, wondering if maybe Steve's unwavering determination could finally break through the soldier's programmed shell and reach the Bucky that lay buried underneath all those years of conditioning.

The soldier threw a punch, his metal arm whirring with the momentum as Steve quickly dodged out of the way. The poor soldier had thrown such a powerful and uncontrolled swing that it sent him stumbling forward, his boots scraping against the floor as he struggled to maintain his balance. You immediately rose to your feet as you realized this confrontation was rapidly escalating. You had been able to keep the soldier at bay, his unstable emotions were pretty manageable up until now and you didn’t want them to get out of hand.

"Okay, enough! Steve, stop-" You warned with urgency in your voice, desperately wanting the blond man to create some distance so the agitated soldier could have space to regain his composure.

"Soldat...easy, it's okay." You placate in a gentle voice, carefully watching his tense form as he sharply turned around to face the two of you again, his chest heaving with each breath.

"He's lying!" The words tore from his throat, anger, fear, confusion filled his tone.

"It's okay...it's all okay," You soothed, focusing all your energy on defusing the situation. You held your hands out toward him in a peaceful gesture, maintaining steady eye contact despite the intensity of his gaze. "You're fine...just take a breath." Your measured, calming tone seemed to pierce through his agitation like a shaft of light through storm clouds.

Gradually, the harsh, rapid breathing that had been wracking his frame began to slow, your non-threatening demeanor and passive body language helping to anchor him back to a more stable state.

"I think that's enough for today..." You muttered quietly, glancing back at Steve with a weary expression. He was still visibly frustrated, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense, but he had enough sense and self-awareness to know it was time to back off for now. Your attention shifted back to the soldier, carefully and gently guiding him down the hallway to your room to give him a much-needed break from the intensity of the memory session.

He was noticeably stiff when he walked, his movements reverted to being mechanical and hesitant. You had no idea what thoughts were racing through his mind, but you hoped you could help ease some of his obvious distress. Days that were more emotionally tense and unpredictable tended to disturb his sleep patterns significantly more than usual, restless nights filled with nightmares and you had to tend him through them. You didn’t mind, but it was exhausting after a few weeks.

Once inside your bedroom, you quietly shut the door behind you and watched as he began to relax ever so slightly, the familiarity of your quarters helping to settle his frayed nerves bit by bit. He slowly trudged over to your bed, his footsteps still carrying that residual tension, before sitting down heavily on the edge and looking up at you with an expression that made your heart ache - his eyes shy and pouty like a kicked puppy, clear with shame and uncertainty.

"M'sorry...I was…bad. I shouted." He muttered softly, his eyebrows deeply furrowed in distress, "I just...can't..." His hand gradually balled into a tight fist and before you could react, he struck himself in the head, hitting over and over as he sat there - delivering short and sharp knocks to his temple that made you wince with each impact.

"Soldat, hey, no. Stop it right now." You quickly grasped his wrist firmly but gently, staring at him with intense concern in your eyes. "We talked about this so many times...don't hurt yourself like this. You don't deserve any punishment...none of what happened was your fault. You just got a bit overwhelmed by everything, and that happens to everyone, even me." You soothed in a gentle voice while maintaining your grip, determined to keep him from continuing to hit his head. “You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore, okay?”

He didn't reply verbally, but the gradual lowering of his mechanical arm provided enough reassurance and comfort for you to finally release your grip on his wrist. With a heavy exhale, you pushed yourself up from your position, muscles protesting slightly from the tension. "I think it's best if we stay in tonight, all things considered." You observed thoughtfully, taking measured steps toward your closet to retrieve some fresh clothes, "I'm going to take a shower, okay?" You turned back to look at him after seconds of silence, only to find his piercing gaze fixed intently on you, his eyes blinking slowly as if processing your words. "Soldat?"

"Да." The response came swiftly and automatically from his lips, prompting you to turn and make your way deliberately toward the attached bathroom. As you walked, you couldn't ignore the sensation of stress gradually creeping through your body, tension coiling through your muscles like a spring. You knew that a hot shower would at least provide some relief, hopefully working to unknot the tight muscles that had formed across your shoulders and down your back.

When you emerged from the steamy bathroom later, towel pressed against your damp hair as you scrunched the moisture from the strands, you stopped in your tracks when you crossed the threshold - the soldier was spread across your bed, his body taut with obvious need as he desperately sought some form of release.

He was alone, his eyes darting around nervously.

Your room smelled nice, a gentle and comforting aroma that made him relax ever so slightly. He felt deeply estranged sitting perched on the edge of your bed, knowing he shouldn't be on the furniture. The memory of that lesson being violently beaten into him surfaced with crystal clarity, he felt a sharp phantom pain at his side, electricity fueling his body.

Should he get down onto the floor where he belonged? You hadn't said anything about it when you left, hadn't seemed to mind his presence on the bed, so maybe just this once it was okay?

“Just this once, you mutt.” He spat at the soldier, perhaps its handler felt some sort of pity for it that day. It was just grateful it didn’t have to curl up on the splintering wooden floor by the bed.

After several long moments of internal debate, he decided to stay on the bed.

You were nice, you wouldn’t hurt him.

He laid back against the bed, a soft sigh escaped his barely parted lips. The sheets smelled incredibly good, carrying your distinct scent; your shampoo, your natural musk that gradually seeped into his sensitive nose as he hesitantly buried his face against your impossibly silky pillow.

God it smelled so good.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact notes of the scent, his senses having been shot and dulled for so terribly long. But he knew deep in his bones that it smelled good, smelled sweet and pure and perfect.

As he clutched your pillow closer, hugging it tightly to his chest, he suddenly felt something unfamiliar stirring in his gut, like a sharp fluttering sensation that made his breath catch. His trousers felt uncomfortably tighter and he glanced down at himself with wide eyes, blinking in confusion at the sight. Seeing his body react this way was deeply odd...he hadn't experienced anything like this in such a long time. His handlers always had to give him pills to get this kind of response, otherwise it simply didn't happen.

Growing increasingly curious despite his lingering apprehension, he cautiously felt himself through the fabric and was genuinely surprised to discover that it felt good. It felt...really good, wonderfully good. And it didn't hurt in the slightest. It had always used to hurt so badly before, so why didn't it hurt now? Each time one of his handlers touched him, it hurt a lot. He remembers sharp pain, it made him nauseous a lot of the time. But now…he didn’t feel that pain, only this fluttering feeling.

He couldn't help himself any longer, his control crumbling entirely. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he had frantically ripped his own pants off, stumbling awkwardly as he struggled to kick his heavy combat boots off in order to tear the restricting black pants completely off himself as he penguined around your room. Bouncing precariously on one leg and growling in mounting frustration, he nearly toppled over onto his ass in his desperation.

He stared at his crotch, his thick cock twitching and leaking fluid as it throbbed at attention. The neglected part of him begged for his touch, the way it sent neurons rapidly to his brain to do something almost hurt. The soldier was desperate yet hesitant, he hadn't been allowed to touch himself in HYDRA, it was forbidden for him to ever do so. Only his handlers had that luxury, and it never felt good.

The poor thing felt hot and he bit back a strangled whine as he finally allowed himself the intimate touch he'd been denying for so long. His trembling fingers hesitantly explored bare skin, trailing down his abdomen and to his neglected cock.

He carefully grasped himself, unsteady and out of practice, his hand moved up and down the length with tentative strokes as he tried to replicate what he knew from distant memories. He squeezed and turned his hand with experimental motions, though the sensations remained frustratingly muted, falling short of what he desperately sought. His behavior replicated that of past hands, mechanical and clinical touches that had never prioritized his pleasure or comfort.

His frustration mounted steadily as his pent up desire overwhelmed his senses, leaving him breathless and yearning for more. The soldier moved back to your bed with shaky steps, his cock felt heavy, his balls full and needy for some kind of release. He buried his face deep in your pillow once more, inhaling deeply to chase that fluttery feeling that he felt earlier when inhaling your scent.

As you stood there, freshly showered with droplets of water still clinging to your skin, the plush towel wrapped securely around your body - you were surprised at the sight before you. The soldier on your bed moved with such raw, unrestrained desperation, his movements so primal and needy that you couldn't help but wonder if this was his first taste of pleasure, as if he hadn't ever experienced the sweet release of an orgasm before, or hell, even remember what it was like.

The man clung onto your pillow, face buried in it as his hips jut into your bed, the comforter balling up under him. His grunts were muffled against the pillow, his thrusts against your sheets were sloppy and jerky. You could tell he was just trying to reach climax, but none of his actions would get him there. He'd only cause himself enough friction to stay hard.

He lifted his face up gradually, his flushed cheeks burning bright and his dark eyebrows drawn tightly together in concentrated pleasure. His lips were glossy and parted, glistening with saliva as he practically drooled with desperate need, his entire body trembling on the edge of climax. His frantic thrusting began to slow to an erratic rhythm as waves of tension visibly radiated through his muscular form. The soldier's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open hazily, only to suddenly lock onto your watching form.

In that moment, his entire body froze completely rigid, like a marble statue caught in a compromising position, as the full realization dawned across his features that you had discovered him rutting so shamelessly against your bed.

Assuming the worst, he quickly got up and leaned back, exposing himself without realizing it. His cock angry with need, leaking thick fluid as it tried to get its host to relieve the growing pain of orgasm denial. Your eyes were naturally drawn to it, the thick member twitching and staining your favorite pillow.

His face was flushed a deep crimson with overwhelming embarrassment, his eyes cast downward to avoid meeting your gaze as he desperately tried scooting further back on the bed. The poor man was clearly consumed by shame, not just from staining your belongings but from experiencing such intense, primal need for the first time in what felt like countless decades.

You had always been careful with him before, understanding and respecting his past experiences and trauma. But right now, watching his reactions and body language, it seemed like he was silently pleading for your intervention.

And honestly...the sight of him this way made your pussy feel wetter by the second.

"Awe, baby...are you struggling?" You asked in the softest, most nurturing tone you could, slowly making your way to the bed, careful not to startle him. "Don't worry, I know it feels weird, huh...I'll help make it better."

Your hand gently reached out and ran up from his knee to his thigh, the bare skin feeling warm and inviting against your palm. Your fingertips traced delicate patterns as they moved upward, savoring each moment of contact he allowed you to have. Your eyes glanced down at the scars marring his beautiful body - silvery lines etched across his skin like a canvas of survival. He didn't like looking at them, always trying to hide them away from view, but you didn't mind. They didn't make him any less pretty to you .

You reached his pelvis, your touch feather-light as you looked up through your lashes to meet his eyes. They were glossy with need, dark with desire as he stared down at you - his broad chest heaving with painful anticipation, each breath making the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax. "Please..." he spoke meekly, voice barely a whisper, his bottom lip trembling as he gripped the sheets beneath him, desperately resisting the overwhelming urge to rut upward towards your teasing touch.

"I'll take care of you," your voice cooed, gently reassuring him as your heart fluttered rapidly against your ribcage as your gaze drifted downward to rest upon his erect cock. Your fingertips traced light patterns up the length of his thighs, the touch both teasing and tender, avoiding those silvery scars. You pressed against his thighs, carefully guiding his legs to part.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

Pretty pink head just weeping for your touch, twitching as it laid against his belly, sticky fluid webbing into his neat, curly happy trail. Pretty pearls flowing out of him as the blushed tip became a darker, angrier red with the company of your touch.

His balls hung heavy, so so full, so you gently kneaded his sac. This earned a loud whine in response to your warm hand palming against him, massaging the sore testicles. "Please, please...please, I need..." His pretty voice was so delicious as he begged for something, he just didn't know what.

"What do you want baby...tell me, I'll give it to you," you whispered softly against his skin, your warm breath causing goosebumps to ripple across his flesh. The man beneath you was struggling to maintain his composure, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Tears welled in his glacial eyes as he trembled against the soft, cotton sheets, his fingers desperately clutching at the bedding beneath him.

His voice caught in his throat - a deep, ripping cry of need as you slowly placed tender kisses along his knee. You took your time, savoring each press of your lips as you traced a path along the sensitive inside of his thigh, feeling the muscles quiver beneath your touch. Just before reaching the spot he craved your attention most, you paused, letting the anticipation build a bit.

"I won't tease too much, I know you are needy." You finally grasped him, letting your hand move along. Bucky squirmed, moaning and desperately rutting up into your touch for more. You kept a slow pace, steadily stroking his hard flesh so as to not overwhelm him. Your thumb gently caressed his tip, circular motions spreading those pearly beads all around and coating the tip in a thick lubricant.

You let your thumb gently press and swipe up through his slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him quiver. The sensation overwhelmed him, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably as waves of pleasure coursed through him. His back arched dramatically off the bed as he cried out in pure ecstasy, every nerve ending singing with delight as it felt so good. You felt so incredibly good, your touch electric against his sensitive, neglected cock.

This was entirely new territory for him - he had never experienced anything that came close to this level of intensity before. Physical contact without pain was a rare occurrence, and when he did get touched in the past, it was never on his terms. But this - this was something entirely different, something that made his whole body feel alive with sensation. The pleasure built and built until it felt like brilliant fireworks were exploding in his belly, sending sparks of pure bliss radiating through his entire body until his fingertips and toes tingled with static numbness.

You let out a soft breath, a smile quirked at your lips as you viewed the mess of white ropes that hung against his belly and draped on your fingers from your stroking. He came already, you barely touched him and he fucking came. Disheveled, he took deep breaths and looked up at you, his eyes peeking open as a small whimper emitted from his throat.

However, he was still hard.

You wondered if super soldiers could go more than once without a refractory period.

"What do you want, Bucky?" you asked the trembling soldier, your voice barely above a whisper. His breath hitched as you leaned closer, eyes searching his face intently. "What do you want...tell me. You get to choose. You decide what happens now," you murmured, watching his reactions carefully as your hands slowly traced gentle patterns across his thighs, fingers trailing deliberately up and over his pelvis, thumbs following the natural V-line. You applied just enough pressure to his shaking muscles to make him gasp, feeling the way he tensed and relaxed under your touch.

The poor man could barely form a coherent thought, his mind clouded with desire. His hands frantically grasped at your arms, fingers flexing against your skin as he tugged and yanked lightly, desperately trying to pull you on top of him. His voice came out rough and pleading, filled with raw need as he begged, "More, more...more..." His lip trembled and his eyes watered, you had never seen him like this, so taken over by the cloud of need.

"You want me to ride?" you asked gently, your fingers unwound the towel still wrapped around your body, letting it fall softly and you tossed it off beside the bed. Your skin glowed in the dim light as you leaned forward, your voice dropped to a calm whisper. "I'll ride you, all you have to do is sit back and enjoy..."

The words ghosted across his skin as you traced a delicate path with your lips, starting at his sternum and working your way up, each kiss lingering longer than the last. Your mouth found the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, and you could feel the thundering of his pulse beneath your lips.

His breathing had grown ragged and uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your touch. His arms encircled you, fingers pressing into your skin as if he were anchoring himself to reality, terrified that if he loosened his grip even slightly, you might fade away and he’d wake up in a cold cell again.

Before you knew it, his cock was poking your slick entrance and you sunk down on his length without wasting a beat, impaling yourself on his thickness. He let out a shuddering cry, his glossy eyes widening with unbridled desire as his trembling hands instinctively shot out to grasp your plush, inviting hips, fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh.

Oh, this felt...fuck, he struggled to find words. The warmth enveloping him, the wetness made his head spin, the softness of your cunt threatened to undo him completely.

You squeezed him so good, your inner muscles contracting rhythmically around him like your body was purposefully attempting to milk him of everything he had stored away, drawing out every last drop. You carefully began to move on him, lifting your hips up slowly before letting gravity guide you back down, savoring each sensation as you felt him stretch and move your insides. The fullness was overwhelming - he was absolutely massive in you, spreading you wider than you'd ever been, yet somehow he fit perfectly, like your bodies were made for each other, two lost pieces of a puzzle finally united.

Your body moved in perfect harmony with his, each roll of your hips drawing out beautiful moans in response. The way you naturally undulated against him, finding an intoxicating rhythm that had him gasping and trembling beneath you. His hips bucked up desperately to meet your movements, seeking more of that friction that felt so damn good. The soldier's hands gripped you tightly, his fingers still digging into your skin as he struggled to maintain what little composure he had left.

"C..can't...gonna..." His voice strained and broke, he buried his face into your chest as he thrusted up hard - warm, gooey cum shooting out and coating your cervix and inner walls, pooling out of your cunt and coating him as he thrusted slowly until he stopped and remained tucked inside.

He cried out against you, his body trembling and clinging desperately as waves of intense pleasure coursed through him, his second release of the night overwhelming his senses completely. His fingers dug into your skin as he shuddered, overcome by the intensity of sensations he had been denied for so very long.

"I've got you," you whispered soothingly, your arms wrapping protectively around his broad shoulders. One hand found its way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gently scratched his scalp in a comforting rhythm. His face remained buried against your breasts, and you could feel the warm wetness of tears against your skin.

A seed of worry took root in your gut at his emotional response, but you quickly reminded yourself that these tears were caused by relief and pleasure, not pain or distress. His hurt body and tortured mind were simply overwhelmed by the rush of positive sensations - after decades of existing without any form of physical pleasure or intimate touch, it was natural for him to be overcome by these emotions when finally getting to experience pleasure again.

Bucky sobbed.

His body trembled violently as if the bitter chill of winter had taken his body all over again, leaving him shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath. He clung to you, unwilling to release his grip on you. The safest he had ever felt was here, wrapped in your arms, where nothing else seemed to matter.

His broken mind, a constant battlefield of screaming thoughts filled with pain and unrelenting anger, was silenced - if not just a little - when he was in your arms. The constant torment of pain and guilt became manageable right here by your side, tucked away against your chest and arms.

No longer lost. No longer wandering aimlessly.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[starlightandsouls]

Yours To Have, Yours to Break

Summary: What if instead of Nesta, Cassian found out about Azriel and his secret lover. What will happen when the hearty general, in his anger of being left out, causes his brother's happiness to fall apart? How will he atone for his mistake?

A/N: Of course I had to make my comeback with the angstiest angst to ever angst. And that too by turning my fluffiest fic into pure pain. I guess you can say that this this is a spin off of Yours to Keep and Cherish. Also... I know I dropped off the face of the earth but life happens guys. I'm sorta back and here's a fic to make up for it.

Disclaimer: If you're an Elain fan, I would recommend you not read this. I would hate to ruin your day. I do not hate Elain. This is just an idea I got from all the soap dramas I've been seeing recently. Don't kill me please.

Also this shit and not edited. But I was so desperate to post something that I honestly don't care. Hope y'all like it. And yes there will be a part 2

Cassian POV:

As the General of the Night Court’s armies, Cassian had many duties: training soldiers, commandeering battalions at the borders, coming up with war strategies, buying romance novels for his mate and her friends. He wasn’t sure when the last one made its way on his list of responsibilities, or who put it there, but there it was. And who was Cassian to deny his mate?

So that’s how the Lord of Bloodshed found himself standing aimlessly in the middle of the Rainbow, scratching his head, with a list in his hand. Nesta had sent him off to find the newest edition of a Sellyn Drake novel but he hadn’t the slightest idea where to find it. His mate had instructed him to visit a particular bookshop named “The Quill”, being sure that they would have the newest book. Unfortunately, because luck had named him its nemesis at birth, the bookshop was closed for the day. He had asked around and apparently the owner had just left an hour prior to his arrival. Of course, they had.

That is why he had been wandering around the Rainbow, walking into one bookshop after the other, but somehow not one of them had the book Nes wanted. What are the odds of that? How is it possible that only one bookshop in the entire city had this specific book? And why did it have to be closed today? Cassian knew returning empty handed would not only incur the wrath of his beloved mate, but also her Valkyrie sisters. And given the fact that he himself had been teaching them some new disarming techniques, he had no desire to become their training dummy.

While he did not intend on stopping his hunt, he was quite parched. As the summer season approached, afternoons in Velaris became increasingly sweltering. A chilled glass of wine would do just the trick to cool him down, and also relax his nerves. Just as he was deciding on which bar to stop at, he remembered a conversation he had had with Mor the other day. She had told him about a café she had discovered that served the best margaritas during lunch time. Honestly, she hadn’t stopped raving about it for almost a week. What the hell. He was already out in town, might as well try a new place. If it turned out to be good, he could bring Nesta to placate her in case he couldn’t find her book.

Mind made up, he took off to the air, the subtle breeze as he did so, instantly making him feel better. Gliding through the clouds, the twists and turns with wind, were always a guaranteed way of cooling down.

Said café was perched on a hill overlooking the Sidra. He took in the view and the lush gardens outside the café as he landed, and started to walk in. The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior; the décor a blend of elegance and coziness. Oh yeah, he was definitely bringing Nesta here for a date.

He had just given his order to a waitress who looked way too giddy writing it down. Thank the Mother Nesta wasn’t here. Or someone might as well have lost a hand.

Although this is one of the reasons why he didn’t like coming to restaurants and bars alone. Not having company meant he didn’t have anyone to share his stories and jokes with. So, as he waited for his order to arrive, he sat back and took in the people around him; a habit that looked casual enough but was one instilled in him during his years training in the Illyrian camps.

He had been admiring the view from the balcony in the corner when his order arrived. Smiling a thank you, he took a sip from his margarita and damn was it good as Mor had said. He made a silent note to himself to thank her for the recommendation. He was in the middle of another deliciously cold sip, when something caught his eye in the corner of the room, causing him to choke.

What. The. Fuck.

Cassian was sure he looked like a blubbering fish with how his jaw dropped open and his eyes bulged out their sockets. He had to be dreaming or hallucinating from the heat. Yes, that must have been it, the heat had surely gotten to his head. For Cassian could think of no other explanation for the sight in front of him.

His brother, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court, torture extraordinaire, was sitting hand in hand with a beautiful young woman, smiling like a love-sick fool and… eating macarons? Since when did Azriel like deserts? Or the more pressing question: who the hell was he sitting with? Cassian knew his brother liked to keep his lovers secret, but deep down his gut told him this was no mere fling, or one-night stand. For starters, Azriel was smiling like a puppy drunk on love, while bringing the lady’s hand up to his lips to kiss. Cauldron. Just as Cassian had somewhat stopped gawking like a fish out of water, he saw the lady lean over and whisper something across the table, causing Azriel to throw his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

Although he couldn’t explain why, but at that moment Cassian felt a sharp hurt go through him. He could not remember the last time Azriel had laughed like that with them. Damn it, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen Azriel smile nearly as much as was doing now at any family function.

Before he could even begin to process what had unfolded before him, he saw Azriel pay the bill for their food and the couple walked out hand in hand. Immediately Cassian was on his feet, ready to follow them. If someone had asked him why he did what he did at a later moment, he would not have been able to explain himself. At that moment, Cassian was driven only by curiosity and a minor note of hurt too-why had his brother hid this from them?

Rushing out after paying the bill, Cassian saw the happy couple walk down the cobblestone path, once again arm in arm, with the woman leaning against Azriel. Another thing that shocked Cassian: how the hell had Azriel not noticed him by now? Those pesky little shadows normally informed his brother of every detail of his surroundings; Azriel’s own heightened senses and observational skills were what made him the Spymaster of this court. So, for him to not notice Cassian so obviously trailing behind them at a distance, was a testament to how captivated his brother was by the woman on his arm.

At one-point Cassian thought that his brother would winnow with his partner and he would lose them, but the couple continued their stroll without a care in the world. He continued to trail behind them while also maintaining somewhat of a distance. Azriel may not be as hyper vigilant as always, but he wasn’t blind by any means- and Cassian was no small man either.

“Breakfast was delightful, darling. We should plan another afternoon here, what do you think?” he heard the woman comment.

“Of course, but I am oh so very tired. I think I need a few days alone at home with my nightingale to recharge,” Azriel replied with a smirk.

Cassian balked on the inside: okay Mr. I Don’t Need To Resort To Poetry.

“We could always have breakfast here again on Saturday. It is our two-year anniversary, and I intend on spending the day however my nightingale wishes. I think the café can be a brilliant start to our day,” Azriel offered, laughing as the woman swatted his arm at the previous comment.

Reaching the end of the path, Azriel grabbed the woman in his arms and winnowed away, leaving behind a thoroughly perplexed Cassian.

……………………………………………………………………………........

Cassian was convinced he must have stood there for another half an hour before coming to his senses. He then took off to the House of Wind, ready to face his mate and the Valkyries’ collective wrath. And his assumption had been right; the three women had blown up when they saw him return empty handed and had proceeded to go on twenty-minute-long rant. For the life of him, Cassian could not have repeated a single word they had said. Because he had not listened to a single word, at least not while paying attention. As their rage had quelled, Cassian had simple gotten up and walked to his room, ignoring the questioning looks from his mate.

While Nesta was still in the library with the girls, Cassian had retreated to bed. And that is where he was now: sitting in bed, staring at a wall, completely at a loss for words. He could not even begin to process what he had seen, let alone understand what he was feeling. For some reason he could not get over how openly Azriel had laughed with that woman, how alight his eyes had seemed. It was as if the Shadowsinger was glowing with happiness, as paradoxical as that sounds.

And it’s not like Cassian wasn’t happy for his brother-quite the contrary. He was just hurt that Azriel had chosen to hide something like this from him for two years. Two years. The words clanged around his head like the sharp tolling of a bell. Azriel had this from them for two goddamn years. And he had a sinking feeling that if he had not discovered the two of them today, he would not have found out for quite some more time.

But why? Keeping casual flings a secret was no big deal. They all had had ventures they didn’t tell anyone, he was sure of it. But if the couple were celebrating their two-year anniversary, then it must be serious. Cassian could tell his brother was committed just by how he had been looking at the woman. And if Azriel truly was serious about this woman, why would he hide it from them? His family?

That is the part that pierced his heart. Up until this day, Cassian had thought the two of them to be rather close. Sure, Rhys and Az clashed from time to time because of their own attitudes, but he liked to think that Azriel and him had always been close. Azriel was his best friend for Cauldron sake. Whenever he had had issues with Nesta at the beginning of their relationship-and he had plenty- Azriel had been his confidante, the one he went to for advice. His brother had been there for him at the highs and lows of his journey with Nesta.

So why hadn’t he let Cassian do that for him? Why had his brother chosen secrecy when he could have confided in Cassian? It’s not like he wouldn’t have supported them. He knew his brother was secretive and shy, but it was one thing to hide things about his work and another to choose to hide such a major part of his life from his brothers.

They were brothers, they were supposed to support each other, to stand by one another, not keep secrets and tell lies. All of a sudden Cassian saw the past two years in a different light. He recalled all the times Azriel had shown up to breakfast with an unusually cheery mood, all the times he had been rushing to leave family dinner, all the times he had skipped their get togethers with the strangest excuses. How long had this been going on? And for how long had they been so painfully oblivious?

Did Azriel not trust them? No, that can’t be it. Did Azriel think he could not open up to them? Each explanation he came up with seemed less plausible than the last. As he continued to spiral, Cassian began to question whether the two were as close as he thought them to be.

Why. Why. Why.

“You know if you stare at the wall any longer, you’re going to burn a hole into it.”

Nesta. He hadn’t even noticed when she had come into the room, and judging by her amused look, Cassian assumed she had been there for some time. Pushing off the wall she had been leaning against, Nesta walked over and sat by him on their bed.

“I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes, where’s your mind at?” Nesta asked while pushing some stray strands of hair behind his ear.

Shit. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just tell Nesta something he himself wasn’t supposed to know. If he hadn’t walked into that café by chance, Cassian would have been none the wiser about this whole situation. For whatever reason Azriel was keeping his relationship secret, he didn’t think it his place to reveal it.

“It’s nothing, Nes. Just thinking about Wind Haven. I’m supposed to head up there next week and I already know Devlon’s going to be a pain in the ass,” Cassian tried to divert.

“Since when have you started getting so worked up over Devlon? He’s going to whine and throw a fit, but ultimately he is going to have to do what you say. You’re worried about something else. What is it?” his ingenious mate inquired. How her intuition was so good he’d never know, honestly sometimes he thought of handing over the mantle of General to her, with how good she was.

“C’mon. You know you can tell me whatever is bothering you,” Nesta pushed while grabbing his hand in her own and damn did he melt at that.

“Alright. If I tell you, you cannot tell anyone else.”

Nesta sat up straighter at that, ears perked with curiosity, eyes wide open and eager.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Nesta answered while nodding.

“I’m serious about this Nes. You can’t tell anyone, not even Emerie or Gwyn. No one,” Cassian reiterated, trying to get his mate to understand how serious it was.

“Alright, alright. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Cassian sighed before revealing what was very much not his secret to reveal,

“Azriel has a girlfriend.”

“Wait-what?”

“Az has a girlfriend,” Cassian repeated.

“No, I heard you the first time. But…how…when??? Why hasn’t he told anyone?”

“I have no idea, Nes,” Cassian replied while falling back against the headboard. He once again took to staring at the wall; confusion and hurt running rampant through him again, echoing the same question again and again.

Why had Azriel kept this a secret from them? From him?

“When did he tell you?” his mate inquired.

“He didn’t,” Cassian chuckled, “I stopped at that new café by the Sidra to get some drinks to cool down while I was out for your books. I saw them together there.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Nesta barged on with her questions,

“You seem…upset about all this?”

“I am. Not at the fact that he has a girlfriend, Cauldron no. It’s about time the idiot found someone. It’s just…why didn’t he tell us? Why keep it a secret?”

“Maybe…it’s new? You know Az. Maybe he just wants some time to figure things out himself before he tells you all,” Nesta reasoned.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh before spitting out,

“It is very much not new. The two were planning their two year anniversary at the same restaurant this weekend. Two goddamn years, Nes. He’s been lying to us for that long.”

He wrenched his hand from hers at that. Cassian knew he was being unfair and unreasonable, but he was angry. Maybe he had no right to be but one does not think clearly when in the clutches of fury.

As his previous confusion and hurt settled, they left behind only anger in their wake. That is what he felt right now. Anger. At Azriel, for lying to them all this time, for hiding something so significant. Did he not consider them brothers?

Before he could succumb to the ravages of anger, his darling mate was there to pull him back, as she always did.

“I can feel all that you know. Don’t let your anger override what you know to be true. This relationship of Azriel…it has nothing to do with us. We’re not entitled to anything regarding it just because we’re his family.”

“Oh so what I’m just supposed to ignore the fact that he’s been lying to us about his whereabouts and plans for the past two years, when he could have just told us?”

“No I am asking you to trust Azriel. You know your brother, Cass, probably more than anyone else. You know that he has a reason for everything he does and you know that he would never do anything to hurt his family intentionally. If nothing else, trust in that.”

Cassian sighed a defeated sigh. His mate was right, as she always was. For whatever reason Azriel had decided to keep this relationship a secret, Cassian would have to trust in it. And when the time came, he hoped his brother would feel comfortable revealing the truth himself.

……………………………………..................................................

Little did Cassian know, that despite the fact that he had made Nesta swear not to tell Azriel’s secret, he had unintentionally revealed it to a third. For outside their bedroom clutching books she had meant to return, stood Elain. Elain, who had almost torn the books with how hard she was clutching them. Elain, who’s hands quivered with rage.

This is why Azriel had been ignoring her. All these months she had been trying to get his attention and he had always slipped away. Because of this?? Some common girlfriend?

No matter. Elain would get him back. How could he ignore her for some commoner? Who deserved his love more than her?

As she walked away, already planning her schemes, a wicked thought went through her mind, a precaution in case she couldn’t convince Azriel:

If I can’t have him, no one can.

...............................................................................................

Azriel POV:

The past few days had been the happiest he had ever been. Although Azriel wasn’t quite sure how fair that judgement was. Each hour he spent with his nightingale, he deemed his happiest. And it has been two years of such blissful happiness. Two years together at each other’s side that they were celebrating today.

He had already arrived at the same café they had breakfast a few days ago and was now anxiously awaiting his beloved girlfriend. Honestly, he would have preferred that the two arrive together, not wanting to spend a minute away from his nightingale. But alas, not everything had to be as he wished. As soon as she had woken up, his nightingale had slipped out from his arms (something he had still not forgiven) and had rushed to her book shop. According to her, she had some urgent delivery that she just had to be there for. Therefore she had promised him that she would meet him directly at the café.

That left him, sitting in their favorite spot in the café, with his head swiveling to the door every time it opened, hoping his nightingale had arrived. It wasn’t like she was late, it’s just that he too early, wanting what he hoped would be a great start to a celebration filled day.

“Oh, Azriel!”

He heard his name be called, but his heart instantly dropped, that voice did not belong to his nightingale. Turning around he saw…

“Elain? What are you doing here?”

“What a coincidence, Az! I was just out for some errands and thought I would get myself a drink. I’m absolutely parched! Thank the Cauldron for this lovely café!” Elain replied in an unusually high pitched voice.

“Yes, how lovely…” he trailed off, gaze flicking to the door. He knew his girlfriend would be arriving soon and he would much rather Elain not be here for that… for a plethora of reasons.

“Well, what are the chances of meeting you here Az? And look, you’re alone too! Why don’t we have lunch together, it feels like we haven’t caught up in forever.”

“Actually I’m meeting some…”

He never got to finish his sentence. If someone asked him later what happened, Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to explain it. One second Elain was smiling at him, trying to grab his hand, the next her gaze turned cold, flicking to something behind him. The next thing he knew, within a matter of seconds, Elain had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and smashed her lips to his.

What. The. Fuck.

Azriel didn’t even process what had happened, didn’t even realize that she was kissing him. Elain. Was. Kissing. Him.

The last thought jolted him out of his state of shock and he pushed her away. Not caring for who saw or heard, he yelled,

“What the fuck Elain? You can’t just grab people like that! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh c’mon Az. It was barely a peck. I had barely begun to enjoy it,” Elain replied with a callous smirk.

All of a sudden he did not recognize her; he didn’t recognize the cruelty in her eyes, the indifference in her expression. Where was the kind hearted woman he considered a friend? And who was standing in front of him in her place? When he didn’t say anything, still riddled with shock, Elain continued,

“Well no matter. It may have been short but it achieved it’s purpose,” Elain replied slyly. She inched closer and grazed her hand up his arm and whispered, “if you want to continue, I would gladly indulge you, Azriel.”

He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with her, why she was doing this, in a crowded café no less. But Azriel was way too uncomfortable to try to find out. He wrenched his arm away from her and was about to give her a piece of his mind when he saw it again: Elain’s gaze flickering to something behind him with a wicked smirk on her face. One of victory.

Hoping against hope it wasn’t what he feared it was, Azriel turned around. And it was like time itself had stopped. For there, at the entrance of the café, with tears streaming down her face, stood his girlfriend, his nightingale. A millennia could pass and Azriel would not forget the raw pain, the betrayal shining in her eyes amidst the tears.

No. No. No. No. No. This is not happening. This cannot be happening.

He took one step toward her, to explain, to make her understand he had no fault in what she had seen. But before he could, his nightingale turned around and left the café.

Not knowing what to do, Azriel followed after her to see her almost running away from him.

“Love! Please! Listen to me, its not what it looks like,” Azriel begged, anguish lacing every word.

“Oh please Azriel. Do you know how typical you sound right now?” He did, Cauldron he did. But she had to understand…

“Darling I would never hurt you like that. I don’t even know why she was there… or how… but you have to understand… she kissed me! I pulled away… I would never do that to you,” Azriel let out. He knew his fragmented thoughts probably didn’t make much sense. But panic and fear were making it difficult to come up with something cohesive.

“Really, Azriel? You don’t know what she was doing there?! For Cauldron sake, Azriel! I know you called her there. You know, if you wanted to break up with me, you should have done it yourself like a man. You didn’t have to use her for it!” his nightingale spat at him.

What? Break up with her? Break up with the one blessing the Mother had bestowed upon him? What the hell was she talking about?

“Love… I don’t…”

“You don’t what? Huh? Have any need for me anymore? Well you don’t have to worry about me getting in the way, please go enjoy your life with your darling Elain?” His girlfriend yelled, throwing out Elain’s name like it was poison.

Vaguely he sensed Elain coming up behind them. How did she catch up with them? His love spat out a wry laugh, before saying,

“Look, she’s here to get you Azriel. Go be with your love.”

Before he could refute it, Elain jumped in,

“Its okay, Azriel. I told her everything. She’s not in the way anymore. We can be together now!”

“Elain, have you lost your mind? What the hell are you doing? Why are you doing this? You-”

“Cut the act Azriel. Go. Enjoy your life.”

And with that his nightingale walked away for good, taking the shattered pieces of his heart and soul with her.

… … … … … … … … … … … …

Azriel stood in that spot like a blubbering fish for Cauldron knows how long. He was smarter than this. He was quicker than this. He knew that. But for some reason his mind felt addled, like it was submerged in some murky fog. He couldn’t think straight for some reason.

What the fuck had just happened? Did it truly happen? No, it had to be a nightmare. It had to be. He didn’t just lose the love of his life. He didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Azriel had almost convinced himself of his own delusion, when Elain’s rustling snapped him out of his daze. The woman had the gall to walk away after everything she just did. Not so fast. He grabbed her by the arm and yelled in her face, propriety and etiquette long forgotten,

“WHAT THE FUCK ELAIN? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?”

She wrenched her arm back and held her head up high when responding, as if she just had just committed some honorable deed,

“I did what I had to. You were never there Azriel. I always tried to talk to you… but you were never there. And to find out that it’s because of her! Some commoner! I couldn’t bear it. But she’s not here anymore, Azriel, we can be together!”

“What?! Are you hearing yourself Elain? I don't love you! Not like that, I never have-”

“BUT I LOVE YOU! WHY ISN’TTHAT ENOUGH!” Elain screamed back.

“You’re out of your mind. You… how did you even find out?”

“Cassian told me,” Elain replied calmly, her demeanor immediately changing. There was something seriously wrong with her.

But her words were what caused his world to stop spinning.

“What?”

“Cassian told me. He saw the two of you together the other day and told me that I would find you here today as well.”

His mind was reeling. Cassian knew too? How? He had been so careful with everything? How had it slipped past him so easily?

Elain patted his shoulder one last time before saying,

“We’re meant to be together, Azriel. I love you so much that I’ll ignore this commoner you were sullying yourself with. She might have left you. But I’m always here for you with open arms.”

And then Elain left, simply and quietly. As if she had not sentenced Azriel to a life without the one happiness he had salvaged for himself in this cruel world.

..........................................................................................

Cassian POV:

Cassian had been sharpening his blades in the training arena, waiting for the Valkyries to arrive, when he felt the wards shift. Someone had winnowed in. Before he could question who it was, he saw Azriel standing at the entrance.

Despite Nesta’s words, his immediate reaction at seeing his brother was one of annoyance. He doubted Azriel was here to confess so the continuing secrecy bothered him even now.

Any rant or anger that Cassian was planning on letting out, disappeared as he neared his brother. Azriel had tears streaming freely down his face, shoulders shaking from the sobs.

“How could you?”

Was all his brother let out. Cassian was at a complete loss for words. His brave stoic brother was falling apart before him and Cassian knew neither cause nor cure. His lion hearted brother who had bared five centuries of pain and trials and had never let out even a wince. And now… It seemed like something was tearing Azriel apart into shreds.

“Az, what’s wrong? I-

“How could you?” Azriel repeated, his sobs getting more and more violent. And each falling tear fell like acid on Cassian’s heart. All previous annoyance was replaced by an overwhelming urge to soothe and comfort.

“How could you? What did I ever do to you?” Azriel cried out again.

“Az… brother… I have no idea…”

“Oh don’t act stupid. Don’t act like you don’t know about my girlfriend!”

Oh. That is what this was about? Azriel knew that he knew? But why was he so upset about it? Cassian didn’t think him finding out warranted such a reaction-

“You knew and you send Elain there to ruin everything!”

What? Elain? What did she have anything to do with this?

“You ruined everything! My nightingale… she’s gone… she won’t even talk to me… She won’t look at me… And it’s all your fault!” Azriel let out in between hiccups of tears.

Cassian knew he had to intervene before Azriel spiraled into a full panic attack.

“Brother, calm down. Alright, yes I saw the two of you at the café, but I only told Nesta, I swear on it. I have no idea what you’re talking about, or what Elain has to do with anything.”

Azriel moved further away from him. The utter betrayal shining in his eyes made Cassian want to bury himself in the darkest corner of the world. He did not know what his fault was but he was ready to spend eternity atoning for it if it meant Azriel would no longer be in the pain he was so clearly in.

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” Azriel roared, leaving Cassian stunned, “ You did this! You couldn’t bear it, could you? You couldn’t stand the fact that I was happy so you sent Elain to ruin everything. You always do this, you always have to take everything away from me!”

Before Cassian could ask for an explanation or beg for forgiveness for a crime he did not know, Azriel had winnowed away.

Alone, his mind was working on overdrive. What did Elain have to do with anything? Cassian was no fool. He had long been aware of the youngest Archeron sister’s affections for his brother. But he also knew his brother had never reciprocated those affections, had always seen Elain as nothing more than a friend.

How did she know about Azriel’s relationship? Nesta could not have told her. Despite how close the two sisters were, his mate had sworn to him and he knew Nesta enough to know that she did not go back on an oath. Had Elain somehow overheard them? And if she had, what could she possibly have done to cause Azriel so much pain?

So many questions were whirring through his head, not one of them had a coherent answer. But amidst the chaos, a singular thought rang the loudest, and it was one that pierced Cassian’s heart:

What have I done?

[madonnamadeofasphalt]

EA & Bioware honestly did an incredible job at killing any enthusiasm I had for a new Dragon Age. Fucking hell, man, I've played the first two games so much I could probably go through them with closed eyes and still pick all the right dialogue options to get My Exact Personally Canonized Plot. And the only reason I didn't do the same thing with DA:I is because it was made after EA completely gave up on optimizing their shit so the fucking thing takes up like a billion terabytes of disc space and takes 10 hours to download and install. I honestly think it's the best-written cRPG franchise to ever have a budget that doesn't involve a list of Kickstarter backers or getting an eccentric Estonian billionaire fixated on the project. And the gameplay is also there, I don't really care about that part.

Then they proceeded to fire all the talent that made me love those first three games, and scratch and restart the production twice, and be suspiciously cagey with any details or gameplay footage for a fucking decade, so my hype consistently went down and down. And yet I still managed to hold out some hope that somehow, by some miracle, it wouldn't fucking suck.

I kept that hope until the trailer dropped. You know the one. The one where we see a bearded Varric. This, I think, was the exact moment when I lost any desire to play fucking Veilguard.

Like, first of all, Varric being there at all is already an issue. Leave the man alone. His presence was already kinda forced in DA:I. And after DA:I and Tresspasser, his story couldn't be more finished if he got killed, eaten, shitted out, condemned to hell, redeemed by divine sacrifice, bathed for eternity in the everlasting light. There is no point to Varric anymore. Whatever arc they've given him in Veilguard, and I don't even give a shit enough to read the spoilers before writing this post, it has no business existing. Fuck you. The only reason he's there is because he's a recognizable IP, and when you're a certain kind of soulless corporate moron, you think there's nothing more important than putting a recognizable IP in whatever new bullshit you're trying to peddle. Maybe if you didn't fire every decent writer in your trash fucking company, you'd have someone to tell you about the importance of Ending The Fucking Story When The Story Fucking Ends.

But that's not even the core of the problem. Beard? they gave Varric a Beard? Varric I fucking hate everything that's even tangentially connected to dwarven culture with a passion which is why I've made a point to shave my beard all my life to spite anyone who gives a fuck about it Tethras? beard? you gave him a beard? He changed so much offscreen in the goddamn timeskip between these two games that he got a motherfucking berd? fucshhfdbeard? feadsgfsvarricafgfdh BEARD? yyousftoiuslyhhabevarricasgsfucningbeardandthivkimgosabedineditit?beard????

PS. (edit after finding out spoilers) I've gone to TV Tropes to read up on Varric's role in DATV after writing this (just in case I'm wrong and dumb, and there's actually a deeply compelling narrative reason for his presence), and, well, this shit is cheaper than I thought. And more importantly, just as I thought, there appears to be no justification for the beard beyond "adding a beard is a cliche way to show that a bunch of time has passed, and we didn't care enough to think this shit through". I'm fucking tired, man.

PPS. (edit after reading the rest of big spoilers) This is so much worse than I could even begin to suspect. This is worse than the final season of Game of Thrones. This is the final season of Game of Thrones if they straight-up fired GRRM, burned his notes and hired a showrunner who's only read a one-page summary of the first six seasons. This is fucking depressing, man. I'm genuinely fucking sad. So many subplots that were started over the course of these three games, that were clearly going somewhere, scrapped in favour of a simplistic good vs. evil story that would get rejected by fucking CD-Projekt in 2007 for being too basic. All because the artists who poured their hearts and souls into this bullshit franchise got thrown out like trash by its "owners". Morrigan's kid, the Well of Sorrows, all the implied complexities of Tevinter politics, the Crows, the Old Gods, Andraste. All went to shit. Death to capitalism.

[snippydippy]

While I'm still on this Tiktok thing

It is also worth noting that alongside Facebook creating a verified Tiktok page after six years of being staunch competitors, Tiktok got a few UI updates that look suspiciously similar to Facebook/Meta's features. Instagram also reformatted to make your page look like a Tiktok account a few days ago.

Meta is 100% the company who either merged with, or bought Tiktok to "save the app", and only right on time to make Trump look better.

TikTok was only down for 10 hours. Which, suspiciously again, is the amount of time it would take for a highly trafficked app to switch over servers if company hands were changed.

It did not go down because of the ban deadline. It happened early, and lasted as long as it did to distress its American users and give time for server maintenance while these changes took place.

FB's algorithm is known to have been designed to enrage you, rather than show you things you enjoy. Research has shown that being angry keeps a user engaged with an app more so than being happy.

Meta has taken this and ran with it to make sure their engagement is as high as possible.

Personal anecdote on this; I only use Facebook once every other week or so for this exact reason. The moment I go onto my timeline there, all I see are posts from the opposite political party, bad faith opinions on art I enjoy (music, shows, movies, etc), and blatant bait looking to make people argue. It's been this way for years, and why I stopped going there except to drop a drawing and life update here and there. I don't engage with my timeline because I recognized the damage it was doing to my mental health (and my blood pressure lol) a long time ago.

TikTok has worked on the opposite principle. Their algorithm is based on dopamine. It shows you things you find funny, interesting, or is related to the things you already enjoy. It keeps user retention based on enjoyment. This comes with its own set of problems, of course. Addiction and dependency can stem from this, but imo it's less damaging to a person's psyche overall than rage bait.

With Meta taking over (and I will absolutely eat my shoe live on camera if I'm wrong about this), I fear Tiktok's algorithm will change to fit what Meta does. I feel it may already be happening, with my FYP today being almost entirely about the ban/return rather than my usual artwork, edits, gaming clips & funny sketches.

We may have effectively lost Tiktok anyway with all of this.

170 million Americans is a demographic any politician of any party would literally ki11 for. If anyone doubts that everything surrounding Tiktok's ban was anything other than an elaborate plan from the beginning...idk what to tell you. It may not have gone exactly the way it was intended, but the result is the same regardless.

It's my belief that those who voted for this ban, the vast majority of which having shares in Meta, did so because it was a threat to one of their biggest financial investments. They wanted to back TikTok into a corner and force them to make a move that benefited THEIR wallets, all the American people they screwed over in the meantime be damned.

While it looked to us like Tiktok wouldn't budge and would call their bluff, taking the ban rather than selling out to an American company only to find a solution in the last moments, this was obviously not the case. They did sell. They sold to the very company most threatened by its success to Zuck's benefit, the senators and representatives with shares in his company, and to the benefit of a politician with the absolute most to gain with an abysmal approval rating, and an audience of half the country who just got a notification expressing gratitude to him for "saving" an app he actively campaigned against for four fucking years.

Taking away something you enjoy, and giving it back to earn your praise is textbook psychological manipulation.

This whole thing just fucking reeks to me, and I wish billionaires would keep their fingers out of politics, and that politicians of all kinds would stop meddling in every single fucking thing that we do.

This country is run by money, and money alone.

I'm so mad about this whole thing, man. Angrier still at the "it's just an app, stop being dramatic" takes I'm seeing on my FB timeline (aforementioned rage baiting in action lmao). It's NOT just an app. It's a platform of One Hundred and Seventy Million God Damn People that, up until this point, has been an unprecedented tool in connection and information accessibility. A platform that now runs the risk of showing half the country only what one company wants to show them based on its ideas for how the app should work, and with a bias towards political ideals like funneling content that only pushes you harder to one side or the other, maintaining and deepening the rift between political parties that benefit Meta and the reps/senators invested in it.

Yeah it's an App that shows you funny videos and dances but PLEASE I'M BEGGING FOR ONE CRUMB OF CRITICAL THOUGHT ON THE SIZE OF THIS FUCKING THING ALONE

[wizardsix]

ok... so I have finally finished veilguard after about 90 painful hours (two playthroughs). im not gonna write an actual review about all of my detailed thoughts bc it'll actually take days, this is just to at least get my general thoughts out and see if anyone else feels the same or if ive actually lost it.

overall it is the weakest dragon age game story-wise, and I'd give it a nice lukewarm 4/10.

(i wrote this post right after I finished the game on the weekend so maybe I sound a bit harsh, I tried to edit it to be more reasonable lol but I didn't really want to delete this since I do still stand by a lot of this)

I really tried to go in with an open mind, bc I always want to experience media in full before making any kind of judgement, but about a few hours in I had this horrible feeling that once again this was another soulless, rushed game, and I still don't feel any different after finishing the game.

what stuck out to me was that there's no sense of urgency despite what the plot is, serious topics are not treated with care as the writing overall is shallow, and the gods as well as any other enemy you encounter are just cartoon villains (and apparently the lore retconning, but I'm not well-versed enough to dissect that so I won't).

I can't take this plot seriously when it feels so disjointed and forced and lazy. and I see no point in caring about anything when choices literally don't matter. no say in who you recruit, no say in the relationships with them and they have almost no awareness of rook, definitely doesn't matter if you have allies or not bc they show up anyway, and only four companions are locked into unavoidable decisions where one of them bites the dust no matter what (which is strange bc why are harding and davrin forced to die no matter if they're at hero status while bellara and neve can literally survive blight if they're at hero status), so it's impossible to try to strategize for better (or worse) outcomes with all the people you've gathered when there's only one right answer that the game pretty much tells you instead of letting you think for yourself (and side note this game does an incredible amount of hand holding). the game actively tries to trick you into thinking your choices matter with the onscreen notifications, but nothing matters bc the devs clearly had only one story in mind and for some reason lied that it had "complex choices".

also rook in general wasn't interesting as a protagonist bc they were written to be perfect. they always know what to say and are so supportive of everyone. they never struggle with anything. not even with leadership beyond "man leading a team is hard :/" but it doesn't actually show how hard it is by having actual volatile conflict between the companions* or showing how their plans sometimes fail. which, if we actually had choices that mattered, would have helped develop that struggle. also? what's with everyone being so friendly? I'm not gonna get into that but everyone is so eerily nice and it's been said a lot but yeah, the world is extremely sanitized and devoid of any real conflict aside from the gods I guess.

*(like off the top of my head cassandra fighting with varric and accusing him of not being on their side or how the inquisitor can literally punch dorian and solas if approval is low enough or fenris and anders bordering on killing each other is not the same as lucanis and davrin distrusting each other or people being uncomfortable with emmrich's necromancy. it just scratches the surface of conflict and never goes anywhere)

and let me say real quick again, there's nothing wrong if they wanted to make a more rigid story about being a hero. it's been done a million times and it can be executed well, but if you do that you need to make sure you 1) don't lie to people and 2) actually flesh out your (especially main) characters and plot to give people a reason to care. look at dragon age 2. hawke is a fixed protagonist with their own life front and center. they ultimately only have two choices (siding with mages or templars), but it works bc the game took time to build up the conflict straight from act 1 so by the time chaos happens in act 2 and 3 you understand why bc it's Been brewing the whole time. it just makes sense. the villains as well have sound reasons and feel real instead of being evil just bc. the story is more grounded, yet you have choices. you decide if hawke ends up alone or not. you decide how they approach situations with force or diplomacy. there's none of that in veilguard. a game that supposedly took 10 years to make. when dragon age 2 took almost 16 months (yes I know da2 also has problems like the fact that the templars are always proven right but this isn't the place to dissect that).

I want to be fair though and I do want to restate what I enjoyed about the game. the cc (though would it kill them to have more variety in face textures like age and body types beyond average.. also no colour wheel... especially since they claimed their cc was so good), the map progression/visuals/exploration (how certain places become more blighted overtime), the factions (though I feel there should have been more content for your faction, and helping them or not should have mattered more), the combat (did not feel like a slog, pretty fun and mindless), the companions (bellara, davrin, emmrich, harding, and lucanis had solid personalities and stories despite my complaints. neve was not memorable and I just feel sad for taash's bad writing), certain parts of the story were good, the intro and the point of no return sequences were solid, and the ending didn't feel rushed or boring compared to inquisition. and yes, I do appreciate that rook can be trans, I just think a little more subtly and care would've been nice.

another thing I did like and predicted was that varric died at the beginning of veilguard, and for a second I actually enjoyed that because i thought we were finally (a bit too late tho) getting some depth to rook and their own struggles of accepting his death and carrying this weight without him. and while I do think maybe they should've taken more time to establish the mentor/mentee relationship so we really feel rooks regret, I still think it was at least the right direction where in their grief they still see him, giving advice and narrating their journey.....but then it turned out to just be solas manipulating them the whole time, immediately destroying any emotional weight this reveal had.

whenever bioware has good ideas they shoot themselves in the foot and make it about solas. it's like nothing in the world exists without solas being involved somehow, and that is just incredibly boring and uninspired to me. not to mention solas just being an insufferable ass the whole time, which is fine, but it's not even in a compelling way like he used to be. he became so ugly by the end and the fact that the devs consider redeeming him the "good ending" and not giving him what he deserves is very telling and once again shows their own bias is king over good storytelling (solas' feelings should not come into play here, whether you/your companions live or die should determine good/bad ending since solas is trapped no matter what, only difference is who is trapped with him. idk but I personally think different endings actually means different outcomes). i will not go into the bs of the secret post credit scene, bc frankly I'm fed up with bioware's shitty writing and I won't be playing their next world ending space aliens game (unless they miraculously pull a good story out of their ass but lbr).

overall the bad outweighs the good for me. it's fun to play as a game, it's a decent fantasy game, but the story just doesn't do anything for me. sometimes I wonder if dreadwolf was a completely different game and was scrapped for veilguard last minute. maybe this was yet another inevitable industry fuck up and maybe there was a good story planned at one point. idk. all I know is bioware lied. respect and credit to the poor devs and writers who actually cared and to those who were kicked from the project, but in the end bioware promised too much and delivered too little.

[tinycheesecakedetective]

Relationship Post #1 Wilted Lily Edition, Part One

Since the fall of one of the Faerie Kingdom's finest, many of it's residents have tried to readjust with the changes. Alas, this would neither be the first tragedy to occur, nor the most costly.

This post will be showing some of the relationships the characters in The Faerie Kingdom have. More will be expanded on in later posts.

KEY: Red Text: Hatred/Rivalry Grey/Black Text: Tension Green Text: Friendly Blue Text: Trust Yellow Text: Admiration

Elder Faerie Cookie The Resilient King

Elder Faerie remains the king of the faeries and the faithful warden of the Silver Tree, albeit more regretful on how things ended. He chooses to be strong for the sake of his subjects, but he stops himself form mourning. He has a job to do, and no amount of familiarity or sentimentality will get in the way of protecting this world from evil. Deep down, however... A part of him wonders if any of this could be prevented.

For now he has bigger concerns, like the beasts' leftover influence looming over the kingdom and the fear their desperate followers might attempt to attack the Fae again, or worse, attempt to release the demons within the tree.

Relationships Mercurial Knight Cookie: He has protected this kingdom since his very creation. I believe he is more than capable of being at my side.

Silverbell Cookie: Poor child. I know what occurred wasn't your intention... But I will do what I must to protect the others.

Wilted Lily Cookie: ...I don't care what you were to me. I can't afford to. Not when your existence threatens Earthbread. And yet...

The Faeries: Even in our darkest hour, we must keep hope and perseveres. For the ones we've lost along the way.

Mercurial Knight Cookie The Replacement

Now holds the title of "Silver Guardian." After an incident that eliminated a third of the fairy population, he not only is responsible for overseeing the remaining Silver Tree Knights, but advising the king in official matters as well. To make matters worse, he knows that one day he'll have to face cookies he once protected and trained as enemies. He'll have to fight someone he once looked up to because she poses a threat to the kingdom, nay, the world. Though he insists that he's more than capable of handling his new role, one wonders if the weight of all that responsibility is too much for one cookie to bear, even for someone like him.

Relationships Elder Faerie Cookie: His highness placed his faith in me. I cannot let him down. No... I won't.

Silverbell Cookie: If I had known where you were going that day, could I have stopped you..?

Wilted Lily Cookie: You. His highness loved you, our kingdom adored you, Silverbell BELIEVED in you, and THIS is how you repay them?!

The Faeries: I'm... flattered you all trust in me this much. I will do my best to protect you all.

Silverbell Cookie..? The Exodus Days after White Lily's corruption he tried to find her again, hoping to reason with the witch and return her back to her senses. He ended up escaping with only an inch of his life and passed out on the forest floor. Silverbell was later found and taken back into the kingdom, but he was never quite the same since. He claims to still hear the forest, and wakes up to singing only he hears. He soon breaks free, storming the streets of the kingdom and spreading the madness to others in his desperate bid to return to the wilds. Eventually Silverbell is stopped, and soon banished alongside countless other victims. With no one left to stop him, he flees into the woods once more, swearing his fealty to Wilted Lily Cookie and serving as her right hand and confidant.

Relationships Mercurial Knight Cookie: How dare you try to hurt her majesty?!

Elder Faerie Cookie: Even after everything, I can't bring myself to resent you. But you'd better stay out of our way.

Wilted Lily Cookie: You have my life, your majesty. I will help you any way I can!

The Faeries: You and your devotion to that stupid tree irks me. I can't wait to burn it down and show you all the truth.

The Faerie Kingdom Residents United in Grief

Mourning, not just from the loss of their beloved guardian, but the loss of their friends and family. Even if many of them survived the attack, their hearts are filled with sorrow. Dirges fill the air in the coming months as the streets are lined with flowers and offerings. Only when the new Silver Guardian is chosen do they begin to heal and pick up the pieces.

Relationships Elder Faerie Cookie: O wise and powerful king, hear our call! Lead us to happiness for one and for all!

Mercurial Knight Cookie: Guardian, your journey has yet begun. Protect us, protect us from the wicked one...

Silverbell Cookie: Lost child of silver, now bathed in green, your face we hope we never see...

Wilted Lily Cookie: Fallen friend, now foe to all, we pray for your swift and painful fall! We pray the tree holds strong and true, and we pray the wilds will never release you...

[lupaeusarc]

𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘌𝘌𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘐𝘛𝘠 𝘝𝘐𝘉𝘌𝘚 𝘐𝘋𝘒

i saw some people doing these end of year posts and i'm in a sappy mood so happy holidays and here's some people i adore !!

@stanfordprepped JARED my bestie my love the light of my life you're genuinely one of my best friends and an absolute day one ride or die i can't even describe how much samemma and cassdell mean to me and our other ships are top tier as well i'm so glad i met you and i'll get to updating cassie's aesthetic and bringing some cassdell to the dash right after this 🤍

@carp3diems ceejay . bestie . partner in crime . sounding board for every chaotic thought that goes through my mind . i adore you and our plots and threads and the way i can just hop into your dms like " hey can i traumatize our muses rq " and you're always down lmao you're so talented and i'm just very thankful for you and for colbemma and for all of our chaos

@multi-royalty maddieeeeeee i love you so much my big little sissy 🥹 the only person i'll write em in the tvdu for and the reason i'm still writing at all i owe so much to you and i appreciate that even if we don't talk constantly you know i think you're the bees knees and you make the rpc a better place you absolute ball of sunshine

@stilesstylelinski trick you fuckin goblin i don't know what i would do without our bullshit or your unconditional emotional support you and i have both had a pretty shit year and i'm just really glad we could lift each other up even a little bit throughout all of it . stemma owns my soul and i'm still just in awe of your portrayal okay you basically pull the boy off the screen

@boundforhale MOM mom i love you mom i'm so grateful for you and for the gremlin chat and for all the support and love you give . you're so talented and kind and you need to be NICER to yourself for taking your time with replies i would be happy with a reply a year okay plus derek is a stubborn asshole it wouldn't make sense if he woke up all the time lol when he does he comes out swinging though you knock it out of the park every time

@ruinedmyself twin 🤍 i think you're so neat okay the way your brain works is so fascinating and the love you put into your muses is like palpable you're so cool and so talented and brooklyn and sam are so fucking funny i can't watch the basement yard anymore without thinking of them . i'll make more edits of them soon the accuracy is just so unreal lol

@inkedmuses VVVVVV listen i have such brainrot for john b and emma right now they make me so happy all of our ships are so cute and interesting and i love them so much you have some of the coolest plot ideas ever it's so chaotic and so fun to just yell ideas at each other and bring them to life

@guiltye LILLY i mean i just could yell forever and i will i WILL yell forever i can't even believe how intricate and deep and unique all of our plots are i'm constantly in awe of your mind every time i get a meme or reply from you i'm starstruck i love you and i love yelling about noah with you and i just think you're so fucking cool and so creative and talented and interesting and strong as all hell and you just never fail to make me smile *mandolin playing* you got all my love 🤍

@n0prom1ses lumiiii listen i love these idiot sisters so much already and i think all of our ships and dynamics are so neat 🥹 i'm sad we lost so much time especially knowing why but i'm so glad nature is healing and that sonny is once again dragging asher by the balls bc frankly it's what he goddamn deserves

i could literally go on for hours but i do want to get some things done lmao so here's some more people that my note to is this : i adore y'all and i hope you have the best holidays / new year and that 2024 brings you everything you hope for 🤍

@svnflowehrs , @escapedfromthevoiid , @hellgiven , @qapsiel , @westwingsolo , @r4chelamber , @ofcrxwns , @ofblackskies , @neverrcry , @gunchamber , @controlledvolatility , @sarcasticsnackpack , @localsalt , @fuckmeupindie , @hstoryhuh , @mecwmellc , @surgcns , @unitcd , @unbearablyindifferent

[phrandallanton]

do you have any tips on learning anatomy ?!1?1 im losing my mind over it 😿

Watch videos on YouTube about it or looking it up online, basic info I know. We live in the time where information is so exseable, use that to your advantage! The only place you should avoid is TikTok. Don't get me wrong there are some good creators on there but tutorials are better on YouTube and Google as I feel like they explain more. Here's some channels I recommend for not only learning anatomy but art as a whole:

Marc Brunet:

Draw like a sir:

tppo

As of tips I can bring to the table, the biggest one is don't stress over making things perfect! One of the reasons why I love the RANFREN style is how poorly drawn it is and that's what makes it look good. I know it sounds like an insult but it's not. The hands are always so effed up looking and that's my favorite part. Another example is Shin Chan. A lot of the adult's faces are always so wonky but it works and I love it.

Of course you need to learn the rules before you break them. Even the most exaggerated art use basic anatomy/fundamentals. But you don't always have to play by them. Art is subjective, you can draw a piece that has perfect anatomy and fundamentals and people may still not like it. Draw whatever looks good to you and makes you happy!

(This may differ though as if you want to get into a job where you have to draw in a sertant way/sertant thing the whole "I don't care what people think" isn't going to work. I personally do art as a hobby and never plan on doing it to appeal to others so I can bank off of it. If one day I can do that, cool. If not, also cool. That's how I see it! When it comes to trying to make art profitable a lot of creativity can be lost as most places don't want to take a risk of doing something that can effect them and the money. Little tangent, oops. But yeah, keep in mind that what I just typed out is coming more from a hobbyist stand point rather a professional one!)

Another thing is if there's something you don't like about your piece, then fix it. I use to say whatever when there was something I didn't necessarily like about my art because I didn't want to redo hours of work or mess up something, but trust me redoing it and getting it somewhere you like is so much better. Once again, the internet has lots of information to help so don't be shy to look up on how you can make something look to your liking. Criticism can also help with this. Always be open to constructive criticism when you're wanting to get better! Doesn't mean you have to apply said criticism to your art but it's still something you 100% should be open to.

Also with practicing try and do 30 minutes at a time and taking 15 minutes breaks in between. You're brain tends to absorb more information then studying for an hour straight. And don't push yourself to study every moment of your life. You should have a good balance of studying and free drawing. And please take breaks too. Burn out is not fun, it can take a long time to overcome it. (Coming from someone who experienced burn out for over a whole year.)

You also may not learn at it right away. Take your time and go easy on yourself! Don't compare your art to others as you have no clue how many hours they spent into practicing, and I assure you most artist have drawn stuff that looks horrible compared to what they post online. People will only post stuff they think looks good for the world to see. Your practice sketches aren't the best but it's one of the steps that's going to help you get where you want to be! <(＾⊆＾)_/¯

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

VIII

got too excited when I saw your post, almost forgot to post my ask anonymously 🙂‍↕️

it's a relief to hear that it wasn't anything too serious (still, sucks that it happened to you) and that you're okay. welcome back!!

[insert happy cat pic here]

-🌹

Yeah, it sucked, but it shows how used to wifi I was, made me think about a LOT of things, actually made me reflect on some life choices I made, very therapeutic tbh, well, half of it at least, and least it was only the wifi and not the power, though that happened too, just for like 2 hours for 2 days But don't worry, I am completely fine- maybe just a bit lost, because I have no clue what the hell I missed, there's like new drama each day, got a bit into editing and writing (private letters) a bit, I also took a bit of jewelry making too (I'm shit at it though) But I made a promise, a promise to someone very special to me, that I will wait just a couple more years till I saved enough money, get my passport and everything else I need to get and then get a plane ticket and fly over to them to make us officially official, that I will live long enough to see his face right in front of mine- and not through a screen this time Despite my thoughts, my fantasises about doing things to myself that would result in my death- they should just remain that, thoughts and fantasies, I just need to remind myself that each day, that I have a reason to stay alive- I have a promise to keep, I can't break my promise, not to him. I have to remind myself that it's not hard to stay alive- that it's just my mind hating me, and that I have to follow my heart once in a while, and so far- he truly has my heart, and my heart wants to stay with him

[mimimarilynart]

I haven't posted any rants (or anything rly) in ages because life has been getting busier over the last few years and overall- things have been heading in a better direction in general despite the chaos and stresses we all have to deal with in life.

But a specific incident happened which I did not expect and now I'm extremely upset bcs it was something I had been looking forward to + decided to make a commitment to encourage myself to create more often and documenting my progress - making a Youtube channel to upload my art/creative processes, gardening vlogs and other craft/hobbies.

I work a full time job that has nothing related to art/my hobbies and most weeks I barely have any time/energy/braincells left in my spare time to make anything I enjoy. Which is the main reason I haven't been active much on tumblr and instagram, that and the fact that I have very little social energy to keep up with maneuvering between multiple platforms. Social media- just like engaging in social interactions- drain me and exhausts my introverted brain beyond I can explain in words. This was why I decided to go with a video platform like Youtube where I can just record, upload and forget about it but have a place to serve as an archive of things I've made/spent time and effort working on.

So I created a new gmail account and signed up and had my first and brand new Youtube account and channel ready to go last week, I was super excited. I filmed myself doing a brush calligraphy session for around 90 minutes, edited it on my phone and uploaded it. I was super happy and shared the video link with my loved ones only to find that in less than 24 hours since my video went up I got this email notifying that my channel has been terminated:

I had no idea what I did to deserve this and all I can say is thanks Youtube for treating a new/small creator like me this way because you obviously don't care.

Can someone please explain to me what have I done that violated their Community Guidelines by posting a video like this- an original longform content made by me of me doing handwriting with a brush in my own living room:

I have appealed but I have already lost my trust and hope in this platform. I feel wronged and discouraged and I hope nobody goes through the same experience even though apparently it's becoming more and more common for creators all over the place to just wake up one day and find their own channel wrongfully terminated with no reason whatsoever.

If I don't get this channel back I'm not going to attempt this again. Thanks Youtube for your warm welcome and encouragement to a new creator and small artist who had been blindly optimistic about starting a channel to share art with.

[hazardworld]

Dustin's a Damn Good Ally (Original) Pt. 6

Chapter 6— Scars and Black Sweatshirts

Ao3 Link

Originally Posted 1.1.23/Edited 9.2.23

Summary: Dustin's turn! I've tagged him as queer only because I didn't want to ruin the surprise. When this is a series, his actual label will be in future fics. (fyi i had one in the words but as of now I'm using part of it for Monster Town S2E4 so...yeah)

(Queer author saying queer is used both positive and negative here)

———

Eddie was taken aback at how accepting Dustin was.

It was clear he didn’t care about sexualities, even if he was straight. That was metal as fuck in its own right, but even more interesting was how the kid seemed to have an innate sense of gaydar in him.

As good as if he was gay himself.

Either way, Eddie found himself having a movie night with Steve and his adopted siblings/children, fully able to kiss and hand-hold and love his boyfriend, without judgement from the other two in between them (aka the only reason Steve and Eddie weren’t cuddling: the redhead on Eddie’s right, next to the brunet on Steve’s left)

Eddie had found himself a family full of love, and for fuck’s sake, he was happy.

The movie in question was the Breakfast Club, something everyone found comforting and sweet, and hopefully not inducing nightmares from trauma Eddie wasn’t technically supposed to know about but forced all three to tell him after everyone had screaming nightmare after screaming nightmare.

Besides, Eddie thought it was similar to their dynamic: found family from all walks of life, not to mention is was secretly a personal favorite of his.

About an hour in, Dustin went to go get popcorn, but the movie was quickly stopped as Steve gently pushed him back down into his seat.

…ok?

Eddie looked up in confusion as Max and Steve put on determined looks, and Dustin’s confused face quickly turned into a panicked one.

Eddie pretended not to see (or be hurt by) the way Dustin's fearful eyes kept going back and forth, mostly directed at him.

"Max, you know where the sweatshirt is, yeah?" She nodded and ran upstairs, while Steve ran into the kitchen, Eddie mentally agreeing to follow behind.

"Steve, what’s going on? Is Dustin ok?" Steve gave a little huff, and started looking through cabinets.

"Babe, I love you, but it’s something Dustin needs to tell you. Not my place." Steve grinned as he spotted and swiped a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "Grab the paper towels on your way. C’mon." Eddie grabbed the roll, trailing behind like a lost puppy.

By now, Max had returned, and was helping a crying Dustin tie a black sweatshirt around his waist, and Eddie saw the dark red stain on the Harrington’s pristine couch.

Oh.

That made…so much sense.

Eddie remembered coming out to Wayne: the day after his middle school graduation, saying that he was Eddie, and that’s who he’d be in high school.

How scared he’d been that someone who he trusted and loved could turn on him so easily, just for saying who he was.

How kind Wayne had been, saying Eddie was his boy, and how tightly they hugged afterwards.

Now, the roles were reversed: Wayne’s job now his.

So, Eddie did the best thing he could, and tore off his shirt.

Well, he didn’t literally tear it off, but he threw it over his head so fast it was almost like tearing it.

Either way, it had exactly the effect intended, because the second Dustin caught sight of his bare chest, he gasped.

Under Eddie’s chest were two long, slightly mangled scars of the breast reduction surgery that had "gone too far."

News flash, it hadn’t.

And the scars that reminded Eddie of what had once been now brought one of his favorite kids joy, because Eddie was just like him.

"Eddie?" Eddie grinned and nodded, and Dustin just crashed into him, into a hug.

"I thought…I thought you’d hate me…being gay is one thing…" Eddie gently shushed him and pulled him in tighter.

"Don’t worry kiddo, I could never hate you for being trans. It’d be kinda hypocritical, no?" Dustin giggled in his arms. Eddie caught the wide grin from Steve and the approving smile—the equivalent to Steve’s wide grin—from Max, and he smiled warmly.

Max snatched the paper towels from his hand, making it clear his job today was comfort, as she and Steve got to work on the stain.

Eddie stayed shirtless the rest of the night, pretending not to see the little glances Dustin gave the scars as the movie continued.

———

And that's a wrap!

A few bits that may be integrated later, idk: - Dustin knows Steve's safe because he got his first period at Steve's house (spring '85) - Eddie gives Dustin a few of his own black sweatshirts after the fact - Dustin (plus Nancy and Lucas) can sew, and he makes his own binders out of sports bras

Special thanks to a few of my friends who beta read (aka I just read this aloud to you at some point), especially "the Dipper to my Mabel" (I don't think they have an ao3/tumblr acct) and @octopiys.

Please PLEASE read the new version. Yes, it may have the same plotline, but I've added a bunch of fun details that give the story more character.

Chapter 5/6

[demented-tours]

The project is simple: Dear World Rage Box. One photo, one text dump. Raw thoughts. Minimum editing. Fuck typos. Fuck perfection. No masking/curbing/appeasing. No apologies. I don't care how this sounds. Not sure why it needs to be public. Maybe it always won't. Maybe I delete these ten seconds after I post them. Maybe I print them out and make fucking wallpaper. Not creating yet another account for this, either. I've officially forgotten too many versions of myself to add another.

///

Dear World 1,

A half hour before my therapy appointment yesterday I learned my mother's stage 3 endometrial cancer might be back. My first response wasn't about her. It was about me.

How the fuck am I going to carry the weight of my mother's illness again? It almost did me in the first time. I was just starting to find energy/strength/reserves to feel ready for what's next.

Those doors didn't slam. But they creaked toward closed like a bad horror video game.

I don't know how to do all of it at once: deal with her co-dependency, her shut down, her undiagnosed everything and my long list of illnesses that I regularly use as a shield from her (from a lot of things) because it was the only boundary I had for decades. Because I didn't know what boundaries were. Felt like. Could do. Should do.

Some people are born to fight. I think I was born to defend. It's how I've never lost a game of chess. I just run the board until there's nothing left. Even if you might win, it'll take so long and be so painful you'll wish you'd just put down your king on move 2.

During the appointment, I told my therapist about the day I had last week which was--and I called it this--one of the top 3 worst days of this year. At least, so far. It can definitely always get worse.

I tell her I'm worried I'm depressed. I'm worried I've been depressed for a while. I tell her about Mom and about the day last week. I tell her these stories with my usual sprinkling of humor. Because I have to let her know Oh, yeah, even though it's awful I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

I'm not fucking okay.

She wants to circle back to the depression. Her use of language made me think of work which made me hate from my core being again. She asked me questions. I knew I wasn't going to answer the right way. She both could and could not tell me what I was experiencing was depression. I don't wish for depression. I wish not to have to justify whatever the fuck I'm feeling.

It's bad enough to have to justify my autism to my own mother. It's bad enough that every other week or so, I discover some other way my life was fucked up, and I see how I've defended it or transmuted it or run from it or hidden it because if I make other people feel more comfortable, then I win, right?

I feel myself on the brink of full melt down. I know now that these aren't panic attacks. They aren't me just being difficult. They aren't me being suicidal, despite the fact that they literally make me feel like what is boiling inside me is actually going to kill me.

My ambiguity over allowing that to happen still baffles me.

I got mad. My anger is my sharpest weapon. It was honed on the active battle field of my childhood. People who know me know this. People who know me who have experienced my anger first hand either know how to duck or left a cloud of dust as they ran. If you know me and don't know my rage, then you just don't know me.

that's okay. I wouldn't want to know me, either.

(Fuck. Editing. Stop that. Type, goddamn you.)

I got mad. My therapist got uneasy. Suddenly what she thinks and believes and hopes to do no longer applies. She tells me that the reason I may be so exhausted is I'm fighting the very feelings I tell her I have no interest in feeling.

I come at her. "So what?"

I see when that hits. I feel how that lands. Even though a screen. I hate that I'm this attuned instrument for feelings for a 1000 square mile emotional radius. I don't want my own. I definitely don't want yours.

But so what if it's exhausting not to feel it. It feels like death if I do. I feel backed into a corner, asked to defend a depression she seems simultaneously concerned I might have and certain I don't. I didn't want to bring it up to debate it. I brought it up to work on it.

I forgot there's a script she has to run when that word gets dropped into the session. I forgot how tired neurotypical scripts make me.

Nah, it's not holding back the emotions making me tired. It's living in the world that cause them that's doing me in.

Or both.

She speaks. I speak. I find some measure of calm. Less because I want it and more because she clearly wants me to find it. She tells me maybe it's time to find another therapist for autism. She can come with me, she says, but she doesn't have the tools to help me.

Yeah. I know that. But I've spent six years growing this sparse-ass garden of trust between us, and now you're telling me nothing else is gonna grow.

I've already looked into it. I've already found faces that seem kind. I've already thought this. I've already starting reading. I've already been doing research on what the fuck I might actually be for years, now.

But it still felt like another person supposed to help me who basically said I was too much once they catch a glimpse of this iceberg under the surface they thought they knew.

Which is shitty. But expected.

Today I saw this TIkTok wherein the narrator explains to me that he cannot trust his perceptions of the world when he's tired. He expounds on to say don't trust your thoughts when you're stressed/tired/hungry/hurting. They're tainted. Observe and let go.

Also talks about taking all the negative thoughts and bundling them into a single problem. Because then you don't have ten problems; you have one. And likely you've faced it before.

His problem was running out of time.

That video helped me more than the entire session with therapist. Maybe helped me more than the last ten. I don't want to do the math on how much I've paid for a glorified distraction and master class on masking just enough to make my therapist comfortable, but my brain's already done it.

Runaway train.

I also stumbled into some art student video content with horror-like elements that felt like visiting my dark thoughts generator and hearing some of the shit it says.

The algorithm might be evil, but sometimes evil is still right.

We don't know if it's cancer.

Fuck liminal spaces.

Fuck this year. Fuck thinking it'll get better. And fuck the fact that at the end of yesterday's session, I settled on, "Fine, I guess it's not depression. I guess I'll just say I'm chronically sad."

Apparently, that's situationally appropriate.

I hate that I agree.

I hate that part of me doesn't.

I want to burn something down.

/D

Photo: Wrecked tub. The cold water handle disintegrated in my hand after I tried to run it to fix another problem that didn't actually exist. The plumbing was welded into the wrong lines. It was a "Goddamned nightmare." Keep buying parts and finding more are missing. Felt like me.

[snootchie-bootchie-nootchies]

I'm seventeen, not twenty-four. Let's get that out of the way.

I came to look at your account for new content, and I was blocked. No reporting, no asking if I was okay, just blocked. So after going to my burner account and seeing the post you made of course I was pissed.

Apparently you said I'm "crying in your dm's about you blocking my ED account"

If you read the FIRST message I sent you on my SECOND account (after you blocked me- and which I'm pretty sure you ignored) it said "This is an old account that I haven't used in years. If knew how to delete the posts I would."

You didn't send me a link on how to delete all the triggering posts. You know what you did? You blocked me. Again.

Once I figured out how to delete all the posts (which I took an hour doing) and I told you I cleaned my account out, and refreshed it, you blocked me again!

To move onto other topics of your fuck ass response, "I love Randal Graves, why would I want to act like him"

Honey, you like him. Need I say more? "Porch monkey, Helen Keller/Anne Franke debacle, Beastiality, Homophobia, a 30 year old who fucks 17 year olds"

You obviously like him for a reason.

But last but not least you told me "I hope you can get out of that nasty community"

IVE BEEN OUT OF IT FOR THE LAST 2 YEARS YOU DUMBASS BITCH I SAID THAT IN MULTIPLE ASKS

ONCE AGAIN ILL SAY AS JAY ONCE SAID BEFORE, 'man- you're a lost fucking cause'

You must've not passed second grade if you've missed out on THIS many context clues.

(Also post this on your account!!! out me all you want honey <3)

If I get blocked again it'll just prove I'm right.

Christ almighty

I told you those two asks were the only asks I got in my inbox. I did not get any prior asks. I apologize for that, but like I said, it's not my fault, it's tumblr's. I only blocked the original account, and then your previous burner after I posted those asks. Which, was pretty petty of me, I will admit. They just really took me by surprise, because to me, they were incredibly hostile and coming out of seemingly nowhere. So I responded in kind. It was shitty.

With added context that I HAD NOT PREVIOUSLY HAD, let me reiterate- I DID NOT GET THOSE ASKS. If I had, I definitely wouldn't have been such a massive dickhead. Anyways with this context, I will apologize. If I had that I probably would have unblocked you and like, chatted with you or some shit. But you truly cannot blame me for something that was not my fault whatsoever. I'm not gonna lie to you about this shit I fucking hate liars, i didn't get those asks.

In regards to you just "being blocked" - I have no obligation to ask if you're okay. You're a stranger clearly going through your own shit, I'd rather not try to like... 'help' and probably make it worse or have you get angry or something. And reporting accounts on Tumblr is annoying as balls I've tried before and it almost always amounts to nothing. Ultimately I have the right to monitor who is following me.

I'm glad you're out of there. That's great. I'm happy for you. I didn't know this! Because I didn't get those asks!

About the context clues, there were none for me to read. Also I'm autistic, not to blame it on that necessarily, but I do have a hard time reading that shit genuinely.

I don't know why you're lingering on this Randal shit. I can be a good person and like shitry characters and villains. He's fucked up and funny 🤷‍♂️ also you're mentioning everything from clerks 2 and I don't really like him in that movie, he feels like a caricature, I'm kore of a clerks 1 kind of guy tbh

Sorry this is getting really long, I'm trying to address as much as possible. Idk.

I am not opposed to unblocking you if your account is clean and shit, man. (EDIT: sorry i just realized your previous ask did say that lol. my bad, my memory is shitty as hell. i couldn't even look at the time bc i was on mobile and idfk how to use that shit, and i was busy spending time with my family because i have a pretty damn busy life outside tumblr)

I have college shit to do right now but I will look into it soon. I know this post is still kind of pissy but I am not going to block you again if you can find it in yourself to be a 🤏 teesny bit more respectful (not even nice, just respectful) when sending me asks, cause I'm totally willing to talk this out with you.

Also sorry for implying you were 14 or 24. I never know with people on here. Anyways!

Yeah. Uhhh if you want to messafw me instead of airing this stuff out publicly feel free. I think I allowed that on this account? Lmk if I didn't. Thanks in advance, I have to do stupid academic shit now

[thedarkmistress16]

please gush about your passions and pastimes!!! I would love to hear about them

ack- im happy you want to hear about them!

Passions:

obvs as y'all know recently and just in gen., i guess, writing- i love crafting worlds and stories where anything can happen and just creating scenes above all else, like getting lost in the details of everything. I love getting lost in my own world and making myself happy as most self-indulgent writers do (and showing off my legitimate skill in a proper form of writing after doing shitpost-y things for so long is pretty rejuvenating, XD). And upon going back to some of my older, posted works and wips, I still laugh at the dumb shit I thought was the best stuff ever and now find myself giving those ideas a refresher like my last writing update, because it's still a legitimately enjoyable read.

i love sketching for similar reasons, but more so to visualize a fuzzy, almost-there idea, usually about fashion. Like recently I re-drafted some outfits for a fic idea I had, in order to make the world and designs make sense in my head. And I redesigned an existing outfit, running with certain themes and embellishments in design. I'm so happy I can churn out simple sketches like that when i really put my mind to it and feel content with the finished product nowadays. I feel accomplished as a hobby artist now and it's all thanks to heavy online research, a few how-to books, and putting effort into one art class. It's the second hobby of mine that I want to be good at, almost as much as my writing. Speaking of, I sometimes draw what I write or dream about because it's that prominent in my head.

Wow i love music guys- ha, but you already knew that *lenny face*

Past times:

I really like playing the simpler games in life- not as much in the vein of it being less difficult or busy, but more so with fewer controls, interesting mechanics, and a captivating style that I can easily fuck around in or beat some levels for a few hours. Bring on the (spider) solitare (only 4 suit sucks ass why do i do this to myself), jewel quest (FUCK YOU CROWS), barbie's fashion show (SINGLE DREAM-), zoo tycoon (fuck guest happiness), and sonic adventure or x-men of course.

MMD vids are v neat, like I know a handful of choreos that are fun as past midnight exercises to get my blood pumping and i get to discover new songs and learn more about other languages at the same time! Also the aph as mmd crack vids are the best whether its them making 'i hate this' or 'yeah im hot shit' faces or being completely into it as they're forced to dance or simply copying a vine. Like, they give me brainrot and serotonin at the same time its so fun. I love seeing all the different outfits for mmd vids in general, too, on top of new covers i never would've known about.

I really love analyzing things in general, actually. It's how I learn most of the things I do and know now, even though it technically causes me to lose large chunks of time because all i'm doing is staring at the damn thing, XD. Sometimes (all the time) I'll look at a gif or vid of a character changing their facial expression as they do/say something and I'll be completely enthralled by it. Something similar happens when I stare at REALLY GOOD artwork. I think it's the technical part of my brain trying to figure out the individual elements which make up whatever that thing is, like what facial muscles are being used to convey that emotion or mix of them, what the character is feeling, how the lighting or shading of the environment or extra details in editing affects said expression, etc. And for art, I'm thinking of the lines, posture, composition, object placement, color palette, negative space, tone, and all that jazz you learn from studying art.

Scrapbooking is a fun pastime for me that's extended from celebratory cards to actual gifts to my personal sketchbooks. It's part of the "creating something out of nothing/seeing what you can create with some basic templates and decorations" kind of mindset. And it makes me happy because I get to be creative and my family members and friends (even my employer) love them as part of their gifts every time and come to expect it from me each holiday, so I'm constantly encouraged to do it in the best way. I've recently kinda gone overboard on using ribbons and charms for the spiral and stickers and washi tape for the actual book itself on my sketchbooks, but I find myself wanting to draw in it more because I did that, lol.

I love rewatching the things I love. I usually have the same commentary about it, but its nonetheless enjoyable. And I never know what new thing I'll discover about it next, even if i've seen it over 50 times and only have it on as background noise and don't actually watch it. And yes, I will easily let something play on repeat at least that many times in my lifespan as well (like, a full day of it, at least).

wow i love staring at characters im attracted to for hours on end can i get a HUYEA-

[corvuscorona]

my wife just came upstairs to talk to me for like 45 minutes about things that are fucked up about these books so i completely lost whatever thread i was on here but it's fine just roll with me for a second

unfortunately i'm an expert. about this. the THING about this AUTHOR is that she has experienced Too Much Body Loneliness and hasn't found a non-writing way to process it yet. i know this because the thing in htn about harrow just like casually having the body show up to literally hold her like it's this familiar matter-of-fact occurrence slapped me in the face so hard i spun around like a cartoon AND because every bizarre tangent she writes abt palamedes and camilla is so (gestures) i'm becoming more insane. these books make me insane.

of course her perfect newborn embodiment of ??some kind of idealized Earth-ness is obsessed with physicality and touch and EXPLICITLY ASKS how the other, non-perfect not-newborn-embodiment characters can go without it to the extent that they do; she has this. IDEA in her head about. i mean it isn't an IDEA it's a collection of obsessive thoughts orbiting the UNDERSTANDABLE HUMAN NEED FOR RELIABLE AFFECTIONATE TOUCH, that she writes SO WELL and so un-shut-uppably about that i can't POSSIBLY believe she's, like, personally gotten over her own chronic struggle with not having it met.

i like ianthe because she's evil and insane. i don't like gideon much because she feels like a cardboard caricature of something tamsyn heard someone on twitter say abt Strong Women Or Maybe ? Useless Lesbians But Some Wires Got Crossed one time but that's more like a personal problem i have. it didnt impede my enjoyment of the first book, which had great pacing after the first hundred pages and was A Story, right.

but the thing about the first book was that even though it had a great cast of characters. with varied interpersonal relationships with each other. and stuff. there was this NOTABLE shortage of

believable affectionate gestures

and believable like. positive? thought? patterns? eg. from gideon's internal monologue / narration About harrow - the book tells me they're. in sasunaru with each other but i don't believe it at the beginning and i don't believe it throughout canaan house and i'm like sitting there reading the Pool Scene, arms crossed, bogos binted because it DOES NOT FEEL.

so i start to wonder what the fuck is going on. & speculate about it during Household Philosophy Hour for a bit and then harrow the FUCKING ninth comes out

and i read it and i go OHHHHHH. OH. OH I SEE because where the first book was a fun danganronpa murder mystery Clue novel story narrative, the second book is

1. NOTABLY self-indulgent (she reverts to 2nd person, of homestuck fame, and seems to find the inside of harrow's head a more natural place to operate from)

2. paced like shit and

3. PARTLY AS A RESULT OF THE PACING, an AMAZING evocation of fucking. TRAUMA BRAIN

& harrow's trauma is about MISSING someone she can't allow herself to remember (weird hole-in-the-heart. ache of unknown origin. weakness of character; unfixable; where would you even start?) but it's also about DESPERATELY WANTING something [embodied by . The Body] that she HASN'T EVER HAD.

so now i have her clocked. i enjoy the second book for this + other reasons. (after having finished the rest of this Post: now editing in the requisite Mercymorn Mention. Press F on your keyboards at home for a real one.) then the third book comes out and it's all

- nona (embodiment of a !!! Lost Thing !!!) has this FIXATION on tactile physical stuff and body language

- the only 2 convincingly In Love characters can't interact with each other VERBALLY except in writing, let alone physically

- i can't. describe. in words how VISCERAL that part was about nona kissing cam on the hand & camilla going and sitting in the empty bathtub in the dark for like an hour I HAVE NOT IN THIS LIFE ENCOUNTERED EVIDENCE that a person can WRITE something like that without DIRECT PERSONAL EXPERIENCE in the realm of NOT BEING OKAY, THAT THEY ARE ALSO OBSESSED WITH AND NOT OVER.

tamsyn muir got platonic-married to a guy she met via homestuck fandom activities online. dedicated nona the ninth to him AS. HER. MOIRAIL (HOMESTUCK TERMINOLOGY FOR 'PLATONIC SOULMATE WHO MAKES ME NOT MURDEROUSLY INSANE'). and she WROTE that. she's not just horny about this subject she's CONSUMED WITH A LUST THAT IS INSEPERABLE FROM AN EQUALLY ALL-CONSUMING GRIEF

which is why i mostly find the shit pacing of the third book

1. anthropologically fascinating

2. To Be A Serious Indictment Of Not Only Her Editor But In Fact Her Entire Social Circle and also

3. funny sorry it's really funny she got LOST in self-fanfiction hell on the way to the end of this grand sweeping plot about how a mediocre guy became god and ruined the whole universe, which she BARELY bothers to stop and worldbuild about, STILL, w/ his mediocrity because she CAN'T

STOP

TELLING ON HERSELF and NOBODY told her "please keep it together for one (1) last book. tamsyn. pleas e"

listened to 1/3 of nona the ninth today and YES tamsyn muir still needs to be dragged OUT of her own stupid head to get therapy. and more life experiences

[usernare]

and maybe we got lost in translation, maybe i asked for too much. but maybe this thing was a masterpiece ’til you tore it all up. running scared, i was there, i remember it all too well. and you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest. i’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here ’cause i remember it all, all, all too well.