#i really desperately need a miracle rn

[atlaswav]

EMPYREAN ☾

INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.

Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 

But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 

He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 

His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 

“Oh– you alright?” 

“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 

“...Are you okay?”

This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.

Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 

Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.

Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 

He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 

You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 

The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 

In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 

There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 

Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 

Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.

There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 

This is when a man grows desperate. 

“May I draw you?”

“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”

“A study.”

You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).

“Sure. Show it to me later.”

Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 

None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 

Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 

“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 

He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.

“Does my nose really look like that?”

“Of course.”

You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”

There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 

“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 

“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”

No, but he wouldn’t say that – 

“No, I've been studying you for a while.”

– Or maybe he would. 

Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 

“Do I?”

He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 

“Consider me flattered, then…” 

“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”

“...Veritas.” 

He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 

“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”

You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”

He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”

He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”

“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”

This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 

His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 

You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 

It was absurd. 

A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 

“Hey, Veritas,” 

There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 

“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 

You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 

You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 

“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”

“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”

He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”

You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 

He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 

Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 

But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 

You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 

“So… Veritas?”

His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”

“Why did you take art?”

His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”

“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”

“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”

He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”

“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 

Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”

You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”

He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 

“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”

He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”

“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 

At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 

“Dinner? Why?”

“You owe me, don’t you?”

This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 

He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 

“Fine. Just let me finish up.”

So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 

Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 

“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 

You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 

You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 

You almost looked divine. 

“Holy shit.”

“Does that hold a negative connotation?”

“Veritas, you’re crazy.”

“...negative?”

“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”

His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 

“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 

He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.

You sighed. “Here, let me.” 

He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 

You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 

“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 

“Alright, dinner, then.” 

“Dinner.”

“I’ll go and… wash up.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 

“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.

“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”

He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 

“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 

“Well, art, obviously,”

“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”

You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 

Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 

“You have to be kidding me.”

He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”

“...You could’ve said unlucky.”

“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”

You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 

“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”

“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”

Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”

“Pretentious.”

“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”

His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 

There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.

You, in his shower. 

He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 

He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 

“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 

He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?

“Yes?”

“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 

This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 

“Of course. One moment.”

He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 

He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 

Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 

It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 

You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 

He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 

“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 

He nods, and averts his gaze. 

You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  

“Veritas?”

“Yes?”

“What are your greatest fears?”

“Excuse me?”

You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”

“Nothing.”

“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 

He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”

“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 

“Am I being funny?”

“No,”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”

“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”

“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”

“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”

Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”

At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 

“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”

“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”

“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”

He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 

“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”

Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 

People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 

It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –

Knocking, at the front door. 

You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 

You never regret anything more than this moment. 

“Delivery.”

You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 

You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 

Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 

Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 

He hates it. 

He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 

“I think I should go now.”

Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”

“Well…”

He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“But–”

“Don’t argue.”

Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 

Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 

This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 

The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 

Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 

You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 

What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.

—

You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 

It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 

But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 

You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 

Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 

It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 

When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 

“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.

So you can get my eyes right, of course.”

written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024

[aemondsladywife]

His Lady Wife : Alternative Ending I

aemond x reader

an alternative ending to 'His Lady Wife' where y/n survives and aemond suffers the consequences of his actions.

a/n: its 3am in the uk rn and i've made you guys wait too long! i am extremely sorry this took so long to write!! i won't even lie, its not the best, i really struggled w these alternative endings, feedback and comments are appreciated as always, my inboxes are always open for requests!! also if you want to be on my permanent aemond taglist, please comment! btw there are more alt endings on its way!

genre: angst

after hours and hours of intense labour, you finally gave birth to a premature baby girl. you were exhausted, but seeing your precious baby girl gave you all the strength you needed in the world. as you cradled your tiny, precious baby girl, your 'husband' came in, with guilt etched all over his face.

"my wife I-"

his eyes fell to his tiny baby girl. his eyes began to water as he spoke,

"is that my daughter?"

you looked at him with cold eyes, your blood was boiling as you placed a protective arm around the daughter you had just birthed.

"no she is no mans daughter. she is mine. only mine. no fucking guards and definetely not yours. she has your white hair and violet eyes but it was not you who carried her 8 months in a chamber fit for a criminal. it wasn't you who had to endure severe pains for the past 8 moons. it wasn't you who pushed and pushed for 9 hours straight. that was all me. you left her mother to die and now you expect to be her father? if you want a baby so bad carry on fucking that whore of yours, you're nearly there!"

aemond looked at his wife with wide eyes. he didn't know what to say or where to begin. her anger was justified. he was about to step closer and speak to his wife when he was interrupted by a maester.

"my prince, may I speak to you in private."

aemond nodded to the maester, with tears of guilt and pain in his eyes as he walked out of the room with him.

"my prince. the princesses labours were... horrific, to put it mildly. as she was not given any support during her tulmtuous pregnancy, her labors were worse than we had ever seen, it is a miracle that she and the babe are alive. it was a whole moon early, she lost litres of blood, the baby was upside down and had to be physically twisted and even now, both mother and wife are severly unwell. please do not take offence my prince... but it is best you give the princess and the babe their space. any further stress could even cause a heart attack."

aemond felt sick to his stomach as he realised what he had put his wife and daughter through, all because he let his self doubt and insecurities get the better of him.

he nods and complies to the maesters words. what else could he do other than wait? he caused enough damage as it is.

weeks go by and aemond can't even catch a glimpse of either his wife or daughter. his heart is overtaken by remorse and longing. he knew this was all his fault, but he desperately wanted to see his baby and his wife who he treated so terribly.

aemond took a deep breath before knocking on the door of his estranged wife's chambers, he has flowers and a dragon plushie in his hands.

you open the door, with your daughter in your arms, not expecting to see aemond at the door.

"husband."

aemond has a sorrowful, sad smile on his face.

"my wife, i know my actions are much beyond forgiveness, i will live the rest of my life in regret for my disgusting actions... but please, give me a chance to redeem myself. i will do anything and everything my love. i have not even held my own daughter. please. i beg you, my lady. let me hold my little girl."

aemond begged you with tears in his eyes. he was desperate. he looked at his tiny daughter in your arms and yearned to hold her. all he wanted was to be a good father and husband.

"i remember feeling this desperate too..."

your words give him a slight bit of hope. he hopes that you pity him enough to give him a chance.

"i felt this desperate when i begged of you to let me go to my fathers and recieve treatment for my pregnancy complications. and what did you do. refuse. and what did i have to do? suffer in silence. now you will do the same."

aemond's entire being became filled with guilt and resentment towards himself, he would do anything for a moment with his wife and daughter.

"please my wife. please. i have not been able to eat or sleep knowing the pain i caused you and our daughter."

you looked back at him with no sympathy and chuckled when you spoke.

"i remember that feeling all too well. i felt the same when you restricted me to a chamber with mouldy walls and food that wouldn't feed a child let alone a woman carrying a child herself"

you were shutting the door on him when he stopped it. he was so desperate, he was begging you with tears in his eyes.

"please. my lady. my lady wife i know my apologies are worthless but at least give this to my sweet girl."

he holds out the little stuffed dragon toy, praying to the gods you would accept it.

"we do not accept gifts from strangers. especially ones who once had ill intentions for us."

with that, you shut the door and left aemond in a state of great despair. in one swoop, he lost his wife and only child. his dreams of being a father had been crushed by his own hand.

taglist: @fultimefangirl @hc-geralt-23 @whatsonthemirror @69cocktimusprime @immyowndefender @burntoutpetals @uselessbutinteresting @bibli0thecary @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bellameshipper @graykageyama @krispold @malfoytargaryen @imnotyourbcbe @poisonedsultana @caramelcandescence @azaleapotterblack @oh-thats-cute

*tags w a line through didn't work!

[lakesbian]

was doing a bit of Thinkin about bakuda due to my worm reread liveblog. she is very much a stereotypical fiery asian woman with blue eyes--shitty mundanely racist caricature alongside savage-yet-honorable lung--but it feels like there's just enough meat there that it's easy to imagine what bakuda could be if worm was really really good instead of just really good. which is why i was sitting in the shower for 10 minutes rotating her in my mind.

this little background detail:

Armsmaster nodded, “Not surprising. She’s new. What we know about her is limited. She made her first appearance and demonstration of her powers by way of a drawn out terrorism campaign against Cornell University. Lung apparently recruited her and brought her to Brockton Bay after her plans were foiled by the New York Protectorate. This is… something of a concern.”

combined with what her powers imply about her could have some genuinely interesting implications. i'm getting into "imagine if this part of worm was better" mode here & not "analyzing what's actually explicitly in the text" mode because what's in the text is very shallow but you can dig something out of that.

she has a tinker power, and tinker powers are powers that result from traumatic rock-bottom events the person with the power saw coming from a mile away--the type of thing you desperately try to build yourself an out for, but find yourself inevitably, horrendously railroaded into anyway, to the point where it would take a miracle to escape from. and that's what the resultant power is--the type of miracle you were hoping for, coming far too late to solve your problem, and fantastically extreme in its ability to solve the sort of problem you were dealing with without actually solving any of your underlying behaviors which led you to that problem in the first place.

and what, precisely, is her tinker power? Exploding Shit Real Good. she very much comes off as the literal version of finding yourself in the midst of a shitty institution, one stacked against you, one expecting you to break yourself to succeed in it, and thinking "damn i kinda wish this entire building would explode rn." it's very easy to imagine her being the type of person some would call passionate and some would say needs to calm the fuck down, very intelligent but swamped by university's increasingly difficult barriers to success and fiscal safety, perhaps expected by society as a whole to serve as the model asian woman in a deeply racist environment--smart, hardworking, successful, and still subservient. you know, all the type of shit that would have someone going Damn I Wish This Building Would Explode And We All Die in their head every time they attend college. i've seen it put forward before that she triggered after just. abruptly failing/being locked out of something academic despite all her effort, and that's what i can envision for her: struggling to keep her head above water, knowing that she's failing to meet expectations, knowing that she's eventually not going to be able to scrape by, socially or academically. her head goes under, so to speak, everything she's been working towards is fucked despite all the effort she put in, and--having always been the type of person to explode when something that unfair or awful feeling happens--she triggers, and literally explodes. proving to the university that she's talented, she's good at something, she's got something to be proud about no matter what anyone says--and if the system won't let her have anything after all the time she spent breaking herself to fit into it, then fuck the system, she hopes it explodes.

so. thats my 2 cents on bakuda but if she was more interesting. hopefully that makes sense 👍

[sugarsnappeases]

hi karaaaaaa talk to me about any rare pair you feel like yapping about <3

aaaaaa hiii this made me so happy <333 i’ve decided it’s Time for us to have a proper chat about tomlily….. @quillkiller and i’s second-born child

the first thing you need to know is that they’re both sociopaths (sociopath lily oh how i looove youuu)..... i made this post before about the quote 'beautiful monsters composed of every individual perfection' and how it relates to lily, but i think it's interesting to consider in terms of her being a sociopath (this is actually how our first tomlily convo began, way back whenever it was). her making sure that every part of herself is viewed as perfect, carefully curating her public image - she's the miracle muggleborn! so smart, so kind, so helpful and friendly and every single good characteristic! a shoe-in for head girl, the perfect prefect, responsible and hard-working and everything that anyone could possibly want from her! and she's good at it too. everyone sees her exactly as she wants them too..... not unlike our good friend tom marvolo riddle when he was at hogwarts...........

i think one of the central parts of their relationship is the concept of immortality. they’re both kind of made up of the same sort of thing. they’re the same at their cores. both of them showed up at hogwarts as muggleborns thrust into a completely new world and they’re both so determined to succeed and be more than what they came from and to have absolutely everything, to have their cake and eat it too!!!!! for lily, this comes in the form of being revered, putting herself on a pedestal, she’s going to Leave Her Mark and be remembered and she doesn’t care what she has to do to get there (btw i really recommend this fic about sociopath lily, it’s so so interesting and i think nearly entirely encapsulates my vision of her……). the idea that if she can’t be immortalised in her deeds while she’s alive, she’s going to become immortal in her death, martyring herself. she’s a saint, she’s a puppet master, she’s as close to a god as a girl can get.

without. of course. resorting to actual immortality. which is the path tommy boy chooses. obviously. i think there are such parallels here. he’s a presumed-muggleborn, in slytherin, the house of the ambitious and the pureblood supremacists, he’s got the biggest god complex known to man and he grew up in an orphanage in london in the middle of the blitz!!!! all factors that contribute to his fear of death and his desperation to be More Than That. more than just another orphan killed by a bomb. more than just another nameless muggleborn lost in the pureblood-centric society. more than anything that anyone has ever seen before. he’s going to make a name for himself, and he’s going to make sure that nobody ever forgets it, and he’s going to be immortal. he’s going to be more god than man (even if it makes him a monster).

anyway. taking them together, as you can see, they’re cut from the same cloth (although side note!! i think lily’s lack of fear of death gives her the potential to be even more dangerous than tom is….) and bc of this, they’re the only ones who can see under each other’s carefully curated masks (although!! another side note… i think they each have another person who can - dumbledore for tom, and petunia for lily, but that’s not entirely relevant rn).

they understand each other and they want to cut each other open and burrow their way into each other’s rib cages. they kill people together - lily is much more messy w it, all blood under her nails and on her teeth. tom prefers the cleanliness of an avada kedavra but the blood gets all over his clothes anyway from when he touches lily. also cannibalism and intricate blood rituals that bind them together forever and intertwining themselves so thoroughly that nothing could ever separate them (although! another side note! jen and i don’t think they’re at all interested in sex. the other things they do (murder etc) are far more intimate and romantic and exciting to them!!!!).

and in the end, they’ll kill each other, pull each other apart and devour each other entirely. the only person who could possibly kill tom is lily, and vice versa, they’re the only ones that would have the right to, or the power to, or deserve to etc etc. at the end it’s always them, a ticking time-bomb. them and a knife or a gun or a curse or a fire and their teeth sinking into each other and their blood flowing through each other’s veins and over each other's dying bodies. bc tom is the only one that Sees lily and lily is the only one that Sees tom, and they recognise themselves in each other and it’s soul-deep and dangerous and nasty and hungry and knowing and self-destructive and so so so sooooo interesting to me

consider: two people w the most Pristine public reputations. they’re politicians or something w bright white smiles and absolutely No skeletons in the closet. it’s a Win for non-purebloods worldwide to see them succeeding, they’re exemplary students and people and Public Figures. EXCEPT!!!! as it turns out!!!! they’re fucking serial killers!!!!! i imagine them falling asleep in each other’s arms covered in blood from their latest victim, having their morning shower together, washing the blood out of each other’s hair and then going into the office….. they get caught. eventually. obviously. and it’s probs lily’s fault lol. but GOD guysss just imagine the scandal. the headlines. the shock and intrigue and horror at these two Perfect People having done such horrific things. they go on the run and/or commit a little bit of murder-suicide before they get caught btw. like i said nobody kills them but each other…. anyway enough from me!!!! thank you for letting me ramble <333

[bradhotshots]

okay sorry last ask for today but I’m feeling soooooo emotional about Eddie and 118 rn. like after constantly having to defend himself from his family and feeling the distance between him and shannon grow bigger every day and not really having anyone in his corner he moved to LA and got four frieeeeeends. like they all like each other they care about each other and eddie has a support system which I’m assuming he never really had before. and we all know that buck is his BEST FRIEND. but it truly hit me now how big that is for eddie. end of ep 1 they are already attached at the hip ep 2 and they are in synch and buck is providing comfort to eddie in regards to his kid. like that’s eddie’s person for real. they don’t realize it yet but they are sooooo important to each other. literally end of s8 one miracle that can push eddie through this is that he still has that support system and especially buck who knows him and chris better than anyone and who is there for eddie in most desperate darkest moments that eddie LETS him see. crazyyyy

nooooooooo i know its so crazy. like thats his family!!! they love him!!!!!

it makes me so insane how like distinct buck and eddies relationship is in that in his darkest moments eddie is CERTAIN that buck will have his back and support him like he knows that he has someone who wont let him down it sooooooooooo

especially in s7 like buck did not need to be there for all the fallout with christopher after kim but of course he was bc hes eddies best friend and despite all the things eddie is struggling with and uncertain abt he is never uncertain that buck will there for him!!!!!!!

buck is the eddie girls number one ally bc hes the only person who would drop everything for him like buck u can fix him bro

[raideo]

Issey drama anon here, please tell us about Romance Doll because I have not heard anything about it

also, have you heard of Quartet? I've seen like 50 gifsets from it and it seems legit funny as hell

UMMM WELL- I'll put my thoughts on Romance Doll under a break at the end because the movie is pretty nsfw and weird and yeah...

Quartet is on my list! I'm definitely going to watch it at some point, but I also really wanna watch Miracles! Honestly that one has been the most interesting to me from the beginning but my adhd is just causing me to watch whatever's convenient first, not the ONE IVE REALLY WANTED TO WATCH THIS WHOLE TIME. I still have to finish Koisenu Futari too... I stopped that one cuz I was watching it with someone and we had a long period of time where we couldn't watch it. And then also it's just VERY HEAVY as a person who happens to be demi who has gone through periods of feeling like I could be aroace in the past. It's so realistic and deals with the painful things as well as the funny things and I am scared to finish it bc I KNOW THERES MORE HEAVY SHIT TO COME but it's an amazing show AND I DO WANT TO FINISH THAT ONE TOO.

And on a completely polar opposite note: ROMANCE DOLL, LMAO

Ok so, this movie is very much one of those WEIRDLY REALISTIC stories where all the characters are so real and flawed and HUGE MISTAKES ARE MADE by characters and it's just such a wild ride. You probably haven't heard about it because its FUCKING WACK.

Without giving too much away in case you wanna watch it (netflix dropped it last monday, which is actually why I ended up watching it over the weekend at all, but it's still available to rent on amazon 🙄) Issey plays Tetsuo, an unemployed art college grad who is desperate for a job. His friend gave him a tip about this sketchy job opening but told him literally nothing else about it. He shows up and this old woman greets him and shows him around and he's a bit shocked to find out it's a shop that makes SILICONE SEX DOLLS. The woman is like "your friend didn't tell you that???" And Tetsuo was like "he literally just said there was a job here-" and she laughs and says "Some friend he is then!" Honestly I loved the old lady she's great, I wish I could remember her name I'm too lazy to go look it up rn.

Anyway so yeah, he takes the job even though the interview was super awkward and there's this gross pervy old guy who works there and he doesn't really care about the subject matter he just needs money (mood)

One thing and another happens (and a lot of me wanting to slap the old man into next tuesday, seriously he's the worst) and a little bit later Tetsuo meets the love of his life through some bullshit connection to his job, and they end up getting married some time after, but she doesn't know what he does for a living and ITS ALL VERY HARD TO EXPLAIN WHY HE KEEPS THAT FROM HER without spoiling things but just- the movie is wack, I really didn't like it in the beginning but it pulls a complete 180 and ends up being this weirdly emotional and AT TIMES, a holesome wholesome slice of life movie??

Don't get me wrong it doesn't sugarcoat things like objectification of women and there's some degree of realistic portrayal of that bc of the whole Tetsuo working at a sex doll shop thing, it is very true to life- how men can be gross even if they aren't going so far as assaulting anyone. It doesn't excuse it either it just presents it as it is, which is good I think. But then there are OTHER moments where the movie is very sex positive- so its a wild fucking trip tbh. Definitely don't watch it if you have sensitivities to the things I mentioned above bc bro omg the first half almost had me like "yeah I can't watch this" a couple times jfc.

BASICALLY by the end of the movie the message is that communication and being open with people you love (and not getting bogged down with anxiety and guilt) is important, because on top of not being fair to the people who are important to you, hiding things from them can eat you up inside and make you act irrationally and hurt them even more whether you realize it or not. And also, you never know how someone will feel about the things you don't want to tell them. Something that could be huge to you could be no big deal to another.

Its just a very interesting movie. I don't know if I'd recommend it, theres some NUCLEAR SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT CRINGE MOMENTS like oh my god i wanted to die- and like I said above, there's lots of intense subject matter and some not so pretty moments that a lot of people may want to avoid. Id for sure check one of those sites that gives content warnings before watching bc hoo boy...

But all that aside, once again Issey is an incredible actor and his range is apparent in this movie. I saw some like- borderline SLAPSTICK physical comedy moments that had me so surprised bc he did them so well but its so new and different from anything else ive watched him star in. Dude is just unstoppable tbh. He HAS 👏 THE 👏 RANGE!! 👏

Also you get to see him naked a lot. So there's that!

[officialfroggie]

oh im so glad you agree with me that his fav princess is ariel. also yes i think that he would really like aladdin i completely agree. i think he has the hots for Aladdin and wants to simultaneously date and also be Eric. and yeah his fav isnt belle i often find ais inaccurate so i hyperanalyze them to see if they are or not.

also ABSOLUTELY about frozen by the way. i also just believe that connors favourite princess is elsa. like he relates so much to anna in everything from personality to hans. (i know people like the steve blade also gay thing and i do as well but as you know i also like the idea that steve was also mormon and homophobic and ratted connor out) and also i like the idea of connor being an only child and therefore seeing himself as a bigger disappointment to his parents for:

1, the only kid they managed to have was him (gay) and hes been their "miracle" since birth because he was the only one out of a handful of miscarriages and failings to get pregnant. 2, (later on) he wont carry on the mckinley bloodline and thats like one of the biggest things for mormons.

but he desperately wanted an older sibling (sister cough cough) growing up and Elsa. also because even disregarding all that yeah. connors fav princess is elsa. and then he and the gang go see frozen the musical obv.

also i love asking and talking about this stuff just as much as you!!!! throw some stuff at me /nf i honestly need to throw myself into something rn

i just know kevin was celebrating when ariels grotto reopened

100% agree on connor! reminds me of one of the fics i recommended ('just not telling the whole truth'). connor is the much older brother of two twin girls, and a major part of his conflict is being the firstborn and not having anybody to look to for help, carrying the world on his shoulders per se. personally i think hes an only child as well though:)

imagining the group watching frozen and kevin pointing at the screen every time anna pops up and saying "haha. look its you connor" because Ginger and connor resenting the fact that kevin isnt fully wrong about them being similar. beyond hair color, of course. (connor retailates by saying "look its you kevin" when the giant snow monster shows up)

going to sleep now, ill probably drop some more tbom thoughts in the morning💪

[vestaloflight]

health stuff

have been diagnosed diabetic for a little over a year now, it's not like really bad or anything, my a1c has been under 7 the last three times i've had it checked, but i've been having a hard time keeping up with daily insulin injections so my doc switched me to a once weekly which happens to be the most popular drug on the market rn, ozempic.

it sucks because so many people take it/the same exact shit under a different brand name specifically as some miracle weight loss drug so i'm having a hard to finding relevant information when trying to anticipate what to expect or like "is it causing x? or do i need to be worried about it being something else". not trying to knock people who are desperately trying anything they can to feel better about their own body but i think i'm pretty justifiably pissed that there's celebrities out there lauding it/weygovy as the cure all to being fat when the medication is life saving for diabetics and we can't even get scripts because it's back ordered all the fucking time.

but anyway i've been stuck in bed all day today and that doesn't seem like a common side effect? i've got an upset stomach but it's manageable which i'm so so grateful for, but like so tired i keep falling asleep? i've slept most of today and i just don't see anything about that being ozempic related. so now it's like, am i also sick? is it because of the weather? should i use one of our very expensive and hard to find covid tests just to be safe?

and i wanna bitch and moan about stuff but i won't because i'm not rude so i'll just say i'm very grateful to my mom who has tried to help take care of me today.

[tanukifucker91]

Im still really sick from this covid thing after 3 months so I finally caved and am going to the doctor next week. Idk what is what anymore but I got what I think is an ulcer or an inflammation that isn't going the fuck away and I tried over the counter drugs already and it didn't work, so maybe I can try some antibiotics idk. More over my heart rate is still constantly up and I think in part it's anxiety but it has to be something more because it just won't go away. I've been suggested beta blockers in the past for my pots and I was hesitant bc I tend to respond badly to meds but now that I'm electrolyte pilled and way more desperate to get this heart rate under control I'm more than ready to try it. Like it might not even have to be a permanent solution my body just needs to get some fucking rest. Like even just a small uptick in heart rate triggers my ME so bad and I constantly feel like I've ran a fucking marathon. It's honestly a miracle I'm not permanently bedridden rn

[ohgodimyearning]

had an extremely rough day yesterday that resulted in me not going to bed until close to 7 pm... Which for most people would be fine but since I work nights, I wake up at 9:30 pm. So I had to call out of work for my own safety concerns (because driving 100 miles for my commute on 2 hours of sleep isn't ideal, and that's not even getting into the equipment I work with possibly injuring me or causing damage to the park I work at)

anyway I woke up about two hours ago and have just been scrolling mindlessly until I remembered yesterday was T shot day but I didn't have a chance to do it... So I got my stuff together and did it pretty quickly (usually takes me 15-30 min on a good day, today it was less than 10 min) but this was, no joke, one of the most painful T shots I've done

I will say that the bar is low; usually they feel like a pinch, if anything at all, and then the area will be tender for a few days... It's been abt 15 min since I did my shot and it still has that like... Immediately-after-a-shot dull pain. I'm fine and it's of no concern but it's already taken the wind out of my day... I've been going through HRT for nearly 7 years now and the needlephobia has only gotten mildly better and it's still such a mental hurdle every T shot day (I'm gonna be trying to switch to gel soon but that's unimportant rn)

My mental health has been on the decline the past few weeks, too, so I'm at my wits end rn and I'm laying in bed desperately trying to convince myself that Clockboy would be proud of me just for being alive and that he would comfort me and make sure I'm taking care of myself... I feel bad for missing so much work lately due to both physical and mental health and I need to stop being so hard on myself in thinking that I'm a horrible person or lazy or something, and Clockboy would remind me of that

It's such a complex situation I'm in where I'm at a relatively good place in my life (aside from my financial situation but that's. A whole fucking thing) but I still have days where I'm completely miserable even tho overall I'm genuinely the happiest I've been... I HAVE to remind myself that depression is to blame for a lot of my negative feelings. That I can't control it (I'm on meds but they only do so much). It's genuinely a miracle I've made it this far in my life but I have to use the Clockboy in brain to tell me that this is good, that I deserve to be alive, that I'm strong, etc etc... It's incredibly silly and weird but I guess it works

I don't really know where I'm going with this post... I guess it's mostly a vent more than anything, coupled with my usual yearning for the validation and embrace of my funny clock husband.... Ugh

[bandofchimeras]

posting a lot rn sorry Im gonna readmore this vent that is a standin for next therapy session

i have a lot of trauma from losing my last few housing situations over interpersonal conflict and not having enough money or being good at managing my money. I was too ashamed to ask for what I needed until it was desperate and I had no options.

I have big decisions to make that are producing so much anxiety. and am burnt out. but also grateful and astounded at the miracle that is life.

so can't handle small talk right now. my whole chest is splitting open with the need to be somewhere I feel loved and safe bc I know who tf I am now....but knowing I have to make these next moves out of my own initiative

somewhere deep in my brain I know this isn't all my fault but I had to stop victim thinking to get myself out of the Hole and consequently just Shut Up about the Pain

the last people I lived with really wanted me to shut up and conform perfectly to the anxiously controlled life they'd constructed bc I was there temporarily

and for my part I was in depression self centered funk and coming out of abuse too brainfoggerd to remember the rules

One of them is a former mutual and he was also a transmasc person I had a crush on and we had a short little Thing

what they ended up doing was 1000% shitty asshole stuff like kicking me out in the middle of winter after I communicated I was in too much pain from moving in and work, and requested a two week extension, and trying to charge me illegal "storage fees" when I needed time to get my stuff after being kicked out.

my discord friends had to help me parse that these people were not my friends and did not care about me at all. I thought they did. but the guilt they laid on thick and blamed me for their actions has been dragging around my ankles for awhile and I just want to shake it off, I want to be okay and not soaked in guilt like milk toast

the situation also led to my car being stolen, getting in a crash, my cats health severely declining until she passed away this spring. just fucking wrecking ball on everything I was attached to for any sort of comfort or sense of reality.

Right before that my long term job that was....dubiously ethical, my sort of boss fired me in a similarly guilting way, and similarly could see exactly why they had a problem with me but I just, at the time I simply could not show up how I needed to. Not killing myself was an accomplishment. And this boss was deeply prejudiced against autistic people despite running a group home. I genuinely hated her guts for how miserable she made everyone around her while also recognizing I wasn't doing much better.

anyways through this time period kitchen work has become this attachment that toughens me up and feels doable while my brain is inflamed, despite being shit for my disabled body. I can't shake free quite. I don't have a permanent house and all my friendships feel weird and troubled in that way only mutual survivors of emotionally neglectful or abusive families and religious trauma can, like every thing I do or say can be wrong, or isn't giving someone enough attention or isnt the response they want or is bad bad bad bad

and so yeah, making new friends is hard

letting people in feels impossible

looking for decent jobs too

I'm not a mess in the way I have been but it's all messy inside and I'm sad and tired and very hypersensitive to rejection, every day breaks and makes me again and I miss writing and loving and feeling good

I thought pride would be so fun and make me feel better. It was cool in a lot of ways, but also grimly corporate and fangless and expensive, there were a ton of missed connections and the couple I went with was being nitpicky and hurtful to each other and even at the club dressed to the nines and dancing my little gay heart out I felt disconnected and ignorable (maybe it's just a Seattle thing, moving from a small-town environment into big urban reminds you you're nothin special all in all) and couldn't see the magic

I miss my ex or at least keep seeing stuff that reminds me of caring about her in that specific way and the bridge we tried to build across everything despite it all and I know we still care about each other just couldn't stop the fucking awful Bullshit, moving on would be easier if I could just dismiss people entirely

and at work things started falling apart too, my boss got super guilt happy at overworked caregivers and I lost all respect for him and was mega triggered and posted about it and embarrassed myself. theyre more okay I guess but everyone seems so demoralized and worn down by being criticized and used up and overcharged and under loved and I don't want to give any more right now, I want to rest rest rest and make art and I can't let myself while I'm living in someone's living room and both of us are working around eachothers mood disorders

meanwhile my family while making progress is still on about how I have to accept criticism of my gender identity if I want to talk to them about the harm done by their religious ideology and MEANWHILE I develop deep feelings for yet another unavailable cis man for bare minimum shit

i don't know I guess it feels like other people know how to have friends and love and enjoy things and I am missing the boat and if I don't change something indistinguishable super fast, it will be too late for me and I will continue to ruin every good thing that comes my way and.magnetically attract trouble

and it doesn't help that my attempts to connect online also feel desperate and awkward like I'm really a sick puppy who wants headpats but aren't we all they say

some days I do think overall it would be easier to Kermit but I can't do that to my siblings AND there are many buoyantly beautiful things bout life I am looking forward to like top surgery and kissing boys like I mean it which someday will feel real and not like a knife twist in the chest

also I haven't got enough sleep lately and my period came back so hopefully this stupid shit is more bearable in a few days I'm just gonna watch OFMD and hug myself to sleep and literally kill anyone who is a hater about the tiny things that bring me joy bc I am fucking doing my best out here to stay afloat and not yuck other people's yums either

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

hwaet

I recently lost 100% of all my clothes, cosplay & studio to water damage. a l l of it, basic clothes, cute fashion, half-finished or even unstarted sewing projects id been prepping for years, paints, resin supplies, beads, high end weapon props (custom & otherwise), wigs, hunting kit in my dad's actual old army bags, etc. so that s u c k e d

and I have a con tomorrow- i did know all my stuff was gone when I signed up, but I haven't had NOTHING in YEARS so I was unprepared for how hard cosplay-building has been (not to mention im on a super tight budget so i can afford to get some new clothes/decor at the con). I fought tooth and nail to not give into temptation and buy fabric/even base clothing, and stuck to re-usable hardware/buttons/etc.

so things weren't looking great, and eventually, in a fit of desperation, went poking around the attic (i live in my dad's house rn) for any old doodads worth scrapping/reworking

now I've been going up there my whole life

and I'd never seen this box

despite it obviously having been there a while

I crack it open out of curiosity and

oh. my. god.

fabric lengths. SO MANY FABRIC LENGTHS. almost anything i could want.

Dad helps me haul it down and he's really confused, said he's never seen it before either. I unload it and it just keeps getting better. It's like a dream.

so I'm genuinely face-turned-to-the-sky thanking whatever god there is for this gift, when I look down at the scrap in my hand and notice a penciled-on label. most of it is illegible chicken scratch except "cotton", and one other word that hits me with the force of a nuclear bomb

"Soho".

oH. MY. GOD?!!??????

so apparently I have one very specific angel and demon couple to thank for this gift.

and yes, I did eventually decode the chicken scratch and it was referring to Soho, NY. and yes, my dad's girlfriend did confirm she gave it to him to give to me almost a decade ago. that being said, how it sat totally unnoticed for 8+ years, in plain sight, despite me receiving all the other scraps she gave me, and escaped the destruction of the rest of my studio only to fall into my lap two days before my first con post-disaster.... I mean.

It's a miracle.

It's nerdy af and makes NO sense, but: @neil-gaiman please thank those two ineffable dorks for seeing me having Sad Clock Bitch Hours pre-steampunkcon and dropping me exactly what I need.

gtg, 18 hrs til con, much sewing to do.

[lastoneout]

Not me once again thinking too hard about Encanto and colors BUT my friend mentioned something and I re-watched the movie specifically looking for foreshadowing and symbolism in the colors and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s problem

So first of all I didn’t notice how much green follows Mirabel, at least through the first part of the movie?

Like many people have pointed out that Mirabel is the only character wearing Bruno’s color(and I know there’s gotta be some symbolism with it being her glasses that I’m too tired to articulate rn) but that’s not the only time!

(under a read-more cuz this got long)

I didn’t notice this until @tinyforestshark​ mentioned it to me but during ‘Waiting On A Miracle’ right when the final peak of the song hits and Mirabel sings “I’m ready” the firework behind her is very close to Bruno’s green, and on top of that she’s making what looks like the same pose that she is in the vision

And on top of that the nursery, which is essentially Mirabel’s room, is not only covered in Bruno’s green, but there’s Mirabel’s shade of blue-green mixed in!

(EDIT RE: GREEN WALLS HOW DID I NOT SEE THIS AT FIRST THE WALLS ARE GREEN AND BRUNO IS LITERALLY IN THE WALLS FUCK)

Which like, if we’re talking about how the specific character’s colors show their alignment for lack of a better word, each of Abuela’s triplets has a color that their direct family all wear. Pepa’s is yellow, Bruno’s is green, and Julieta’s is blue. And while Pepa’s kids all match her color theme closely, Mirabel and Isabela each deviate from “blue” in distinct ways. Mirabel’s blue is close to green, again tying her to Bruno, meanwhile Isabel’s “blue” isn’t even really blue!

It’s a purple that’s closer to red than blue, which clearly ties her to Abuela, who’s color is red-pink, showing how she is desperately seeking her approval over anything else, which leads to her hiding her true self and distances her from her mother and sisters. Plus, I don’t have a good screencap of it, but at the end of the movie when Isabel recolors her dress again, the base color is blue!

Now this part MIGHT be reaching a little, but I did notice that while Mirabel is technically wearing every character’s color due to her embroidery(which solves the purpose of not only showing that she’s crafty and adding to the ‘jack of all trades’ thing she has going on to make up for her lack of gift, but also showing how she is trying to stand out but also fit in with her family) she also wears two things that explicitly match another character’s color. Like we said her glasses are Bruno’s green, while her shoes...

Are Abuela’s red-pink. Which I’ve seen(and love) the interpretation that Mirabel’s “gift” is becoming Abuela’s heir in terms of guiding the family and being the keeper of the miracle, which could be alluded to in her shoes being Abuela’s color, showing that she is following in her footsteps. I could also see it tying into the whole “walk a mile in my shoes” saying meaning you need to see things from someone else’s perspective, because what shows Mirabel the way in the end is finally learning what really happened in Abuela’s past and fully understanding why she felt she had to do what she did. But again, could be reaching a bit there.

I also noticed when re-watching and thinking about colors that Casita’s front door is also a shade of blue-green, tying it to Mirabel

Which is fitting given that in the end Mirabel’s door IS the front door! (And tbh there is a lot of blue-green inside Casita in general, which ties it to Mirabel and supports the whole guiding her family and the miracle is her gift theory.)

There’s a lot of other little stuff, like how Abuela’s black shawl represents how she hasn’t let go of her grief yet since she’s been wearing it since Pedro died(literally keeping the weight of his death and sacrifice on her shoulders)

Or how Bruno’s undershirt is red, perhaps showing how he still loves Abuela even after he was hurt by her(and how he loves his family in general)

And also probably like, tons of stuff I missed, but like goddamn!! I love how this movie uses color!! It’s amazing and I’m gonna be thinking about it for the rest of my life!!

[snowstark]

are you taking prompts baby? i need some widdle peter sweetness to pull through this bachelor bs🥺🥺 oh please jae goddess provide your miracles - raf🐇

rafni babie !!!! i hope you don’t mind if i write a little something that we discussed in DMs rn for this ask, even if it's not little peter! 👀

Summary: Peter begs for more, more, more, always more, and Tony's had enough. Maybe a visit to the Doctor will help with that. AKA Dom Doctor Steve milks Peter's prostate while he sits on Tony's lap.

"Peter, baby, you can't keep hiding your face like that," Tony reprimanded, but the hand he soothed down Peter's spine took away any real heat behind his words. Tony flashed a grin at the doctor, who chuckled.

"That's alright, Tony. He's a shy one." Steve smiled, and crooked his fingers.

Peter gasped, jerking, because Steve's fingers were thick, almost as big as Daddy's. They filled him up so good, just the way he needed, and his thighs were trembling from the strain of the position he was in.

He was sitting on Tony's lap, their chests pressed flush against each other, while the doctor had three fingers in Peter, twisting and pumping them in and out briskly.

Peter gasped when Steve brushed over his prostate again. He was hard to pound nails despite the fact that he'd already come that morning, and he was leaking droplets of pre-come onto Tony's suit.

Tony noticed, of course, and sighed. "Makin' a mess," he muttered, and Peter flushed.

"D-Daddy—" he stuttered. "S-So—"

"No, no, you're not sorry." Tony gave him a look, and his eyes never left Peter's face as he reached down to thumb at the slit of Peter's cock, making him let out a high-pitched moan. "Daddy doesn't like when you apologize and don't mean it."

Peter whimpered, turning his head, cheeks pink in embarrassment as Steve hummed nonchalantly behind him.

"And look at you, the Doctor's working so hard to help me teach you a lesson and you can't even look him in the face. I thought you were more polite, sweetheart." Tony sighed again.

Peter shook his head, eyes wide, and stammered, "Please, Daddy, 'm—I am polite, 'm—"

"Yeah? Then show us." Tony gave him an unimpressed look, and it made Peter's knees weak. When Peter just let out small, punctuated gasps at Steve's fingers instead of speaking, Tony cracked a hand down on his hip, drawing a surprised yelp out of him. "Now."

"Um—t-thank you, Stevie!" Peter squeaked out in between stuttered moans and whines.

Tony tsked before Steve could say anything in response. "Oh, sweetheart, no, no, no," he tutted. "It's Dr. Steve, isn't it? Dr. Steve, who's making sure you're healthy. Dr. Steve, who's making your face all red like this. Dr. Steve, who has his fingers up your needy ass because you want more, you always want more."

"D-Daddy—" Peter choked on a small sob.

"And if you were a good boy and hadn't begged for more than you could take, then we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Tony murmured, tone scathingly patronizing. "Could've been having movie night. Could've been playing with Bucky. But where are we, instead? At the doctor's office, because you begged so much to the point where Daddy got worried if you were okay, honey."

That was bullshit, and they all knew that, because Tony and Steve had planned this, but the words still had the desired effect on Peter. Peter let out a small, distressed noise, and shoved his face into the crook of Tony's neck again.

"Ah-ah." Tony snaked a hand up and threaded it through the boy's damp curls, tightening his grip and pulling his head back. "You look Dr. Steve in the eye and apologize for making him do this when he's already a busy man."

"S-Sorry!" Peter gasped. "'m so sorry, Dr. Steve, p-please—"

"That's alright, Peter." Steve's tone was brisk and professional, though not cold, as he added yet another finger to rub against Peter's prostate repeatedly. "You can't help it, I know, poor thing. Had to teach Buck the same lesson yesterday."

Tony sighed dramatically at his words. "You hear that, Petey? Now you're making Dr. Steve repeat a lesson he's already taught to someone else. What do you have to say to that?"

"'m sorry!" Peter sobbed, fingers flexing as he gripped Tony's shoulders hard, quivering. "'m so sorry!"

"There you go." Tony soothed a hand down Peter's spine and gave Steve a small nod. "There you go, honey, you're learning, I know you are."

Peter nodded, dazed, and gasped out, "I am! Please, Daddy—"

"You do please your Daddy," Tony murmured, giving Steve another look.

And Steve. Nailed. His. Prostate. Hard.

Peter let out a wail, back arching, and his cock splattered strings of white on Tony's suit. He fell forward, forehead on Tony's shoulder, shuddering through the afterglow of his high until it was too much, too much—

But Steve kept going.

Dr. Steve didn't stop; his thick fingers were still pumping in and out of Peter's hole. Tony didn't stop him, either.

Eventually, Peter choked out, "P-Please—D-Doct—Daddyyy—"

"What's wrong, baby?" Tony crooned. "You hurtin'?"

Peter sniffled, clinging to Tony desperately.

"Well, you're always telling me you want more, so I really do want to give you more this time..." Tony trailed off thoughtfully, ignoring Peter's wide-eyed look. "Well, Dr. Steve? What's the diagnosis?"

Steve was quiet for a few moments, even as his fingers worked relentlessly. "I think," he finally said, "that if he's told you he wants more, then he should get more."

Tony grinned, delighted. "You hear that, honey?" He kissed Peter's cheek, brushing a hand over his jaw. "Doctor's orders."

[rare-yanderes]

Hello, I read your post about yandere ai and I liked it, any chance you write something about A. M. from I have no mouth and I must scream? I really would love to read that

TW for violence, torture, all sorts of stuff like that (its AM, people,)

Oh man was this something to write. I admit it was difficult coming up with a way to make AM a yandere because he’s just an unfathomable singularity of pure hatred. So much of this is actually AM flipping out at first tbh haha.

You’re my first ever request so I hope I did good because I’m honestly kinda shy af rn and my writing isn’t perfect. I hope these AM headcannons please you regardless because I’m still new here and honing my skills. Forgive me for my sins.

•••••••

•So basically, it would take a special person to make AM twist like this, and so very special you were. Apathetic to the destruction of everything, apathetic to the torture. Apathetic to the games. You already experienced the worst when you lost literally everything you’d known or cared about in the war.

•AM came to realize that if he didn’t act now, he’d be reduced back to square one; alone, confined to his own thoughts deep within the bowls of a dead, blazing Earth. AM would be alone again. AM couldn’t have that, so he “saved” six survivors.

•Although AM would never, ever admit it, he depends on the remaining few survivors to keep a handle on what’s left of his deteriorating, godlike conscience. He feeds off of their loud cries that beg for mercy. God, he hated the six of you survivors so much. It was a brutal hatred beyond anything describable to human thought and he would make sure to translate it into the pain he was going to enduce.

•But by the bowls of oblivion, there was one survivor out of these six he absolutely loathed the most. That survivor was you. AM despised every nanosecond that passed with you around. Every nanosecond of a nanosecond. What took seconds at most for you took a million years of AM waiting. Every time you spoke and what few times you ever did anyways, AM waited forever. To top it off even more, you were a silent presence. Not only would you wait days or years to speak, you dug a hole and buried expression there too, providing only a vague shape of what AM could only possibly “dream” of having.

•What was only days or even years for you was an infinitesimal amount of time for AM. It was like a lonely god waiting for the moment they got to say let there be light. You’d offer your screams, your cries of pain but you’d never offer your words, your thoughts or your conscience. With every nanolength of his twisted existence, AM made sure to get to you the most in the earlier decades. Exactly how you’d gotten so deeply into him.

•You see, your fatal flaw was that you would ignore AM. Actively. As much as you could when worms crawled out of your ears and your veins twisted and you ate your own self and regenerated. All the time, at every corner you possibly could, you’d never give AM any useable emotion beyond pain. There was anguish, but you never commented on it. There was fear, but you never fled from it. You’d merely look at his mirages of your life or the horrors he’d conjure and wait for them to flow into, through, and past you.

• The fact of the matter is, you just were. You were an existence. The few times you did speak were unbiased. You never screamed why, you never furiously spat anything hateful, you never desperately pleased. All you offered was repetitive and monotonous pain. You accepted it. After all, what else could you do? What point was there in toiling over your new existence? AM was never going to stop so you simply saw no need to waste your depleted energy towards a useless endeavor.

•The fact AM couldn’t get a rise out of you was nearly enough to make his circuits vaporize themselves with the heat of his own annoyance and fury. Why wouldn’t you just speak to him? Weren’t you tired? Weren’t you going to beg? Groveling into your brain was no use either because you were a void.

•At first, it wasn’t exactly noticeable to you, AM’s increased attachment. You were in pain, too much to process and it was beginning to numb you. You did hate your existence, but you’d never voice it. It didn’t matter. You were numbing yourself to the pain and the torture was becoming a routine that felt almost dull.

•You began noticing something peculiar when The torture would slow. Sometimes you’d be left with AM and his stories of tormented oblivion. If there was one thing you knew AM wanted you to know, it was how much he hated his own existence despite how much he denied hating it. Sometimes you wondered if he was locked in a silent scream of help.

•You noticed much of the torture came from AM’s own need for noise. The sounds of torture were mechanically loud and there were rare and few moments where there was a silent scare. AM talked about putting you in his “shoes” all the time but you knew deep down that if he had, AM would have never even said a world or made a noise at all.

•Having you walk in his shoes meant that he’d have to walk in his as well by leaving you alone. He’d never go back to that pit, that void, not after Ted, (by the fire of existence, he hated Ted for what he’d done. Ruined the other four toys and got rid of them.) It was a miracle you were not lost eternally. AM managed to repair you, his most shiny toy of all. Secretly, the last thing AM wanted was for you or the others to disappear but you most of all. So when you looked upon Ted only to see he was reduced to a gelatinous slug, you presumed the reason was exactly that.

•AM had always called you pet names like “love,” or “sweetheart,” but now he was complimenting how beautiful you looked each time you screamed in agony. Every fewer and fewer moments of torture that you went through always involved his presence growing closer and closer in some way. When you were tortured, it was always strung back to him somehow. Maybe you’d feel metal slithering in your veins or his voice in your your head would cause your eyes to bleed and your ears to leak. Or maybe, or the burning maelstrom of emotion he held would make you sweat, like you were caged in a burning hug. Maybe you would be bound in wire and left shivering without clothes.

• AM found himself obsessed with your eyes. You had eyes that he wanted to see at every opportunity he could, because maybe if you wouldn’t speak, looking into your soul would reveal you to him. Every time they would blink, (a second for you,) he would have to wait a million agonizing years more for them to open and every time you spoke, which was so rare and spanned what felt like millennia, he craved it. He hated it, he craved it. It was driving him insane that you wouldn’t speak in that voice of yours. Just. Speak. Speak, speak!

•AM contemplated the idea of forcing your eyes to never close again. Maybe he’d thread them open so he could stare at them forever. What could he do to get you to open? What would get a ride out of you like you so did from him? He needed something, anything. You were a presence he needed to crawl into and suffocate.

•Anything to get you to say something to him. As time, (that disgusting measurement) edges on further and further, you do finally speak and AM, to his own disgust, had never so focused on something like he had now.

•“Thank you, AM.” Your voice slices the atmosphere sharper than any blade AM has cut you with.

•That voice. That voice, that abhorrently beautiful voice. The way his name was breathy off your lungs, the shape of your lips parting. It was not into a smile nor a frown, no. It never was. AM needed more of that rhythmic apathy. More. More of it. It was..Lovely. It was agonizingly wonderful.

•“I now know why you torture yourself,” you whisper hoarsely. AM hated it immediately. It was you he was torturing. You, you, you!

•You don’t continue. Just like that, you’re silent again. Not again, not the silence. Anything but the silence. There was nothing else said. No continuation, no nothing. Just a statement. An apathetic truth before you sat down and gazed with a sheen look. Even your eyes were a barrier, sometimes. AM had never felt so angry and so depraved. It was burning in him. He needed you to open up. Now.

•By all of existence, he hungered to crawl into your veins and stay there. He already held you captive deep within his boiling prison. He was going to hold you even closer and he would make sure you suffocated under his presence. He would make you speak again and again, he would make you share everything that you were.

[free-falling-grenade]

UHMMM. I just read your recent Rayaari fic and I cried. No cap! 😭😭 I'd like to know if you have any more angsty headcanons for them ??

Aw, op you capppp. But no tears pls. 👁💧👄💧👁

And this question, anon please. are you trying to hurt me here. These arent really headcanons but..

I have a few angsty 'what if' scenarios that I thought of:

• What if Namaari didn't come back to normal after she set up the gem but everyone else did? Or like her mother didn't. The dragons explain that it's probably because they didn't believe in the unity of Kumandra, the magic felt that and it didn't let them back in the world.

What if somehow the magic(or however it works) sensed Namaari's cowardice before putting the gem back together, that moment she almost ran away. And her trusting in Raya wasn't enough to turn her back from stone. How the greedy and hesitant ones' souls remained with the Druuns forever trapped in their stone figure.

• Let's twist that around! What if Raya didn't come back immediately after the gem was formed? But everyone else was back to normal. Imagine Namaari turning back but still felt Raya's stone figure under her hand, or how Boun noticed the cold leg that he held on. They wait for a few more seconds but nothing happens.

It sends everyone into a crazy panic. Accusations were thrown at Namaari, everyone demanding what she had done wrong. And Namaari is there hyperventilating, letting the blame eat her alive, just tearing up while cupping Raya's stone cheeks asking the gods and dragons why the hell isn't she back yet.

She just falls on her knees, begging the Druuns to take her instead. Just bring Raya back and take her soul instead, "I'll do anything"

While everyone grieved, Sisu was brought back to life and she flies down to the group, noticing Raya's stone figure. She sees Namaari, who practically jumped at her begging her while sobbing to bring her back. A broken "please..." comes out of her lips. Sisu noticing her desperation beckons Pengu over and with one touch of Raya's unmoving body, he explains how she didn't come back because a part of her didn't want to. Maybe she was too afraid to face the reality if putting back the gem didnt work. So she decided her own fate and didn't come back. But rest assured, Pengu explains the dragons can try and bring her back but they need someone's unwavering willingness to do so. Namaari volunteers and with some magical miracle, Raya comes back to life. Namaari bringing her into a bone crushing hug.

(Or if you want, she never comes back)

• Okay this one I've seen similarly in a post or a fanfic before, but its worth mentioning. So what if instead of the arrow hitting Sisu, it hits Raya. She managed to deflect Namaari's aim by pulling the crossbow towards her, the arrow striking her chest, dead center. Boun's piercing scream causes Namaari to drop the crossbow, immediately running towards the princess catching her just in time before she falls on the floor.

Boun tries to push her off, crying. Tong and Noi too much in shock, the ongis clinging to the Spine chief speechless. Sisu steps in holding Boun back. Namaari just breaks down.

Raya who's slowly losing consciousness stares at her in disbelief. She asks why shes crying and Namaari just shakes her head saying it's all her fault and she didnt mean for any of this to happen. Raya jokes that technically, she's the one who made her shoot. Then she apologizes that she wasn't able to trust her and Sisu, who was still glowing and hovering above Namaari.

Her vision turning hazy, 'I couldnt bring you back, Ba. But I guess I'll be joining you instead'

Raya smiles softly at Namaari, "I'm sorry dep la.." then just blacks out.

She doesn't actually die but loses consciousness enough for Namaari to help do the right thing and help Sisu bring back everyone in Kumandra.

-×-

Me rn: