#i wrote this at 5am with no sleep

[casiia]

watching the sunset with simon riley, the both of you are laid out on a plaid blanket at the top of a sandy hill. the splintery material of a picnic basket scratches at your ankle as you shift it away from you.

“it’s so beautiful.” you say, blinding reaching at your side for simon’s hand, interlacing your fingers with him. you caress his knuckles with your thumb, never tearing your eyes from the perfectly complimented hues of pink, red, and orange that paint the cloud free sky.

you watch as the sun slowly descends into the cerulean colored water, soft waves crashing into one another lighting a pleasant sound in your ear. you dare close your eyes for a moment, blinding yourself of the breathtaking view in front of you. tilting your head back you part your lips, a slow breeze tickling the tip of your nose and breezing through your hair. you can almost taste the salt from the ocean, and as the sun begins to burrow away for the night you can still feel it’s warm rays against your cheeks.

paralyzed in a moment of beauty, you slowly inhale, feeling the stress leave your body — the anxiety that’s curled in the swell of your stomach, with one breath you feel it unwind and something’s lifted off your shoulders. the weight of simon’s hand in yours resting in your lap, his warm palm keeping you from shivering from the wind. his shallow exhale parting from his lips as he does exactly as you’re doing. the freedom he feels from basking in the presence of the art that lights the sky. the melted colors that reflect his heart, his love for you, the future that he can imagine so clearly.

bright.

“it is beautiful.” simon mutters quietly, not wanting to disturb you. he’s seen the sunset —he has seen it a million times; but he was never talking about it.

sure he thinks sunsets are pretty, but beautiful is never a word he’d use to describe it. nothing that he’s seen or heard of could be as beautiful as you. he hasn’t even looked at the sky tonight, frankly it would kill him to take his eyes off of you.

because to him, you are his sunset.

[starkspi]

"why, I had no part in that. you've always been this way!"

just a little something from @morningstarwrites fanfiction "of saints and sinners" which i'm obsessed with

[wielderofmysteries]

A Vorthos Defense of Lukka

Sorry this response turned into a small essay (~1400 words) that doesn't really answer your question, but my Hot Take™ is that I don't think Lukka needs to be fixed.

I believe the problem doesn't lie in Lukka himself, but in the way both the narrative and the fandom treated him extremely unfairly. I'm not asking anyone to like Lukka. Personally, I don't even think anything about him is particularly likable. But I think as a character he deserves a lot more respect than he gets, and I'm tired of seeing other people hate on him without actually engaging with his story or understanding what his character is about.

Here's the thing: Lukka is basically the homeless veteran of planeswalkers.

He started his story in Sundered Bond (Ikoria ebook by Django Wexler) already successful in his military career, engaged to be married to Jirina, and having General Kudro's favor. He was a model citizen and his life was great. One day, a flying-hyper-murder-tiger killed Lukka's entire squad and people discovered Lukka was a monster Bonder because the tiger spared him. The rumors got to General Kudro, whose decision upon hearing Lukka might be a bonder was to have Lukka immediately executed.

Lukka didn't betray Drannith. Drannith betrayed Lukka.

Lukka escaped his execution and was rescued in the wilderness by Vivien, who traveled with him to the Ozolith, where a mysterious evil voice caused Lukka to unlock the full power of his monster bonding abilities. Through it all, Lukka still tried to hang onto his old life. His allegiance hadn't changed. At first, Lukka wanted to use the monsters he controlled to fight for Drannith, not against it. Lukka was convinced that the offer of a loyal monster army would be enough for the city to take him back, but he was no longer welcome in Drannith.

Lukka became increasingly unstable and spiraled into insanity because he had his life unexpectedly, completely ruined and wanted nothing more than to return home to his old life, but that wasn't possible because he now belonged to a class of people who were extremely stigmatized in Drannith's society. He had become an undesirable. Once the city's shining star, he was now the lowest of the low. He lost his loyalty and turned against the city when he realized Drannith didn't care about people, Drannith cared about keeping people in their places.

In Sundered Bond, Lukka loses literally everything. He loses his job. He loses all his friends. He loses his fiance. He loses his home. Everything. He even loses the cat. This all happens to him within like, a week.

Lukka experiences the same hostility in his second appearance, Strixhaven. At this point, he's still a new planeswalker, and he's been planeswalking blindly trying to find civilization again. He arrives on Arcavios thirsty and starving and tired and injured. When he finally finds a town, he visits an inn and asks only for food. But they don't give him any food! They won't allow him to wash up or to rest! This is a man who has nothing and has done nothing, and the townspeople are suspicious of Lukka and want to call the Dragonsguard –Strixhaven's magical cops– on him because he committed the crime of... existing near them while visibly having basic needs that are unmet.

=========

"Looking for something, stranger?" said the innkeeper, a round man with a head of robust curls.

"A hot meal," said Lukka. The innkeeper hesitated as though about to say something, then nodded and moved toward the kitchen.

"Haven't seen clothes like that before," came a voice behind Lukka. "You're not from around here, I imagine."

He turned. A tall man in the same rough clothing as the rest of the townsfolk had stood up from his table and was walking over.

[…]

He heard the man suck his teeth. The innkeeper still hadn't returned from the kitchen. Lukka was starting to doubt he ever would.

"Okay, Oriq, I think I've heard enough. We don't take kindly to meddlers in this town, or those who seek to disturb the peace. If we were a proper city, we'd get the closest, least busy Dragonsguard to sort you out. But we're just a small farming village—so we've learned to deal with strangers ourselves."

[Episode 2: Lessons - Adana Washington]

=========

Fans like to point at Lukka and make "ACAB" ("All Cops Are Bastards") jokes about him, but they don't understand that he's explicitly an anti-cop character. Lukka was formerly a cop, but he quit and fully turned his back on the entire concept of policing when he realized that the reason cops exist is not to protect people, but to rid society of undesirables like him.

=========

"These dragons," Lukka said, his voice a growl. "Those Dragonsguard. They've held power over these people for too long. They've made them fearful of every shadow, every unfamiliar face. What happens when it's not just the Oriq they're hunting down—when it's anyone who practices magic in a way they don't like?"

[Episode 3: Extracurriculars - Adana Washington]

=========

I know what many of you will say: "How can Lukka have such a based take when he's such a terrible person?" It's true– he is not a good person. He's an asshole and he's harmed / killed innocent people and animals. But he's been both a cop and a homeless man, and he knows that cops are far more dangerous. You don't need to be a "good" person to deserve food and shelter. It's cops who promote the idea that you can deny the basic rights of the people you think are "bad".

So on Arcavios, he's again forced out of civilization and back into the wilderness. His suffering seriously never ends. The way he was treated, it's no wonder he accepted when the Oriq kidnapped him and asked him to help attack Strixhaven. Why should he give a damn about society if they don't care about him? If their society is so fearful of others that they are unwilling to practice compassion, unwilling to provide for people's most basic needs even when they haven't done anything wrong, then doing wrong doesn't matter. They will share his pain. He will watch it all burn to the ground.

Lukka is an example of what happens when someone's basic humanity is repeatedly denied to the point that they can no longer feel anything but anger.

This line from the story Survival of the Fittest, by Roy Graham, expresses it perfectly:

=========

He had been a cruel man by the end, a villain in so many ways. But perhaps in his position, there was no way to become anything else."

=========

Lukka reaches out for stability and support and never truly finds it. He's a character who keeps getting punished over and over for having bad things happen *to* him, not because he *does* bad things. Most of the bad stuff he actually does is in response to others treating him like shit for no reason.

Despite everything, Vivien still cared for Lukka and wanted to help him get back on his feet. She thought Lukka's military expertise would be useful to the strike team against New Phyrexia, and she encouraged him to join. They both saw it as an opportunity for Lukka to regain some of his dignity and protect his home once more. How does the narrative reward him for his effort? By corrupting him, humiliating him, and having him be put down like an animal by the only person who showed him any compassion through all this.

What could Lukka have become if he survived to be rehabilitated? I guess we'll never know.

Unfortunately, there is absolutely no hope for a character who mistreats animals. Most fans will never ever get past that, and there's a part of me that honestly believes Lukka just got phyrexianized and killed off because the Magic narrative team realized they couldn't salvage his reputation and didn't know what to do with him. The fandom's overwhelming negative response to Lukka had irreparably damaged him as a character.

As my bespoke friend @xantchaslegacy said, "The only meaningful difference about Lukka and Gideon's cop-to-planeswalker journey is that the narrative let Gideon live long enough for other people to make him a better person. And Lukka got shanked before it could happen."

Again, I don't need people to like Lukka. I just want people to understand. I wish people were more willing to actually engage with the story and see the value in characters they dislike. There's no reason Lukka should've been treated like a punching bag the way he was. He was trapped in a cycle of being dunked on by the story and then dunked on by the fans, again and again. And people continue to push an understanding of Lukka that is just false.

The fandom reacted to Lukka the same way the strangers on Arcavios did: He'll never get a second chance because they wouldn't even give him a first chance.

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[mister-girl]

I was so inspired by @devilst0at sharing their amazing dale headcanons that I wanted to post some of my own.

So here are some soft/romantic dale headcanons cos I can’t get him out of my mind lol

• He loves to Eskimo kiss, especially as a form of greeting you or saying goodbye to you.

• He likes doing your makeup. You bring up the idea and he jumps at the chance. After a time it becomes a common occurrence. A loving ritual between the two of you.

• He likes when you put all your weight on him. After years of being so touch starved the idea of someone being his own personal weighted blanket makes him cry. Whether you’re laying on top of him, sitting in his lap or asking him to carry you, he delights in it all.

• He loves deep kisses. Just put your arms around his neck or cup his cheekbones and pull him towards you. He’ll kiss you for hours.

• He loves to have his hair, cheeks, lips and nose touched/stroked. Gentle touches make him very emotional and you taking the time to display your affection for him in this way makes him feel loved and even closer to you.

• He likes to go for drives with you in the passenger seat next to him. The two of you share a love of music and often sing for hours in the car together until your voices get sore. During these drives he usually has his hand in yours or he reaches over every few minutes to squeeze your thigh.

• He likes slow dancing with you. Especially if you initiate it. He finds it calming and very comforting to have you so close to him.

[coffeeaddictandinsomniac]

There's the crisp sound of paper being flipped through. It echoes through the room loudly; it echoes through her ears loudly. The script has been handed out. Firefly barely made it past the first page before deciding she hated it.

The wad of paper in her hands is heavy, very nearly as thick as her arm, and very, very, combustible. Elio had handed out the script — just at the perfect moment when they were all in the same room, he does not call meetings and probably never will — to them just a moment ago. Everyone has flipped to the first page, everyone has seen what Firefly has seen.

The Stellaron is thrusted into [REDACTED] by Kafka — their memories lost with the power they gain from it.

That is the second scene that Elio has written out. There's no dialogue between the first and second — for Elio gives them that freedom, so long as it does not interfere with further scenes — just a sudden jump.

Firefly can't bear to look at the script anymore — so she looks up. She refuses to look at Elio, sitting there so plainly. Instead, she looks at them. They're still reading the script, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. From the looks of it they're still on the first page.

Firefly swallows a breath. She waits.

They flip the page without a word.

“No.” It tumbles from her mouth softly yet still feeling heavy on her tongue. No one's eyes are on the script anymore; all eyes are on her, and it occurs to her that Elio's eyes have always been on her. “We're not going to just sit here and say nothing about it are we?” Her words increase in volume until it hurts. “We lose them and we're not going to say anything?” Her shoulders shake and the script crumbles up in her grip. “We're just going to move on?”

“Thus is the way of the script.” Elio doesn't even blink as he says that. He sits as still as a statue.

(And she hates that she knows that. That that is the truth of things. That everything will happen whether she likes it or not.)

The script falls from her hands, landing on the ground with a loud thud. “Then I want nothing to do with it!”

“Firefly-” Kafka starts, her voice sweet and soft.

Firefly turns on her heel, feet stomping away loudly without another word.

The door to the room she shares with them is a welcomed sight — their bed even more so. She collapses onto it unceremoniously, her cheek hitting the pillow. Hot, burning tears roll down from her eyes to the pillow — they're silent but they still leave stains. She curls into herself, pulling her legs up to her chest.

She's not too sure how long it's been before the door opens once again, casting light inside of the dark room. Save for a shadow of a body — their body, she knows — that slowly shrinks until it merges with the darkness after the door closes.

“How long?” She doesn't move from her position on the bed when she speaks — she doesn't even turn to look at them. “How long do I have until I lose you too?”

They climb onto the bed and it dips under their weight. They shimmy up until Firefly can make out their face in the darkness, golden eyes clearly staring at her. Their arm reaches up, tracing a pattern on her shoulder. “Tomorrow.” From the tone of their voice, Firefly knows they're frowning. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not fair,” she bites out through her tears — starting up once again from that fact after having gone dry.

“I know,” they say. A strand of hair is tucked back behind her ear. “I'm sorry.” Because just like she does, they know that nothing they can do can change this. “You'll see me again. The script says so.”

Her shoulders shake. Their arms wrap around her, pulling her close enough so she can cry into their chest instead of the pillow. “You won't remember me.” Her own arms — slightly asleep from lying on them herself — reach up, wrapping themselves around their torso. Their warmth is welcoming.

“Then,” they start, dragging the word out like they usually do when they're still thinking, “you'll just have to make me fall in love with you all over again. You managed it just fine the first time.”

There's a thousand thoughts running through her head. Because would it even really be them when she meets them again? They won't remember the experiences that make them who they are today; they won't remember the experiences they've shared together to get the two of them to this point.

She doesn't say any of them. Instead, she just says, “Hold me?”

They tighten their hold around her, just like they always do. “Of course.”

She falls asleep in their arms.

Firefly wakes up to the other side of the bed empty, dry tear tracks on her cheeks getting watered once more.

[mercymaker]

astarion tries to enjoy his freedom after two centuries of torment. what's better than being able to make his own choices and indulge in those he truly wants? yet, healing is not that easy.

Then his mind wandered too far away from reality and straight back into a memory, to the guest room in Cazador’s palace, more familiar to him than her bedroom walls. Astarion opened his eyes, trying, desperately, to push himself away from those haunting thoughts, and focus on her face instead. Maleane was straddled atop him with her eyes closed, utterly lost in the act, oblivious to the horror consuming his mind.

He clung to her face, her body, like a drowning sailor to a piece of flotsam, trying to pull himself out of the water that was slowly filling his lungs. And yet, the memory refused to let go, instead wrapping its teeth even tighter around his throat. When Astarion looked at his lover, how much she was enjoying herself, all he could think about was the moment it would all abruptly end. How Mal’s face would change the second the door opened and Cazador’s dogs entered to snatch her away from his embrace. How all that pleasure and bliss would melt away and get replaced by surprise, then fear, and, eventually, betrayal. She trusted him, just like so many others before her, so why would it be any different?

The lone thought was enough to crumble Astarion’s psyche; that it all could’ve happened to her, to the one person he truly cared for. For just a brief moment, he imagined her in the dungeon, starved and scared and doomed. By him. And that’s when he realized that even though Cazador was long dead and gone, the vampire lord still had power over him, like a wretched ghost haunting his traitor son.

When Astarion opened his eyes again, the nightmare was no longer just a fragment of his memory. Maleane stared back at him, her eyes fogged by the too-familiar shade of ghoulish red, her neck ripped open by a set of fangs, a gash so deep it wept blood in a rivulet reaching both of their hips in an instant. And she felt so cold. Colder than him. Colder than a rotting corpse. Colder than a ghost in the snow.

That sight, a red blur trapped in a second, was enough to utterly break him. He could no longer hear the sorcerer’s voice trying so desperately to reach him, not her questions, nor the worry in them. All Astarion could do was hide, pulling both of his hands to his face as the weight of trauma crushed his mind into shards and splinters. He sobbed, uncontrollably, for what seemed like an eternity, his thoughts endlessly running in circles, playing out the same scenarios, the same memories, again and again. Torment, everlasting.

When the dark wave finally decided to spit him out, Astarion opened his eyes slowly, as if afraid that all these terrible thoughts had been real all along. As the spawn moved his fingers away from his face, the timid attempt to separate reality from the memory was met with two lilac orbs peering at him. Maleane’s brows were slightly pinched, her eyes glossy, the slightest hints of tears sitting atop her lashes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His lover responded silently; instead of trying to find words of compassion, Mal moved to his side, wrapping her freckled arms around his pale form. Warmth, comfort, relief — all of it felt like sunshine on his skin after an endless rainy day, yet deep down he knew that this all-consuming storm would not be the last to try to drown him.

[forkpigeon3146]

misconnumincaiton trope but its just two autistics who cant hear eachother properly

[femboy-jerma]

BREAKING: Local streamer Jeremy Elbertson contributes briny, discordant flavor profile to the broth - nutrient composition devastated.

[mushroomsie224]

He munches on a big, red, juicy pomegranate, not bothering to separate the seeds, just taking them off the fruit with his teeth and chewing them, the juice running down the corners of his mouth, his fingers stained a deep magenta. He eats quietly, the only sounds produced being the crunching of the ruby seeds. After picking off the last seed, he sets the inedible parts down and leans back in his chair, his body slowly loosening as he lets out a slow exhale and closes his eyes, not bothering to wipe his mouth.

[razberry-jams]

Mourning Hours

Strands of sunrise hazily shine into my room

A dove mourning fills my ears

Sleep has not visited me yet

For I have layed here pondering

“If only, if only”

Restlessly in my bed

7/15/24

[redwolfstabs]

Poems poems

In the garden of my heart, pain takes root, As I face a truth, bitter and absolute. Your love, a treasure, now slipping away, But for your smile, I'll endure and stay.

Heartbreak's storm may shake my soul, Yet in its tempest, I'll find my role. For in your presence, I see the light, Even if it means enduring this heartache's night.

I'll gather the pieces, both shattered and torn, To keep you close, I'll weather the storm. For the love we share is worth the fight, I'll embrace the pain, to have you in sight.

Though tears may fall like gentle rain, I'll bear the weight of this heart's pain. In every ache, I'll find a way to cope, For in your love, I'll anchor my hope.

So, though heartbreak lingers, and shadows play, I'll face the hurt, come what may. For you, my dear, I'll brave the strife, To keep you in my life, I'll cherish this life.

[green-eyes-and-orange-ties]

5am, Lakehouse

Inspired by V Black's delivery of "...to hold you" in ep1.12 (like their talent just Takes.Me.Out.Every.Time) & by my cat needing to be closer than physics will allow before she'll sleep

The sunlight bounced from the lake playing across Sebastian's skin. Angelo watched the patterns form and dissipate. He watched as the sun gently wash through Sebastian's hair, creating an array of colours before running off again.

Sebastian twitched as he fought against something in his sleep, a dream? A memory perhaps? Nothing good.

Angelo reached out; pausing. An unseen moment of hesitation.

A rush of warmth and affection radiated out from the point of contact and flooded through him. Angelo closed his eyes, allowing himself this.

Angelo pulled him closer to his chest.

He could feel the warmth of Sebastian's back along his forearm and the softness of his hair between his fingers.

Pulling him closer.

Sebastian's hair brushed his cheek as his forehead pressed against Angelo's neck. Angelo could feel his heart reaching though it's cage attempting to hold Sebastian itself.

Closer.

Angelo could feel Sebastian's breath from parted lips cross his collar bone. Slowing with each exhale, the tension previously held ebbing with each sigh. An arresting surrender.

Sebastian shifted against Angelo, he felt an arm drape across his side and a hand against his back. It was Angelo's turn for his breath to hitch as his heart fall away somewhere within.

Angelo closed his eyes against time and wished this moment could be an eternity.

[wintersera]

LMAO YNS GANG ALL BEING AWAKE AT LIKE 3AM IS SO FUNNY TO ME

PLSPLS IGNORE THE TIMESTAMPS I CAN NEVER BE BOTHERED TO ALTER THEM 😭😭😭

[a-mon]

I have been meaning to watch umbrella academy for a while and I thought why not now.

So I started and it's amazing but I need to to make me feel quite as much as it does. I'm really involved and I love all the characters but now I can't sleep because I want to watch more.

Stop making me feel things Gerard Way. First you incredible music then the amazing costumes and themes that run through the mcr tour now this. when will it end?

[bronzebtch]

the day rhea’s nephew was born, rhea held him tight. kisses her sister’s forehead with pride, happiness. that night though, she weeps terribly; knowing she can never be a mother. at least, not from a husband who refuses to even touch her.