#my brain needs to heal

[backpackingspace]

My actual favorite part of wisdom saga is telemachus trying to lean against Athena (he thought about that for .03 seconds and then was like nah !!! :D she's my friend not the goddess of war!!! Good to see that the audacity is running strong in odysseus's family) and then just passed threw her and fell on the floor. And then Athena did not move at all!!! And just stood there looking at him.

[almondpiglet]

late birthday gift for seri's bday

always be kind to yourselves

plus some zoom ins

[planetvries]

i yearn for the mines

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[proxycrit]

What if I redesigned some horses to fit MY favorite narrative trope: fallen gods and forgotten myths of old? Anyways.

Twilight’s mentor is a strange one. In a world of twilit planes forever shrouded in mystery, the older unicorn Lest and her adopted student Twilight are one in many common travelers, migrating the pitted wastelands and eeking survival within settlements that spring up around the glowing meteor shards. Despite living with Lest for the last four years, Twilight can’t help but seek answers to where her brother has gone— and in the process, perhaps dig a bit too deeply into the complexities of gods far older and dangerous then she can truly fathom.

On the otherhand, Celestia “Lest” Sol is having a terrible millenium. Her sister is no longer her sister, her student teleported herself halfway across the continent, and she got herself kidnapped by an old rival trying to attune with the elements of harmony to overthrow the current ruler of Equestria.

At least she gets a toxic yuri moment.

Meanwhile, Chrysalis is having a great time. She’s got kingdoms to conquer and people to feed and a waning god to taunt.

(The Selene Grace hates the sun monarch they deposed five centuries ago as they stay chained to their post, keeping the lunar and solar bodies from crashing into each other. Luna misses her sister, and the easier world where they haven’t hurt each other beyond reparation. Nightmare Moon misses their monstrosity, trapped in a host who’s grief has poisoned them with empathy.

Things are bound to tip. The celestial bodies are not bodies, but prisons, and the amalgamations we call alicorns the key. And something desperately wants to be freed…)

Anyways:

My mane 6 redesign here!

And my luna and celestia redesigns here!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[roarshackle]

When the Sky Was Green by Copperprawn on AO3 has altered my psyche. Made me cry n get in my feels a little too much over some gd ronpa foos... Please read this! (not for those who don't want to read about sensitive or dark topics)

Kinda spoiler-ish under cut (not really, idk)

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.

This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.

This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.

But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.

I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.

I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.

I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.

I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.

[littlefankingdom]

Ngl, the fact that Jason is supposed to suffer from chronic pain as a result to Joker's beating doesn't make sense to me, because he got dipped in a Lazarus Pit. Like, I'm supposed to believe that the green goop can heal you if you have been pierced with a hundred sword, save you for death, but it cannot heal some boy's hip or/and knee correctly?

And I totally understand the need for representation for chronic pains, I just feel like there is a ton of better character for that that didn't get dumped into a pool that fix everything, you know? Like, any member of the batfam that did not get any Lazarus water would be better candidates. DC will have to take from my cold dead hands the hc that Bruce suffers from chronic pains from when he got his back broken, for example.

[starseongs]

walking to work thinking about hongjoong fangs

[gojoest]

when you’re having a particularly shitty day and you text satoru that you wish you could see him right now (out of the blue, with no prior context) he comes to you at full throttle, no matter what. your phone buzzes with a text from him that says “look out the window” and when you do, you see him standing there with his arms open and the most lovable silly grin on his lips

[pup-pee]

SO I MIGHTVE GOTTEN A BIT INSPIRED BY THIS POST

[uldahstreetrat]

just remembered a convo I had with a couple friends some weeks back so, for my FFXIV folks:

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

A cozy, good bug because my pal said he’s got oversized sweater energy.

Mayflies are warm-weather bugs and it's gotta be chilly in the caves under Gokkan so Jeramie spins him a bunch waahah! I think if Rita saw Gerojim in a white sweater they might mistake him for Moffun...

[mwagneto]

i truly am losing my mind tho coz like i literally spent weeks/years waiting to see if ofmd/gomens was bait and they're NOT. and they're both getting explicitly romantic promos and little hearts in the posters and the mcs kissing on screen coz they're canonically in looove it's all so. ohhmy fucking god

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.