#she helps them but doesn't join them

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

Mumpearl Drabble please :3?

His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo.

PearlescentMoon has gone by many names: Peril. Farmer Queen. Santa Perla. Madre de Girasoles. The Great Lunar Neighbour. Even Moonatrix Octa. She was no stranger to deification. She'd been worshipped by a wide variety of people. By her own Helianthias, by the Harengons of Sanctuary, by Jeremys of Stratos: and, now, even by The Order of Octa. And yet, out of all these followings, out of all these flocks of religions, cults and sects dedicated to her image… there was only one she was interested in. The Mooners. Or, rather, its founder. And his name was Mumbo Jumbo. She had to admit, it was odd. She’d been worshipped by countless mortals throughout history, but this wasn't just another mindless devotee, no, before that, he had been someone she'd known; somebody she'd loved. A friend. Before he had been a Mooner he had been apart of Boatem. He still was. It was surreal to see the same man she'd laughed with, the same man who had teased her and taught her what it was like to love and be loved and be human… worship the very thing about her that wasn't. Worship the idea of her, worship the concept of a omnipotent, despotic rock in the sky, worship everything about herself she hated. She had hated being a goddess. That's why she had come to Hermitcraft in the first place. She was sick of being treated as a stagnant notion - something simultaneously too abstract to comprehend and yet something superficial enough to be classified by one word: perfect. She wasn't a person, just an idea. A deity. But Mumbo Jumbo had taught her how to be a person. No… he'd been the one who had made her a person. Or maybe he had just showed her that she had always been one. He made her laugh. Cry. Love. Hate. Learn. Live. Experience. He taught her how to feel, want, explore, be… he had showed her the wonders of this world, shown her that everything alive was sacred and unkillable, that this planet was alive and thus beautiful. He had made her fall in love with the dull world that she had grown to loathe over the centuries all over again. He had made her fall in love with him. And so, watching him fall in love, not with her — not with the genuine, real version of herself she'd become — but with postulated perception of herself she'd been trying so hard to unbecome? The dehumanized idea of what she was supposed to be? The version of herself he'd unwittingly taught her she wasn't defined by? It felt like death. It felt like she was dying. Was this heartache? Could somebody who never had a heart have it break? Pearl loved Mumbo. But Mumbo only loved the Moon. Not Pearlescent.

The moon had two faces; one of which was always hidden from sight. One face could never be seen the human eye. No matter how much they tried, no matter what they used — whether it be telescopes, binoculars, spectrometers, or observation stations… nobody could ever see the far side of the moon. Nobody could ever see her in full display. Only in facets; fragments. In some ways, Pearl resented this fact. Nobody could ever know her; not truly. Nobody could never know her in her entirety. What would happen if they knew the new Australian Hermit wasn't from Australia at all, but from the moon, anyway? No, actually, she wasn't from the moon, she was the moon. She was just the actual, literal moon. That big 'ol floating rock in the sky? The one rapidly plummeting towards their planet on a path set to destruction? Yeah, that was her. Well, not exactly her, but her divine shell, which missed its' goddess after she had taken mortal form so much it was trying to reunite with her by colliding with Hermitcraft… Oopsie-daisy, yeah, my bad, sorry about the impending doom! On the slim chance they didn't immediately kick her off the server due to her very presence being a threat not only to everyone but the world itself's safety, what would they think of her, then? If the fact half of the Hermit's first instincts were to start cults around The Moon in response to its enlargement was any indication, something told her they wouldn't treat her like a regular Hermit anymore. They'd start treating her exactly like what she'd come here to get away from: a goddess. She wouldn't be Pearl anymore. She wouldn't have friends anymore. Just followers. She hated that sometimes she considered it. Oh, how easy it would be, to tell Mumbo she was the Great Lunar Neighbour he loved so much. That she was who he'd been unknowingly worshipping this entire time; she was his goddess. Her feelings for him would be reciprocated in a heartbeat. He'd love her in the same way she loved him; endlessly and entirely. …But he wouldn't. Not really. He wouldn't love her. He'd love the idealized idea of her he thought she was, this version of her he'd made up in his head. And even saying he'd love her would be a stretch… no, he wouldn't love her. He'd revere her, worship her, exalt her… but not love. Not in the ways mortals loved each other. He wouldn't love her for who she was, but for what she was. And, so, she wouldn't tell him. Because as long as he didn't know, there was still a chance he could love her; the actual her. She just had to be patient. Though it was times like this her patience really ran thin.

"I don't understand," Mumbo sobbed; the sound was hoarse, gravelly and guttural. He hadn't slept in… nobody knew how long, and the hysteric delirium of sleep-deprivation seemed to finally be catching up with him. "I — I did… I did everything right! I'm doing everything right, I don't — I don't understand what I did wrong. What am I doing wrong?" He cried. "Shh, shh… you're not doing anything wrong, Mumbs. You didn't do anything wrong. You're perfect. You've done everything perfect," Pearl consoled him, running her fingertips' through his hair in an assuaging manner, trying to coax him to calmness in the same way somebody might try to coax a crying infant back to sleep in the late hours of the night… which, was what she was doing, really, in a sense. His locks were unkempt, disheveled and sloven, bedraggled despite the fact he hadn't touched a bed for weeks. But even in his grotty state, to her, he was still gorgeous. He was still perfect. "Then why is she still mad? I — I made her a temple, I made her altars, I built her shrines, and — and — and — I even convinced Boatem to give up their beds! I even —  I don't understand… I thought — I thought that would fix it… I thought that would make her happy, but she's still — is it not enough? Am I not doing enough..?" Mumbo sniffled as he looked at her with hollow, sunken eyes, a strange mixture of devotion and desperation on his face. His eyebags were so heavy they weighed down his cheeks' like an anchor, an anvil. "Can't she tell I love her? I — I just want to make her happy. I just want her to know — I — I just… I just want her to know how much I love her." Pearl's heart ached. I know. "She knows," she whispered, trying to keep her voice from hitching, trying to control her pitch. "She knows you love her. She… she loves you too. So, so much." I love you too. I love you so, so much. "No," Mumbo shook his head with a strangled snuffle, dismissing her words as nothing but empty consolations. He didn't know how true they really were, he didn't know they weren't just a friend's weak attempt to lift his spirits, but that they were a love confession from the very God he had devoted his entire being too. That she really did love him, too, more than he could possibly fathom. "If — if she loved me, she… she wouldn't still be upset. If she knew how much I loved her, she wouldn't be — she wouldn't still be causing earthquakes and stealing blocks, and — I just, I need — I need to try harder. I need to show her, I need her to know, I need her to see…" No, you just need to see. You just need to see it's me. I'm right here - why can't you see? I'm not mad. I was never mad. I could never be mad at you. I love you. Please, please, please… stop. I don't want this. I'd never want you to do this to yourself. But he never listened. He would never listen to Pearl; and the one voice he would listen to was one she couldn't admit was her own. It was infuriating… He loved her so, so much, too much, and yet he didn't love her at all. He could never love her while he still loved who she had been. Who had to be. He could never love her while his love for her was destroying him. It was killing him. And, so, it seemed there was only one solution. She had to make him hate her. She had to make him hate The Moon. She had to make him hate her as much as she hated herself. And with the fact he didn't already, despite the fact her old vessel had actively been spreading insanity amongst the Hermits, causing earthquakes and disasters, destroying the landscape? It would take some drastic measures. Lengths she didn't want to go to. But knew she had too. For his sake and her own.

When she'd abandoned her celestial form, she'd abandoned most of her deific abilities with it. Fortunately, not all of them. She had enough power in reserve to call upon a mite of her old body down to Earth; a meteor. Little more than an atom compared to her mass. But enough to serve as a teensy deposit of her powers she could tap into and exploit. Enough to influence those around around her with The Moon's voice. Enough to make it clear love wouldn't work. Enough to make it clear there was only one option.

"…'I must have them'? Who must she have? Who must she have? Is it us? Must she have me? Must she have Doc? Who? Who does she need…?"

"He who doth preach to us on the first day of the server… so doth shall be returned to dust first." "His name is Mumbo Jumbo."

His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo. His name is Mumbo Jumbo.

Make love, not war. But if love doesn't work… use war.

-- so. uh. you asked for a drabble. this is uh..... this is 1.8k words. i may have. i may have gotten a little carried away. approximately 18 times the requested length carried away. I'M SO SORRY. I AM....... SO SORRY. I GOT A LITTLE BIT ILL ABOUT THEM. I HOPE THIS IS OK LOL. ANYWAY. thinking about hc s8 mumbo and the moon's strange relationship......... what do you MEAN mumbo made a cult and a temple and a shrine completely dedicated to the moon? what do you MEAN the first thing the moon did when it gained control over ren and doc's minds was make them sacrifice mumbo jumbo specifically ? and then cub ALSO sacrificed [an imitation of] mumbo jumbo SPECIFICALLY to appease the moon ? the moon was JUST as insane about mumbo as mumbo was about the moon. mumpearl is real guys i don't know what to tell you they're obsessed with each other they're deranged yuri

[hauntingjasper]

Blind as a bat

[the-blossica-fan]

Vila: I mean... no offence to anyone within the suitcase. I truly do not. But are they all a little... how do I say this... 'unhinged'?

Mesmer Jr.: ...Yes. I would say you get used to it but, being honest--

(*In the distance, Jiu fell over, and is now being carried by Yenisei*)

Mesmer Jr.: ...You don't. At the very least, for a few, it's entertaining to watch.

I like to imagine there's this corner for the most "normal" individuals, by that I mean, mentally sane. (Mesmer Jr is there because she refuses to leave that corner)

This corner includes: Vila (sometimes accompanied by Windsong), Ms. Moissan, Kaalaa Baunaa and Mesmer Jr, sometimes Vertin, Druvis III and Ezra join but it's just those three there.

They watch everything, unfortunately.

Kaalaa: Mm? Isn't that Sotheby?

Vila: She's getting chased by a bunch of small critters! Comrade Moissan, is this a common occurrence in the suitcase?

Moissan: ...I'll be right back

Mesmer Jr: I swear to God if these arcanist don't stop flirting with each other I'll...

Windsong: I think it's time I leave, goodbye Comrade Vila! (Trips on the way to the wilderness)

Vila: Excuse me, my girlfriend seems to be in... A situation

Mesmer Jr: (holds back a tired sigh)

Moissan: Someone should take Blonney's gun away (2.1 garment), she could harm someone, and I don't agree to letting any arcanist get a hold on a gun

Vertin: It'll be okay, Ms. Moissan, I'm pretty sure she can handle it, she is a responsible adult and-

(A distant shot, metallic sound, screaming and very loud apologies sounds in the background)

Mesmer Jr: Responsible? An arcanist?

Vertin: I am an arcanist and I am responsible

Kaalaa: (touches an empty jar of Picrasma Candy) Your sugar consumption is far from responsible.

Ezra: The suitcase is pretty comfortable, although I never get to stay for long, it's entertaining to see the many arcanists get along and have fun together. I wish I could see it more often.

Mesmer Jr: Don't.

Vila: ... It'll be best if you stay outside of the suitcase as you have, comrade Ezra.

Moissan and Kaalaa: (nod)

[corpium]

Ansur!Tav fic in which Ansur reincarnates as Tav and slowly realizes his dream guardian is awfully familiar in the worst fucking way. This could be a horribly dramatic, tragic story.

however, I propose instead... comedy!

Let the companions suffer through them constantly bitching at each other. Maybe somehow Ansur is still an undead spirit posessing Tav so Emps is like "who's the abomination now??" and Astarion's like "now wait just a second, there's nothing wrong with being undead" and Minthara's casually dropping super wise truth bombs on them about their relationship and Karlach and Wyll ship it

[bluebellhairpin]

i'm creating a rdr2 oc rn that is soooo beyond my paygrade. what happens when a kind, giving soul is pushed beyond what she can bear.

[maulfucker]

thiunking about Maul in the clone wars finale and I think. I think he should've given Ahsoka and Rex a ride. like his whole thing at that moment was trying to play nice to prove he's right and they should totally go kill Anakin (and the emperor). Ahsoka did him a favor by freeing him, he's paying her back by not leaving them behind. now they're even. can we go kill the emperor now.

[bimyself06]

Since today's my bday and I don't want to cry, I'm going to post a happy au.

Jason does go with Apollo to the boat/yacht but he made it out alive(I'm pretty sure most of the fandom is in agreement that his death is a result of Leo and the seven attempting to cheat the prophecy/fate). Except now he's left wondering what he should do since as he's realized no child of the Big Three can truly leave the mythological world no matter what they try, in comes in Percy "My mom is the best" Jackson. He suggest that Jason moves in with the Jacksons or at least get adopted by Sally so that he has a semi-normal place to go to during the school holidays. Jason is bit hesitant but accepts, Percy gains another younger sibling, Thalia has the peace of mind that her brother is in good hands, Jason is experiencing the joys of having an actual normal and great parental figures in Sally and Paul, and Nico and Hazel are a little confused as to how they also got adopted but their father and Poseidon were all hounded by Hera into joining her on paying child support to Jackson-Blofis couple(many gods, including Zeus, pointed out that Jason wasn't her kid but ended up loosing that argument and it's now a staple to pay child support. It's a great way to keep track of kids and where they currently are.)

[deer-with-a-stick]

on one hand, if larian gave us raw rules for revivify/raise dead, you could do things like save Duke Ravengard without Mizora (ignore her, go to Iron Throne where he's going to be dead for some stupid reason, cast Raise Dead with a diamonds and boom. you can't tell me that he's been dead for more than 10 days when you find him) or just revive random NPCs for fun but on the other hand dear god the chaos

[kinghlaaluhelseth]

i feel like i dislike modded followers that attempt to have their own moral high ground and will leave you or become hostile to you if you join the thieves guild/dark brotherhood/volkihar clan because it's really rich for someone aiding the dragonborn in slaughtering literally hundreds of people just because they're bandits like it's nothing and raiding and pillaging tombs and killing the already subjugated falmer like they're beasts to suddenly take a big stand against a little thieving/assassination/blood sucking. bonus points if said follower also already participates in something considered abhorrent/taboo like casual use of necromancy spells and the like.

[unnamed-atlas]

Having brain worms. What if uhhhhhh SOS Mianite au

[sunriseinorbit]

i said i was going to have lots of emotions about makoto and now i am. i'm shoving this scene into everyone's faces and no you don't get a choice in the matter.

[ivy-saurs]

i have to help at a work event tomorrow and i'm just so sick of them

[sabrina-valerie]

>Read a really good fic based on the Mario Movie wherein Kamek's got a bit of an issue with his reflection in a mirror (cw: internalized transphobia)

>Want to go comment on it because it was that good (and i'm working on a comment bingo card)

>Want to include a mention of that flavor text from one of the Mario Party games about how Kamek has a panic attack when he sees himself in a mirror

>Go look up the fact on the wiki so i can quote it in the comment

>Realize the flavor text is actually this:

>Get really embarrassed and delete half the comment

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Issues with Writing a Self-Insert #1

In case y'all didn't know, I've been going through a reflective period recently, and I've noticed that fear of what others think has held me back in almost every single aspect of my life, and unfortunately fandom is no exception.

I remember when I was like 14 and I tried to write fanfiction for the first time (I don't remember even what fandom I was writing for). Unfortunately, I could barely type a single paragraph without immediately deleting all that I wrote and being overly critical of my lack of writing ability. Even at that age, in the privacy of my dorm room, I couldn't shake off the fear of failure (and I mean howw?? I wasn't the only 14 year old trying to write Wattpad fanfiction). I remember comparing myself to some of my peers who had an amazing talent for writing. For me, I didn't get jealous, but rather I got intimidated, so intimidated that instead of continuing on with something and being imperfect at it, I'd just drop the entire activity altogether.

Because of this habit, I missed out on a lot of potential opportunities for growth during this time. I guess I saw people who were amazing, assumed that they popped out of the womb like that or something, and just....gave up. If I could go back in time, I would tell young me to embrace the cringe, embrace the mess. So what if people laugh or look at you funny or immediately stop whispering to each other once they see you? It sucks, but you will find your people, and you will survive. Trying to be palatable to everyone just means that you stifle yourself.

Years later, I wanted to get back into fanfiction, but this time with very little creative writing experience. What held me back was the fear that someone would read something that I wrote and ridicule it for being something that only an angsty teen would write, except that I am no longer an angsty teen but an unfortunately angsty adult riddled with insecurity, and that reality would just make that hypothetical comment sting even more (that's another thing about me. I create hypothetical ways for people to roast me in order to talk myself out of doing stuff).

[humanityinahandbag]

I'd like to tell you all a story about my grandmother.

My grandparents raised their children, four girls (one of them my mother), to be fighters. My aunts marched in Washington for women's rights with babies strapped to their chests and like to joke that all of the grandchildren who came from that line (including myself) were born with picket signs in their hands.

But it started with my grandparents. They fought hard for what they believed in. They marched against Vietnam. They marched for Martin Luther King. They marched for women's rights. They marched for a better future.

But let's talk specifically about my grandmother for a moment.

My grandmother unfortunately passed away in 2016. She had to watch the first Trump election and did so knowing that it would probably be the last election she'd ever see. And there is some argument there that she could have given in to fear and defeatism. She could have decided none of it was worth it, and she could have decided that fascism had won and the world was over.

But she did something else instead.

To give some context, my grandparents had friends who were Republicans. I say were, because they shifted from the normal Republican towards the MAGA Republican we see today. And despite a very clear message from my family about how we felt, they were more than ready to still come to the funeral as if everything was normal. Like their beliefs were normal. Like they were welcome to celebrate someone who had fought so hard for the rights of other people.

These were people who would have absolutely used their rhetoric to scream and shout if they were left out or disinvited.

And so my grandmother, even past her final moments, pulled the most brilliant, petty move I've ever seen.

She'd decided ahead of time that everyone who had known her was more than welcome to attend but that she wanted everyone attending the funeral to donate money. That was the requirement to be invited. And so everyone did just that. There was no talk about what the donations were for, just that they were appreciated. I want to say that the assumption was the money would help pay for funeral expenses and give the family some support while we grieved.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because in those final moments of the funeral, the rabbi stepped forward to thank everyone, and then very cheerfully announced;

"Arlene was so happy to know just how many people were coming to join us here today. She couldn't have been more proud of her family. And I'm sure she would have been elated to see just how much money you all gave today to Planned Parenthood."

When I say that the faces of those people are enshrined in my memory, I mean it. The anger, the devastation, the rage, the betrayal. It was an absolutely gorgeous display of true defeat at the hands of a boss ass old lady who literally fought with her last breath and threw up both middle fingers all the way out the door.

What I'm saying is this.

It is very easy to feel defeated. It is very easy to think that everything is over, and there's nothing left for us to do. It's very easy to say that fascism won, that fear won, that hate won.

But that's only true if you let it be true.

There is always more that we can do. There is a future that is still worth fighting for. And it's more than possible, even when it doesn't seem like it.

And fighting is going to look different every time.

Some days it will look like picket signs in our hands.

Some days it will look like spending time with friends and family and people you love and knowing that you have a community that supports you and your vision of a brighter future.

And some days, it's pulling absolute natural level 20 petty trickster shit even after you've left the world.

Because you can always make an impact and you can always add a little brightness to life, and if that means tricking a group of MAGA idiots into throwing their money behind Planned Parenthood in the middle of your own goddamn funeral then that's what it means.

Keep fighting. People have done it before you. People will continue to do it after you.

And enjoy the little victories.

(Even the petty ones)

[peripateticavian]

Something I've had to learn is how to explain that I feel guilt and rejection sensitive dysphoria WITHOUT putting those feelings onto the other person. I don't need to tell someone how it feels to experience that because it's not their business what my internal reactions are that are unrelated to the purpose of their communication.

What is their business is a quick "Hey, I understand I've trespassed a boundary. Would it be acceptable to offer to make amends, or should I back off?" And then fuck off if they don't want to be around you. Don't say "I feel guilty for this", because that's for you to process on your own time. Someone enforcing a boundary doesn't make you a victim.

"UwU I'm a little freak online! I can't talk to anyone because them choosing to not play with me will make me die inside!” That's not a brag. That's a reason to get some mental health counseling, and there's nothing shameful about needing counseling but for the love of god feel shame *privately* or find a process group to feel shame about whatever self persecuting crap to which my eyes were just exposed.

Btw when someone says "don't talk to me like that, I don't know you" the normal thing to do is apologize for the perceived overfamiliarity and correct the behavior. Just in case anyone was wondering