#so I'm waiting!

[whataboutsimple]

Groundhog Day expect It's 8 whole years and lots of pain.

In other words, it's Gabriel The Warrior angst. Who knew that little medallion will drag you into pit of repeating hell? He called it "races".. race to survive.

!!TW: serious injures, blood, suicide themes!!

Please, if you don't feel safe or good, ask for help, there are always someone who will hear you!

He felt tired.

So tired, so tired.

Want to sleep.

Body does not obey.

The Warrior slowly trudged through the back streets with his Bodyguard, Reuben his name was? Who was trying to "avoid crowd of fanatics." He seemed to be saying something, but Gabriel wasn't listening. He felt like he was about to fall down and never get up again. He didn't have any strength. Everything seemed to be just a white noise, an insignificant squeak against the background of the approaching storm.

Oh, yes, The Storm.

Today he meets Ivor for the last time, before Potion Master creates this terrible monster.

But he was tired.

He doesn't have the strength to talk to him.

The Warrior wants to sleep, he wants to sleep so much. There was nothing but white veil before his eyes, it seemed like he didn't see where he was going at all. Perhaps he's just mechanically following the same route as usual.

Interesting, if he falls asleep, his body will continue to act according to the script? Oops, here he is, bumped into Bodyguard, because he noticed suspicious crowd of fanatics. Here, blond guy tells him to wait while he checks everything and makes sure it's safe to go.

Here he is, alone again.

At some point, it seemed to him that his skull would simply burst, splitting in two from the headache that he had been feeling lately.

His body didn't obey him at all, he felt numb. It was as if the Warrior was just a puppet, a puppet in someone's hands. Or is it a white, blind pain still haunting him after the last "race" as he dubbed them?

The Wither Storm caught him, dragging through the whole city and collecting every building along the way. Gabriel didn't knew, what he had died from. Perhaps the broken ribs had dug into his lungs, tearing them to shreds and causing him to choke on his own blood. Perhaps the impact of his head on one of the buildings was strong enough to shatter his skull into pieces. Perhaps that pillar that went straight into his stomach tore apart all his internal organs, forcing him to spit out the remains of his liver or kidneys. Or perhaps all those numerous fractures and open wounds caused the brain to pass out from shock and he died in WitherStorm.

The Warrior really doesn't know, but he sincerely sympathizes with the one who found his mutilated body.

He saw only a veil and heard only noise, not caring about anything. Brunette has experienced this moment so many times, seen that exact street, he probably knows every crack on it. Gabriel stopped trying to count the number of his "returns" back a long time ago, stopped trying to help everyone, to save them.

The closest thing Warrior has ever had to "good" ending are both alive Magnus and Ellegaard and not missing Soren.

But even in that scenario they abandoned him.

Everyone just went to their cities and homes. They left without even trying to ask how he was feeling. They didn't care. It was the moment Warrior felt broken for the first time. Trampled into the mud, absolutely crushed.

Since then, his blank expression has been almost the only emotion you could notice. Of course, he continued to pretend in public, to pretend that everything was fine. But everything was not fine. Nothing was fine. His eyes had not shone with the kindness, care and determination they used to for a long time. He went out inside, burned to the ground and left behind only ashes, which are now trying to move and live.

Gabriel could almost clearly draw an analogy with himself and the phoenix. Only in his case, each rebirth was accompanied by a deteriorating condition. Almost all of the scars received during these "races" remained on his body, even when he returned to the very first day. They made it very difficult for him to live. To exist. Every time he looked at them, they remind him what he had been through. Notch, his body were barely recognizable under the armor. Seemed like he was the main target of Griefers from BoomTown.

Sometimes it hurts. Every inch of his body in agony, so intense that his voice cuts off from screaming faster than it stops.

Sometimes he doesn't feel anything. Like now. He is only aware of where he is, what he is doing. But he doesn't control it at all. He's just.. just there, somewhere deep down. Exists, but doesn't seem to exist at all. An empty, empty cold gaze and nothing more. He had never looked so broken.

The nasty clatter of the stone on an iron block suddenly made him a bit awake. Here's Ivor.

To be honest, the Warrior didn't really care, he continued to stare at the same wall he had been looking at before. Ivor will notice him now, start ranting about how he needs to stop lying to people, then, without achieving the result he needs, will get angry and advise him to be careful tomorrow. Nothing new.

God, he was so tired.

He hadn't slept well in so long.

Unbearable, constant nightmares haunted him in every "race". It's safe to say that the Warrior has completely forgotten what a "normal sleep" is. He wakes up with a heart-rending scream of fear almost every twenty minutes, and the scenes of blood and violence that his brain projects are still in front of his eyes.

He had seen it all live and more than once. Saw and felt it. Felt and saw.

All those accidents when someone from the Order accidentally killed him. Ivor won the battle at Soren's temple. Magnus blew up TNT incorrectly. Ellegaard's machine went horribly wrong. These deaths were the most painful for him. They constantly haunt him in nightmares, always, always one of his own.. former friends are trying to kill him.

Disgusting, horrible nightmares that have been a reality many times.

He tried to run away from it, he really tried. He went far, far away, made new friends, even a family. But no matter what he did, those 8 fucking years were always repeating themselves. He could freely start killing everyone, knowing that if he was killed, then 8 years would begin anew.

But there was no point in such actions. None of this would have helped him get rid of the terrible curse that had overtaken him anyway.

The tips of the Warrior's fingers began to twitch, wanting to pick up a sword. After all, he felt the approach of someone behind him. Ivor. The tirade is about to begin.

He wants to sleep.

The Warrior had no patience left at all. He had been watching all this for so long, had endured this torture for so long, this sneering tone of the Potions Master, the way his eyes glittered with malice, how he did it.. He enjoyed his position. Is the simple disclosure of the truth so dear to him? Does he really just want to humiliate them?

The Warrior didn't know the answers to these questions, and did not really want to. His nerves were on edge. He couldn't take it anymore.

With one swift movement of his hand, the Warrior pulled out his diamond sword, immediately pushing the Potion Maker against the nearest wall and plunging the sword up to the hilt into the stone next to Ivor's head.

«Can you just fucking stop threatening me every time? Just shut the fuck up, shut up!» — The Warrior's eyes glittered with fierce rage, such, such intense rage. He had never been so angry at anyone before. Gabriel almost felt like he was going to slit his old friend's throat... Just let him shut up, please, keep him quiet, shut up, shut up, don't talk, don't get in the way, it hurts too much, it's scary, I don't want to hear anything.

The warrior clutched his head with his free hand, suddenly feeling a strong stab of pain, as if someone had hit it with a sword. He was so angry, so angry. Leave him alone, please.

«Why do you.. always.. come to me? Why are you trying to beat the truth out of me? Why not one of the others? An Engineer? A Rogue? Why not them, why the fuck me?!» — the Warrior almost shouted last words, taking a few steps away from Potion Master, still clutching tightly to his curly hair. Want to sleep.

Shaking his head several times, Gabriel tried to calm down. What's the point of asking anything at all? Do something? Anyway, everything will start over one way or another.

The dull headache continued to throb somewhere in the back of his mind. Why does it hurt so much?

Why was he so tired? Tired, tired, tired. Help.

Uncontrollable trembling, like a bucket of cold water, overcame the brunette. What's wrong with him? Why is he shaking so much? Why is he afraid? Want to sleep.

Something nasty got stuck on the walls of his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, stop it!

The hero literally hit the nearest wall, unable to stay on his feet. Throat hurt, lungs burned, and head was spinning. The attempt to stand up and pull himself together not only failed, but also turned out to be a fatal mistake. Suddenly, the Warrior coughed, unable to stop the flow of tears that burst from his eyes. Why does it hurt so much? It seemed as if he was trying to spit out his lungs.

As soon as the coughing fit was over, the man slowly removed his hand from the mouth, realizing the cause of pain. Blood. He just coughed up blood.

So tired.

A new fit of rage seized the Hero's body, from which he instantly hit the nearest wall with terrible force, destroying one block and leaving cracks on the rest. Breathing heavily, the Warrior slowly turned to face the Potion Master, looking even worse than before. Trickles of blood slowly trickled down his chin, dripping onto the blue armor.

«The truth.. you just want to tell the truth?! You're a liar like the rest of us, Ivor! You're not a bit better than the others! You were there during the battle. You were there when we were all arguing, swearing and shouting at each other, and you were there, and you AGREED, just like the rest of us, to keep quiet! You promised you won't tell anyone the truth any more than we did! And now what?! Are you trying to get me to talk?! While you stay white and innocent?!» — Gabriel was literally at the limit, his head was throbbing violently and it seemed to him that he would simply fall and never get up again. He will die so stupidly.. Which time? 785 race. Maybe 823. He stopped counting after the 600th.

The Warrior's furious gaze could scare anyone away, making them think that he was crazy. Maybe it's true.

He doesn't know. He was tired.

This nightmarish, nightmarish headache made the man shed a couple of tears. Let it end, please, please, please.

For a split second, it seemed to him that he was right inside the Storm again. When Jesse saved Petra, not him. He wandered and wandered there, feeling his memories slipping right out of his hands. And then the pain came. Headache. Such a strong, throbbing, dull, disgusting pain. And it was, and was, and was there, tormenting him, making him want to die in the end. At one point, he didn't even remember who he was, how he got there. He just felt the pain. He was breaking down, breaking down with great speed. And no one tried to save him.

After particularly bad races, he was seeing a lot of things. Hallucinations. The doctors said it was schizophrenia, but after the race all the symptoms disappeared. He've just.. seen some things.

Sometimes it seemed to him that his former friends were nearby. That they're there. An Architect, a Rogue, an Engineer and a Potion Master. They were there, they really were. They were silent, they watched, but they were there. Although as soon as he tried to get closer, they left. They disappeared. Even his hallucinations didn't care about him.

For the first time, he was delighted. He was so, so happy, but he also broke down quickly. The Warrior thought they had come for him. That they had finally remembered him! They will help, they will calm him down. Then he thought about it. Why do they always leave? Don't they want to see him? Then he assumed. They're making fun of him. They mock him and his weakness. That he was alone and completely helpless. And then he realized. They are not there. It's not them. It's someone else. They don't exist.

That day, the Warrior began to doubt his own adequacy. Had he really gone mad? Maybe it's all just his nonsense? Or maybe it's hell? Then where are cauldrons of boiling water and Herobrine on the throne? Why is there no one else here? Is he alone? Did he really do something so bad that no one had ever done before, and for that he fell into this endless circle of agony?

He didn't know the answer. He didn't want to know. He wanted it all to stop. It doesn't matter which way.

He have been killing himself so many times. but still came back to the very first day. When he found this stupid medallion. He tried to break it, and there was absolutely no point in it, he just did everything he could, but these 8 years kept repeating themselves. Maybe he really deserved it all.

«Do you really have the nerve to ask if everything is okay with me?» — The Warrior slowly raised his gaze from the floor to the Potion Master — «You abandoned me, you all.» — he again became as empty as before. Once bright blue eyes, shining with joy, and resembling the sky, now seemed to be one continuous emptiness of the opera.

Lifeless.

«You left me alone to die. You, Engineer, Architect, Rogue. And never remembered again. Architect had his little meetings with Engineer. And you're with Rogue. I know you saw each other in Nether. I know you've been talking. But none of you ever thought to find out if I was okay. Even people began to worry. But not you. You didn't care then. You don't care now.» — the Warrior mechanically went for his sword, no longer looking at his former friend and loved one.

He was tired.

He wants to sleep.

Slowly pulling the sword out of the wall, he pointed it at himself.

Maybe he'll get some sleep.

[aphel1on]

i have such a love for characters who descend into madness or villainy out of deep, deep empathy. characters who fundamentally cannot cope with the cruel realities they find themselves in and blow up about it in spectacular fashion. fallen angel type characters with tears of outrage in their eyes. characters who break before they bend, and break so badly they splatter blood all over their noble ideals. every variation on it gets me so good

[hansoeii]

when 2022 me thought it would be fun to draw stede with a beard and a silly little curled up mustache and start calling him steard for the fun of it

AND NOW IT'S REAL

THEY DID IT

MY CREATION.

IT IS REAL. HOLY FUCK

[madqueenalanna]

been seeing homies get deep into "the terror" and making me want to rewatch SO i spent two hours in the dead of night reading the wiki/the subreddit/other linked articles and like. one of those articles was deadass fucked up

there was a woman who spoke inuktitut who was writing a book containing a lot of inuit oral histories, and in nunavut she was able to hear passed-down recollections of when survivors from the franklin expedition were passing through

and like. i can't imagine being an inuit family/group, knowing that europeans exist but having never seen them, seeing 8-9 shambling, blue-skinned, cold-to-the-touch out-of-their-minds white men come wandering by. they invited the men inside their igloos for warmth, for food, to be hospitable. the men refused to eat, refused to speak, and when trade was offered, clutched their possessions close and refused to entertain the idea of trade. this was, offputting, to say the least. the group set them up in their own igloo, with their own fire, and left three whole seals for them to eat. and then they fled cause what the FUCK get out of there. they came back in a few days to check on the strangers. the three seals were completely untouched, while all of the men had killed and eaten each other

i mean. fuck dude. there are obviously pretty dark angles to view the franklin expedition from– honestly can't think of a good angle, it's pure colonialism and british exceptionalism– but that specific interaction, that inuit group who were living lives as normal until a dozen fucking walking dead showed up and did cannibalism. no wonder that story got passed down, i'd be shitting my pants if i saw that

[kensatou]

the h in nhl stands for homoerotic

bonus intricate rituals:

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[crypticscarecrow]

Would you believe me if I said I'm already making a playlist to the cast

[e-turn]

links to some translations under the cut

и заодно выложу пару любопытным образом перекликающихся переводов потрясающих фанфиков!

тьма нынче обретает жизнь великолепного автора @/goodlucktai

и еще одна покорившая меня зарисовка rem - а тени пусть уходят

[sophsun1]

Seinfeld – 7.06: The Soup Nazi

[grey-viridian]

Leonardo

I finished this comic about a month ago but couldn't bring myself to post it. It started as a simple illustration and then I just kept adding more and more and at some point I had to stop myself and cut the story short. I'm still not entirely satisfied with the result but... well. I like it. That's enough.

[benevolenterrancy]

MotherHen-Shizun ends up feeding the peak

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[waveoftheocean]

something something superbat sneaking off at a gala 🫣

[maikhiwi00]

SENTINEL PRIME in

TRANSFORMERS ONE 2024, dir. Josh Cooley

[saturnvs]

polaris; guiding light for lost horses

[screwpinecaprice]

He communicated through mental text.