#such a lovely triad

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

inspired by @sunlaire's tags

[sad-endings-suck]

I have seen exactly 1 episode of Blue Eye Samurai and I am gobsmacked by how amazing it is. Mizu is already my everything. I am almost never so deeply invested so quickly in any media. I am obsessed. If the rest of the show is consistent in quality with the first episode then this show is Arcane level incredible, and I do not say that lightly.

[mxtixm3l]

MallYuudia Sleepwear drawing + doodle

💚💙🩶 mornings be like :

- Malleus waking up flawlessly

- Yuu being half-asleep and disorientated (due to the night visions they get from time to time)

- Idia dead asleep from staying up night playing video games

[modernlovez]

Something about coming home…

[jupiter--dream]

When I'm in an underrated dynamic competition and my opponent is "Horror and Blue both being very Passionate about Food (for different but similarly wrong reasons)"

Also I love how HorrorDust and DustBerry being two of Dust's most popular ships implies that his taste in men is specifically Big Silly Guys Who Like Cooking and tbh I love that for him, me too buddy me too

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[jesse-is-inarguably-purple]

Pyrrha Dve, stone-cold fox

[agentc0rn]

Two men - a colleague and an immortal stranger - dwell on the legacy of a visionary whose heart became twisted from the social ills of the world, along with his deeds underlain by his distorted senses of beauty, redistribution and balance. 

Edit: Became more interested in sycamore’s character so here’s his perspective! Maybe I might do Lysandre… • az’s perspective

I think sycamore and az would have probably gotten along well and relate to one another because of their similarity in dealing with loss and shame. What is interesting though is that sycamore is in both az’s and floette’s position (dealing with guilt-ridden self on one end, the duality of feeling personal responsibility and reproachful against their loved one’s actions on the other). Az sees sycamore’s way of thinking and description of Lysandre as a reason why floette left. Considering Lysandre was Sycamore’s friend, AZ saw himself and his brother in him, later redirected his tunnel vision of the world in recognizing the impact of his destructive actions on floette and everyone else.

Lastly, I made the last line tie back to the whole life and death pair to complement the theme :)

[the-worrier-of-light]

Roevember 9: Trade

"Aw, come on, Urianger! My Cloud of Darkness for your Tsukuyomi!"

"Thou knowest thine card to be of lesser value. If Tsukuyomi truly be thine aim, 'tis only fair Nidhogg be included in the bargain."

[gabbbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy]

More of the “freaky five”/Special Characters because they make me crazy

Bro is gonna eat his friends </3 nom nom nom

[lgbtlunaverse]

While rereading mdzs I am once again shocked by how talked about the "you were the only mistake he ever made" line from Lan Xichen to Wei Wuxian is and how heated it gets some people because honestly... I don't think he actually even believes that.

Stay with me. Look at the actual line. (I Included 2 translations for comparison's sake)

Firstly, yes he is mad at Wei Wuxian in this scene. But his biggest moment of anger was actually before this. By this point he's realized that Wei Wuxian forgot what happened after nightless city (and therefore ISN'T stringing along his baby brother on purpose) so he has in fact calmed down a bit.

Secondly, notice that he starts by talking about how his uncle felt. This is not Lan Xichen making a value statement about what he thinks. When he says Lan Wangji was proper and righteous he is talking about him being a model lan, he's talking about their family and clan's perspective of Wangji. Indeed, in their eyes, Wei Wuxian is the only time Lan Wangji was ever not the textbook perfect Lan.

Thirdly, what is Lan Xichen trying to say here? What is he mad at Wei Wuxian for? It's that he doesn't know Lan Wangji is in love with him. His anger is eased by realizing Wei Wuxian doesn't remember the very blatant confessions lwj made in the cave after nightless city, or Lan Wangji fighting his own clan elders for Wei Wuxian, and so had no way of knowing the whipmarks on Lan Wangji's back were related to him. But he is still mad, he still thinks Wei Wuxian should have been able to figure it out. So what does he highlight?

The fact that the only thing Lan Wangji, perfect model-Lan righteous Lan Wangji, ever defies his clan for is Wei Wuxian.

And Wei Wuxian has seen him do this! Even if he doesn't remember this one instance. Because Lan Wangji has been doing that the whole story through. Wei Wuxian has watched Lan Wangji blatantly stand against the entire cultivation world for him, and here Lan Xichen is highlighting just how unusual that is, how much Wei Wuxian must mean to Lan Wangji that he's willing to do that. The important part of the sentence here is not "mistake" it's "only."

Lan Xichen here isn't trying to say that he disapproves of Wei Wuxian, or telling him to stay away from his brother. Remember, the thing that made him mad in the first place was Wei Wuxian saying that he and Lan Wangji slept in seperate rooms. He thought they were together! He's mad because they're not!

At no point does Lan Xichen say he individually considers Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian a mistake. If he ever did, it's clear he accepted them regardless long ago. Mistake or not, what he wants is for his little brother to be happy.

[mxtixm3l]

Mallyuudia Kisses + extra

[greenqueenhightower]

That’s Stockholm syndrome right there, my poor girl :(

[ftwdb]

Don't Say Go

Chapter 19

Summary: Soulmates find each other through what is known as The Pull. A sense within a persons body that their soulmate is within reach that guides them to find them. You find yourself following this Pull, guided by vague dreams of a man you can't quite see, until you collapse in the wild and are found by Troy, your soulmate, who has been following the same feeling toward you for days.

Once connected soulmates are able to share emotions through their bond, as well as being able to sense where the other is. But how this force works is very much a mystery still, it can vary from soulmate to soulmate, and just sometimes a connection too deep can lead twist a bond from something beautiful to, well...

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut. Love triangle.

You made it back to the ranch undetected and spent the rest of the night curled up beside Troy in the med tent. You didn’t sleep, constantly listening for noise. Voices or gunfire, the truck’s engines. But nothing came. You were just about fading into sleep as the sun began to rise when Troy made a sound, his eyes flickering open.

“Troy?” you say, hopefully.

His blue eyes find you and his lips twitch in a smile.

“I’ll get Jake—“

His hand grabs yours, he must have used all his strength to keep you beside him.

“No. Not yet. Stay.”

You hesitated, scared that something could go wrong. But as his eyes focused on yours you couldn’t resist, sensing his need for you. You lay back down beside him, looking him in the eye and speaking gently.

“What were you thinking huh?”

Troy doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Kept you safe…” he says weakly.

You shake your head.

“Not like that. Please. Never like that again.”

Troy looks confused, his brow furrowing before he winces with the pain in causes in his head.

“Have to. Do anything…”

You sigh, understanding the feeling. Remembering your own rage and desperation when you’d seen him brought in covered in blood and unmoving.

You gently run a hand through his curls, avoiding the parts that were clumped with his blood. You sigh.

“I know. I know.”

He closes his eyes, his lips turning up as he makes a low sound in his throat. Then he says something so quiet you’re sure you hadn’t heard him right and lean closer, your heart pounding.

“What… what did you say?”

His eyes open slowly, foggy but focused on your face.

“Marry me.”

It wasn’t a question. Your heart pounds. It was an inevitability. You stare.

“Marry… you?”

Troy smirks.

“You gonna say no?”

You shake your head.

“Of course not… but… you’re injured and probably concussed and it’s the end of the world anyway, who gets married in the apocalypse? Does marriage even mean anything anymore? Does it matter what denomination we are or can we just make up whatever we want—“

Somehow Troy had found the strength to lift his head and kiss you, until he fell back against the pillow looking green.

“Bad idea. Gonna puke.”

“Shit,” you grab a bowl and prepare to help him. “Well, if that wasn’t the most romantic proposal ever…”

You watch as Troy sucks in a deep breath, steeling himself against the urge to vomit. His hand presses to his bandaged head and the IV in his arm tugs awkwardly. He grunts and pulls it out in frustration.

“Don’t-“ You try and stop him but he’s already groaning again. “I’m getting Jake—“

“Already here.” Jake’s voice is cutting as you turn and see him striding over, rolling up his sleeves. You feel his eyes chastise you for not fetching him sooner.

“He just woke up.”

Jake ignores you and immediately checks Troy’s vitals. Even though he looks like crap Troy smirks at his big brother.

“Did I have you worried?”

Jake’s expression is grim, “You always have me worried, little brother.”

“That I do Jakey. That I do.”

You watch as Jake does his work, moving off the bed even when Troy looks at you longingly. Jake grumbles under his breath, you can’t hear him but Troy chuckles at whatever he says.

“Can I do anything?”

Jake gives you a dark look.

“You can stay right there, so I know where you are.”

Your heart drops. Did he know where you'd gone last night?

You look down at your feet hoping Troy wasn’t able to pick up on the tension, but of course he could sense your anxiety growing by the second.

“What is it?” He asks, gently at first. When you don’t answer he turns to Jake, practically barking at him. “What happened?”

Jake shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re on leave from your duties until further notice.”

Troy somehow manages to go an even paler shade of pale.

“What? The hell I am—!”

“Dad’s orders.” Jake snaps back.

You watch the brothers argue, shifting awkwardly on the spot with nothing to do or distract you until you speak up uncertainly.

“It’s just until he heals, right?”

Jake’s expression says it all and Troy’s eyes go dark. “Where is he? Where’s Dad? I can talk to him—“

Jake pressed a hand to Troy’s shoulder and pushes him back on the bed when Troy tries to get up. You move forward to put a reassuring hand on Troy’s arm as you look at Jake in confusion.

“Why would Jeremiah do that?”

Jake’s eyes snap to yours and you can see what he is thinking, can see his surprise that you’d even need to ask after Troy had gone off on a group of survivors who hadn't provoked them. You look away, ashamed slightly. You’d forgotten that what you and Troy might see as necessities for survival - no matter how brutal - still crossed the line for some people.

Thankfully Troy seemed too agitated to sense your feelings about the situation as he was trying to get off the bed again, knocking everything askew as his limbs flailed with an uncharacteristic lack of coordination.

“Troy! Please, settle down!” You handle him much more gently than Jake who looks like he is tempted to knock Troy unconscious again.

“He can’t do this!” Troy snaps. “The Militia is mine! He can’t take it away from me!”

Jake curses and slams Troy back on the bed. You jump back, surprised by Jake’s aggression as he gets in Troy’s face. “Of course he can! After what you pulled! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

You stare at Jake, realising you were missing something here. Troy merely stares at his big brother for a moment before his mouth curls in a snarl.

“There he is. Jeremiah Junior. You’re more like dad than you want people to see.”

You frown at that, sensing the tension building between them. Feeling something in Troy… something mixed in with his anger and resentment.

Sadness?

Pain?

You press a hand on Jake’s shoulder, your eyes set.

“Let me see to Troy. Go get some air.”

You knew he didn’t have to obey you. You had no authority and you were just a scrap of a thing yourself, barely recovered from almost dying of malnutrition and exposure. But Jake scoffed and stormed away, the flap to the tent whipping out dramatically around him. You look down at Troy.

“You wanna tell me what that was about.”

Troy grunts and relaxes slightly, his body still exuding tension.

“Just… brother stuff.”

“You can’t lie to me,” you sit down beside him again and gently boop his nose. “I can feel it.”

Troy raises an eyebrow, calling your bluff.

“Ok so maybe not exactly. But I can tell there’s something you’re hiding…”

Troy looks away from you, his expression difficult to read and his emotions even more so. It was like trying to grab hold of something in a wind tunnel, one feeling after the other flying around you. You couldn’t get a grip on what was going on. And yet all that betrayed his inner turmoil was the tension of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. You lean down and kiss his cheek, gently.

“Let me go and get a fresh bandage for your head. Then we can talk.”

Troy’s hand snaps out an grabs your own. Your left hand. His eyes travel up your arm and to your face as his thumb gently strokes your ring finger.

“You didn’t answer.” Troy says quietly.

You hesitate.

“I didn’t know if you meant it…”

Troy’s eyes fix on you and you feel your chest expand with emotion, all consuming, needy, desperate and wanting…

Troy’s feelings.

“I never say something I don’t mean.”

He tells you this as he tugs you closer. You lean over him, confused by his sudden change in mood. He’d gone from angrily cursing his father to… this. Looking at you like you were the last sip of water in the desert.

“I… Troy, is it something you really want?”

His eyes are glued on yours and you can tell he is also picking through your emotions. You chew your lip, hoping he won’t be offended by your reluctance. Your doubts. Because they weren’t about him. Not at all…

“What are you afraid of?” Troy asks as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You take a long breath as you try and figure out how to answer.

“I just never thought marriage really mattered… especially with a soulmate. I’m already yours, right? And you’re mine?” You try not to think about Nick. About the confusing feeling in your heart and gut that you were desperately trying to suppress.

Troy regards you curiously for a moment and you focus on your feelings for him. The sense of safety and belonging he gives you. He seems to relax.

“You are. And I am.”

You smile.

“I’m not saying no… just… it doesn’t mean more to me than just being with you as we are. But if marriage is something you want, that you need… then I’ll say yes. Always yes, Troy.”

His face breaks into a smile you’d never seen on him before.

“You will?”

You could laugh at the sudden boyishness about him.

“Yes Troy. I will… or I do. Whatever it is people say now.”

You’re pulled down to kiss him, trying not to fall against him in his injured state but Troy doesn’t seem to care. He’s all wild tongue and teeth and hands in your hair, holding on tight as you try to keep from passing out from lack of air. Eventually he relents and you’re able to sit up, head spinning slightly.

“Whoa…”

He sniggers at your reaction.

“Still got it, even half-dead.”

You slap his chest playfully.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Troy’s expression softens as he looks at you, all flustered and pink cheeked now. “You’re beautiful, have I told you that before?”

You feel your cheeks colour, “You're concussed.”

Troy’s lips are a wonky smile.

"Yeah, but I'm right."

You shake your head and sigh.

"I am not arguing with an invalid."

Troy makes a face.

"Don't call me that. You might as well say I'm impotent."

You feel your cheeks flush, knowing he just doesn't like being injured and feeling like he wasn't useful. Troy seems to catch your embarrassment and his lips twitch.

"Something on your mind?"

You make sure to keep your expression blank when you reply.

"Of course not. Not at all. Why?"

"No reason. Except I can feel what your thinking."

You curse the bond you share for a moment before you remember what you had learned about your connection through The Pull.

"Troy... you know that this thing we share isn't... normal. Right?"

Troy watches you for a moment before shrugging.

"So?"

You look at him with surprise as he settled himself more comfortably on the bed, looking tired again.

"You knew?"

"I think we should talk about this later. Not here. Not now."

You nod.

"Okay..." You watch as Troy closes his eyes. "Are you in pain? Shall I get you something?"

He nods slowly, a hand reaching out for you. When you take it he tugs you toward him gently.

"Just... stay with me for a while."

You settle on the edge of the bed beside him as he lays with his eyes closed. After a few moments you start to softly run your hands through the curls on his head, pausing when he makes a noise in his throat. One eye opens and he smirks.

"Don't stop."

You smile back.

"Only because you're hurt. Don't expect me to be so nice all the time."

Troy chuckles as he tilts he head toward you more.

"Noted. I'll milk this moment for all its worth then. Do I get a sponge bath too?"

You're glad his eyes are closed as you feel your cheeks heat up. You tug his hair slightly harder as a warning for him not to get too cheeky. Troy grins.

"I like that."

Oh Jesus.

"Just.. get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am."

You sigh and continue to run your fingers through his hair until you're sure he's asleep. When he's breathing deeply you pause, looking around and listening for approaching footsteps. When you hear nothing you lean forward and rest your cheek on his chest, closing your own eyes and listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sound brings you comfort, a sense of calm. You close your eyes. This was where you belonged, no matter what was going on with Nick and The Pull. It must have been a fluke. A rare mistake somehow.

Troy was your soulmate.

This was home.

Right?

[whumpypepsigal]

so i found a new blorbo CHARLES SUN and…

you would have to sedate me i’m sorry

*feral* the show is so good, excellently paced and well-acted…. plus, it has all the stuff we enjoy the most:

whump, crime family, family drama, daddy issues (MAJOR!), mommy issues (MAJOR!), well-done action sequences, trauma, “protect the family” sense of duty mindset, lots of baking (by my poor blorbo charles as a coping mechanism), sibling issues, oldest son vs youngest son dynamic (- two brothers, who have both spent their lives competing for attention, approval, and freedom; in their own different ways -), conflicted tortured oldest son, did i mention major daddy/mommy issues and PLENTY OF THE GOOD OL’ EMOTIONAL WHUMP.

and oh their troubled mother is played by THEE MICHELLE YEOH !!!!!!! ✨MOTHER✨

ahhhh charles, his father brainwashed him, turned him into a ruthless killer and put him through so much trauma. my man just wants to have a normal life, bake pastries etc and reconnect with his mother and brother. like look at him (HE NEEDS A HUG AND SEVERAL CHURROS)

i am a sucker for this type of genre. 10/10 no notes. HIGHLY RECOMMEND MY FRIENDS, GO WATCH IT 🎉.