#sweep the hurt up

[anethiawoods]

playing slay the princess as intended (watching your friend stream it and then roleplaying as improvised ocs for each of ur runs)

[reeama-the-mage]

The difference between the tragedy of Edwin's and Charles' lives and deaths and what makes Charles' much more compelling to me is that Edwin never had anyone he could trust: he grew up with distant parents who i imagine he saw rarely and could not confide in, then he went to school and was immediately recognized as other in a way he had not fully realized of himself yet and was killed for it, and then comes hell and well who can u trust in hell? Certainly not the things that chase you until your legs ache, and even if your compatriots in the whole ordeal are as innocent as you, trapped in the same technicality, what is the good of trusting them, when they are just as helpless as you?

But Charles? Everyone Charles was supposed to trust betrayed him. His parents were close to him, atleast somewhat, atleast his father was around enough to get sick of hearing owner of a lonely heart, and his mother was around enough to watch his father beat him and be silently horrified and ultimately not do anything about it, maybe she stepped in once and we just never saw it, but I wouldn't bet on it, Charles' mom is 'quiet' that's her defining feature to Charles not protective or gentle just 'quiet', then Charles gets to school and he is popular he has friends! He has people who care for him (or should maybe, as long as he's good at sports like he's needed to be) and then he stands up for one person, because he has always wanted to be good and maybe he trusts himself to do it just this once and his friends kill him and his own actions signed the death warrant and he cannot even trust himself to do the right thing properly (it never got better and then you died)

And maybe, maybe Edwin does it too, with less intention to hurt, and with less knowledge but Charles and Edwin trust eachother maybe more than anything (maybe Charles would sooner slip away from earth's gravity than stop putting his trust in Edwin who he thinks is good and smart and brills and aces) and maybe Edwin still looks at Charles trying to protect him after Charles has had maybe the worst week of his existence and says "that was a bit...... extreme" and Edwin still promises Charles can tell him anything while hiding himself in a way that makes Charles feel untrustworthy

So yeah I'll never stop thinking about the tragedy of Charles Rowland actually 👍 think about him with me

[gregoftom]

MAYBE I GOT MINE  BUT YOU’LL [ALL] GET YOURS

[gideonisms]

one thing about the tma & tmp writers is I know they understand having a job where the social vibes are incredibly strange. I appreciate their commitment to depicting work environments that are so unnecessarily stressful where everyone is trying to backstab everyone and form alliances but meanwhile it's just filing items on a computer. The petty drama feels very true to life

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

really fun parallels between Minami & Nishida in which one guy who wants most of the fights he gets into generally has a bit of a dodgy win/lose ratio, meanwhile the other who has only ever welcomed one single fight in his life is the more violently competent

[foulfeast]

Ohhhh i now remember why i got shy about talking abt ocs

24/7 fear that someone will tell me my ideas are cliche/stupid/bad in some other and it will hurt more bc these are my own creations and not just fun and play

[vampyroteuthid]

i bring a sort of not wanting to do pointless waste of time shit to the job that employers really don't care for

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[jarring-behavior]

the biggest blessing and curse is that we haven’t played any division opponents yet

like yay we still somewhat control our own destiny — but also terrified to see how we’ll match up… like we CAN NOT go 1-5 in the afc north again

[vogelmeister]

been feeling mixed on some of my friends recently

[born-to-lose]

Yes I'll keep posting fit pics of each of my shifts at the bar

[chucapybara]

sometimes i think of that one quote. a quote, was it? i'm certain it was a post, really, perhaps here or elsewhere—but it was something about how we are a medley of all the people we have ever met, and how we come to carry a little piece of everyone that comes in and out of our life, whether to stay or merely in passing. we bear a mirror shard of memory from each person we have ever loved, hated, called a friend, so on.

and i remembered something.

when i was younger (i'm not so old so as to be saying that, but it's true that i was younger then), and i was all over roleplaying with people online and meeting new names—in what were probably not the best spaces, i found out later on—i had a thing i would ask. nothing much, really, a harmless question yet one that for one reason or another i would find myself bringing up under the pretense of getting to know someone a little better, but still a question.

it was about their favourite song, i think. that, or maybe a song they perceive to be about themselves, but maybe it was more of the former.

either way, i'd gotten a plethora of answers, the songs of which i could not remember the titles of but could still remember in vague recollections, and in the off and rare chance i still come across the artists who performed those songs i still think of those now-nameless people i had once called friend.

hey. i still carry a piece of you. to one: i hope you're doing well; to another, i hope that you finished college. the other shapeless—i hope you found a promotion at work. another: i hope love worked out well for you.

i'd left a lot of people walking forward, or perhaps inevitably it was them whose paths divulged from mine, but hey, i still think of you. i know you liked this thing, and i know you were really fond of this one anime. and i don't really think i have the heart to think negative in any sense of these ghosts from years passed, but i still remember.

i hope you're taking care. i hope you're well. i still remember.

[ybcpatrick]

tiffany blews should've won, mania songs should be getting more votes, and that whole bracket is actually cancelled In My Mind bc just one yesterday was NEVER EVEN IN ITTTTTTTTTTT

[087710]

i have a compression glove now & my hand feels better while wearing it, but it still hurts & im really afraid this has advanced too far for physical therapy and im going to need surgery like the level of pain is horrible :((

[captainkingsley]

can the maintenance people at my job please stop calling in and whatnot I'm not made for the regular maintenance work

[nonhumen]

👫 sike you're getting beast skk too

okay this is a three part hc. first off, beast mori is like, totally the cool dad. yes, he has bloodied his hands and picked up dazai the same way as in the real world but this mori isn't a downright psychopath. this in turn allowed dazai to begin to grow into his feelings while at a young age instead of them being suppressed in favor of being mori's perfect heir. AND SO, that means that beast dazai is aware of his feelings for chuuya when he was fifteen. these were feelings that he never confessed because creating the singularity at sixteen irrevocably changed his life and turned him into the beast dazai that we know.

dazai does his best to keep their relationship purely physical. he believes it's easier for everyone that way. there is no use confessing his feelings to chuuya when he knows the exact moment he is going to die. in fact, he is much crueler to chuuya than in the real world with the hopes of making sure his partner truly hates him.

chuuya was the one to find dazai after his psychotic break and subsequent suicide attempt after creating the singularity. it's the only time dazai ever wrote a suicide note: thank god the world is fake! despite chuuya trying multiple times to get dazai to talk about it, he never does. he always feigns ignorance that he doesn't remember that night even though they both know that's a lie.

dazai did not account for chuuya going on a rampage in yokohama after his death. his blind spot has always been chuuya, no matter the world. dazai believed he had done enough to ensure that chuuya hated him enough to be unaffected by his death. he had planned for his partner to become the boss of the port mafia after his passing.