#you cannot tell me she wouldn't have worry lines

[insanity-all-the-time]

yall need to start drawing women uglier, i don't care if the author describes them as a perfect goddess, he's a man, real women don't look like that she's not a fucking barbie

she's not a barbie and that's hotter anyways

and women who are strong and battle hardened REALLY don't look like that- sorry your telling she's the most talented sword fighter in the realm and she has a perfectly hourglass figure, no scars and clear scarless skin

[vtomleni]

I feel really bad for girl Jeri. Call me low on reading comprehension/media literacy or whatever, but like. If she got pregnant young (maybe even teenager) and was hiding it, she wouldn't go for any medical help, nor would boy Jerry... which means that she gave birth without any anesthesia and medical help!! It must've been fucking awful, horrid, painful and overall traumatising experience.

Also, like, the way she starts to sob whether sex and pregnancy mentioned, the way she screams "Stephanie! No!!" when Steph and Pete about to have sex. She warns Steph, not Steph and Pete, she specifically tries to stop the girl from having sex. The way she says "Teen pregnancy is not a joke! [...] You're gonna end up with the child before you're ready! You will have to dropout of school! Your parents will disown you!" and looks dead serious, sad, and...idk worried, rueful, remorseful. And, i think, the most obvious one, "where you will raise the child? In the woods?!" She's clearly projecting onto Steph. Jeri associating sex with pregnancy and pregnancy with da baby and it's murders. It's a chain of associations and literally almost every link is traumatizing to her. She feels responsible for her son's murders (because she does enable him), she is the one to try calling into police, she is the one who doesn't want to lie to child's parents, and she has to be coerced, lied and threatened into cooperation by boy Jerry. She, not surprisingly, got sexual trauma from these events, she even responds to sexual advances of a guy that blackmailing her and degrading her! (I'm not saying that ppl cannot have these kind of kinks without trauma, but it's not talked-about-before-consensual kink here, she's stunned and overwhelmed by discovering bodies, feeling guilty for hiding bodies, feeling horny and feeling guilty and ashamed for feeling horny to truly process and being able to consent to things.)

By the way, the fact that boy Jerry doesn't give shit about her also makes me feel bad for her. Like, he very clearly projecting and tells his own thoughts and feelings when "scolding" Pete, so that means that he feels jealous over, and is sexually attracted to Jeri, but looking at Jerry's actions he doesn't respect or trust Jeri, he threatens and blackmails her, he constantly takes control of the situation and assumes that she will obey him, simply put - he's awful to her. And something i noticed when listening to "Hatchet town" from Npmd on repeat is that there's line when citizens accuse boy Jerry and he LITERALLY says "no! it's girl Jeri! that dirty girl!" and like, that could be written in just for a joke but in character it would render boy Jerry as a fucking traitor and a coward. Not too surprising considering all that he does in abstinence camp, but goddammit, he is despicable.

I'm not saying that what she done is okay or morality right, but i empathise with her, like she literally GAVE BIRTH IN THE GODDAMN WOODS.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Out Of Luck

"Perhaps I'm not the only one who's going to be wed in King's Landing," Sansa jeers with a grin. I glare at her, "if you weren't my sister, I'd have stabbed you." The girl giggles and takes my arm.

Petyr Baelish & Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, descriptions of reader (black hair), widow!reader, enemies to lovers?, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: felt right so I'm writing it. Yes, I added Harwin Strong, yes I know it's not canon. It is now in my world 😌 anyway, he's still dead so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ Cross posted on AO3!

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @otteropera

"Father" I call with a smile. He spots me and I lift my skirt as I jog up to him.

The man hides what he was holding behind him. He smiles and meets me halfway in the hall. He greets me good morrow when I link my arm with his and kiss his cheek.

"And is that... a very important tool of the Lord Hand?" I tilt my head as I ask, "might I not even see it?"

He sighs and slowly brings the object in front of him. We both look at the brightly dressed doll. My father has an apprehensive look on his face. I hold back a laugh, "ah, a pretty dolly. Are you quite bored of your job already? Do they give dolls to the Hand or were you duped into buying this?"

"I knew you'd say something like this," he mutters.

"If you knew I'd say it, why'd you still get it, papa?" I chuckle.

"I bought it for your sister."

I make a face, "my sister?" I raise a brow, "which between Arya and Sansa do you think would prefer playing with such an ugly dolly?"

He calls my name out.

"What?"

He lowers the doll, "it's not that ugly."

"So even you agree," I snigger, "and yet you still bought it!"

We both begin to walk down the hall.

He warns me, "I'll tell on your mother."

"For what?" I hold back a laugh.

"For calling me papa," he lifts his nose.

I chuckle at the thought. Mother never liked it when I used mama and papa; improper for a lady, she says. I think it's also because when I use it, I pull on their heart strings and manage to make them do my bidding. Twas the gift of the first born.

"I can hear it now," I grin at the man as I squeeze his arm, "Eddard Stark," I motion vaguely, "stripped of his title as Lord Hand for his poor taste in dolls."

My grin widens at the sound if his low laugh. I give a louder laugh, happy to have gotten the reaction I did out of him. It's been a while since I've heard my father chuckle, or anyone from my family, for that matter.

"I wouldn't worry about it, love," father pulls me into his chest, "the king's taste in dolls are surely worse than mine."

I let out a giggle. My father joins in.

I look out the window as we saunter down the hall and turn back to my father when he mutters, "she's changed quite a lot since we've moved here."

He looks at the doll in his hand.

It takes a moment before I smile and give a playful look, "have you seen any of your daughters play with dollies lately, father?"

My words do not work this time. My smile fades at the sight of the line between my father's brows. I mutter softly, "haven't we all changed?"

He turns to me then stops.

I raise my brows. Ned Stark offers me a smile. He takes my hands and shakes his head, "not you, my daughter," he rubs my knuckles with his thumb, "never you."

My heart clenches at his words. I cannot bring myself to smile back because I knew it wasn't true.

"Forgive me for intruding on a private moment."

We both pull away and turn to our side. There we see a blonde doll wrapped in steel. Ser Jaime bows, "Lord Hand, Lady Stark--" he stops himself and lifts his head, "oh, apologies. It's in bad taste for me to call you that."

My father shifts in his spot.

I play it off, "nonsense. I am born of house Stark," I pull my lips into a tight smile, "and my husband is dead."

"Ah, yes," the knight sighs, "poor man. Just had a taste of being one then--" he shakes his head to make his point. He raises a finger, "he was your age, wasn't he?"

I clench my jaw and nod.

Ser Jaime rests a hand on his hilt, "what was his house again?"

Before I can respond, my father blurts, "have you come to rub salt in my daughter's wounds, Kingslayer?"

I turn to my feet with wide eyes. I slowly turn to the see the fuming look on my father's face and whisper, "papa."

Ser Jaime lifts his nose. An smirk masks his face, "not at all, my Lord."

I look back at the kingsguard, not enjoying how quickly tension solidified between us.

"The king demands your presence," growls the Lannister, jaw hardened, golden mane wafting with the breeze.

Father's face is stern but he nods and raises the doll, "I will go to him after I-"

"Get that bloody Ned here now," Jaime speaks. He watches Ned lower the doll. He purses his lips while father's expression sours even more. He shrugs, "King's words, not mine."

In an instant, all the tension in father's body is gone. He looks like he's about to smile and it makes my stomach churn because I knew what that meant. I take the doll from him before anything else. He looks at me and I nod, "I'll give it to Sansa."

He stares me blankly.

"I'll try to force her affection onto the thing," I look at the doll, "maybe she'll let it chaperone us to the tourney later."

I smile at the sound of papa's low laugh.

He nods.

Ned's smile fades when he turns back to Jaime. Jaime gives a wry smile, "I'll escort the lady back to her chambers in her father's stead."

Neither of us decide to argue over it.

Father walks off, eyeing Jaime as he did, and I purse my lips when I turn to him, "I'm actually headed to the library."

"Mmm," he furrows his brows, "then I'm actually headed there too."

We begin to walk down the hall. I laugh as I look at the doll in my hands.

Jaime turns to me upon hearing this. He decides not to note on the ugly doll, "like reading, do you?"

I look at him and smile, "I do."

"You sure you don't go to that musty room to hide from everyone?"

I raise a brow, "you seem to have experience."

"Tyrion was like that," he looks forward, "except father never bought him a doll as a companion."

I look away just as Jaime looks back at me, "does the library match the fantasies of a book lover?"

I chuckle. I turn to his side again. I am unable to stop myself from thinking how dashing his grin at the moment was, "It definitely is as grand as I expected it to be. Winterfell is not blessed with nearly as many tomes."

"The younger Stark girls must not like reading as much as their big sister, considering the ugly thing in your paw," he nods at my direction.

"I'm sure one of them will find use of it," I lift the thing up and look at it. I glance upon Jaime, "oh, goodness. It actually looks quite like you."

Jaime pulls his chin back, "you clearly have issues with your eyes."

"No, it's uncanny. Yellow hair, evil intent."

"Evil intent?" Jaime stops in his tracks, "you mock and slander me," he raises brow and grips his hilt, "I should have your tongue for it."

"Mmm," I turn to him and slowly walk backward, "kingsguard takes the tongue of the Lord Hand's daughter? Sounds like a page out of my books."

He tilts his head, looking me up and down before chuckling as he turns to his feet. He lick his teeth then furrows his brows, "lend me that book once you're done."

We reach the stairwell the connected to the gardens.

I tilt my head and stop in my tracks when I see Sansa and her handmaiden.

"Sansa!" I call, waving at her. She looks at me and waves back.

I turn to Jaime and curtsy, "I have changed my mind, ser," I rise and smile, "I'll be joining my sister in the gardens instead."

Jaime nods and gives a lopsided smile, "very well, my lady. Bid my greetings to the pup. I pray she doesn't get a heart attack from your father's gift."

I chuckle, "she used to have a wolf, you know."

With that, Jaime and I part ways.

Sansa immediately grabs my arm once I am close enough, "what were you doing with Jaime?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister," I correct her, raising a brow, "I didn't know you two were familiar."

"Was he courting you?" Sansa asks as she releases my arm.

I immediately shush her, "do not speak of such things, girl. You know how quickly gossip spreads here." I hand her the doll, "he was escorting me to the library in father's stead."

"This isn't the library-"

"Clearly not."

She takes the doll, "what is this?"

"A gift from father," I grin, "a chaperone to the tourney later."

Sansa glares at me, nearly turning red as her hair. She chucks the doll to the ground and storms away.

I huff and pick up the doll, "Sansa." I follow after her, "it was a joke."

"I haven't played with dollies for years!"

"I know," I rush up to her and grab her arm, "papa bought it for you to try and ease your worries."

She grits her teeth and corrects, "father should just do his job and stop treating me like a little girl." She breaks away from me and moves past me.

"You are a little girl."

"I'm going to be queen one day," she turns to me, "and you won't be able to make fun of me then."

"Sansa, I'm not making fun of you!"

Sansa does not listen and simply walks away.

Her old handmaiden turns to me and smiles. She takes the doll from me, "I'll put this in her room."

I nod and smile.

By the time we were seated for the tourney, Sansa and I made peace by giving the doll to Arya for her to mutilate. All three of us enjoyed the bonding experience very much.

Right now, we were huddled together, pointing at the players. Sansa whispered to me who she thought handsomest and Arya exclaimed over who she thought was strongest. I alternate my attention between them, swooning with one, cheering with the other, but it doesn't take long for them to get into a clash, as always.

They begin to bicker over me and I would have just snapped at them had we not been in public. I instead silence both of them by swooning and cheering for the Hound once we spot him from afar.

Both young Starks gawk at me in disbelief and disgust.

"You can't be serious," Sansa mutters with a pale face.

Arya tilts her head, "I mean, he is pretty big."

I laugh at both of them, "can't I cheer for all the players?"

"No," they say at once.

I tear my gaze from the tourney grounds to look over my shoulder. I gaze upon the crowds, looking to see if father was already here. I mutter to no one in particular, "I wonder what's taking him so long."

"Look," Sansa, on my left, tugs at my arm, "ser Jaime is going to be riding!"

I ignore her and push Arya, who was seated to my right, behind as I crane my neck to look for farther.

Sansa leans on my back and mutters to Arya, "ser Jaime likes her."

Arya grins and looks down at me, "oooh. The lion and the wolf."

I quickly sit up and eye both of them, "shut it, you."

They giggle with each other.

"Father will not be pleased if he hears you are wanting to feed nasty rumors."

"Oh, but nasty rumors are the most intruding, wouldn't you agree, Lady Strong?"

The three of us turn to the man walking over. He stops just below where Arya was sat.

"Or should I say, Lady Stark?" he smiles and nods at me. He looks to my left, "Lady Stark," then to my right, "Lady Stark."

I offer a smile and my first name, "you can simply call me that to avoid confusion, my lord."

"Petyr Baelish," he grins, blue eyes glistening with apparent mischief.

"Lord Baelish," I nod. I squeeze both my sister's hands, prompting both to greet all the same.

Lord Baelish smiles, "I'm glad to finally meet the eldest Stark," he reaches a hand out to me, "the words spoken about your beauty do you no justice."

Both my sisters make a face when I take the man's hand and he leans in to kiss it.

He straightens up and brings his hands behind his back, "my deepest sympathies to you. Lord Harwin Strong left us too soon. I've heard a great many things about Breakbones, how he puts the strong in House Strong."

Arya side eyes Baelish before turning away to look at tourney grounds.

Sansa stares hotly at him as she clutches my arm.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," I nod and pull a smile, "if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to talk about him more than this."

"Of course," he bows. He tilts his head back as he smiles. He walks off and climbs the stairs to get to his seat just behind us.

"Do you know who's going to fight first?" Arya asks as she leans on my lap. I wrap my arm over her shoulders and turn to where she was looking. I spot Jaime speaking to whom was probably his squire from afar.

"Don't worry, little one, they'll announce it," Baelish speaks from behind, making all of us turn to him then back front. When I look back, I see Jaime looking our way.

"I hope ser Jaime starts on our side," Sansa mutters as she leans into me, though her eyes are still fixed on the Lannister.

Arya turns to me and toys with my black hair, "I hope he defeats the Hound to win your affection."

Baelish makes a face upon hearing that.

I snort at the thought then shoot her a half serious face, "shut it."

"I see you girls are fond of the Kingslayer," Baelish says, making us turn back to him again.

Arya side eyes him once more. Sansa looks away, uninterested.

I respond before turning frotn, "he is a rather good swordsman. Or so I hear."

"He usually doesn't play in tourneys. He says he's too good for them," Baelish mutters, "something must have made him change his mind."

"Maybe he's trying to impress someone," Sansa replies, not bothering to look back anymore, "maybe a lady?"

I squeeze her arm when she says this. She does not even spare me a glance.

"Yes," Baelish darting his eyes below him, "perhaps."

We look to the sky when a rumble suddenly cracks.

"What's taking them so long?! It's going to rain, and then the games will be cancelled!" Arya complains.

"They-"

"They're waiting for the king," Baelish replies.

Arya makes a face. I'm the only one that turns back to the man. I smile at his already smiling face then turn to Arya, "papa's not here either. The king is probably making him do something."

Baelish chuckles under his breath, muttering lowly to himself, "papa? How sweet."

Then suddenly, truly out of nowhere, it began to rain.

My sisters and I quickly stand. I immediately grab them and we run off to the nearest place that could offer cover. We head to a tent, but the trouble was, everyone was heading there too.

The rain quickly begins to pour harder.

I do my best to cover Sansa and Arya's head, but my hands could only do so much. The three of us look up when something comes above us.

I feel someone behind me. I turn and see it's Lord Baelish. He's taken his tunic off and used it to cover us.

"Come, my Lady Starks," he speaks over the loud patter of the rain, "I will escort you back inside!"

We turn to him, his dress shirt now dripping and stuck to his form. I nod at him, "thank you, my lord."

"Don't thank me yet," he smirks, face wet with rain, "one of you may yet slip on mud."

Lord Baelish leads the way, uncaring of how wet he's gotten, and offers his arm out to us intermittently. Meanwhile, we hold up his tunic overhead and huddle under it, treading as quickly yet carefully as we can on the mucky ground.

"I do hope the rain does not ruin your fine garb, Lord Baelish," I call as Sansa and I lift our skirts up and do our best not to trip on it.

Arya was very much glad to be wearing pants, and cheerfully steps into puddles without a care in the world.

But then she slips.

Baelish manages to grab her arm before she falls. He pulls her upright and chuckles, "careful now. You wouldn't want to take your sisters down with you."

Arya let's out a hmp when she is released.

"And don't worry about my tunic," he smiles at me, "I'd rather it be ruined than have 3 ladies get sick under my watch."

Sansa gasps and grabs my arm when her heels sink in the wet dirt. I help her keep her footing and smile back at the man, "thank you, Lord Baelish."

"As I said, don't thank me yet. It's still quite a walk to the Keep," he comes to Sansa's side and helps her straighten up, "and call me Petyr."

I part my lips at the thought.

He shakes his head and chuckles, "I insist."

[horizon-verizon]

This had been bothering me for awhile but I only now stumbled into this by accident. Certain people love to whine that Rhaenyra is a "hypocrite" for not forcibly instituting realm-wide genderless succession. They favour the line "this isn't Dorne" and then claim that she's a bad person for not making it into Dorne, while pretending that they wouldn't call her reckless or tyrannical if she'd tried to do so.

Of course (at least, people should see it as "of course"), that simply wouldn't work. Not just because it would be unprecedented for the Crown to enforce their own rules of succession, but also because you just cannot implement an involuntary system like that in a patriarchal society. If you left it uncertain, enforcing it on a case-by-case basis upon Houses that did not agree to it, you create uncertainty from which countless succession crises will occur after the head of house dies without naming the daughter over the younger son. If you implement it on a universal basis, you pretty much guarantee mass rebellions in a realm like Westeros. Those were the concerns of the Black council. But there's yet another. Even if the Crown had the power to enforce genderless succession, to squash or dissuade rebellion, you're left with yet another inevitability that we have seen in real life when you tell families in a patriarchal society that their legacy might be reduced to only a daughter.

In my opinion, there is no "realistic" way to write a change like that going through, being forced through in Westeros that doesn't result in mass infanticide and abandonment of first-born girls. And that's on top of the rebellions.

And this whole time I've been assuming that "Dornish" genderless succession was either a world-building error on GRRM's part, or something he meant to clarify or flesh out later on (misunderstanding or not, Arianne's worries must have had a deeper, environmental foundation after all). Because it's been so long since I read the books cover-to-cover (between GoT seasons 6&7 do NOT make me think about the year and time passing) I suppose I might have just let "fanon" shape my view of it. Because there IS a very widespread assertation, one that's gotten very loud as of late (very interesting how one "other" is so often used to tear down the worse "other." For another time though.) that all of Dorne somehow has embraced genderless succession and this is of course for some reason mostly brought up to argue about how Rhaenyra is a bad person for wanting to be the special exception, or how House Targaryen is bad for wanting to be the special exception in this regard.

But these are GRRM's words.

A ruling princess of Dorne would =not= take the name of her consort. And some of the major Dornish lordlings also follow this custom, in imitation of the ruling house.

And this is why before diving in further to a Targ-Martell comparison I ask you, resident expert in remembering and cataloging all those kinds of details, if there's some line in the main series outright contradicting this. Because if not, I'm pretty sure House Martell made itself a special exception. That the genderless succession they follow is the exception and not the rule even in Dorne. And by making themselves a special exception, they ended up setting an example that some houses follow on a voluntary basis.

And for some reason... no one is whining about it. 🤔

No, it is true other houses in Dorne have female heads and heirs before/during the main series timewise and thus practice absolute primogenture:

Delonne Allyrion, the Lady of Godsgrace (heir = Ryon, male) [current]

Larra Blackmont, Lady of Blackmount (heir = Jynessa, female) [current]

Clarisse Dayne, the Lady of Starfall [Maegor I's reign]

Myria Jordayne, heir of the current lord Trebor Jordayne of the Tor

So yes, some Dornish houses do practice absolute primogeniture and the Martells are not an "exception". It's not ubiquitous nor is it rare or uncommon. Nymeria had her warrior women marry many pre-Nymeria Conquest Andal-Dornish lords as well as shared Rhoynar metal and customs that over time simply reshaped a lot of Dorne forever; the northmost Dornish tend to be "less" Rhoynar in custom or practices, but apparently the non-Dornish marcher lords still see them as Other and gripe about their accents a lot. The northenmost Dornish are called "stony" by Daeron I, and tend to have members who can be lighter in ski and hair than other Dornishmen. Same trend for absolute primogeniture, though yes, much less specific bc George doesn't really get into Dorne aside for the Martells, Arianne, Dorna, and the Sand Snakes/Areo Hotah.

[layuhsblog]

👀 would you be kind enough to bring my idea to life? I’m in a jaemin rut especially with his bf pics on insta. And I can’t help but imagine being married, idol au, and everyone going on a trip like they do for their YouTube but like this time with y/n. But this time it’s a special trip because they’re about to tell everyone they’re gonna have a kid. So like they’re all having dinner and she goes “I don’t think I ever made nicknames for you guys. Do you guys have any ideas?” And they all through out like random stuff and then she looks at Jae with a smile “those are all nice but how about this? What do you guys think of uncle?” And then bam everyone’s crying 😂 okay maybe not immediately but you know. Okay I’m sorry for writing so much lol. I will leave. No pressure you don’t have to write it I promise. Okay bye now lol.

Omgg that's such a cute request!! YES JAEMIN'S INSTA IS GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME GODD HE'S SO PERFECT.

-

Godfather| NJM x Reader

Nervously you chewed in your bottom lip and you waited inside the bathroom, pacing back and forth waiting for 3 long minutes to pass. Were you pregnant? Were you late? You cannot have your period while on vacation! How will Jaemin react if you were pregnant? What if it ruins his career? What if he leaves you...? No, he won't.. right?

You teared up at the thought. Before you could cry, your thoughts were cut off by the sound of your phone timer going off.

The moment of truth.

Your hands shakily grabbed the test from the sink. Two red lines.

False negatives are common, positives are not. You recall your doctor telling you.

There's no doubt about it, you're pregnant.

You couldn't stop the tears flowing down your face. They weren't tears of sadness. You wanted this baby. For a moment, all your worries washed away. Happy flashes of you, Jaemin, your cats and your little adorable baby flooded your mind.

Yep, you wanted that.

You heard a knock outside your bathroom.

"Baby, what's taking so long? Everything alright? Do you need medicine, are you feeling nauseated again?" Your heart pounding out of your chest, you wiped your tears, took a deep breath and clutched the door handle.

Whatever happens, I'm having this baby.

Your heart melted at the sight infront of you. Jaemin, shirtless, sleep evident in his eyes, brows furrowed in concern at you. He took your hands and seated you on the bed and knelt down infront of you, as he stroked your cheek, lovingly.

"Are you okay, love? Why were you crying? Did you throw up? Do you need water?" You slightly smiled at his concern. There's no way this ray of sunshine wouldn't be supportive of your decisions.

"Jaem, um, I need to tell you something. Please don't be scared... I'm just as scared as you are..um.. how should I say this-" You started rambling, as he patiently waited for you to speak.

"Jaemin, I-I'm pregnant, I- want to keep the baby..." You mumbled, looking down in nervousness. Oh, the huge smile he broke into as you said it. You'll never forget it, it's the same smile he had when he saw you walking down the aisle...

He kissed you sweetly.

"You were scared to tell me that? The happiest news of my fucking life? I love you so much princess. You'll be the best mother." You hugged him tightly.

"The boys will be so happy for us." He whispered as he kissed your temple.

-

You, dreamies and their partners were on a trip to Paris. Jaemin never left your side, making sure you were comfortable in every way. Jaemin was always very sweet and careful with you but the way he was attentive to your every detail caught everyone a little off-guard. Throughout the trip you were asked many times if you were feeling alright by everyone. Everyone's concern towards you made you a little teary-eyed, feeling grateful for such amazing company.

With this, a week had passed and you all were in a restaurant, celebrating the last day of the trip together having a grand dinner, unlike the earlier 7 days, this day you all were free- away from the cameras, having an intimate dinner together in a private room you booked.

Everyone looked at you a little wide-eyed when their alcohol-loving friend (you) IN PARIS??? Ordered Juice instead of fancy wine like everyone. They were also shocked when you did not order the french dish you desperately kept talking about trying back in Korea and went for a basic meal. Jeno looked at you two suspiciously, you only chuckled and told them you didn't want to be hungover in the flight tomorrow and that you weren't very hungry. They weren't buying it, but who cares? They were about the find the reason out pretty soon.

"___, I think you should see a doctor. We're really worried about you. You haven't been feeling very well these days. Should I give you my doctor's number?" Jeno's partner asked you. You loved her, she was the sweetest. You smiled at her,

"Thankyou, I really appreciate it."

The rest of the meal was chaotic as usual, Haechan and Renjun bickering, their partners immune to it at this point. Chenle lecturing Jisung about something. Mark being a simp for his wife.

You loved these people.

"Guys, I just wanted to say, I really enjoyed this trip. I love you all. Thankyou for making this another memorable trip. I love that I can be myself with you." You said, wiping your tears away. Everyone cooed at the random sap, Mark's wife who sat next to you, hugged you and rubbed your back, consoling you.

You sniffled,

"Anyway, I wanted to ask- we've known each other for so long, I've never really had nicknames for you guys. I think we should make one." Everyone nodded in agreement at your idea.

"I think you should call me Best Singer in the World!" Haechan announced, earning a smack from his partner.

"Yah, don't be cocky. I think Renjun sings better." Her comment erupted chaos around the table, and a sulky Haechan she had to console.

"Dude, I think you should call me Spiderman."

"Yknow what nickname I think would be good?" Your husband looked at you and you nodded,

All the attention was at Jaemin.

"삼촌." He smiled.

"Hey! I'm only a year older than you!" Mark scolded Jaemin. His wife looked at him in disbelief, waiting for him to understand.

The whole table went quiet, you gulped nervously.

It was Jisung who broke the silence,

"Noona.. I-I'm gonna be an uncle..?" You nodded, unable to stop your tears for the nth time today.

He rushed towards you and hugged you and Jaemin tightly, crying with you.

You weren't expecting him to cry. It made you sob uncontrollably. Slowly everyone came up to you and engulfed you in a group hug. You'd never felt so loved before. Everyone congratulated you both, eyes full of happy tears.

Jaemin watched as everyone congratulated his wife, telling her how proud they were of her, comforting her, telling her to never hesitate to ask for help. Amidst all that, your eyes searched for Jaemin. His eyes met your teary ones, his smile widened- feeling as if the whole room's empty- only you, him and the baby growing inside you, your safe haven, your happy family. His eyes slowly getting glossy, he mouthed,

"I love you."

You couldn't say it back, someone called your name to bring your attention back to them but the smile you gave to him before turning back to whoever was speaking- said it all,

Thankyou for everything, I love you.

"Hey, wait! Who'll be the Godfather?!" Chenle asked out of the blue.

"We thought, we'd let you guys decide amongst yourselves." You said taking a sip out of your juice as you watched the chaos unfold. Everyone fighting over who will get the title like their life depended on it.

Your baby would be the most loved baby in this world and you knew it.

[math-is-math]

Heather is THE aleheather song (or at least one of lol) and here's why

♬ - "Heather" by Conan Gray; def listen to it if you haven't

Okay let's get the obvious out of the way:

1. The song's name is Heather!! And her name is literally Heather!!!

2. Heather day is known as December 3rd; the lyric, "I still remember the 3rd of December". The episode they became a canon couple in, "The Final Wreck-ening," was literally aired December 3, 2013 in the U.S.

Now this is the part I'm excited to delve into:

3. In the song, Heather is the "it girl." She's the person the narrator wants to be, in order to get the same type of affection from their love interest (as they're in love with Heather).

Now, we're all expecting miss Heather over here to be the "Heather" of the story. She's hot shit, she presents herself as hot shit, there are many guys who are visibly attracted to her (including Alejandro). However, I present you this.

In its full irony, Heather doesn't believe she's the "Heather" of her story.

Everyone fell weak in the knees for Alejandro, even Heather herself. They couldn't stop themselves from falling for his charm; they all wanted to be his "Heather". Throughout the season, he was seen leading on some of the girls. His thing with Bridgette and Leshawna didn't really faze Heather though.

However, she was seen doubting things when Alejandro moved onto Courtney.

In her confessional, after denying anything could possibly happen between them, a look of worry is seen on her face. Throughout those few episodes, she's pretty wary of their relationship, although she covers it up and further focuses on winning the challenges instead. But Alejandro's seen giving Courtney cookies, flirting with her, helping her with her emu and the wedding challenge, etc.

Courtney is starting to become the "Heather" of their story. And frankly, who wouldn't be worried? Because in Heather's eyes, Courtney's a way better person than she could ever be - they all are! Heather is cold and calloused and cruel. The rest of them are humane, they actually have the ability to be kind and show emotion. What would someone as warm and charming as him want to do with her?

Their confrontation/confession in "Sweden Sour" I feel is kind of the peak for this song association, especially his final line:

"Believe me, Heather, the only woman I want to look at is you."

You have this charming young man - who's swooned all the ladies and led them on then broke their hearts and took them to their downfall - confess his devotion to someone the world and their mother hates.

Heather, as someone who:

can't allow herself to trust

can't allow herself to love and become vulnerable

doesn't think she as a person is lovable

cannot believe his confession.

All she's wanted is him, this confession is practically a dream come true. Here he is giving her the title of "Heather" in their story.

But she doesn't know if he's telling the truth. If she allows herself to fall into that trap, she could simply become another pawn on his board. He could twist things and lead Heather to her downfall as well. She could become the narrator once more, just like everyone else, wishing he'd reconsider them as a "Heather" for his story.

Alejandro couldn't possibly mean it, she can't fathom being the "Heather" of their story. She can't fully trust his word. Yes, she doesn't know who his potential "Heather" could be (Courtney lol or maybe someone else he meets after the show is done) but she can't believe it could genuinely be her.

Also in All Stars, in her confessional when she's like:

"It's almost as if he's lost interest in me. No one has ever lost interest in me!"

I feel like that last bit was just her trying to cover up her genuine fear and instead coat it with an ego-boosted comment, to show she really doesn't care, it's his loss after all!

But she's afraid of losing the title of "Heather" in their story once more. It's not like there's any potential competition for her to lose the title to, but there's still a chance of losing it in general.

However, Alejandro always comes through, showing Heather that she truly is her namesake in their story. Taking the dive after she gets beat up, digging her out of the hole, beating the crap out of José for insulting her, literally confessing his feelings to her instead of chucking his doll in to win the million because clearly that was priority.

She'll always be his "Heather". Nothing could change that. <3

[this-acuteneurosis]

You know it’s funny, in the early days of this fic I was interested in everyone knowing about Leia at some point. I’m less invested in that now. And if I had to pick one person I don’t want to know at this point, it would be Anakin. In the early stages of your fic, I think it would have been a wake up call that would prompt some major character changes. But over the course of the fic, he’s grown so much I don’t think he needs that hurt. I think it’s very unlikely at this point that Vader would happen. It’s simply not necessary in my mind. And he deserves to grow without that shadow over his shoulder.

People I do want to know include Shmi most of all. To a lesser extent I’d like Padmé, Bail, and Obi-wan to know, though that has more to do with progressing relationships with those people. Other characters I’d be interested in the reaction for the lol’s, like Mace Windu.

So you’ve changed my mind on the subject, at least. Good job, lol

I honestly cannot tell you how much this comment excites me. As is pretty obvious from how far we've gotten in this story with Leia keeping her secrets, I'm very partial to the "do people really need to know" line of thought, for so many reasons. But I really appreciate this observation, because I think it really is at the heart of why DLB Leia doesn't wan't to talk about her past. Part of it is her fear and worry. But equally important to her is how telling the truth will impact the people around her. And there is so much of her history that can really only hurt people. She's very aware of that fact. And while, like you, there may have been a point where she wanted to rub Anakin's face in Vader's choices, she is also getting to a point where she wouldn't want to hurt Anakin specifically by bringing those choices us. Because they aren't his choices or his mistakes to bear.

I feel like I got to explore the idea of a reveal a lot last October when I ran the Tricks for Treats prompts. It was fun to think about doing the story differently for a bit.

[mercysong-tardis]

Meeting Alex Kingston in Moll Flanders cosplay at FanX 2023

Just over a year ago, a little birdy (@now-theres-a-spoiler-for-you) informed me that to the best of her knowledge, Alex Kingston had never seen a Moll Flanders cosplayer. And as an avid appreciator of the Miniseries, I took it upon myself to become the first.

The Miniseries, "The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders" (1996) of which Alex Kingston starred in alongside Daniel Craig, was Alex's major breakout role which led to her role on ER and her subsequent claim to fame. So considering the prevolence, I had to make it special.

I put in a LOT of work researching, sourcing fabric, internet deep-diving, and reading before I ever got started on the dress. The actual hard work of sewing the dress took a few months to make once the initial homework was done. Undergarments? Structuring? Patterns? All of these took a lot of guesswork on my part.

The original was created by costume designer, Trisha Biggar (Which if you are in the costuming community you will know her as the designer of Padme Amidala's wardrobe and the designer for Outlander) for the 1996 miniseries. The dress was constructed of fabric Trisha Thrifted in the 1960s in Sweden, most of which I am fairly certain is Indian Fabric specifically used for Banarasi Sarees. The dress is inspired by a common silhouette from the 1670s London England, based on common evening gowns worn at the time. Considering the substantial trade happening between India and England at that time, it makes sense that a dress is fine as this would’ve been historically constructed with Banarasi silk.

The original evening gown:

Sadly, I cannot afford to construct a dress entirely out of silk in this American economy, so sourced much of my fabric overseas and while I was in Egypt and Israel this summer. The rest of it was either Thrifted or appliquéd by hand by me. All of the notions and ribbons were Thrifted. I believe in doing everything possible to keep cosplay sustainable. There is a video on my TikTok which goes into detail on my construction process.

But once the dress was done, I was ecstatic, and It was time to debut it at a convention. The morning of Thursday FanX SLC, I got some pictures (in my River wig to preserve my curled hair) and this is how they turned out...

Then it was time to show The Queenston herself. I had been a little bit stressed that she wouldn't recognise the dress or wouldn't be very interested, but I held out hope.

Spoiler Alert; I had NOTHING to worry about.

Before I got to Alex, I got an autograph from Karen Gillan, who's table was next to Alex's. While in line, I was staring in awe at Alex, as she was just under twenty feet away. In between people, Alex glanced up to the crowd, then did a double take, and leaned over her table to see me through the crowd. Her mouth dropped open, she pointed straight at me, and she got all excited, and mouthed “You! Moll Flanders! Wow!” Time slowed down and I froze until I gave her a big smile (and I think a thumbs up?) and I was so starstruck that I was convinced I was hallucinating until she added “you look amazing!” still smiling, before going back to the next person. 

When I got to her table, she greeted me as Moll,and she said she'd "Never ever, ever seen a Moll cosplayer!" and I got to tell her that I made the dress. Alex absolutely loved my Moll Flanders cosplay. She told me it was the first one she’d ever seen. She was so sweet. I wasn’t anxious at all. I was so excited to finally meet her but I didn’t cry. I was actually so relaxed, which came as a surprise, as I have a track record of being emotionally overwhelmed and crying in front of Celebrities.

She was so nice and was so impressed with the dress. We got a Photo together and she ended up grabbing the shackles (is it even Alex Kingston without a cheeky touch?)

Then she signed my Making of Moll Flanders book and she flipped through it “oh this really takes me back. This was my favorite dress. The red velvet one. It was quite warm. I loved the big hat!”

For reference this is the dress she was talking about:

Then she looked up back at my dress and asked me “aren’t they fun to wear? Don’t you feel sexy?”

I said yes.

I was a liar.

I was actually incredibly uncomfortable but I would NEVER SAY THAT TO THE QUEENSTON.

So I just smiled and said yes. (I did feel sexy but 17 hours tightlaced in 1670s stays is not fun to wear)

Then at the photo op, Alex played with my hair XD

So that is the story of my most insane cosplay yet! I hope you enjoyed all you people out there on the internet.

[elsfairy]

───── WHEN SHE'S MAD AT YOU

• When Sevika is mad, she's mad. There is no way around it.

• She's more than likely mad at something you've done to put yourself in danger, or in harms way. She wouldn't get mad at just something you said.

• As painful, hurtful, and annoying as it was, she's either leaving for a while to cool down, or she's ignoring you until you realise you cannot just put your life on the line for hers.

• Just because she's mad, doesn't mean she hates you. She cares about you too much to be hurt because of her or anyone else. Your life is important to her.

• Her words are always, "I take care of you. You never put my life before your own, even if it means i get hurt. You never do it" But, you never really listen, because it's your job to look after her too. She just can't see it like that, not yet. To her, you need to be safe at all times.

• You know she will never hurt you, but she has to get out when she's mad because even if she won't hurt you, she's either breaking something in your shared home, or picking a fight with someone. She doesn't like being around you mad, mainly because she doesn't want to scare you.

• Sevika might be mad at you, but she's always leaving behind one of her hoodies, or even one of her shirts that she knows you like to wear them when she's not home. She knows.

• If you're both in the bar together and the pair of you have had an argument, she's not talking to you but she will keep a close eye on you. To make sure no one is bothering you, or making you uncomfortable.

• If someone is bothering you, that's her next problem. She doesn't sit well with others making you mad or upset. Sevika is aware her words probably hurt you, but she's the only one who can tell you she's sorry & protect you. No one else.

• She will come to you. In her own time, and once she's cooled down she will come back to you.

• "Listen, I didn't mean what i said⎯ Fuck, i didn't mean to say you're incapable of looking after yourself, but it's my job to protect you, and make sure you're safe, not the other way around. I've told you, your life is so important to me, you can't put mine before yours, Sweetheart. That's all i ask, just let me protect you"

• She doesn't mean to get mad at you, she's just terrified of losing you.

───── WHEN YOU'RE MAD AT HER

• It's pretty fucking hard to stay mad at Sevika. Even if you want to. She might have left your home to take care of business and by her not telling you she left, that's what makes you mad. Because you have no idea what could happen to her or if anything has happened to her.

• Sevika knows you're mad at her because you become silent, almost mute but she can tell you're about to blow up when you nibble your lip, and furrow your brows. She knows exactly when you're about to snap. She won't push it or push you, but she will be there.

• She loves up on you even when you're mad. She will wrap her arms around your waist, resting her chin on the top of your head. You can feel her smile but you're trying to be mad at her so you act like it's nothing.

• If she can't get through to you by hugging you, she's gonna end up pouting and you can't ever be mad at the fucking pout. Every single time she did it, you melted.

• Not this time. Right?

• It was actually really hard to stay mad, and angry at Sevika. Like mentioned before, but she will try literally everything just so you will talk to her.

• Flowers? she's already writing a list in her head. Chocolate? already noted down. Some new perfume? don't worry sweet thing, she's already planning it. She's doing whatever to get your attention.

• You were the same as Sevika, you wanted her to understand she can't just leave without telling you where she's gone. You're her world, as she is yours and you didn't like the idea of her being hurt and not knowing where she's ran off to.

• "Heeeey, I am sorry that i didn't tell you⎯ I'm sorry i didn't tell you i was leaving, you were asleep and you just looked really peaceful, i didn't want to worry you⎯ "

• "Vika, you worried me the minute you left. If i did some reckless shit like that, i wouldn't hear the end of it"

• Again, being mad at Sevika didn't really last long. She just needed to understand that it's okay to talk to you. It's okay to let someone know where she is.

• If you still refuse to forgive her, you can bet your ass 3 orgasms after dinner was going to be enough to forgive her ass. You just liked seeing how long she can go with the whiny puppy act over the fact you're 'mad'.

[lavellenchanted]

There always needed to be a reason, an excuse for their bodies to touch - if you are taking prompts, no worries if not x

"I thought I would find you out here."

It should, Edwina considers, be a surprise to hear Friedrich's voice behind her. To know that he noticed her absence from the ballroom and came in search of her. That he has managed to find her in the centre of the maze in Lord Kilmartin's gardens.

It's not. Somehow he always manages to find her.

"And here I am."

She turns where she's perched on the edge of the fountain that is the maze's centrepiece to look up at him. The moonlight's edged his hair and face in silver, his face is slightly cast in shadow, and it almost is a surprise to find he doesn't glow in the dark.

Since she met him, she could see that he was golden - but it's more than just the colour of his hair or his title. His goldenness is like a light within him. It's the gold of a flame, so fierce and bright it spills out everywhere; in his eyes, in his smile.

Of course, he's the flame then Edwina is the proverbial moth. And perhaps she wouldn't mind so much, if she had not already been burned once before.

"You're missing the ball," he comments, coming to sit down beside her.

Edwina lifts an eyebrow. "Your point being?"

"Someone might miss you."

"Such as?" she challenges him. They both know she only goes to balls for the sake of appearances now. She spends most of them sitting on the side without any dance partners.

One corner of his mouth curls up in a smile, and suddenly Edwina feels like she's walked into a trap. "Such as me."

Her cheeks warm, and there is too much she cannot read in his gaze so she looks away, down at the water. One of the goldfish the fountain is home too darts out from under a lily pad as she watches, and nearly brushes her fingers as it swims past.

"Well. No one else will," she says finally.

"I'm not entirely sure that's true," Friedrich replies, then lets out a quiet laugh. "Liebling, your hair, you have -"

He reaches out and she feels him pluck something from her coiffure. When he pulls his hand back she sees that it's a leaf, presumably from one of the hedges (her hair must have caught when she was walking round without her notice).

With a flick of his wrist he throws it away - but then reaches back to readjust one of her loosened curls.

Edwina's breath catches in her throat, and she's very aware of her heartbeat as his deft fingers gently tuck it back behind her ear and then just . . . linger there, tracing a line down her jaw.

He has been like this the entire Season. Finding acceptable excuses and reasons to touch her and making them last longer than is strictly proper. If she takes his arm when they walk he he will bring his free hand up to cover hers where it rests in the crook of his elbow. When they play chess and she hestitates over a move, he will guide her hand to the piece and encourage her to play it. When they met in Decker's bookshop and he was recommending something, he did not just tell her where to find it but placed a hand on her back to guide her to the shelf. When he greeted her this evening, after he kissed her hand, his thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles before he released her.

Each touch is exciting and terrifying in equal measure. And with each one Edwina has found herself wanting more and more, until she is giving him excuses to touch her; deliberately hesitating over chess moves, asking him to show her where a book is, leaving ballrooms knowing he will follow her.

"You left before I could ask you to dance," he says now, finally letting is hand drop away from her face. The loss of his touch leaves her skin feeling cold.

"You could ask me here," she suggests before she can think better of it.

Friedrich's smile inches wider, something shifting in his eyes. He knows what he's doing, how he's chipping away at her defences. Edwina isn't sure if she admires his persistence, or hates it.

Getting to his feet, he sketches a bow and stretches out a hand. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

"Yes, sir, you may," Edwina replies, placing her hand in his and trying to ignore the thrill that runs down her spine.

It's dangerous to play with fire, she reminds herself sternly. But when he pulls her close, so golden, bright and lovely, even in the darkness, she thinks it might be worth the risk of burning once again.

[nan0-sp1der]

two questions for u my dear

30: What’s irritating you right now?

31: Does somebody love you?

- 👻 🌻

30 - What's irritating you right now

"I cannot say anything is at this time. And I cannot say I irritate easy, either. As they say, patience is a virtue, and I try my hardest to grant it in droves. Everyone deserves that sort of grace, do they not?"

She could already hear the hypothetical reply from some little argumentative goblin that lived in the back of her RAM--no, not everyone does, some people need to be told how it is! Some people don't deserve it! But nothing comes without error in light of pressure, and whoever yells the loudest is not necessarily the one who is correct, no matter how many people hear them first.

"I do not believe irritation accomplishes much of anything. What can be hastily achieved with aggression can be achieved with time and civil conversation."

31 - Does somebody love you?

"..."

Platonically? Paternally? Romantically? Sexually? An ambiguous question. In any case, she tries to run through the list of all of those conditions in her head, and... She comes up empty-handed. There was no real proof that would point to her being 'loved' by anyone she knew, the flowers lining the wall of her dorm that she received from strangers having been concluded to be nothing more than random acts of kindness and thus just fodder. She wasn't loved by anyone. Not of the living, at least.

Bridge is hesitant to answer at first. This was going to raise questions and concerns, without a doubt. But she'll just roll with it like she always did. She can't help the reactions of those other than herself.

"You will not be very satisfied with my answer if I told you. But I assure you, you have no need to worry for me. It doesn't bother me."

She can't help but feel ambivalent about her reply. About all of the replies she's given to the questions she's received so far. Wasn't the writing on the wall? She's alone, has been alone, and she keeps it that way. But her gaze is hollow and her replies are empty, so how would anyone be able to tell with so little context? You wouldn't know it by the things she says, anyway. Would you, reader?

[ahoyimlosingmymind]

So your opinion on Sokeefe and Fitz like YES EXACTLY. .... What are your opinions on the contents of Keefe's character itself?

Tehe thank you <3

I'm SO glad that post was well received, because I was sweating BULLETS.

To preface this post, I must admit I have been a Fitz girlie since day one. A lot of my issues with Keefe stem from the WAY he is written, and the way the narrative favors him and justifies him. Fitz comes into play, because Fitz and Keefe are used as narrative devices to contrast one another. However that was not always the case. In the earlier books, when they were still close friends, they agreed on a lot and seemed to know each other well. And then BOOM- Neverseen hits, Keefe is super reckless (even if his heart was in the right place) and is immediately forgiven for it. He became a fan favorite, and thus the decline in Fitz's original character begins. Shannon had to ruin Fitz's character to prop Keefe's up in the later books-- which comes off as supremely lazy to me. And I just cannot get over the complete character assassination of Fitz. Which again, not really a KEEFE issue, but more so my beef with the writing and execution.

That was a giant preface. I'm sorry. anway-

In previous posts about Keefe, I've gone over the way he often airs out and announces Sophie's emotions to the room, and he uses the fact that he can feel her emotions to get her to share secrets with him that she otherwise wouldn't. This is never seen as a bad thing, but when Fitz- who is not privy to Sophie's emotions- asks her how she's feeling or for her thoughts, it's suddenly 'invasive' and 'pushy'.

I've also gone over how Keefe lets Ro, his bodyguard, just verbally insult and berate Fitz, his supposed best friend, and never comes to his defense. Keefe- while consumed with his own issues, is often dismissive of others' issues. Which I don't blame him for- but he's never held accountable for it.

With quotes like (and I'm paraphrasing) "Yeah but you get to go back to perfect Vacker Land when all is said and done"- this was directed at Fitz when Fitz was trying to bring perspective and comfort. I believe this happened in either Neverseen or Lodestar. He also refuses to relate to Fitz or meet him in the middle on any issues ever. When Fitz points out that they both have traitors in the family, Keefe is quick to scoff and dismiss this olive branch.

Another moment is when he tells Tam that the role of "Mommy/daddy issues is taken" and in inadvertent ways, pokes fun at Tam's coping mechanisms. in front of everyone.

And then you get moments, like in Flashback, where Fitz directly tells Sophie he doesn't feel like he's allowed to be hurt the way he is- because he doesn't have it 'as bad' as other characters. <- huh wonder where that comes from.

Just not a great look imo.

I am also just really tired of the 'I use humor to hide how broken I am' archetype often found in literature. And while it may be relatable to many people, and a reason why he is a favorite- I'm just tired of seeing it, and I think it could have been done better. But it is a middle grade series, so of course it's a bit dumbed down.

I also get annoyed when Keefe butts in to any moment concerning Sophie because he just HAS to get a word in. He HAS to prove why he 'Knows Foster best'. All of the characters do this to an extent, but he does it the most and it's like- STAWP PLEASE.

Keefe is also just... blatantly mean in his own POV? Especially towards Fitz. He calls him boringly perfect, mentions how he wants to punch him, internally agrees with Ro's jabs etc-

and the other half of his POV is just ruminating on his sucky life and the 'cute worry line between Foster's brows'

and maybe I'm not being fair to him. Because LISTEN- I don't want him to be a perfect character. My issue is that he's obviously NOT perfect, but the narrative never makes him out to be imperfect. It runs circles around itself justifying him and his actions- but doesn't offer the same grace to any of the other characters besides Sophie.

[lightofthemoonglow]

Okay, from one of your prompt lists, I matched some characters with words that seemed to fit and you can write whatever you get inspiration for.

Tarantism - the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing with Crawford Tillinghast. I just wanna dance with him.

Grapholagnia - the urge to stare at obscene pictures with Marty (maybe like at a fancy art museum they get dragged to by friends and Marty is absolutely baked and reader is trying not to die laughing at his observations?)

Concilliabule - a secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot with Ash Williams.

Druxy - something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside with Amanda Young (oh the angst possibilities)

Ayurnamat - the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed with Herbert (he seems like a bitch who can hold a grudge for decades)

Mamihlapinatapei - the look between 2 people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move with Milton Dammers?

(sorry i couldn't write Crawford, my brain just wouldn't so after a month, i gave up. and the Milton one just made me so sad that i wound up crying, so i'm saving that for when i'm in a better place)

Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.

Herbert West (oops, i went in a different direction, sorry!)

It’s only a small setback. There is no use in getting upset over this because it’s already happened. Unlike Dan, Herbert is not the sort of bemoan not being able to go back in time. Even if such a thing were possible, he wouldn’t bother with it. Not when he has the tools to move forward.

Dead weight is not easy to move alone, but Herbert has had plenty of practice. He manages to maneuver your body onto the lab table, your head thunking against the cold metal. Hopefully that won't cause any issues upon reanimation.

It happened quickly. Considering the rampage that had led to your death, it had been painless as well. Just a fall in the wrong way. Herbert had lost control of an experiment and your attempts to stop it had led to your own end. Led to him having a fresh specimen, one of the freshest he’s ever had. He can save you. There’s no brain damage, you’re still warm as he lifts your head to sedation.

“Do not fret,” he mutters, as if you can still hear him, as he preps the syringe. He can calculate the dosage in seconds now, no longer wasting precious time trying to figure it out. You don't need much, not as much as the dosage he had given to the thing that killed you. It would rot and you would thrive. “It will be as if none of this ever happened.”

Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.

Amanda Young

It was love at first sight.

She was leaning against the brick wall near the free clinic, watching people come and go. You had noticed her when you had gone in to get your shoulder checked and she had still been there when you had left. Something about her drew you to her, made you walk over to her and ask if she had a lighter.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” Amanda had said when you had lit up, needing a smoke after the week you’d had.

“Hey, if you were the last thing I saw before I died, I’d die happy.” You try to play it cool, ripping off a line from a movie you saw once. If she realizes your stupid pickup line isn’t original, she doesn’t let on. She smiles, as if she thinks you’re actually charming or something like that.

It’s great at first. It’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you and you wonder how you got so lucky. Amanda is perfect at first, it’s the best two weeks of your life. You don’t ask about the scars because you have a few of your own and she’ll tell you when she’s ready. When you find out about what happened to her, you just hold her in response and tell her that everything is going to be okay. That she’s safe, she’s fine. You stay up all night after nightmares, you make sure she eats and sleeps, it’s a lot but you do it because you love her.

The darkness starts to seep in. Sometimes she sees someone, maybe in person, maybe on TV, and she gets this look in her eyes. It’s darker than disdain, it’s almost loathing. You’d consider it loathing if she knew them, but she never does. It sends a chill down your spine when you see that look and you wonder. You wonder if Jigsaw got under her skin. If this is how she copes, by seeing people the way he sees them.

But sometimes she’s happy, she’s wonderful and you ignore the little things. The dark looks. The long nights out.

The blood on her shoes.

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

Ash Williams

The supply closet doesn’t lock from the inside but a broom handle jammed in the right place would do the job just fine.

“Come on, baby, it’ll be fun.”

You roll your eyes and brush your lips against Ash’s. There’s a bucket handle digging into your back but it’s hard to care about that when his hands have somehow made their way into your hair, your scrunchie on the floor. It’s gonna be covered in debris but you’ll survive. Ash’s mouth on your neck more than makes up for it.

“We have another three hours on our shift.”

“That’s why I’m going to start a little fire in the ladies room.”

You blink rapidly a few times, trying to process what he said. “A what in the where?”

“It’ll only be in the trash can, baby. And then you and me can head outta town for the weekend.” Ash is smirking, you can fucking hear it in his voice. “It’ll be great. I know a place off the highway with free cable and a vibrating bed.”

You laugh and kiss him on the cheek. “Let me do it. They’ll wonder why you’re in the ladies room.”

Grapholagnia - The urge to stare at obscene pictures.

Marty Mikalski

“Are you guys stoned at The Met?”

Curt sounds somewhere between amused and appalled. They had been able to get free entry because Holden knew a guy who knew a guy, it was a whole series of deals but it worked out in the end. The two of you had taken some gummies just before getting on the subway, timing it just right so it would hit when you were already at the museum.

Marty felt light as a feather, you felt like there were rocks in your legs, so it made sense to lean on each other as you stood in front of the largest painting of a naked woman either of you had ever seen.

“That’s inconsequential,” Marty brushes off the question, even though it’s obvious to anyone that knows either of you. “We’ve been hypnotized by this magnificent work of art.”

You lean forward and need a moment to actually read the plaque under it. ​​“Le Ravissement de Psyche,” you manage to say, giggling at nothing, except for maybe it’s French. “The Rapture of Psyche.” You feel weirdly proud of yourself, your head going back on Marty’s shoulder.

Curt looks at the sight of the two of you standing there, eyes on the painting instead of each other and he smirks. “You guys gonna look at anything else.”

Marty, his nose full of your shampoo and the weight of your head on his shoulder, just shook his head. “I think we’re right where we need to be.”

[shmowder]

It was such a treat to read your Yulia hcs!! Earlier you'd made a post wondering what your writing feels like to others. Sometimes I'd liken it to bubble gum - like a big gumball I just want to bite into and chew for a long time (don't worry, it's a magical gumball that doesn't lose its flavor).

The Yulia hcs were like a pastry with powdered sugar and cream (no doubt this is influenced by you mentioning the pastry at the beginning) - something delicate. Like snow falling in a snow globe and like a warm hug at the same time. Lovely ♡ I appreciate that you always take care to mention her leg as well.

I love both kinds of food!!!!! Thank you for taking the time to write my requests :) <3

-

Ooh, ships! I haven't ventured very far into any Patho ships tbh! I know the big one is Daniil x Artemy ofc. I'm really hoping that the Marble Nest and P1 will help me connect with Daniil more. And I do enjoy Artemy x Aglaya.

What I meant was more along the lines of what personality traits in a reader would make them a good match for those characters? Uhh I cannot phrase this to save my life. In your Victor x reader fluff, you said that a stubborn confident reader would do well with him, so something like that!

But you basically answered my question anyway ^^ "Someone who can stand her enough to live together" for Yulia lmfao. Your description of Peter and Yulia is killing me. This too is #girlrotting.

I'm interested to see how Yulia x Eva plays out in P1 or if it's just mentioned in passing. Somebody on reddit described Eva as "a dreamer without a dream" - I barely know her but that seems to match up with what you're saying and I LOVE that phrase.

I see both of your Bad Grief visions and I've actually seen some vaguely shippy Victor x Grief art before.

I'm not too invested in any ships. If you want to know something terrible... I've briefly entertained the idea of Big Vlad x Artemy........ if he didn't always call Artemy "my boy" and if other characters weren't frequently accusing Artemy of being like, owned by him or whatever, then I wouldn't be like this..... it's the guard dog trope. Obviously this would have to be in an alternate universe where Artemy's dialogue choices didn't strongly imply he's not on board 😆 Well, there's my cursed opinion of the day.

🐿️ anon

Oh! I'm sorry, i must have misunderstood your request then.

Here is what I think the "ideal" Reader for each character would be:

Katerina Saburova

Someone who would never lose faith in her no matter how dire her state becomes. To see her value hidden beneath the role she failed to play, the responsibility she failed to fullfill and the Misteress she couldn't amount to.

To understand her pain, take it from her shoulder and carry it before her collarbones crack. Wipe her tears and tell her it will be okay, allow her the small relief of medicine and never judge her because her cruel harsh mind already does that.

She knows she is a mess, she knows her addiction to morphine is wrong. Moments of lucidity sneak up on her from time to time, the guilt suffocating and the shame like razors dragging down her throat.

She is aware of what the town people whisper behind her back, of her ruined reputation. Don't become one of them too, please, more than anything she needs a friend right now.

Someone to love her unconditionally, but also someone to take the difficult steps her in stead. To hold her and comfort her as withdrawal set her nerves on fire and her nails dig into her skin.

To make her forget about this damned town or her barren womb, grant her a moment of genuine peace, a facade of normalcy. Take her outside, let her remember the smell of fresh air, pluck stray dandelions to gently tuck between her hairstrands, keep her warm in your arms as the chilly autumn winds breeze by.

Remind her how life was before all of this madness, who she was. Katerina can't even recall her own hobbies or interests, she is lost and only she can save herself.

So at least be there for her, show her that there is more to life. Be gentle, never cruel. Be patient and never judgmental. Be loving and never afraid.

-

Yulia Lyuricheva

As pathetic as it might sound, Yulia just wants one soul who will stand her enough to spend time together, to live in the same house and share bread and a bed.

She is often quiet around other people, she learned to be. She had to. Being too much was her curse for this lifetime, apparently. Ever since she was young, she quickly understood how saying the wrong things would tremble down the fragile foundation every relationship is built on.

Yulia likes most people, believe it or not. How can she not when everyone is so interesting and unique? Every single person is the accumulative of all the choices and paths they picked during their lifetime. A coin toss of fate during every decision, red strings weaving into a whole person, scouplting their personality out of clay from their history and experiences.

Most humans are interesting and rather adorable. She enjoys observing them, making notes, and connecting the dots. Appreciating the work of art, mathematics' creation.

Each of them like naive children in a playground, pretending to know what they're doing as they wear their adult clothes and go to their adult jobs. Pretending there is some inherent meaning in it all, as if life isn't one big joke, and a rather tactless one at that.

Yulia couldn't fool herself like them. She couldn't play make-believe. She ran by facts and hard evidence, numbers never lied and the grim reality was that humanity's whole existence is just one big coincidence. A blep in the universe, a speck of dust amidst the galaxies and stars.

People didn't like being reminded of those facts, that every birthday is simply one inch deeper into the grave.

Damn her cursed tongue and restless mind.

Therefore she watered herself down, remained content with being an observer. Never causing harm or annoying others, mild mannered and keeping to herself. Isolating, suffocating, forced to be the only victim subjected to the dark corners of her mind.

When the abyss started to whisper to her back, Yulia turned to smoking.

She wants someone who would want her, all of her. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Someone to admire her brilliant mind while remaining strong in the face of her occasion episodes of apathy. Someone who will understand or at least sympathise why she hasn't cleaned her room in weeks, why old coffee mugs are rotting on the table, why she barely opens the windows in her home.

Why she simply cannot bother to exist on some days, dissociating as she blankly stares out the window, or at a wall or an equation drawn on the chalk board.

Why the clocks in her residence require frequent repairs, courtesy to being smashed against the wall in a swift motion when their ticking starts making her ears bleed.

Could someone even stand her when she cannot stand her own self on most days? Could someone love her as she is? Or is she really irredeemable, cursed since birth.

She may seem smart, but she is prone to rather stupid impulsive decisions from time to time. Indulging life risking experiments out of curiosity because she might as well go down in her own style rather than wait for time ungratefully reap her soul.

Someone who will get her out of bed on the days where the idea of chewing food seems too exhausting.

Yulia doesn't want someone who will gift her meaning and a purpose on a silver plate, rather she'd like for you to kindly hold the candle and shine the light so she may find her way herself. It's been years, and she's gotten used to living in the dark.

Be sympathetic but not overindulgent. Be forgiving and not vindictive. Be her shoulder to lean on but still let her walk on her own two legs. Steady her steps but do not lead her or attempt to diverge her path.

Peter Stamatin

He might make it seem like he needs a muse, that a shiny new thing is what will get him out of this rut.

But it won't, all the nymphs of the forest will look dull after one night, all the gems will lose its shine after one touch.

What he needs, is to wake up.

To stop mourning things immediately after their birth, to not borrow grief from tomorrow and keep reliving it each day.

What he needs is the mundane, the human animal basic requirements. To remember he is a mammal deep down, he isn't a concept nor an abstract collection of ideas, he isn't a ghost watching people pass by, he is flesh and blood.

Someone who will bring him back down from his journey up in the clouds, who will steal him back from the stars, from all the gaint things bigger than life itself that he got accustomed to befriending and haveing one sided conversations with.

He cuts his own thoughts before he finishes them because he lost interest, he stops mid sentences because he grew bored of the words coming out of his own mouth.

He will complain and throw tantrums, but you must prevail his trails and stand your ground. He will dramatise things and get mad, he will cry and break down, he will act as if you're plucking his heart out of his chest and crushing it in your hand.

You must prevail.

Remind him that he will survive. Sure, he can get mad, but he must stay alive. Peter needs an intervention, someone brave enough to risk upsetting the crowned prince of humanity's best of the best and tell him it's bedtime.

To drag him away from the blank canvas he has been staring at for hours, to hold him accountable for skipping meals or rotting in bed for weeks without going outside.

Someone to reteach him the basic maintenances task of being alive, the ones he neglected and gradually forgot as he couldn't bother to remember he too own a human body that requires care. That his brain is an organ that requires fuel and breaks as much as it is visions-plagued maze.

Take him with you to bathe, gently lather shampoo in his hair as he stiffly sits in the lukewarm water while watching the yellow rubber duck float by. Guide his fingers when it comes time to apply conditioner and let him remember how the texture of his own hair feels like, watch him rediscover how nice it is to let water wash his worries away.

Peter needs the simple pleasures in life, his soul requires a soft served ice cream cone, a cheap candy from a corner store, a hummed melody you made up while hanging your clothes to dry.

The mundane, the ugly, the eggs with burnt edges. Food that is merely food and nothing else, drinks that are simply drinks rather than magical twyrine mixtures that let him hear whispers he will never be able to decipher or understand.

Be firm but never controlling. Be a teacher but never condescending. Be a human, most of all, a real human being to show him that he is too.

-

Bad Grief

Grief can't decide if he wants someone to see the good in him or if that would cause more harm than good. He has a role to play and he's very good at it.

It is a necessary evil. The gangs will exist with or without him, it's better that he leads them and makes sure they never cross the line than someone else who might not be trusted.

A cause surprisingly more noble than anyone would ever expect of him. This life has fallen directly into his hands, every road led him down his path as if it was custom made for his measurements alone. It was always suspicious, how well things fell into place, how convenient fate was at times.

Does he need someone to see the good in him? peak behind the curtains and view him at his most barest forms? Not really. He is content with playing this role for eternity, a glorified shopkeeper, he can keep the jig up for many years to come.

But is it what he wants? is that what he really wants from life? to surrender to fate and simply take it laying down? He pushes these swarming thoughts away, as if they won't return at dawn.

You didn't fear him, either someone with a death wish, a brave fool or an apathetic idiot.

But he felt weird under your gaze, as if your eyes could see through him, through the facade. You never reacted to his empty threats or intimidation attempts, neither did you acknowledge the fact he is a criminal much. You weren't here to challenge him or take his throne, neither were you here for a favour or to obtain something illegal.

...you were merely here for him? To what... chat?

He did think you were a fool for a while, he won't lie. ulterior motives or not, you were walking into a den of criminals each morning just to what? Talk to him about the weather and how cold autumn is?

You weren't part of the script, clearly an unfated encounter that you deliberately went out of your way to have with him each day.

Until one day, he noticed the lack of any ticking sounds as you approched him. Your usual pocket clock seemed still in place from the chain dangling from your pocket, which could only mean one thing.

"Hand it over dollface."

And you did, as if you anticipated this request.

He fixed it for you, fingers moving by sheer muscle memory alone, a skill he thought he had long forgotten.

Bad Grief wants someone who isn't afraid to be free, who comprehends the role he has to play, who doesn't condemn things they do not understand.

Someone who isn't trying to save him or make him change from this life of crime, but also someone who is brave enough to walk by his side on the streets, to hold his hand in public, to not bend to the whims of the public's opinion.

The air is really chilly, would you like his jacket? ....don't ever call him a gentleman again, he just doesn't want you to freeze to death, that's all.

Grief would love someone who walks their own path, someone who will make the first step for him because deep down he is frozen by fear, too cautious for his own good. Too aware of what's at risk, of what could happen.

Of how much he could endanger you just by knowing your name, just by people seeing you at his side. You do realise what you're sacrificing? the opportunities which will never be presented to you just because you decided to be with someone like him? It's your funeral.

But he really is touched, that someone will see him worth all of that. Bad Grief had to ensure he remains useful to people all his life, that the townfolks need him more than they hate, that he is a necessary foundation that could never be uprooted without the entire structure collapsing.

Even the authorities know that, the Saburov understand his usefulness in keeping the criminal structure plates at bay, how he sets the rules and decides where to draw the line. A mutual beneficial relationship built of begrudging respect and fear.

He needs you to understand that he must. He digged his own grave, he was lead here on a leash by life. It was this or death. Don't look at him with distant, don't let fear cloud your judgements.

Be brave, never afraid. Be direct and always sincere. Be smart and clever but never cautious or cowardly. Be moral but never vendective.

-

Most important of all, the ideal reader would be different to each character based on what they value most. Someone like Aglaya values personal freedom above all and would fall for an independent Reader with their own convictions rather than blindly follow the herd. Someone authentic and brave.

While someone like Alexander Saburov would rather be that person for the reader. Preferring that you're more dependent on him and believe in his notions and principles, having faith in his justice and righteousness. To rely on him to tell you what's right and what's wrong. It's important to only indulge within limit and never stray too far from the path of what's wrong and right.

On the other extreme, Andrey also values freedom but it is his own freedom he cares most about. Your freedom shouldn't challenge his too much nor ask him to change his ways, if you love him then you must love him for who he is because he doesn't plan on changing for anyone. Morals are treated as another cage that suppresses his freedom rather than human decency.

-

My own writing tastes like a gumball to you- I know you meant it as a good thing but ouch. Does my writing really seem childish and overwhelmingly sugary? Ah-

It's not a bad thing, it's just not what I was aiming for either. At least you seem to enjoy it so yeah. I hoped my style would seem more... poetic to you? Sincere?

I'm grateful regardless. I liked the pastry comparison in Yulia's story, however. It fits the vibe I was aiming for.

I hope your day is amazing, do please take care of yourself.

[dandelion-wings]

💚💖💘💕 Noelle x Barbara

Thank you for the ask! <3 And sorry for the delay in answering, RL really popped off over the past few days. That is a lot of hearts and I could not quite fit all of it in, but I took the parts that worked together narratively and did what I could!

---

ETA: Now on AO3.

---

When Amber comes rushing into the Cathedral, telling Barbara they need her at Windrise and they need her *now*, Barbara's first, terrified thought is for her sister. Of course it is. Jean pushes herself so hard, and Barbara has always feared the point at which it's too far. If she's so badly off they can't even bring her here safely-

When Amber tells her, in a breathless rush as she's half-hauling Barbara down the city steps, that it's *Noelle*, that desperate terror doesn't fade. Only the source of it changes.

"What's wrong?" Barbara asks in anxious bewilderment as she crashes to her knees beneath the Statue of the Seven amid Windrise's roots. Jean is here too, already kneeling beside her with Noelle's head on her lap and a worried look in her eyes, and she should be able to heal almost anything at least well enough to get Noelle back to the Cathedral for more thorough care. There's only a few things she might struggle with. "Did she hit her head?"

While someone has pulled off Noelle's armor and most of the bodice beneath--an embarrassing amount, and though she's been a healer long enough that she shouldn't blush, Barbara's face goes hot anyway at seeing *Noelle's* bared breasts--there's no blood, no visible injuries. Only a strange black tattoo between her breasts, all sharp lines and angles. It feels wrong to look at, pulling oddly at her eyes.

Noelle blinks at her blearily, but otherwise doesn't move, and there's no recognition in her eyes. That's probably shock, Barbara tells herself, and tries not to let it hurt.

"She's not injured," Lisa tells her. She's standing by the Statue, one hand on it to evoke the odd, hair-raising feeling, the one that comes with a tinkling sound *just* on the edge of hearing, that comes with touching them now that the Honorary Knight has restored their power. Belatedly, Barbara realizes that Jean has a hand on it, too, and both their Visions are glowing. "This is a curse."

"What can I do?" Barbara hears the desperation in her own choked voice.

"A curse like this can be nasty, but the good news is that we caught this one early. Breaking it would be much more complicated if it had more time to soak in. Fortunately, at this stage, there's a wide range of curse-breaking techniques that might be useful." Lisa, inexplicably, dimples at her. "I thought we'd start with a very traditional one. True love's kiss is the most effective curse-breaker I know."

The blush that had been fading from Barbara's cheeks floods back full-force, and she can't look at Jean or Amber. She can't believe Lisa is bringing this up in front of them. It's so easy to talk to her that Barbara has let a few things slip over tea, so she does know about Barbara's hopeless crush, but....

"It wouldn't work," she says through the lump in her throat. "Noelle doesn't... doesn't feel like that about me."

"Don't be so sure," Lisa says, a secretive smile on her face.

Barbara opens her mouth to protest again. She knows better. She and Noelle have been having tea breaks together for years, but while Noelle is so, so kind to her, always generous and sweet, she's never responded to any of Barbara's overtures. When Barbara tries to bring snacks, Noelle always goes quiet and double down on bringing her own, and when Barbara suggests they do other things together, like walks or shopping, Noelle acts like she's just along to protect Barbara, or to carry her things. And when Barbara had tried to compose music for her, to share her feelings with the art she's best at... all Noelle ever says is that she can't give useful feedback.

"We cannot know if it will work unless we try," Jean says while she's still winding herself up to confess all that in front of Lisa and her sister and Amber. "I know it's a great deal to ask of you, but Barbara... please."

How can Barbara say no?

She starts to lean forward, her stomach fluttering wildly, and freezes and has to reorient herself when Lisa says, "No, sweetie, on the curse marking, not the lips." Taking a deep breath, she leans down, tries not to think about the fact that she's putting her face between Noelle's bare breasts, and presses her lips, gently, carefully, to that horrible sharp-edged tattoo, her eyes closed to keep it from tearing at them.

Her lips tingle, then start to burn, but Barbara keeps them there, desperate for this to work. She can smell Noelle's familiar perfume, overlaid with sweat and a strange unpleasant rotten odor, and feel the softness of her skin against her cheeks. Noelle stirs, murmurs something soft and incomprehensible, and then spasms underneath her, back arching, going stiff. Barbara pulls back with a startled cry.

The dark marking on her chest flashes bright blue, once, the color of Barbara's Hydro, and then bursts into oily smoke like a vanquished hilichurl. As it fades into the air, Barbara can see Noelle's skin where it had been, whole and unmarked, no trace of the curse's foulness left. Her lips are still tingling, but she smiles wide in relief nonetheless as Noelle relaxes, takes a deep gasping breath, and starts to scramble up with breathless apologies to Jean. Her gaze sweeps around and settles on Barbara, and this time there's recognition in them.

"What happened? I remember- I remember attacking Master Jean...." Noelle puts her hands to her mouth in horror.

"A little curse you picked up from that *nasty* gang of Abyss Mages who ambushed you," Lisa tells her. "Don't worry, sweetie. No one holds it against you. Fortunately, the curse hadn't gone so far that true love's kiss couldn't break it."

"Oh!" Noelle goes as red as Barbara's face feels. "Is... is that why Barbara's here?"

"I," and Barbara almost wants to apologize, but Noelle is moving towards her, slowly and carefully like she thinks Barbara is a squirrel she might startle, reaching out her hands. "I'm not sure if it's true love, yet, but... I do like you! Very much."

"The Hydro energy did help," Lisa murmurs.

Noelle doesn't pay her any attention, just rushes forward the last few steps and catches Barbara's hands in her own, pulling her to her feet. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself like she's facing an enemy, and says, "I like you, too."

"Master Jean," Amber says from behind them. "There's a hilichurl nest up there. Since we're out here, don't you think we should go clear it out?"

"That's an excellent idea," Jean says, rising hastily to her feet. "I'm sure Lisa can help."

Barbara gives Amber a grateful look as she and Jean usher a rather smug-looking Lisa away, then turns back to Noelle. How had she missed this? All the times Noelle had looked over her shoulder when fighting off hilichurls as if to see her reaction, or beamed at her as she offered to take another shopping bag, or the way she went quiet and shy when Barbara sang....

"Lisa said I shouldn't kiss you on the lips to break the curse," she says, licking her own. "But now that it's broken... I'd like to try."

"I'd like that, too," Noelle says, and pulls her in. Barbara sinks into her strong grip and her eager mouth, a bubble of warmth expanding in her chest, sweeping fear and embarrassment and all her anxieties aside.

[tojixz]

Masterlist ☆ Heart Without Beat Masterlist

HEART WITHOUT BEAT: Chapter Three

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Reader

Notes: I really enjoyed this chapter, but it was extremely painful to write. I even got a little triggered by the scenes. Good luck to you all 😞

Summary: If there is no ground, there is no way to walk. From here on, is it really possible to go on?

Warnings: Pure distress, funeral, panic attack, certain reactions can be triggers. Sensitive subject. Let me know if I have forgotten anything.

Word Count: 2,6k

Previous | Next

All energy is only borrowed and will one day have to be returned.

Every person is born twice, but departs only once.

The Na'vi learn from a young age that every moment, every hour, minute, and second must be enjoyed within the blessing that is all of Eywa's creation.

You must give thanks, revere and love everything and everyone around you. Everyone understands the importance of a life.

But when it's gone, what's left?

The pain of loss is unbearable, something that many take forever to overcome. But what causes sadness if your ancestors continue to live, in peace, with the Great Mother?

Probably the lack of body heat that you will no longer feel. The lack of hugs, new memories…

Everyone fears the unknown, but death is something that is often seen.

The magic formula for overcoming matches has not yet been found, and it is probably far from it.

So what would be the remedy for wounds that cannot be mended? What is the solution, for the regret of everything that should have been done?

There is none of that, after all.

Upon hearing Neytiri's words, you froze for a moment trying to understand the hidden message in her speech.

"I'm sorry, my poor child…I'm sorry", she continued to ramble on and you continued to sink. What was the reason for her apology? What was the reason for her despair?

She wouldn't have mistaken you for someone else, right?

"For what?", your little heart fluttered in your chest, unspoken words deafened your senses. This whole situation was making you afraid.

You wanted your mother.

Neytiri was silent for a while, and then he shifted his gaze to Jake, who was also agitated by the whole scene. Just like you, he wasn't aware of the situation. His muscles were rigid and you could see lines of worry creeping into his features.

The other children just sank into silence together. Tensed by the gloomy atmosphere that was forming. Everything was a mystery and the lack of knowledge of the situation only made everyone overwhelmed.

Neytiri slowly pulled away from you, releasing you from her warm and insecure arms. She placed one of her hands on your chest, just above your fluttering heart and said softly, "You need to be strong. Strong heart."

Your ears perked up at the words. You didn't know exactly what she meant. You didn't understand.

Your mouth was dry, your soul was crying out for answers. Was this some kind of punishment?

You slowly nodded, unsure and unsure.

Neytiri looked at you for a few more seconds, which seemed like forever, and then stood up, taking one of your hands and leading you into Mo'at's tent.

Jake slowly followed behind, a little hesitant because he didn't know if he was welcome there. His curious children also followed close behind, with cautious and silent movements.

Neteyam noticed your mother's agitation when she arrived and when she spoke to you, which made him worry.

Nothing bad would happen to you, right?

Upon entering, you found your Tsahik, Mo'at, next to someone lying on the floor. She silently prayed, passing her hands slowly through the air just above her body.

You just got even more confused. Was someone hurt? What did that have to do with you?

Neytiri, who stayed behind you, placed his hands on your back and slowly pushed you towards the two figures on the ground. You walked hesitantly, shivers ran down your spine and your senses sharpened.

Mo'at nodded to Neytiri, as if to tell her to let you go on your own from then on.

You approached with cautious steps, the person lying down seemed to be in a deep sleep. It would be impolite of you to wake her.

As you got close enough to analyze the features of the figure on the floor, your own body stiffened. You were confused.

Why was your mother there?

The air in your lungs was sucked out, and suddenly you didn't know how to move your muscles.

Your mother seemed so at peace, a sinful peace.

Her body was clean and tidy, in such a deep sleep that it would be unfair to wake her, but you wanted to tell her about your day.

You just didn't understand why your meeting with your mother was such an important thing to do that required your Tsahik's presence.

You crouched down beside her, sitting on your knees so gently that you were almost unable to register the feel of the ground.

Analyzing for a few seconds, you finally put your hands on your mother's arm and shook her a little to wake her up. "Sa'nu? Why are you sleeping here?"

No answers.

Was she so tired at this point? You could hear certain movement, sighs and suppressed sobs behind you, but you didn't care much, you had another purpose.

Mo'at just continued to watch you go on with your movements, a serious and welcoming look on your face. Again, you didn't care.

"Sa'nok, Tsahik is here. Why are you sleeping in this situation?". A small twinge hit your core. You were not understanding, comprehending that situation. What was going on? What did it all mean?

Why wasn't her mother waking up?

She always woke up as soon as you called, always willing at any time to answer your calls. Always willing to comfort you.

You began to shake her harder. Wiggling her more and more. One hour she would wake up, right?

"Tsahik, why doesn't she wake up? Is she sick?", made sense, didn't it? It was the only reason you could find to justify Mo'at's presence there with you. She didn't answer you, she just closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly.

A deafening silence filled the room again. It was as if Eywa herself was listening to your inner doubts, fear and melancholic thoughts taking over. The truth is that you were never good at keeping a steady thought, at focusing on good things.

You always expected the worst.

Her lower lips trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly. But certainly not for your divinity.

Hoping she would wake up, you rocked your mother once more.

Again.

Again. Again. And again.

But nothing happened.

You were becoming distressed. The blood turning to ice in your veins as your eyes filled with spiteful tears.

"Why doesn't she answer? Why doesn't my mother answer?"

You don't ask anyone specific. Anyone who answered you would be enough.

You turned to Neytiri, looking at Jake as well in the process. Mo'at didn't look like she was going to open her mouth to say anything. You were losing hope. "Neytiri, can you help me? Please." Her last words came out as a whisper.

Neytiri covered your mouth with her own hand, sinking her head into the curve of Jake's neck. You were confused. Why was everyone refusing to help you? Had you done something wrong?

Were they punishing you?

You promise that you won't do anything bad anymore, you just wanted to feel your mother's warmth again. You wanted to listen to her, even if it was one of her scoldings.

"Mama! You are scaring me, please answer me." You continued, not satisfied with the lack of movement of the figure on the floor.

Reality came crashing down on you like a stone. But you didn't want to believe it. There was no way… she was so fine.

You finally broke. Swinging your mother with uncontrolled force as you called out to her, your voice growing louder and louder.

"No. No, no, no… Sa'nu."

That was unfair.

You weren't ready. You couldn't even say goodbye.

Was this departure some kind of punishment or a release?

Was it selfish of you to wish that Eywa would return your beloved progenitor back to you?

You were not prepared to see her go.

When you heard Neytiri apologize, you imagined that something had happened. But not something like this.

You were in denial. All this was supposed to be just a misunderstanding. It had to be.

The words weighed heavily on Neytiri's lips, but they certainly didn't compare to the weight of reality on you.

You were alone to carry this burden, it was unbearable.

Regret covered your whole being, drowning you in pure anguish and despair.

The Great Mother had not been fair. You were just a child.

Eywa doesn't choose sides, she is only responsible for the control of life. But there, surely there was a miscalculation.

Her mother shouldn't have gone like this, not this way, not now.

Reality was distorted and you, as a form of final salvation, just wished, begged, that it was all a big misunderstanding, and that in fact your mother was in your marui, just waiting for your arrival.

Maybe not all prayers are always heard. Not as Toruk Makto had been blessed.

Can you imagine how your mother was in her final moments. Was she desperate, afraid… in pain?

At least you hope she's gone in peace. But you know her. You know her well enough to know how much she must have suffered, and how sorry she was that she didn't get the chance to feel your darling little girl's skin just one last time.

And you blamed yourself. You blamed yourself for not being there for her final breaths. You blamed yourself for not realizing. You blamed yourself for not seeing how your mother was saying goodbye to the material world.

Was it selfish of you to pray to Eywa to return her mother?

She was at peace, in the warm and welcoming arms of the Great Mother, so… why? Why did this hurt more than expected?

There was no option to choose.

And then you screamed. You screamed until your lungs clamored for oxygen and your throat tore from the effort. You didn't even know you were capable of emitting such a sound. A colossal sound, which carried all her inner grudges, all her regrets.

You lower your head to your mother's chest, where it should be pulsing with a heartbeat. But where you found only silence. You never imagined that the stillness would frighten you so.

She couldn't have really left you. Not like this. Without your mother you would be alone, with no one to tuck you in at bedtime, no one to scold you, no one to prepare the best meal of your life. You had already lost your father. You couldn't survive without your mother now.

Your chest hurt, your throat ached, still not letting up with the screaming. You cried and cried, no longer aware of your surroundings.

Jake had kicked your children out of there long ago and Neytiri was kneeling a few inches away from you. Murmuring thousands of 'I'm sorry' and 'I'm so sorry'.

She was not at fault in this situation, not at all. But honestly, you didn't have the strength to care anymore.

You had everything. And now there was nothing.

Nothing important to keep close to you. You were surrounded by many, but suddenly you were alone, suffering in silence.

Neytiri came to you then, crouching down next to you and placing a hand on the back of your neck. She gave it a gentle squeeze to reassure you. But even she didn't trust that that was possible. "It's going to be okay… you're not alone."

You didn't know if she was trying to calm herself or you. Her eyes were burning from endless tears, and her voice was already hoarse from screaming. You didn't want to leave your mother, you knew she would open her eyes at some point. She was just very tired.

And so you waited.

But all that was achieved was eternal silence.

Your mother's wake was painful. You couldn't find the strength to go on with that ceremony. She was so beautiful, even without life. She was at peace.

Still, it hurt. It hurt and it hurt so much. The whole situation was tearing you apart. Crushing your heart like it was nothing. How did it end this way?

A few hours ago you were laughing breathlessly with your friends, giving your all in training, looking forward to the moment you would show your new skills to your mother. And then, it ended like this.

Your life turned upside down so fast it made you dizzy. You didn't know where to go from here.

The clan was all gathered around the small space where her mother was. Atokirinas prowling everywhere, especially around you. It's like Eywa is comforting you and telling you that everything was fine, she was safe. Prayers were able to be heard, small thanks for the life she had led up to that point, and pleas for a peaceful rest.

Her mother's hands were so cold. So cold that when it came into contact with her skin, her entire body shivered. She didn't look like herself anymore, with her usual warmth. It scared you.

You weren't ready, not like you should have been. You weren't ready to let go. The hugs, the playfulness, the gentle, loving kisses that your mother filled you with all the time. You wanted her to be there for you as you matured, to be there to put you to sleep and comfort you through the worst nights and nightmares.

It… hurt so much.

You were dead inside. Your soul was crying out for help, unable to bear the unbearable feeling of that loss. No one should have to go through this.

Mostly a child.

Mo'at allowed you to stay by your mother's side to say goodbye. The next time you saw her, she would be with the Great Mother, in a safe place. She would no longer be suffering.

Jake, as Olo'eyktan, was close by. He was also responsible for helping with the funeral, while Mo'at led the spiritual part. His sons were right behind. They too were shaken, eyes swollen from crying along with you, not as much, but their hearts whispered for sympathy.

Neteyam especially. Ever since he became aware of what was happening in Mo'at's tent, his heart broke at the sight of your state. He hated to see you cry, to see you sad. And he knew that a part of your brightness was gone along with your mother. And then he lamented. Neither of you possessed power over life, the only option being to continue with the story. But it was inevitable to think of a 'What if...'

And he felt pathetic that he couldn't help you. His only choice was to put his head down, and ask Eywa to ease, a little bit that is, her pain.

But there was also Neytiri. Certainly, she was the one who cared for you the most up to this point. She suffered with you, cried with you, and most of all, hugged you when you needed it.

Your mother and Neytiri were so close, trusted each other so mutually, that Neytiri was like a second mother to you. A new mother figure. So you broke down in her presence. Imagining that she was actually an embodiment of her mother.

Her supportive words, her warm and nurturing touches. Everything was present with Neytiri by your side. She kept you from succumbing to the darkness. You were not entirely alone.

That's what she started to do. Take care of you. Neytiri called you softly. You placed one last kiss on your mother's forehead, eyes and finally on her nose, and whispered a short 'See you later'. And then you went towards Neytiri, holding one of her hands.

She was her new pillar now. Even if in your heart, broken and aching, you were no longer the same person after that day. You wouldn't have the same brightness, the same will to live.

On that night of prayer, her soul was buried next to the body of her mother, the one who lit her path, or rather, her life. And so, a new warrior was born.

🏷; @mashiromochi @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @narutoboi

My God, that hurt so much! I started crying because I can't think of a life without my mother 😭 forgive me, but it was necessary.

Also, forgive me for grammatical errors, really!

｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍓｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒