#but all that's happened is that my withdrawal is even greater | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wordsinhaled · 1 year

Text

so after that devastating ask neil answered about morpheus and calliope’s wedding i was suddenly beset by a MIGHTY need for a dreamling fix-it so... this is that. part headcanon post, part fic, entirely more than i was planning on it being. it got just a bit out of hand and is possibly a bit too sappy but i'm not sorry!!!

Hob introduces Morpheus to his longtime friends and colleagues after they’ve been together for a year. Morpheus carries the suspicion that Hob only agrees to wait this long for love of him.

He’s so excited about it, because he loves Dream, and it brings him the utmost happiness to imagine his friends, his loved ones, the people he works with, his students, getting to meet Dream—who hung the moon, as far as Hob’s concerned.

Dream is... less than enthusiastic about it. He hedges about going out for drinks with Hob’s friends, and he’s cagey about agreeing to be Hob’s plus one to the first department mixer Hob’s thrilled to invite him to. He still goes to these things, because Hob is his beloved and he sees how it lights Hob up to have him by his side at them. He’s the picture of gentility each time; shows up looking incredible, asks all the right questions, says all the right things, makes the small talk. He even personally ensures all of these people have pleasant dreams for a week following, for good measure.

But afterwards, he’s always a mess. Tense, withdrawing into himself.

After the third time this happens, Hob cottons on and asks him about it.

“What is it, love? My friends, or my colleagues, do they bother you?”

“On the contrary. Your friends and your coworkers are as lovely as you are, of course. Well—I must admit Dr. Halliwell is... not my favorite, but... by and large.”

“Oh, he’s no one’s favorite. Bloody insufferable, he is. Alright, well, is there anything I ought to be doing differently? To help make you feel more comfortable?" "You are utterly blameless in this, Hob." "That's..." Hob sighs. "A relief, I suppose. But there is something. And if it’s not that, then...?”

And little by little, it comes out. How the last time Morpheus was as serious about someone as he is about Hob, the last time he was serious enough to want to bind himself to someone... her friends and family opposed it. Opposed him. Thought him entirely ill-suited for her. And on their wedding day, the happiest of days, he was so excited to share his joy with his own family, and none of Calliope’s side were there.

“That’s awful,” Hob says, with a few choice swears thrown in for emphasis. “And it must have been hard for her, too.”

“I believe it is a loneliness she still carries. One far greater than my own.”

~*~

It comes out that Morpheus wants to introduce Hob around, too. Wants to bring Hob to family dinner with his siblings and have Hob with him to receive delegations. How he wants Hob to sit beside him in the throne room of the Dreaming. And how Dream wants to know all Hob’s friends, his little found family of students, his colleagues at the university, his neighbors. How he wants to belong in the life Hob has built for himself.

Yet surely, this is bound to end in disaster, too. Surely he is ill-suited for Hob as well, and surely all of those closest to Hob can see it. Are thinking it to themselves. Are biding their time to tell Hob I told you so.

“But... you’ve got to know everyone adores you. They’re always wondering when they’ll see you next. My students are always asking after you. Everyone tells me we're great together, actually. Never seen me happier, wanting to bake things for you, insisting I bring you along to the next thing—all of it."

"Then it is only a matter of time." "Until what?" "Calliope's family were not exactly... incorrect about me, in the end."

"So... what—you think you're ill-suited to me?"

"I am ill-suited to love."

And of course Hob can't have Dream thinking that. It just isn't true.

So he goes out of his way to be even more vocal about the things Morpheus does that are appreciated. To remind him he is loved. To remind him he is welcomed. To remind him just how well-suited he is to Hob, and how much he fits into Hob's life.

So-and-so says hello, he tells Dream, multiple times per week. Hob stops politely turning down the biscuits his favorite TA sends along, and they've always got a note taped onto the Tupperware ("For you and Morpheus") that Hob makes sure Dream sees. (If Morpheus secrets the little Post-Its away in one of the inner pockets of his coat and Hob never sees them again, well, all the better for Dream to keep them.)

~*~

Hob brings Dream to sit in on his knitting circle one week at the New Inn. All his friends are so excited to have Dream model their scarves and gloves and shawls and cardigans. Morpheus stands there for all of it obligingly, feeling the dreams in each and every one of the stitches.

"Brigitte wants to know what you'd like for your birthday," Hob says to Dream one day, after he runs into his neighbor, who is also in the group, and is held up ten minutes by her asking.

"I do not have a birthday," Morpheus says. "Not as such."

"Yeah, but they all don't know that, do they?" Hob grins, cajoling. "Let her give you something."

"What should I ask for?"

"Well, she is getting on a bit, so nothing too adventurous. She usually just knits me something every year. We could just tell her your favorite color." Hob pauses for dramatic effect. "...What's your favorite color?"

"You jest, I hope." "Right," Hob says, voice full of stifled laughter. "I'll tell her. Nothing but black as the deepest midnight for my darling."

Morpheus wears the resulting jumper, a drapey, soft comfort, constantly; and when the armpits pill and if it ever even approaches becoming threadbare he fixes it gingerly with yarn woven of finely-sifted stardust; and Brigitte has only the best dreams of exactly what she wishes to dream about for the rest of her life. It is the least gift he can give her in return.

~*~

When Morpheus finally invites Hob to visit the Dreaming, Hob comes with an easy smile for even the smallest nightmare and an ear to bend for every dream he meets. He brings a profound and open curiosity for everything about the place. Everyone is charmed. Hob is so regular that some of them are baffled. But Lord Morpheus' happiness rolls off him in tangible waves when he is around Hob Gadling. The denizens of the Dreaming can feel that their lord is lighter than he has been in literal ages of his existence.

Everything in the realm is in fragile bloom for the first time in a very long time. The sunshine is resplendent. The air is balmy. Birds sing in the palace orchards. Hardly so much as a drop of rain dares to fall for weeks.

~*~

The first time Hob is invited to a soiree in the Dreaming he frets about his outfit for days on end.

Morpheus is privately amused by it. "You do recall this event is being held in the Dreaming," he says, sprawled on Hob's bed, watching him pass the fabric of two of his bowties between his fingers, one tie black as night and one so dark a navy it could almost pass for black as well. "You do not actually have to dress for it in the Waking. Your dream-self will simply manifest your preferred attire." Hob just scoffs at him. "Of course. But my imagination's got to start somewhere, right? I don't want to accidentally manifest pyjamas with ducks on them just in time to meet bloody Oberon because my mind forgot what a good suit looks like. Can you imagine?"

"I would not allow you to experience any embarrassment in my realm," Morpheus says, possibly with undue vehemence.

Hob glances over at him. "I know, love."

And the ties go forgotten after that.

~*~

“I’ve got something for you,” Hob tells Dream, one day.

They are in Hob’s living room, sitting on the couch together, Morpheus adrift on a veritable sea of throw pillows. He could, he thinks idly, craft these exact pillows in the Dreaming, replicate their heft and the give of sinking into them, and still they would not offer him such ease.

“Hob Gadling,” he says, disguising his delight rather poorly, he thinks. “You should not have.”

But Hob is already slipping to his knees on the rug in front of Dream, already pulling a small box from behind his back with a flourish, with the sleight of hand of long-abandoned habit. “Shouldn’t I?” he asks. “You deserve beautiful things."

Morpheus stares at the ruby ring, nestled on its little velvet cushion, for so long and so intently that Hob starts to sweat.

"I know it's been a long time," he says. "For both of us."

Morpheus is still staring.

"Fuck, I had an entire speech planned. Rehearsed it and everything. Gideon told me it was brilliant. But now it's like all the good words've been knocked right out of my skull. All I can think is—I hope you don't run off in the middle of me asking you to marry me." "I will not run off," Morpheus says.

"Good," Hob says. "That's good."

~*~

Morpheus is nervous, at first, about telling people. There is a part of him that wants to hold this joy inside his heart, hoard the buoyant sensation of being loved by Hob Gadling like it is a precious commodity that will disintegrate if he lets it out.

But Hob is generous with his love. He reminds Morpheus of it constantly.

“Dream,” Hob says, one morning, propping his chin on Morpheus’ bare chest to gaze at him. “You’re my fiancé.”

Warmth tingles through Morpheus’ body. “I am,” he says.

“I’m your fiancé,” Hob goes on, and now he’s grinning so wide Morpheus is sure his cheeks must ache. “God, am I really?”

“You are,” he promises, with a little swoop of something like fear, or elation, or both. Surely he cannot just have this joy. It cannot be so simple.

“I am,” Hob says, “the luckiest person in all creation.” He says it as earnestly as if he’s saying a vow, right there in their bed.

Hob’s exuberance is contagious, and Morpheus finds that his own smile comes to his mouth unbidden.

Perhaps it could be so simple if he allows it to be.

~*~

Hob is sitting at the kitchen table, addressing invitations to their engagement party, working his way through a stack of fifty laid paper envelopes. Morpheus sits sprawled in his customary chair next to Hob’s, observing.

“That is a great many people,” he says, plucking the pen from Hob’s fingers once he finishes the current envelope and setting it down before taking Hob’s hand in his, kneading the tension from his palm. “Are you certain they should all be in attendance?”

Hob looks up from where he’s scrutinizing his own calligraphy. He must catch something in Morpheus’ tone, because his face softens from surprise into concern. “Only if you want, love,” Hob says. “You know I’d elope with you tomorrow, if you preferred that.”

“Would that bring you happiness?” Thinking on it, Morpheus is unsure it would bring him happiness, now that it is being offered as an option. Strong as the greedy part of him that wants to hoard their love is, there is also the part of him that hungers for it to be known. To be seen. To be shown.

Hob’s brows knit together, then smooth out again. “I admit there’s a part of me that wants to shout about all this from the rooftops.” He laughs softly. “And there are a lot of people who are happy for us, you know. But—” And here he turns his hand in Morpheus’, so he can hold it properly. “I want you to be comfortable. I could marry you in this kitchen and not tell a soul til after—”

“I wish to have the party,” Morpheus announces, because it is, he finds, true. “And I wish to have a ceremony. Here. And one in the Dreaming.”

“Two ceremonies?” Hob’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Now you’re just being extravagant.”

Morpheus huffs. “You have seen nothing yet of my extravagance.”

He feels none of his usual trepidation at admitting it.

~*~

Their ceremony in the Dreaming is an intimate one. The castle is resplendent with flowers, and the twilight twinkles with stars and carries a hint of magic.

Morpheus presents Hob with a crown made of dreamstuff and a mantle lined with stardust much like the inside of his own coat. Lucienne gives Hob his own key to the library. He dances with Gault in the palace gardens, face lit by the auroras rippling through her wings. The new Corinthian swears to protect him. Matthew perches on Hob’s shoulder almost the entire rest of the evening.

Late in the night, Morpheus and Hob excuse themselves to walk together in the fields of the Dreaming, and to kiss beneath the endless sky.

A fraction of the tightness in Morpheus dissipates, having Hob here. Having him welcomed by his realm. Having his own choice so honored, and Hob so loved.

~*~

There are fifty people at their engagement party in the Waking world, and two hundred at their Waking wedding reception. Most of them are from Hob's side. By the end of the evening Morpheus’ hand is sore from being wrung so many times by well-wishers, he is surprisingly tipsy off surprisingly good champagne on which Hob had spared no expense, and he feels slightly effervescent himself, even in this Waking body.

The gifts table creaks under the weight of all the presents—many of them handmade. There is a hand-painted portrait and a hand-thrown ceramic bowl and a hand-knit blanket for his and Hob’s bed and a crocheted sweater for the dog they do not yet have together. There is a queue to sign the guestbook.

He drifts in the pleasant dreams their guests have for them—Hob’s fellow professors, his research assistants, his former students, his neighbors, his knitting group, his landlord, his philosophy discussion club. These people dream of happiness for Hob; of happiness for them; of happiness for him. There is love in their hearts for Hob, and now, by extension, a new love for Morpheus.

The rest of the old weight lifts from his shoulders that night, as Hob beams down at him, and kisses him long and slow, and whispers “I love you” while his patchwork of family—their family, now—whoop and holler and clap.

#the sandman #dreamling #SMOTHER MORPHEUS IN LOVE TIME

2K notes · View notes

railroad-migraine · 11 months

Note

In honour of Legend of Vox Machina coming out, can we have a Percy x (fem/gender neutral) reader with the prompt "You feel like home to me." Maybe reader also lost their home (or they were from Whitestone too)

'Welcome Home'

-> Percy x GN!Reader

Notes: Angst and fluff, hurt comfort. I started writing this piece in January 2022. As of June 2023, I have now watched TLOVM. Sorry it took a while Anon, but I wanted to save your lovely request for when I eventually got into Vox Machina 💙 Can be read as platonic or romantic

~ Poet

*****

It wasn't meant to be like this.

Things had not gone to plan. What was the plan, you say? That is debatable depending on who you'd ask.

To start, Vax was unfortunately spotted skulking around the enemy's camp. That then lead to small confrontation, one that he'd be fine to handle all by himself, one where he was suspiciously poked and prodded at innocently, but Keyleth instinctually stepped in to save him - thus getting the whole party involved and quickly overwhelmed. It was manageable until the exact moment where Grog lopped off the head of one of the bandits.

To put it simply, all hell broke loose and it all went to shit.

However, in the end, when the bandits lay dead and smloldering by the campfire, it was a victory for Vox Machina.

A victory, maybe. But not quite a win.

Wounds were in need of tending to, and Pike was far too exhausted to treat everyone. Camping in the woods did not seem to be the best option, the trees offering little cover, and neither did the cliff face nearby. Frustrated, tired, hungry - voices raising at each other prickled the hairs at the back of your neck and you knew you had to step up. To be the adult.

"There is a village," you start, but no one chooses to listen, your voice just another one in the argument.

"There is a village," you repeat, a little more firm and insistant, and the others begin to withdraw, eyes falling onto you, "not far from here. I- I didn't mention it before because it doesn't belong on the map. Not anymore, at least.

"We can go there, set up camp, sit down and just shut up for a few hours," you sigh.

Most of the party look hesitant but Scanlan raises a brow and shrugs with an easy nonchalance that you envy. "If you say it's safe, I'm down."

It wasn't meant to be like this.

"It is." You hope. "I promise.

Percy watches you carefully, the fading light of the Sun behind him casting shadows on his face, sharpens his already sharp jawline even further until it cuts into his coat's collar. Something dangerous in his expression. "Lead on, then," but he doesn't sound convinced.

And so you lead your friends to the home and earth that once nurtured your childhood, the very same that you abandoned all those years ago in favour of adventure.

You were still young. Like a child, scarrless, soft, green and new to the greater world that waited for you beyond your doorstep.

It wasn't meant to be like this, you think as you fall to your knees, taking in the grim sight before you. It's hard to tell what exactly happened, whether the homes had been raided and intentionally burned down, or if it had been a simple accident and the townspeople luckily fled somewhere safe.

How long had it been since you left home? What seemed like yesterday were many, many months for your people, and anything can happen in that time apart.

But you never expected to be returning home to a graveyard.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

"I'm sorry."

You sniffle and quickly wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, choking back a bitter laugh. "Percy." He pulls his mouth into a straight line, a grimace of sorts. "You can be a thorn in my side at times, but why should you be sorry?"

He shifts his weight on his feet. "Because... because it's what people might have said to me when I was in a similar state. I'm not sure if it would ever have made me feel better, but I suppose it shows some level of... respect. Condolences. Comfort, sometimes. Or so I've heard."

He pulls his coat tighter around his torso, the bite in the air unforgiving even as you mourn for your childhood home while your knees press into dirt. You risk a glance up at his face, and his forlorn expression shatters your already broken heart. He feigns a weak smile, and ducks his chin in sympathy. "It's not for everyone, I suppose."

It's a cold comfort as your grip on the ashes of your home loosens, and slips through your fingers, like sand lost in the wind.

Percy says your name, clear and grounding, and you manage to tear your gaze from what's left of your history. "Look at me." You crane your neck to look to where he looms over your hunched form. "Home is a feeling... I know that more than anybody."

Slowly, so slowly and gentle as if caught in slow motion, he crouches down to meet your height. He appraises you for a hesitant moment, then reaches out to wipe a tear that trails down your cheek, one that you had accidentally neglected. It smears across your skin smoothly, leaving a clean line in the thin layer of dust you had acquired since the battle and trek over here.

He looks at you softly, and you nearly sob from the incredible amount of emotions you feel all at once. You grip his hand like a lifeline and press it into your face so that you can lean into the comfort he's providing, and a shudder washes over you at the warmth radiating from his glove.

Percy nudges your chin up with his free hand, and you have no choice but to meet his watery eyes.

"And you feel like home to me."

In that moment, you know you feel the same for him.

*****

[posts this and RUNS]

265 notes · View notes

jisungsdaydreamer · 1 year

Text

No Man’s Land

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS After a disastrous shipwreck out at sea, Changbin should have died. But you saved him.

Pairing: Changbin x gn!reader Genre: mermaid au, pirate au Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, violence, death, nudity but not sexual World Count: 3.6k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

Changbin is accustomed to the folk law of sea creatures, monsters with tentacles and suckers that rip the skin clean off your bones. When he’d first set sail with a captain whose lucrative business involved bloodshed, cannon fire, and rare visits to dry land, Changbin was fifteen. All he possessed were the tales his grandfather had received countless times. A sword was always strapped to his hip, but it was some time before he learned how to use it. Piracy is a crime punishable by death. But Changbin doesn’t intend on getting caught.

It’s the stories of creatures half-human, half-scaled, that Changbin can recall in greater detail. Shivers ripple through his body as he recounts the brutal cruelty these beings are capable of; known to prettily coax ships to the rocks. Some say they physically transform for each victim, your own personal siren, beautiful and nigh uncatchable in the water.

But the tales are not of much concern at the present minute, as the ship is hosting a rather bloody battle between the crew and those that have swung aboard, uninvited.

“Changbin!”

The warning almost comes too late, but Changbin turns, carving his sword into the man’s waist. A fatal red seeps into the clothing around the deep wound, mouth wide and breath punched. The man falls back, his dead weight hitting the hard deck.

There’s not much time to relax before another opponent chooses Changbin to pick a fight with. Changbin’s aim is weak when holding a pistol, and he desperately hopes the man aiming at him is just as poor. The bullet clips Changbin’s arm, a flesh wound that doesn’t cause much discomfort. And that’s particularly useful, because his attack is a surprise to the man he charges at. He could take an arm or a leg, but a blade through the left of his chest is something Changbin finds kinder, when ending a person’s life. Not that he’s ever had it happen to himself.

Changbin’s sword is slicked with crimson as he withdraws it from the torso. Sweat trickles his neck and back, as he discovers flames that lick up the stairs to the raised deck which holds the wheel. One of the vast sails has just caught alight, and despite the endless water surrounding them, it will be difficult to put it out. Steering has been abandoned in favor of fighting off the enemy, and Changbin’s judgment tells him the ship is careening towards a reef just barely visible above the ocean’s glassy surface.

He’s forced to scale the splintered wood to the side of the stairs in order to reach the wheel, but even then, he’s burnt from the heat. Alas, Changbin is too late. The belly of the ship crunches, shredded by the unforgiving rocks, and any effort to stop the consequences are rendered fruitless. Changbin’s limp body is catapulted forward, his hip slamming into the outer edge of the vessel as he is thrown over the side.

Changbin’s vision is blurred when he cracks his eyes open. It’s uncomfortable. Changbin is used to sleeping in rough conditions on the ship, but this doesn’t compare. Attempting to roll to the left jabs more sharp rock through his thin shirt. Wincing, Changbin moves to sit up instead, but soon wishes he didn't. Desperate eyes scan the surrounding water, but there’s nothing but a few floating planks and barrels. If anything was burning, the flames have been extinguished and everything is oddly still. The ship is gone and Changbin’s heart lurches at the possible whereabouts of his home.

The next sight his eyes are troubled by has him grabbing for the sword on his bruised hip but his hand clutches at thin air. Instead, a small dagger is drawn and thrust out defensively in front of him. Changbin sees that you look frightened, but the stories he has heard of mermaids has his fingers tighten around the handle of the blade. Your head bobs up again, and Changbin draws his legs further into him. He’s defenseless if you decide to drag him into the water.

He’s breathing heavily now, eyes never straying from the source of his fear. You curiously circle the rock he’s made residence on, coming a little too close for Changbin’s comfort. It’s a pathetic attempt, but he still wrestles off his one remaining boot and launches it at you. The pulsing waves make good cover as you duck. You seem more curious about the wriggling of his toes rather than his efforts to keep you away.

The movement triggers a sharp pain to the right of his forehead. The dagger has dropped from his hand, teetering on the edge of the stone, but before Changbin can reach it, the blade is swallowed by the ocean. He clutches at his temple, and as he withdraws his palm, blood mixed with water drips down his wrist.

“I’m sorry about that. You’re heavy and the sea is rough.”

You are much closer now, clinging to the rock on his left side with your hands, and it’s difficult for Changbin to mistake the regret in your sparkling eyes. The rest of your body past your bare shoulders is concealed within the inky waters and your dark hair cascades in waves around your delicate features.

“I pulled you onto the rock,” you continue as Changbin stares. “Because you can’t swim, can you? That’s why you sail on those big wooden arcs.”

“Ships.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken to you, and it seems apt for the situation he’s in.

“Ships,” you repeat, locking the information away.

He doesn’t correct her— Changbin’s a strong swimmer— but it doesn’t seem important now. He has far greater concerns. “Where is my ship?”

“Sunk.”

“And the men?”

“Sunk with it.”

You don’t hold an ounce of remorse, just inquisitively tilting your head. Your lack of sympathy reminds Changbin that you are a creature that isn’t human; you might as well be from a far-off land.

“Why did you put me here?”

It’s accusing. He should have died with his friends, not alone on a fucking rock. Changbin knows you both are in the middle of the ocean, he’d seen the maps a few days prior. They were sailing into open water.

“Because I found you.”

“There were plenty of men you could have captured,” Changbin bites back.

He’s not frightened of you anymore; he’s just incredibly pissed off. Stupid fish. Why couldn’t you have just left him to die?

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted to keep you,” you emphasize.

“Why?” He shakes his head.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Your answer flushes his cheeks with color. He had expected a reply to run more along the lines of, ‘because I think you’ll scream the most when I rip you from limb to limb’ or perhaps, ‘you’ll taste the nicest when I wrap you in seaweed and feast on your flesh.’ You smile at his embarrassment, an emotion you’re probably unaware you have caused him to feel. No one has ever called him beautiful before.

“Are you a pirate?”

So apparently we’ve moved on, Changbin thinks. He shifts a little in your direction, and with the unparalleled view of his very own siren, he is secretly astounded with your beauty. It’s delicate in a fragile way, bringing a certain sadness to him.

“My ship’s gone, the crew… I’m just a man on a fucking rock now,” Changbin speaks in defeat.

He lays back on the jagged stone, heavily sighing and staring up at the clouds floating by.

“A boy.”

Changbin’s eyes harshly target you. Your eyebrows are raised in question to his challenging frown.

“I’m nineteen,” he states defensively.

“Is that old enough to be a man?”

He doesn’t miss the sharp gleam of your teeth. You could probably rip him to shreds, but he doesn’t think that will happen, now that you’ve called him beautiful.

“I think I’ve had enough life experience to merit me a man.”

“Oh,” you reply.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know,” you retort with a shrug.

It’s off to see such a human gesture on something that Changbin knows is swimming around with a tail. It’s as though you can read his mind, flicking your lower half through the opaque water before coming to rest on his other side. He sits up.

“Why do you slay your own kind?”

The fighting. You’re talking about what happened between the two vessels. Changbin’s memory is fuzzy, and he accounts it to the knock his head received. The enemy ship must’ve gotten away unscathed, unless it’s wrecked like his own and lying beneath him. You were watching then.

“We had to protect the cargo,” He eventually replies.

“The shiny coins and pretty rocks?”

You smile in appreciation, and Changbin is certain you’re innocent to the worth of the stolen treasures. They wouldn’t be as good to you, as you spend your life solely below the surface of the sea.

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, I went down to have a look while you were sleeping. Your ship has holes in it, I don’t think it will float anymore.”

“No,” Changbin sadly shakes his head.

“Where have you been on your ship?” you ask, genuinely taking an interest in the stranded boy.

“Everywhere.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Changbin want to move closer. His grandfather’s words still ring in his head, the most malicious predator wears beauty as a mask, beware of the sealed splendor that inhabits the ocean, Changbin.

“You can’t have been everywhere.”

He’s going to die anyway, why not let it be at the hands of his own siren?

“Even if I haven’t, there are thousands of ships; man has conquered the ocean,” Changbin replies with assurance.

Your smile drops, fingers slipping from the side of Changbin’s rock, and you create space between you both. You float as he shuffles down, feet dipping into the water. When you make no move towards him, Changbin lets his legs hang over the side. The water is cool.

“You’re naive, pirate,” you speak in such a harsh tone, Changbin finds it difficult to accept that those words have come from something so lovely.

“My grandfather slayed a monster of the sea, it was forty feet long,” He challenges.

Changbin thinks you ought to be impressed, his grandfather was a legend. But his pride sinks as you coldly stalk him. The once pretty shimmer of your tail has taken on a darker tone. Changbin braces his hands behind him, leaning back slightly and away from you.

“I’ve seen bigger,” you finally reply with a small smile.

If Changbin didn’t know any better, he’d say your words were laced with suggestive air. It’s a manner he’s only ever heard of in the bedrooms of women he visits when making an occasional port stop. You’re either unaware of your affect or playing with him on purpose.

“Have you?” Changbin laughs, not in a questioning way, but with a genuine interest.

You swim closer back to the rock, your shoulders rising above the water for the first time, exposing your body to Changbin for the first time. His eyes traced over all of you, your delicate but strong arms, the graceful arch of your neck, the soft curves of your hips. And when Changbin realizes that your torso is bare, save for the gorgeous curls of your hair, he immediately looks away, his face colored with his sudden bashfulness.

It is not as if Changbin has never set eyes on someone’s naked form, but the gorgeous creature in front of him is no human- no, you are ethereal, exquisite, a kind of loveliness unknown to man. Looking at you feels new, somehow; you are only a fantasy, a being of old sailor tales, and up until now, everything about you was a mystery to Changbin.

“You and your ships have barely explored the surface,” you state, amused, as you rest your chin upon your forearms, propped up on Changbin’s small, probable death, a stone island. “There’s so much more.”

You’re kindly smiling now, friendly demeanor in place of whatever manifested a short time before.

“More?” Changbin speaks without thinking, leaning closer to share the secret.

“I could show you.”

Changbin shakes his head with a shy smile, looking down and observing the way his legs swing back and forth in the water. He should feel cold, but he doesn’t. Changbin doesn’t have time to go exploring with you, his life on the rock must come to an end soon; he has no drinking water, no food, no nearby shore.

“Will you sing to me then?” you ask quietly. “I heard you before the fighting. You have such a pretty voice, will you sing to me, pirate?”

Changbin indulges the bewitching mermaid and recites an old song his mother used to sing to him. You are so enthralled, requesting that he repeat the tune and then sing a new one. By the time he’s finished, Changbin’s voice is tortured with thirst. You are laid partially on the rock, tail dipping in and out of the water as you praise him for such a wonderful performance.

“Your eyes look like the deep ocean,” you keenly observe. Changbin has never heard of a more poetic way of describing his murky brown eyes. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

He’s tired now, hungry and possibly a little sunburnt. With his eyes closed, Changbin is free to imagine himself anywhere he pleases. The sun is still beating a warm glow in what he believes to be late afternoon. And Changbin can’t seem to envision himself anywhere but here, on a rock in the ocean, with a sea creature for company. A beautiful one. Changbin’s glad that they haven’t exchanged names, because hearing you say his might in fact be a massive obstruction in his plan of not getting attached and wanting to stay. Learning yours would swell his heart.

You are lovingly gazing at him when he opens his eyes. He’s had time to think and he’s made his decision.

“I’d like to see. Will you take me there?”

Changbin is slipping down the rock before you even confirm your answer. Your eyes are bright with joy, excited that the boy would accept your offer. You’ve never been this close to a pirate, or a human, for that matter. And now, your heart flutters because you get to hold him again. He’s not asleep this time.

Once he’s fully submerged, your arms wrap Changbin’s torso, pressing you into him. He’s not expecting you to be so gentle, conscious of the fragility of his body as you cradle him away from the inevitable danger of the rock.

“You can’t swim, I’ll hold you.”

Your smile almost makes Changbin want to confess he can’t be yours. There’s no hope for him, Changbin understands that. And maybe this won’t be such an awful conclusion. He’d imagined his life to come to an end at the tip of a blade, sea air spraying his face, not in the arms of a creature who inhabits the ocean he sails. Changbin almost wishes his grandfather could be here to witness the ‘monster’ he’d painted into his grandson’s young mind. To see that you’re not a ruthless predator, not a vicious, inhuman monster. You saved his life.

“Are you ready?”

And now, you’re unwittingly going to take it from him.

Changbin’s lips fall to yours. It’s a surprise for you, because it’s a soft pink. Warm. Their noses brush as the angle transforms, and the boy presses his mouth to the corner of yours. The laugh that escapes is musical, and you squeeze his injured hip.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a kiss,” Changbin breathlessly explains.

Your eyes dart over his face, absorbing the boy’s striking features, and you playfully tug at the end of the black scarf tied around his head.

“What’s it for?”

The mermaid smiles innocently, questioning about a subject that he’s never been asked to analyze before.

“It— it doesn’t really have a purpose.”

He’s not going to delve into the logistics, because all Changbin can think of is to explain a kiss like that is love. The situation doesn’t need to last longer. He’s ready to go with you now.

“Then why do you do it?”

“It feels nice,” Changbin’s voice descends in volume, embarrassed to be called out.

He looks at the length of your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, before tracing his eyes upward again, over the strange gashes in your neck.

“Do it again,” you breathe.

He does as told, closing his eyes and melting into the last kiss he’ll ever have. You follow the only lead you have ever had and shut your eyes. It seems strange to you, to blind yourself when commencing in an intimate act. Surely you’d want to see the other person. Your mind flutters as the boy performs magic with just his lips. And you come to realize that ‘kissing’ is more to do with how you feel, rather than what you see.

Changbin is startled as you pull away, hiding your face and giggling. Your shimmering tail floats back and forth under the water beneath them, your hands still firmly holding his waist.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, water droplets trickling down your neck and over your chest.

“Your tongue touched mine,” you exclaim, blushing.

It’s enormously endearing and Changbin finds himself wishing that he’d met someone like you on land. You would have convinced him not to leave, not to climb aboard the ship proudly displaying black flags. He would have a respectable job and thrive on the knowledge that everyday, you’d be home waiting for his return. He could have loved someone like you.

“I’m ready.”

You beam a smile at him before helping his arms around you. His fingers skim the hardened scales on the small of your back, tracing the gradual boundary between ocean dwelling and human.

“Hold on to me,” you whisper, the last words spoken between you both before you submerge.

The saltwater stings Changbin’s eyes. His instincts tell him to fight the hold and break the surface, but he overcomes reflex, letting you cling to him as you dive further down. You’re more powerful than he’d expected, and they descend quickly. The pressure is starting to burn, pressing down on his chest as he holds the last of his breath. Three more beats of your tail, and Changbin can’t put off the inevitable any longer. Water painfully invades his lungs, body convulsing with the onslaught before succumbing to the ocean, and the pretty creature who cradles him.

He knew he would drown, but you didn’t.

They come to a slow halt to admire the surroundings.

“Look,” you smile.

These waters are your favorite, pretty fish and deep water coral. It’s a wash of colors that most don’t get to see, perhaps that’s what makes it so special.

The boy’s head rests in the crook of your neck. You hold him away from you slightly so you can see his face, see the awe you hope his features will express. But his face is blank, eyes shuttered closed, hands no longer seeking you for guidance.

You shake him, as much as the dense water allows. The hair not trapped beneath the bandana floats around him like a halo.

“Why won’t you open your eyes?” Your voice trembles with a cry.

He can’t swim. Your hands settle a small distance away from his waist in hopes that he’ll reach out and clutch you to him again. But he doesn’t. The boy begins to drift, and you snap from your despair, taking handfuls of his shirt and dragging him into your arms.

“Sing to me,” you desperately say into his ear. “Please.”

You’ve seen men like this before, but you had accounted for their unresponsiveness to the wounds to neck or chests. They were already dead before they hit the water, thrown over the side of ships that flaunted those black sails. Your boy has no such injuries. You check, hands smoothing over his defined chest under the tattered shirt. There’s no wounds, no blood. Delicate fingers inspect his shoulders, and your frantic searching dies when you reach his neck. A distraught cry frightens the nearby fish, as they seek cover in the nearby coral. The three gashes that you have on either side of your throat are absent on his.

The boy couldn’t breathe.

“No.”

You receive odd looks from your siblings, but you pay no mind. The boy is yours; you’ll look after him.

Others of your kind have gathered around the wrecked ship settled on the ocean floor. It’s not too far from the surface, light still penetrating from above. With practiced skill, you carefully navigate the vessel’s interior, an area you’ve previously explored after rescuing the boy you now protectively embrace. The cargo he’d talked about spills over the chewed up wooden floor.

There’s not much of a current, especially as they’re sheltered within the ship’s hull. You allow his body to float down upon a bed of shiny coins and pretty rocks: a fitting resting place for your beautiful boy.

You stay with him until the waters are cold and looming with the promise of nightfall. Normally, you’d spend this time above the surface, sitting on the boy’s vacant rock to watch the sun go down. It is possible to cry underwater, and your sorrowful tears wash with the ocean.

Your lips press to his, but you don’t linger because he’s cold. The once pretty pink is now a stony blue as you run the tip of your finger over the curves of his mouth.

“Forgive me,” you plead.

One last look and you’re gone.

But you should have stayed with him though, as now the boy’s eyes are wide open. There are gashes on his neck, and he’s breathing the oxygen in the water…

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I wrote this years ago. I just love mermaids & Changbin!

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

211 notes · View notes

prettydjarinsoloinspires · 6 months

Note

for the writing prompts: #15 and/or #62 for Lokius pls and thank you 🙏🏽

I've done #15 for Lokius before. It's on my AO3 :)

But here is #62 "I want to protect you." Apparently I can't not write super emotional fic so here you go! Enjoy!

---

Loki falls back onto the pillows, the thundering of his heart only just beginning to slow down. Mobius pants above him, eyes following his face, an odd emotion swimming behind them. Loki pulls him close, arching up to him for a quick, heated kiss.

“Mobius?” Loki gulps in a breath of air, still breathing hard. “What’s wrong?”

Mobius takes a shuddering breath and runs his hands through the raven hair splayed out on their pillows.

“After today I-” Mobius stops himself, his other hand starts rubbing reassuringly at Loki’s waist, nearly pulling at his skin there, possessive. Loki stays quiet and waits for him to go on. They both know what nearly happened today, they don’t need to say it.

“I know I'm not a god and I don't have magic powers or super strength but I-“ Mobius stops himself again, looking down at Loki’s chest, his brows knit together.

Loki waits, but Mobius only shakes his head slightly.

“It’s ok,” Loki says. “I don’t care about that. You know I don’t.”

Mobius won’t meet Loki’s eye, still staring at Loki’s skin. Loki can feel him start to shift away, withdrawing from where they are pressed together under the sheets, his warm thigh shifting nervously.

Loki twists his head up on the pillow, trying to get a better look at Mobius’s face. He reaches out to touch the side of his jaw, long fingers caressing his neck.

“Mobius please.”

Mobius looks up finally, eyes full of so much emotion that Loki’s breath catches in his throat.

“I want to protect you. I want to be able to protect you too.” Loki’s fingers tighten, nails creating indents in Mobius’s skin. His heart starts pounding again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“Mobius you do. You do protect me. In ways you don’t even know.”

Mobius’s eyes shine, tears gathering in the corners.

“But I can’t-” Loki cuts him off with a kiss.

When he pulls away he makes sure Mobius is listening, tugging at the short hairs at the base of his skull.

“You protect me. Every day. Just knowing you are there, at my side. Knowing I get to come home to you. Knowing that no matter what happens, big or small, that I can get through it because I have you. The strength I get from you is immeasurable and greater than any magic or power.”

“Loki-” A tear slips out of Mobius’s eye and Loki pulls him in for another kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He tries to pour all of his love and devotion into the kiss. Their bodies tangle together again and Loki swallows all of Mobius’s gasps, drinking each one in. He pulls back after a little while, their foreheads pressed together.

“Ok? Do you believe me?”

Mobius laughs weakly. “I believe you.”

Mobius kisses him this time and they fall back into each other.

#lokius #prompt fill #loki #mobius #loki x mobius #lokius fanfic #lokius drabble #mobius m mobius #loki friggason #pretty writes #pretty answers

94 notes · View notes

drabmakyo · 1 year

Text

Did you know that I write a lot about memory, skunks, uploading consciousness, political maneuvering, skunks, aliens, skunks, queerness, identity, emotions, and skunks? It's true! I'm very proud of them. You can read books best described as

Given the chance to live forever in a world not built for death, what do you do?

Given the inability to forget—all your joys and sorrows, all your foundational memories and traumas—how do you cope?

Given the ability to create a full copy of yourself—down to every single one of those memories—to do as they will, to individuate and live out their own forever lives, or merge back down and meld their memories with your own, what paths do you take?

and

If I had a nickel for every time I accidentally wrote something with heavy plural undertones that I hadn't intended but nonetheless made me doubt my identity, I'd have two nickels! Which isn't a lot, but it is weird that it happened twice.

The Post-Self Cycle is a tetralogy of meta-furry¹, gender-weird sci-fi books. From the very beginning of the consensual dream of the System, the members of the Ode clade, all forks from the same core personality, have dealt with fear each in their own way. Do they search for greater ways to control their lives? Do they hunt for yet deeper emotional connection? Do they hone their art to the finest point?

From roots in political turmoil to the building of a new society, the story is there to be found, and the Bălan clade is there to tell it.

Digital versions come with illustrations from five artists — Iris Jay, Jade Laclede, Floe, CadmiumTea, and johnny a.

Available as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser. Omnibus ebook and illustrated hardcovers coming soon!

Book I — Qoheleth

"All artists search. I search for stories, in this post-self age. What happens when you can no longer call yourself an individual, when you have split your sense of self among several instances? How do you react? Do you withdraw into yourself, become a hermit? Do you expand until you lose all sense of identity? Do you fragment? Do you go about it deliberately, or do you let nature and chance take their course?"

With immersive technology at its peak, it's all too easy to get lost. When RJ loses emself in that virtual world, not only must ey find eir way out, but find all the answers ey can along the way.

And, nearly a century on, society still struggles with the ramifications of those answers.

Features the bonus novella Gallery Exhibition: A Love Story.

Madison finds a way to address not only the joys and terrors of integrated simulation technology, but also tackles questions of gender and identity while telling a pretty gripping mystery story in the process.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Book II — Toledot

"I am saying that you trust me — really trust me — and that life in the System is more subtle than I think you know. You let me into your dreams, my dear, and your dreams influence this place as much as, if not more than, your waking mind."

No longer bound to the physical, what lengths should one go to in a virtual world to ensure the continuity of one's existence?

Secession. Launch. Two separations from two societies, two hundred years apart. And through it all, so many parallels run on so many levels that it can be dizzying just keeping up. The more Ioan and Codrin Bălan learn, the more it calls into question the motivations of even those they hold most dear.

Madison Scott-Clary . . . trusts her readers to be able to understand a completely different culture and existence than our own, and makes it compelling to do so.

— Payson R. Harris

Book III — Nevi'im

"Do you know how old I am, Dr. Brahe? I am 222 years old, a fork of an individual who is...who would be 259 years old. I am no longer the True Name of 2124. Even remembering her feels like remembering an old friend. I remember her perfectly, and yet I do not remember how to be earnest. I do not know how to simply be."

The cracks are showing.

Someone picked up on the broadcast from the Dreamer Module and as the powers that be rush to organize a meeting between races, Dr. Tycho Brahe is caught up in a whirlwind of activity. And as always, when the drama goes down, there is Codrin Bălan to witness it.

When faced with eternity in a new kind of digital world, however, old traumas come to roost, and those who were once powerful are brought to their knees

Growth is colliding with memory, and the cracks are showing.

These characters are so well realized, so fleshed out, that I can’t help but to gush about how their interactions with each other inform the central plot of the book.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Book IV — Mitzvot

"To be built to love is to be built to dissolve. It is to be built to unbecome. It is to have the sole purpose of falling apart all in the name of someone else."

Even the grandest of stories can feel small and immediate when it's just one person's life.

One of the most well-known names from one of the most well-known clades on the System, the avatar of political machinations and cool confidence, has been brought low. With help coming only from Ioan Bălan and the most grudging of support from her cocladists, all True Name has left to save herself is the ability to change.

Features the bonus novella Selected Letters.

Mitzvot drills down deeper into the lives of its characters and shows us that between the world-shattering projects that change the very understanding of the System, they’re just people trying to live their lives with love and purpose.

— Nenekiri Bookwyrm

Keep an eye out for Clade, an anthology of short stories from nine authors set in the universe, coming later this year.

----------

¹ That is, about members of the furry subculture rather than just furry characters.

#post-self #sci-fi #meta-furry #books and reading

159 notes · View notes

utilitycaster · 2 years

Text

(I extracted/adapted and slightly expanded this this from a somewhat more complicated question response bc it's my favorite thing I've written about Yasha as an individual and Beauyasha as a couple, and I wanted to post it separately and actually be able to tag it)

This is Yasha's story: after her initial meeting with the group, during which she keeps a distance and drifts in and out of the story for the first month, she is kidnapped. After having been kidnapped, she withdraws further, traumatized after the loss of Molly. She meets up again after a few weeks alone and quietly tells the clerics about the relatively recent loss of her wife. She continues to struggle against invisible chains several times before failing, and has an entire very literal corruption arc in which she constantly struggles against Obann; she finally is, with the help of the Mighty Nein, able to break it. With the help of her deity, she is able to move forward from her grief, and begin to see a life of her own - not as a killer, an orphan-maker - but as a protector. It's true she falls in love with Beau in the process, but that's just one part of her: an expression of her finally, for the first time in her life, being free and being able to get to know herself. In some ways, her story, though subtle, has more beats than Beau's, even though I think they parallel each other in many ways, which is why their relationship is so interesting.

Beau and Yasha begin flirting in the first episode, quite literally, and it's an organic interaction - they were not aware of each other prior to that first game. I think it's fair to say the ship was a bit slow after that, but I would attribute that almost entirely to the fact that Ashley was absent much of the time due to Blindspot; there are a few good conversations on watch together early on, some flirting in the bathhouse in Zadash, but it's true that there's not much time together...since Yasha's simply not there that often.

As soon as Yasha finally returns for good, and after the conversations in Kamordah, both of them are finally able to realize that the other is not just one more good thing that they will ultimately lose - but that they could have a future, and that they could be vulnerable again, despite all that has happened, with each other. We see this begin on Rumblecusp, and bloom during Eiselcross, but the groundwork was quietly laid throughout - and, to my point, the reason why their story is so good is because they were given the time to grow into fully realized, complex individuals and then come together into something greater than the sum of its parts.

It ends with them both finding belonging, with Beau taking her earned place as an expositor, finally respected for her talents in an organization that quietly defended her; and Yasha choosing to take the option to make a home with someone she loves and stop hurting people at the command of others. Yasha's comic makes this even clearer: she was raised to be a leader, in a harsh society where this meant incredible power but also immense sacrifice, and choosing a life of softness is a remarkable display of free will.

#critical role #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #beauyasha #i so rarely ship tag but i mean. this is just about that

74 notes · View notes

thevirgodoll · 1 year

Note

Hi dear, I hope that you are having a beautiful day.

I really want to get your side on this; so I'm depressed and I'm also an overachiver. I've had depression for about 2 years but it has only crossed the boundaries of my head about three months ago when I got rejected from my dream uni and since then my grades have gone downhill and so have both my mental and physical health. I'm lost (because I missed a goal I had been preparing for for almost a decade lmao) but at the same time the I'm getting so close to hitting rock bottom that I'm relived to have a new and healthier beginning.

For the last few years I've dedicated all my time, efforts and headspace to school. It's my senior year yet I barely have friends, non school related job experience, I even lost the ability to sleep at some point. It's been ages since I've bought clothes, I look extra sloppy all the time and I never go out.

I've learnt a lot through this experience but since it's not going my way, I need to keep moving.

Any advice?

Love you and your blog <333

Navigating Depression while in College

This won't be a Doll Diaries for now but I will create one later.

I appreciate you sharing this with me and want to commend you on still trying and even recognizing that something needs to change. I also want to say that something like this isn't your fault and is a completely normal experience. I think a lot of people overlook the mishaps that can happen in college if depression isn't handled...because we are all so goal oriented, the ugly side of it gets pushed down and creates a loop of inadequacy.

Rejection is a typical part of your 20s...I'm still learning how to deal with it myself. I don't know everything, I'm still in my 20s as well.

I do believe, though, that everything happens for a reason and that something I wanted that I didn't get isn't a rejection but a redirection to something greater.

I completely relate to being in a rut and having health issues impact your college career. I have multiple chronic illnesses. I also have severe depressive episodes and ADHD. I've also had times where I wasn't able to make the best grades in the world.

What got me together was:

going to see a therapist (my school offers it for free)

learning that meds was a good option for me (it isn't for everyone, but it was for me)

getting diagnosed with mental disorders (helped me understand myself better and give validation to what was going on)

developing a consistent routine in all areas (easier said than done)

learning how to love myself as I am while also knowing things must change and taking accountability

having days where I let myself go and relax instead of being productive 24/7

I'm also in my senior year after losing years my experience due to my health. I had to medically withdraw twice so trust me I get it.

While I've lost time due to my health, I realized I can only control right now. My health problems were a sign to slow down.

Why worry on what could've happened? Thinking anything of that nature is a disservice. Introspection is good, but introspection can become rumination after a while. Learn to have a limit.

I do recommend treating yourself and getting out and doing things. Figure out what style of clothes you want to wear, what hair, etc since that's important to you.

Relearn yourself...ask yourself who you are outside of academia because a lot of people lose themselves in it and then have nowhere to turn once it's beginning to end. Find some professor that you can reach out to and confide in to help you, and if not, there's plenty of resources at your school for your program.

Congratulations on reaching your senior year. Focus on yourself, graduation, and becoming the person you want to be. Everything will happen in its due time, and months from now, you will realize that staying in the moment was all you ever needed to enjoy yourself.

Hope this helps ❤️

#advice #mental health #u got this #and as cliche as it is…reach out if you need my help. it’s tough out here #dollhouse queue #actually chronically ill #chronic illness #actually adhd

22 notes · View notes

wecandoit · 2 years

Text

UPDATE: hey guys, just wanted to update you on what's happening with my degree. So I spent a lot of time thinking about how I'm doing a 5.5 year double degree and while this would get me a bachelor's qualification in both law and psychology, I would need to complete further studies for at least four years before I can get a professional job in either pathway.

As much as I love learning and am constantly wanting to better myself in knowledge, it's also important to me that I can financially support my parents and as soon as possible. Even now I'm working my first part-time job with less than average pay and I know it breaks their heart to ask for money (as loans) from me. With a more stable job I'd be able to help them out consistently without them having to worry about asking me or paying me back.

So the most satisfying conclusion I've reached is to focus on one of my degrees and be qualified enough to secure a stable, well-paying job, and then pursue further studies.

The degree I've decided on is Psychology. There's a few reasons for this—it's the field that I was initially very passionate about, I still find it really interesting to learn about (more so than law), and I have a greater range of related part-time job/internship opportunities available to me while doing it.

For the time being, my course enrolment will remain a double degree of Bachelor of Laws and Bachelor of Science (Psychology), but for the next academic year, I will be withdrawing from that course and enrolling in Bachelor of Science (Psychology) or Bachelor of Psychology (I haven't decided).

I'm going to be putting my all into this semester and trying to get admitted into an interstate university so that I can move out of home as well.

TLDR; Law + Psychology student -> Psychology student

#life of dilli #studyblr update #studyblr #studyspo #motivation #university #college #university student #student life #psychology student #psych studyblr #productivity

71 notes · View notes

mp3minded · 3 months

Text

Marshall: My Analysis.

Arguably the most difficult route on season 6, there's a lot that interests me about his character, and I'mma lay it all out on the table here.

And I'll start off with the very first lie he told MC, which was when they first met, because the greater part of his route is themed around it, even though on the surface it looks to be true, as you get to know him platonically/off-route;

Because if that were the case, he never would've doubled down on our twin sister (Amelia), for being the safest option on the way back to the villa.

And, whether or not he was looking to fight with Ozzy basically as soon as he got there.. he should've seen it coming with all the smack he was talking 💀 but that's neither here nor there for me, as they were able to start mending their bond again on his 2nd full day in the villa.

The day before, when him and Ozzy were fighting still, is interesting, because it's the first real indication we see, beyond just words, that he really wasn't all that into Amelia after all. He'd hint at MC that he'd still be open to getting to know her before everyone returned to the villa, and Amelia was definitely more into him than he was her, even at the peak of their fling, but nothing concrete until what happened back at the villa.

Grace and Ozzy were fighting over Casa Amor stuff, Marshall butts in just to wind up Ozzy, and Grace told Marshall to "wind his neck in." That's when Amelia stepped in for Marshall, and instead of backing her up when Grace got on her case, he said, in paraphrase, "this is all irrelevant," AND WALKED OUT ON EVERYONE RIGHT THEN! 💀 And it was only downhill for Amelia and Marshall from there, but he didn't really care, because it was MC he wanted to be with, and his regret for how he went about Casa Amor was starting to show then, not when Toby arrived and swept Amelia off her feet, as a lot of people assume.

Oh, and the other obvious time he pied off Amelia, during the heart-rate challenge, was peak Marshall 🤡

But yeah, in general I'd argue Marshall's pretty introspective about a lot of things, even though he's very much an extrovert. He withdraws whenever he feels unsure about himself;

1.) Believing he's not good enough for MC (because he knows and admits to being kinda problematic, which I respect), thus defaulting to Amelia, in Casa Amor

2.) Making little effort with Amelia back in the villa, because he was into MC

3.) Not marrying MC back on Snog-Marry-Pie, after snogging Amelia in the game. Which yes, did earn him an extra pie from my MC 🤡

4.) Shying away from a possible x-rated shower with MC (normally, the other LI's can get in the shower with MC, on that scene) even though he states later on that he wanted to get in with her. He *could* say at one point that he didn't want to crack-on while coupled up with Amelia still, depending on a choice MC can make to say, but I personally don't believe that's why he let the shower moment with MC pass. I think the nerves got the better of him again 🥺

So, with that behavior of his in mind, it meant a lot when he pulled MC for a chat, the night him and MC really started to lock-in on each-other again, when he hadn't pulled Amelia for one chat that day, as by her own words.. and he pulled MC right in front of Amelia. 🤡 I don't care how much Amelia's mugged off, I like to see the commitment.

Which leads me to the last elephant in the room; the heart-rate challenge, and his heart-rate being raised the most by Grace no matter what happens (and vice-versa 💀). The actual result itself comes down to 3 things really—MC's mysterious/jack-of-all-trades vibes working against her for once, compared to Grace who is *known* (that's the keyword) to be a real kinky woman dressed up as like, the queen of hearts, and Marshall can tell MC on the first night of Casa Amor, that he likes women who take charge (in bed).

So even though it's all surface level stuff, of course it still hurt. I think him being there for MC, and making it clear that he wants to get to know her and not Grace after the challenge, was what helped me get through it though, because he could've easily taken that as another out from MC on impulse, but he wouldn't if they're vibing together on his route. (And he'd be hesitant to go for Grace even off-route, as him and Ozzy were just starting to patch things up—it could only happen if MC ends up coupling with Ozzy at the end.)

And from there, it's a cakewalk 😇 Now, for the other elephant in the room (for myself anyway); Marshall in comparison to Gary, from season 2. Even though I wouldn't consider myself a Gary stan anymore (I got too put off by his antics after awhile), I would call myself a "divorcée" of Gary instead, because I do still understand his character well enough to where I feel like I could really speak on it.

Even though Gary and Marshall have those parallels to one another.. the one thing that really sets them part, that I really like in Marshall, is his independence (in general, and from family life). And yes, I'll be happy to explain because I know that'll look questionable to say without context, from either side of the coin 💀

I love that Gary's nan was there for him, for everything he went through growing up. There's nothing wrong with that.. but, I wasn't crazy on hearing about her a lot, beyond when Gary opened up to MC at the pool. Like yes, family is important of course, but I'd prefer whomever I'm interested in, to not make me feel like I could never measure up to someone like Gary's nan, because that's not a totally improbable outcome, if it were to really come down to it.

And, on the other side of the coin.. no, I don't agree with the way Marshall slagged off Ozzy, without him being able to defend himself in Casa Amor, but I also didn't think it was that big of a deal, because I made it clear with Marshall that I would've reserved judgement until I heard both sides of the story, which he was fine with. Least to say with Marshall, I wouldn't have to worry about the family thing as I did with Gary, which is a big thing for me, and I know it's definitely a preference thing, but that's where I'm honestly at with that.

Marshall can just be so uwu, and I can't get enough of him! He surprised me a lot on season 6, as I thought I wouldn't even come close! 🤏🏽 to feeling anything for another LI like I did Gary, again 🥺

#i also think 👁 marshall could be on the spectrum‚ but i'm still trying to figure out if that's self-projection or not‚ because i want to be #as objective as possible #and i've been bumpin' that song to marshall whenever possible 💀#litg marshall #litg s6 #litg double trouble #litg #love island the game #my analyses

4 notes · View notes

beetles-and-leeches · 2 years

Text

We all agree that season 4 episode 4 of Stranger Things (Dear Billy), specifically Max's scenes, can be read as an allusion to a suicide attempt, right?

I don't think I'm saying anything new or controversial here, and when I first watched the episode it seemed like such a clear analogy/metaphor/I'm not really sure what the right word is, so then I asked everyone in my circle about it as it's also one of my favourite episodes (if not the best) in the whole show.

But then everyone answered something about the music and the emotional power of it and that it's cool and like, yes, obviously, but that's not what I'm asking about. I'm asking if you found any meaning beyond what the story is saying explicitly. Because I know I project a lot but I know I didn't just pull that whole interpretation out of nowhere;

The letters,

Her mother getting extremely concerned because her daughter is handing out stuff to people and not giving any explanation and Max crying over it because yes, there is something wrong,

Lucas being worried that she is withdrawing from her friends (and Vecna saying she hides),

Hell, Vecna straight up says how she spent nights wishing she could "follow Billy into death". It's not even some subtle, ambiguous insinuations, it's explicitly stated. Vecna doesn't just randomly manipulate people, he knows what they think, he knows what they feel; his words only get to them because to some degree, they are their thoughts. He doesn't talk about them joining him for a greater purpose or benefit, they know they are dying and he knows they are dying and he calls that "ending your suffering".

Also the way some of the lines are written;

"You know you can talk to me, right? (...) Why do you keep pushing me away?" (Talking wouldn't have much meaning if you are just being hunted by a physical monster or a serial killer, it's not like you can change that situation by changing how you feel)

"I'm still here... I'm still here" (okay this one just applies to any near-death experience, but it hit home because that's exactly what I was thinking after surviving, just... Holy shit, that just happened, and I'm still here, I made it through that)

Just. She has this horrible certainty like she is resigned to the fact that things will go wrong, and the guilt, and the fact that Vecna goes after people who are already dealing with baggage (apparently mental illness and more specifically PTSD).

Yes, the song technically saves her but she only gets out when she starts flashing memories of her loved ones. Further on we see that she has to cling to happy memories, but just the song, because it's not just the music that saves her, it's the meaning she gives it. And yes I'm projecting here again because I remembered clinging to the thought of people I love and everything that ever made me feel love in turn after I attempted and realize what a huge mistake I almost made.

I know y'all get it but god I need to talk and vent about this so bad and apparently I'm the only one on my social circle who thought of this but I know I'm not just reading too much into it. I guess I'm just kind of disappointed that the people who I wanted to see and think and talk about this things the most (people who haven't experience suicidal thoughts) are the ones who are noticing it the least.

Anyways I'm tired and emotional goodnight

#this also makes me so much angrier at how they treated her in the ending #and makes her one of my faves #stranger things #st4 #st4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #max mayfield #tw suicide #tw mental illness #stranger things max #stranger things thoughts #thoughts

35 notes · View notes

elvarneronova · 6 months

Text

What if...

If I had superhero powers, perhaps I would want to stop all conflicts and wars once and for all. Sounds idealistic? Yes, you can say that. I desire one power to destroy or create, so that I would be feared by the entire world. I could shape dangerous weapons as I pleased, and I could even destroy a country with the weapons I create, such as a nuclear bomb with power even greater than the Tsar Bomba. With that power, I could enforce the resolution of the Israel-Palestine conflict, compel Russia to cease its annexation of Ukraine, force the People's Liberation Army to withdraw China from Formosa and the South China Sea, and impose the cessation of ongoing conflicts between nations. I would also establish an organization larger than the United Nations, called the Liberation League.

It may seem terrifying, but it's okay if world peace exists with a common enemy. I'd rather be the anti-villain myself than have wars between nations.

However, that's just a fantasy. I know that there is no lasting peace. As peaceful as the world may be, there will always be crime. Eternal world peace only exists after death when all humans are no longer living in this world. I know that I am not as powerful as I imagine, so it is impossible for me to make it happen. What I can do now is to support eternal peace according to the laws of my country, even though I am not sure if my country can achieve it.

2 notes · View notes

kaelsleftverdantsphere · 1 year

Text

Family borne of choice, not blood

Little snippets of what I have written of Voren´thal over the last few weeks, none of it was worth it´s own fic so I just compiled them!

Voren is Kael´s father figure and I will die on that hill.

╞═════𖠁𖠁═════╡

Voren´thal was an incredibly elegant man. Fragile and almost blind, but elegant. His eyes were cloudy, but piercing. And Kael'thas adored the look ever since he was a kid.

Voren'thal was a teacher, a friend and a role model for the young prince just where his own father was not present.

Kael knew of his friendship with the grand magister but never thought much of it. While Kael always spoke to Voren about all his little romances, the other was not that fond of sharing such information. Even often telling the younger man that such things fail to interest him. But that was a lie.

Voren'thal had experienced love for most of his long life just for it to be stripped away.

And now, perhaps, there is yet another person. A man, who is like a son he's never had. Yet another person for him to slowly lose.

╞═════𖠁𖠁═════╡

The younger mage was laying in bed, struggling to breathe under all the blankets, while cuddling into them for warmth. His hair was messy and unkept, his royal robes discarded somewhere on the floor of his private chamber.

"Kael, they´re waiting for you..." Voren´thal came in without knocking, looking over the mess of a bed infront of him. "Are you alright, my prince?" He closed the door and slowly, leaning into his cane, walked over to him.

"I am-..." He began to cough, turning his head away from the older elf. "I am alright-..." He almost wheezed the reply.

The seer nodded but remained unconvinced. "You look deathly pale, that does not look nor sound alright to me, Kael." He sat down on the bed next to the prince, gently placing a hand on his forehead. "And you´re like a furnace. What happened?"

"I don´t know... I think I might have been a bit too active on the battlefield yesterday and-"

"Ugh... Mana withdrawals?"

"Presumably..."

"I am going to tell Stormrage you aren´t feeling well-... And bring you some tea..."

Kael nodded, closing his eyes and burying his face in his pillow.

╞═════𖠁𖠁═════╡

"What do you know of pain, Voren'thal?" Kael snapped his head back and looked at the far older elf.

Voren took a deep breath, looking into the prince's eyes. "There is not a blood elf who has not experienced pain beyond comprehension, Kael..." He shook his head. "Yours is different, but not far greater..."

The prince scoffed, looking back at the battle map. "You know not what pains me..."

"I do not, but mayhap if you were more open, I might understand. Our work together would be far less stressful."

Kael raised a fist and hit the table below it. "I don't want to work with you if you fail to see eye-to-eye with me! I always thought the two of us thought similarly but apparently not! You're so obviously stuck in your old ways just like father!" He lifted his hand off the table and started rubbing it, the impact was apparently guite great.

"This has nothing to do with 'the old ways', you were obviously not paying attention... How typical of you."

Kael frowned. "Are you aware who you are talking to?"

"Oh stop trying to play the title game... You used to run to me to tend to your scraped knees and twisted ankles, your majesty..."

"Tsch..." He looked away.

"How very royal of you to act like a petulent child..." He shook his head but his whole body followed suit, his stance wavering as he placed one of his hands on the table to steady himself. "I tire of trying to make you see reason, Kael'thas... That man is going to be your end, I know it..."

"As if you know anything about Illidan..." He scoffed and almost chuckled. "I am doing everything to save our people, I just need time and your trust, Voren'thal..." He looked away with that sentence, trying to hold on to a powerful enough tone but ending up sounding more than desperate.

"You are leading them and yourself to inevitable doom..." The seer's gaze was fixed on the other elf, still stern as ever. "I need you to, for once in your life, take something seriously."

"I am taking this seriously!" He spat. "Of course I am taking this seriously!"

"Your attention span is worse than I ever remember it being and I've known you your whole life... And your reasoning skills used to be so sharp, yet now they're rather dull." He shook his head. "I believe you can make the right decision if you only try."

"You believe I can make the right decision? Well I believe you can stay on the right side-"

"The right side is the one losing less lives, Kael... And yours has already lost far too many because of that demon-"

"DON´T YOU DARE SPEAK OF HIM AS SUCH!"

"Screaming the second something isn´t of your liking, again, typical of the Sunstriders, isn´t it..." He rolled his eyes. "But I fear I cannot change your stance on the matter today... I shall try tomorrow."

"You´re fighting a losing battle-"

"I am?" He almost silently chuckled before walking away.

#kael'thas sunstrider #kael'thas #world of warcraft #voren'thal #sphere fics

5 notes · View notes