#re: a soul's a heavy burden. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

farfromstrange · 1 year

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Hello!

I read Angel on the Roof and that was AMAZING. I was feeling like that way and honestly that was exactly what I needed to read. Thank you for writing!

I have a request! Maybe alternate ending + sequel of the fic if you are interested/have time, where Matt did notice it and in this universe it’s going to be more comforting. OR maybe whole new story where reader is having mental illness, angst but comfort in the end?

Again I LOVE your writing can’t wait for another Matt fics!!! Thank youuuu !!!

Okay, nonnie, first of all, I hope you're doing okay! I hope you're feeling better, too. I know how hard it can be to feel this way and I wrote that fic when I was at one of the lowest points in my life. I'm glad you liked it, but I also hope you're taking good care of yourself! I love you. Now to your request, I re-read Angel On The Roof and I remembered why it was so sad, and I'm so glad you requested a comfort version. I decided to do it from Reader's POV since the original was Matt's POV and I've changed the ending, so it's still the same foundation, but you've also got a whole new fic. I hope you like the way I did it!

Angel On The Roof (Your Version)

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her)

Summary: What if Matt saved you from your own demons instead of being too late?

Warnings: TW: SELF-HARM, graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood, scars, ANGST, mental illness, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, happy ending, fix it fic for a fic

Word Count: 3k

A/n: So you can read "Angel On The Roof" here. Like I said before, this is the mentioned fic from your POV but with a twist so that it ends without Reader committing suicide. If the above-mentioned topics trigger you, please don't read! Not tagging because this is a sensitive subject and I go really into detail.

18+ THIS IS HEAVY STUFF!

Mental illness speaks in silence.

Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them one way or another.

Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently. Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place.

The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘Just ask for help’ or ‘Don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already active in it.

Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out.

Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside.

You don’t remember when it started. You only remember that you were merely a child when you first started feeling this way. Helpless, alone, and with a pain deep inside of your chest that had claws and sharp teeth, ready to eat you whole. The monster ate away at you for years, but you ignored it.

People told you it was just hormones, that this was part of growing up. Meanwhile, you only got sicker. Your mind turned against you. You became your own worst bully, and the voices in your head started taking you apart one by one.

You reached a point where you loathed yourself so much, all you wanted was to scratch your eyes out and tear your skin off. You hated looking in the mirror and seeing the same miserable face every day. You hated being the friend that was the least fun and being stuck inside with this hurt consuming you. It made it harder to breathe, it made your heart stop in your chest, and yet you never physically died. Inside, you were long gone, but you ignored it because no one seemed to care.

You tried drugs and alcohol, but that wasn’t enough to kill your pain, and you never fully managed to end it all. Your existence became a nuisance.

You never believed in God. The constant self-pity, shame, guilt, and blame became your best friends. In your mind, you fucked up your own life. Your mind was fucked up, so you were automatically at fault. You ended up being in so much blood-boiling pain, you tried to find a way to inflict pain in other ways to distract you from the numbness that burned your insides like acid would burn the cells of your skin in an instant, and the toxic waste ended up in your bloodstream, then your mind and in the end, it poisoned your heart and your soul.

You truly believed you were rotten inside, and there was nothing that seemed to help.

You turned to cutting, the blood running from your wrists a testament to your pain, and it made breathing so much easier for just a moment. The razor blades were the brush with which you painted the tiles of your bathroom floor red almost every night. You weren’t proud of it, but you had no one to listen, no one to help you and you just felt so fucking numb– You had to find something to relieve you of this pain for a simple moment, and a moment was all it took to get you hooked on the feeling. It was a different kind of pain, and your wrists looked mutilated, even long after you were done, but whenever you brushed over the scars, you felt the need to do it again, and so you did.

One summer night, you found your way to one of the rooftops in Hell’s Kitchen. You didn’t want to jump, but having the choice to do so filled your body with a certain sense of relief. If you had jumped, you would have died. You could have broken your neck and ended it all. You would have died on your way down already, probably, or maybe you would have passed out.

The world seemed so small from up there, but you were still alone.

That night, you felt his presence for the first time. He wore a black mask; you had seen him on the news a while back, but word on the streets had it that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen disappeared. After Wilson Fisk got imprisoned, he must have found his way back.

“I don’t want to jump,” you assured him. “I just want to feel.” It wasn’t a lie. Your heart beat slow and steady in your chest and against your ribcage. The wind in your hair cooled the sheen of sweat from the early summer heat.

He didn’t talk, he simply stood by your side. You were too tired to ask him why. When you sat down, he followed shoulder to shoulder, together. Your tears had dried on your cheeks and you watched the clouds pass by, hide and reveal new stars, and you pointed out the constellations in your head. He wouldn’t let you fall, it seemed, and so you simply stayed there. It was the first time someone seemed to care without trying to fix you.

You were okay.

He walked you home before sunrise and asked you again, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” you answered. In the moment, you usually were.

You smiled and thanked him, and he told you, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”

One day, after finding you on the roof again (at this point, you weren’t sure why you were doing it anymore), it started to rain. He offered to walk you home and asked you if you were okay again. You offered him to stay.

“Who hurt you?” he asked you once you bid him inside.

You brewed some tea, offering him a mug. He took it. You shrugged as an answer to his question. The numbness settled back in. You had no tears left to shed. Did he care? You weren’t sure. People often liked to ask for no reason whatsoever, and you knew if you told them, they would have called you crazy.

“I hurt myself,” you said.

He caught your wrist when you tried to walk away. His fingers dug into the fresh scars without trying to, but it hurt and it functioned as a cruel reminder of what your arms looked like. Of what you did. Instead of numbness, what you felt was guilt, and when his mouth contorted, you knew he realized something wasn’t right.

You were so stupid, you thought and pulled away from him. How could anyone ever care or love a broken mess of nothingness like you? You weren’t worthy of anyone’s affection. This – the scars on your wrists and the hole in your chest – was what you deserved.

He didn’t run though. The stranger tilted his head as if to understand you.

“Why?” he asked.

It made you think. Why, exactly, were you doing this?

“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me,” you admitted.

You were so honest with him that night, and it seemed to surprise him, but he also listened to every last word coming out of your mouth.

He let go of your wrist then and said, “Have you ever asked someone for help?”

“Why would I?” you asked.

“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting.”

Fixing you, that was what he meant. There were people who could fix you, but you didn’t want to be fixed. You couldn’t be fixed. Everyone always tried to fix you and you were so sick and tired of being the one everyone deemed broken all the time.

“Perhaps you should go,” you said and opened the door for him. You had to end it there.

One night, you cut too deep, and the world caved in on you. You had no choice but to endure it, but you broke under the weight like a fragile vase. You cut too deep, and the blood mingled on the floor with your tears. It hurt – the cuts weren’t the worst part because they only thudded numbly in sync with your pulse; the worst part was the bomb in your chest exploding and sending all these feelings hurdling around.

God, you hated yourself.

You always kept your windows unlocked. What you didn’t expect was for him to climb through your window. Only when he kicked the door down did you look up, your face stained with tears. He tilted his head, seemingly smelling the air, before he knelt beside you and wrapped towels around your bleeding wrists. The essence of your heart was on the floor now, the vase broken, and he cleaned it up without hesitation.

You didn’t deserve such gentle treatment.

You sobbed into his strong arms until there was nothing left to give. Instead of leaving though, he stayed. He took you to bed and bandaged your wrists, still keeping the black mask right where it was. It was you curious, and you hadn’t felt curious in quite a while.

He stopped the bleeding without problems, and then he lay beside you as you regained some sense of self.

“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”

You shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you,” you said.

Because even to you, it didn’t make sense.

“Try me.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”

“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name.”

It was the first display of trust he showed you, and you were a little taken aback.

Your lips parted and you whispered your name into the darkness. He smiled softly, taking your weak hand into his.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

You stared at him for a while before asking something that almost came naturally. “Can you stay?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

He battled with himself before giving in, agreeing to stay, and you felt something in your heart turn around. A candle was lit. Was that the scent of hope you could smell? You weren’t sure, but the fact he held your hand as you tried to find your way into a restless sleep and never once waivered with his support filled you with a sense of safety, and finally, for once in your life, the voices went quiet. You focused on his heartbeat and breathing, and you finally felt less alone.

The next morning, your window was closed again and he was gone, probably disappearing in the middle of the night. You found a note on the dining table, poorly scribbled, but you could decipher what he wrote.

It’s because I care about you, Angel.

He cared. About you. You broke down crying, not used to this much affection, but it was also then you realized that it was what you desperately needed.

You looked at your bandaged wrist, then your reflection in the metallic shimmer of your fridge, and you made a decision you should have made from the beginning.

You waited on the rooftop again that night, this time the one of your apartment complex. He appeared not long after you whispered his name into the humid night air. Cars passed by and the city grew louder by the minute, but he still came.

He wore his mask again.

“Will I ever see your face?” you wondered aloud.

He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never did home visits.

“Can you see mine?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I can’t see yours.”

Your breath shuddered.

“What’s wrong?”

“You changed something in me last night.”

Matthew seemed to pipe up at your admission, and he took a step closer. “Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“What did I change?”

“You saved my life.”

“I only came because you needed someone.”

You asked, “Is that why you always come to these rooftops?”

He shrugged. “You call, I come,” Matthew said. “That’s all there is to it.”

But it wasn’t all.

With a weak sniffle, you closed the distance between you and fell into his arms. He caught you, holding you close to him. His heart thudded in your ear like the night before, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Years of pain, sadness, and anger fell off your shoulders, leaving you even more broken than before, but for the first time, you felt it all. And you knew you couldn’t live like this any longer.

“I need–” you choked on a sob. It burned in your lungs.

His grip tightened. “What do you need, Angel?”

“I need help,” it was the first time you said it, but the moment the words left your mouth, Matthew vowed to stay by your side.

That night, he took his mask off for the first time after taking you home. You saw his face, and you felt a sense of relief. He was beautiful, inside and out, but he was also incredibly human. His blind eyes were unfocused, but you only touched his cheek with tender fingers. You owed him your life, and you made sure to show him that.

“Matt Murdock,” he introduced himself.

You gave him the courtesy of doing the same.

He smiled, and you saw something in his eyes that would end up changing your entire life.

Love.

That cruel time of finding back to yourself after years of self-harm and depression is in the past, it has been for a while now.

The sun stands high in the sky above New York. A long time ago, summer filled you with dread. As you’re staring out through the windows of your home now, all you can think about is how beautiful the world is. The city stands tall in the distance, and you find yourself smiling into your cup of chamomile tea.

The light reflects off the golden wedding band on your ring finger. Your name stands in Braille letters next to his with a heart of diamonds. It’s unique, special, just like your love story.

When you first met him, you never thought you would end up here, but he woke you up from your coma and you found your way back to the light. He helped you, he supported you and he made sure you would always have someone to turn to.

Years later now, you’re wearing his name and ring on your finger, and you have a home that truly feels like one because he is in it with you. He is your home, your haven, your sanctuary, and you owe him more than he will ever know.

A pair of arms snakes around your waist and pull you back into a sturdy chest. You smile even more. “Hi,” you whisper.

Matt presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Hi,” he says.

“The sun is out.”

“I know, I can feel it.”

“Right. Even after all these years, I still tend to forget I’m married to a superhero,” you say, albeit teasing, but your words also hold a mountain of truth.

He chuckles. “You’re forgiven, Mrs. Murdock.”

“Oh, I’m glad.”

Matt’s hold on you tightens. Now that he has you, he refuses to let you go. “What were you thinking about just then?” he asks.

You lick your lips, closing your eyes as your body melts into his almost naturally. “You and me,” you say, “and how far we’ve come.”

“Mhm.”

“And that I can’t wait to start a family with you one day and give our children the support I’ve never had.”

He tears up a little at that, you can hear it in his voice when he whispers, “I love you,” and he turns you around to capture your lips in a loving kiss.

You realize it then for the millionth time since that night you first ran into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on the roof; Getting help was the best choice of your life, and no scar on his or your body matter now that you’ve got each other.

You belong in each other’s arms, today, tomorrow, and forever and always. Just like you said in your vows – there is nothing you can’t overcome, as long as you’re doing it together.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #female reader #hurt/comfort #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock imagines #reader insert #x reader #charlie cox #lizzi writes #request #requests are CLOSED

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seraphiism · 2 years

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Requests open! How exciting! I hope you're having a lovely day, if the quotes not taken is "Come, there is a way to be good again" with Dimitri okay?

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

( come, there is a way to be good again. )

chara : dimitri alexandre blaiddyd fandom : fire emblem: 3 houses quote cr : khaled hosseini a/n : prompt post ( x )

in rebirth there are remnants of a life left behind, fragments of the past clouded in the midst of new awakenings and the shock of renewal. in rebirth there is a haunting echo of hope & the dreadful waiting for the worst, and in rebirth, there is the tale of two lovers reunited.

this is your story now.

you live freely, heart light but filled with the lingering of war stricken memories. how strange to realize that things are entirely different now ; how grateful you are to have found peace with what once was and moved on. you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel a familiar warmth envelop you.

this is your story now, you recall, opening your eyes to the sight of the one who handed his heart to you. this is your story now, but it is not dimitri's.

in his dreams the bloodshed remains, wretched and splayed. it drenches the land, fills the earth with sorrow and violence heard. the past has always been a heavy burden in all of his lives, and even through the tranquility that is felt in this one, its presence always makes itself known, serves as a reminder of his sin. it will always be this way. he is sure of it. maybe he is deserving of that.

"your hands are softer." you murmur the words offhandedly, smile sheepishly when dimitri looks at you in curiosity. you turn his hand over, fingers tracing the lines that adorn his skin. the markings of battles fought no longer reside, callouses absent on his fingertips.

he says nothing, watches as a bittersweet nostalgia surfaces in the wondrous hues of your eyes. he wonders if this is okay, this life. he wonders if it's okay to experience this moment, even if it may be ordinary to anyone else. he wonders if it's okay to simply exist with you in this time, knowing that he has gone through hell over and over again and deserved it all.

"are we allowed this?" dimitri's voice nearly breaks. he hopes that you do not understand, but you do. you always manage to understand, somehow, and if fate is to be real, then he knows that she works to keep your souls intertwined. ( RE: AM I ALLOWED THIS? HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE SINS I'VE COMMITTED? )

something about the way you smile makes his chest tighten. a yearning reveals itself on the curves of your lips. you look so tired, but there is such a kindness in your visage that it makes dimitri's hands tremble.

"we are always allowed this." you answer. "whether in this life or the next, we can learn to live in peace."

you press a kiss against his knuckles, once, twice, and in each one there is a reverence so holy that he almost believes in higher beings. you pull him forward ever so gently, and he almost thinks your smile grows into one of hiraeth.

"you are allowed this, dimitri. i hope you never forget that."

( your lips meet his in an everlasting love and he knows that this life with you will be one without regret. )

#fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem three houses #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri x reader #i hope ur having a good day too !!!!#.: writing #.: req

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sins-of-the-dragon · 2 months

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Catharsis: Nightmare Fading - Short DA2 Fic (Reader Comfort) 1,642 Words

This is a re-imagining of a short fic piece I wrote for BG3. It's not really a fic story as much as it is a way to cope with traumatic memories through the medium of fiction and reframing memories/reality into something less painful. It's written in second person (you/your) with a non-descript gender neutral reader character. So this is your CONTENT WARNING - There is discussion of a traumatic incident. It is vague, there are no details of anything happening besides it being an incident with one or more people involved. The premise, in short, is that the characters of Dragon Age 2 have found a way to our world through The Fade and are turning up at the moment the reader needs them most. The hurt is vague but the comfort is the focus, with a view of "what would the characters say and do in this situation".

The original piece, Catharsis: Rewriting History (based on the characters from Baldur's Gate 3) is on AO3 here and has a very similar premise and vibe to it. This one isn't on AO3 yet, I'm still deciding whether I make a pseud for my account to write more Dragon Age or if I stick to may main fandom fics for now and just post a few odd DA musings here with a minific or two. Let me know, really, if you'd like more of my DA works~

Anyway, full fic below the cut. --- ---

Catharsis: Nightmare Fading It wasn’t fair. Life never was, perhaps, that you would come to know experiences like this. Pain you wished you couldn’t imagine - in your body or your soul, you couldn’t even tell. Perhaps it was both, your entire consciousness dissolving beyond physical and emotional agony to just focus on one thing and one thing alone. Live.

The air shimmered and crackled behind you, but with everything in front of you your mind was already seeking an escape from reality. You didn’t notice a thing until there was a short and muscular man carrying an impossibly large crossbow standing in front of you. “Sorry I’m not good at this kind of thing. But I’m here, and so are the rest of them. We can talk later.” He glanced back, the soft hint of a smile crossing his features before he turned back to the source of your pain.

You blinked, unsure of what you’d seen, when you felt strong arms scoop you up, holding you tight against a broad chest. “Sorry I’m late, it’s not easy to navigate the Fade to cross worlds.”

“They don’t need to worry about all that right now - are they alright?” A feminine voice this time. Chancing a glance at their faces, you saw they had to be related, maybe even twins. Even the red stripe of what you hoped was makeup across the bridge of their noses matched - they really were like two versions of the same person.

A woman in heavy armour stepped past the three of you, her face kind but hardened, ginger hair tied back in a neat but loose braid falling over her shoulder. “They will be.” She addressed you directly next, voice softening. “This won’t make sense right now, but someday it will. You can trust us, and don’t let anyone tell you to turn the page before you’re ready.” The woman turned away again, gripping her sword more tightly and striding forwards.

Before you could gain your bearings again, you felt a wave of energy wash through you. Cooling, soothing, your body felt…better than it had in a very long time. “There you are.” A new voice, light and almost musical but with the edge of a weight behind it that told you he carried burdens of his own. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve…we should’ve been here.”

“We are here, or have you taken leave of the last of your senses in the Fade?” A gruffer voice spoke up, both men coming into view now. Something about them was familiar, tugging at your heart, pulling threads of memories that had yet to form. They looked at each other with animosity, but when they turned back to you… “Venhedis… You need to leave. What comes next is not for you to witness.” The tanned man was covered in lines of white tattoos that were beginning to faintly glow blue.

“Perhaps mercy might be an option?” The one holding you spoke again, but his words spurred a simple and wordless response. You shook your head. He squeezed you just slightly in his embrace as he acknowledged your decision. “Maybe not then. They’ve made their choice.”

You almost recoiled as the sharp edges of the tattooed man’s gauntlet reached towards you, but the pained look in his eyes mirrored your own. Perhaps if roles were reversed… The metal was cold, but his touch against your cheek was surprisingly gentle. “I will be back for you, when it’s over.” With that, he turned to leave, the light emanating from his tattoos glowing even through his armour.

“You never deserved this. Not a single moment.” The other man who had been beside the tattooed warrior bent towards you, long blonde hair almost completely veiling your vision for a moment as he kissed your forehead. “I can’t promise you peace…” His voice seemed to change, taking on a slightly different tone as a subtle lightning crackled around his eyes. “But I can promise you Justice.”

As he turned to leave, sparks playing around his fingertips with his raised hand, the man holding you turned too. The woman with you gestured towards a shimmering hole in reality, a green tinted world beyond, and a man in white armour with vivid red hair and bright blue eyes standing beside it. “It’s time to leave.”

You leaned more against the one carrying you, his ‘twin’ staying close and occasionally putting a hand on your shoulder. Risking a glance at the strange world around you, there were two women standing nearby waiting for your arrival. “Telanadas, ma vhenan. Come, with us.” The tattoos across her face were almost as endearing as her smile as she began to lead the way.

“Maybe you should leave the navigation to someone with a better compass.” The other woman turned her by the shoulders to face another pass. “Would you two mind being a bit quicker? This place is creepy…”

—

A short time later you were in an unfamiliar room, a fireplace heating the area and lighting it with a welcoming glow. It was clearly a part of some large mansion, and though you’d never seen it before, there was something about it that felt like…home. The group with you sat you down on a large plush couch near the hearth, giving you a steaming mug of something that tasted smooth and soothing. They were a strange group. By the time the others joined. They told you stories - ones that you wouldn’t remember, but each word drove back the dark shadows trying to crowd into your mind. Softened the edges of the memories already trying to claw at you every time you blinked…

Listening to them, watching them together, it was hard to understand what brought them all to the same place, the same cause. But the pair sat either side of you seemed like the common thread…or was it you? The shorter blonde man, who kept his crossbow close even while relaxing, was the best storyteller by far - if you were to rank them. He spoke of worlds, people, things you could hardly imagine. He also had a good many jokes, humour and wit shared by several of the others in the room. It felt like you knew them, their past, present, and futures all blending in your mind but never quite clear - it was like an impressionist painting, a mosaic half faded… The other blonde talked about cats a lot. You could almost imagine him with little cat ears on his head, but every now and then his voice sounded more serious as he spoke with you. More sincere as he asked deeper questions, a little blue lightning sparking in the depths of his eyes when he tried to comfort you with talk of what was right and just. There was little justice in the reality you left, but here…here you could almost believe him when he said he would move the stars in the sky to change your world if he could.

Despite their arguing before, the white haired man with the tattoos over his body agreed on that point alone. His support held an anger to it, a ferocity that would have scared you had it not been abundantly clear that he meant it all to be protective. Not exactly the knight in shining armour that the fairy tales spoke of, but he understood…he had seen…he was not without sympathy for your tears. Even if his solutions leaned towards the violent.

The dark haired woman with the tattoos on her face brought you some food, things you’d never tasted before, sweet and comforting. Every time you thanked her she almost glowed at the praise, her demeanour nothing short of adorable. When she asked if she could hug you, you worried for a moment that she might never let go as her grip was so tight and warm around you. One of the other women chided her though, reminding her to let you breathe.

All of their names escaped you, as if there were a layer between you that you couldn’t quite break down, but it didn’t seem to matter. While one told you tales of a wild and exciting life at sea, another told you of her dreams to settle down peacefully with someone she loved. The red haired man with his piercing blue eyes seemed most unsure of himself, but he was clear that no matter what path you chose to walk he would support it.

For those hours, everything melted away. Fear, pain, every darkness of the world you left was chased away by the light around you, the warmth that closed in around you like a blanket. The last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was two voices speaking almost as one person.

“Someday you’ll be making a lot of hard decisions for us…for me… They’re too hard for me to make alone, and Maker knows I’d rather not have to choose some of them at all. But I know…I know you will guide me in the best way you know how. That you will tell my story, and my companions’ too, that none of us will be alone with you watching over us. So, until you meet us all again, that’s what we will do for you.”

Even their faces were blurring together as one in your mind, the slight pressure of their arms around you from either side melding into the feeling of the tangled sheets and blankets of your bed as the last of their words faded into a soft echo.

“When the shadows are dark and the nights are long, we will be your light.” “When the fear from the past comes to claim you, we will fight it.”

“When all hope seems to be out of reach, we will help you find it.” “Better days will come. Hold on, you’re not alone.”

— --- ENDING NOTES --- --- This one goes out to everyone who can in any way relate. We can try to reframe our memories into something less painful, to bring our minds back from the edge of a spiral or flashback in whatever ways work for us. Please always remember, loves, that you have survived all of your worst days up to now. Get through one moment at a time if you need to, and things will get better again. And even whilst they are awful in the moment, Hawke was right: You're not alone.

#therapy through fiction #fanfic #Dragon Age #Dragon Age 2 #Dragon Age FanFiction #dragon age fanfic #coping with fiction #ptsd recovery #never alone #we are stronger with the love and support of our friends even if it's just through fandom

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un-unavoidableanxiousball · 3 months

Text

This one I wrote when I was 15 and posted on Wattpad as well. I also added some things while editing. I wonder what it says about my mental state that I could so easily get into that mindset... (T-T)

Masterlist

Letting Go

Rating: Mature

Characters: unnamed female character, mental voice,

Tags: venting, nature, heavy angst, depressive and suicidal thoughts as a mental voice, (heavily implied) character death,

! Warnings ! : suicide, s3lf-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, description of blood, suicide attempt, self-doubt, low self-esteem, death, vomit, self-destructive behaviour

Word count: 1979

Read at your own discretion.

⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎☠︎︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎

Have you ever felt hopeless?

That kind of hopelessness which paralyzes you. Not your body — your mind. Or perhaps it's not even your mind, but your emotions. Brain producing or receiving the wrong chemicals — it's guesswork, never paid attention in biology class — to some it might be the soul that faulty.

Paralyzes you in such a way that no matter how many times or for how long your thoughts accuse you of wasting time, to move, be productive, improve! No matter the loudness and frequency of their unheard screams to others — you're stuck. Can't bring yourself to change, because why should you try to when there's billions of people on earth more worthy of the chance called life, everyone dies in the end. What do you put into the world, if human lifespan is so short yet too long as well and there were countless human before you and will be after you.

You're so paralyzed that if in moments of great emotions, you can't bring yourself to care. Can't find guilt after an argument, no anger nor embarrassment after being insulted, somehow no tears are visible when a close member dies and it's time to pay respects. Pleasure is unfound, because you don't know what should bring it. It's full resignation or numbness.

Ever felt like anything you would do just isn't enough for people around you? That no matter how hard you try, how much efford you put in — nobody seems to appreciate it? No visible pride in the people around you. Moreover some see those accomplishments as bare minimum; which hurts so deeply in your heart it can't get through the darkness and unstable walls.

Perhaps the times you accomplished something — something as simple like organising your desk or cleaning your room, eating a meal or just getting out of the wretched bed; damn it you were proud of yourself! You went to share your pride with someone, only to get lectured for not doing anything useful nor helpful for them? For slouching around, being an obstacle, a burden.

You feel more depressed in result. Close yourself off, escape the pesky problems, and whenever you've accomplished something again — you start to doubt if telling somebody else about it will ever bring positive outcome or worse you doubt yourself.

Day by day you re-think each and every action you're about to make to prevent yourself from getting more hurt than you already are.

One after another after another after ano—— and you don't care. You didn't even notice when you stopped caring. Seems like personalised masks became permanent. You have built walls so high to not be hurt as much and as strong as you've been before.

You can't find yourself enjoying the things you've liked or were told you did before. As if the little passion you had — had been drained from you, locked and wasted. Spoiled.

Yet somehow you managed to fake it all and lie to your friends, with a fake smile, a fake enthusiastic voice, fake opinions on whatever topic, which you probably weren't intresting in in any way or just didn't want to be excluded from the little group of friends you managed to have.

But even that loss it's 'spark'. Now, you distance yourself from them too, no matter how it pains you in the inside, no matter the childish voice inside you that tell you "Mama, mama help me, anyone,".

Because you want nothing more than to cry on their shoulder tell them anything and everything that bothers you and weights down on your very soul, to be hugged and feel loved; but you don't do it, won't do it in fear of being judged, laughed at or pushing them away with the state you're in.

No, you can't have that, can you?

Too many times were you ignored to not expect anything else to be the truth.

A certain girl definitely feels that way. She's come so far as to ignore all of her friends. But hey, it's not like they noticed or anything, she always was kind of distant. Introverts, right?

At the moment the girl was standing on a bridge. She's looking at the small river flowing by below her.

She comes to this place almost everyday whenever she feels like getting away from everything. She grew to love it here, the trees around gave great amount of shadow to hide from sun's rays on warmer days, the gentle wind calmed her down whenever she was stressed and the beautiful sound of the river flowing was calming as well.

She spent almost all day in here today.

Today was difficult for her, she couldn't bear it even though nothing bad happened to her. Nothing stands out. She did what she felt like - came to her safe zone to be alone. Of course she couldn't get rid of that voice which somehow made it's way in to her head and controls her heart.

While making her way to a tree to sit down under, she felt tears in her eyes as she heard the voice's mocking words.

"You're weak. You can't even embrace a little truth without taking it out on yourself." it whines, "No wonder you've no friends! Hahahaha—," the laughter continued, "You end up shoving them away to the basement, you starve them and then, and then, ha hahaha, you act surprised when your connections are long dead and starved!"

The girl was full on sobbing.

"Damn, what was it about a lover? Your dreams only. You're ugly. I mean look at yourself! How could you be pretty with those big disgusting cuts?"

"Plus you're lazy, you can't do anything right." it cackled, "I mean... they're such easy tasks, so... What makes you wonder that your Charming One wouldn't look down on you? You're no royalty.."

"Why are you so naive as to have unreachable and unrealistic dreams? I know!" a dramatic pause, "You're stupid."

She was wailing with her legs pressed against her chest. She couldn't stop herself from letting the tears out from her eyes as the voice continued.

"Nobody loves you, because you're useless. Can't you see? You're not good enough, you'll never be. They don't care about you. Why would they? You couldn't care less for them. You're an emotional mess. Not a grain of realness inside you. I pity them. Having to look at you is just painful. No wonder they avoid you."

The girl tried to calm herself but was unable to. Her body was shaking from her ugly sobs. Crying a river of tears, she tried to take deep breaths to maybe stabilise her shallow hiccuping breathing.

"You're such a crybaby. Can't you handle a simple truth?" It scoffed in her mind. "Wait I forgot, we already covered that. Your idiocy is contagious. Bleh."

After some time she succeed to calm down, mainly by beating her thighs repeatedly. Sobs were still escaping her chest every once in a while. She felt the itching on her arms, making it hard not to scratch or reach for her pocket knife in her bag.

"What? You're resisting this urge? Since when? You're not strong to keep it up. You always relive yourself this way, don't you know? Did you forget? Memory too short?" it cruelly went on, "You like the feeling of the blade on your skin and the pain it brings along. And the blood. Mmm. That delicious blood, running, dripping down your arms. There's always blood whenever you cut, don't you hate it? It's entertaining for me to see your disgust, the blood makes you want to throw up or pass out. Are we keeping count?" it intoned, "I'd be lying if I said I was surprised, but then again you're just some psycho who clearly doesn't know how to properly act like one!"

She could hear the sinister tone the voice has. Although it pains her greatly, it was right. She hated the sight of blood and yet she continues to harm herself. It really relived her. She knows it's not healthy nor anything positive. Yet she can't seem to stop.

She slowly rolled up the black sleeve of her hoodie. She put the knife to her arm.

Pressed.

She could feel the smirk, smug satisfaction in to the voice, and also her own satisfaction at the feeling of the blade cutting her skin. She created more cuts in places which weren't covered yet.

Trying to ignore the crimson red liquid flowing down her arm — to focus on anything else but fresh, leaking wounds. Taking deep breaths. No, no no nononono the smell — horrid, terrible — metalic stale.

In and out..

In—

She could practically feel the bole in her mouth. Focus elsewhere, c'mon...

Fresh air filled her lungs with each breath. Wind, chirping birds and slowly flowing river created a pleasant melody.

The water as a beautifully sounding base, the wind played the various instruments, grass, trees, bushes. Birds sang with different voices and tones, each special in their own way. If someone was to listen to the sounds, they most likely wouldn't hear those the same way or just ignore them seeing nothing special unlike her. She apriciates anything that's pretty, elegant, natural moreover can't cause her harm.

"Speaking of which, are you enjoying yourself, bitch? I'm confident you spacing out made a lot of good to those ugly wounds!"

It cackled when it felt her flinching at the mention of the name. Girl's eyes cousiously wandered to her left arm. Immediately she regreted doing so. Her face expressed disgust as she tried not to gag nor vomit at the sight.

Her arm was covered in so many scars now, not a single one of the older ones was visible. The cuts were different lengths, deepths, some were wider, others smaller, some placed horizontally, some vertically. To add more to this mess — the blood was everywhere now, the dirt, her hoodie, on her jeans.

Blood was all coming from the horrible cuts she made which made her even more nauseous.

Averting her eyes, she tried to focus on something else, yet she couldn't. The image haunted her mind, she couldn't block it off.

The girl started to gag, sweet acidic taste filled her mouth.

Abruptly she stood up, making it worse, trying to rush to the river. Her vision got more foggy and unclear as she moved forward. She stumbled on her feet, falling to her hands and knees. Not being really far away from the water she managed to reach it and as soon as she did that she threw up everything her stomach previously contained.

"You do know you can't do anything about your arm right? I mean... you could always add more. You're going to die anyway so what's the point? Bonus Points! — if you'll die here nobody will find you. You're all alone. Nobody cares about your well-being. Not that they care about your being at all..."

More tears continued to stream down her face as she listened to the voice. The pain coming from her arm is getting more unbearable by each passing second.

Her vision starts to fade as she tries to control her sobs, ignore the pain and block out the images of the blood and memories of her family and friends. She could hear the cruel laughter and continuous mocking of the voice but even it starts to quieten.

Being overwhelmed by hurtful sensations, she couldn't seem to feel her body. Her tears were silently from her brown eyes, praying for somebody to find her, to take care of her, to tell her everything will be okay.

But her prayers weren't answered, maybe they didn't reach anyone in the first place. As she was letting go, the darkness took care of her.

Nobody came. Proving to her about her meaninglessness.

"I'm sorry." A mere whisper left her lips.

...

#cross posted on wattpad #original work #original character #tw s3lf harm #tw sui attempt #tw depressing thoughts #reupload #heavy topics #heavy angst #rating: mature

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floareadeaur · 3 months

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Chapter 134 Flashback detailed analysis ( A documentary about Ferid Bathory )

— The first part —

I re-read the flashback with Ferid's memories in chapter 134 several times and I realized very clearly that each particular sequence is drawn in a certain way to convey a message.

Thus, I will analyze this message by studying each panel separately.

This post is going to be a longer one considering there are 16 pages to go through and Tumblr has a limit of 10 photos per post. But I think it is worth it, and also some people have shown interest in publishing this analysis.

We start with the first panel, the one that opens the memories that Ferid remembers:

I think at first glance it is surprising how he is drawn here considering he is 16 at the time. It can be said that it is an infantile portrayal of him, of his facial features. As if Ferid were a much smaller child than a 16-year-old teenager. One could say that this is the style of the drawing, but there is too much difference between this childish portrayal and other sequences with Ferid at 16 in this chapter:

Here already his features are much more maturely presented, more realistic for his adult version and the style of this manga in general.

So it is not about a certain style of drawing, or about a certain way Ferid looked at that age.

Especially, in the same chapter, Ferid is drawn as an adult in this way:

And this is perhaps the most mature depiction of him in the entire manga.

Thus, the idea of a drawing style that filters the scene that opens the flashback is ruled out. And reanalyzing again, one can discern a very clear message from the way this first panel is drawn:

" I want to disappear.

To die.

I wish...

...I was never born in the first place. "

With these introspections of Ferid the flashback opens, these thoughts of his projected to the high sky.

Immediately comes this panel sequence:

In contrast to the huge, high, all-encompassing sky, Ferid is seen: lying in the grass, arms open, so small and insignificant in front of that huge sky to which he confesses his thoughts.

His physical position even looks as if Ferid is crucified on the ground, caught in chains. I think this is a very good metaphor for the idea of reincarnation, which keeps the soul eternally bound to that world. And those treatises on reincarnation are right next to him in the grass, where Ferid looks broken and helpless, crushed by the laws of his world.

The next sequence focuses in detail on his facial expression.

"I can't surprise these self-destructive urges.

They keep running circles in my mind...

... driving me mad."

His thoughts continue, but now they are projected as if on his own person. Because Ferid confesses how all those experiences drive him mad, how they suffocate him.

And the way his features are drawn here is much more childish...

Basically, this kind of portrayal conveys the fact that Ferid is a very fragile and sensitive child, suffocated by the heavy burden of the world in which he lives. This style of drawing signals his fragility, sensitivity, loneliness in that world, him being exactly like an abandoned child.

Abandoned by whom?

By the very creator of the world who made everything so broken.

We have this panel next:

" Augh! This is horrible!

I feel like I'm tearing myself apart. "

When Ferid confesses the inner tearing he feels, how horrible the feeling itself is, Ferid is curled up in the grass, very reminiscent of a small child holding onto his knees and rocking himself. This again shows the despair and helplessness he feels in this situation, the abandonment and deep sensitivity of his soul. And how he is, in a way, a scared child.

But immediately, his elder brother appears, who even if he catches his younger brother in that moment of intimate confession, does not notice anything wrong with the situation.

For his elder brother had come with his own purpose, in which Ferid had to take his imposed role.

When the brother appears, this sequence follows, where Ferid's facial expression changes like this:

From the desolate look of a few seconds ago, his expression turns thoughtful.

Ferid, again, seems very "small" here, like he is been caught by someone and has to think about how to react in this situation in order not to be somehow vulnerable.

And that is exactly what he does next.

Now Tumblr has stopped me from being able to attach pictures. So I will continue everything in another post.

Thanks for reading this far!

The second part of the documentary about Ferid coming soon!

Can we call this a commercial break?

Do not forget that kind feedback is welcome!

#ferid bathory #owari no seraph #seraph of the end #ons #sote #ferid bathory chapter 134 #owari no seraph chapter 134 #seraph of the end chapter 134 #ferid bathory character analysis

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notmuchtoconceal · 9 months

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–

the priestesses danced – in the baths built atop the springs down the bluffs behind city hall. the expanse of some bay hill within a block– well-eclipsed by the funnel of strata which teethed the cliffs. down the plaza -- beneath the canopies of streets, there shone another city gleaming in the gold of an artificial sun. cavern ceilings painted azure as the sky.

the priestesses danced – so that that sleep may overcome the carnal in men, those beasts who dwelt in the land above, with the fallen sisters they had taken as claims, who had become again the beasts they had been as girls, in the wild and untamed woodlands that were the brush they could not oil or tame – the talons they lacquered only to strike with priapism by venom. they danced and danced – and some harmonies met the men meek of heart, whose ears were open to the hornet honey of their rhythms :-- for heavy of soul, transmutations erupted in every atom of their skulls. arcs of gold convulsed through leaden filament.

~^..^~ ( o ) ~^..^~

. ^! .^. !^ `

from behind the columns, walled gardens in the shade kept the night as day. stars gleamed down the sleek of the fiberoptics of their gowns, and constellations latticed the forms of flowers and mosaics neither geometry nor mesh, for the wall was itself the night which emanated out the radiance of day, bound in brickwork which was not there, for they walked between the lime and were grazed not by the mortar, but passed suspended above the grounds in grace, as each were only women in the flesh, feet fawnlike and pale in painted toes :-- upon the floor, they moved, ankles clinging to the gossamer of their gowns, swanlike and downy muscular as the brine around them was sultry as the sea winds before a storm – for they knew again their prince, abundant in his horn and his cups, helmed in the shell that was his light :-- for he was only the light which resides in the shell, the conch which held the voice, and could be whispered into most sweetly, for you heard back only the tide.

cpt. drottin knelt to the empty plinth at the center of the dais from which they emanated -- around him, shone spotlights of seven colors :-- and in the shapes which overlapped him, he was masked. crowned and cut in twain by a laurel of peacock feathers shearing quartz vibrations in jagged discordance through the brawny and striated skeletomuscular webbing of himself :-- lattices of meat and fat studded rock-salt, for the hunks which fell from the gelatin of his subtle flesh flopped about with the elegant twirling fins of a betta fish pooling in black and yellow bile creeklike with reflections of shed arteries dripping opalescent man-roe fermented on the pressed caps of his spit-polished boots. ankles twisted as what bound them tightened together round the rising equis, the stalk of some trunk so iron-rich its tendons could press toward the hide which trapped it, for we knew the beauty of this moment and all moments – a terrace of blood rubies now with a drop of pearl. for his thread, the sterling silver of his chastity, cut him to ribbons with pangs of love.

- this sword – this sword which is mine by right – which in my hands would bifurcate me to the pure action :/: re/action of my poles – without it, i am merely a man. condemned to love woman – for only by her may i know myself, as i remain merely a beast, and with the ecstasy that is the agony of my inheritance, and the agony that is the inheritance of my ecstasy – i endure my burden, though i will never draw the blood of man, condemned as i am, to eternal war by virtue of being them!

the knights of the labrys – who kept their sisters sharp of tongue, and their brothers sharper in striation -- by lance by prick and cut, by the butt of handle and cleaver, banged the horns that were the handles of their polearms in percussion -- tapping twice and thrice across the stone.

ALL IS

SECT

he writhed and he lashed – suspended in the nowhere state of himself.

a burning coming over the black winds of the sea which men could not see, he kept solemn as the lights paned over him – still in supreme concentration to the sheathe which rose drop by drop within the stone.

ALL IS

SECT

the blows of the horns crashed through him as surf across a rocky shore. the descent of the first note -- as though unfurling -- lapped up the hairs of his neck, to caress him tip to notch of top of skull.

/ . ( ( ( o ) ) ) . \

`// . \ \ | / / . \\`

the repenters of the priesthood, our brothers of blacked eye – knelt with the men of drottin's guard. in paisley and escherprint, as they divided themselves down the midline by sigils and prayers, so did his guard unbutton their shirts, to expose the split-gashes burst open from the vigor of their movements – to be, here and now, resutured.

ALL IN

SECT

IONS

they knew not their mothers, for they had been cut from them. as they were not born, they could not die. without death, they had no and infinite time – for men they were, and yet of women, not.

ALL IN

SECT

IONS

- i who am untethered, am wrapped up in myself. i who am untethered, wrap up all in my menagerie! around every wall, i remember where i walk and where i have begone! i walk the streets as myself, and i walk the streets of myself. what infinite turns you behold, what infirmaries you endure, and what brickovens you bemuse, on some further rotation you know you have gone nowhere. i am sorry – for there is no way out! you are stuck as time has stuck – as my wanderings have amazed the city!

for though nine, she remained the spider –

- and i still merely the fly.

for he offered himself –

she drank of him,

and was devoured.

… hey. you're pretty. hope you'll only slurp me with all the elegance befitting of a taureen fulla fine handcrafted strawberry lemonade?

.^. -?o?-o- /O\-o- 7o7- .^.

. \ / ++

o>\_ *7&?oOo?%7 …\<^

. 3 . e =

*7* ^\/^ *?* q )7( v/\v `?`

. 8 8 --

~?~ )?( v\| b |/v *7* ^7^

take me to that beautiful place ~

where nothing need be gross ( )

& even fewer euphemistic O == O

–

cpt. drottin.

he was beginning to show up with some consistency. you wouldn't know if gentle dabbings would remain enough to keep him off.

- um, major *****( . . . . . ) sir.

for fuck's sake, kid.

don't let him call you that. you sound like a cereal box mascot.

- um, i'm sorry, maj. ******* – oh my god, if that was unbleep'd it'd sound so fuckin goofy. you're honestly so try, you never have to camp!

he was more than trustworthy – to always draw attention to the breach.

- she should just rewind, pretend none of that ever got carried through!

only in your infinite editorial power – could you endure the shrink-wrap leaden weight of his antinatalist agenda.

- bro, i am 100% pro-baby, bro. they increase the overall net rate of gross entropic waste and consumption in the world. we need to affirm life/affirm death by creating it for the sake of the sakeless, bro. ... embrace descent/chaos as the ravishment of civilization wherin man is an eruption as any other :-- the cloud fated to swell, crest and collapse, settling back into but a mere holy pablum of fossilized substrata, debited to be mined and compacted with the trash of those future generations we have sired to spit on us as we've been sired to spit on our own with the laurels of our leaky cockheads :– drink of my dick drippings in a roe goblet of fibrous microplastics, bro. harvested of the gelatin of me, they've been marketed for the spoil! drink of me and be one with me, as i am the proof of what's in the pudding – the chastity, loch and keys!

the priests of the labrys he bent to his will – weighed with snow in gnarled poses, heavy as the boughs of spring – craned to him to blow mountain horns through the handles of their hollow axes.

- i have not spoken to brother laika in some time! what rulers echo in every void utterance! the pleasure has most certainly been his!

the rhubarb hues swollen beneath the sterile goatiness of his face – slick with his sweat, some idiot aureole played as his hair unfurled from the gilding of its honied comb – a kaleidoscope of arms and suckers in the brass-edged prongs of a heliacal crown which was his hair blowing in the breeze of the slate blue day – metallurgical in the covalence of its bonds, the day overlooking the white of the plaza, yellow ivory by ash of gold.

- sir, your words move me as only cpt. schreibermachen's do – have you, by some iota of probability unpaid, perchance to've read him?

your fine, well-read brother was no doubt manhandling some of cpt. hlaford's exquisitely tortured thoughtcrimes of passion against sin and country before sicking you with this routine unexpected visitation.

- i can't tell if you are making fun of me to my face, or making fun of joey to my face, or making fun of joey to your face, or revealing your deepest insecurities by highlighting what you can conceal only by not even bothering to brother – wow, sir. you really do have a lot going on, huh?

yeah, you'll tell me.

- it's no wonder – cpt. joey admires you so much and is always telling people how great you are, even if i don't always see it? to me, it's like -- you seem needlessly cruel, distant, and full of terror and awe, but um – somebody needs to be afraid for you, sir. that is a beautiful and perfect thing for you do for someone. be afraid for them and never let them know what's wrong, or just hug them – hug them and never let them go cause you can never express in words what they mean to you. no matter how many or how few you've got, you'd never be able to express that in words, for the issue is not of quantity or of quality, but structure :--and how could anyone ever know what they mean to us when we fail them by failing to let them understand what we feel?

he had no idea. he had all the ideas.

- i'm sorry, sir – i don't want to hurt your feelings with the stupid shit i say aimlessly, but um – i feel like there's no way to be around you without hurting you, and if i can understand this, while you have to live it daily, there's no need for me to elaborate upon it by the route idiocies of my own word choice, since you've been living your own life and know your own pain, i suspect it's still comforting on some level, even if it's equally or infinitely more comforting for me, to say this to you – cause i know i have to hurt you to comfort you, and the comfort in some sense outweighs the hurt, but um – if cpt. haruspex were rambling this long, he would attempt to return to some previous point to give the illusion that progress is being made, but he always feels like he's talking to a brick wall cause he isn't good at reading social cues? i honestly can't tell?

... cpt. haruspex is deeply confusing and i don't always know if i should be listening to him, cause sometimes he seems really confident, but then sometimes he seems really shaky, and i'm like – which one is it gonna be today? he makes me feel real insecure and that makes me wanna go towards him? cause i'm like – am i gonna need to take control of this idiot? is he gonna hurt himself again – oh my fuckin god. if i let this idiot hurt me, i would rip his fuckin head off – it would be brutal. i would tear off both his arms, crush his skull – tear his fuckin guts out and fuck the hand-ripped ceasearean taint-pussy i installed just to fuckin smash up – holy fuck. it sounds so fun, i kinda wanna risk my career and my reputation by doing it in public. right here. right now. – but um . . .

count to three.

… yeah …?

I I I I I I

… i'm not cpt. haruspex, so i don't think i need to go there, but um – it seemed relevant anyways, so i will? even though it's not relevant anymore since i rambled on so long, but um – to avoid it now would reek of anticlimax, so i ought? ... yeah? keep talking?

I V

… it's the entropy as a necessary process to take us to our inevitable fate of finality, sir? i can't ever give as much care as i can give you pain, but by bearing my pain, you're increasing the net amount of care in the world, even if you can only take so much for yourself? as though the older you get, the more care you're entitled to give, or at least the less care you're entitled to receive, for care is a limited thing given, and if you're still failing, even at your age, you're understood to have poorly optimized the care you've been given – and while it is true that the inherent care a person can receive is finite, some bodies are deprived in such a way that care cannot be properly optimized, or the care they'd been given not enough, or for that same care to have been rendered toxicified. everyone wants to care, but few people care about how they're doing it?

…

though in old sage, sir – care is understood to be wholly reciprocal, for an elder mind is at its peak when nourished by the wisdom of experience. no valorous young flesh would harm a frail soul or allow it to come to harm, for what we are is what we know

... and all we'll ever know is but our heads!

…

at least long last as we have heads to know.

F V

- IS THAT FAH-VEEE OR WERE YOU SAYING AND WRITING FIVE AT THE SAME TIME

don't fuckin scream at me, kid.

already wanna rip your neck out and dance in your blood.

- um, i'm sorry, sir. i'm really ashamed at how i behaved just now?

that's a start.

- um, i should be ashamed of how i am all the time?

he could read into things.

he learned it from cpt. schreibermachen, no doubt.

- i'm sorry i get you so wet, sir. i know i'm a real she-braggart and a he-harlot and worse than any woman, but like, um – cpt. schreibermachen learned it from watching you.

kid, cpt. schreibermachen thinks being complicated is a virtue. the locomotion of moving parts fascinate him, for he is inherently dense and slow-witted. he is the worst indulgence of the materialist sciences, holy shit – he reads like jittery molecules in a beaker crudely attempting to escape their own dead, intellectual anti-atomism by furiously stroking their mitochondrial clitties. synthesize some meta-nature, joey. you can do it. you can improve upon the vast incomprehensibility of the perfection of all creation by breaking it apart into cancerous, bifurcated deadweight, scattered about the apartments of your reeking barnyard bate cave drooling more weird affection over incomprehensible tomes like all the other assorted grotesqueries you fetishize because you're disgusted by your own slight, deformed, nubile lil fuck-bod. yeah. nibble on some gristle and chicken bones, you ever-fertile regenerative godling. go leave Pomo Prometheus Bound Up and Unmod, cute lil Werther White Chocolate. lick you off my fingers, see how good you melt in my mouth. go on! believe in yourself, kid. you can fuckin cast off the yoke of physics and radically recreate matter in a shape more approximate mind. it's all on you. nobody wants to rut the narrow taper of your bony, alluring lil bitch-breeder hips, holy fuck. nobody, joey. nobody is thinking of seeding your needy lil blonde, blue-eyed boycunt cause you are so fucking asking for it prancing around being such a pretty lil nerd all the time.

- wow.

vv ( o ) vv

- it may take me some time to process all this, sir. i am not like – a one hour photo, or even, um – a memento of a log ride you can pick up in fifteen minutes for the image needs time to solidify into form? it may take me years to reconcile the every implication of your every stated utterance against the pre-existing biases of the situation as i understand it? you know i'd never be able to tell joey any of this because he's so, um – like in awe of you and i'm so in awe of him, i'd never have it in me to even so much as hint to a word of this, unless it's like, um – one day joey found himself so weighed down by such terrible pain, that to continue to believe in you would only hurt him further, and i would have no choice but to um – risk hurting him by telling him the truth, though it would both hurt me to hurt him, and hurt me to be deprived of him, but neither could ever be as hurtful as letting him hurt pointlessly by languishing in a lie? for this was my duty – to increase the net care in the world by telling the truth to my brother and dearest light of my soul, for nothing would be so painful to me as to deny myself my love's true freedom and living valor?

he was already writing the script.

you'd need to make some common-sense suggestions.

- um, you're ruthless?

the way you hurt people and pretend like you're caring?

you are all-knowing. you see things as they are.

your insight cannot be disavowed.

- um, it was not my place to question you, sir. i understand this now.

you have been a good joey, cpt. drottin. you may lean forward and receive the head-pat you so desperately crave by being stupid enough to approach your commanding officer.

- you're sweet, sir. you're fair, just, alluring, and tolerant?

don't push it, kid. one of us is still a smut-pushing propaganda monster.

- you have made cpt. schreibermachen everything he is, for he is all you could never be – and he adores you for you are all he could never be, though this is shameful for you both to bare, as though both of you crave and adore the other, neither of you want nor respect yourselves.

his happiness mattered more than yours. he would not die this day.

- just gotta hear it once a morning, sir. once more in this semi-paradigm of our infinite solar orbit, you have gifted me the gift of immortality!

tomorrow you will bring with you a basket of apples. they will be gold as the sun, placed in a hand-wreath of wicker, on a bed of pine fronds lightly syruped by their own sweetness. huckleberries shall be included.

- i know the ones you like, sir. i may or may not surprise you with a different hue or even a different shape all together, and you'll never know if i fucked up or was discreetly attempting to slow-drip the lifeblood of variety back into your life because i love you?

piss off, drottin.

- do you mean get lost and never found?

you mean open up.

–

as seeds scattered in the wind, they wanted not, yet wanted only to die.

a whole brood came of age, spurning the ovipositor which laid them. without contradiction of their wants, the falsities of the false world into which they were born, they knew they themselves to be expendable – people who should have never been, sold now and always, to people who weren't worth it, on land which was not theirs :-- serving only the machinery for which they had been bred to be slaughtered.

the carpenter removed his hood – he was but (a) baal by kinder words.

he sang to them. in harmonic resonances of love, he sang to them. by the grosses, from bridges which rose in honeycombed towers, drone embryos flew without wings – into the traffic of tankmen to be torn under wheels pulverized & dragged – limbs flash fried a second here and there, wasted :-- untold countless unclaimed prophets squandered.

((( o )))) without the lubrication of blood to properly anoint at proper variables – the machinery chugged and sputtered to a halt.

the streets caked with viscosities of skin and sinew – gelatin of bone and meat pumped by arterial sepsis. clean. pure. sears of gunmetal perfumed on tongues. product rotting on shelves without plot or purchase, writhing with fresh and effervescent life, singing the songs of flies.

the structures collapsed by the rings of their stumps, pumping always lead in their sutures, where true necessity reigned, hollow hearts followed hollow heads – as all were as gourds in the wind.

a hedge trimmer to a bonsai, an octopus to a cutlet. with ice to a sickle, whole densities of shoulder were shed in the shaving. another turn of the waltz – into place, they fell, and into space, they rose.

deprive themselves of them – for they have spoilt their generations, every vivisection floating like debris, around the miracle of these pollutants.

~!~

;w L

L o :

–

cpt. haruspex's tongue would slip when his hands would slight him.

cpt. haruspex's words would fail him – when by the slight of glance, his eyes would fall upon cpt. schreibermachen sipping coffee.

- who the hell he thinks he is, mates? that prick joey – loungin around like the world were a lounge! a lounge none feel comfortable loungin in cause it's so pretty, fastidious, scented, polished and leatherclad, that you know by matrices of implication too multitudinous and subtle to be processed in the moment -- but which nonetheless register as a visceral impression which haunts your nervous system for days to come – that this ain't any lounge, oh no. this is joey's private lounge.

... joey owns the buildin! you think this is some neon-lit quarter-abyss a few inches underground where eyes glidin past cobwebs caressin brick and mortar in the granite womb of your senses, you bare by curtains bathed in hot pinks and reds, some scanty-clad flesh rapturous in the throes of intoxication, no -- calm it down, mates! joey's here. joey's gonna make things happen! joey's gonna change the atmosphere!

/// peer back into the dark, this is no charnel bar where the scent of grape concentrate and chemical burns lingers more on your eyes in the hyper-clarity of terror turned rapturous unrevealing, no!

... the darkness is gonna quiet, mates! gonna feel the heady scent of the froth fill your nostrils in the dust of some gilded mornin where you stretch by the sun and get a workout in swimmin round the archipelago before dawn. eyes lingerin on his bronzed and milky body – his scarred, his burnt and shrapnelled body – the delicate pale hairs casting him in a gossamer of spider silk by firelight you could remember no night but what you spent with him, but now it's time to work... so many distant memories. hangin round every day though you could look back and there he'd be. hand on your shoulder, so uncharacteristically warm, as his skin'd just withstood the fire – and now he's pullin up his chair, mates!

... right at the center recess! right round the big table! oh, he's here early! nobody else is here yet! let's just take fuckin control of everythin, why don't we? y'know – if brux got in the cafe (it's always a fuckin cafe with joey – can always hear the music! so effortless is the moment twisted, i can even hear the music!) – if brux got in the cafe early, he'd go slink off to some secret corner where it was extra dark and he'd giggle to himself cause nobody'd find him. brux'd really be able to dawdle and pretend to work back there, but no! joey don't wanna dawdle and pretend to work!

/// joey wants to be kept looked at so he can keep the illusion of keepin busy by actually bein busy, cause ya can't fuckin fake it in front of an audience! joey don't have the courage to live a life of solitude, so he needs people to go up to him while he's readin or writin or sippin espresso with his adorable and eminently breedable boyfriend -- and sometimes they glance at each other with eyes so tender ya wonder how laik don't melt like bunny chocolate on the spot and leave a big brown butthole-stained streak all o'er the dazzlin emerald-upholstered leather chairs or reflective teakwood table – and ya always feel like you're interruptin somethin special cause their love is so crystalline and perfect and your heart throbs every time you're privileged to witness it, then ya realize love like that only happens to certain special people and yer not one of em, so ya wanna either die or murder everyone in sight, and that is so perfectly natural and normal a feelin and everyone feels it and anybody who says otherwise is a liar like joey, who only wants to sip coffee and read books in public so ya feel like you're botherin him when ya need to talk, even tho he's fundamental to so many operations, he should be fully present at every moment, totally focused on you, cause – y'know.

/// you're totally focused on everyone else at every moment – least they could do's repay the favor! instead he's spittin out some zealous spiel all hopped up on genie beans and it's like – oh, all the men in the room are hooked on his every word! they're either all totally motivated or eager to hop in and he handles every interruption so gracefully and with such verve, it makes ya love him even more, and ya wish ya had somethin to say, but you're much too in awe of him ~ you're just thankful for any second he could spend wit you – so magnanimous is every second you spend wit him, you could feel nothin but total remorse which is the realization of the futility of life that the time you spend with him could never mean but a fraction of what his time means to you – not only cause there are so many of you out there, vyin for his attention, but because you got nothing to offer him. he has so much more. he's always had more. you could never measure up, even if ya had a trick ruler and his spine was ripped out – scribblin away at another one of his masterpieces, his popular fodders, his private letters! it's bad enough his sloppies look better than most of ya polishers, but his handwritten lil notes make ya feel elevated over ivied edifices by babblin streams as sunlight ripples cross the banks of the thames, and you respond with loike – shit ya coulda sent through a telegram, so it's loike... gosh, do i want him to keep writin me, or do i want him to know all the affection he showers on me is wasted? it's almost more polite to make him hate me so he knows he's not wastin his time? i could never repay him his every special moment – let him know how beautiful i think he is. every second i spend with him feels like accruin a debt i could never repay, so every moment i spend is consent to the slavery of his affection. with him, i could only ever be more grateful, more thankless, more blessed and needy with every moment he looks at me – and that is entirely his fault for bein so brave and manly and smart and beautiful in a way which highlights even his arrogance to a mute rhapsody of pure motion! he makes even his ugliness beautiful! how cruel and dismissive he is so constantly cause he knows he has leverage on ya, and it's loike – you bastard. you bastard. i hate you. i hate you. you think it was you. always you. the only reason you wanna get all hopped up with the men drinkin coffee and readin books is cause you want brux to hate you. this ain't about them. this ain't about you. this ain't about the codification of an ethos or aesthetic into culture under the organic process of a group of individuals rationally consenting to follow a bold, charismatic, and affable leader! no. this is about brux.

/// brux knows you're thinkin bout brux

just as much as brux is thinkin bout you!

cpt. psychoraggia – whose shaved and heaving muscle-tits cpt. haruspex longed to fondle, yet refrained, for he was a bloodthirsty killbeast of fame and valor with countless recordings of backroom maulings widely distributed and pawed over – became uncharastically syllabic.

- brother brux, with all due respect – i think cpt. schreibermachen likes to drink coffee while reading books because they keep his mind sharp, since more pressingly – he enjoys stimulation which is psycho-chemical in a way we don't understand cause we think with our dicks.

cpt. haruspex – would not cut :-- though his tirade yearned for blood.

- brother jacek, i like you. i like your big, fondleable muscle-titties. you don't know joey the way i do. you won't ever know joey the way i do. you're a big silly kitty and ya need to have your mane ruffled. i wanna jump on you and play with your big bashful pecs which the frenzy of my imagination renders furry and peachy, though i know them to be exfoliated, razor-dredged and olive, you prickly lil lionfish. you are a silly, silly killbeast and i think you're such a nice boy! gosh, i wanna kiss you. gosh, i wanna kiss your face. you are so handsome, it is painful. i want to die when i look at you. please bash me head in with a rock and lick the brain matter out of the prolapse between me eyes as you lap up me tears for iodine as i die. brother jacek, you are what is most precious!

cpt. psychoraggia understood at once – that no more conversation was viable. for a moment he thought he ought bow his head before abandoning cpt. haruspex for hours unknown, then figured this would pay too much deference to things spoken undeserving of deference, and so decided – yeah, fuckin walk away. don't ask for the encore.

he'll read things the way he wants, with his shitty, limited vocabulary.

thank our brothers who are the stars there are poetically-minded and ribaldly affable men like cpt. schreibermachen around to show you that things don't have to be so fuckin miserable all the time.

–

ions descended on the storm winds – the salt brine reeked of the sea. the anvils of the heavens hammered on the hindlegs of the cloudbursts. red skies straddling the seawall of night and morning were the clappings of thunderheads escalating in pitch to collisions of rapture.

- as though claws at the sky, dear brothers and fair sisters! ~ as though the strike of each bolt were embers which raked the sweet-caned peaches of creamery clouds, cotton candy on ice milk, the grilles of a bleaker cabaret :-- some plastic diner you wallowed to squeal in vinyl!

behind drottin's eyes, the horizon of a parting thigh – as the sea bisected the sky. compartments of him heaved, bashed against the glass dulled by manhandlers hand-mangled by handlebars. delicate precision slotting them into place along quarter-turns on tilts. pushed inward and bent so a pivot became a joint. sutured along a seam. the heat of some torch which was only the tempest of his eyes – the eye of his own storm. hourglass sands by molten glass. two cold fires welding the horizon to your eyes by some distant light or more distant darkness, leading the arc of his vault to the void infinity beyond, where no light could ebb away.

this memory which would never ebb away – of the sterile rooms where he knew himself as only streaks of aquarium glass; where he saw himself as more and simply less, the seagrass more than a crown -- laureled though he was, in scales of every color -- beading globules white as teeth or as eyes or still-soft flesh, beading pearls as he was elephant ivory, though not the shrapnel of a tusk – dripping the fresh, crisp mead.

- from joey's heart, i have fermented – the rhizomes of the lotus of his heart. a chocolate cherry – spurned by dingbats and arrowheads, yet no fortune too outrageous – for this age i am iron as i armor myself in dross, when the armor ensconces what remains imperishable by right of what preserves -- as i am myself salty enough to burn ulcers off tongues, lay your beef before me expecting a lashing and i will give what i lap, as i shall no doubt remain, for i paige by the discount ~ all which is orderly in immolation is present in me – for should i fail to guild by this honey i chug, i shall be knot a man known for eras beyond me :-- but will be simply a waste, a man in his box, priority shipping overseas – another garish antique of the hammer head and nailing hand, wrought steelmen coming on cadavers in kiddielands unmembered, this rickety coffin still shambles for me. i keep it suspended by the whim of what lay alive, to hobble still more on stilts to a dawn beyond dusk?

cpt. haruspex met him once –

theirs was a bond which chained across time.

- brux, bro – i uh ... hey.

you wanna go to sleep with me, bro?

bet it'd feel good?

gettin stoned and curlin up with me while i sleep.

let you nuzzle my beard?

yeah?

feel good?

huh?

2 notes · View notes

tryingtimi · 2 years

Note

❝ before i met you, i used to understand where i stood on everything. now it’s all…mixed up. ❞

👀👀👀

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨❤️

For Now

My love ✨❤️ Here's a juicy, heavy angst, because I can't write anything else. I also know the aesthetic board can indicate that they're gonna make out, but don't get your hopes up (for now). Also, you knew which couple is the only one that fits perfectly for this one, so here it is! Prompt from this list.

DARMON AND SYONEHLIA | HEAVY ANGST | MENTION OF DEATH AND SELF-LOATHING | WC: 1,708

Darmon floated. Black, lightless darkness surrounded him. His eyes blind, his ears deaf, his body feather light. Was he injured? Was he dead?

He wasn’t sure. But something was missing. Something that always stayed with him. Something he knew in his core, that was so familiar he didn’t know how to exist without it. Something terrible.

Screams. Shouts. Helpless cries. Mothers, fathers, children. People. Blood. Souls.

Taken. Ripped out. Butchered.

They found their way back to him. The horror of innocents, the trembling of the weak… No, no. They weren’t weak. Not in the least. They never bent, never broke; they were strong, stronger than Darmon ever was. Than he ever will be.

They were heroes, perished for nothing.

A familiar aching in the scattered ruins of a soul made Darmon realize — he wasn’t dead. Oh, no, he wasn’t. He couldn’t die with a burden this heavy. He’d been doomed to live.

He…

His body hurt. Eventually, the heaviness of a body came back to him. It was as if a mountain had grown on his chest, he couldn’t move. Even breathing seemed hard to manage.

He could feel a presence beside him, however. Slowly, with painful effort, he opened his eyes to see a clearly royal room’s intricately decorated ceiling. Ivory marble and silver lines stretched along the walls. It was a place he did not recognise, so his gaze stumbled towards the only figure he knew.

Syonehlia was reading a sheet of paper right beside him, so focused she did not notice Darmon’s awakening. Her clothes seemed fresh, hair brushed, freely flowing onto her shoulders, and not counting the bruises on her face that made Darmon grimace, she did not seem tired or ragged. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the worry towards her easing up in his chest.

When he opened his eyes again, he decided not to disturb her, so he quietly checked on his body functions. He attempted to move his right leg. Nothing. Then his left. Nothing. All the following attempts resulted in the same failure with his toes and arms. Slightly flustered, he looked towards his fingers and concentrated.

They moved.

Great. Continue. Darmon tried to lift his head up, but as soon as it moved, a deep groan burst out from the depth of his throat. Heaviness and pain pushed him back into the pillow.

And it caught Syonehlia’s attention immediately. She quickly dropped the paper beside her, one hand finding Darmon’s, the other carefully keeping his shoulder down on the bed.

“Easy,” she said softly. “You’ve been unconscious for more than a week, so your body won’t thank you if you try to move just now.”

A touch. Darmon did not feel another person’s touch so, so long, he completely forgot how warm it can be. How comforting. How… undeserved. Nearly as much as the tender care in Syonehlia’s eyes.

“The… Vessels…”

He could finally utter some words in a sickly hoarse, low voice. His throat felt dry and it burned, he needed all his strength not to choke up on violent coughing.

Syonehlia scooted closer, still keeping her hand on his.

“Gone. You made sure of that. Everyone’s safe now. We put Urien into prison and worked on restoring the city order. We formed a temporary council to help people reorient, but we still couldn’t decide on the next leader yet. The priests and priestesses opposed my suggestion of letting all the citizens vote for the new ruler, but father and some former nobles supported it. So it’s still under debate. Either way, things are getting better, people are calming down.” She reached over his forehead and took off a wet cloth Darmon did not even notice before. He might have had a fever.

Hearing about the situation sent a grotesque mix of relief and regret into his heart. All the life he took before, he took it again to let these people live. Different cause, same results. The screams and shouts became louder in his ears, nearly reaching the point he used to.

He slowly turned his head to see Syonehlia better.

“Am I… wounded?”

“The doctor found some bruises and cuts, but other than that, not really. However, you apparently collected and used up more power than your body could bear. Some kind of miracle saved you. You almost died, Strotagor. But you’re fine now.” The corner of her lips twitched, then she brushed a lock of his hair out of his face. “Well, almost. Your crystal’s cracked.”

Every touch made him shiver. So unfamiliar. He felt his strength steadily creep back, his pain not piercing as much anymore. He could lift his hand to touch his eye-crystal as if he cared.

Which he didn’t, actually.

He only wanted to see Syonehlia’s eyes follow his motion. They changed. The lilac base deepened into a rich purple, while the red ring around her pupil turned from coral to almost crimson.

His eyes did not see beauty in this world before. He could gaze into the lands, at the people and he saw bizarre wrongness, aberration even. Yet, now, he just stared at Syonehlia; her platinum locks, her longer, sharp-edged ears, her high cheeks and into those purple-red eyes. At her confident face, her calm thoughtfulness, her strict tenderness.

His weary eyes looked at her and the only thing they saw was beauty and pure rightness. Something he noticed too late, when he could no longer earn to revere it. The cries wouldn’t let him, for a reason Darmon sincerely understood and agreed on.

“How are the others?” He needed to rip himself out of the daze he fell in. Perhaps he was still feverish.

Syonehlia let a smile find her lips.

“Good. The crew replaced the Ivory Guard. They patrol in the city until people get used to the new situation. Eldnar took every morning shift with Drehana to smooth out any small disturbance, and because they usually like to switch each other at night beside your bed. Eldnar complains a lot about being friends with a bastard who couldn’t even get himself together in a day after his big speech on how powerful his crystals are. But I every time needed to drag him out of your bed in the morning to take his place. He always fell asleep talking to you.”

Friends. Care. Love.

Darmon was well aware of what he felt right now. He knew why he would have sacrificed his life. He knew he would do it again. And he knew he did not want them to be thankful for that. It wasn’t something cherishable, it was something he needed to do. He was expandable. He should have died.

He should have been dead a long time ago.

Still, he stayed alive. Then received such fondness, he could feel his pain turning into a bearable inconvenience. It did not ease or fade, it only became less in focus. Confusion and unknown warmness lurked under his skin. He wronged these people. Yet, they cared for him. As much as he learned to care for them. It was unrealistic, madness even.

Especially as he recognised the undisturbed calmness on Syonehlia’s face, while she reached for a glass of water on the desk beside the bed.

“You weren’t worried,” he stated. There was something very intimate in this one sentence.

“No, of course not. You wouldn’t let yourself die as a hero and find peace in the grace of mercy,” she leaned closer, lips curving into a half, humorless smile. “You’re too stubborn for that.”

He felt a similar smile tugging on his lips. Strange, otherworldly. When has he smiled the last time? He couldn’t remember. There was no reason to do that. But here he was, letting Syonehlia help him to sit up to drink through clenched teeth. The pain was there, it just did not matter.

When he finished drinking, he put the glass away and stayed sitting however much his back wanted to pull him back into bed.

He couldn’t tear away his gaze from Syonehlia’s through the whole time. She was sitting directly beside him, her waist softly pushed into his side. She held his eyes the same way.

“I know what you’re thinking, Strotagor. It’s written on your face, very clearly. And you’re right. You shouldn’t have used that power again. But, without you using the crystals, Evalon would have been destroyed. Completely. With every person in it. The Vessels would be still wandering around, not letting their bodies rest and give them the respect they deserve. You have taken away lives before, yet, this time, you chose to save them instead. You were a hero for those people out there. You did good, as you did change. Maybe you couldn’t win salvation, but you’ve taken a very important step towards it. Probably the most important one. Therefore, you should let yourself feel relieved, at least for a bit.”

The screams wanted to crawl out, being louder than ever. They already scratched the edge of the pit of Darmon’s mind. Then, suddenly, their screeching became more quiet.

She made them quiet. She, who could make his solid guilt tremble and unstable. Who could make him wish again; wish he could be better. She, who could awaken things inside him he thought to be long forgotten.

Caring, wishing, longing.

He lifted his hand up, so he could carefully touch her face for the first time.

“Before I met you, I used to knew where I stood with everything. Now it’s all… mixed up,” he uttered, voice still low. He sighed, when she leaned into his touch and smiled at him.

“Well, it must be confusing to fight beside us.”

“I’m not talking about that.” He slowly caressed her skin, revering every inch of it.

With a deep humming of acknowledgement, and a loving sparkle in her eyes, Syonehlia lingered in one place for a second before she leaned forward until her lips met his. All the confusing chaos rushed through Darmon when her hand found its place on his neck, tangled in his hair.

Her kiss felt unknown, soft, but not tender. It was a kiss of someone who can make you do better, who loved passionately. A kiss Darmon did not deserve.

Yet, he let himself accept it for now.

#Project Metalsea #Metalsea snippet #Darmon Strotagor #Syonehlia Dione #Darnehlia ship #idk why am i so nervous to post this?#it was my first attempt to write them lmao #and their characters should be pretty advanced here already so #i don't know #this is probably book 2 or book 3 snippet #writing prompts #Metalsea: The Lost Empire

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miracle-sham · 2 years

Text

The Strigidae's Call at the Owl Light's Fall.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event} |

| {You Belong With Me, Pink, Moon, An Old Enemy, Laugh, Memories, Soulmates} |

———

| Being the Champion of the Goddess Tikki is a heavy burden to bear but Marinette is faithfully loyal no matter what it costs nor the hurt it causes her. |

| If only her curiosity and that coaxing pull on her soul could stop leading her so dangerously astray. |

| Word Count: 2,181. |

| Warnings/Tags: Alternative Universe — Fantasy/Gods & Goddesses, Soulmates, No Miraculous, Animal Transformation, God!Dick, Possessive!Dick, Champion!Marinette, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Past Non-Graphic Violence, Mind Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Memory Alteration, Emotional Hurt/Manipulation, Betrayal. |

———

| A/N: This was the second stand-alone fic for the MGI Mixer Team Event, this was originally solely posted on Ao3 back on the 18th of June; so I'm finally cross-posting it onto Tumblr! At the time of writing, I'd been going feral over divinity and corruption of divinity aus and their dynamics again and so I had thought “oh possessive evil god!dick would be a fun fic idea” and it certainly was to write! So hopefully you'll enjoy reading this! (Or re-reading, if you read it initially on Ao3) |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

Marinette is blind beneath the cloak of darkness that the Forest of the Abyss yields within its reaches. Though blind she may be, unaware of the dangers of this place nor the gentle pull guiding her—she is not.

The Gods and Champions alike avoid this corruption like the threat upon the land it is.

For the abyss is a labyrinthine prison, sepulchred deep beneath even the most unfathomably chasmic depths of the underworld itself. Sealed beneath rivers and gates of poison and fire. And this corrupted forest is a lychgate into that realm, hence the name.

It's unnerving how this place once repulsed and repelled her—hurt her, as it does with the other Champions and their Gods every time they draw near. And now, here she is, striding through it, shoulders curled, feet bare—sandals lost hours ago—and her peplos torn. Somehow, despite her long and fraught dash, she's managed to keep her himation veiled over her head.

It's almost as if the forest—the abyss— is welcoming her, beckoning her further—deeper into its depths.

For the forest floor should have been tearing Marinette's feet to bloody shreds—the undergrowth is strewn with clawing brambles, choking poisonous leaves sharp as blades, and rending obsidian shards. Tree trunks bleed rivulets of stygian ichor that drips and pools into brackish puddles on the ground. Occasionally splashing and staining both her hands and feet with their sickening essence.

But no harm has come to her here, not yet.

And unbeknownst to her, golden eyes watch from the shadowy depths of the abyss, as the guiding pull lures her ever deeper—soon she'll be beyond the boundaries of her Goddess's influence and ensnared within his sway. A risk with her current state, but what other choice does she have? To confront without risking the hearts and souls of her fellow Champions.

With every step taken, Marinette's bond with Tikki strains. It's almost choking how agonisingly painful it is to venture so far from her light.

“Just a little further,” she reassures herself, voice scarcely above a whisper. Though, she's not quite entirely sure why she is even trying to do this in the first place.

Trees seemingly part in her way to lead her onwards. Leaves and trailing vines softening in her presence and furling away like curtains.

Around her, an arched pathway forms, undergrowth lined with oil black moss, glimmering in the veil of moonlight bleeding from the canopy above.

There's a flutter of wings from the shrubs nearby that catches her attention, Marinette's steps slow as she turns her head and crouches cautiously. A small robin—coalesced in shadows with eyes glimmering a golden divine light, perches on a thin rocking branch and tilts its head at her.

She watches it curiously—the first sign of life within this place (though perhaps not exactly a good sign of life, all things considered).

It flutters its wings before darting up and weaving through the low-hanging vines and branches of the canopy. Guiding her in tandem with the path and the strengthening pull upon her soul.

Before her, the radiant shadowy robin swoops low so that's flying just over her head. As the final two trees part for the path, a twilit glade greets her eyes. Bathed in the silver of the moonlight and the shifting, swirling pinks and purples of the shadows. Like a midnight sky on the clearest of nights, a clandestine heavenly abyss between the Moon, and the Earth's respective domains.

Almost entranced, Marinette steps daintily into the glade, crossing the threshold and befalling wholly into his domain. Strangely, breathing comes easier to her within here, and her shoulders uncurl, tension bleeding from her bones. If it were not for the sudden lightness of her body and mind… “I don't think I would've noticed…” She admits so stifling and so faintly to herself, with the muted flickering pink bubbles of panic, not unlike Tikki's magic, in her heart. That the strain and pain of her bond with her beloved Goddess is beginning to fade—rot—away, though not completely but neither holding quite such an iron grip upon her soul any longer.

Though Marinette has stilled just beyond the threshold, the robin continues forth, swooping onwards to circle around the glade—once, twice, thrice, before gliding to the centre of it. Bursting into a plume of umbral smoke and feathers, the robin's form twists and writhes.

And out from within the shadowed shroud, an unmistakable man saunters, smirking all too gratified at her. Draped in the gilded finery of the gods—a barely concealing toga of blackest night and darkest depths, adorned with all manner of golden jewellery inset with obsidian and black opal. The Talon. An accursed God of Darkness.

He inhales deeply, staring at her through half-lidded glittering gold eyes. “Hello, Marinette.”

“Of all the Champions, I didn't expect you to come to me of your own accord but then again… you do belong with me.” Trilling as the words roll off his tongue all while puffing his chest out like a pleased bird—or more accurately, a robin.

Marinette scrunches her nose up, lips thinned and brows furrowing, eyeing him not dissimilar to how a rabbit watches a hungry owl. “I belong with my Goddess, Tikki.”

The Talon chirrups an inhuman laugh. “You accepted my gifts, dear Champion, therefore you are mine.” Tilting his head to one side, and with a pitying coo, smiles forlornly at her. “You're so miraculously loyal to a Goddess who could not care less for you, her one and only Champion. Ah, my mistake, she recently claimed a second Champion, did she not?”

For a second, Marinette can't help but let her control slip enough to snarl, face twisting and eyes glowing a brilliant glowing red in momentary fury. Shoulders curling up once more. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes as she tries to calm herself by breathing deeply. It doesn't help but the effort was made nonetheless. “You're wrong. I'd never betray my Goddess for the likes of you. I didn't accept them in the slightest, I only moved your curses somewhere they wouldn't harm myself or my friends.”

“Ah, ah, ah, you took my gifts, therefore you accepted them, my blessings.” He argues, leaning further into her personal space and delicately trailing a blackened taloned finger down her wrist. “My claim upon you has been staked and Tikki,” he sneers the Goddess's name with such vitriolic abhorrence, “has turned a blind eye to your suffering, and has actively fanned the flames of it. Would you really rather continue as her tortured Champion until you rupture beneath the burden of unnecessary duty upon your shoulders?”

He's not lying. She can feel the accidentally—unintentional—unwilling bond with the Talon she had threaded. The very thing that has brought her here, to him. And the urge to renounce her bond with her Goddess and truly bind herself wholly to him, to let him hold her so lovingly and protectively.

“You may be Tikki's Chosen but you are merely the latest among the countless Champions she has claimed, and your novelty has waned for her; though your use remains.” He takes a moment to emphasise his point, tapping a claw against the veins in her wrist. “Why else do you think she's claimed another when she has a reputation for only ever taking a single Champion at a time? Once your usefulness runs out for her, she'll discard you for the shiny new one.”

“Alya was supposed to be Trixx's Champion…” Marinette argues feebly, stumbling back a step—not enough to leave his grasp nor the glade, however.

“And yet,” The Talon answers, tapping the claws on his other hand against his chin, “she is now favoured by Tikki. Strange that Trixx did not try to offer you his boons in turn, seeing as your magic would have been quite compatible with his. A Champion for a Champion, a soulbond for a soulbond.”

She opens her mouth to answer and shuts it with a deafening clack, stark in the absence of her bond with the Goddess.

Raising an eyebrow, his smirk curls wider—mocking yet pitying. “Haven't you noticed the anomalies—inconsistencies—with your memories, Champion? Haven't you noticed how her light burns you—blinds you as it binds you?”

“That's not—!” Marinette argues instinctively, taking a step forwards into his space with an ineffective shove to his practically bare chest, the word "true" rots upon her lips like poison dripping from open wounds—agonising, unhealed, an omen.

He snorts at her, shaking his head and closing his eyes for but a moment. “You've been upholding balance in the name of good for so long, is it really so surprising that you're feeling the pull to uphold the other half of it now?”

“Yes!” She hisses, dropping an octave at the end as she loses the tension from her shoulders. Her breathing hitches and a sob catches in the back of her throat. “No…” Throwing both her hands to each side sharply, as her voice frantically pitches up with another sob, “I—I don't know!”

The smirk upon his lips falters then falls. He sighs and grimacing, lifts his taloned thumb to wipe the tears from her eyes ever so tenderly. “You should have been mine, you know.” Voice rife with a vulnerable poignancy. “From the very beginning. You were always meant to walk in the light of the moon and the shadows of day. But the other gods stole you, claimed you for their own before your soul could be bound to me as with how every Champion has always been naturally bound.”

“Why? That doesn't make sense, why would they do that?” She can't help but ask, swallowing thickly and biting at her lips.

Humming, he tilts his head to one side.“My name, dear Champion, is Nightwing. I was mortal once—a Champion too—before I ascended to godhood. And those gods you so faithfully followed, they feared that as an old enemy of theirs, I'd corrupt your soul with divinity, lead you astray to turn the tides of balance against them. As has long been overdue in this realm.”

Shoulders trembling, Marinette curls into herself, crumbling like her resolve to her knees before him. Head bowed, hands shaking.

“And now, knowing this, knowing the truth of your Goddess,” Nightwing begins as he crouches down in front of her, “will you belong to me, become my one and only dear Champion?”

Breathless and unhesitating, she licks her lips—curling her hands into fists—and nods solemnly. “I will, as long as you will belong to me as my one and only beloved God.”

The all too gratified smirk he wore as he had revealed himself to her, returns in full force—though seemingly softer this time, a lightness to his shimmering eyes, as the smirk melts into a gentle frown, almost pleadingly, he explains. “Please forgive me, my Champion. First, we must sever the soul bond you have with Tikki. The pain will last only a moment but it is inevitable and I cannot lessen it any further.”

Nightwing isn't lying.

A gasp is wrenched from Marinette's lungs against her will. That thin faded tendril binding her soul to her Goddess snaps. Her vision blackens in an instant. Tears cascade down her cheeks as she squeezes her eyes shut. Not that it helps in any way. Each breath feels hollow. Her heartbeat thundering in her mind as her throat constricts and bond sunders. The pain truly lasts only a moment. But the lingering rending absence does not.

And… and there is grief, etched into the very essence of her soul, a deep agony wrenches at her heartstrings until the organ is all but torn from her chest in a ghastly void of ruin. A wound that will never heal as long as the pain that rots it continues to fester. The gilded ichor of the night drips from it, drenching her clothes in an oil spill of dying hopes and dying bonds.

There is no going back now.

No chance to regret it.

Her choice is made.

Her actions done.

The price has been paid.

And finally, she no longer need pay for the dregs of power and love with her own flesh and blood as she had done before.

“The others… the other Champions will come, with their Gods in tow.” Marinette whispers, she knows it deep within her bones they will do everything in their power to keep her caged like a canary in the coal mine or a songbird for show.

With a baleful smile, Nightwing gently wipes the fresh tears from her cheeks with his talon. “Then we will let them come, watch as their hope and faith wavers…”

Softly, he trails a talon down her cheek, following the path of dried tears and then along her jaw so as to lift her chin with a delicate and reverent gracefulness. “And show them exactly what their hubris has wrought, my darling Champion.”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| And if you liked this, don’t forget to check out my teammate’s works as well! |

#Maribat #Dickinette #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #ML x DC #MGIMixer #MGI Mixer #Maribat Mixer #Maribat Mixer 2022 #Maribat? Get In!#IssA's Stolen A #Dick x Marinette #Marinette x Dick #The Strigidae's Call at the Owl Light's Fall #TSCatOLF #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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kazeton · 2 months

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If there is a possibility for Yone to be revived and he was... How do you think he would take it? How would he be toward Yasuo? Feel free to make an essay if you want. I love seeing people rambling about their muses.

That is a really really tough one. I know that a former rp partner had their muse offer it and Yone really wasn't sure, and imo I think he would be having a really really hard time with it still.

My interpretation of Yone has his ultimate goal to die permanently. He tries to collect azakana masks in a faint hope to realize what he has become, and how to put an end to himself. He realizes that he is in a place he is not supposed to be and is upsetting a balance. Though he is aware he can not see the bigger picture and what he is affecting, he is still very conscious of the fact that he Should Not Be Here.

So if he were given the choice to be revived, I think he might not even take it, knowing his place should be in the ground.

If he were to forcibly be revived without his consent, then he might at first have a complete mental breakdown. He would be disoriented, terrified, and probably feeling very very empty. A heart is a heavy burden, you know. He would have to get used to breathing again, to eating, to being weak. Not to mention what if his azakana came with him. What are the effects of that?

As for Yasuo, he feels complicated about his brother. And he likely will be for years to come. On the one hand, Yone blames himself for his demise, on the other hand, Yasuo is an idiot and did actually kill him. He loves his brother dearly, he loves him more than he's loved anyone in the world. Yasuo is the only one who really understands him, possibly even better than Yone understands himself. Yone realizes that and recognizes that he probably could not bear to live in a world without someone to understand him like Yasuo does.

That being said, my Yone is completely unaware of the fact that Riven killed Souma. He's been dead and didn't hear about any of that. To him, Yasuo still is responsible for Souma's death, even if Yone doesn't believe Yasuo actually did it. He does blame Yasuo for it since Yasuo did desert his post.

If Yone were to be revived I think he would, for a long time, become very dependent on Yasuo to function. He would have to completely re-invent himself, possibly from the ground up. Now that he can't put off his self improvement by obsessing over azakana, he would be FORCED to look into a mirror, and what is harder than facing yourself?

So ultimately, I don't think Yone would be revived if he were given the choice. But if he did, that he would absolutely need Yasuo to become himself again.

As for Lillia? My Yone and Lillia spawned from the same anomaly and share the ability to dreamwalk. In some ways, they are soul mates, but even if Lillia is the only person in the world that can take away Yone's woes, she still wouldn't be able to make him him, you know. While they possibly even share a part of a soul or dream and are always connected, Lillia just doesn't have the knowledge or strength to be able to help Yone overcome his deepest rooted issues. I truly think only someone like Yasuo could do that.

#anonymous #*sniffle* I love this loser boy so much #he's so fucked up #and it's mostly his own fault #self destructive behaviour is one of my favourite things to write

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yhwhrulz · 7 months

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Worthy Brief - October 27, 2023

Are you feeling worn out and weary?

Matthew 11:28-30 Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and you shall find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.

Since I started Worthy News in 1999 there is one thing I have not seen in 22 years -- a day that there wasn't news to cover! I've not taken a so-called vacation since I started the ministry -- yet I don't feel worn out or weary. One day I was pondering to myself and thought, "why don't I feel worn out?"

Many people take vacations because they're exhausted from work, and need an extended rest to be restored and revitalized. Yet, ironically, more often than not, when they return home, they feel the need for another break to recover from the vacation they just took! Something is missing … and I think it has to do with the essence of Yeshua's (Jesus) invitation, "Come unto me…"

Our relationship with Yeshua contains a promise of rest. His yoke is not a heavy yoke of "religious" performance, but an invitation to an intimate relationship which is restful and truly empowering. His joy will be our strength, and serving Him in that relationship will not make us weary or worn out, but actually invigorate, revitalize and re-energize us IF we are doing it with His help, His power.

When Yeshua was here on earth He was surrounded by those who were constantly in need. He faced harsh opposition, and rarely found any privacy. And even in those private times, when he secluded himself for rest -- we read that He didn't sleep, but rather He prayed through the night. Yeshua found His deepest rest in the presence of His Father.

Now, there's nothing wrong with vacations, and we all really do need to disconnect from our work routine from time to time, but are you feeling worn out or weary, or even close to "burn-out"? Then it's time to renew and refresh your relationship and allow Yeshua to give you His rest. Wait on the Lord, He will renew your strength, and His rest will restore your weary soul, revitalize your body, and empower you to continue in the vision and calling He gave to you. Find your rest in Him this weekend!

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Dallas, TX) (Baltimore, Maryland)

Editor's Note: If you're interested in supporting Israel, Worthy Ministries has established a dedicated Israel Fund. Click here for more information. - https://worthyministries.com/israel/

Editor's Note: Watch George's latest messages: Simchat Torah War - Part 5: Answering Reader Questions - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7Lh79XkGLk&feature=youtu.be | Simchat Torah War Part 4: Is this the Psalm 83 war? - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mf4pSHZfY0U&feature=youtu.be| The Simchat Torah War -- Part 3: How will you pass the Israel test? -https://worthy.tv/the-simchat-torah-war-part-3-how-will-you-pass-the-israel-test/ | The Simchat Torah War -- Part 2 - https://worthy.tv/the-simchat-torah-war-part-2/ - https://worthy.tv/the-simchat-torah-war-is-this-a-water-breaking-moment/ | The Simchat Torah War … is this a water breaking moment? | The Kingdom, Marriage, and the Feasts of the Lord - https://worthy.tv/the-kingdom-marriage-and-the-feasts-of-the-lord/

Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. -https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: We are planning our Winter Tour so if you would like us to minister at your congregation, home fellowship, or Israel focused event, be sure to let us know ASAP. You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

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xmystophalesx · 2 years

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Best New Heavy Metal Releases Week of October 28th, 2022

Yet another insane amount of new releases and, to be completely honest, it looks to be the same, if not even more, next week. Continuing trying to keep this short as possible, especially when the list of albums is this long. Let’s get to a few of the highlights.

Charon’s Claw-Streets of Calimport (Heavy/Thrash)**

Bay Area Thrash metal with a good dose of Heavy/Speed metal thrown in and all formed in the Greek Heavy Metal Scene? Yes, thank you!

Morbikon-Ov Mournful Twilight (Melodic Black/Thrash)**

Melodic Black Metal that hits all the right notes at all the right times. I listened to this way too many times considering the amount of releases this week. When you have members that have resumes that include Iron Reagan, Municipal Waste, Soilwork and ….And Oceans, was there any chance this WASN‘T going to be good?

Abyssic-Brought Forth in Iniquity (Doom/Symphonic)**

Not normally my thing, but the re-playability of this album is off the charts. You will find new things throughout subsequent listens for quite some time. Next level songwriting throughout.

Royal Hunt-Dystopia Pt.2 (Heavy Progressive)**

A band that REALLY should be better known. Fantastic album after fantastic album. One of those bands that has the Khemmis problem. Thoroughly enjoy while playing and somehow they slip your mind when they aren’t.

Clamoris-Opus Limbonica (Melodic Death/Symphonic)**

When it comes to mixing symphonic elements with Melodic Death Metal, it doesn’t get any better than this. Seems to be the week for symphonic elements being added (Dimmu Borgir also re-released a remastered version of PEM this week) and Clamoris and Abyssic are both a masterclass on how to do it perfectly. If you like the added depth of symphonic elements, this is a no brainer.

That will do it for yet another week. Music is the passion of the soul. Enjoy every moment. Until next week and, as always,

BANG THY HEAD!!!

All worthy of a listen if you like the genre

*= standout in that genre

**=best of the week regardless of genre

Best of the Week

Charon’s Claw-Streets of Calimport (Heavy/Thrash)**

Blind the Eye-The Lion of Lions (Melodic Death)**

Morbikon-Ov Mournful Twilight (Melodic Black/Thrash)**

Inner Urge-Consume and Waste (Heavy/Power)**

Abyssic-Brought Forth in Iniquity (Doom/Symphonic)**

Royal Hunt-Dystopia Pt.2 (Heavy Progressive)**

Theotoxin-Fragment: Totenruhe (Black)**

Clamoris-Opus Limbonica (Melodic Death/Symphonic)**

Jordfast-Av Stoft (Melodic Black)**

Standout in their Genre

Bavaustrian Metalbrothers United-Fall into Oblivion (Black/Death)*

Implore-The Burden of Existence (Death/Black)*

Them-Fear City (Heavy)*

Blakk Ledd-Heavy Metal Fans (Heavy)*

Ravage Red-Decay (Melodic Death)*

Obsidious-Iconic (Progressive Death)*

Solitude Within-When Kingdoms Fall (Symphonic Metal)*

Therion-Leviathan II (Symphonic)*

Aggressive-Collapse (Thrash)*

Intent-Exile (Thrash)*

Defleshed-Grind Over Matter (Thrash/Death)*

Officer X-Hell is Coming (Hard Rock/Heavy)*

Noctem-Credo Certa Ne Cars (Black/Death)*

Atrocia-Contamination (Death)*

Mindahead-6119, pt 1 (Progressive)*

Lastbreath-Vendetta (Thrash/Hardcore)*

Dusk of Delusion-Corollian Robotic System (Heavy/Groove/Progressive)*

Sickrecy-Salvation Through Tyranny (Grindcore)*

Slaughter the Giant-Depravity (Melodic Death)*

Spitfire-Nightmares (Thrash/Speed)*

Worth a listen if you enjoy the genre

Flesh Shrine-The Grand Apostasy (Death)

Flesh Prison-Surrender (Death/Doom)

Stormheat-Rewind of Time (Heavy/Speed)

Orvel 69-Pepeo I Prah (Heavy/Hard Rock)

Onward-Of Epoch and Inferno (Heavy Power)

Hiss From the Moat-The Way Out of Hell (Death/Black)

Spell-Tragic Magic (Heavy/Hard Rock)

Darkmage-Tales From Solitude (Black)

Michael Bormann’s Jaded Heart-Power to Win (Heavy/Hard Rock)

Antropofagus-Origin (Technical Death)

Teratoma-Chaosmakers (Death)

Darkthrone-Astral Fortress (Black)

Exessus-Asynapse (Thrash)

Ground-Habitual Self-Abuse (Thrash/Crossover/Grindcore)

Triskelyon-Downfall (Thrash)

Vanguard-The Power that You Hold (Thrash)

Morbikon had the album I just coming back to over and over again. Isabella agrees wholeheartedly so with 4.75/5 Morbikon takes this weeks top spot!

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seajudge · 4 years

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❝ this feeling was different. i found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling until i thought it might lift off my head. my tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. this and this and this, i said to him. i did not to worry that i was too slender or too slow. this and this and this! i taught him to skip stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. i could feel every nerve in my body, every brush of air against my skin. [ ... ]

i saw then how i had changed. i did not mind anymore that i lost when we raced and i lost when we swam out to the rocks and i lost when we tossed spears or skipped stones. for who could be ashamed to lose to such beauty? it was enough to watch him win, to see the soles of his feet flashing as they kicked up sand, or the rise and fall of his shoulders as he pulled through the salt. it was enough. ❞ — the song of achilles, madeline miller

#seavillain #self promo.#historical rp #potc rp #black sails rp #fantasy rp #da rp #the witcher rp #elder scrolls rp #myth rp #re: a soul's a heavy burden.

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likemosaic · 3 years

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danzam + sp*tify playlists / @strnza & @povvertaken verses in order (from left to right, top to bottom): main verse, fantasy au, political au, political au, political au, g*me of thr*nes au

please don’t reblog unless you’re one of the writers above! likes are okay.

#strnza #povvertaken #file : daniel trewhella.#re : a soul's a heavy burden.#re : i bet you think you own me.#v: the most dangerous thing is to love.#SUFFER BITCHES #me forgetting jacobs scar in one and dans eyes in two.............no one say anything to me im lazy #v: daniel trewhella; fantasy au.#v: multimuse; national anthem.

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

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Love You or Lose You (Alpha Soran x Omega Reader)

Request: This is the first part to the Prequel for Playing with Fire. Its right after the 2016 Olympics, and R missed the PK instead of Christen. Things have been rough with her Alphas and she just needs a fresh Start. Barca might be the start she was after, but her mates might not like that too much... Especially when she leaves in the middle of the night.

Basically 4000 words of Lindsey and Emily being idiots, R being sad and Preath and Kellex being worried.

The air was heavy in the locker room, pressing into you like an anvil settled on your soul. You could remember a time when you had felt at home here. Like you belonged here.

A time when Lindsey and Emily had actually loved you, and you didn’t feel like an unneeded (or wanted) burden on the national team (more like your family).

You shook your head, tucking your frame tighter into the small locker that belonged to your most dominant alpha, pulling a leftover sweater tighter against your face.

No. The locker that belonged to Lindsey. She wasn’t your alpha anymore, she had said so herself, but your inner omega still cried out for her and Emily nonetheless. A fight didn’t change the marks on your neck, or what your inner animal knew to be true.

Yet it changed everything if the unbearable pain ripping through your chest was anything to go by.

Another sob left your lips, muffled only slightly by the heavy material of Lindsey’s sweatshirt that smelled distinctly like both her and Emily. It did little to ease your instincts, but you would take whatever you could get right now.

There was no reason to hold back your tears, there was no one else there to see them anyway. No one who would come looking for the source of the distressed pheromones you were emitting. No one to care that you were falling apart. It didn’t matter that you were all in the same city.

They were all too busy trying to process their own issues from the loss. The loss you knew fell squarely on your shoulder. If only you had made that PK, none of this would have happened.

You shuttered at the mix of emotions trickling down your mating bond. Lindsey’s anger and Emily’s clear frustration. You gulped pushing against their emotions with an overwhelming wave of your own. You willed as much calm as you could muster down the bond-forming a little barrier between your omega and their alphas, and shoved your own despair as far away from it as you could.

The block wouldn’t hold forever, but it would do the job for now. Bonds were a bitch to shut down completely, and a permanent block was going to have to be something you figured out later.

Your inner omega growled, digging her claws into your brain. While the human side of your head got why you were doing this, your animal side was loath to deny your alphas the privilege of your deepest emotions. Especially when she thought they could fix it if they knew.

You let out a little whimper at the sound of the door, tucking yourself tighter into a ball as footsteps approached.

“Hey, Kid just thought I’d let you know your Uber is here,”

You peeked out at the kind voice, semi soothing scent, and worried eyes of the athletic. You tried to smile at the woman, but you knew she wasn’t fooled. She knew you too well for that.

“Thanks Bailey,” You sniffled, easing into a sitting position and turning to fully face the woman, and running a hand through your wild hair (only making it messier than it was before).

“I’m gonna miss you kid,” She said, and you could tell that she wanted to say more. But both of you knew it wouldn’t change anything. The deal was done and you couldn’t find it within yourself to regret it.

“I’m gonna miss you too, but you know I can’t stay,”

She nodded, she would have left too if she was in your shoes. Barça was making lemonade out of rotten lemons.

You took another gulping breath into Lindsey’s sweatshirt before shoving it into your backpack, and standing. Your eyes strayed towards the other lockers around you, landing on several items of clothing left by your friends.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” She grumbled under her breath as she headed towards the door.

“No, it doesn’t,” You breathed out, heading towards the various lockers instead of the door.

Leaving here would be like leaving a part of your soul behind. Your fingers traced over the wooden panels that outlined each locker. You only paused twice. Once outside Emily’s locker to steal a coveted Virginia soccer t-shirt and again at Tobin’s taking a re-inc sweater that you knew Christen wore more than Tobin and a LFG t-shirt that smelled distinctly like Kellex.

The quad (as the national team called them) were your team moms, and their scents all comforted you. They would make whatever apartment you ended up in in Barça feel like home.

Bailey raised her eyebrow at you as you stuffed the items into your backpack. You just shrugged. “they won’t miss them anyway,”

It was true, and even if it wasn’t you were sure Chris would still back you up when she found out exactly why you left.

You paused at the door, taking one last glance around the room, looking for some sign to stay. You rubbed your chest when another wave of negative emotions from your mates passed through your bond.

You cleared your throat and shook your head at Bailey’s raised eyebrows. The weight in your chest told you that you were making exactly the right move.

She sighed, leading you towards the loading bay where your Uber was waiting.

“Thank you… for everything,” You said softly, pulling the older omega into a tight hug. She knew you meant more than walking you to the car park. She was there for you when no one else was, and you would be eternally grateful for all she had done for you.

She held you for a long moment, rocking you side to side before pulling back to hold you at arm's length. “You got it, kid. Be safe and text me when you land alright?”

You gave her a nod and a tight smile. “Look after them?”

She rolled her eyes. If those two idiots had done anything even close to what they had done to you to her, she wouldn’t have been nearly as forgiving as you seemed to be.

Then again you were also moving to Spain.

“Of course,” She said, shoeing you towards the car.

She would make sure they were very informed on how you were doing.

****

Christen knew that there was something wrong. Very wrong. Before her phone even dinged. She could feel it in her bond with you. The torrent of emotions that had suddenly shifted into a calm she had never felt from you before.

The bond the two of you shared was a special one, forged the moment she had laid eyes on you (even more special than the one you shared with her mates). The second your small, skittish form had entered the dining hall (tucked carefully under Emily's arm) her omega had claimed you as its pup, and you latched onto her quiet calm nature without a second thought.

She knew you almost as well as your mates knew you, and the bond you shared (while different) was nearly as strong. And therefore your bond with the rest of the quad was also relatively strong.

For an unknown reason, it was keeping her awake. It was like her omega was waiting for a sign, something to tell her that you were safe and sound.

She practically jumped out of her skin at the ding of her phone, fumbling to unlock the screen and find the message you had sent her.

She froze when her alpha shifted against her, inadvertently jostling the two omega’s attached to her other side.

“Wha- appened?” Tobin mumbled, nuzzling into her stomach. Christen sighed at the wave of soothing scents that Tobin let off, trying to calm her nerves even in sleep.

“Shh, baby bear is texting me. Go back to sleep,” Christen said, scratching the alphas scalp gently with one hand and pulling up the text with the other.

She blinked at the bright screen once, twice, three times.

It was five words, cold and emotionless. It reminded her of the call marines made to their parents when they went to boot camp.

Landed in Spain. I’m fine.

She couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath at the singular line, or the anxiety that suddenly engulfed her heart (immediately jolting all 3 of her mates awake).

Before she could even blink she was moved onto Tobin’s lap, and Alex and Kelley cuddled tightly into either side of her. She could feel their concern flowing down their bond, and their efforts to comfort even though they had no idea what had caused such a strong response.

“What’s up with baby bear?” Tobin said, gently rocking from side to side.

Christen’s mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to parse out what emotions were hers, what emotions were coming from her mating bond, and the irritating calm that was coming from her bond with you.

“I…-I don’t,” She stuttered, unable to skate the feeling that there was something very bad behind the steadfast wall you had thrown up in your bond.

“Give me that,” Kelley half growled, pulling the phone out from Christen’s loose grip.

She didn’t like to be woken up in the middle of the night, and she would kill your mates if you were texting Christen because of something stupid they did. You had sent them way too many texts like that already if she was honest.

“What the fuck?” She breathed out when her eyes landed on the words. This was so much worse than Soran being dumbasses.

“What?” Alex asked, yanking the phone away from Kelley.

Be nice,” Tobin chastised lightly, leaning over to read the words that had sent her most dominant omega mate into a tailspin.

She frowned at the bright screen, trying to remember the last time the two of you had really talked. Had you mentioned moving to Spain in passing? Had she just blown it off?

A charged silence hung between them. They all knew you were taking the loss hard, and that you and your mates were struggling to work your way through the slew of emotions that came with it. But they never imagined it would come to this. That you would literally flee the country.

“This is a joke right?” Kelley asked, her voice cracking.

“It’s gotta be,” Alex mumbled in disbelief. You were her cuddle buddy, her baby bear. You couldn’t have left the country without saying goodbye first.

“I’m going to find out,” Christen said finally, taking back her phone.

She bit her lip, pressing your contact picture and holding the phone to her ear. It rang once and then went voicemail. She frowned, shaking her head at her mates, ending the call. Maybe you accidentally pressed the wrong button.

She pressed your contact photo a second time.

Again it rang once and went to voicemail. It definitely wasn’t a coincidence this time, and she would bet anything that the boring automated greeting that came on instead of your goofy one wasn’t a coincidence either.

She sighed, waiting for the beep. “Hey kiddo, um I got your text and I thought we could have a check-in maybe? Call me back when you can,” She paused, unsure of how to finish. She didn’t think anything she said would ease the ache in her chest. “we love you,”

“Call Lindsey,” Tobin said firmly, an order lurking just below the words. If you weren’t going to give them answers, then your alphas better be ready to explain what the fuck was going on.

*****

Lindsey didn’t quite know what she expected when she picked up the phone, but it wasn’t a very annoyed Christen Press on the other side.

Well, maybe she expected it a little bit (she knew you would go to the quad after the argument. You always went to the quad), but she never imagined the words that would come out of your team mom’s mouth.

“Whoa, slow down. She said she’s where?” Lindsey said, sitting up off of Emily’s shoulder where she had been leaning.

“Spain, she said she landed in Spain,” Emily could barely make out Christen’s worried voice through the phone over Lindsey’s low growl.

“There’s no way!” The more dominant alpha barked, baring her teeth just slightly.

Maybe she had said some things she shouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t just run off to another country without telling them. She pushed down her hurt and settled for frustration instead.

Emily scooched away from Lindsey slightly, rubbing her ear. “Babe, if you’re going to be this loud at 3 am, at least turn on speakerphone.” She felt odd, her bond unusually unbalanced. She could feel the torrent of emotions running through Lindsey, but your side of the bond was silent. It had never been silent before.

The two of you had known each other since you were in diapers, and your bond reflected that. She should have felt something. While you weren’t always outwardly expressive, you felt everything deeply, and vividly. You were the fire to Lindsey’s flood, and for your usual smoldering flame of emotions to just be snuffed out felt wrong.

The two alphas shared a look before Lindsey gave in and gave a short nod, pressing the little button. Emily had just as much a right to know what was happening as she did, but she still didn’t like being ordered around.

“You’re on speaker Chris,” Lindsey grumbled. She wrapped an arm around Emily and pulled her closer.

“What did you two idiots do to our baby bear?” Christen’s voice came out in a growl, the sound low and dangerous.

Lindsey stiffened, her alpha bristling more than it normally would at the tone. “We didn’t do anything.”

Emily nuzzled into her neck, trying to help her settle the mix of anger, pain and shock flowing through their bond. Just because she couldn’t feel you, didn’t mean that you couldn’t feel them.

You were not some innocent party here. Lindsey hadn’t meant all the things she said, but then you had said some pretty hurtful things too.

Tobin’s voice through the phone was low and clear, holding an air of dominance she rarely let out. “Watch who you’re growling at.”

Lindsey gulped. She was never very good at controlling her emotions, especially when things went wrong. It was easier to respond with anger than to admit she was vulnerable sometimes. But she really didn’t want to have a fight with Tobin, not when they both knew she would lose.

“And don’t give us that bullshit!” Both alphas winced at Kelley’s tone. The Omega had the parental tone of disapproval down to an art. She could have been one of their parents, scolding their irresponsibility for mating you before any of you were older than 21 (Emily’s mom had been angry enough to make up for your parents’ lack of care). Emily was sure her mother had used the exact same tone.

“We had a fight,” Emily sighed, leaning deeper into Lindsey. It was more than a fight. It was an explosion of stubborn communication that had ended in you walking out.

“A stupid fight. We’ll call her and have it all patched up by tomorrow,” Lindsey added, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why were omegas so frustrating?

“She left the fucking country. I don’t think getting her back is going to be so easy,” Alex said, and both women could practically hear her eye roll.

All six of them knew how stubborn you were, and getting you to listen was going to be far from a cakewalk.

Lindsey huffed. “Camp is in like 2 days. If worst comes to worst, we’ll just talk to her there.” If you wouldn’t answer their phone calls, then they would just corner you at camp. You weren’t good at maintaining the silent treatment when they were both in front of you. And Lindsey still wasn’t convinced this wasn't more than an overblown tantrum.

“She put a block in our bond Linds,” Christen said sternly, trying to break through the more dominant alphas shell.

Sure the three of you had had arguments before, but whatever this was, it was fundamentally different.

Lindsey frowned. You would never do that to Christen. The two of you were too close for that. At least that’s what she thought.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. We promise,” Emily said softly, already pulling out her phone. Now hopefully she would be able to get you to answer on the other side.

“Good luck, you’re going to need it,” Tobin grumbled, hanging up.

If those two idiots didn’t fix it, she was going to let Kelley unleash her wrath on them.

Emily bit her lip as she pressed your contact picture (a photo of the two of you with bright 4-year-old smiles covered in brownie batter). It rang 4 times before going to voicemail.

Emily could imagine you staring at the screen, debating on whether or not you should answer. It hurt a little that you had declined instead.

She swallowed down her tears, glancing sideways at her still frozen mate.

“Hey babe, um I know we’re not really talking right now, but um. Christen called and we’re worried. Please call me or Linds back,” she worried her bottom lip, wondering if she should add more, but the time ran out before she could.

“Damn it,” she huffed, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. She hadn’t told you she loved you.

Lindsey smiled sadly at her, rubbing her back soothingly, and pulling out her own phone.

Her thumb hovered over a photo of the two of you cuddled up in one of your famous nests. She smiled wistfully down at it. How had this gotten out of hand so quickly?

She pressed the button, holding the phone up to her ear. It didn’t even ring before it went to the robotic voicemail. What happened to the one that had you giggling because they wouldn’t stop kissing your neck?

She didn’t have time to think it through before the beep sounded. She cleared her throat.

“Hey, um I heard you were in Spain. What’s that about? Call me back,” she too tossed her phone down.

“I can’t feel her,” Emily mumbled after a few minutes. Lindsey sighed.

She closed her eyes tightly with a sigh and began to feel for your presence in the bond. If you weren’t going to answer them, then she was going to make sure you knew how unhappy with this situation she was.

Her eyebrows furrowed when she was met with a wall of unsteady calm. It was like it was pulsing like your inner omega was pacing behind it trying to get through. She focused on the wall you had created and gave it a little push.

She smirked when it bent a little bit to her will. “I think I got it,”

She pushed back harder, the wall you creating molding around her alpha as she tried to reach your omega. She was almost there, she could almost touch your omega. One last push was all she needed.

But just as she went to give it, a blast of calm shoved her backward.

Her eyes blinked open at the ping of her phone and she scrambled to pick up the device.

It was two words. No caps, no punctuation. A simple “fuck off” that they could practically hear reverberating in their heads.

“What do we do now?” Emily asked softly.

Lindsy’s smirk widened.

“We call her until she answers us again.”

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #soran x reader #soran imagine #Chapter 1 #Love you or lose you

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spacegirlapollo · 3 years

Text

A very bad day [ Nanami Kento x Reader]

Title: A very bad Day

Paring: Nanami Kento x Reader

Genre : Fluff, Domestic

Summary: Nanami comforts you, after a very long day.

This was the last straw. The high pitch tinkle of your keys hitting for the floor reverberated in your brain. It sounded almost as if they were laughing at you. Laughing that they had succeeded in wrapping a pretty bow over your shitty fucking day.In your hurry to finally get inside your warm house, you’d dropped your house-keys on the granite floors.

“FUCK!” You yelled sending a balled fist straight into the wooden door frame. You heard the sound of your fist making impact and then came the pain. You’d over reacted and punched a dent in the wall and in return you had splinters in your bloody knuckles. It was painful, but a dull ache compared to the chaos in your mind.

You couldn’t hold back the tears now. You’d held them at bay all day long. You held them when you’d woken up to an empty bed, your husband, Nanami, already gone in to fight some curse or the other. You’d held you’d tears when you were scolded for an error on a report that you hadn’t made at work. When that same man who’d made the mistake was celebrated at work on his promotion.You’d held your tears when his stupid celebration delayed your work so you had to stay overtime to get the days work done. You’d held your tears when a car rammed the back of your husbands fancy car. You’d been close but still no tears when you saw the driver, a bag of chips in one hand and his phone tucked underneath his chin.

Recalling it now made your tears fall heavy and thick down your face. The type of tears that would lead to a headache and stuffed nose. But your crying was interrupted by the sound of the door opening in front of you. There was your husband, out of his work clothes and showered, his normally slicked back hair falling freely with gravity over his face. He took one look at your disheveled appeared, the dent in your apartment door and the corresponding keys on the floor. Wordlessly he dipped down to pick up the keys and on his way to straightening up you saw his eyes land on your hand, which was now bleeding freely and onto the floor.

With an out stretched hand he led you into the apartment, the warmth of the place enveloping you like a blanket. The scent of pasta was in the air and you knew that Nanami had started dinner already. You felt the embarrassment creeping up your spine at your state which only served to make your tears fall faster. You heard the click of a lock and then your already blurred vision was darkened as you were pulled gently into a hug.

He smelled of vanilla, a warm and embracing scent. His large hand cupped the back of your head, gently massaging your scalp as you tear stained his casual clothing. He was rocking just the slightest and it was so soothing. The day seemed to be melting away under his calming and soothing presence. And you were a bit in awe of his ability to bring you down from hysterics without muttering a word.

When you’d gone quiet and no more tears were running he pulled back a bit looking down at your tears stained face.

“Our neighbors are definitely going to give you weird looks now.” He same softly tucking a hair behind your ear, a cheeky smile playing on his face. You laughed, in spite of yourself the shock of the laugh almost hurting your tightened throat.

“Was it really that loud?” You asked chastened. He shock his head reassuringly.

“No I’m sure only our entire floor heard it.” He winked, something he tended to only do around you. You almost whined at the loss of his arms around you, but held it in as he guided you to sit down on of of the tall kitchen chairs.

“Don’t move.” He said and disappointed around the corner of your hallway. He was back quicker than you’d thought, juggling gauze, scissors and various other medical supplies between his long but slender fingers.

“Let me see it.” He said calmly as he set the items down and set them up. You lifted your injured hand for him to see and felt a ping of pleasure as he sucked his teeth in concern. Though you hadn’t done it on purpose it was nice to feel genuine concern from someone all day.

As he began to clean the wound he said simply : “tell me what happened.” And so you told him, watching his face the entire time. He was concentrating on your hand. It was propped up against the table and he was moving so gently that you hardly felt the pain of his movements. His face was smooth with no traces of annoyance as you talked about your day. He was listening intently, not trying to interrupt or cut you off and say what you should have done instead.

His composure broke only once, his eyebrows knitting together when you’d gotten to the part about the car accident. You’d thought he was probably upset about the car.

If you only passively knew Nanami, you wouldn’t think he would be as into cars as he was but it was a spot of pride for him , something you’d realized he’d gotten from his father. He’d always handled anything car related, and you gladly let him. But as you went on to tell him how the guy had hit on you while exchanging insurance information, his frown deepened and you could see the anger in the corner of his eye. It was hard to concentrate on being gentle and keeping any emotion from his face.

You felt a tinge of pleasure knowing that he cared. Plowing on you got to the end of your day just as he was confident he’s gotten all the wooden shrapnel from your hand, and was ready to stitch it up.

He was quiet for a while, getting the things he needed set up and cleaning your wound. So quiet that you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything. You watched as he prepared the needle to close you up dreading the pinches of pain that would come with it.

“ I’m sorry you had such a bad day.” He said, you felt his gaze on you now and you looked up from yourhand, swallowing hard at the intensity of his gaze. He was sorry, there was a mixture of emotions in his face. He was holding back on the advice and affirmations. He knew you better than that. He knew you were strong and knew your worth, he didn’t need to re-assure you that you were smarter than all the assholes at work. You just needed him to listen, needed him to care that you had a rough time, and not try to fix it for you.

Although he opened his mouth again unable to hold back on one point in your story. “Do you want me to handle the insurance?” He asked, not taking his eyes from you. It was clear he wanted to do it, but he was asking because he knew you could handle it yourself. And he would back up and let you take care of it if you wanted.You nodded, relief filling your body. You could have handled it but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to think about the car or have to interact again with the sleezeball that had rear-ended you in the first place. And you knew that Nanami would gladly interact with the man, and you guiltily imagined the weasels face when he encounters your husband and his cold wrath instead of you. He’d broken his car and hit on his wife? You almost felt sorry for the man...almost.

“Please.” You answered softly with a sigh and the set in his jaw when he nodded let you know that it was done. You wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. That was just the kind of man that Nanami Kento was. “This is going to hurt” he said the anger drained from his eyes and concern flashing as he started to stitch your hand. It did hurt but Nanami was precise and quick so the pain faded quickly. You watched his face again as he concentrated. You felt warm and safe and happy, like the day hadn’t even happened. When he was finished and inspecting your hand and by twisting it around gently he looked up at you meeting your eyes.

“What?” He asked a bit concerned that he’d maybe missed something. You smiled then, using your injured hand to cup his face softly.“I love you.” It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, not even close, but your heart was racing as if this was your first time confessing it.It was strange, from the outside looking in, Nanami seemed like the type to be closed off and emotionally unavailable. When in reality he was sharp and well read in emotions. He was serious most of the time but that was because he understood the futile motions of life. He understood that working till you die was stupid but that there wasn’t a way around it. You were the break in his grey, the sunshine he protected.It was you that was closed off, proud and unwilling to have anyone but yourself share the burdens of the world you had placed on your shoulder. It had taken years, for you to reach the point where now you would want to bear your soul to him the way you had tonight. Letting him take on one of your problems. When had that changed ? Somehow he’d managed to chip away at that wall.

His small smile on his usual serious face steadied your heart again. He stood up coming closer and you almost had to lean back to look up at him. He cupped your face in both hands that smelled of pasta and kissed you. It was a sweet kiss. The kind you wished would go on forever and filled you up with light.

He pulled back leaning his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to carry everything yourself all the time. Give somethings to me, okay?”

You felt another tear drop down your cheek, surprised you still had any left in you. He whipped it away with his thumb and you matched his smile. “Okay.” —————— “Good, we’ll let’s go eat some pasta.”

#jjk nanami #nanami kento #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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