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utterlyazriel · 14 days

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

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blood-starved-beast · 5 months

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hey so i actually have a question regarding acxas childhood like what are your headcanons on it? i always got the feeling that she grew up with her non galra parent/species and was sort of treated as an outsider for being half galra (i mean naturally considering that they most likely invaded their planet but yeah of course it was a terrible experience that definitely contributed/was the main factor of acxas inner turmoil) and it would make sense as to why she would seek out lotor and his vision of the empire for acceptance there if she cant find it here(?) this is just my thoughts im curious abt what u think

In canon, we get very little of Acxa's backstory, and it's all localized to personal anecdotes by Acxa herself in the Grudge. She tells Veronica she's "born and bred in war" which is both very specific and also extraordinarily vague.

For one, we know what happens in war. I don't think Acxa was born from a loving relationship that's for sure. "Bred in" is more specific - she didn't grow up learning about war, she was in the thick of it. This is why I don't buy headcanons that put her in military school or that she was raised by her galran family. She mentions survival - which yeah in a particularly militaristic society such as the galra, death is probably very easy to come by but again it goes back to war - she's not in training for war she was in the war. This is why I suspect she grew up in a warzone. Specifically, one in immense chaos and disarray. I do think cause of her heritage - being half galra - it denied her any form of community connections that could have existed amongst her colonized people.

And that's another clue btw. Acxa identifies as galra. This is a repeated motif throughout the series. When Lotor rages about wiping out all the galra, she immediately sees that as a signal to go, cause in her mind that includes her. In contrast to Lotor, who while strongly identifying more with his Altean side, would posture himself sometimes as Galran. Acxa never is shown identifying with her non-Galran side. In the conversation with Veronica, she refers to the Galra as "her people" never one-half or anything like that.

Instead, what we get in the Grudge, is Acxa being discriminated for being Galran, not her other race. It's an interesting choice on the writers' part. That's what gets her upset. I don't think it's coincidental that in the next scene with her and Veronica, we learn of Acxa's backstory and her experience. I'd say it's deliberate. And ff that is her experience, if she grew up receiving those types of insults, well it makes sense that she takes it to heart so quickly.

Finally, we should talk about how she mentions how she "became worse than her enemies" to survive. Presumably her enemies in a warzone would be the Galra - imperialists, they also discriminate against her (Throk; the Galran obsession with racial purity). Alternatively, her enemies would be the non-galrans who discriminated against her, but I think she refers to the Galra here specifically cause she was a general she directed armies, she is complicit in the death of soldiers, of conquering nations. That is worse than what many of the Galran footsoldiers did, even if she actively avoids killing anyone directly if possible.

There is also Acxa in her discussion with Zethrid later in the episode, mentions her hate and rage and how that is fueled by how the Galra rejected her.

This, I think supports the idea that her enemies were the Galra in this case, that is, the Galra that wouldn't take her in. If she is Galra (which is something I imagine she grew up being told, told by the family she was born to through conquest), she was never apart of her non-galran people to begin with. So where she had to fight, whom she had to fight, to get a place in society is within the Galra - cause she had no chance in hell happening in her non-galran people. With that, "worse than her enemies" carries a distinct flavor of "okay so if I'm Galra, I'm going to be worse than them." Cause otherwise, she'll die. Cause she's not one of them. She'll never be one of them. So she'll be the worst of the Galra if means being at a place for change within them to accept people like her that wouldn't fit in in other places.*

And I agree anon, that Acxa sought out Lotor for acceptance in a way. Lotor was the perfect paragon of what she believed - Half-galra like her, but also distinctly Galran. It's obvious she has the bare minimum of a moral code - she draws the line at genocide (she's very nervous btw, when Lotor admits to killing Alteans, and cuts ties when he mentions doing the same or worse to the Galra)

But she didn't know about that originally.

So yeah that's a lot of buildup to say - I agree a lot with what you say anon. I do think she grew up in an environment that rejected her wholeheartedly - that would make sense, if it was her non-Galran side that under trauma, fully rejects children born from that occupation. So she identifies with the people who would "take her in" or she believes that could be changed - maybe her non-Galran side cannot be sway otherwise cause of the occupation, but the Galran can be changed. I wouldn't be surprised if thinking the Galra could be changed is a rationalization on her part even - maybe she argued with her non-galran parent, who insisted they cannot change, cause they are monsters. That Acxa herself is a monster. Which is exactly her insecurity in the Grudge. That kind of thinking can be fed only by growing up around her non-Galran heritage who were occupied by the Galra. If she can change the Galra, then she isn't a monster too, proving those people wrong.

So yes, I do agree a lot with what you say here anon, maybe some details off (I do think if she grew up with her non-Galran parent, it might be a short while or with very detached parenting, as she mentions surviving without mentioning her parents. I don't think she knew her Galran parent, which I imagine would be her father if only that a Galran female commander would get an abortion or Acxa'd been raised among the Galra, which wouldn't add up with her insecurities).

*This is so Baru Cormorant flavored. Man Acxa you should've been a protagonist in a Lesbian Space Atrocity novel.

#d asks #Anonymous #Acxa #vld #my analysis #my meta #my headcanons #I'm so mad that I never saved a copy of Acxa's whole speech to Zethrid #kicking myself for that oversight years later #also OP I love this question so much #I've spent so long thinking about this #made a thread about it on bird app

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supahstarrr · 2 years

Text

okay like when you rewatch playthroughs of danganronpa v3 or replay it... u just... appreciate more of the characters??? ik my ass talking as if i rewatched playthroughs more than 5 damn times or replayed it more than 5 d a m n t i m e s but....

im watching jay's playthrough of danganronpa v3. just bc i kinda miss danganronpa, especially v3 <3.

i felt netrual when it came to kaede. i felt as if her character was too generic (( but even so i felt her being the protagonist in the beginning was good )). the traits that stand out, especially her optimistic, cherry attitude, matched up to a lot of typical protagonists in media so it felt reasonable for me to see her as generic. i still think its reasonable, but i've like appreciated her character a little more. i realized how much she somehow stood out, even stood out when it came to the energetic and cherry attitude characters.

she has her wise moments- her advice can be so helpful.. she sure, doesn't know when to calm down for the sake of other's but she's desperate to see the success of people being happy. she's always been put in a role of bringing people happiness, satisfaction, and those negative feelings of low self-esteem and self-doubt more-so comes around when she's realized people's happiness and satisfaction isn't there. and even with her gentle nature she can be blunt and straight forward (and pretty pissed too) like... how the fuck i missed her telling ppl to "shut up" like about 2 times or more??? she's definitely the protagonist we needed!! and for fuck's sake i rlly rlly like her

and now bc of my view of her leveling up positively, i've got a new likeness towards the ship saimatsu (and i feel a lil more fascinated in kokichi's and kaede's ship and dynamic) and ngl my ass kinda wondering what her and kaito's dynamic would've been like later in the games.

and oh himiko himiko HOW THE HELL DID I MISS THAT YOU WERE BULLIED IN THE PAST???? okay like i had already felt some appreciation towards her character once i realized that she probably has depression in later chapters, especially since some of her issues aligned with those with depression (escapism, low self-esteem, lack of motivation, refusing to express emotions) (saying this as someone who's got it) (but i am aware those things can align with other mental illnesses or disorders other than depression) . she's pretty fragile and seems to fixate on things quickly. she noted something about her magic making other people happy. i suspected that due to the bullying, she might've not felt that her presence didn't make people happy, and once she discovered magic - something she has joy in - made people actually happy, she got so caught up in it and basically worships magic while escapes with it.

her character feels kinda tragic honestly, we never rlly see her go away from her attitude of her magic tricks being real which is an attitude from escapism. last time i remembered, her talking about magic being real was less than the beginning but still prominent. its not easy to escape from fantasy, not easy to let go of fixations, especially ones that comfort you and is the only thing that gave her happiness. but even if she wouldn't have completely let go of her fantasies, i wish there was an attempts of her trying to break out of it. this is more-so i believe her guarding her emotions from the world, her obsession with magic encouraged more of that behavior; and thus i believed if she were to express more of her emotions, her "magic is real" attitude would slowly disappear in sync.

so yeah i like himiko more <3. im so disappointed i missed the potential of her development that she yes, kinda has, but her development never rlly hit... as much as it needed to imo. and ig its bc of the magic attitude. im disappointed that i missed more of her character... i've always felt like her character was misunderstood but now i feel that even more-- but maybe she isn't that misunderstood bc i do certainly suspect that the creators didn't even think that much into possible depression symptoms and the origins of her fixation with magic, and how that fixation could've aligned with her closing herself off.

and like omgg kirumi and korekiyo's interaction in her lab was wholesomeee :) and YESS i appreciate kirumi's character so much more like. and i now recognize more of the potential when it comes to both of their dynamic <3. love you mommyyyy

and like OMGGG i didn't realize how fucking.... cryptic rantaro can be. its a little scary honestly. i was like BOY TF at one point bc of his cryptic lines like. if he said that he was going to murder someone to me i would be like yes daddy ily but then by the time he's stabbing someone's back i would be like "WAIT A MINUTE WHAT DID U SAYYYY???" like thats how hot he is (IM BEING DRAMAMTIC OKAY OKAY???). and its like that he SEEM like, an average calm weed smoker at first and sometimes its like you don't notice the cryptic and eerie his lines at first. but its strange too but some of the stranger-danger dialogue can stand out soooo much bc of him seeming so collected and calm.

ain't gonna lie i didn't realize how pretty smart he can be. and well, observant too. yeah and let's all be honestly, he's fucking stressed. he reminds me of a depressed anxious traumatized overthinker that's always like ":)" while joking about dying or some shit.

that's fucking it. like yeah thats it lmao. P.S i STILL LOVE ryoma <3. hes bae and hes tragic. my wrists r tired and im HUNGRY ramble is over. rant is over.

#danganronpa #danganronpa appreciation #but i also hate danganronpa for many reasons but anyways #danganronpa v3 #dv3 #kaede akamatsu #himiko yumeno #rantaro amami #rant #rambles #sunny's thoughts #dr thoughts

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ruincs · 2 years

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BEHIYE SYDIN. ╱ robin.

she + her / twenty- seven / penned by vic

" what motivates me - hatred? or is it love? "

⨯ application ⨯ pinterest ⨯ dynamics ⨯ stats ⨯ timeline

TW: PARENTAL DEATH, ILLNESS , IMPRISONMENT, SUICIDE IDEATION

ps.: this is very long!!!! if you w ant just hit me up on discord and i'll just tell u all and yea :)

bio summary ???

dam bby girl all these red flegs looking heart shaped tbh teehehee

i'll get back to this later i am very sleepy

behiye sydin daughter of mister rich and miss face of turkey - what could go wrong??? more like what what could go right

from the go her parents marriage, although very stable and healthy, was a big scandal in the country - her mother was extremely famous and her father extremely wealthy, with a questionable ethical background. she did get pregnant before they came out to the public on their relationship, only announcing the marriage and her daughter due four months from them.

fast forward ten years, behiye only has the recollection of gathering the dust of what was once her mom after touching her and her ability activating - it is still a repressed memory of hers, the details are not reliable at all, and she does change the story frequently.

( her mother was actually terribly sick and slowly dying... it was a mess but i will explore soon )

her father upon discovering that his daughter was 1) A WITCH!!! and 2) a KILLER WITCH??? decided what a very influent and rich father would do <3

he locked her up in their state!

think of complete isolation with staff suspecting that you a nihilum, rumors about your mom's sudden death and the sealed casket, a child who is clearly traumatized by all of the recent events and is not dealing well with it!

and she can kill things without even knowing btw

three years of complete hell in which her father, if coming to visit, completely avoided her. he returned letters and post cards, he didn't call nor pick up the phone. she was left to die there.

so she took drastic measures and managed to convince him to set her free! in a very healthy way

now cut to a girl who's 13, never loved, only set free by her father after a couple NON INTENTIONAL casualties, and mainly because she looks exactly like his wife love of his life (and bc she pretended she was gonna turn herself into dust <3) and we expect everything will go well!

except that of course it didn't.

his neglect never changed - and the shame took over once behiye slowly noticed that eun-ha was the one. even though she was hi trophy, even though she was what her mother was, she was just another trinket of his that was supposed to have stayed in the cage only if she wasn't a threat to her own role to be played.

that was just the beginning of another round of torture - only this time was the unfold of a girl who was completely unfit for the dream she was so sure it belong to her. and her cousin made sure to remind her of that, every single time.

so yeah she is not very okay nope but she is a fun time!

her desire, what she asked for the beast, was to be the rightful owner of everything that was her by birthright - but mostly, she wanted to take from her cousin the one thing she had in the bag tbh

has no idea what she is gonna do because one thing abt behi is that this girl is tactless af!

oh but theres gonna be a cute twist to achieving what she wants!!!

she's an actual nightmare.... im so sorry in advance she is just yeah

fin of the tl dr but actually being too long as well

HEADCANONS???

outside she's the picture perfect but on the inside......

nobody will be spared. maybe two people. three if it's a wednesday.

obsessed with cleanliness and organization because things need to be very neat and organized in order for her to feel like not everything that surrounds her is crumbling down

has a very sensitive nose, feels extremely bothered by anything that smells slightly out of what she can consider pleasant. but doesn’t feel disgusted (?) more like as if she's very bothered in a sense by the smell of anything that could be dying

undefined

buy things and gets rid of them before they get too old, sometimes untouched

it's quite funny since she doesn't care about death itself, her problem lays within the whole process of u know what....

has a very sensitive relationship with food, does not eat red meat because it stays in your system for too long. prefers liquids. drinks lots of juice, smoothies, and lots of alcohol.

does lack a lot of motivation, does NOT!!! dream of labor! collects jewelry (deep down she thinks she could be a jewelry design)

behiye never really excelled in anything academic because she was always compared to her cousin (even herself did that) but she is very athletic!!! strong as well and good in martial arts

giving clean girl patrick bateman vibes are you picking those up as well......

amma crellin and jinx were her inspo <3 lowkey sasuke??w idk why don't ask me

give her ATTENTION!!!!

her special skill stealth cognizance means that she plays dumb and gets the intel! she is a master emotional manipulator, and she has the looks and the privilege of such so!

i can't think of anything rn i will edit this and make it make sense later.

ilu if u read it all

#/ INTRO .#corvi.intro #its not a tag im afraid i made this up #<3 im so sorry my brain is gone <3

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pokefanbri · 4 years

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https://www.facebook.com/104057744428568/posts/156998459134496/?sfnsn=mo&d=n&vh=e

Fucking told him its a huge red flag if someone doesn't get rid of their apps. Multiple apps. Smh 😠 "oh yea i don't use them anymore" proceeds to use fb dating app" for real come on bro!

Some comments of the post:

"If you have to be checking up on your Partner then you shouldn't be with that person.. Idk how people have time for all this .. love yourself and know your worth.."

"If you're in a serious committed exclusive relationship you should not be on tinder. That's how I met my fiance and as soon as we said we are gf and bf and exclusive we both deleted it. Honestly if I was her I would have broken up with him too"

"a person also has a right to trust their gut feeling and check things out if something's not feeling right. Knowledge is power"

I've already discussed this but this news clip further validates my point of the topic, nothing more. I could call him out on hs bs further with detail, but I won't....yet, out of respect even though he probably doesn't deserve it. Til he reaches me & apologizes for everything he's done, i can say whatever tf I want & i could make a whole damn list.

Its the events of this what happened that started our downfall to begin with cuz i didn't trust him & he didn't even try to gain it back just left it as is when I could've turned my back right then & there, no apology either. Didnt apologize much actually, not even when i last saw him. But from then we spiraled & he got bored of me. I wasn't giving him what he wanted in whatever way & he wanted to find more. Closed himself off from the beginning & that created his boredom 😒

Would've had a blast together like a normal fucking couple if he was less closed off, & wouldn't have felt the need to do shit behind my back.

I'll stop talking about it for now, I have the anger & urge to keep going but I wont...actually no Screw it im pissed 😡 but ill keep it light. Its just not fair, I did so much for him but I was disrespected in different aspects of the whole relationship. Fuck! I've talked about the positives alot cuz i do love him..but the negatives are such bs too.

I want a good ass sincere apology for all of it so I can forgive him & move on, ive already apologized myself even though I dont think I should have to 😒. Didnt even give me a straight answer for the breakup, it was always a different excuse when I know he just wanted to pursue other women without me around im not fucking stupid. His own toxicity was too much even for himself & I was in the line of fire, to where i was the toxic one? No fuck that its unacceptable, he always lied when it came to covering his own ass.

For all i know he's watching me squirm & taking pleasure in all the pain I'm going through over him cuz he likes the attention. But no I actually don't think so on that one he's still good & ill give him credit where its due. But I gave him all the attention he wanted/needed & still wanted more from someone else. Really dude fucking really!?

Man up & own up to your mistakes, speak to me where I can actually hear ur voice speaking back to me with sincerity. We'll apologize together. Yea ull be pissed about this, but after u get over it & calm down. Give in & call me, granted when ur ready, & open up for once in your damn reserved life. Itll help us both with more closure & may even take a weight off our shoulders if we just talk it out, no arguing...since we're done there's no point anyway..a friendly non judgment zone cuz idc, i won't think of u any less.

U confused me during & especially after the relationship cuz i didnt know who u really were, i know the good cuz that's what u allowed me to see, ive accepted the bad that I knew already & from what ive learned...i accepted u regardless.

I always forgave u & not cuz im passive, cuz forgiveness is what the Bible teaches.. ive forgiven u & myself the best i could especially with the last things ive showed u, (accept this part cuz im pissed rn & standing up for myself, ill delete eventually maybe if u ask cuz nobody wants to be seen any less of a person. but I can make it alot worse, calling me the mistake was the worst thing u ever said to me & pointing out your faults so u can be better throughout the relationship was my only toxicity to u) we actually never really fought except the 1 time, just argued a tiny bit rarely about little things.

Ive tried using every ounce of my courage to show u how much im sorry for any wrong ive done. but its up to u now to make things right. U know me, ive always said that u can talk to me about anything. I want to be able to trust again & move on whilst staying friends. What else do u have to lose, might even have a great heart to heart convo dude to dudet

Everything ive ever said up to this point lies all my Questions. But here's most of the list, we both were equally in control of the relationship. Maybe u didn't want me to? But doing everything I had to for myself & the household, what u & ur parents wanted of me & just me being me cuz i had to, u had your own part to play & did provide...but did u actually not want me to cater to u if it were a sign u were lazy or something? Like did u not feel worthy of me? What is it u think is my "addicting personality" that isn't fixable on the surface? What is it really that u didnt like about me? This is why i don't have closure, u left me like this, confused as well as wanting more since u held back so much. Was that on purpose to give me even more false hope & want me to pine over u? Did u ever or do u still, love me at all? What did u want from me & out of the relationship, what was the purpose of it from ur perspective & why do u think i couldn't give that to u? What did i lack that u felt compelled to not tell me so I could improve & vise versa so we both could improve? Why wouldn't u allow me to help u become a better man when (I shouldnt have to btw), its exactly what u wanted but maybe didnt see it? Do u realize your own faults even as u do them? Lol. Like i genuinely want to know as much as the good ive seen, cuz to be better the more open of a person u are the more u understand yourself too.

Unless claiming u want to be a better man is part of ur alluring charm in love bombing process to land a caring girl on purpose lol...god I hope not, that would just mean u rinse & repeat like a for real narcissist 🤔 seriously tho look into that im not even kidding, im asking cuz i care. Im pissed now but 1 thing is that im trying to not put ur behavior against u cuz maybe u can't help it, its just the way u are, all ive seen & experienced points to maybe 50% of u lol. Ive always suspected narcissism, a real psych problem that might be worth looking into. But yea 1 of the reasons especially why im so forgiving & trying not to put it against u, why i still care despite u being a dick lol. I chose to look past it, all the time & up to now cuz I understand what its like to have psychological ailments. The worst part about it is most dont realize it, so i encourage u to do some research & self reflection & admitting it to urself are the 1st steps. Okay? There's different kinds & levels to being 1 too, i found that fascinating. bryan is definitely a different type, ur more lighter than that...definitely not the worst which is the physical harm type. Trust me its worth finding out more about yourself, just dont use it to ur advantage in a bad way but i trust u to do right & grow. Not sure a discarded supply (ie me) has ever tried telling a narcy what they might be for the benefit of their own self awareness 🤔,idk if its ever been done, but theres a 1st for everything? U can find alot on it in quora digest alone but Google is also ur friend.

You always were worth every effort of mine to help u in any way to be happy, & i was most happy when u were. U mean alot to me still, its the effect u had on me, I was under ur spell lol its hard to rid myself of it still, not sure when it'll pass. I chose to see it as a gift rather than a curse, that ur effect on me is still so strong when I shouldn't give a damn. If u really are a narcy, then I understand & don't put alot against u cuz its just the way u are & i need to accept it, but if it somehow helps u to help yourself cuz of it, then whats the harm? But, even in doing this or having my socials public for u...maybe just feeds into what u want...i still dont care, I want u to see how bad or good im doing without u in my life, so u know im okay at least. U promised friendship, least I can do is allow u to keep tabs on me too we spoke of, on my end of things.

The 18th of June was the last time i saw u. It'll soon be a month ago in about a week & a 1/2 & your birthday would mark 2 months. Cant believe we couldn't even last through to that 😔

Mark my words playa I will be contacting u on that day lol. Can't ghost your homie forever sweetie

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