#like change will always be a constant and unavoidable thing

[krashlite]

In case you found this post before the Start Post, I’m going through and looking at the matching wounds for every LimL team! How they were hurt in past seasons and how this season addressed that harm

Starting off strong with TIES! The name calls back to team BEST, however I wanna point out the differences between the two. First of all and most notably, Bdubs has been swapped for Impulse- and that greatly changes the group! They both fall into the habit of being a yes-man, but where Bdubs tends to be very ambitious with his support, Impulse is a lot more cooperative in a group setting. With this, TIES is able to set very clear, achievable goals and accomplish them without all the bells and whistles. We need a tower? Tango’s got it! It’s crooked, but he’s got it. Skynet? It looks scuffed but they’ve got it!!!

NOT ONLY THAT but TIES and BEST have a different fundamental worldview! TIES values the group above all else. They need to be there for each other, to stand by one another and to uplift the group no matter what. They’re bound by their Tie to each other (ha). But BEST? BEST valued their IMAGE above all else. They’re the good guys, they needed to set an example for the server. It didn’t matter what was going on in their team, they needed to project a strong image, they needed to be the Best (ha 2).

And that’s One piece of the matching wound in TIES: they all come from dysfunctional alliances

This is especially true of Tango! Tango, in 3L and LL, was cast to the side in every alliance he tried to join. Not only that, but in the alliances he Was a part of, he always ended up getting physically harmed. In 3L it was the firing squad, and in LL it was when Bdubs turned red the first time and then when Bdubs was the boogeyman. Not only that, but in both seasons he was only valued for what he could physically provide.

In 3L it was partially beef/leather, but mostly information. The only alliances that stuck were the ones that wanted information from him as a double agent. The second he picked a side, the other went after him. This is despite the fact that he Did have a day1 alliance in the form of the village people, but that alliance barely made it to the fourth episode, with Etho and Impulse sharing the wool castle and Tango being left to fend for himself. Then in LL, BEST had a tendency to use him as a Life dispenser, if someone got hurt then Tango’s there. Outside of that, he really wasn’t valued- something he even confronts them about throughout the season. It’s to the point that Tango’s dying action is to trap BEST, to destroy the place that caused him this much harm (granted his death was unintentional)

Impulse was on the other side of things- yes he did tend to be overlooked in many of his alliances, but really his downfall in those alliances came from him overlooking others. Let me explain- in 3L he tried to play all sides and subsequently sabotaged every single alliance he was a part of. Throughout all of it he kept Saying his heart belonged to the Crastle, but his actions continued proving otherwise. He overlooked their concerns because he thought he could prove himself, but only turned them against him. And of course they turned on him! Of course Bdubs specifically turned!! Impulse’s loyalties had been dubious at best and it was hard to know where he stood despite what he said

Then in LL he tries to be a part of a functional team, except the Southlands was on constant rocky ground, especially when people started dropping down to Red. Impulse’s immediate reaction wasn’t to try and bring them back, it was to treat them as an unavoidable threat. So stealing the wither skull from Joel and Grian’s bunker and trying to plan for when Mumbo eventually came back to trap their towers. He’s not the only person to do this both in the southlands and in LL general, but to me it feels like a contradiction. If you want the team to stay together, keep them together! Don’t turn your back the second someone becomes a danger to themself and others

Admittedly, I haven’t seen much of Etho’s side of things so sorry if his is off! But for Etho, he has a tendency to try and act alone. Yes his group has a plan, but he always has a side plan like the enderporter in 3L. What’s unique about this is it’s usually something that only directly affects him should it go wrong, but if it goes well then the entire group benefits. He shields other people from getting hurt at the expense of himself- except they don’t see it so they don’t know to step in. In fact the only person who knew to step in was Bdubs, as seen throughout LL but ESPECIALLY with the Wither fight. Afterwards he even remarks “Etho couldn’t do it without me, I Gave Him The Courage”

However, the opposite is also true. When he acts alone, consequences don’t follow him as closely as they probably should. In 3L it meant when he moved to the swamp he accidentally split up the village group- leaving Impulse and Tango stranded and actually starting them on their arcs. Yes they followed him out there, but that was basically an Invisible alliance, never really getting called upon outside of what Dogwarts needed. It also meant when he started conflict between Dogwarts and the Crastle with the tnt missile attempts, Joel ends up taking the brunt of that

Etho inadvertently hides himself and I think that’s very fascinating

But overall, something Tango, Impulse, and Etho all have in common is that their issues all started in 3L, continued into LL, and were addressed in DL.

Tango finally got an ally who loved and cared for him through virtue of being himself. Impulse was not only Seen in his alliance, but he was paired with someone who he couldn’t ignore or avoid. Etho’s consequences were linked to his soulmate, meaning he couldn’t hide himself no matter what he did. They were encouraged to be there for their partner and took that in stride

But again, their issues were confronted. Skizz’s issues weren’t

For Skizz, he has a habit of putting his team before himself. In 3L that meant following Ren to a T, being the exact soldier Ren needed him to be and doing everything in his power to help Dogwarts succeed. It meant keeping his cool when Ren called for a retreat but Skizz wanted to keep fighting and it meant charging headfirst into the Crastle when it was revealed they had the Red Winter axe. Skizz gave his whole life to Dogwarts! And to quote bojack horseman real quick- I’m not talking about his Death, I’m talking about his Life, he gave his whole Life

In LL putting his team first meant trying to act as leader to this very dysfunctional group. Skizz was the main one coming up with plans, he’s the one that made the meeting room, their shields, everything! But really, he wasn’t regarded as their leader, Bdubs was. Bdubs, who is headstrong and overly ambitious with his plans, Bdubs who was quick to criticize the group’s shortcomings and Bdubs who had a switch like a hair trigger if he turned Red or became the boogeyman, who Split The Fort In Two when he was exiled.

Skizz did everything for BEST and how did they repay him? By running, by leaving him behind when a tnt cannon failed. What Skizz learned there is when you do Everything for other people, you end up with nothing. You end up dead in the enemy’s castle, you end up cornered by the sharp ends of three crossbows. And I think this is what he’s responding to at the end of LL- mimicking Mumbo’s reckless attacks and even going back to get revenge on Ren for his boogeyman trap earlier in the season (said trap Skizz had previously complimented and said he wasn’t even mad about). It’s giving “no more Mr Nice Guy” and I’m here for it. He wouldn’t be the faceless defender of his team, he would be the cause of their demise- being there for Tango AND Bdubs’s deaths while spectating as a ghost

But again, Skizz wasn’t in DL, he didn’t have an alliance where he could recover. He was never given the space to learn to give comfortably, and to learn to receive support from his team.

And with this, I think it’s Fascinating that LimL started off in the way that it did

Skizz was targeted by the boogeymen not once, but TWICE in the very first episode. The immediate response by the server was to form a protection squad around him. It was to Stand By Him. This contradicts the mindset he died with in LL- that the world will take until there’s nothing left of you to give. And I think that’s action was ESSENTIAL to him being able to function as the leader of TIES

In case it wasn’t clear, the three matching wounds for TIES is 1) they come from dysfunctional alliances, 2) they struggle to function as an individual in a group setting, and 3) they habitually give more than they take

So TIES has a pretty strong understanding of one another with their similarities, BUT they also have another thing in common, a shaky past with Bdubs. I touched on this in all of their sections, but all four of them had issues with Bdubs in previous seasons. Tango was singled out by him several times despite sharing an alliance. Impulse was permakilled by him Twice despite being in the same group. Skizz clashed with him because of his headstrong behavior and Etho sidelined himself because of that same behavior.

I don’t even think they realized this at the start, ESPECIALLY not Etho- who had never been directly wronged by Bdubs. But Impulse trying to pry an apology out of him via gifting him a clock definitely conveyed this- why? Bdubs, in fact, did not apologize. He didn’t even see the problem. This is familiar to Impulse, its familiar to Tango, and it’s especially familiar to Skizz, having just been boogey-killed by him

So really it’s no surprise that they ended up having conflicts with the Clockers!

Start Post | The Clockers

#trafficblr #limited life #team TIES #tangotek #impulsesv #ethoslab #skizzleman #not including the Bdubs tag even though he’s very much present for this one

[svnflower-writes]

i'll stay in the pool and drown (so i don't have to watch you leave)

description: in which Sirius runs away and Regulus is left to deal with his emotions alone.

relationship: james potter x regulus black

warnings: mentioned child abuse + neglect, angst, hurt/comfort, not much jegulus more focused on reg and sirius. not a warning but i love pandora sm

word count: 3,806

requested: no but it tied for first in the poll

note: inspired by me listening to tv by billie eilish on loop (title lyric is so regulus coded). some mutuals will know allll about my little spiral and how it included a lotttt of tv by billie. oops. this is very angsty and possibly a reflection of my mental state rn but uh… sorry??? also this is totally unedited as always oops. also there’s not really much jegulus but the stuff that's there is fluffy. It’s mainly regulus and sirius being siblings and regulus centred angst bc i love him. a bit of sirius focused angst snuck in at the end and i didn't plan that but i love him soooo. again. i'm sorry. this is almost 4k words of pure angst. so.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54978655

marauders taglist: (lmk if you want to be added or removed) @lovefolder @gu1lty-as-sin @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies @a-beautiful-fool @optimizedchaos @qwerty-keysmash @lost-in-reveriie @tulips-best @nqds

Regulus supposed that deep down, he had always known how everything would turn out. Sirius was always going to leave him, it was an unavoidable fact. Some things were simply written in the stars, irreversible parts of life that could not be changed by mere mortals meddling around with them. But just because it was fixed in stone, just because it was fate, didn’t stop Regulus from being completely and utterly destroyed by the mere concept. 

Sirius had been the only true constant in his life. 

He had been there when Regulus was five and their mother had looked at him with true resentment in her eyes and slapped him across the face for the first time. He had held the younger boy in his arms and ran his fingers through his hair, both boys shaking with fear as tears rolled down their cheeks. 

He had been with Regulus when he was eight and Orion had verbally abused him for merely interacting with a muggleborn. Sirius had sat down with Regulus and ensured that he had known that nothing he had done was wrong. After Reggie had understood this, they snuck to the kitchen and stole a jar of cookies to eat while the two hid in Sirius’ room. 

He had been there when Regulus was nine, his parents locking him in his room with no food for two days because he had freed one of their house elves. Sirius had sat outside Regulus’ door for the whole time, whispering to him and slipping food through the gap under the bed. They had sat in silence, neither finding anything to say that could possibly improve the situation. But silence or not, being there together made them both feel immensely better. 

Sirius leaving for Hogwarts was one of the worst years of Regulus’ life—he knew Sirius would be back, though, and that’s what kept him counting the days. 

Once Regulus came to Hogwarts, him and Sirius had seemed to drift apart slightly. This didn’t hurt as much as Regulus had anticipated it would, because he now had friends. He had Pandora, Evan, Barty, and Dorcas. Sometimes he had Sirius too, but Sirius was popular; he didn’t need to cling to his brother like he once had. Regulus didn’t miss the lingering glances in hallways, but he never really took any specific notice of them. He assumed that if Sirius had wanted to speak to him, he would have. 

In the summer holiday after Regulus’ first year, the brothers had reconnected. They grew closer than ever, and although they still didn’t speak much at school when they finally returned, there was no doubting the love between them. 

Sirius had always been there. Whether he was actually present in the moment or just in Regulus’ head, he was always by his side in his heart. But then, during the Christmas holidays of the year when Sirius turned sixteen, something seemed to change. Sirius’ fights with their parents became more and more frequent, going from happening twice a week to twice a day. He stopped being around as often, crashing at James’ house a few times a week. Regulus was holding his breath, knowing that if he stepped out of line even the slightest bit, one of his parents would snap and everything would take a turn for the worse.

He was also spending an increasing amount of time at Pandora’s house, her sweet nature a much preferred option to the feeling of walking on eggshells in his own home. Evan was there most of the time, and where Evan was, so was Barty. Every once in a while they’d manage to drag Dorcas away from Marlene and get the whole group together, but that was rather rare. It was nice, though, spending time together without the pressure of school. It ensured that Regulus understood that they actually wanted to be around him, something he had struggled with for as long as he could remember. 

One thing Regulus knew was that if asked who his best friend was, he would say Pandora without hesitation. He never doubted her genuinity, which soothed a lot of his anxiety and helped him put things into perspective. Regulus needed to know that he was wanted, and Pandora never hesitated to reassure him. The two had just had the Rosier house to themselves, Barty and Evan on a date and Pandora and Evan’s parents out for a dinner party. Music softly playing off Pandora’s record player she had bought at a muggle thrift store, the two sat on her bed eating chocolate brownies and talking about what some would consider nothing but was everything to them. They had been doing this for about six hours when Regulus decided that he should probably head home to avoid his parent’s anger at him for being late. 

Regulus got home and knew before he even stepped in the door that something was terribly wrong. Slowly and cautiously opening the door, Regulus held his breath as he stepped inside. The house was eerily silent, no whispers of paintings or hurried footsteps of houselves, let alone not a single sign of human life. Exhaling softly, he quietly shut the door and attempted to walk down the hallway without making a sound–which turned out to be easier said than done. The eyes on the paintings followed his every move, not once losing focus on him. He raised his hand to his forehead and pushed some stray hairs out of his eyes before making his way up the stairs to his room. He went three steps at a time, eyes fixed on the floor as the nervous lump in his throat simply grew. After what felt like an eternity, he made it to his room. His hand closed around the cold metal doorknob and he exhaled shakily. Turning the door handle, he stepped into his room before pausing. He turned, eyes landing on the door to Sirius’ room. Sighing softly, he closed his door and made his way across the hall to the door of his brother’s room. 

He knocked softly.

No reply.

“Sirius?”

He knocked again, slightly louder this time.

Still, nothing. 

“Sirius, can I come in?” 

There was no response. Regulus sighed, slumping down on the floor, leaning back against the door and letting his head knock against the wood. He chucked. “Doesn’t this remind you of something?”

Once again, nothing. He didn’t really know what he had expected.

“Sirius, I don’t mind if you don’t want to talk to me. I won’t be offended. Can I just come in and make sure you’re okay? Please?” 

The silence that followed ached painfully in Regulus’ ears. 

“I’m going to take your silence as a confirmation that I can come in.”

The only sound that broke the silence was Regulus’ sigh. He stood up, opening the door of Sirius’ room and glancing around slowly. It was messier than usual. Sirius wasn’t a tidy person, but he wasn’t this messy. Clothes covered every inch of the ground and one drawer of his chest of drawers had almost fallen right out of the frame. His bed was a sorry excuse of being made, covers and sheets falling off to the point where they were more on the floor than the bed itself. There was no Sirius to be seen. 

“I guess he’s spending the night at James’ again.” 

He turned to leave before pausing. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started writing.

Hi, Siri. 

I assume you’re at James’, and I hope you’re okay.

I miss you, by the way. Maybe we could hang out when you get home back.

Reg

Regulus liked James—possibly a little too much —so he knew his brother was in good hands. He just wished he could see him. 

Two days later, Sirius wasn’t back. It was now pretty obvious to Regulus that he was not going to be back. Sirius had left . 

Left him. Sirius had left him. 

He couldn’t quite believe it. He had spent five hours last night simply sitting on Sirius’ bed, wishing he was still there. The emotions he was feeling were not quite describable, but if he was in a state where he could think of the words matching these emotions, he’d probably say he felt betrayed, lost, and hurt. Of course, he would never actually say that. Regulus wasn’t one to express his emotions. One thing that Regulus understood was that he felt no form of anger towards his brother. He recognised why Sirius had left, and he thought it was very understandable. What he hated was being left. He was alone in this horrendously big house and he didn’t even have it in him to talk to Pandora about it.

Regulus had never felt comfortable sharing his feelings. He assumed this was due to his parents pushing them away whenever he had tried to tell them anything at all. 

Regulus knew he’d be okay. He didn’t need other people to survive, he never had. 

Three weeks later, Pandora showed up at his bedroom door with a box of chocolates and a mission. She was determined to get him outside and out of the bedroom he was rotting in if it was the last thing she did. Regulus knew he was lucky to have a friend like her, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in his bedroom for the rest of his life. Part of him knew this was unhealthy, but part of him just didn’t want to show his face to the silent house he was residing in. 

Pandora would do anything to make Regulus feel okay, and she was well aware that to do this she would have to take him to Sirius, but they would cross that bridge when the time was right. First, she had to carefully shake him out of his shell of self destruction, reminding him that there were people who cared for him. 

Pandora sat on his bed, looking at him with soft eyes that he avoided at all costs. “Reg… Reg, look at me.” 

He didn’t, but that didn’t stop Pandora from softly cupping his head in her hands. “Regulus, I have been your best friend for five years. I know something’s wrong—and you don’t have to tell me. Just come to my house with me, Merlin knows you need to get out of this house, and Barty and Evan are out. You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to talk to.” 

Now Regulus looked up Ever so slowly, he leaned in to rest his head on his best friend’s shoulders, not speaking but his eyes holding more meaning than his words at this moment possibly could. 

After ten minutes of simply being in each other's presence, Regulus spoke. “Can we get out of this house?” 

Pandora nodded, helping him up. “My house?” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Would you rather be alone or do you mind seeing everyone else?” 

“Where are they?” 

“I think they’re at Marlene’s house.” 

Regulus was not close to Marlene. He didn’t know much about her, in all honesty, but because her and Dorcas were practically attached by the hip, he assumed that she was nice. And to tell the truth, Regulus needed to see his friends. He paused before muttering. 

“I want to see everyone.” 

“Alright.” 

Much to his relief, the mood of the hangout didn’t change vividly when he arrived. He noticed Barty and Evan shared a soft glance between them, and Dorcas gave him a quick hug that was noticeably more gentle than usual, but the conversation stayed as lively as it had been before he arrived. Regulus allowed himself to lean into Pandora’s side, twirling her long hair between his fingers. She continued talking to Dorcas as her right arm embraced Regulus into her side. Regulus didn’t speak much, but no one expected him to. 

As comforting and grounding as it was, it wasn’t what he needed. Regulus needed reassurance, he needed affirmations that he wasn’t the reason his brother had left. And the only person who could truly give him this confirmation was Sirius himself. He felt guilty about this; Pandora was doing more than she had to do and he couldn’t feel the amount of gratitude he knew he should be feeling. He must have stiffened, because his best friend looked down at him with an amount of gentleness that made him feel alarmingly close to tears. He felt impossibly small, looking down at his hands and fixing his gaze on the golden sun ring he always wore as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Marlene looked at him curiously from where she sat on the dark red couch across the room. She cautiously glanced at Dorcas before speaking. “I know where Sirius is if you want to see him.” That was possibly the most Marlene had ever said to him. Regulus stared at her blankly for a moment, before nodding slowly. 

“Yeah, uh. That sounds nice.” his voice was impossibly weak, and he might have been embarrassed had he had any awareness of himself at this moment. But he felt like a shell of himself, he wasn’t really there. 

“Okay. We probably shouldn’t all go, it might be overwhelming. So–” 

“I’ll come.” Pandora spoke, much to Regulus’ relief. Despite not feeling entirely complete with her affection and care, he appreciated it. It was a kind of foreign concept to him, the genuine adoration she had for him. He had never witnessed that in his family, let alone experienced it himself. He smiled shakily at her and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

The trip to find Sirius was quiet, but no one seemed to mind. When they were about halfway there, Regulus’ heart leapt as he had a sudden realisation. They were on their way to James’ house. On second thought, it made sense. James Potter was Sirius’ best friend, he wasn’t sure why he was so alarmed by this fact. When they arrived at the house, Regulus took a deep breath. He was overwhelmed by the emotions of this moment, the concept of seeing Sirius for the first time in two and a half weeks and being back at James’ house was causing his head to spin. He hadn’t seen James in almost a month and it was achingly evident from the heavy feeling in his heart. 

Walking through the door, the first thing he saw was Sirius’ black Doc Martens sitting next to a few pairs of dirty converse beside the doormat. James’ converse. He swallowed. The first thing he heard was Sirius’ voice from a few rooms away, which almost made him do a double take. Marlene walked further into the house after quickly kicking off her red converse, and Regulus followed soon after. Pandora kept her distance behind the two, not wanting to intrude on the moment—this consideration once again reminding Regulus how deeply he loved her. 

Marlene glanced back to make sure Regulus was behind her, smiling gently at him before walking into the Potter’s living room. James looked up instantly, eyes widening a fraction as he took in the boy standing in the doorway. He clearly didn’t think his words through before blurting, “Reg?” 

Sirius stopped talking, whirling around with wide, panicked eyes. “Regulus?” 

Regulus desperately searched in his brother’s eyes for a sign that he could go hug him, that he could say something, that he could walk further into the room. There was a certain element of distress in Regulus’ eyes as he seeked the affirmation he so desperately needed. Sirius seemed to be in shock, and it was clear to James that he would not be affirming his brother’s doubts any time soon. He wanted to, of course he did—James was well aware that Sirius loved Regulus more than anything in his entire world. So James spoke up, saying possibly the most awkward thing he could have said in this situation. 

“Do you want a cup of tea?” 

Regulus seemed to do a double take, but he nodded. He hadn’t considered that in order to make the cup of tea, James would have to leave the room. And James leaving the room meant Regulus and Sirius being the only ones in the room. He was unaware of this fact until James left the room, throwing a sweet, gentle smile over his shoulder. Regulus felt alarmingly alone without him there, his eyes darting from Sirius to the wall to the floor to Sirius again to his hands. He didn’t want to stare; if there was one thing that his parents had succeeded in, it was raising their youngest son with impeccable manners. No matter how good his manners were, his parents had failed to teach him how to deal with his anxiety. He fiddled with his hands, twirling the gold ring on his index finger around slowly for about a minute before finally looking up again. 

This time, Sirius was looking at him too. The older brother seemed to understand that Regulus was not going to be the one to start this conversation, so he sighed and sat down, patting the spot on the couch next to him. Regulus sat, decidedly further away from Sirius than Sirius had gestured for, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind—if he did, he had the decency to stay silent. It would be hypocritical for Sirius to get upset about Regulus not sitting next to him on the couch after leaving him alone with their parents for two and a half weeks. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius eventually spoke. 

Regulus said nothing, so Sirius shakily continued. “I didn’t want to leave you. It’s just– it just– it was too much. They were too much, you know?”

“They always have been.” Regulus mumbled softly. 

“And they said something about Moony.” 

Of course they did. 

Sirius sighed, “he told me off for leaving you though. Said I should have bought you with me.”

“You should have.” 

“I know.” 

Just as the two brothers fell into an awkward silence, James walked in with a small grin on his face. “Okay, so, I think I remembered pretty well how you like your tea.” 

Sirius looked between the two as James passed Regulus the mug, watching how their fingertips brushed and a smile graced Regulus’ lips. Regulus didn’t like milk or sugar in his tea, something that Sirius had always wrinkled his nose at. James took his tea far sweeter than Reg did, but he was more than happy to make it exactly to Regulus’ tastes if that was what would make him happy. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe you remembered.” 

“How could I not?” 

It was then that Sirius’ eyes fell to their hands, noticing that Regulus’ gold ring was a sun symbol and James wore a silver star one. This was a contrast to both of their usual jewellery colours, the gold earrings in James’ ears suddenly a lot more obvious than they had been minutes ago. Sirius silently watched the interactions between the two and swallowed slowly. 

Sirius had this burning need to be loved, to be appreciated, to be the favourite. Regulus was his parents’ favourite son, and although he acted like this didn’t faze him, it stung. Sirius had introduced Reg to Barty and Evan, and now the three were inseparable. Sirius didn’t even talk to the two Slytherins anymore. Remus loved Regulus, the two had bonded over things that Sirius couldn’t even begin to understand—and he knew it was stupid. He knew that Remus looked at him like he had literally hung the stars, but there was this underlying jealousy of the fact that his brother got along with everyone without even trying. Regulus didn’t want to get along with people, he’d be quite happy spending his days whispering with Pandora and basking in his own company. 

Was Regulus more likeable? More manageable? That had to be it. Sirius was too much for people. Sirius was too much for everyone. 

And now, his best friend was snogging his brother behind his back. It wasn’t that he was bothered by their relationship, he didn’t care who Regulus dated as long as they didn’t hurt him—and James would never hurt him. 

James was, theoretically, perfect for Regulus. They balanced each other out, much like Sirius and Remus. James was the Yang to his Yin, the base to his acid, the light to his dark. And perhaps it was the fact that the two fit together so naturally that bothered him. Perhaps it was the inherent jealousy of Regulus always being better than him at everything. Regulus had Sirius’ best friend looking at him with pure, soft adoration in his eyes, and Sirius couldn’t even deny how much sense they made together. 

In his heart, Sirius knew how much love James had for him. James was one of those people who did not ration out the love and care he gave people, he was overflowing with genuine devotion and love, not hesitating to shower those around him with it. And Sirius knew that the two of them had the strongest friendship he had ever had and likely ever would. He knew it wasn’t going to change. Merlin, with how James gazed at Regulus, Sirius predicted that whatever they had had been going on for at least five months. And those five months had not changed how James had acted with Sirius, their friendship was as codependent as ever. 

Sirius knew that James had enough love for both of them. He knew that the love that James could give was exactly what Regulus needed. Sirius knew that these feelings had been drilled into his mind by how his parents had treated him, but his parents weren’t here now. Sirius knew that this trauma ran deep, however, and it would take a while for him to come to terms with this relationship. 

Regulus could tell from the look in his eyes that he had figured it out. It didn’t bother him, the only reason he and James hadn’t mentioned it to anyone was due to the complications with their families and how difficult it was to actually see each other regularly. Offering a soft smile to Sirius, Regulus leaned into his brother’s side. Sirius froze up for a moment, glancing at James as his eyes widened. James smiled tenderly at the two before getting up and leaving the room to wherever Marlene and Pandora were. 

Slowly, Sirius relaxed, and Regulus almost breathed a sigh of relief. “I missed this.” 

Sirius hummed, “I missed you more than you know, little star .” 

Sighing, Regulus closed his eyes. Sirius may never be the constant in his life he had once been, but as long as he was part of it, Regulus couldn’t complain.

#luc posts #luc writes #jegulus #regulus black #sirius black #angst #marauders era #marauders #hurt/comfort #ao3 #sirius and regulus #the black brothers #james x regulus #james and regulus #james and sirius #pandora rosier #pandora lovegood #pandora and regulus #evan x barty #dorlene #rosekiller

[reimenaashelyee]

Clean version here

Not a bingo but a jenga. My responses below the cut

Somehow I have half of this image filled out. I wish I could cash it in for points to redeem.

Jenga:

First comic is a magnum opus: There had been a string of graphic novel adaptations of books I wanted do when I as a young teenager, but The World in Deeper Inspection was my first, substantial, original behemoth of an idea. It was the only one with the power and the potential to stay and push me to become a comics creator. Everything I am and have as an artist and writer is because of TWIDI.

Fan art more popular than OCs: This was going to be inevitable because I hardly ever post about them online. But I suppose if you count my one-off character design illustrations that go viral or my published graphic novels, this box wouldn’t be true… (The God of Arepo is my most popular fan work)

I binged your life’s work in 2 hours: I am glad you like my work enough to be this engrossed in it – but honestly please please reread it again and SLOWLY so you can appreciate the visual storytelling – not just the words and the main action!! You’ll have a fuller experience if you take the time to luxuriate!!

This isn’t even my day job: It both is and isn’t. I do enough from comics that I can survive out of it near full time (thanks to my usual speed; very grateful), but I get financial stability from the monthly paycheck from the actual day job. Relying on my speed to produce near-constant output for money is something I am losing interest in as my ideas become more ambitious and niche.

Subscribe to my Patreon: Somehow I am able to hawk my free-to-read platforms with a certain amount of success but never can get a big dent on my Ko-fi.

Received unsolicited critique on a free comic: Unavoidable reality. Though I hadn’t had something egregious in a long time (and it better stay that way).

Had to explain what a webcomic even is to someone IRL: Nearly all the people I surround myself with are ‘normies’ (people who aren’t so online and/or don’t read online media), so this comes up often – and it will become more frequent as I pursue institutional pathways like residencies and grants. Even if they knew what webcomics were, it would be under the name of webtoons.

I can’t wait to draw this scene in 4 years: lol @ Alexander Comic and TWIDI

Multi-year hiatus: TWIDI’s eternal curse, until I figure out how to build enough stability in my career/life to return to it – full-time and for real.

Financially supported by someone else: My dayjob, mainly, but previously my parents.

Is somehow mutuals with favourite artist: That’s what it’s like as your career progresses and matures! It’s always nice to become peers with those you admire – especially the ones you grow to love only after knowing them.

Characters get gayer over time: Growing up and being able to witness the various ways of living can and will change how one approaches their characters.

Successfully fulfilled a Kickstarter: Not on my own, but I had a few for my books that published smoothly.

Empty space:

ADHD diagnosis: I have ADHD-esque behaviours that I have managed to overcome with ADHD-specific hacks, but whether I actually have the thing itself is a question mark. I lean towards not really having it since I am able to execute and complete tasks regularly.

Works in animation or went to school for it: I used to want to study and work in animation before I discovered the potential of comics as a storytelling medium. I don’t have a desire to break into that industry, even without all the employment and late-capitalism instability that it’s going through right now. I am not averse to trying if asked, however.

Had an art teacher who hated anime: Never went to art school.

Yes I’ve had burnout but what about second burnout: Currently going through a fallow period, but I really don’t think it’s Burnout Burnout. Touch wood, I continue to maintain my love, interest and desire to make comics and stay in my artistic career.

Forgot how to draw main character’s face: Characters are so seared into my brain, it’s not easy to forget. Helps that they each have particular quirks that belong to their design.

This comic gave me my hand/wrist injury: Still out here WITHOUT any of those. I hope I can keep it that way until whenever I retire.

Emergency commissions: Hopefully I will never have to resort to do this. (Very grateful, yes)

Sleep… “schedule”? my 7-8 hours of sleep is essential and non-negotiable.

If it’s not 3 hours long is it even worth adding to the work playlist: This is is referring to video essays I guess? I rarely ever encounter essays of over 3 hours that I am interested enough to watch. (Also I can’t really watch something while drawing; I lose speed/concentration)

Embarrassed to look at early pages: Not embarrassed – I was younger and less-skilled then, that’s just how it is. There were a lot of things younger me did that I could still learn from.

Regrets costume choices: I pride myself in being able to style myself and my characters, and so far I have never regretted the clothes I give my characters – the TWIDI characters all have base outfits from when I was 15!

#artist meme

[growwithmeastrology]

Saturday, January 20th, 2024 Sun in Aquarius ♒️💨 Moon in Gemini ♊️💨

We have arrived at one of the most hyped up days of the year in the astrology community. Pluto enters Aquarius today. But before we get into that, let’s cover everything going on today in chronological order.

Once a year, the Sun and Pluto meet up in the sky. This conjunction started in Capricorn and these two will hold hands as they shift into Aquarius. The Sun will take the lead. We shift from earthy and structure focused energy to the mentally stimulating. This alignment is super powerful sparking transformations and significant personal growth for all.

Then, the planet of transformation and unavoidable truths follows the Sun into Aquarius. Pluto has been hanging out in Capricorn since 2008. So whereever Capricorn energy is in your chart is where you’ve had the most transformation since. This shift is made a big deal because if you put it into perspective, the Moon shifts signs every 2 1/2 days driving our emotional body. We’re used to that constant change. Pluto can take up to two decades to do that therefore changing the landscape of our lives completely. It’s the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. But we have to remember that Pluto will retrograde back into Capricorn later this year so we are just dipping our toes into the Aquarius waters until September. This happened last spring so check back to what sparked some changes for you at that time for a clue as to how this transition could feel for you.

In other news today, Mercury in Capricorn officially leaves the shadow period after its retrograde. I’m sure you forgot all about that retrograde but the shadow period always lasts a couple of weeks and that’s officially over really pushing things to move forward.

The Moon isn’t missing this cosmic party and will trine the Sun and Pluto during this shift. It too will shift signs as this is all going on and enters Gemini. The moon in this Mercurial sign is all about the chatty social vibes, adding another layer of stimulated communication. It can also be pretty restless so you may feel like your mind is all over the place.

Pay attention to what’s going on today. It will give you a hint of what the landscape will look like during the next several months. Focus on joy and good communication as much as you can, enjoy good company if possible as well. Sit back, relax and enjoy this cosmic ride!

If you enjoy my daily forecasts please like, comment, share and consider a gratitude tip in support. 🅿️ PayPal, Venmo or CashApp - @NaliniFlor

Learn more about your personal energies and how the daily forecast affects you! Comment below⬇️ or DM me for a consultation.

#astrology #growwithme #zodiac #horoscope #daily energies #daily horoscope #pluto in aquarius #aquarius season #moon in gemini #mercury shadow period

[knowlesian]

i was chatting about this over messages and hadn't seen anyone else post about it, so i figured what the hell: why my fourth favorite joke might be izzy’s pissy little ‘i do this, i do that, you're so erratic’ rant, and the subversion/setup/foreshadowing it provides. 

(third: montezuma’s revenge joke via izzy the metaphor colonizer. e5 setup, e9 punchline. now that’s some next level comedy writing.)

anyway! let’s take it line by line. 

For years, I’ve followed your every whim. I’ve managed your increasingly erratic moods, I’ve massaged this crew when they were worried about your judgment.

Mmm. Sounds stressful, Izzy.

so! it would be very easy to just take izzy at his word and create scenarios to suit, where izzy is a reliable narrator and actually doing all these things.

(and just as a structure nerd note while i’m at it, since i think that term gets used colloquially so often that much like filler, it needs clarifying sometimes: unreliable narrator doesn't mean never right or always lying. it just means unreliable, and their ultimate narrative purpose is to force an audience to think critically and examine the text as a whole to try to find what is empirical reality and what is not, instead of sorting them into liar or honest and leaving it there, thanks for coming to my tedtalk & etc) 

izzy himself is urging an audience to fill in those gaps, to create pre-canon scenarios that support izzy and silence ed. to make us imagine an ed who is out of control and in need of a constant exasperated minder; to implicitly and thematically render him a violent, angry child and not a full man in his own right. an ed who cannot face the world or make his own choices, unless izzy is there to guide him and set boundaries so he does not ruin his own life.

and izzy feels so, so burdened by this. he tells us so! 

hmmm. a burdened white man... which would make ed a white man’s burden.

now, where have i heard that before? it’s on the tip of my racist system of genocidal white people of all classes rolling up into places where people are living and dying and making good choices and bad choices alike all on their own just fine thanks and saying, party’s over kids. daddy’s home now, and you better listen up because father knows best tongue.

that’s izzy’s purpose in the narrative, at least when it comes to the specific angle of implicit bias and the stressful and constant unavoidable racial power dynamics that come into all our social interactions whether we like it or not. because if we are honest and genuinely want to dismantle white supremacy, we need to name the beast so we can fight it. that means admitting even when class is figured into the matter, white men of a certain age who act like izzy acts and say the things he says are unconsciously processed as being logical and in control no matter what, and people who are not white get the exact opposite treatment.

it’s the rule of who would the cops believe. (or, in this case, his majesty’s royal navy.)

izzy holds social power ed does not, alongside institutionalized power. this show is playing out very modern racial dynamics with izzy, so he’s blind to this power— we as an audience can’t be, or we’re... izzy.

and to be very blunt, because i feel i need to be: if you think being izzy is a good thing, then oh boy. time to think about why a white man who makes the black crew members do hard labor and none of the white ones is someone you are cool making excuses for.

i do not believe izzy cannot change his ways; i do believe he very, very much needs to change them.

which brings me to the undercover joke.

so, the first line is doing a lot, right out the gate: izzy says he's followed ed’s every whim.

first layer: izzy, hon, this is ed’s ship. he’s captain. his whims are what you literally signed up to follow. if you don’t want to follow them... go find a different captain, or be your own captain! these are very, very easy things to do, especially as the things canon backs izzy up on is that he’s a competent sailor and a fantastic fighter, when he's fighting people who actually play by traditional rules and not stede and his hijinks-heavy style of fighting.

(and just to say it: izzy losing to stede does not make him a bad fighter. it makes him an inflexible one, who is not good at improv’ing solutions outside blunt force ‘uhhhh we could kill things about it????’ type answers, and one who didn't see that cherrywood mast coming when he popped stede’s getting stabbed cherry. skilled people fuck up sometimes even before you get to not being able to predict new factors in situations you think you have thoroughly prepared for; it’s not impossible to lose, even when you are very very good at something and you prepared as well as anybody could. even serena williams has off days, and izzy hands you are no serena.)

second layer: uhhhh, do you follow his whims iz? because we see you push back, all the time forever, several times to the point of just saying fuck you, i won't let you make this choice and i am gonna make it for you. 

third layer, crunchiest of all? actually, ed ends up where he's at by the end of the finale because he decides to follow izzy’s whims, and just give that sad little man the blackbeard he asked for: a cartoon legend who cuts off toes for a laugh.

then we get to the next claim: he's managed ed’s ‘increasingly erratic moods’. 

now, don't get me wrong— we see ed respond to bad situations with sometimes outsized despondency, he gets real mad at racists and yells at nature/snakes, and when specifically triggered by very literally his worst memory that was also the moment that convinced him he's a bad person he cries in a bathtub and decides he’d rather not repeat that action, especially not when this time he’d be directly killing a man he's starting to love.

so i’m not like, ah yes. edward teach: famously always on an even keel and doing just fine.

but what's actually erratic about those things? erratic means unpredictable, not dramatic. he’s responding to bad situations in ways that indicate he's nearing the end of his desire to keep juggling all the plates he’s got in the air and that weariness combined with a certain amount of arrogance is making him stop double-checking for mistakes, but we see nothing that says he’s losing the ability.

only izzy tells us that. izzy, who is constantly being managed by ed throughout the run of the series. izzy, who seems to exhibit somewhat erratic behavior and mood swings of his own; izzy, who calls down the royal navy upon them all because he's butthurt and jealous and all his cds are in the car, regardless of what he tells himself about protecting ed from ruin.

izzy is shocked ed would sign the act of grace, but if he actually knew ed that would be a somewhat predictable action; anybody can see that ed really fuckin’ likes stede. he tried to stop izzy from the duel, and then when stede won he stuck to his guns and kicked izzy off the ship. ‘i wonder if he’ll just give up on this guy if i track down his crafty frat boy ex and get him to do a reverse parent trap’ is sort of a stupid plan, unless you’re assuming ed is genuinely just longing to go back to the old days and need to be shocked back into reality.

you know what i’d argue is actually fairly erratic, because erratic actually means unpredictable? that fucking plan of his.

how on earth would anyone be like, ah yes. jack was sent by izzy to break them up and lure ed off the ship so the royal navy can come crashing down on all their heads. nobody could have immediately predicted that, right after the sandwich bonked izzy on the noggin.

because izzy expresses horror that ed would lick the king’s boots: the unspoken there is there would be no boots to lick if izzy had not gone and fetched said jackboots and licked them to a shiny gleam first himself.

so when izzy is like, ewwww ed. you'd work with the KING??? we as an audience need to remember: izzy is a textual hypocrite. izzy still has the taste of bootleather on his tongue, and he’s got the gall to get all snotty at ed about the act of grace— a choice ed makes under duress with a literal gun to stede’s head, where izzy made a choice of his own free will out of misplaced emotions and a condescending colonizer mindset that tells him he has the fucking right to look at ed and see a burden to be shouldered and a man who is half-insane, not a fucking genius at the top of his game who keeps telling izzy to please just knock it off and stop being so fuckin rigid.

which brings us to the third part, and the text’s subtle confirmation that everything izzy says he does for ed in that speech, ed actually does for izzy.

he’s massaging the crew when they doubt ed’s judgement, izzy says.

we know that’s not true. fang and ivan don’t respect him for a myriad of reasons, and anytime ed is gone and they can express it they do.

then, once they think ed is gone for good— it's curtains for ol’ izzy. fang and ivan would rather sail under the leadership of one oluwande boodhari, Genuinely Good Captain Material than spend one single more second dealing with izzy’s version of the same.

what saves izzy from meeting the devil at the bottom of the deep blue sea?

ed’s arrival, and ed’s desire to have a familiar face bring him tea. because he'd rather it be stede, but he doesn’t want to be alone; and izzy is still there while stede is gone, potentially forever as far as ed knows.

so, the text tells us: if there was any massaging of the crew going on, it was ed’s legend and the idea of what ed would do if he woke up and somebody had shoved his purse dog overboard keeping izzy afloat.

we know that, because they showed us. 

so what the text shows us is ed, keeping him around even though nobody else has faith in him, managing izzy and knowing his mind well enough to do so successfully. we see ed ask izzy for tea once; to make up scenarios where izzy did that for so long he’s just tired of taking care of ed at long last is to ignore what we see, and just listen to what izzy tells us.

because what does ed say? that sounds stressful, izzy. sounds; not is. 

i just wanna TALK to these writers, you know? jesus fuck.

he’s mocking izzy, because ed knows what the fuck is going on. he knows everything izzy claims to do and wants to take credit for, ed is actually doing and deserves the credit for. this is what it is, to exist in the world and look like ed: there is always, always a white person ready to take credit for your labor while they devalue you and say it's for your own good.

heartbreaking part loud: most of the time, they fucking believe it is. racism is also an unconscious reflex action, floating along in the cultural bloodstream, popping up in ways people don't often see in themselves, or care to investigate at all when someone points it out to them.

to wit: we know ed asked izzy to bring him lucius. he did not want izzy for comfort; we do not see izzy witness him cry, not once. pointedly: ed cries alone, once lucius is gone.

to ignore that and to assume izzy has been watching that happen, over and over and over because ed is erratic and lacks control and surely could not hide things from izzy, World’s Least Emotionally Intelligent Man, is to ignore ed’s version of events— and the version of events we see play out in front of our eyes— because we heard izzy’s point of view before we got the truth of the matter.

to take izzy at his word at first is understandable; he literally spoke first, and the action then showed his version of history to be untrue afterwards, episode by episode. these are careful writers and subtle ones to boot, so it’s easy to forget this is not a show where the curtains are just blue, leave the matter there and then filter all future action through what izzy told us to see. 

and beyond that, we are all trained to see men like izzy as reliable sources and arbiters of empirical reality and history via the dominant culture set by those who most benefit from these assumptions. sadly, most media has at best a surface desire to break that narrative pattern. i very much know that in most shows, izzy would be reliable and ed would be erratic, and it would be a pattern repeated on accident without malicious will or conscious intent ever entering the chat— that’s what makes defeating it so hard to do. people genuinely do not mean to do these things, so they tell themselves they could not be doing it at all.

antonio espera (aka, poke) gives a whole speech about this in generation kill, another piece of media that considers these issues and (due to the subject matter and the real men it portrays) has the approach of presenting us a rainbow of izzys to understand, see them as fellow complicated humans worth empathy who have a specific history that made them what they are, then hold them to narrative account for the horrible things they do, anyway.

white man’s gotta rule the world, says the conventional wisdom via a us marine who combines dark humor and honesty when discussing his lack of ability to be a powerful white man and his job enforcing a broken fucked up power system for them. it’s just a job; and that’s just destiny.

on ofmd, they’re far more interested in building a world where none of that is the case at all.

#our flag means death #i want to be super measured and understanding on this one #but people who take izzy at his word and defend him and ignore canon to create a world where ed is literally a white man's burden? #it's just Not It #and i love the text in part for knowing that #seeing so much of fandom ignore it lowkey breaks my heart #also makes it an unfriendly space for poc fans #which ...sucks! very much sucks #this show is the rare show that knows implicit bias exists in the everyday #and not just in huge outsized monsters #they are engaging with racism and the toll it takes to deal with white people who mean well but don't get it yet #i really wish fandom could do more of the same #my ofmd meta

[rathologic]

glad I had a little more time to parse this one in text, but the idea I was getting at with being uncomfortable at The Background Racism being completely unchanging in patho2 is that I think it presents an idea that that racism is an unavoidable fact and there's no way for the townsfolk to do better. which is in line with the story P2 wants to tell about the Town and Kin being incompatible, but is such a deeply worrying idea in the world of real social issues... like much like here it's a belief systemically and socially embedded in the Town and one vital to the exploitation of the Kin, but the game doesn't acknowledge potential decolonial or anti-racist actions outside of the character writing of Artemy possibly dealing with his alienation from his heritage, especially b/c its final choice is also fully on the haruspex. nobody else in the game has to or is even asked to put in work (for the millionth time, in the game where side characters don't do anything concrete); the entire social slate gets wiped clean by the Special Guy and suddenly the historical tension of the settlement isn't a problem anymore. while, and because, it's presented as its immodifiable fact in the course of the game. the way that artemy always has the internal option to choose how he feels about the Kin, but not the options to tell someone else that their feelings about the Kin are wrong, is something I think a more cognizant game could have used as a statement (in connection to how racism affects real-world people of color; by all means this shouldn't be artemy's responsibility! the microaggressions do reflect, as others have discussed, life in a racist society. talking about their use as a device of constant emphasis for the "incompatible parts" idea here) but in patho2 unaddressed it becomes the same "side characters don't do anything" that afflicts every area of its writing... and while there are plenty of other things for characters to be worried about during pathologic, it's still an ideological stance to assert that decolonization is unimportant during a crisis situation (where, again, it's a major plot point that the plague hits the Kin hardest due to the Olgimskys' organization of the Termitary and social/economic control over its workers), one that is absolutely used IRL to hinder any movement towards change. basically any character development would have helped avoid this. 😐

#I'm thinking abt how people compare patho to disco elysium sometimes... if patho was even a little progressive it could've brought up a lot #of thoughts about this. like it shouldn't be on artemy The Character to quote 'end racism' but it Needs to be on artemy The Player #experiencing a game described since its earliest stages as a simulator of extreme situations where you must behave with humanity (comma) #which incorporates the abuse of the Kin as a major theme (comma) to examine how they exist + act within the matching real-world structure #p2crit #p2 spoilers

[moonlit-positivity]

Let's talk about abandonment

Abandonment is a horrible feeling to sit with. Always feeling like you're never good enough for anything or anyone at all. And it goes deeper than most would know. Your friends hanging out without you, can spark a feeling of rejection, which leads to abandonment. Your partner doesn't text you back right away or doesn't respond for a few hours, can spark feelings of rejection, which leads to spiraling thoughts of "do they still like me/are they mad at me? And are they gonna leave me now?" Seeing someone express an opinion that you don't agree with, can spark a feeling of rejection, which leads to, "I don't necessarily agree but I don't want them to leave me so I'm gonna agree anyway to keep them interested in me."

Rejection is at the forefront of abandonment. In a way it can feel as if we have been denied our right to existance, when someone else does something that doesn't line up with our inner needs, or does something that shows us we are all different from each other. That fear of being different can be so intense that we often just ignore it's there, because that's too scary to sit with and you never really know what to do about it.

Oftentimes in my own life, I have felt like I've wanted to be so close to someone that I could "wear their skin and pretend to be them." Adapting their life as my own. But this reeks of childhood trauma with a capital T, and I'll tell you why.

No matter how close you feel to someone, no matter how close they may feel to you, you cannot be fully enmeshed with someone else's brain. Know why? Cuz this is how you'll end up.

[img from Gumball s4e25: The Parasite]

You're no longer yourself. Your partner/friend is no longer themself. You're both entangled in a mess of co-dependency & now you've got more trauma to deal with when they inevitably leave you to take care of themselves.

The thing with abandonment & rejection, is that it is unavoidable. At some point you will be rejected. At some point you will be abandoned. Nobody stays forever, even if they want to. We as humans are constantly living, growing, evolving, and changing. You and the people in your life are no exceptions to this fact. The concept of you being left alone to deal with your own life will come up at some point. By denying this hard fact of life you're only digging yourself further into that pit of darkness for when it inevitably hits.

So how do we deal with it on a deeper level?

I think the key lies in how you feel about yourself. Is your life not good enough, for you? Your differences & your individuality, is that not good enough? You shouldn't have to feel like you're in a constant competition for affection.

If you're like me, you can definitely relate to these feelings. What I've found the most beneficial has been finding space for myself to listen to my own anger and resentments. Allow yourself to say them out loud so you can allow it to exist. It's there for a reason. You'll figure it out.

Ask yourself, "am I not enough for you?" And see who it is that comes up when you ask yourself that question (Probably ur parents but I don't know you like that to tell 🎉). And allow yourself to ask them the same thing. "Am I not enough for you?"

Majority of times, feeling rejected is from a deeper wound. A wound from our parents rejecting us. A wound from having loved someone so deeply and so wholeheartedly, who was never able to accept us as we are, and who kept up this very high pressure for us to change according to what they wanted us to be.

You're allowed to bring attention to that wound. You're allowed to reject the very harsh and cruel treatment these types of people have put on you. It was and never will be, your responsibility to make someone else happy. It was and never will be, your responsibility to please your parents. They are operating under false & delusional expectations for you. They are not capable of seeing you for who you really are.

So allow yourself to call it out. Allow yourself to feel the anger and rage that comes from being forced into someone else's perception of perfection. Allow yourself to dwell on how it felt to be subjected to such horrific treatment. Allow yourself to ask, over and over, "am I not enough for you?" Until you can finally see that worth is something you have to take back for yourself. Nobody else will ever be able to give you that, only you will. Only when you have sat and cried over and over will you realize, it shouldn't matter what someone else has forced onto you. It should only matter how you feel about yourself. And if you are good with yourself? Once you start to feel better about yourself existing exactly as you are without the constant pressure to keep up someone else's appearance? You'll start to see it for yourself.

"I am enough for me." That's all that matters.

#recovery #ptsd #trauma #mental health #boundaries #healing #healing thoughts #abandonment #rejection #rsd #rejection sensitivity #bpd #actually borderline #living with bpd #bpd fp #favorite person #borderline personality disorder #enmeshment #Codependency #communication #relationships #toxic relationships #abusive parents #abusive parenting

[burning-sol]

Whenever I think of Gillion I get so fucking sad because his greatest strength is the thing that hurts him the MOST.

There's so many instances where he tries to redeem people even if others wouldn't give them the light of day; he proclaims that he's willing to spend days, weeks, months of his life if it means he can heal everyone; he's willing to make almost whatever bargain it takes to make sure others aren't subjected to harm; he so often puts himself LITERALLY between his friends and those who are trying to harm them; he is willing to take off his armour and take a blow if it means he can help others.

He is always trying to build himself up as important but it's so obvious he's compensating for his lack of self worth (which he almost directly admitted one time). He fears that he has no worth outside of his duty as the chosen one; he has said that he doesn't care if he dies because that's just the way of nature; he thinks that whatever turn their journey takes it's just a part of destiny, this constant unavoidable weight that he can't change no matter how hard he tries. He treats himself like this nothingless, hollow shell that's only good for being tossed around and told what to do; and he will continue to take on whatever pain awaits him for as long as he believes his wellbeing is less valuable than others.

Gillion was raised to be in service to others instead of himself. It's so deeply embedded into him and fed back to him that it's been haunting him throughout the whole campaign. It is heart wrenching and terrifying to think that one day Gillion is going to get so ahead of himself that he ends up dying. #53 was perhaps one the closest cases we get to this actually happening. Gillion is the most selfless and heroic of the group to his own detriment. I love Gillion Tidestrider and it is VERY painful to watch him do all this, often with an upbeat, enthusiastic demeanour and a smile on his face.

#📚 my posts #📝 essays #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #gillion tidestrider

[copiousloverofcopia]

Hello Ghesties!

I am not going to lie to you all. This one is absolutely going to hurt. I will add a potential trigger warning below. Thank you all for reading my work and I hope you enjoy the sheer angst to come!

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️Discussion about Pregnancy termination/Abortion⚠️

*Special shoutout to @gothdaddyissues for the awesome dividers!

Something Blue

Sister of Sin Astrid is anything but excited for Cardinal Copia to return home from tour. As his assistant, she leads a life of monotony and boredom from which she longs for more. When the Cardinal returns, anointed as Papa Emeritus IV, she is faced with an unwanted and unavoidable situation predicated on her family’s position within the church. Will Astrid rise to what has been asked of her or will she destroy everything and leave it all behind?

Chapter 6: Something Real

Also available HERE on AO3. Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!!

The second-floor bathroom had never felt so cold. Deep in a long-abandoned section of the Ministry, now reserved mostly for storage, was the sound of a dripping sink. The deafening droplets, setting Astrid’s nerves on fire. Waiting for the cursed plastic stick to decide her fate.

She was already certain what it would say. Still deep down she prayed to Lucifer that she was wrong. That the suspicions growing ever since that night at dinner were her own anxiety and fear taking their toll. Each moment was torture, especially around Copia. Dying inside as she hid it all from him, the pain, the struggle, and the constant worry. 

She knew that her own reaction to this “blessed event” was met with fear and anger—something quite different from how he would take it. Her heart ached to think of it. The sheer elation and excitement Copia was sure to have towards the news. Only to be told it was ill-fated—not meant to be. 

It's almost over, she told herself. It had been a grueling week, and she was acutely aware that the moment she was chosen and announced as Prime Mover that all eyes were on her every move. Thankful to have managed to get a ghoulette to get one for her. Sneaking it in with her change of linens like some prisoner, just before the headed off to evening Mass. 

She took in a deep breath, gripping tightly to the stick before turning it over. Her vision focused on the two bright blue lines staring back at her. Astrid felt the air leave her lungs, like the world was crumbling around her. Crushed by this tiny thing—signaling her downfall. 

It was as loud and glaring as the trumpets of Heaven, said to sound at the end of the world. For Astrid, this was the end of the world. Tears, falling over her cheeks as she slid down the back of the bathroom door. The stick, still in her hands. Wishing she could wipe away that second line without ever having known it was there at all.

“Finalmente è finita.” Copia sighed, finishing up his filings for the Ministry expenses. The roller of the old cabinet drawer, catching as it always did. Eliciting a grumble, and a few curses, under his breath as he lifted it up and shoved it forcefully back in. Thankful that he was finally able to put that task to rest.  

He noticed that he was more impatient as of late. His patience for life's little inconveniences was wearing thin as his mind was always fixated on Astrid. Even before that night at dinner, he felt like something was going on with her. And after all he had seen and heard, his conclusion had been the only thing he could make logical sense of. Hoping that if it were true, she would tell him in time. 

Though as the days passed, and the night of the Prime Mover ritual drew nearer, Astrid hadn’t said a word. Copia was beginning to wonder if he had imagined it in his head. That all the signs and symptoms he had seen when one of the other sisters of sin had fallen pregnant, weren’t the same ones he had noticed with Astrid. Little did he know, he would get his answer that afternoon. 

Copia sat down at his desk, stretching back into his chair. His decidedly aching bones, cracking and popping at his change in position. Resigned to find something else to occupy his mind when he heard a knock at the door. Reluctantly he called in whomever was on the other side, not bothering to hide his annoyance with the audible groan in his voice. Surprised and thrilled however when it was Astrid’s face that came peering through the crack. 

“I am not interrupting anything am I?” she asked him, slowly coming through the doorway after verifying that the coast was clear. Glad that there was no one else there to witness them.  

“No, not all cara. Come in please, sit.” he told her, rising from his desk to meet with her on the large, black leather sofa across the room. Watching her face for any signs that might alert him as to why she was there. 

“I hope you are having a good afternoon.” she began, the odd pleasantries noted as Copia watched her fiddling with the hem of her habit. The low hum of Abbey lives, just discernible from the closed window. All of them blissfully unaware of the turmoil she was enduring. 

“I am, and the same for you I hope?” he asked her. Astrid felt short of breath. The weight of her news, heavy and unrelenting. She tried her best to ease into things, but she just couldn’t. 

“Copia—we need to talk.” she explained. 

“Ok.” he said. Smiling as he scooted close beside her. “I am all yours.” he told her. Watching as the weariness became more and more apparent on her face. Astrid, clearing her throat and doing all she could to hold back her tears. “Is everything alright?” 

“No…no it's not alright.” she sniffled back. Her body, stiff and tightening up all around. Curling in on itself like she wanted to ball up and disappear.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm pregnant.” she confessed. The words barely audible though Copia heard them loud and clear. He had been waiting for them and now they had finally come. He felt an immediate spark of elation. Thrilled that he would be the Papa to carry on the Emeritus line. That he was going to have everything he always wanted. It was only after that flicker of a thought that reality began to settle in. Looking at Astrid it was clear—something was wrong. 

“Pregnant. Are you sure?” he asked her. Trying to remain neutral toned. Delicately hiding his own feelings until he could make out hers. Then Astrid smiled. Not the kind of smile Copia himself was fighting back, tugging with joy at the edge of his mouth. No., it was the kind that comes from denial—from shock. How quickly her smile fell to tears proved it.

“I am sure.” she confirmed, her eyes quickly becoming red. 

“Oh amore…it’s alright.” Copia smiled, pulling Astrid over to him. Holding her as the resolve she had clung to fell apart the moment she felt the warmth of his arms. Sobbing uncontrollably as he held tightly to her. Kissing the top of her head and waiting for a moment to reassure her once more. 

“Astrid, amore mio. I promise you things will be alright. I know this isn’t exactly how it was supposed to go but…” he continued until she unexpectedly cut him off.

“I can’t have it.” Astrid blurted out. Pulling away from Copia and turning her back to him. Ashamed to look him in the eye. Knowing just how crushed he would be staring back at her. Her face buried in her hands as she continued to cry. 

“What?” he asked softly, hoping with every fiber of his being he hadn’t heard her right. His heart sinking deep in his chest. The words like shards of glass, piercing him. Tearing him up inside.

Astrid knew he more than anyone, Copia wanted a family. She just couldn’t. How could she bring a child into the world, she herself at times despised. Recalling images of her mother and the Ministry’s control. All of it like looming glimpses of her wretched future. She would be stuck, trapped, regretful if she kept it.  

“Copia…please. I know you heard me.” 

“No…Astrid. You can’t mean it.” he reasoned, rocked to his core by her words. 

“I do mean it. I can’t be a mother. I—I….” she cried, choking on her tears. Her chest burning and her stomach flipping. 

“You’re afraid.” 

“Yes.” she admitted, though it wasn’t enough.

“I know it won't be easy, but Astrid, we can make it.” Copia began again trying to reason with her. Desperately hoping to change her mind. That suddenly she’d turn around and they would embrace. Holding on to one another as their child peacefully slumbering in her womb

“No Copia, I can’t—I won’t.” 

“Who knows?” 

“Just us. I want it to stay that way. If anyone else were to find out I would be forced to carry it. Like some proper Ministry breeding cattle. I won’t do it.” she hissed, hoping that Copia wouldn’t tell them. 

“That's not what you are Astrid, and you know it.” Copia yelled, hoping off the sofa and pacing the room in anger. 

“I thought you should know.” she told him when he turned to her, his face covered in tears. The pain he was feeling inside, written all over his face. 

“Why? Why come tell me?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his tears. 

“I—” 

“You what? Thought you would come here to tell me that you are carrying our child just so you can—can.” he sobbed.

“Copia I am sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“Sorry? For what Astrid. For telling me that you want to…to…sweet Satan I can’t even say it.” Copia cried, pulling at the tufts of gray hair along his temples. His head and heart, aching and blood boiling with the thought of what she wanted to do. 

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning. It will be over soon. I wanted you to know I will be leaving too. I know it will be too hard for both of us for me to stay around after.” 

“So that's it? You already thought everything through, and I don’t even get a say?” Copia growled. Angry at himself for having said it. Knowing it was and always would be her choice, but it killed him to know that he was this close—they both were so close to happiness, and she refused to see it. Their child, a casualty of her own fear and self-loathing.  

“I’m sorry.” Astrid said once more, standing from the sofa and ready to leave Copia for the last time. When he suddenly took hold of her arms. Forcing her to sit back down on the sofa. Determined to have one last say before he would allow her to leave. 

“No…you’re going to hear what I have to say.” he demanded. The rage and hurt in his eyes, making Astrid feel scared of him for the first time ever. “This thing between us… Astrid it's real. The love I feel for you is the most real thing I have ever felt in my life. I know we can do this together.”

“Copia…”

“No, don’t. I know that's why you are so scared. Afraid to become like your mother. Afraid to lose who you are, but you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” she replied, tears once again trickling from her eyes. 

“Neither do you.” 

“This…what happened between us was…it never should have happened.” Astrid told him. Her hardened eyes staring up at him as he hovered above her. Blocking her from leaving until he had his say. 

“Please Astrid...” he cried, angry at her for the lies. He knew as well as she did that they were in love. Why would she be so cruel to deny it, to take away everything. 

“Copia, it was a mistake!” she yelled, ready to push past him when he fell to the floor. Weeping on his knees before her.  His broken frame, shaking with grief. His soul crying out to the universe and begging her to reconsider. 

“Please don’t Astrid. I love you. I already love our baby. Please. Non porre fine alla vita di nostro figlio. Ti scongiuro.” he begged. Astrid felt like she wanted to die. She didn’t want things to be this way. Loving him was one thing, but a child? That meant she was no longer her own person. Bound to the Papacy—to the Ministry. Thinking of what a mistake she would be as a mother. Resentful to a child, like her mom was with her.

“Papa.” she said standing up, Copia held tight to her waist. Crying against the small of her belly. Embracing Astrid and his child in his arms as best he could. Begging her not to go through with it. “I have to go.” she told him, pushing past his quivering grasp and quickly making her way out the door. Copia left on the floor, knowing that despite it all, he would never be able to stop her from doing what she wanted. A truth that haunted his very soul.  

Notes:

Finalmente è finita.- Finally that's over with.

Non porre fine alla vita di nostro figlio. Ti scongiuro.- Don’t end our child’s life. I beg you. 

#something blue #copia x astrid #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

[indiana-jonas]

I will never find my art style

“Finding my art style” sounds great, but it’s one of the biggest clichés that artists repeat. Nobody has ever had a moment, where after years of drawing, it just clicks and they miraculously draw in a different way.

Language shape our reality and expectations, so what we should say instead is “develop” or “refine my art style.”

“Finding my art style” is misleading, because once you’ve “found it,” you will get tired of it. Everybody gets bored of repeating themselves. Taste change with time. It’s the same for everything. One of the beauties of life is that we are allowed to change and evolve.

About every two or three years I grow bored of the way I draw. Drawing becomes automatic, a step-by-step process. Which is great as long as it’s fun or if I’m on a project. But sometimes it becomes unbearable, I just gotta trash some habits and do a little noodling in search of a new twist. Right now I wanna be messier.

I’m having a lot of fun playing around with less perfect shapes and wobblier lines.

I know once I’ve found that sweet, messy spot, I will unavoidably feel stagnant and come back to that exploration. It’s a constant process.

I never made a huge discovery, it’s always been small things - it’s just that I’ve done it so many times. The little tweaks accumulated over the years and I ended up somewhere unexpected. Every little discovery mattered. The fun of it is to not know where I am gonna end up. One day I might lay out every picture I ever made, in order, look at them and say “ofc that’s where it was going all along.”

Developing an art style is a good pursuit. For an artist, it’s a journey of defining and discovering yourself. It’s feels like I pull a piece of my insides out when I make a picture that looks the way I feel inside. It’s a great feeling.

But it’s not all about looks, it’s also about what you draw and what you say. What you should really try to find is a way to make a distillation of your vibe.

#artists on tumblr #indiana-jonas #illustration #writing for artists #art style #writing #art tutorial

[hythlodaes]

in your blood

emile x estinien / 3.5k words  cw: hw spoilers, drg spoilers, parent death

This is where it changes. This is where, when he looks back, he’ll be able to see why it happened the way it did. He’ll understand that this defines the thing he can’t yet give a name to—what goes beyond the mission before them and strips them down to who they are entirely, why it will always come back to Estinien.

Habits form slowly. 

Habits require dedication, commitment, and the long stretch of time before any task becomes second nature, without effort or thought. Emile has always been sure about this—it’s what wakes him early, often halfway through his morning stretches before his mind catches up with him. It’s what’s shaped him into what he is now—years of practice with striking dummies, with sparring partners, until the constant repetition turned him from a fool with a lance into something of a warrior. 

His habit of speaking with Estinien until the early hours of the morning formed so quickly, he isn’t sure it can be called a habit at all. 

What happens that night in Tailfeather breaks down the barrier that lays between them, and what begins, doesn’t end. Even on their weariest days of travel, even after their most brutal fights, they still find each other, often slipping away or sitting too close, heads bent together, voices kept low.  

Neither of them are much for sleep anyway, but something about the dark draws them closer, makes it easier to talk. What starts as quiet, stilted conversations turns into trading stories back and forth—Estinien’s often need to be prompted, but Emile is always drawn in by the way his deep voice softens. Emile himself talks more than he normally does, worry creeping in from time to time that it’s too much, but when he glances at Estinien there’s a certain peace in his expression, something attentive and gentle in comparison to the harshness he wears during the day. 

And some nights all they do is sit beside each other in silence, and this, too, feels right. 

They stay up until the world shifts into something brighter, until they have to hasten to catch a few hours of sleep before the day begins in earnest. It almost feels secretive—time stolen away together, like stepping away from this world and getting a chance to know each other beyond the obstacles that have come between them. 

Emile knows things are different by the time they reach the Churning Mists. He’d felt it on his and Alphinaud’s return trip to Gridania, the strange shock of missing Estinien running through his mind as he lay awake each night alone. He feels it now as the winds howl, replaying their conversation in his head as he stares at the multitude of scattered stars above him. Lest they breed more vengeful souls like mine, Estinien had said, contending with Ysayle to make good on her convictions. 

It’s a wonder any of them sleep, with the prospect of meeting Hraesvelgr in the morning, with the chill of the night causing Emile to shake even as close as he curls up next to the slowly dimming fire. 

He turns his head towards it, watching the flame catch with the wind and die back down again, its warmth there for a moment and then gone. When he casts his sight beyond it, he meets Estinien’s gaze already intent on him, and a different kind of warmth steals over him and stays.

They merely watch each other for a moment—the starlight turns Estinien’s hair silver, shadows line the sharp planes of his face—but it’s another second, that’s all it takes to pass understanding between them. 

One, two—

The nights are theirs, after all. 

Emile rises, keeping his steps quiet as he moves his bedroll beside Estinien’s. He can feel the other dragoon watching him but he focuses on settling down, close enough to touch but still out of reach. They lay on their sides facing each other, and finally he lifts his gaze, looking into steel shadowed eyes. 

There are many intimacies to be shared on a trip like this—something unavoidable spending so much time in close quarters, but it’s different like this, in sleep. The soft vulnerability of Estinien before him makes his mind spin a little, makes him want to brush his fingertips along his brow, push his bangs back and feel the touch of his skin. A foolish thought to be sure, but it crosses his mind all the same. 

“Are you cold?” Emile asks, his voice quiet but still a shock in the silence of the night. He rests his head against the crook of his elbow and keeps his other arm close to his chest. 

“Not nearly as cold as you look.” 

“Well,” Emile says, realizing just how tightly he’s clutching his cloak around him. “Forgive me for freezing my bollocks off.” 

Estinien lets out an exhale of a laugh, Emile’s favorite hint of a smile on his lips as he says, “I’m used to the cold.”

“Mayhap I should’ve stayed in Moghome longer, then.” 

“Do not mention that accursed place.” 

The words are said with such disdain that Emile has to hide his face in the crook of his elbow to keep himself from laughing, peeking up at Estinien only to the sight of that same small smile on his lips. Something like affection burns through his chest at the sight, but it’s merely a passing thought; something he won’t acknowledge. 

“You’ll wake the others,” Emile says, not a hint of admonishment in his voice. Estinien watches him for a moment before turning his attention past his shoulder, where Ysayle, Alphinaud, and Moghan sleep soundly. When their eyes meet again it’s with a pause, an understanding—communication without a word. 

Then they’re both up, lances in hand as they take to the ruined path to the east. It’s a clear night. Nidhogg’s Aery hangs in the sky above them, distant and yet unavoidably present, but the sight of the stars is calming. Emile can barely make out the constellations in the crowded sky, the flowers at their feet a reflection of them, turning their golden, glowing faces to the heavens as the wind shakes them in place. 

“Let us not wander too far,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I would not want them to worry, should they wake and find us gone.” 

“Concern yourself naught, Warrior of Light, just up ahead here.” He gestures to one of the towers before them, its silhouette rising in the dark. They don’t speak as they ascend the steps that wind up the perimeter, but they make quick work of the climb with their long strides. At the top, the whole world opens to them, a sea of forgotten ruins under the moonless night, still shining, still alive. 

A feeling rises in Emile’s chest, something like awe that trembles through him with the cold. It loosens the weight in the back of his mind, and the two of them stand together, shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the stone parapet. He looks over at Estinien, ponytail swaying with the breeze, clear eyes lined in silver—he’s like a ghost, like something came back to life but only halfway, and it makes sense somehow, the whisper of him, starlight tracing the hard line of his lips. For a second, for just one fleeting moment, Emile wonders what it would be like to meet his mouth with his own. 

But then Estinien’s gaze snaps over to his, and he forces himself to look back at the horizon. 

“As a boy I dreamed of places like this,” Emile says. “For all that we have done and seen, it still comes as a surprise somehow. Even looking at it now I can scarcely believe that it’s real.” 

It’s been landscape after passing landscape, each sight more incredible than the last. He’s traveled so much these past two years, but he’ll never get used to how different each place is, how rich with new life, new people. It’s what he’s come to love, what’s brought him new joy on this journey that has been so trying at times. 

There is always a reason to keep going, one way or another. 

Estinien still watches him, and Emile’s brows turn down as he looks over to meet his gaze. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” Estinien answers, but he finally looks away. “Merely that I have witnessed you lay down enemies that would strike fear into any man’s heart, and yet to see you admire a landscape with such wonder in your eyes...”

Emile can’t help but smile. “Is it truly so odd?” 

“Nay, ‘tis good to see.” 

His smile wavers. “And what do you think?” 

Estinien returns his attention to him, and with their eyes on each other, the great expanse around them narrows in on this small space between them. “You know I’ve had but one purpose, and to be so close, I find my mind occupied by little else.”

“Oh,” Emile says. He lets out a slow breath, turning his attention back to the view, eyes now fixed on the Aery. “I will not pretend to misunderstand.” 

“You never do,” he murmurs. “You have seen the hatred that lives in me, and yet you remain without judgment.” 

Emile presses his lips together—he has the feeling this isn’t something said in the spur of the moment. He wonders if he’s wrong sometimes, but some part of him can’t help but encourage Estinien’s desire for vengeance. Estinien never hides it, always at the tip of his tongue, always spilling out to be seen. It lives and breathes with him, this underlying thing, and yet Emile has seen it strike him low. He has seen the way it’s worn him down, the way his desperation called forth forbidden power against Alberic, against Emile, and yet he hasn’t said a word of criticism. 

When Emile thinks of the boy who lost his home, who lost his family to blazing dragonfire, he dreams of killing Nidhogg himself. 

“We’re not so dissimilar, you know,” he says, watching the way Estinien’s brow turns the slightest bit down. Emile pauses as he realizes what he’s about to admit, but he thinks back on all that they’ve been through, the way Estinien has shown him this vulnerability, and realizes this needs to be said. “I fear that vengeance is my true master. No matter how noble or good my cause, I cannot remove the blade from my heart.”

Estinien doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Emile supposes that it wouldn’t make sense at first. Emile never outwardly shows it or speaks on it. He nurses the pain on his own, he’s let its roots grow deep inside him, until his grief became indistinguishable from any other part of him. Even out of the Scions, Minfilia is the only one who knew. There was a time when he felt like he could tell her anything, and as close as they were, she understood.

It’s not as though it’s some great secret, but it’s hard to talk about.  

Estinien tilts his head slightly, the light gliding over the curve of his jaw, shifting into his hair and highlighting the line of his ear. He is all sharp edges softened, something beautiful in spite of it all. 

Perhaps it only feels like it takes a long time for him to say, “Tell me.” 

Emile looks down at his hands. “It isn’t a weight I share lightly.”

“Yet I would still bear it to understand.”

One breath. Another. This is where it changes. This is where, when he looks back, he’ll be able to see why it happened the way it did. He’ll understand that this defines the thing he can’t yet give a name to—what goes beyond the mission before them and strips them down to who they are entirely, why it will always come back to Estinien. 

It begins and ends with this:

“The Empire killed my father,” Emile says, spitting the words out, and just like that, it’s over. Just like that, it’s done. There is no going back now. “I was thirteen, and all I could do was watch it happen.”

It’s quiet enough that he can hear the subtle hitch in Estinien’s breath. Emile curls his hands into fists, trying to keep his voice steady. “I wasn't supposed to be there. They came in the early morning, before anyone had a chance to put up a defense. My father told me to run with everyone else, to go with my mother and sisters while he stayed behind, and then he was gone—he didn’t hesitate to protect us.”

He was a hero, and he was Emile’s world. He used to carry him on his shoulders through the woods of Gridania, giving names to all the different flora and fauna, the world seemingly so much bigger from that height. They would spend long afternoons fishing in the creeks that flowed some distance past their village—they never caught much but they’d eat lunch in the dappled shade, a happiness threaded through the simplicity of it. His father would tell him and his sisters stories about his adventuring days to get them to sleep at night, back when their parents would tuck them into the same bed, and Emile would always stay awake after, imagining himself beside him—always with the idea of the two of them traveling the realm together.

Sometimes Emile tries to remember what he looked like, but often sees his own face now—the same deep brown eyes, the same hook of his nose, the freckles that dot his cheeks. He puts the pieces together from memories that only grow more distant, a murky reflection of the truth long past. What does it mean to build your life on tragedy? How do you separate it from who you are?

He takes a shaky breath and continues, “I think you should know me well enough to know that I did not run.”

“Aye,” Estinien says, the word just barely there. 

“My mother bade me to stay with her. I suppose she already knew what was going to happen, as some part of me must have as well, though I was foolish enough to believe that I could prevent it. I wish I could laugh now at how ridiculous I must have looked, just a child running onto the street with one of his father’s lances. I thought I could help him protect our village.” 

And it’s this that makes him finally seek out Estinien’s gaze. He understands the strength and skill it takes to wield a lance, he knows what it was like to be an Elezen boy, still so small and powerless. He would know how pointless Emile’s endeavor was from this alone. 

When their eyes meet, it settles the uncertainty in Emile’s chest. 

“He was only giving you time,” Estinien concludes. 

“Aye,” he says with a sigh. “It was madness—such useless, overwhelming violence. I looked everywhere for him, but amid the death around me I could feel my time running out.” 

Minfilia called it courage when he told her. She’d said that it spoke of who he was to continue on at the risk of his own life, but it wasn’t—it was desperation, a child’s folly to think themself capable of saving the world. 

“Indeed, I was too late,” he says. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest, his breath fast and shallow as he struggles to hold back the memory of his father bleeding out, the way Emile turned him onto his back, lance forgotten behind him. My dear boy. Emile couldn’t understand the happiness in his eyes, then, why he looked so relieved. 

Now he knows how people just want to be with someone they love when the end comes. 

“I wanted to stay with him,” Emile says, the words strained. “He used his last words to tell me to run, but again I would not listen.” 

Look away, my son. Think only of your mother and your sisters. 

Emile’s first battle, and his father’s last. 

“In truth, I do not remember what happened after he passed, only that I awoke in a chirurgeon with naught but this wound.”

He turns his head, fingertips ghosting along his jaw to touch at the scar the curves down his cheek. He watches Estinien’s eyes trace along it, something like pity, like anger, like understanding in his eyes. 

“Since that day,” Emile continues, “I swore that I would do everything in my power to avenge him. It was the only thought on my mind when I began my training.” 

His voice drifts off with the wind filling the silence that now lays between them, and for a moment Emile wishes that he could draw the words back in his mouth. The vulnerability lays him bare, the familiar weight of his grief sinks in his chest, and Estinien looks down at his hands beside him, his long pale fingers splayed against dark stone. 

But then there’s his harsh voice against the gentle night: “You were just a child.”

As were you, Emile wants to say. He wants to touch him. He wants to wrap him in his arms, hold him close, grip tight, until the pain ebbs away. We should not have had to bear such losses so young. 

But then Estinien lifts his gaze, a determined glint in his eyes as he says, “Should I fulfill my mission, should I survive the inevitable encounter and slay Nidhogg, then know that I would help you seek out those who fill your heart with this same hatred.” 

Emile’s stomach twists at the thought of Estinien dying, of whatever is going to happen and cannot be stopped now, but he can’t ignore the offer. “One quest of revenge for another?” 

Estinien gives him a single nod. “Too many do not understand.” 

“Aye,” he agrees. “But I would not loosen this binding until the whole Empire falls, for it is no longer my father alone that I fight.” 

He thinks of Noraxia, the slightest weight of the Sylph in his arms, guilt and grief like a rock in his stomach as he returned her to Little Solace. How many more must they lose to the Empire? How can he be so malleable by tragedy? 

“Besides, slaying Nidhogg is no small feat,” he says. “Know that I will lend you my strength in it as well.” 

“Two Azure Dragoons fighting as one,” Estinien muses. “He stands not a chance.” 

They both know that it won’t be that simple, but still he offers Estinien a small smile, and for a long time they stand side by side, leaning against the parapet as the stars turn in the sky. All this quiet and all this calm—it’s easy to forget a world so touched by violence. Yet here they are, evidence of it otherwise: vengeful men that have grown from wounded boys. 

Neither of them say anything else, but they stay until the sky threatens to pale. Emile lays his hand on Estinien’s shoulder then, just for a moment, and the two of them make their way back to camp. It’s a strange feeling to know that Estinien shares this part of him now, that he owns this little piece that makes up so much of who Emile is, but there is no regret in his heart. 

It’s when the dim light of the campfire comes into view that Estinien stops. Emile turns back to him, a question in his eyes that his friend won’t meet. 

“It is his blood in your veins, Emile,” he says. “I understand now why you never hesitate to protect others.”

And Emile can only take in a sharp breath—a heavy feeling works through his chest that he has to ignore. All he’s ever wanted was to hold onto this fleeting connection with his father, what grows only more distant as the years separate them. To hear these words—

“Forgive me,” Emile says, his voice thick with emotion. He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

Estinien nods, and they return to camp without another word. Emile’s eyes land on their bedrolls still tucked next to each other, and he could see it so easily: the two of them laying close together, Emile laying his hand in the space between them for Estinien to take, the way he’d fall asleep with the simple reassurance of his touch. 

But as it is, he picks up his bedroll and moves it back to his original place by the fire. When he looks to Estinien, they watch each other for just a little longer, easier now from a distance. It means something else now—to see him and be seen in return, to give visibility to this weakness, to the thing that festers, to the thing that grieves. 

In the dwindling moments before sleep takes him, his focus shifts to the mission before them, and he looks back up at the incredible structure that looms over their camp. A familiar thought comes, one that has crossed his mind time and again on this journey:

I think you would have liked it here. 

He glances over once more, this time to the sight of the top of Estinien’s head as he now lays on his side, curled in on himself close to the fire despite the way he claimed to be unaffected by the cold. Emile smiles. 

I think you would have liked him. 

#i was still in hw when i started this ssklfjsdfdsf #it's about the vulnerability ;-; #knowing that it only goes downhill for a hot minute for them is breaking my heart a lil #but once we get past that <: #they're so funny tho they're both like. i have a fat crush on you let me ruin the vibe about it <3 #my writing #oc: emile #emile/estinien #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #oc: emile jenidaut

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

kala and june (I've become so very attached to june just fyi lol)?

What is your muse’s opinion about flower crowns? Does your muse like rain? Is your muse good with keeping on schedule for meetings, appointments, or events, or are they always late? Or, are they always a bit early? Does your muse prefer coffee or tea?

[ask game]

Hehehe June is spreading like a fungus >:]

❀: What is your muse’s opinion about flower crowns?

Kala: Lovely! In general she likes flowers as an accessory a lot, and feels very pristine and pretty when Ali or Zev or Rica braids flowers into her beard or hair :)

June: Not really for her, but pretty on others! She'll help decorate Bull's horns in flowers, or make a crooked (<- not on purpose, she just isn't very good at it lol) little crown for Cullen because it seems to get him flustered in a good way (he doesn't tell her abt the whole Fereldan flower crown proposal thing). She might even let Cole put Flowers in her hair, but just because it's Cole.

☂: Does your muse like rain?

Kala: Sort of? It took some time to get used to it, but Ferelden has a lot of it, so it was unavoidable in any case lol. She does love mud and the fresh smell of petrichor, but rain is also annoying and inconvenient a lot of the time and changes the feel and sound of everything which is disorienting, so at the end of the day her opinion is split. Definitely doesn't hate it, though.

June: Likes rain! Except when she hates it. It can get in the way no question, and she has cursed rain more than once when it hit while they were out on missions with no quick way to get dry, or when it messed with her magic setups and made combat needlessly difficult (her main elements are fire and lighting, after all). When she has a choice to go out in the rain though? Take a steed and race through the rain? Sit up on a roof and get lost in the soundscape? Wonderful.

⌚: Is your muse good with keeping on schedule for meetings, appointments, or events, or are they always late? Or, are they always a bit early?

Kala: Her inner clock def got messed up when she came to the surface; what do you mean there is a light/dark cycle? What do you mean it changes depending on region and time of year? And she has to readjust every time she comes back to the surface from Orzammar or the Deep Roads. But when it comes to keeping to a schedule or estimating times, she is on point.

June: She is. So Bad at keeping track of time. Time is slippery and fake and she has a very very poor sense of the passage of time, as well as an ever active train of thought, so remembering appointments and the like is super hard for her. She tries, for Josie's sake, but it's still very hard for her without constant reminders from outsite.

☕: Does your muse prefer coffee or tea?

Kala: I wanna say tea, and fruity teas especially. Bean juice is.. okay. She likes the kick it gives, and she likes the bitter ones, but would rather drink black tea instead, honestly.

June: Not a big fan of either, but if she had to choose, then coffee. "Drink coffe" they said, "it will keep you awake and focused" they said. All lies. But still better than leaf water.

#ty for the ask! these were fun hehe :] #oc: june trevelyan #oc: kalagna brosca #my ocs #oc ask game/ my answers

[jahanmp4]

“The peak of beauty is blooming” is such a grim sentence when you think about it.

Beauty is at its peak when in bloom, but will unavoidably wither afterwards, and gone it will be. A human could be called “past their prime” once their face starts to “wither” (the apparition of wrinkles), and most people love plants the best when they're in bloom, which only lasts a season.

It is clear that this sentence references k!Louis' unchanging features. He is immortal, he will always be “in full bloom” no matter how old he gets, he's quite literally frozen in time, and can control it, at least to some extent ???

[Unless him stopping time in LLTK was just for shits and giggles idk]

It always intrigued me as to why k!Louis was the King of Beauty/Aesthetics. He is the only king who arguably rules over, first of all, a CONCEPT, but also, a philosophical notion. Aesthetics are all about human perception and what is pleasing to us, but why ?

[I would argue that k!Dann's concept of Change could be taken literally, and his kingdom is called “Door to the Four Seasons” so that's a natural change to begin with.]

Did he become the King of Beauty solely because of his immortal status or was it a title he got from the beginning since he is, indeed, beautiful. k!Dann offers him a rosebud in LLTK, which symbolises young love, but also means that whomever receives it is beautiful/pure/innocent etc. LLTK's first sung line is literally “A child stuck in a time of loneliness”.

[I find it kind of sweet that k!Dann offers him this rose lol]

The painting also gets cracked. Though an obvious reference to The Picture of Dorian Gray, who was obsessed with looking young and beautiful (he would've loved Lana Del Rey), k!Louis' painting doesn't get old, it just simply becomes older itself as an object which is super interesting on so many different levels. First of all, when k!Louis looks at the painting, I'm not seeing any scorn or anger, only sadness and melancholy in Louis' eyes. The painting itself is doing something k!Louis himself isn't capable of and that's absolutely tragic. Second of all, it pulls us back to this concept of beauty that is put upon something or someone, and MAYBE, and that's a big maybe, k!Louis' definition of beauty is getting old, being normal.

Something that could also be a stretch but you know what I can do whatever I want HAH is that, not only do the masquerades in the MV refer to Mujin's line “Unfamiliar masks are dancing in the hall”, it could also represent k!Louis' unwillingness to like, see other people, and watch them grow old while he remains unchanged. He feels constant distress but the lyrics state several times that what keeps him going is his inner flame and his willingness to protect his kingdom : my man is SUFFERING. I wouldn't be surprised if it were canon that masquerades were mandatory at any parties k!Louis attends in Rose Garden. I think it's obvious his kingdom knows about his condition, you cannot hide your immortality when you are the king, so the masks aren't a way for him to conceal himself, but rather to put everyone on an equal footing of remaining unknown and a big part of their faces hidden.

It's also even eerier that the last thing we hear in Intro : Requiem is “Long live the king”. Now if you didn't know, this is part of a two sentence French saying that goes “The king is dead, long live the king !” («Le roi est mort, vive le roi !») as a way to acknowledge the person next in succession after a king's passing. There is no “The king is dead”, only “Long live the king”, because, well, k!Louis is immortal, yet the choreographer really wanted to represent Louis XVIth getting dragged to his death sentence *shlink* which is why Louis gets pulled backwards with the metal bars by the backup dancers. So there is some finality to k!Louis' story, to some extent.

LLTK's lyrics talk about a moment where good and evil collide and an inner-darkness that k!Louis chases off with his light until the sun rises (Jahan what the fuck are you doing my guy people are dying where are you), so he's holding on until the sun comes back. What will happen then actually ????? Will he finally come back to being mortal ??? I so wish that's the case, because this poor man seems nothing but miserable, just like the other kings to be honest.

Anyways, this was my 3-4am brainrot. Good night !

#kingdom #kingdom kpop #kingdom louis #3am brainrot has begun #but truly why is louis the king of beauty/aesthetic out of all the stuff out there #like why is he the only one being the king of an almost philosophical notion question mark x300 #kingdom brainrot #kingdom theory time #I used “k!” as a way to say “king” to avoid confusing between the lore and the idol

[jesuschristlordofglory]

—MESSAGE #4—

📖~Ecclesiastes 7: 14~ "When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider this: God has made the one as well as the other. Therefore, no one can discover anything about their future."

Thoughts on the good and bad moments of life that happen simultaneously:

✨ Celebrating one thing while mourning another. It's the best of times and the worst of times. God has a way of blending in the good with the bad, causing both to happen simultaneously. Instead of experiencing positive moments apart from the negative ones, they frequently coexist alongside one another, usually creating separation between the hearts and minds of believers and those who denounce the faith.

The highs and lows of your life are demanding a certain level of equilibrium, resulting in an unwanted and unavoidable state of being that produces doubt, uncertainty, and bewilderment. An unnatural state of numbness that is neither happy nor sad and leaves you feeling glad but depressed; hopeful but torn asunder. A neutral state of mind that is neither positive nor negative. At this point, you could take it or leave it. Either way, you are left feeling shorthanded and undeserving because it wasn't what you had expected, nothing like you had imagined it, and totally opposite of what you had hoped for.

The greatest thing you can do while struggling to find color in a blackandwhite existence is to fully embrace the good and the bad simultaneously, to welcome both and not resist one or the other; to develop a better understanding that without one, the other is not possible; to acknowledge and respect the timeline of events in your life strong enough to restore balance between what is good and what is bad, what is right and what is wrong, what is positive and what is negative, what is light and what is dark.

Your proclivities and tendencies are all rooted in human nature and pull more heavily from one than the other. You may have several reasons to be happy along with several reasons to be sad, but ultimately choose sadness as a constant source of exasperation because you let what went wrong and what you didn't get to become more apparent than what went right and what you do have in life. Be careful not to take for granted the life-changing opportunity to embrace life in its entirety, too busy gloating over what should be celebrated, allowing negativity to drag you down by the neck and hold you back from learning how to appreciate life as is.

Without the low valleys in your life, there would be no high mountain tops, either. Without the negative, there would be no positive. Without the bad, there would be no good. Without sorrow, there would be no joy. Without worry, there would be no peace. Without bitterness, there would be no contentment. It's important for you to be flexible and shift between the opposites and not get stuck. Stuck in the lows. Stuck in the negative. Stuck in the dark. Stuck in what used to be. Stuck in what didn't go as planned. Stuck in what you refuse to believe. Give yourself permission to make the best of both worlds, to use situations beyond your control to your advantage, moving from happy to sad and then back to happy, not getting stuck in one and missing out on what the other has to offer.

If you feel sad when you should be happy or negative when you should be positive, know there is a bridge connecting the two extremes. A way for you to cross over pain and get to healing. A way for you to cross over heartache and get to comfort. A way for you to cross over shame and guilt and finally get to joy and peace. A way for you to cross over humanity and get to divinity. The bridge is, was, and always will be JESUS CHRIST, the Only Begotten Son of God, the King of Kings, the Lion and the Lamb, the Savior of All Mankind, the Lord of Hope and Eternal Glory. With sincere reverence and humility, go to Jesus in prayer and talk to Him about what is happening in your life—including the ugly stuff—and He will safely see you through to the other side. ✨

—Written by Joshua Norgaar

LIKE and SHARE my Facebook page || Jesus Christ, Lord of Glory || and follow us on Tumblr to gain full access to original content that will bless you extraordinarily!

#faith in jesus

[sustainably-du-mortain]

hi i would like to know face, canvas and informal from the character design asks for madeleine and côme ty (@ do-this-for-me)

Thanks a lot for the ask!!

Face - Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Madeleine

Her kindness literally shows on her face. Everything about her features is soft and gentle. She has very round cheeks tinted with a constant blush. She wears her hair loose for the most part, only tiying back with a bow the first few strands that fall in her face and she's got a little bang. Soft dark brown eyes, glinting with knowledge. Her smile is the thing that people notice the most upon meeting her. She's always smiling and gosh her smile is blinding. It's not just a slight tug of her lips, it's a full-on smile that brings out her dimples and make her eyes squint a little. It would make anyone fall in love with her on the spot.

Côme

Slyness is written all over their face. They've got hazel eyes that glint with mischief, a constant grin which screams that they're up to no good. A little bit of stubble that they grow before shaving it all because it grows a little weird and they do not like it. A slim face that lets their surprisingly sharp jaw show. The thing that people always notice first is their hair. They have a a very big, very fluffy, very curly wolf cut mullet. But it's the not the mullet per say that people notice the most, but the red dye. They regularly change hair color but at the moment they've had it a bright red for over almost a year and they haven't grown tired of it yet.

Canvas - Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Madeleine

She has a scar on both sides of her left wrist (above and under) because she broke her arm as a kid and needed a cast, but when the doctors took it off, they cut her skin. She's also acquired quite a few scar since working with UB: the one on her neck that she got when Murphy bit her, and a few scattered all over her bodies from cuts and wounds that didn't heal properly. She has her ears pierced, but no other piercings. And she doesn't have any tattoos either. She's not one to hide her scars but she doesn't display them either. The scars are just there, sometimes they show from underneath her clothes, but she doesn't care.

Côme

They've got quite the bunch of scars from skateboarding. Most are on their legs, but they've also got a few on their elbows and arms. They've also got the ones from when they had their appendix removed as a teen. They've got a burn on their left hand from when they accidentally dropped a bit of acid on it during a lab class in uni. They also have the bite scar on thier neck from Murphy and the few unavoidable scars from working with UB. They've got their ears in multiple areas and they've also got a septum piercing. As for tattoos they also have quite a few. It's mostly tattoos that remind them of their comfort shows/characters (The pendant on Scoobs collar, Morph from treasure planet...). They also have a few science related ones (pluto, their favorite periodic element...). And more random ones that I have yet to define.

Informal - What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

Madeleine

Maddie's wardrobe has a very cottagecore/little house on the prairie kind of vibe. Especially her lazy outfits. She adores those very flowy dresses and apron dresses and they're usually her go to outfits when she doesn't want to bother about dressing up. She'll also let her haird completely loose with no bow, or tie them in a little bun if she's planning on sewing or cooking that day.

Côme

Côme's wardrobe mostly consists of colorful shorts and the first t-shirt/sweater they grab, usually one with a cartoon character on them. Which honestly doesn't change that much from their everyday clothes.

Character design asks

#can you tell that I'm not really good at describing people? #but thanks a lot for giving me the chance to ramble about these two #lux💓 #oc: côme hawthorne #oc: madeleine kingston #twc detective #ask game #ali's headcanons

[staycalmandhugaclone]

oh x y and z would be interesting for the fanfic ask game 🫣

Hello cute, shy little anon!!! (I adore anons because it grants this air of freedom from any judgement, so people feel safe enough to ask the deep, dark, nitty-gritties. I live for the deep, dark, nitty-gritties!)

Okay! So! X: A character I enjoy making suffer.

I hope you weren't expecting quick, straightforward answers... I enjoy making the ones I most love suffer WAIT WAIT LEMME ESPLAIN! There is a depth of character and an understanding of self that can't be found without hardship. The more painful the hardship, the more complete the understanding. Suffering doesn't necessarily change a person so much as emphasize an aspect of themselves that hasn't NEEDED to be cultivated or even acknowledged. So, I make them suffer, and we both grow a bit because of it.

There's a part 2 to this answer: Additionally, I see hope in suffering (at least in the way I and many others write it) because we control the ending. That means we're able to grant them the conclusion we may not have been able to find in our own trauma, and there's something incredibly healing in that. Here's this character who went through something horrible that I can personally relate to and LOOK! They survived! They survived and they're happy and maybe that means I can have that too!

Next! Y: A character you want to protect.

Crosshair

Next!

Jk, okay so this one is actually harder to answer because protecting someone also inhibits all that lovely growth and self-discovery I just ranted about. I think there's a balance, though, that needs to be found between causing suffering and providing protection. That's why I love Doc so much. With her, I can offer them a sense of safety through their suffering. The goal is to give them a reason to grow and evolve, not to break them, and, with Doc, I can make sure they always feel like there's a gentleness there to catch them no matter what happens, and it's unconditional and honest and limitless in a way that they've never had before.

And Z: Major character death - do you ever write/ read it? Is there a character who's death you can't tolerate?

Woooooo-kay. Short answer: no. Long answer: I've been witness to enough death. I watched cancer slowly destroy my father just years after finally getting him back in my life (we were estranged until I was 8), living on a farm, death is a constant, unavoidable partner, and, as an emt, I've been the last person able to hold someone's hand as they passed, and then had to explain why to their family. There is no miraculous instant redemption. There is no dignity. Death is unforgiving of your regrets and uncaring of everything left undone and unspoken.

I would read 100k poorly written words about a character working toward earning forgiveness rather than 3k of the finest literary masterpiece of self-sacrifice in a brief moment of revelation.

Welp. Hope that clears things up 🙂