#the despondency of the situation.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

novlr · 4 months

Note

how to describe despair in writing

Despair is a visceral and crushing emotion—one that echoes through the pages of a story, gripping readers with its raw intensity. It is more than just a feeling; it’s an abyss that characters fall into, a shadow that colours their every action and decision with hues of hopelessness and loss.

Behaviour

Neglecting personal care or obligations.

A lack of motivation or interest in activities they once enjoyed.

Withdrawing from social situations or avoiding company.

Engaging in self-destructive actions or habits.

Consistent signs of fatigue or lethargy.

Frequent emotional outbursts or mood swings.

An inability to concentrate or focus on tasks.

Indecisive, even on trivial matters.

Focusing on negative thoughts.

Displaying a loss of hope or a sense of defeat.

Interactions

Avoiding physical or eye contact with others.

Short-tempered and easily irritated.tempered

Speaking in monosyllables or giving terse responses.

A sense of indifference or apathy toward others’ concerns.

Struggling to express themselves or to articulate their feelings.

Misinterpreting others’ intentions or words negatively.

Isolating themselves despite offers of help or companionship.

Being unresponsive to attempts at humour or light-heartedness.

Blaming others or external circumstances for their despair.

Seeking out enablers or situations that validate their mindset.

Body language

Slumped shoulders or a consistently bowed head.

Averted gaze or blank stares into the distance.

Fidgeting, such as wringing hands or picking at skin.

Slow, dragging movements or a lack of coordination.

Heavy sighing or audible breaths.

Neglecting personal space or boundaries.

Minimal gestures or lifeless posture.

Clenched fists or jaw during moments of heightened emotion.

Visible trembling or shaking due to emotional strain.

A general lack of energy or life in physical presence.

Attitude

Pessimism towards the future.

Cynicism about intentions, whether their own or others’.

Resignation, believing that effort will not change their situation.

Indifference to opportunities or choices presented to them.

A sense of helplessness or powerlessness in all scenarios.

Self-deprecation and a tendency to dismiss their own value.

An overwhelming sense of guilt or responsibility for past events.

A fixation on the negative aspects of every situation.

An inability to accept comfort or positive feedback.

Believing they are a burden to others.

Positive Story Outcomes

An epiphany or realisation that sparks a desire for change.

A gesture of kindness from another character that provides a glimmer of hope.

The discovery of an inner strength or previously untapped resource.

A serendipitous event that offers a new perspective or opportunity.

The formation of a supportive relationship or friendship.

Minor victories or achievements that build self-confidence.

Learning a valuable lesson through hardship.

Developing empathy for others going through similar experiences.

Finding purpose in aiding others, easing their own despair.

An eventual embrace of vulnerability, leading to healing and growth.

Negative Story Outcomes

A surrender with long-lasting consequences.

The breakdown of important relationships.

A significant loss incurred because of inaction or apathy.

Descent into a more self-destructive or reckless lifestyle.

The solidification of a character’s role as an antagonist.

A missed opportunity for redemption or improvement.

A worsening of the character’s situation, potentially affecting others.

The development of a trait or flaw that hinders future happiness or success.

A downfall that provides a cautionary tale within the narrative.

A tragic ending that leaves a profound impact on the reader and other characters.

Helpful Vocabulary

Desolate

Forlorn

Wretched

Crestfallen

Anguished

Dolorous

Bereft

Hollow

Numb

Morose

Sullen

Bleak

Languish

Melancholy

Hopeless

Despondent

Dejected

Heartbroken

Miserable

Pained

Woeful

Eclipsed

Defeated

Overwhelmed

Grief-stricken

Tormented

Disconsolate

Listless

Oppressed

Despairing

2K notes · View notes

tinycoffeeroom · 8 days

Text

more than enough | lando norris

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Hi lovely, I loved just friends!! Since reading, all I’ve been able to thinking about is bestfriend/roomate Lando. Maybe you’re not able to join him for race weekend and he hasn’t heard from you, like at all. When he returns, he thinks you’re not home until he hears the sobs and realises something is really wrong. Maybe you’ve broken up with your boyfriend and Lando is standing on the other side of your locked bedroom door, absolutely in love with you and hurting because you’re hurting 🫠

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍 Miami

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 1,387,928 others

landonorris WE FUCKING DID IT!!!!! P1 in Miami!!!!! you bitches can't call me lando nowins anymore!!!

See 997,729 other comments

fan you can tell lando runs his own social media... ↳ mclaren it is our biggest burden

oscarpiastri well done mate! well deserved! ♥️ landonorris ↳ landonorris you next osc!!!

maxverstappen1 i said i'd have to collect my wins before you start coming for them, congrats winner! ♥️ landonorris

mclaren our papaya boy, you will always be loved (heart) ♥️ landonorris

fan WHERE IS Y/N?????? ↳ fan lando said in an interview that she couldn't come this week!!!! i'm sure she texted / called him

fan i know y/ns screaming and crying at the fact she couldn't be there this week

fan no lando / y/n hugging photo :((((( i miss my best friends

liked by fan, fan and 19,036 others

f1gossip Lando Norris' roommate and best friend Y/N L/N was caught in a heated argument with her recently debuted beau outside a restaurant in Monaco. The person who sent the photo in was too far away to hear the argument, but said Y/N seemed despondent to the situation, watching her boyfriend walk away before paying the bill and leaving quietly. Soon after, waiter's came to each outside table and told them Y/N sent her apologies for the commotion.

fan y/n :(((( was he the reason she couldn't go to Miami????

fan i'm gonna dox him ↳ fan i mean... i'm not gonna stop you

fan i have a knife.

fan i hope he's an ex boyfriend now wtf???

fan do you guys remember the pics of her and lando talking at padel and her bf was shooting DAGGERS at lando??? yeah somethings going on there ↳ fan we hate insecure men

fan lando i know u have money and connections i need this man to disappear

It wasn’t unusual for you to go radio silent after a race you weren’t able to attend, especially one on the other side of the world. Lando was used to a simple “congrats on P4!<3333” or wherever he had placed that time, and then you would be off to the land of dreams as he went about his day, shuffling between meetings and the media paddock.��

Today was different however. Lando had actually won. He’d won his first ever race and his best friend and roommate was virtually nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t help but feel a little angry at you, you knew how much P1 meant to him, the hours he had spent moping around the little apartment the two of you shared after a bad race and the rants he would go on when he placed P2 but was inches from that ever so elusive win, slipping just through his fingertips.

He fired off one last text to you before sliding the phone back into the waistband of his fireproofs so he had his hands free to accept celebratory fist bumps and handshakes from every garage along the paddock.

The lack of communication from you slowly slipped his mind after he had interview after interview, the kind and excited words of the journalists filling him with pride as they recall just how far ahead of Max he had been. Sure, his mood soured everytime someone mentioned that he got lucky with the safety car but his mother always told him that luck was something to utilise, not something to rely on.

When he was finally free of the media’s hands, he checked his phone again. No messages from you which made him sigh, but one from Max. Opening their text thread, he’d dropped Lando a location pin for a well known bar in Miami along with the sentence “9pm, be there or be square, race winner”.

–

To be quite honest, Lando doesn’t remember much of the party. Hell, he doesn’t even remember getting there, Zak having plied him with glass after glass of champagne during their debrief. He’s pretty sure Oscar had been the one to zip his fly up when they met outside their hotel rooms before the party, hands moving up to recentre his shirt so only a slightly scandalous amount of chest showed.

Sitting on the private jet, again courtesy of Max, he thumbed through the last text thread between the two of you. You’d seemed fine, mentioning that you were going out for a meal with your boyfriend before the race started, and then… nothing. Complete and total radio silence.

Maybe you were still with your boyfriend, too wrapped up in that jackass to notice the 17 messages Lando had left you since last night.

God, he hated that guy. Ever since the day you had introduced him to Lando, he’d had a bad feeling. The guy was too touchy, arm wrapped securely and possessively around your waist like Lando was some kind of threat.

And maybe he was.

If he’d just manned up and told you the truth, that he’d loved you since the moment the two of you met one sunny day when he was still an F2 driver and you were the sister of one of his rivals, then maybe it would be his arm draped around you.

Instead he had smiled, rolled over and showed his stomach like a runt at the bottom of the food chain, and watched from afar as the guy whisked you away under a mottled sunset.

He felt a nudge at his side, eyes meeting Max’s curious ones. “Still no reply?”

He sighed, shaking his head as he pocketed his phone once again. “Maybe she’s busy…”

The excuse sounds weak even to his own ears, and when Max simply hums unbelievingly, he sighs again, mind torn in half at the elation of his win and the sadness of your ignoration.

–

Sliding the key into the door, he listened ahead for any sign of life. The sound of dishes clinking in the sink, or your playlist of noughties hits that he always pretended to hate but would secretly sing along to when you weren’t looking.

The silence that blankets him is unnerving. Too reminiscent of when he’d moved here alone and had all but begged you to join him, promising a rent free and easy going life.

Checking the kitchen, he sees it’s exactly as he left it last week. The living room is barely lived in, the odd throw misplaced from the back of the sofa. His game room door is still shut, as is both his and your bedrooms.

As he walks through to drop his suitcase off in his room, dreading the amount of washing that will fall out of it when he gets the energy to open, he hears a noise. From your bedroom, specifically.

Checking his watch, he sees its 2 in the afternoon. Normally, you would be up and out by now, dragging Lando to whatever new fad you had seen on tiktok, or to the padel courts where he would inevitably lose to you.

Leaning so his ear presses against the door, he can make out the shuffling of sheets. Maybe you had decided to do some laundry whilst you waited for him to get back. But then, the sound of sniffling joins.

He freezes on the spot, ear still pressed haphazardly to the wooden door. The sniffles get louder and louder, soon joined behind an unmistakable sob. He can feel his heart drop to the floor, his stomach joining it on its tumultuous way down.

You were crying. And he had no idea why.

Pulling away from the door, his hand hovers the knob. Should he knock first? Should he just leave you to it? Normally, when you were sad, you would sneak into whichever room he was in, either reaching a hand out to lay against his back or sitting close enough so your thighs touch. He knew you needed to feel some part of him in order to ground yourself, and he always obliged. Oftentimes, the two of you would end up cuddled on the couch, some soppy chick flick on the tv as you gave into the warmth surrounding you, eyes closing as you rested your head against his shoulder. Despite how much it hurt to see you sad, he couldn’t deny these quiet moments were his favourite part of any day.

Another sob breaks out, the sound so cruel and visceral, it was as if it had been yanked from your very soul. He forgoes knocking, hand twisting the knob harshly. He tries to push it open, only to be met by a force pushing back against him.

You’d locked the door.

In the 4 years of living together, neither of you had ever once locked your bedroom doors, knowing the other would knock before entering but still feeling comfortable enough to forgo privacy so the rooms could be open to the other whenever.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly, as one would approach an injured bird.

The sobs become muffled, more shuffling of sheets before you call back to him, voice weak and torn along the edges. “Lando?”

He normally loved when you said his name, but the whine that accompanies it today leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He knows he should ask what’s wrong but he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s never not known why you’re sad, the two of you an open book shared between friends.

He starts the only way he knows how. “Did you watch the race?”

More shuffling of sheets and when you respond, your voice is closer. “I’m sorry Lan, I didn’t get a chance to.” A moment of silence passes between the two of you. “How did you do?”

He wants to be angry. He really does. The one time you don't watch a race and he only goes and bloody wins it. “I won.”

“What?” Your voice wobbles, wondering if you were imagining what he had just said.

“I won, Y/N. My first P1. 7 seconds ahead of Max.”

He waits for your response, probably some form of congratulations spoken through wood given your current mood. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to unlock and slam open the door, the both of you wincing as it bangs against the wall. “Say that again.”

He takes you in for a moment. Bloodshot eyes rimmed with violet, tears still making their way down flushed cheeks. You’re wrapped in your duvet, only your head visible as the duvet covers what is probably bedhead and your favourite set of pyjamas - flannel trousers and a t-shirt of Lando’s you had stolen at some point.

Shrugging his shoulders, he smiles warily at you. “I won.”

Throwing yourself at him, he takes a moment to steady the two of you, arms wrapping around the mass of duvets surrounding you. He can feel you crying again, tears soaking the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lan. I should have watched, I mean you won and I wasn’t even there to watch. I’m sorry, please forgive me.” You choke through the words, fingers digging roughly into Lando’s back.

He winces at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin through the shirt, squeezing you even closer to him. “Don’t be sorry. Something obviously happened.” He uses the mound of duvet to pull you away, eyes flickering over your face. You look heartbroken in more ways than one. “What happened, sweet girl?”

Your lips quiver at the nickname, a hand poking through the duvet to reveal your phone. After 3 tries of using face ID, you huff, angrily putting in your passcode before turning the screen to Lando.

He scans the screen. It’s an instagram post by some F1 gossip page. He recognised the user as one who often tried to paint him as some womaniser, taking any regular interaction with a woman as a sign he was sleeping with them.

This post, however, is different. He sees you first, mouth in a tense line as you stare blankly at your boyfriend. Then he sees the caption.

The anger returns, festering and dark, this time directed to your dickhead of a boyfriend. “What did he do?”

You sigh, locking the screen and pulling your hand back into the duvet cocoon. “I said I wanted to go home because your race was about to start. He got angry and accused me of being in love with you. I pointed out that I was literally on a date with him. He called me every name under the sun, told me we were over and then stormed off. I’m sorry, Lan, this isn’t good publicity for you.”

He scoffed, eyebrows raising skyward. “I dont give a fuck about the publicity, I care about you. How dare he speak to you like that?” He can tell the angers bleeding into his tone but he’s about 2 seconds away from finding out where that prick lives and beating him over the head with a padel racket. “Are you ok? Do you want to put on a chick flick? Order a takeaway? Go to a rage room and plaster his face across every breakable thing?” Moving closer, he rests his hand against your jaw, nudging it between your tear stained skin and the soft duvet. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

Sighing, you nuzzle against his hand. “None of that, Lan. I just want to cry and forget what happened last night.”

Swallowing his pride, he nods. “Do you want me to talk to him? I can tell him we’re not in love with each other. Just best friends.” The ending comes out a little bitterly, but he hopes you’re too distracted to notice.

You smile up at him affectionately. The simple curve is enough to make his heart flutter from where it had picked itself off the floor and wormed its way back into his chest.

Reaching up to lay your hand over his, lacing your fingers between his, you sandwich it between the warmth he so craved. “I just want to be with you. You make everything better.”

He reflects your smile, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. You wanted him, just him, and for now that was more than enough.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader

1K notes · View notes

merakiui · 4 months

Text

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

964 notes · View notes

some-pers0n · 3 months

Text

I think a lot of people mistake Sunny's resilience and hope in the face of a miserable and bleak scenario as childlike innocence and her not fully comprehending the danger of it all. Her optimism is a response to the pessimistic and nihilistic world around her. She truly believes in the prophecy. It has to work. That's what they've suffered all this time for. Everyone. There will be peace on Pyrrhia and it'll be delivered by her and her friends.

Her own arc in her book, about rising above the expectations placed on her and proving herself as dragon of worth, was foreshadowed a lot with how the DoD treated her. They themselves infantalized her despite being unaware of it. They believed Sunny to be weak and helpless. The little, tiny sister who needs to be protected.

Despite this, she's strong. She's smart, observant, and even Clay mentioned that she's a great fighter because she takes advantage of her small stature and people underestimating her. She isn't childish, but rather she believes that they'll pull through. That they'll bring peace. In the end? They do just that.

Sunny's optimism I feel is a nice breath of fresh air. A lot of protagonists like her go through hell and back and become a lot more jaded. Her? It's her hope for a better future that keeps her going. Even in the darkest of situations, when she should breakdown and succumb to the overwhelming misery of war and tragedy, she. keeps. going. She believes. Despite the cynicism of the DoD, even with Clay at times feeling despondent, she continues. She moves onward. She fights.

And...she wins. Peace is achieved on Pyrrhia. The prophecy came true.

#We can also talk about how Sunny's disability and how she's treated by others through a lens of ableism #But I don't think you all are ready for that conversation about you subconciouslly infantalize and babyfy disabled people #wof #wings of fire #sunny wof #sp-rambles

548 notes · View notes

4dkellysworld · 5 months

Text

Let go of everything

Every position that you ﬁnd yourself in, every situation that you ﬁnd yourself in, with whomever you ﬁnd yourself, the positions that you have or don’t have, whatever you may be in this world, is your right place at this moment. Bless this, love it. I know it sounds hard when you think of a horrible condition and you say, “I must love it?” Let me explain again. The reason you love it, is because God is all there is. Try to remember this. There is nothing but God. Therefore if you hate something, you’re hating God which is your Self. It’s all coming out of you. You are That. You must learn to trust and love your Self, your precious Self. When you become despondent, depressed, hateful, feeling sorry for yourself, this is what blasphemy really means, for you’re feeling this way about your Self. Can’t you see? There’s only your Self. If you think something is horrible, you’re speaking about your Self. You look at a situation, you watch it, you observe it, you never react, you leave it alone. And then you’ll be given the power that you need to handle it, to go through it, without thinking, without thoughts, without any commotion, without any noise. These are the things you must work on. Be that Self. Never be frightened again by anything. If I can make this perfectly clear to you, never allow anything in this world to ever frighten you. Allow things to unfold as they may. Remember, you just watch and observe. Hold on to the truth. Happiness will come of its own accord. When you hold on to the truth, when you do not react to life’s conditions, person, place or thing, when you leave things alone and you stop ﬁghting life, you’re not giving up. I’m telling you there is nothing to ﬁght. And the only thing you’re giving up is your ego. You’re giving up your body, your ego, your mind. You rise to a higher dimension where there is happiness, peace, compassion, love and joy, that is naturally yours. You begin to feel these things instead of the things you felt before, prior to this, when you were ﬁghting life, when you were sticking up for your rights, when you were trying to get even, when you were working as an ego. Let go of everything. Do not hold on. Stand naked before God, without any crutches, without anything to hold on to. When you can do this, from this moment on you will begin to rise. And you will become aware that you are not the body or the mind or the world or the universe, but you are effortless, choiceless, Pure Awareness. You are boundless space, inﬁnite like the sky. You have become everything, and everything has become you. There comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to stand naked before God. By standing naked I mean no scripture, no fancy words, no preconceived ideas, no spiritual intellectual knowledge. But to be totally naked, in humility and humbleness. Therefore when you can forget about your scripture, forget about everything you’ve learned, and become totally empty, you will then become full.

from Silence of the Heart - Robert Adams

#silence of the heart #robert adams #practical #surrender #witnessing #attitude

482 notes · View notes

powdermelonkeg · 4 months

Note

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #mystra #long post #like really long post holy hells #did not expect this to go on for this long #swearing tw #< for karlach #oh yeah #astarion #karlach #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #lae'zel #ask bee

301 notes · View notes

phillydilly · 7 months

Text

Priorities

⊹♡— in which Charles and his long distance girlfriend get into an argument over her priorities

Part 1 , Part 2

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Authors note: I wrote priorities to challenge myself because I’m not the best at writing angsty situations, but I really hit a bit of a writers block with part 2. I’m happy with how it came out though, I hope you like it!

The days leading up to the Monaco Grand Prix were filled with an angsty silence between Charles and Y/n. They exchanged their usual good morning and good night texts, sprinkled with "I love you" messages, but the heavy unspoken tension hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Monaco race week was always a special time for Charles. It was his home race, and Y/n had attended every year since they'd been together. This year, however, was different. With the unresolved issues between them, Charles wasn't sure if Y/n would come, and Y/n wasn't sure if Charles even wanted her there.

On Friday, Y/n didn't show up at the track as she usually did. They exchanged a few texts throughout the day, discussing mundane topics and avoiding the elephant in the room. Charles couldn't bring himself to ask her why she hadn't come, and Y/n didn't offer any explanation.

"Charles, I wish I understood what's going on," Y/n texted, her words heavy with frustration.

"I know, Y/n," Charles replied, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he debated whether to bring up their issues. But he couldn't find the right words.

Saturday arrived, and there was still no sign of Y/n at the track. Charles's hope began to wane, and he couldn't shake the feeling of heartbreak that gnawed at him. He knew that their relationship was at a crossroads, and he feared that he might have already lost her.

As Charles walked through the paddock, his brother Arthur approached him, concern in his eyes. "Charles, where's Y/n today? She's always here with you."

Charles hesitated for a moment before answering, "We're going through a tough time, Arthur. I don't even know if she's coming."

Arthur furrowed his brow, worried for his brother. "You need to talk, Charles. Don't let this come between you."

On Sunday, the day of the race, Charles woke up with a heavy heart. He knew that Y/n wasn't going to be there for his home race, and it weighed on him as he prepared for the day ahead. He tried to focus on the task at hand, the intense competition of Formula 1, but his mind kept drifting back to Y/n.

Minutes before he was scheduled to get into his car and head to the grid, Charles stood in the paddock, lost in thought. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around, his heart leaping in surprise. There stood Y/n, her eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and longing.

Their gaze locked, and for a moment, it felt like the world around them disappeared. Charles couldn't believe his eyes, and he stammered, "Y/n, you're here?"

Y/n nodded, her voice filled with emotion, "I couldn't stay away, Charles. I know we need to talk, but I didn't want to miss your home race."

Charles's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and joy. He pulled Y/n into a tight embrace, and as he held her, he whispered, "I've missed you so much, Y/n."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as she replied, "I've missed you too, Charles. We need to talk, but right now, let's focus on your race."

Charles nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He knew that their conversation could wait, but in this moment, with Y/n by his side, he felt like he could conquer anything.

After the race, Charles finished in sixth place, a result that left him deeply disappointed. He went through his post-race duties mechanically, the disappointment gnawing at him. Normally, he would join the team and fellow drivers for post-race celebrations, but this time, he wanted nothing more than to go home with Y/n.

As they left the circuit and arrived at Charles's apartment, Y/n could sense his despondency. The silence between them was palpable, but Y/n knew that they couldn't avoid the inevitable conversation any longer. She decided to break the ice by giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Charles, I know you're not in the best mood right now," she began cautiously. "But can we please talk about the argument we had at the airport?"

Charles sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. He had bottled up his emotions for too long, and they threatened to spill over. "Y/n, I'm really not in the mood right now."

Y/n felt her patience wearing thin. She had come to Monaco not only to support Charles but also to work through their issues. The tension between them had been simmering for weeks, and it was time to address it. "Charles," she started, her voice tinged with frustration, "I came here because I care about us. I can't just pretend like everything's fine when it's not."

Charles stayed silent, and y/n was started to get the sense that she might have to beg him to talk to her. She was just as uncomfortable talking about this as he was, and she understood that he’s had a tough race, but surely he can understand that they can’t keep bottling up the tension?

“Fine I’ll start” she sighed, “I understand that I should’ve freed up my schedule for our weekend together, and I know that I let you down by prioritising work, but I feel like you don’t take my job seriously.”

That caught Charles’ attention. “How can you even say that?” He said, “I see how hard you work, y/n, but we had planned this weekend together for weeks and you let me down! This season has been the most stressful and exhausting season I have ever done. I’ve been struggling with the car, the team, everything feels like it’s too much,” Charles couldn't contain his emotions any longer. He began to pace back and forth in the living room, his words pouring out like a dam that had burst, "and the one weekend I have time to unwind with the person I love most, she tells me she’s busy? I’ve never felt so lonely.”

Y/n could see the anguish in his eyes, and it tore at her heart, she had never seen him so broken down in all the years she’s known him. She wanted to hold him and comfort him but she knew that this conversation needed to happen first. "Charles, I understand," she said softly, "but I can't just quit my job because you're feeling like shit!"

“God, y/n that’s not what I’m saying!” He yelled, feeling frustrated and unheard, “I just want to know that when we make plans, you aren’t just going to bail on me last minute!”

Y/n didn’t appreciate him yelling at him, and began to feel angry herself, “It happened one time, Charles, you’re being dramatic!”

“Dramatic? I just wanted a fucking break from all the stresses,” he snapped, “something that you have been for me all these years, god forbid I’m disappointed by the fact that you were busy!”

Y/n retorted, “A break? You can’t handle anything, can you? You’re always so damn needy, like a fucking child!”

Stunned by her hurtful words, he took a moment to compose himself, his voice slightly trembling as he responded, “I thought you understood me better than this, but maybe I was wrong.”

Y/n felt her heart sink as she realized the gravity of her words. She had wounded Charles deeply, and before she could say anything more, Charles retreated into another room, leaving Y/n standing there, her heart heavy with remorse.

She knew she had gone too far with her harsh words, and regret gnawed at her. After a few minutes of battling her own emotions, she mustered the courage to follow him.

She knocked gently on the bedroom door, her voice soft and apologetic, "Charles, I'm really sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

The door creaked open, and Charles appeared, his eyes still carrying the pain of their heated argument. "Amour, I didn't mean to snap at you either. I've just been under so much pressure lately, and it's been eating at me."

Y/n stepped closer and reached out to hold his hand, her voice filled with sincerity, "I understand, my love. I should've been there for you, and I promise I'll work on balancing work and our time better. But you have to understand that I need to have my own life and career too."

Charles nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "I know, Y/n. I shouldn't expect you to to just drop everything for me. I love you for who you are, and I want you to be happy."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as she said, "I love you too, Charles, but we seriously need to work on communicating better, I don’t want this kind of tension build up between us again."

They talked for hours, pouring out their feelings, fears, and frustrations, while also reminiscing about the moments that had brought them together. They both realized that their love was strong enough to weather the storms if they were willing to be more understanding and patient with each other.

As the night deepened, they snuggled up in each others arms, finding solace in the warmth of their embrace. The storm had passed, and the skies of their relationship cleared, leaving behind a renewed sense of love and understanding.

Wrapped in each other's arms, Charles and Y/n found comfort in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The tension that had weighed on them earlier was replaced with a profound sense of intimacy.

Y/n traced her finger along Charles's jawline, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "You know, Charles, I can't stand seeing you upset. I hate when we fight like that."

Charles smiled gently, his hand caressing her cheek. "I know, Y/n. I can't stand it either. I never want to hurt you, but sometimes, my emotions get the best of me."

Y/n leaned in and kissed his lips tenderly. "I understand, love. We both have our moments, and we'll work through them together."

Charles sighed contentedly, his arms drawing her closer. "I'm so lucky to have you. Even when we argue, I can't imagine my life without you."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with affection. "You're my world, Charles. I love you more than anything."

They lay there in silence for a moment, just enjoying the serenity of being together. Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with warmth. "I promise, Y/n, from now on, I'll be more patient and understanding. I'll support your career just as much as you support mine."

Y/n smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude. "And I promise to make more time for us, Charles, to show you how much I love and appreciate you."

Charles's fingers interlaced with Y/n's, and they held each other's gaze, the unspoken promise of their love evident in their eyes.

With a sleepy yawn, Y/n whispered, "Let's put this behind us and focus on the beautiful future we'll build together."

Charles nodded in agreement, his voice filled with tenderness, "Yes, my love. Our future will be bright, and our love will only grow stronger."

They snuggled even closer, their love reaffirmed, and as the night enveloped them, they drifted off to sleep, knowing that their bond was unbreakable, and their love was enduring.

₊˚⊹♡: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Tags:

@janeholt3 @itsjustkhaos @mirrorball-6 @meadhbhcavanagh @aorifukuzawa @eviethetheatrefreak @dl-yum

#Charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #formula 1 smut #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #formula 1 #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc story #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x female reader #Charles leclerc x you

502 notes · View notes

thewordfortheday · 13 days

Text

How many mothers are truly appreciated? I have seen many children holding grudges against their mothers often blaming them for their personal failures. Children fail to understand that mothers receive no training to be mothers. It is mostly on-the-job training. I thought that the early part of motherhood is the toughest. But handling teens is even tougher. Mothers aren't perfect but they try their best and many a times sadly fail, resulting in moments of despair, despondency and desperation. Motherhood is not for the faint hearted. Mothers need a whole lot of grace, God's help, courage and persistence. Godly mothers fight their battles on their knees. They are totally dependent on Jesus, their Miracle worker. They see hopeless situations turn around. They see victories won through their fervent prayers

Your mother has fought battles you know nothing about. She gave her all to raise you.

Would you be grateful for the mother God has given you?

Proverbs 31:28"Her children rise up and call her blessed.

#bible verse #daily devotional #christian quotes #bible quotes #inspiration #daily devotion #christian quote #christian life #scripture #bible #mother's day #parenting #children

187 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 3 months

Note

Thanks for sending this in, Cia!! I’m sorry I kept it in my asks for so long! But I finally figured out what I want to do with it! One of my celebration blurbs, Take the Ring, had a lot of second part requests to it…and while I’m really not a big fan of writing part 2’s to oneshots, I decided to here because the gif was from season 5 and it matched up well. So here’s what I envisioned happening a little bit after the end of the events in that first part. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Keep the Ring

Tommy Shelby x Reader (she’s not present here though)

Warnings: none

Summary: Polly shares her thoughts on what happened in Tommy’s office earlier that day.

“Are you listening, Tommy?” Polly Gray questioned, stopping her pacing to look at her nephew, who was staring straight at the wall in front of him.

Tommy snapped from the bubble he’d been encased in, quickly looking over to his aunt. It took a moment for the question she’d asked to register in his mind, but he nodded once it did. He then returned his eyes back to the wall ahead of him. “Yeah, I’m listening,” he answered in a despondent tone.

Polly pursed her lips and kept her eyes trained on him. She knew he was lying; knew there were other things taking up his mind. Her hands found her hips as she watched him intently, wondering if her stare alone would get him to talk. A few silent seconds passed, and he continued to stare at the wall. “Spill it,” she finally said, a demanding tone present in her voice.

“What?” Tommy asked, looking at her again.

“What’s on your mind, Thomas?” she asked, her eyebrows raising. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “don’t say it’s nothing. I know you well enough to know that it’s not.”

A sigh escaped the sitting man’s lips, and he returned his eyes to the wall once more. He wondered for a moment if she’d drop the subject altogether. But she was Polly Gray…she wasn’t going to be standing down until she got the answer she wanted.

“(Y/N) gave the ring back,” he answered her, his words muddled together as he cast his eyes down to the floor.

“She what?” Polly asked for him to repeat what he’d just said, surprise now present in her tone. She knew that Tommy could have been sulking for a number of things, but she didn’t expect it to be about (Y/N).

“She handed me her ring. Called the engagement off,” he kept his dejected tone, trying to make it sound like this was no big deal.

“When?” Polly asked another question.

“Earlier…came to me office in Parliament. I’d…” he paused, letting out a sigh as the earlier events replayed themselves in his mind. He shook his head, unhappy with how he’d reacted to them. “I’d missed one of the things we needed to do for the wedding. I had work to finish; a meeting to go to. She took the ring off and placed it on my desk…said she was finished.”

Polly tutted at her nephew’s response. She shook her head in disbelief. Only Tommy would screw a good thing like that up. “You should keep the ring now. That girl’s given you too many chances. She doesn’t deserve to be roped in again,” she gave her thoughts on the situation.

Tommy just nodded along with what was said. He had no intentions of trying to win her back again…he made that clear when she exited the office and he went to the meeting. That was because he knew that she wouldn’t hear him out. It was clear that she was finished with everything; finished with him. And she deserved to let that be the case. Like Polly had said, he’d burned her too many times before. This was the final straw.

“This work will kill you, Thomas,” he heard Polly say, only then noticing that she’d been giving him another one of her talking-tos. He looked over to her again, just in time to watch her shake her head at him and move over to the door.

His eyes returned to the wall ahead of him as the door opened and shut, leaving him to sit with his thoughts; the ring (Y/N)’d given him back still burning a hole in his pocket.

*tags in reblogs so that they hopefully go out

…sorry if you didn’t like it - this was how I envisioned things happening afterwards.

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #take the ring

349 notes · View notes

obscurecurse · 3 months

Text

Do you know what makes me so unbelievably feral? Kim extricates Chay from that hostage situation like it's easy, like he does it every day, and then the next time we see Chay, he's outside the warehouse, out the back of some emergency response vehicle, on a stretcher and oxygen, but stable, in the safety of his brother.

Where's Kim gently setting Chay down outside that warehouse and checking him for injuries, out-of-his-mind horrified by his own feelings? Where's Kim turning Chay over to the backup security detail and slipping off into the night, slightly despondent about it all? Where's Chay asking Kim to stay with him, still half-delirious from a chloroform rag? Where's Chay coming to, asking for Kim and looking around for him? (Also like, when exactly did Kim change out of that crisp ass white tee? Does he keep the black muscle tee in the carrying case with his handgun so it's on the ready for big rescues?) Is there footage of this that just didn't make the cut? I need information.

#I'm so unwell thinking about it #barely fighting the urge to be possessed to write fic about it #kinnporsche the series #kimchay #kim khimhant theerapanyakul #porchay kittisawasd

194 notes · View notes

sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 2 months

Text

No seriously, I think the show is really going there, or at least implying it.

(spoilers)

I mean, there will never be Morph and Wolverine in an actual relationship beyond friendship, because Wolverine is the fanboy favorite, massively popular character, and they would never risk putting him in a m/m relationship. (Or interpreted as m/m, Morph being nonbinary but generally presenting in a male way.) We had a gay Wolverine in the comics, but he was an au version of the character in a book that wasn't widely read, and it was still controversial. And despite all the fan jokes and headcanons, there is no actual proof that Scott and Wolverine are fucking in the main 616 comics in whatever Krakoa "poly" relationship involving Jean may or may not be happening. Marvel is not going to risk upsetting fans with a bi Wolverine in a show that will be watched by far more people than read the comics.

But Morph having secret, unrequited feelings for Wolverine that go beyond friendship? Yeah, they could go there. Like I said in another post, Morph is a safe character to do this with, they were barely in the original cartoon, they have very little presence in the comics (outside of AU books like Exiles), they are far less popular than the big names. And the OG cartoon established that Wolverine is their special buddy. (Not to mention, TAS Morph has NO established sexuality, they don't express attraction to anyone in the whole series.)

So far, we've seen Morph shift into Jean and mock both her and Cyclops in an attempt to cheer up a despondent Wolverine (and doesn't that feel a little bit like a "Hey, look at MEEE!" moment?).

We've seen Morph go out of their way again to engage Logan in a mock fight. This happens during a montage when Jean is reading a letter from Storm, and scenes seem to correspond with Storm's comments about the importance of forming bonds with others. The Wolverine and Morph scene happens when Storm's letter is talking about how people will "make any sacrifice" to maintain those bonds, but what is being sacrificed here? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that it's Morph ignoring and staying quiet about their feelings for Wolverine in order to maintain the friendship.

But then, there was the latest episode, holy shit. Everyone is hallucinating nightmares due to the influence of fake Jean/Madelyn Pryor. What does Morph hallucinate? They hallucinate a naked Wolverine in the shower - and the camera even does a slow pan up when Morph sees him, like the "sexy lady" gaze in movies. Morph jokes about helping Wolverine wash those "hard to reach areas," and actually starts to walk into the shower with him, holy shit. Then the hallucination shifts into nightmare mode, and the Wolverine hallucination responds with:

"Always with the jokes, Morph."

Then:

"As if I don't know. As if we all don't know."

Don't know WHAT, exactly? What exactly is the heterosexual explanation for this scene? Morph could have been hallucinating anything, the writers chose to put them in this very homoerotic situation with Wolverine. Oh, and at the same time, Gambit is seeing a hallucination of Rogue and Magneto together, in what seems like an obvious parallel.

"Wolverine" then changes into Sinister to show Morph's obvious greatest fear, but WHY start the scene like that? Why start with naked Wolverine and "As if I don't know. As if we all don't know."

They may not be fucking, but I will not be surprised if the show gives us "secretly pining for Logan" Morph.

#morph #kevin sydney #x men 97 #maybe they aren't fucking but Morph wishes they were

147 notes · View notes