#this is the STRAW on the vERY FRAIL CAMEL’S BACK

[yell0wsalt]

Iroh II/Asami, #10 for the intimacy prompts please :)

Hi hi thanks so much for sending the ask! :) the prompt was so cute!

#10. Neck Kisses

——

Tonight was Iroh and Asami’s typical Wednesday date night. Midweek dates were appreciated to provide a small break from the couple’s hectic work schedules and reconnect. Especially now they wanted to get as much time together as they could. They were in the midst of getting ready, Iroh in their closet grabbing his clothes and Asami in the bathroom.

His progress in buttoning up his top was disrupted when he heard a few soft sniffles coming from their bathroom.

“Asami?”

Still half dressed he stepped out from the closet and made his way over to where she was. “Are you okay?”

Leaning her weight on the bathroom counter, she nodded her head. A harsh sniff in an attempt to pull herself together, she took a hand to delicately wipe underneath her eyes. “I- I’m fine, Iroh, don’t worry about it.”

Her words didn’t make him feel any better seeing her in such a state of distress and he frowned. “Asami, please talk to me, what’s going on?”

A heavy sign of resignation. “My- my rings don’t fit anymore.” At the admission, the frail dam broke and she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

He rushed over to turn her around and pull her into a bracing hug and rub her back up and down. “What do you mean? Your wedding rings?”

She nodded into his shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Asami, darling. Look at me, I can’t understand you speaking into my shirt,” he half-joked.

Peeling her forehead from the junction between his neck and shoulder, she looked up at him through glassy eyes, and cracked a watery smile.

Iroh thumbed away the tear stains on her cheeks. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“It started off with me having taken off the rings earlier to do work in the garage. When I finished freshening up and was getting ready to put on some jewelry for our date tonight, it made me realize my fingers have gotten so puffy, putting my rings back on is too hard, now.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before she continued. “It sucks being pregnant sometimes. Spirits, I feel like I can’t do anything anymore! Morning sickness is a blatant lie when you’re sick throughout the entire day, your body changes so much, everything is getting swollen, hairy, and gross and I don’t–” she paused her train of thought, gnawing on her lower lip.

“You don’t… what?” Iroh tried to pry; a gentle squeeze to her hands.

A heavy pause as a lone tear broke free. “I don't feel like myself anymore,” she quietly admitted.

Hearing her confession was a knife twisted into his ribs. “Asami…”

“I’m sorry, Iroh. I felt like I could handle the clothes and shoes not fitting anymore because, hey those are all trivial items that can be replaced. Shopping is fun, too, so that’s fine. But when the rings didn’t fit…” a drawn out sigh, Asami’s gaze fell to the floor. “Not being able to wear them anymore felt like the straw that broke the moose camel’s back.”

“Hey–” he cupped her face with fierce affection, tenderly thumbing her cheeks.

“Never ever apologize for feeling this way. This is a new season full of rapid changes. I can only understand so much of what it is that you’re going through, but what you’re saying and experiencing makes sense and feels very real to you and I appreciate you telling me.

“Asami, you’re just as beautiful as the day I met you, even more so if I’m being honest. I wish you could only see yourself how I see you.”

Asami wanted to believe Iroh’s words and the corners of her lips turned up in a smile. She took his hands from her face and brought them down to the taut curve of her growing belly.

His heart fluttered imagining the life growing within. “I love you so much, Asami. You're going to be an amazing mother.”

“And you, just as wonderful of a father.”

Eyes met each other’s, full of adoration.

The standstill moment of intimacy was broken when Iroh cleared his throat and moved their hands to occupy the space between.

“You know, we don’t have to go out for date night tonight if you don’t feel up to it anymore. We can keep it relaxed and order in. Does that work with you?”

A final sniffle followed by a small nod. “Yeah, that actually sounds perfect.”

“Fan’s Dumplings? he suggested. “Whatever you’d like is fine with me.”

Immediately her spirits lifted and she hummed happily. “So long as we can also order some ice cream to have after.”

He couldn’t help but smile seeing his wife already start to feel like herself again.

“Any flavor, or flavors, you like,” an enticing waggle of eyebrows.

“Spirits, I love you so much. Now, help me out of this dress, please. Comfy loungewear is calling our names.”

****

“Asami, I’m home.” Iroh called out to his wife making his way through the entryway of their house announcing his arrival from work the following day.

“Hi babe, welcome back.” A chaste kiss in greeting. “How was your day?”

“It was routine business. Major positive to being in peacetime, so cannot complain. How about yourself?”

“Same here. No major fires to put out today plus I didn’t feel too sick and at this point we’re taking days like these when we can.”

A nod in agreement. “Of course, of course. Glad you’re feeling okay today. Hey, I got you something.”

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Oh? What’s the occasion?” Immediately her gaze was drawn to Iroh’s hand held behind his back.

He shook his head. “Nothing special. Something small I'm hoping you’ll like.”

Expression brightened. “Can I see what it is?”

Iroh brought his hand from behind his back to reveal a small white bag with purple tissue paper. On the bag painted in silver was the signature logo of Hei Bai’s Jeweler.

Lips loosely parted in a small o. “Iroh...”

Carefully she peeled away the tissue paper revealing a small jewelry box.

“I stopped by the Little Ba Sing Se Shopping District after work because I know you’ve been struggling a bit. This idea crossed my mind earlier and I figured it could be a potential solution.”

At the same time Iroh was speaking, Asami opened the box, revealing a thin gold chain. A light gasp escaped her.

“You could put your wedding rings on the chain, so you’ll still have them on you even though they may not fit your fingers for the time being.”

Her gaze broke from the necklace to face Iroh. Waterline already brimming with tears.

“I’m guessing you like it,” he mused.

She looked at him incredulously. “Like it? This is a wonderful idea. Iroh, I love it!”

Asami eagerly made her way to their bedroom to grab her rings from her jewelry box, Iroh following right behind her. Once she found the rings, she threaded the chain through them. Standing in front of her vanity, she held up the necklace in front of her in awe.

“The idea came to me when I recalled that a coworker does something similar who works with their hands a lot and would often worry about getting their own rings dirty.

“Does the gold match?” he asked. “I only had my own band as a reference and needed the jeweler's help for picking it out, but I’m hoping it looks okay. If not, I’m sure it won’t be a problem for us to make an exchan–”

Asami turned and cut him off with a pointer finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you dare. It’s perfect. Would you help me put it on?”

A soft smile in relief. “I’d love to.”

Gingerly he took the opposing ends of the chain from Asami and circled behind her so they faced the mirror. He carefully brought the necklace down in front of her as she gathered her hair up, exposing the column of her neck.

A second to clasp the necklace securely around her, he smoothed it out, gently massaging her shoulders. “There you go,” he whispered in her ear, providing a long loving kiss to her pulse point on her neck. Another one just a little higher.

She shuddered at his breath on her skin and blushed. When he pulled away, Asami released her gathered hair and looked down, gliding her fingers delicately along the chain and her rings.

“How does it look?” she asked.

He circled around to face her, fingering the chain and rings. Eyes floated up to meet hers and he smiled. “Perfect. How do you feel?”

An easy smile blossomed on her face. “Like I’ll always have you close to my heart.”

——

Prompts here

#Iroh ii #Asami Sato #Irosami #thanks for getting my brain energized with the prompt! #ficlet

[yifftwiceplz]

-- realSlimStrider [RSS] started pestering yiffTwicePlz [YTP] at 11:32pm --

RSS: Dave. YTP: dirk RSS: I know. YTP: huh RSS: I know about the apparition following you around. YTP: ... YTP: what the genuine fuck how can you possibly know about that RSS: I know about all my splinters. I was vaguely aware of the one in Jake's brain. Now I'm vaguely aware of yours. YTP: what the fuck man YTP: i thought maybe my vape was too strong or i was just having another psychotic break YTP: dont you fucking dare tell rose i swear to god dude i know how you are i know its 50/50 you just go behind my back but please for the love of fucking god dont tell rose or anyone RSS: She's family. She needs to know. So does Roxy. YTP: fucking no dude im not playing dont tell them shit it sucks enough you know RSS: ... YTP: just YTP: fuck dude YTP: he just stands there YTP: menacingly RSS: That's really the kind of thing you shouldn't keep from people. Have you even told Karkat? YTP: yeah RSS: Yeah? YTP: yeah RSS: So if I ask him about it he won't be surprised. YTP: god fucking damnit dude can you just let me tell him in my own time ive barely processed it as is RSS: Yeah. That's fair. Sorry. I was worried about you. Especially with how you've been hiding it. YTP: yeah well YTP: i guess i just keep hoping itll go away YTP: its so weird when karkat kisses me goodbye or were cuddling on the couch and hes just there YTP: what the hell am i supposed to do RSS: Talk to him? YTP: fuck no RSS: Why? YTP: man i already processed that grief and moved on and youre my bro now and then i got dave and now this asshole living literally rent free in both my head and my house RSS: So you're just going to ignore him for the rest of your life. YTP: yep RSS: Okay. You're not going to do that but I'll let you come to terms with it. YTP: cool thanks YTP: again if you tell rose or karkat or anyone without my permission first im genuinely gonna kick your ass and i dont mean in a fight i mean im gonna hurt your fucking feelings dude i need you to pull through on this for me and keep it a secret until i feel a little more sane and capable RSS: Okay. RSS: But I'm still going to check in. RSS: Because we both know you were never going to tell anyone. YTP: cocksucker YTP: fine RSS: Hey. I'm only being this way because I care man. I know it can't be easy. I know it's another straw on an already very overencumbered and frail-of-knee camel. RSS: You can't shoulder shit like this on your own. RSS: I'm here for you. YTP: i know YTP: sorry RSS: Don't be. YTP: can i come hang for a bit YTP: ill bring food kanayas sending me some to share and kks smooth passed out RSS: Yeah. Door's unlocked.

-- yiffTwicePlz [YTP] ceased pestering realSlimStrider [RSS] at 12:13am --

#posted ooc #privchats

[sonnetsterlingwritesstuff]

An Odyssey Of Blurred Lines- Chapter One

You guys spoke, and I listened! I'm going to be publishing my long-form fic on Ao3. Now, I'm not going to post the full chapters here because I still plan on posting oneshots and I don't want it to get too jumbled and confusing. BUT I will post links! So... here goes nothing!

Chapter One

Words: 4338

Teaser:

The first impression Aziraphale got of the thing huddling in the corner of the enclosure was that it seemed distinctly young - certainly younger than him. It was young and weak . The grey robe that it wore was a stark contrast to a palored skin- the type that one could just tell hadn’t seen the light of day (or of Heaven) in a very long time. A dishevelled display of mousy brown locks grew to just about halfway down its neck. If he looked closely, he could see its eyes, glossy with tears. Its irises were an array of green, blue and grey flecks. But most notably, it was sheltering itself with wings- wings in the same midpoint shade of grey that enveloped the entire room. The wings looked so… unused . This thing , or person , mirrored that. It didn’t look frail, but it did look… almost like something that was left unopened on a shelf. Like a collector’s item. It also looked absolutely miserable. Aziraphale felt a slight pang in his chest that only intensified the longer he stared at it, something growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Is it an angel?” He asked breathily, truly unsure of what to make of it. 

“It is not.” The Metatron shook his head. “Nor is it a demon, nor a human, nor any variety of creature one might find elsewhere from the heights of the heavens to the depths of hell. It is The Grey.”

“The Grey…” Aziraphale muttered softly. 

“The spawn of a demon and an angel.” The Metatron hummed. “That which was never meant to be.”

Summary: With every bit of information Aziraphale is recieving re: The Second Coming, he is liking it less and less. But this might just be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziraphale good omens #crowley #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ineffable idiots #original character #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 author #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #ao3feed #ao3 stuff #archive of our own #ao3 tags

[minwooks-moved]

i am . . . going to commit some type of bad crime . . . the amount of pain this picture A L O N E is creating within me —

#this is the STRAW on the vERY FRAIL CAMEL’S BACK #SO FREAKJNG CLOSE TO BEING AN ARSONIST #existence is a freaking sham .... freakjng hOW — #IT’S BEEN ONLY TWO/THREE DAYS SINCE THIS STARTED #mads.rambles. #idec that i’m late to these pictures — #or to anything i’m going to stumble upon & cry — #my life is in shambles ..... i genuinely — IDK . I CANNOT . #thE JAY-IFICATION CONTINUES ON —

[favefandomimagines]

I’m Done (d.m.)

Summary: draco has been cruel to you since the summer before your sixth year and you’ve had enough.

AN: sad girl hours but with a happy ending

Draco Malfoy had a reputation. Whether it was a good or bad one didn’t matter, he still had one.

You were used to his cruel comments about your friends and you did your best to keep him at bay most of the time. But the dynamic of your relationship had shifted and not for the better.

Draco’s letters to you over the Summer became very rare. You’d be surprised if you got one in a week. You tried not to let it bother you but it did leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Then on the train back to Hogwarts, he kept saying things about how much he wasn’t looking forward to his sixth year. How it was going to be a waste of his time.

You looked down at your hands when he said that, thinking about all the plans you had made for your sixth year. He thought they were a waste of time now.

Then came the cruel comments and digs about you and your house. You were a Gryffindor but from a pure blood family so it was okay that you were with him. Well, according to him.

By the time winter was approaching, you had grown accustomed to his cruel behavior and him telling you how lucky you were to be with him. Your friends began to worry for your mental state. They thought it can’t be good for someone to hear degrading things about them every day.

But you loved Draco. You didn’t know what was going on with him but you couldn’t leave him. Until he snapped that was.

You were standing at the Astronomy tower one evening, figuring Draco would be there. “Draco, are you okay?” You asked, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Y/N, just go back to your common room.” He said, irritation in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. I’ve seen what’s going on with you but you won’t tell me anything.” You rebutted.

“Because telling you would be useless! You can’t do anything so I don’t know why you bother trying to help! God, I knew you weren’t bright but not this stupid.” He snapped. Instantly wishing he hadn’t said it.

You scoffed at his words as tears began stinging your eyes. “That’s it, Draco, I’m done. Ever since the beginning of term you have been mean and cruel and I have done nothing to deserve it. I am so terribly sorry that I care about you. I deserve better this. I don’t deserve to be treated like the scum of the Earth because you don’t want to tell me what the hell is going on with you.” You started.

“What, you’re going to break up with me?” Draco asked, figuring you were bluffing. “Yes. Yes, Draco, I’m breaking up with you. I’m not wasting my life staying with someone who doesn’t love me.” You answered.

Draco’s face fell at your words. He wasn’t expecting you to actually break up with him. But he couldn’t blame you. The stress and pressure that was put on him by his family had caused him to start lashing out at you. And you were right, you didn’t deserve it. You were just trying to help.

“Y/N,” He started. “No. Just stay away from me.” You said in a more hushed tone before leaving him alone. Draco stood there, trying to process what had exactly just happened. You left him. You finally left him and it was entirely his fault. 

He drove you to it and he wasn’t instantly regretting anything more. 

__

It had been exactly three weeks since you broke up with Draco and you were not going to let him see you miserable. You had far too much pride for that, making it way more evident as to why you were sorted into Gryffindor. 

But your efforts were futile because your appearance gave you away. You hadn’t slept in days and if you did it was only for a couple hours so you had very noticeable dark circles under your eyes. You lost a couple pounds due to you skipping some meals. 

Draco didn’t look any better. As a matter of fact he looked worse. He looked so frail that everyone thought if they nudged him ever so slightly he’d break. You breaking up with him was was the straw that broke the camel’s back and added on to having to fulfill his task for the Dark Lord. But no one knew. 

He told himself it was better this way. You’d be safe and Voldemort wouldn’t find out about you. But what if he saw his current state as a weakness and found out about you anyways? The only thing that saved you was the fact that Lucius didn’t know about you. Draco only told his mother about you and she was happy to see her son happy. Regardless of what house you were in. 

You were sitting in the Great Hall during your ‘free period’ trying to focus on getting your homework done. Your focus was depleted by Ron Weasley taking a seat next to you. 

“Hi, Y/N.” He greeted you. “Hello, Ron. What can I do for you?” You asked, turning to him with a small smile. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Ever since Draco, we’ve all been worried about you.” He answered. “I’m okay. I promise. But I appreciate you worrying about me.” You told him, placing a hand on his arm. 

Ron’s gaze shifted to something behind you before a look of worry and awkwardness adorned his face. You turned around and your gaze fell to Draco standing a few feet away from you. 

Your eyes shifted downward as Draco turned around and left the Great Hall. “You really got him shaken up, Y/N. He must have really cared about you.” Ron commented. “That was the problem. He didn’t care about me.” You muttered.

Later that day, you were walking back to the common room from potions in the dungeons when someone grabbed your elbow and pulled you off to an empty corridor. 

“What the hell?” You questioned until you saw that the culprit was Draco. “What do you want, Draco?” You asked, quickly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. “Weasley now? Really? You broke up with me for Weasley?” He questioned with a rather harsh tone. 

“I broke up with you because you were terrible to me! Ron was making sure I was okay because though I should be thrilled to be rid of your torment, I’m not. I don’t sleep, I barely eat and it’s all because I’m worried sick about you. And I shouldn’t because you don’t give a damn about me.” You yelled at him. 

“Of course I care about you! All I do is care about you! I-I can’t tell you what’s going on because you could end up dead if I do.” Draco said. “What are you talking about?” You questioned. 

Draco was silent and that silence was all you needed to connect the pieces. “No. No, please tell me you aren’t one of them.” You begged. “I wish I could.” He whispered. “He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t help him. He doesn’t know about you but he could find out and I will not have you get hurt because of me.” He added. “Draco, this isn’t you. You aren’t like them, you’re better than that.” You said. 

“You don’t understand, Y/N, I have to do this. It’s not as easy as just leaving.” He said before pulling up the sleeve of his robe. You took a couple small steps back at the sight of the dark mark in his forearm. 

Draco could tell that you were scared and he didn’t want you to be scared of him. 

“Y/N, please.” He said. You shook your head and all you could look at was the mark. “There’s no going back from this, Draco. No one ever stops being a Death Eater and after this is over you’re going to be locked up in Azkaban with the rest of them and you know that. Because you know that he’s not going to win. And I can’t see that happen to you.” You said. “But I love you, Y/N.” Draco said, his last stitch effort to get you back. 

“And I love you too but I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” You replied before walking away from him. 

__

It has been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts had been fought and won. You fought along side your friends and had to see the man you love forced into a situation he wanted no part of. 

Even a year later, Draco was all you thought of. And of course you heard the whisperings about his trial. How the ministry was asking for witnesses to testify. You got off lucky because no one outside of Hogwarts knew you were together.

In the end, all the charges were dropped because he was just a boy, forced to do the Dark Lord’s bidding in fear of losing his life and the lives of those he cared for.

You knew of this because Arthur Weasley got you a job at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office so you heard all of the Ministry gossip and you had heard that Draco was let go. 

After the war, you spent a lot of time in muggle London because it was a nice change of scenery. You only ever ran into muggle-borns or half bloods so it came as a shock when you walked into your favorite bakery and caught sight of familiar platinum blonde hair.

You wished you could’ve turned around right then and there but it was already too late. The bell atop of the door alerted the other customers and his eyes landed on you.

He could see that the last place you wanted to he was there. Were you that disgusted that you couldn’t even be in the same room as him?

Draco decided to throw caution into the wind and approach you.

“Uh, hi, Y/N.” He greeted you. “Hello, Draco. I didn’t expect to see you here.” You said. “Here as in?” He questioned. “The muggle world. I know you weren’t fond of it back in school.” You explained.

“It’s really the only place I can go now without receiving death threats or getting kicked out.” He said. Your heart hurt for him upon hearing the reason for his escape.

You took a leap of faith, one that he could see you battling internally. “You can join me if you want. It’s no fun being alone.” You said.

He gave you a soft smile before sitting down with you.

The two of you caught up and talked. The first question you asked was how Narcissa was doing. She was always supportive of your relationship with her son. Draco asked how your parents were doing, to which you had to deliver the news that your father was killed by his aunt.

The look of indescribable guilt washed over his face as a slew of apologies came out. You could see that he regretted his actions back in Hogwarts and you assumed that if he could take it all back he would.

“If I could go back and say no, I would.” He said, proving your assumption to be correct. “I know. But we can’t change the past. We can only move forward.” You told him.

“I know who you really are, Draco. You’re not this evil person. You just need to let the rest of the world see it too. And yes, I know you hate being vulnerable.” You added.

He smiled softly at your words, happy that you still knew him. The real him.

“I miss you. Every single day.” Draco said. You were quiet for a moment, not really sure how to respond to him. “I’d be lying if I didn’t miss you too.” You finally said.

“Hurting you is one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.” He told you. “I know that now. Back then, I wasn’t sure.” You replied. “Can you forgive me? You’d be the first to.” He asked.

You smiled sweetly at him as you placed your hand on top of his. “I already forgave you, Draco. After Fred died I knew I couldn’t hold on to grudges forever. Life is too short for that.” You said.

“I’m sorry about Fred. I know he was important to you. All of them were and I’m sorry I treated them so terribly.” Draco said. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You were a kid, Draco. An easy target for him. He was trying to make an example of you. He chose you because you didn’t believe in his cause. You think you did but the Draco I fell in love with didn’t side with him. He was torturing you. You were just a boy. Now it’s time to start being the person I know you are.” You told him, in an understanding but stern manner.

Draco appreciated your honesty in the matter. Of course he was going to be hard on himself, he was a Death Eater and it was his fault Bellatrix destroyed Hogwarts. But you were always the person who saw the good in him.

“I have a good way to start your redemption tour.” You added. “How? Half of the wizarding world hates me.” Draco questioned. “Be my date to Ron and Hermione’s wedding. I’d hate to go alone.” You answered. “Y/N, they’re not going to want me there.” He rebutted.

“You’d be surprised. Resentment is corrosive. They’ve learned to forgive.” You said. “How long did it take you to convince them of that?” Draco asked. “Actually, it was Mrs. Weasley. Ginny almost died because of Tom Riddle, it could have easily been her.” You said.

“Y/N, I love you but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He told you. Your face fell slightly as you looked at your hands. “What?” Draco questioned. “You just told me you loved me.” You answered. “Because I do.” He said with absolute certainty.

Again, you paused. You couldn’t say it back just yet. Though you wanted too, you needed to learn to trust Draco again before saying those three words to him.

“I want to say it back, but I need to trust you again. It’s not that I haven’t felt that way since fourth year but we went through something extreme. I need time.” You said. “How about we start with Weasley and Granger’s wedding?” He suggested.

You smiled a giddy smile at him, relieved and thrilled that he had accepted your invitation. Both you and Draco had healing to do after the war. And doing that together would open the door to rebuilding your relationship.

#imagine #imagines #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #ron weasley #hermione granger #george weasley #fred weasley #ginny weasley

[skipppppy]

I’m so fascinated by your she ra fan character! I’m trying to understand the storyline but it’s a little hard to find everything, and I was wondering if you would mind explaining it here?

Thank you very much! Her story is SUPER convuluted, I elaborated on it a bit on another ask about her relationship with Entrapta, but I’ll try to sum it up as cleanly as possible but a lot of different factors come into play so it still might be LOOONNGG. It’s also not a very happy story, unfortunately, but it would be helpful for me to get it all written down!

In terms of things that might be triggering, her backstory involves mention of a wide range of abuse. It won’t be explicit but I just want to be safe!

I’m actually gonna put most of it under the cut for the sake of anyone who follows me or any tags so they aren’t cursed with a mile long post on their timeline. I know the pain 😅

So here it is! I present A COMPREHENSIVE TIMELINE OF ALL THE BULLSHIT ARIA HAD TO PUT UP WITH!!!!

-For background context, she’s a Wingfolk, a species of Bird People native to Etheria who live in a kingdom built into a forest of giant trees named Ornithia. I could go on about them for hours but all you really need to know is that they have hollow bones to achieve flight (which is also the case for real life birds), which makes Aria’s body very light and frail. So she’s basically useless in physical combat which is why she never really defends herself. She was also a particularly weak flyer, which is why she doesn’t avoid a lot of situations by simply flying away.

-EXTRA BACKGROUND CONTEXT, Aria was born around the time the Horde landed on Etheria. Her father was a sorcerer at Mystacor, who had a reputation for ignoring ethics in the name of science. This all came to a head when a meteorite struck the surface of the planet; he rushed to the sight, stole it, studied it for a while, and after learning it had a powerful magic, decided to try a ritual in which he extracted the magic from the meteorite and fused it with his daughter’s soul. It took a few years for people to find out but when they did he was exiled for his actions, and Aria, still a child, was given to her mother.

-ONE MORE SMALL DETAIL: from about the age of 18/19 onward, she started having dreams about a mysterious figure made of blinding light who knew secrets about the universe and promised to find her one day so they could “finally be together again.” 3 guesses who THAT is lmao (hint: it’s Horde Prime)

-I won’t go into details about her childhood because we’d be here forever but the most important things you need to know are 1) Aria’s mother was a HORRIBLE parent and preferred to get blackout drunk rather than look after her children. 2) Aria had 4 younger brothers who, due to her mother’s negligence, she had to raise entirely by herself, which is why she feels responsible over others and has such a “nurturing” disposition, it was forced on her. 3) She took her brothers and ran away from Ornithia when she was 15, and built a home in a small woodland in the mountains of Dryl where she has lived ever since. 4) Throughout her childhood she befriended Princess Entrapta and the two were extremely close due to their isolated upbringings.

-When the BFS visited Dryl for the first time in Season 1, Aria was there acting as both a lab assistant and royal advisor to Entrapta, and joined the rebellion alongside her. Nothing crazy happened, but when Entrapta “died” Aria was beside herself with grief and ended up leaving the rebellion in order to go tend to Dryl, since it needed a ruler and as advisor it was her job to step up and take responsibility. Unlike the others, however, she refused to return to aid in the battle of Brightmoon, since she was kinda miffed at how the Princesses treated Entrapta (lookin’ at you, leash lady Perfuma) and was thoroughly pissed that they didn’t even TRY to go back for her, even if it was just to find her body and give her a dignified burial.

-Season 2 was when things truly went to shit. When the Horde came to claim Dryl, Aria resisted but was defeated pretty easily. When Glimmer and Bow came to scout out the situation, they saw her being hauled away and tried to save her but basically got caught in a stalemate where they couldn’t act because the Horde threatened to harm Entrapta if they acted. They told Aria to go with the Horde and promised that they would form a rescue party to save the both of them. But after they learned that Entrapta had joined the Horde by choice and had more important missions to deal with, rescuing her just..stopped being a priority. She wasn’t a rebel so they had no obligation to get her, so eventually they forgot about her entirely.

-Aria was kept as a prisoner for a while, but Entrapta found out pretty quickly what happened and went to find her. At that point Catra was growing frustrated with all the menial paperwork she had to do, and since she’d had experience being an advisor/secretary type, Entrapta basically proposed to Hordak that Aria act as his assistant in the same way she used to at Dryl. He accepted since it meant he would be spending less time running the Horde and more time building the portal. Aria was against the idea of helping him since she was still holding out hope that the rebels would come save her, but she was simply threatened with the classic Evil Horde punishments (torture, more torture, being locked in a cell for weeks without food or water, a tad more torture). So from mid-Season 2 to the end of Season 4, that was pretty much the position she was in. Being the Fright Zone’s resident desk jockey.

-Not much happened in that timespan, most of what occurred revolved around the portal incident and the aftermath. While Aria had been playing the part of Hordak’s pretty little secretary she was trying to find weak points in the Fright Zone’s security system so she could bust her and Entrapta out of there. Due to her and Hordak building the portal (and smooching lol) she’d been spending less and less time with Aria, which had been making her a little upset. She felt like someone she’d spent her entire life caring for was replacing her for something better, but her suspicions weren’t confirmed until she asked Entrapta about leaving together and she refused. That was the first small nudge towards a downward spiral. Then Catra returned with Adora and the Sword in hand and the Princesses came to stop the Portal. The rebels had come to save Adora and forgot about her. She was willing to forgive and join them, until they saw that she had been assisting the Horde, assumed she had betrayed them alongside Entrapta, and decided to leave her behind without giving her a chance to explain herself. That was the second, slightly stronger nudge that made her teeter over the edge of a breakdown. And then Catra told her that Entrapta had abandoned her to rejoin the rebels. While it was a lie, it was perfectly placed salt in the wound, and the straw that broke the camels back into her shifting allegiance and properly joining the Horde.

-Throughout Season 4 she had the same role as before, except this time she actually cared about her work, and had taken on the additional role of helping Hordak with his busted tech since Entrapta wasn’t around to do it. He had already come to rely on Aria for paperwork, but now she was helping him with his machines and they had a shared trauma over being “abandoned” by someone they cared deeply for. She was literally filling the void Entrapta left, and in a way they started to care for each other. Aria, being a hopeless romantic who had read about a trillion love stories about gentle protagonists who healed the evil monster men with their kindness, took to him like a moth to a flame and happily played the role of “the next best thing” against her better judgement. It wasn’t really a healthy relationship, but they did genuinely care for each other and found comfort in one another’s presence.

-It didn’t last, however. Catra was vaguely aware of the “thing” they had, and while she was indifferent for the most part, she was dealing with a downward spiral of her own, and she slowly became paranoid that Aria would distract him from completing their plans. In her poor, burnt out kitty cat frame of mind, the only way to deal with the situation was to get rid of her. So, deciding to kill 2 birds with one stone, she told Hordak that Aria had been jealous of his relationship with Entrapta, and SHE had been the one to send her to beast island. And Hordak believed her.

-I won’t go into detail about what happened after that, because it was VERY GRUESOME! We all saw how Hordak reacted when he found out what Catra had done in the original show. Now remember when I mentioned that Aria has hollow bones that made her incredibly frail and physically incapable of defending herself? Yeah. It was not pretty. Hordak wasn’t completely at fault, since he thought his anger was warranted, but by the time he’d learnt the truth and realised his mistake she was dead. In the space between the incident and learning what really happened he’d thrown her in the abandoned black garnet chamber with no food or water and basically left her to rot. He was EXTRA mad at Catra for pulling that with him, but he didn’t have time to grieve since he, Glimmer, Catra, and Aria’s lifeless corpse were beamed up into Horde Prime’s flagship.

-When Prime initially found her she was still dead. However, remember the healing magic that came from the mysterious meteorite that had now fused with her soul? Spoiler alert! It belonged to him. The meteorite was one of his most prized possessions, and the dreams Aria had been having were the magic’s attempts at trying to establish a connection with him across dimensions. (the meteorite was somewhat sentient. This is perfectly normal and well thought out writing I swear) And being reunited caused a huge surge of magical energy that resuscitated her, allowing Prime’s clones to give her some much needed medical help.

-After being pretty much comatose for 2 weeks Aria finally woke up, and was finally able to speak with Prime in person. When she found out that the “mysterious figure” from her dreams who had promised to find her was REAL and had just saved her life, she basically just latched onto him. She was, understandably, TRAUMATISED from the last 2 or so years of her life, so she was too scared to go anywhere else or trust anyone, so Prime didn’t even have to try to win her allegiance. He was also very happy to have his meteorite back, even if it now had a mortal body with skin and a face and a slew of emotional baggage. So she spends most of Season 5 being showered in love and affection by Prime and all her attendants, eventually being crowned Empress. While Prime was unequivocally evil and Aria was aware of that, he mostly sheltered her from what he was doing, in fear that her loyalty to him might falter. Maybe in a fun au she could’ve convinced him to leave Etheria alone so they could be together for longer, but alas, it was not to be.

-In the aftermath of the Heart being destroyed and Prime being killed, her downward spiral returned and shifted into OVERDRIVE. The people who had abandoned and neglected her took her one safe person away from her and they were being hailed as heroes for it. While she now knew that Entrapta had never abandoned her and was instead sent to beast island, seeing her get a happy ending with the man who had, to be quite blunt, physically abused and assaulted her, shattered any part of their friendship that might have been recoverable. She retreated into herself, taking over Horde Prime’s role as ruler over the Clones. She turned the Velvet Glove into their new home, trying to be civil with the other Princesses but eventually descended into a cold, bitter, vindictive Empress who ended up making terrible decisions as a cry for help.

-I’m still undecided on what to do with her after her fun villain arc, but I do know that in the aftermath she’d probably either step down from the throne so she could properly heal from her trauma, or work with her clones to fix up Prime’s flagship and get as far away from Etheria as possible and find peace in a new life away from everything that hurt her. I may also bring back Horde Prime from the dead through my sheer will to ignore canon so they can be together, since they are for all intents and purposes, soulmates. And I don’t think it would be very fair to let my poor hopeless romantic who just wants to be loved lose her handsome prince forever. I think it would be sexy if I committed necromancy I think.

ANYWAY...THAT WAS A HEFTY READ..SORRY IT WAS SO LONG, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!! I CAN COME BACK TO THIS FOR REFERENCE NOW

TLDR: babygirl has had it ROUGH

#spop oc #she ra oc #aria

[food-for-thoughts-that-count]

I can't work because of frail mental health from childhood trauma, so I'm just stuck on disability benefits for the rest of my life. I tried to go to a shit-tier community college, but I couldn't make it through a fucking semester without ending up downing a bunch of pills as an attempt to end my suffering.

I hate the way I look, just absolutely -hate- it. I want to fucking rip my disgusting hair out and cut my nose off. If I wasn't so ugly, maybe people would treat me better. Even with improving my looks, I'd still think that I'm ugly because I don't look conventionally attractive. I'm just stuck with my features whether I like it or not.

People just treat me like dirt even with my attempts to be cordial or blending in. Whether they brush me off or talk down to me, I know that I'm not wanted. All throughout school, children have bullied or ignored me. While high school was a little better since the student population significantly decreased, I was still never truly a part of the group.

My family pretty much emotionally neglected me, as I was simply seen rather than heard. My own mother did nothing to protect me from preventing further sexual abuse from a relative. Parents fighting constantly, doors slammed and shouting audible from several rooms away from the source. Took my mom 12-13 years to finally leave my crackhead of a father, though better late than never, I guess.

I tried roping multiple times in the past, the earliest attempt being at age 10. Ended up being sent to the loony bin at 12 where I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety shortly before receiving the aforementioned disabilitybux. Still tried killing myself and sel harming throughout my teens and early twenties until my stepfather threatened to prevent me from going to Job Corps (never went anyway, so not much lost).

Speaking of which, my stepfather's a real piece of shit. Verbally abusive towards me and even hit me once. I moved out after that and started bumming around relatives' houses until finally finding an apartment to call my very own. Begrudgingly forgave him only so I can receive extra cash on the side. I don't talk to -anyone- in my family save for maybe my mother who checks up on me from time to time.

I definitely know that I plan on killing myself once she dies, though God knows I want to die sooner. At least her death will seem like a more legitimate reason to rope, though why should I continue living for her sake? Why should I continue living at all? There's nothing for me in this desolate wasteland, and I've LDAR'd a long time ago.

Women like me aren't wanted not just by men, but by society as a whole. I'm too fucking broken to put myself somewhat back together. Even since my parents fucked, it was over for me; I guess the molestation at the age of 7 was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I just want to sleep forever, to be freed from the burden of life.

#vent #i hate being black #i hate it so much #i hate being alive #i hate my body #i hate people #i hate everything #i hate my brain #i'm so fucking done #i want to fucking die #somebody please kill me #tw suicide #tw depression #mentally ill #mental illness #mentally drained #mentally tired #so fucking done #i want to be white #i'm ugly #i wanna kms #i wanna scream #i wanna cry #fuck this

[nitro-nova]

So I just played Dungeons & Dragons and it was miserable.

The DM (”Lars”) and my other party member (”Jason”) spent the whole game mocking a level 1 rogue for not being strong?

Said other party member's character is basically a woman hater. It wasn't very long before he was making jokes about my character "noticing his character's penis."

Our first quest took place in a dark cave with dwarves tasking us with dealing with slimes. I had asked them questions to gather intel about these enemies. The claim was that "We tried cleaning them like stains, but they gathered up into a larger enemy. It even swallowed our mops. We're too weak to hit them with our hammers.”

So I thought, "the enemy must be resistant to any piercing damage, so my arrows won't work. But I might be strong enough to wield a hammer." Then I thought, "There's another party member here who is much stronger than me, so if he has the hammer, he can dispatch the enemies sooner."

Jason refuses to take the hammer. He insists on using the axe, which does slash damage, not bludgeoning.

The slimes are actually supposed to duplicate if you attempt this. Lars decided to ignore this. Then the enemy swung at Jason. Turns out, these enemies are absurdly strong. So they swung at Jason for lethal. It's going to fucking ONE-SHOT K.O. him. Obviously, we had to ignore that, too. Jason of course believes he doesn't need the hammer. Of course he doesn't, especially if we're going to bend the game in his favor whenever it backfires on him. Lars even tells Jason to turn his axe so that it effectively works as a better hammer.

His character is so unbearably antagonizing to mine throughout the entire game, that I'm just utterly tired of dealing with it. The straw that breaks the camel's back is that Jason discovers a dagger (for rogues) that is seems important, maybe even magical. We later find out that Jason can't even use this dagger without being shocked. It was clearly intended for the rogue. Jason keeps it for himself. Jason is a stand-out team player and i look forward to more of his shit. Lars eventually is begging Jason to just give me the thing since it is of no use to him.

The next room contains a gem. We both roll perception. My character detects an unusual warmth around the gem, which I believe to be a trap. Jason's character detects nothing, but because Jason the player heard the conversation about the unusual warmth, his character is bizarrely doing investigation rolls. I point out that he's playing according to meta rather than actual roleplay, but he just tells me to shut up. I try to preserve what Role Play there is left of the game by telling the DM I am standing back and pretending that Jason's character noticed me standing back.

Apparently, because my irritated character didn't warn his, I will later get scolded for not being a good team player. In that moment, I believe it and apologize, and then later realize that I didn’t deserve that at all and had nothing to apologize for.

Lars simply divulges at this point that the gem is actually an instant-kill explosion. Even though I'm standing back, I apparently would have to roll a 26 to dodge it. So we would have died if the DM hadn't made the dwarves intervene. I try to explain to them that I'm going nowhere near it because it's a trap. Lars does some pretty good acting by doubling down on the righteous indignation of the dwarves. It's a pretty solid act.

Oh, and get this, there are no accessible health potions until you complete one of the other quests. Why the fuck would someone design a campaign that doesn't immediately provide access to health recovery?! I have NINE HEALTH POINTS and everything can kill me in one hit!

So, here comes the shittiest part, it's the part that makes me completely check out of the entire game.

This entire campaign is taking place in a mining area/archaeological site. I'm a wood elf with sight capabilities, and presumably some decent hearing, too. Point is, it's dark. If you were to look at the map, it looks like a central room with small hallways that reconnect at other parts of the map. It's clearly built for stealth, something that we haven't had an opportunity to attempt, this entire game.

The dwarves are not warriors, they are archaeologists. They are frail little shrimpy fellows. They had explained that orc bandits had harassed them before, and that they were going to try to bribe the orcs away with the contents of a room barricaded with collapsed boulders that apparently needed 15 hours of man labor to clear (????) Anyway, we hear footsteps that indicate that the orcs are back. They actually come all the way to the big room in the middle of the map and start resting.

I think to myself, "If we engage in battle, the dwarves that just paid us could get hurt. We need to get them out of here safely. We need stealth." PRETTY REASONABLE, RIGHT?

Guess who hates the plan. The two guys basically moan and groan because once again I'm not enthusiastic to engage in combat. I mean, it's not like I had the wrong idea?? I'm a rogue, and the enemies swing for almost twice my health points. So, I imagine I'm reasonable to be apprehensive about three orc bandits and a possible civilian casualty situation. But they hate the idea of doing anything but straight combat.

My plan is this: There's a nearby corridor that will take me and the dwarves all the way around so that we can escape. But that's still risky as one of them could spot us. So I instruct Jason (and he absolutely hates it when I tell him to do anything) to take the back corridor to the other corner and stamp his hooves (he's a centaur) so that the enemies are distracted in that direction.

This should give me and the dwarves the opportunity to slip past. We have a third player (controlled by the DM but he gave up on it two seconds in) who I instruct to follow the orcs into the distraction corridor. I'm basically orchestrating a pincer maneuver while escaping with terrified civilians. I might have been able to come back and use the arrows to keep the orcs in that tiny corridor, maintaining the pincer attack. It was a rescue and combat strategy that I thought had a serious chance of working.

After much explaining and insisting and pointing out the dwarves, they "agree" to the plan. Jason moves to the other end of the hall and rolls to stamp his feet.

17. He rolls a success. Meaning, the plan should work as intended.

Lars does this:

"Jason stomps his hooves and the noise echoes everywhere. The orcs get up, alerted, not knowing where the noise is coming from, and they spread out. One of them starts moving toward Nitro."

Lars, the DM, deliberately sabotages my plan, despite the success roll, simply because he wanted an encounter to go his way. I mean, "majority rules" since Jason only begrudgingly agreed to follow my plan, so I guess I'm the asshole? I try to scramble for a backup plan, like retreating into the corridor, or sending Muten to do something desperate last-effort, because Lars deliberately fucked my plan over.

But they give me more shit, so I just check out at this point. The dwarves are right next to me, but I engage in my sneak attack arrow shot. Lars won't even let me deliberately shoot an arrow to cause a second attempt at a distraction, "because the orc will see the arrow so you have to engage in combat just do it, Nitro."

It deals shit damage, of course, because I'm a level 1 rogue against 3 orcs, but it's a sneak attack (my only one that I have) so it doubles and apparently this kills the orc. From then on, combat proceeds like normal, just shooting arrows and swinging axes without anything interesting about it. Except that Lars later basically calls us cowards for striking from the dark.

[march-of-the-marred-gods]

OC Profile: No. 135

A thin white young man with short, light brown hair with bangs to the side of the face, with his pointed ears standing out from it. He has heterochromia with the left eye being red, and the right, a very light gray. His nails are all long, sharp, and black. Two black horns protrude from his head, becoming slightly distorted at their tips. A black, spiny, skinny tail defines his lower backside, with its underside being the same color as his skin. He was a hybrid between human, incubus, and was the descendant of an ancient fire dragon that had dominion over all humans.

From the second series of experiments (100-199)

135 was very competitive, and had a jealous streak that only got worse with age. When he was young, he would still play with his younger brother, 136, in spite of his nature and slight resentment, but that resentment came to head when they were both in their late teens.

He and 136 have a similar genetic lineages, and even the same abilities, but 135's failing was being much too frail to survive in the conditions he was created for. He had to consume more resources than a normal human soldier with far less payoff than his younger sibling. Even his bones were as brittle as a human's, if not more so.

When he (19 at the time) and 136 (17) were sparring one day, 136 accidentally broke his collarbone. At this point, 136 was much larger than 135, and much stronger. 136's apologies fell on deaf ears. That was the straw that broke the camel's back for 135. He stopped speaking to his little brother entirely, and when that caused 136 to fall into a depression, the supervisor of the lab and series 100-199 herself went to comfort her best soldier. That only served to make 135 hate his little brother completely, gaining the attention of the supervisor.

About 3 years later, 135 was so sick he could barely function. He knew at this point the lab would discard him into the wilderness to die. When he got to the undisclosed location, what he found infuriated him so much he almost vomited. His brother, resting near an old tree with two little platinum blonde twins who had also been discarded.

"Why in the fuck are you here? You were meant to be the golden child, so why?"

135 felt unhinged. He lunged, intending to kill and eat the twins and 136.

"I refuse to die here," he thought. "And I will finally rid myself of this festering sore!"

It was all just a dream; 135 found himself on the ground, his consciousness fading quickly. 136 had gone straight for his heart.

The last words the young man heard were in a soft, somber voice.

"I always loved and respected you, you know that? I'm so sorry I failed us both. I can only hope you don't experience any more pain."

#oc #profile #no 135 #series 100-199 #i felt the need to insert a read more #because i can't talk about him without talking about his beef with his brother #tbh i probably could have broke this up into two posts but i don't feel like making two whole posts on a dead guy

[silentconceptions]

Let me start by saying that I acknowledge that this isn’t something you have the strength or mental capacity to hear right now.

You’re emotionally frail, physically out of shape, spiritually lost and putting together the

shattered pieces of a life you planned to make with someone.

However, if you’ve learned anything from me, you’d know I never coddle my friends. A true friend gives another what they need, not what they want. A true friend knows the other so well that their personal opinion on a matter never interferes with the way they treat the other. A TRUE friend doesn’t judge or gossip (even to other so called true friends).

I know what you’re thinking, how could two people truly judge unbiasedly if their intentions are true while IN the bubble of their friendship, connection or relationship, right?

Well, it’s simple. Every time I am going to blurt something out, every time I’m about to vent about my own problem, every time that I’m about to bring up a topic that COULD relate to both of our situations, I do something specific. I filter it through compassion, through empathy and most of all through logic/reason.

Know why? Because that’s what it means to be a true friend. It means to always look out for number one (cuz you can’t take of others if you’re falling apart yourself) but knowing that your number two (in that given situation) is also going through it..

You’re, at times, the worst kind of friend that exist. The “I’m there cuz I need you but you look like you need me too so I’m gonna weasel my way into making you feel this is about US when it’s really about ME” type. You can be self centered, narcissistic, entitled, purposefully/blissfully/willfully ignorant of your privileges AND you do it all with a thin veneer of thinking you’re not any of those things (because obviously you’re educated/knowledgeable and very well versed in said things so in your eyes you can’t POSSIBLY be one of those people).

But knowing isn’t doing and doing with expectations isn’t selfless/truly living a principle.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m bitching about particular interactions this weekend but the reason your receiving an “essay” as you’ve been calling my “emotional writing” as of late is simple. This is the piece of straw that can quite easily break the camels back in our 16ish year relationship.

I’ve never judged you. Not once. Even when the right call was to stand firm on MY opinion towards any given situation, I NEVER ONCE judged you.

I’ve NEVER made you feel “less than” in front of others. If I EVER felt something you did towards me that was untoward or that you fucked up towards someone else I ALWAYS set time aside or walked you over in private to discuss things.

I’ve NEVER looked at ANY of your diagnosis’ with disdain, ridicule or even the slightest bit of resentment.

We spent the weekend self medicating. I rarely do it but this occasion called for it. You, on the other hand, cycle through “appropriate” methods of self medication through out your day:week:month and it’s how you cope. Again, I’ve never judged you for it, but that’s not my rhythm or routine. You’ve medicated and ran from your problems your ENTIRE LIFE. Trust me, I’ve been there for most of it. That’s not to say you haven’t made amazing strides towards serious improvement, that you haven’t unburdened/unpacked/processed PLENTY of the awful shit that has happened to you (or that you’ve lined yourself up for) nor is it to diminish ANY of your efforts to improve yourself as a person.

This letter is about the fact that I feel betrayed and judged by the one person who I have NEVER judged or betrayed EVEN ONCE throughout the years.

Before all that, I have to get something off of my chest. Yes, I lied about recently being diagnosed as ADHD. I did so to help you feel accepted and for the purpose of a personal experiment I decided to follow through with about a week into us scheduling it two weeks beforehand. I’m not gonna pretend the experiment was selfless and ONLY to (in the end) have something concrete to tell you about yourself/the way you treat others. I was also testing my limits and wondering what the results of an high exposure to a mixture of uppers, downers, cannabinoids and caffeine looks/feel like to me with my composition/chemistry. I rarely drink caffeine (caffeinated teas/coffee/soda included and tend to smoke lightly while doing it for social reasons.

I decided to take all the same chemicals you did for the weekend so I could mirror YOU and show you what you’re like energy-wise to an observer/from the outside. I tried to show you what you’d be like If your mind/body was clearing everything as you’re supposed to (hence the constant “water please” and “do you remember”).

You’re SUPPOSED to analyze your past as the memories come up over the years. You eventually get to see things in hindsight (which CAN be 20/20 if you’ve truly processed said events unbiasedly/from a third perspective as we were discussing). This is the ideal way your mind finds clarity and closure.

The constant annoying ask for water was me reminding you and making it annoyingly obvious that you need to hydrate and eat if you’re gonna be pumping the ridiculous amount of chemicals you pump into your body on a normal basis. We’re 80% water, remember? Even with my horrific spinal injuries (among countless others that I don’t complain about cuz they pail in comparison to herniations on all three sections of your back) I’m in peak shape physically. If someone like ME can’t function properly or clear the levels of self medicating you’re accustomed to - how do you expect ANYONE else to? How do you expect the average person who may have a bit of extra fat (it stores/holds potentially harmful things you ingest which may be processed at a later day when you use up the fat/lose weight), has other preexisting injuries/mental health issues AND is currently going through a life shattering/altering trauma or incident to do so? I don’t and you shouldn’t either.

Surprise surprise though, cuz guess who couldn’t accept or deal with someone who was exhibiting the same energy pattern as you were?

You.

You rejected (for all intents and purposes) a carbon copy of yourself. Someone who was relying on caffeine and sativas to moderate their highs and indicas/downers to deal with the pain/sleep.

I know exactly what you may be thinking though..

“You’re not me, we’re all special snowflakes who’s individual struggles can’t be quantified/measured/or compared because each of our experiences throughout life dictates our ability to cope with, perceive AND manage.”

..but let’s be real, if after a decade of being an adult you haven’t worked on yourself enough to stop blaming your past, own up to your own flaws AND work on fixing them, then the problem isn’t the world or your youth OR the people in your orbit. It’s YOU.

Do you see the irony in all of that?

You and Scott fell apart for similar reasons. I know I know, your brain is gonna wanna quick fire all the semantics as to why that isn’t the reason y’all fell a part. But it is.. You yourself said that he was in fact the male version of you. We say that quite often but he was in fact very similar to you (down to your diagnosis and overbearing family to boot). The funny thing about it is that you didn’t reject HIM (per say) in the end. You were rejecting all the things you couldn’t (and to some extent) STILL can’t accept about yourself. You were rejecting the potential to have a happily ever after because heavens forbid you reach a goal (the “what comes after”/“what happens now” murders you EVERY TIME).

This letter isn’t about bashing you as a person nor is it about you per say though. It’s about US and why I was so hurt by who you’ve become.

Do you want to know the real reason why I texted you “That kinda hurt 😒.. Take care Ari”?

I wrote that because it’s okay for others to deal with your energy but as soon as you’re uncomfortable, it’s time to cut ties or change setting or find ANY way to run from the situation. I confront things, I analyze what’s bothering me and WHY. I don’t ASSUME my discomfort is external at all times NOR do I blame the outside world for what I’m feeling. The sad thing is that you were oblivious to why I was so hurt. I couldn’t get out the door let alone finish packing before I passed out because what you did in that moment shattered many of my feelings towards you (I was also finally coming down from a two day bender but we’re not gonna mention that cuz it sounds less poetic 😭🤣😜).

When I asked if I could come with you, I meant to the station, not to your gathering or whatever you were planning on doing. Your response was a disgusted no to which you added insult to injury by going on a tirade with your friend about my “diagnosis”. We could argue the semantics about time and scheduling and how you were just angry we weren’t moving at your pace/schedule, but we both know you just didn’t want me around anymore (which is fine, but did you have to ridicule me as well as make me feel less than?).

We could’ve spoken about it when you got back but the fact that you were oblivious to what you did and had come home wondering what the “weird text” was about just pissed me off so I shut down..

So, here are the specific reasons why this weekend ended the way it did:

Firstly, you invited me over under false pretenses. We were scheduled to unwind, unpack and catch up. Instead, we winded up, packed your storage and caught up on your errands. The total opposite of what my current physical well being and soul crushing depression wanted.

Secondly, you said we’d go on a drive to no where in particular while gaming (and again) catching up. Instead, the trips were to get food and to said storage facility.

Both of these drives could’ve been utilized to game and catch up but instead I was forced to hear you gossip and complain with your new friend on the phone.

Just to be clear, I’m not the jealous type, but if we had to “pencil me in for the weekend” (just as I set aside time from my busy schedule and new relationship) YOU should’ve put things on pause or at the very least been more aware of where your focus was during the weekend. My phone was on vibrate and DND whenever it seemed we could have a moment to speak. That’s just what someone who wants to focus on someone else subconsciously does. I’m an entrepreneur and freelancer. You don’t think I could let my phone run my life??

You allowed your self absorbed, need to be liked/accepted and general narcissism dictate then sideshow our (what is it now, 6 years since we’ve had time alone?) reunion after all the shitshows that have befallen each of us since we last had a moment to catch our breath together.

Lastly, you have a way of analyzing things which to the unknowning/naked eye seems like judgement. I’ve known you long enough to know it is in fact just your way of processing (usually). What you did this weekend, wasn’t that. You rarely come to a conclusion then rub that conclusion in someone’s face before rejecting them. That is not the A R T that I know and grew to love over the years.

In case you’re wondering WHEN this happened, it’s quite simple. Throughout the weekend you didn’t notice or realize this but I was matching YOUR energy. We weren’t “keeping up with each other”. I was trying to match your highs (through pain) and settle into your lows after being over stimulated but not given a task with the equivalent energy drain said overstimulation provided. So, I’d go work out, get some personal project work done, shower or observe the surroundings around the property while you went off into your own phone/other ”friend bubbles”.

Did I complain though?

No, because a true friend isn’t selfish. A true friend understands that life doesn’t happen on your schedule. A real friend does all of the things I’ve mentioned without thinking about it. Without tallying it and without having expectations in return after completing each action. I’ve never been transactional in our relationship. However, this upset called for me to show you some tough love and call you out on your shit.

I know it’s not fair to call you out on a lot of these things because you have been conditioned into being this way over the years.. but not with me A. ... Not with me 😒

Part of me hopes this letter doesn’t change your mood/perception for worse - but another side of me hopes this makes you question yourself to enough to take stock of your actions/behavior towards others in the future.

Your trusted friend, confidant and (hopefully) ride or die till the end

-ARLP

#love letters #letters to a young poet #thoughts #love #life #ask me anything #writersofinstagram #writer speaks #mentalhealth #adhd culture #actually adhd #adhd feels #self medicating #relationships #relationship #depressing tumblr #depression #bipolar ii #bipolar #love is patient #love lost #new love #polyamory #polyam dating #positivity #philosophy #perceptions #personal growth and development #perspective #ask me anons

[k9cat]

The Shelf

Hello all! This is based off a post I found on @prinxietys blog, which can be found here, I’m also gonna tag @starlight-sanders, @angstymelon, and @mylasagnaisraw since they also added to the post to make it what it is. 

Big shout out to @parsnipit for proofreading this and being awesome 

This is also posted on Ao3 here

Warnings: Slight panic attack like thing, and some good old hurt/comfort 

The Shelf 

The shelf had appeared one day when Logic wasn’t paying attention. It didn’t even garner his attention, usually new shelves would soon fill themselves with books and little nick nacks that were deemed important to keep.

It was nondescript. Plain, and it fit the colour of all the other shelves in his room stacked high with books and things. It stayed empty.

 Until a bottle appeared on it. It was a small bottle, no taller than his pinky finger and stopped with a brown cork. The little paper stuck on the side read ‘embarrassment’ when he went to investigate the glass bottle which contained a lime green, stuff. He couldn’t figure out if it was liquid or not when he picked it up and the green swirled around in the bottle. It confused him, but he dismissed it. It was no harm to him, or anybody else, thus he left it alone.

 That was years ago now, and the shelf was now the most colourful thing in his room; second place was the bookshelves.

 Logan now had quite an interesting assortment of bottles on the shelf ranging in colour, size, and shape. All full of that not-quite-liquid-not-quite-gas stuff he could not figure out . It perplexed him so, to look at these things he did not understand. They distracted him, and made his thoughts wander when he wanted to focus. He shoved down the bubbly frustration he was feeling, closed the book he was trying to read, and rubbed his forehead, trying to make the oncoming headache go away. He was supposed to be Logic, not emotions, and he saw a tall skinny bottle with a twist cap appear beside the other assortment of bottles. Letting go of a sigh, he set the book aside on the side table beside his chair. He wasn’t going to be able to continue with it tonight.

 It was late into the evening and everyone was in their rooms after a long day of filming the next video. They were planning to start editing tomorrow after a good night’s rest. Yet he couldn’t find himself tired enough to properly fall asleep, thus the reading, thus the distraction of the bottles of things he didn’t understand, thus the new one appearing. Logan picked his way around the stacks of books and memories and boxes of facts and information organised in a seemingly scattered way around his room, he knew where everything was despite how messy it looked. He made his way to the shelf.

 He picked up the fragile skinny tube of sour yellow, reading the label that read ‘frustration’. Of course. He put the bottle back carefully. He looked over the shelf of many colours. He just didn’t understand, and he did not like not understanding. It wasn’t him, and it confused him and made his chest feel tight in an uncomfortable way and made his stomach twist in knots because he knew he would never get an answer no matter how many ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’ he asked. No, that wasn’t him, the ugly feeling in his chest wasn’t him, not for him, he wasn’t made to deal with emotions. He couldn’t understand them, not matter how much he tried. Emotions were for Morality, and Anxiety, and even Creativity, but not him, not Logic, never Logan.

 He pushed them back, left them alone and saw another bottle appear on his shelf. It was a wide bottle that tapered skinny at the top, very conical in shape. Inside was an ugly red-brown colour with the label reading ‘confusion/frustration’. Logan stepped away, not looking at all the labels that read amusement, fear, giddiness, disappointment, remorse, love, and more. All the emotions he just didn’t understand, for he was Logic, thought, thinking, the mind, no room for those icky, sticky, confusing emotions. That tired him out more quickly than any social interaction.

 He flopped on to his bed, not caring that he should change into his pajamas, and let the lights dim in his room to darkness, the moon hanging in his window the only source of light. A night’s rest always helped him clear his mind and refresh for the next day. He was very close to slipping into sleep when he heard an ominous creaking from across the room, coming from the shelf, pulling him back to awareness. He ignored the sound.

 Sometimes when a bottle for a particularly heavy emotion appeared, the shelf would creak and groan until it accommodated the weight, and sometimes the sizes were deceptive. A large bottle could be very light, filled with orange ‘happiness’ and ‘joy’, and other would be small bottles, no more than a few ounces, heavy like a teaspoon of a neutron star, filled with ‘fear’ and ‘worry’ written in the smallest fonts. Yet the shelf always held, his resolve willing the wood to stay strong and not splinter under the pressure.

 The sound settled, and he let go of a tenseness he didn’t realize he had been holding. That may have been the incorrect thing to do. The shelf groaned under the weight again, sounding like a boat complaining about the water it was sinking into. That was the sound of stress, and it wasn’t a good one. He shoved down the small panic and fear that had been slowly rising up in him since the first creak of wood. Now was not the time to worry about the shelf breaking, since it should never break, and even if it ever did, he would need a clear head to deal with the mess. The little bottle of blue that appeared on the edge, taking up the last of the space, was the figurative last straw on the camel's back.

 The shelf itself stayed strong as ever, but the bracket that held up the shelf and supported it, did not.

 It was like watching slow motion, as he saw the wooden bracket fail under the weight, breaking off the wall. The shelf tipped with no support, sliding each and every bottle, big and small, tall and short, square and round, off of the wood like a waterfall, tumbling and racing to the ground in a confused rainbow. The frail glass shattering as it met unforgiving books and boxes and floor. He assumed the sound was a grand smash of clinking bottles and crunching glass, and of a plank of heavy wood falling off the last bracket and crushing any surviving bottles with its weight with a thud. He assumed that was what it sounded like, unable to comprehend the sounds past the rushing of blood in his ears. As soon as the first bottle cracked, Logic was swamped with all the suppressed emotions of years past. All the buried feelings, all the bottled not-understanding was released and feeling them all at once, unable to process them.

 Overwhelming panic made it difficult to breath in the first place, but mixed with the euphoria of happiness and the screaming rage of anger, he was stuck between hysterical laughter smashed together with pitiful crying, gasping for air in between it all. It was all so confusing and he couldn’t understand any of what was happening, and that was making him scared and that was making him worried and for the life of him he could not push it down so he could think. When he tried it welled up, even more vengeful than before, and he could not stop laughing through the tears that were rolling down his face unimpeded.

 The sounds he didn’t hear must had been loud. Through tear-obscured lenses, he saw Morality throw his door open wide. Ever the emotional one, he looked worried and concerned in his cat onesie, glasses askew, looking half awake, followed by Prince pushing past, sword brandished and ready to fight despite being in his own pajamas and looking half awake as well. Anxiety was a step behind, staying clear of the swinging metal, the only one looking awake and composed. Logic flinched back at the large movements, everything was too much and he couldn’t focus on the outside with how clouded his thinking was on the inside, trying to sort out what was happening and his heart clenched and his stomach felt queasy like he was going to puke and his eyes were scratchy with salty tears. The headache was coming back in full vengeance and now his glasses were smudged with fingerprints and tears from his hands covering his face and pulling at his hair and too much confusion.

 The others were talking. Their mouths were moving. They were looking at him, looking at each other, looking around the room, but he couldn’t hear past the blood rushing in his ears and over his panicked enraged laughter. Morality spotted the broken mess of emotions on the floor first, finding the little labels without getting cut on the shards. Somehow, he knew the heart looked surprised, and why does he know that look was filled with empathy and love and worry and- Patton was right in front of him. Arms wrapped tight around him in a firm, secure, warm embrace. He took a stuttered breath through his gasping laugh-screaming-cry, stiffening at the contact because it was too much feeling, but it wasn’t enough, yet it was too much and it was all so confusing.

 He felt the low vibrations of the soothing words he knew Patton was saying instead of hearing them, and it helped so much. It was better already, Patton was made for emotions, the heart, the deep feelings. The eldest knew what he was doing.

 Logic leaned into the hug, letting the heart feel the overwhelming emotions that wracked the brain. Patton was encouraging him to feel them, let them out, cry, laugh, scream, don’t bottle them up. Virgil sat beside him soon after, wrapping an arm around him and leaning his head on Logan’s shoulder despite how much the worried trait liked his personal space. The panic was still there, the worry and guilt and shame and fear still in turmoil, but it changed. Not uncontrolled, not running rampant anymore, it was grounded and a faint semblance of organised thought makes its way through the wake of emotions still turning inside of him.

 He was breathing better, and through the calming rush in his ears he heard the faint humming of a soft tune mindlessly weaving a melody through the air. Roman sat on his other side, free of his sword, and the harmony follows the melody, the creative side grounding him alongside the emotion oriented traits. The turmoil in his head and heart slowly settled as he lets the last of the crying run out and the pitiful giggles putter away and he is left feeling almost numb. Echoes of all the unknown, not understood things flick by here and there, but they are tempered by the others and everything settles into a peaceful, content feeling he thinks is called comfort.

 They sit on his bed for a while, and he listens to the song Patton and Roman are weaving together for what feels like hours. He knows though, that it can’t have been more than one since the shelf first broke. He took a deep breath and sat up straight, breaking the hug from Patton and shifting Virgil off his shoulder. Patton reached forward and pulled off his glasses, the soft fabric of his onesie wiping his face of tears and cleaning his glasses of streaks and prints.

 “There you are,” Patton said quietly with a smile when he returns the glasses, ending the song. “All better now.”

 He nods in agreement, not trusting his voice right now to be a steady, sure tone. They stay quiet in his room, words not necessarily needed right now, just sitting, together, stray emotions flickering in and out here and there, leftover tears and half weary smiles drifting past in the tail end of the storm. It was late, and he woke the others out of their sleep by evidence of their sleep wear, and it was getting later every minute they sat there. They should all be asleep, not here comforting him. Thomas won’t have a good day tomorrow if they didn’t rest and recharge as well. Thus, he puts up a face, a facade of being in control and composed. He straightens his back and starts building the walls back up and shoving down the feelings that belong to Patton, Virgil and Roman, not him, not the brain. As usual, a bottle appears on the shelf. A new shelf, same place, same look, but new, looking a little more robust. Thicker wood and stronger brackets and a square bottle of purple appeared on top, sitting center stage and proud of it.

 The shuffling sound drew all their attention in the quiet and Virgil made a face, shadow passing over his features as he frowns, dark and menacing. Sliding off the bed he made his way to the new shelf and plucks the new bottle off. The anxious trait did not even look at what the little paper stuck to the side said as he whipped his arm around and threw the glass at the wall, shattering it. He is flooded with the emotions he just shoved away, and his face falls and his walls were not strong enough and he slumps back into the hug Patton still wanted to give, tired and feeling a weird mix of emotions still.

 “You are never going to make bottles again,” Virgil said with a quiet fury. “It’s not healthy and I push down enough emotions for the both of us. You should never have to do that.”

 “Virgil is right, you don’t have to bottle it up, you are allowed to feel,” Patton assured with a gentle tenderness.

 “I- I don’t, know how.” He heard his voice waver no matter how much he tried to keep it stable.

 “What do you mean?” Roman asked, confused.

 “I, I don’t understand them, emotions. I don’t know how to comprehend them and make sense of them, I don’t feel, I’m not supposed to, I’m Logic,” he rambled a bit, trying to convey his not-understanding and confusion and frustration with the one thing he could not ever make sense of, the dreaded things mixing up again in his chest and hurting again. Patton must have felt it also, as he nodded for Anxiety to come sit back down and pulled Roman even closer so that the fanciful trait was also hugging him.

 “It’s okay that you don’t understand, that means you can learn then, and you love learning,” Patton soothed.

 “I tried, and it never makes sense.” He sounded brittle, exhausted, and his head was pounding from the crying or his headache or both.

 “Have you asked any of us?”

 He shook his head no. He didn’t want to sound emotional.

 “Ask us then. Maybe we can help you understand them better instead of bottling them up, okay?” The heart offered. Logan nodded, anything to understand he would accept.

 Patton started humming again, soft, and low, and Roman soon joined in again. The moonlight illuminated the room enough for them to pull back the sheets on his bed and fall into the comfort there, and that was okay. Roman was here to help make sense of it all and Virgil would protect them and Patton could smile for him, and if that was what he needed to know to start understanding emotions and not bottle them up, then it didn’t seem wrong to feel at all. And even though in the morning they were all slightly sluggish from the lack of sleep, he couldn’t help but feel better when he saw that the shelf was still empty.

#sanders sides #logic sanders #morality sanders #anxiety sanders #prince sanders #my fic #stedler scribbles

[lenasaurous]

Bananas - MikaYuu

Summary: He was making eye contact with Yuichiro Hyakuya for the first time in his life. But it was far too late that he remembered he hadn’t actually bitten into the banana.

Word Count: 1216

Or you could read this on AO3

WARNINGS - There are suicide jokes and references to old political stuff. I don’t know if you may ave a problem with it? It’s a little crack thing, it’s meant to be weird and I wrote it at like 1 in the morning three years ago.

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE THE FIC! 

So my old friends and I had this game where we’d give each other a ship, preferably one we've never read but do support, and then find a fanfic for the other to read. And they have to finish it.

Now one of these friends and I had a special version of this game where we actually write this fanfiction, and it's always better if the person writing it is very unfamiliar with the ship. That is how this beauty came along. It was the very first and omg i believe it is the best. The prompt we chose was one is eating a banana. And yes. I wrote this.

This is a warning to you all. This friend really liked it and said that it was pretty good and typical (don't think I will ever believe her) This fanific may be awful. As I said she liked it but, please don't hold it against me I've never seen seraph of the end, just the wikia.

That said I really hope you like it.

AND NOW THE FIC STARTS

Bananas

He may or may not be ashamed to admit it, but Mika had been stalking someone for the majority of the time he had been at Seraph University. He had been attending for two years now.

The subject of his affections was a young man called Yuichiro. He majored in law and was the head of the debate club, his presence, at least to Mika, was everywhere around campus. Most people knew him for how fierce he was at his debates and was leading his class due to pure determination and passion. And Mika loved all of it,

He had first seen Yuu when he had been dragged to a debate and, like many, was in awe of him instantly. The ferocity with which he put his opponent down was both terrifying and inspirational and the extent to which he seemed to be enjoying it managed to get the whole room pumped. It was a big thing for students to partake in, even if it was just spectating. And since that first one, he had never missed another, and thankfully for him, no one really noticed.

However, it didn’t really stop there. Mika had had only a small taste of what was to come. He noticed him more and more around the college, their classrooms were in adjacent buildings so when he saw the other entering the law studies building as he was making his way to a modern history class he subtly changed his schedule to accommodate this fact.

He then realised that same day how during his midday class he could see Yuu having lunch with his friends on the lawn in the small circle of buildings in this wing of the university. Before he realised it his studies had taken a backseat to staring out his window. By some miracle in the last two years he hadn’t yet managed to fail.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when he realised, the following day, that they shared a biological science minor. The second he saw the other his poor heart skipped a beat.

And so his life began to revolve around him and the other, to his knowledge, was completely oblivious to it. He often congratulated himself on not even having alerted any of his friends yet, at least none of them had ever brought it up.

His life was a long blissful wonderland of angst and disappointment at the knowledge that had long branded itself in his consciousness that this creepy obsession would never be met favourably and that he would probably be forever alone because of this, lucky enough to perhaps one day have the guy as his lawyer. But when he saw Yuu make a face like that he just couldn’t care, he had ice cream on his nose COME ON!?

Anyway, in the present his life had comfortably moulded around both Yu and his own small social life and was currently enjoying lunch while pouring over a history book with a perfect, unobscured view of Yu who was sat across the lawn partaking in a similar activity.

Perestroika means restructuring… foreigners were given more freedom… who was he kidding he couldn’t concentrate. He turned back to his lunch, picking out the banana and peeling away the skin. As he went to take a bite he spared a glance to look across at Yuu and he saw… green. He was met with bright, sharp green eyes and it took him a few dumbstruck seconds to realise that Yuu was looking at him. He was making eye contact with Yuichiro Hyakuya for the first time in his life.

From the distance it was slightly difficult to tell but he saw Yuu begin to blush… and then laugh… a lot… he was laughing a lot… it was adorable but he couldn’t exactly tell why he was doing it. It was far too late that he remembered he hadn’t actually bitten into the banana.

He spat it out immediately and kicked it away from him, panting and blushing furiously. He looked back over to Yuu and saw him trying and failing to recover from a laughing fit. And oh God, Mika was embarrassed. He wasn’t just embarrassed but he was going into full on panic mode, the-world-is-falling-around-me-and-I-have-nothing-left-to-live-for-where’s-the-nearest-bridge mode.

He had made eye contact with Yuu at long, long last after two long years of pining after him and the other’s head was probably filled with dirty, embarrassing thoughts that obviously put Mika in the worst light possible. He would just remember him as the banana guy. Great… he’d have to pack his bags and move to Mexico, he’d need a new identity, and quickly, maybe he could become a humble llama shepherd or something. Trump’s wall didn’t really sound so bad anymore.

“Err, are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mika turned to look up and saw Yuu bent over him, a highly amused but also slightly concerned look on his face.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh no! What was he doing here? This was way, way worse. I should be in Mexico!

“You… you don’t look very okay.” He looked more concerned this time and Mika’s mind just went on another field trip.

Why is he so cute?! No, don’t make that face! Why aren’t I speaking? Mika say something, QUICK! Hurry up you idiot just say something he thinks you’re a MADMAN! You’re just staring just spit something out already!

“I’m moving to Mexico.” Well done, you are a genius.

He was still mortified when Yuu let out an adorable little laugh. “I’m just going to ignore that. I assume you want me to.” Wh-why is he sitting down. Abort! AboRt! aBOrt! You err…  have to go. You have to Go PacK Your baGs! Screw Mexico next stop Antarctica. “If it’s my fault I’m sorry.”

“NO!” Don’t YELL! “Erm… n-no, d-don’t worry… about it…” He sighed and tried to calm himself down. Putting his thought’s in some sort of jumbled, vibrating order. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry to worry you. You should, um… just go back to your studying or… y’know… whatever.”

Yuu furrowed his brow slightly but still looked amused. That then melted away into a gentle smile and Mika thought that he maybe wouldn’t be able to take much more. “You know… after two years I would have though you would have just said ‘hey’ or something.”

The way his expression changed so quickly would make anyone think he was bipolar or something. To explain it would be implosion. He could feel his entire life falling around him, crushing his frail heart and realised that Antarctica was also out of the question. Yes, a noose would be much more suitable. “W-well… I… that is I… I really don’t have anything to say regarding that…”

“That’s okay. This may be a bad time but… now I have you here… and we’re actually talking and… well um…” He blushed slightly and Mika was now less devastated and more so utterly confused, like when a tiger in a leotard comes waltzing into your living room arm in arm with an albino naturalist in flip flops confused. “Do you want to get a drink or something…? Tomorrow… for lunch?”

Mika could do nothing but faintly nod.

FIN.

There, I'm sure you either thought it was mildly amusing and shall now go on to read something else or thought it was such a horrible representation of your otp and will spam me with hate.

Either way tell me what you think! Please! I'm an attention whore!

#owari no seraph #seraph of the end #mikayuu #AU #Bananas #I haven't watched the show #Please be gentle #Almost definitely probably OOC #Crack #Yaoi #Yep... #OKay bye

[icechuksblog]

 Today, the world marks the 21st anniversary of the of late Afrobeat pioneer and legend, Fela Anikulapo Kuti. In this extremely detailed piece that documents the last days of 'Abami Eda'. the story of his last days come to bare and details of how Fela refused western medicine till it was too late. Read below... The spiritual connotation for 1997 was more than the 20th anniversary of the Kalakuta raid or the 10th anniversary of the death of Fela’s close friend President Thomas Sankara (who through undeniable spiritual fate, died on Fela’s birth day). 1997 was also the beginning of the manifestation of the cycle: Fela’s rejuvenation. Though strong for important days, Fela was already a shadow of his former self in February. His body was too thin for his head, his skin dry, spotty, like they’d been sucked from within. Loads of white hair on his head. In March, Fela had his most expensive show ever. 3,000 Naira (about $27 dollars then. $27 dollars today is almost 10 thousand). “Fela at the Muson” was a huge success. As rich people and foreigners came to watch Fela. Fela was warned prior, that no marijuana smoking should be done on stage, no provocative dances either. Fela would break those rules barely 5 mins in. Fela, by one of his boys side stage, had been provided with a big blunt. The music was however enthralling especially for the bass-filled rendition of ‘Clear Road for Jaga Jaga’. By the time Fela got to ‘Condom Scallawag and Scatter’, the provocative dances came. Fela began to grab at the vagina of his dancers, making different sex poses as he danced with them. An act which shocked those who were seeing him for the first time. The music was bubbling as the chorus “Baba Obo” rang through. The crowd was well pleased with Fela’s performance giving him a wonderful applause at the end. Similar to his Yabbis Night speeches, Fela during the course of the show had complained of the country’s situation, sighting that the country was actually getting worse. While not finger pointing at Abacha specifically, Fela dribbled around his main point: the government. Everyone went home that night and the world seemed at peace. A few weeks after, NDLEA agents with armed soldiers swooped down on Kalakuta. This time with more fire power. Fela who had been arrested and magically released with a National TV declaration in ‘96 for Drug charges, had done enough. Fela had been left to smoke and remain in his own corner. Now, ‘Kalakuta Show’ began to spin That gruesome day in March of 1997 saw Fela and the Kalakuta clan in a situation they’d been in, many times. The armed soldiers began to ransack the premises, Fela who must have been in his room smoking wasn’t expecting the ‘visitors’. It was February 18, 1977 all over again, and while it wasn’t Fela’s mother who was thrown down from the balcony again, it was Fela’s heart and trust. It may have been the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Members of the Kalakuta abode were all hauled to prison. Fela himself was handcuffed, paraded before newsmen and led behind bars. Many who saw Abami that day were aghast! Fela looked frail and undeniably there was sorrow in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling like he normally would. The Abacha regime had another win. Beko behind bars, Wole fled the country, and now Fela was in custody. The government used the ‘cut the head, and the body will shrivel’ technique. As many of the famous activists found themselves dead, forcefully exiled or behind bars, the reality of the sovereignty began to dawn vividly to Nigerians. The Fela images were to humiliate him around the world. Not even Abami couldn’t be touched. Fela resulted to a well known explanation for his predicament: his own enemies were right there in Kalakuta. The spirits can’t help him if some of his own people aren’t with him. Fela was brought before General Bamaiyi of the NDLEA again. The same man who had said Fela could smoke marijuana on TV now rescinded his words. Fela was banned from smoking. He told Bamaiyi that he couldn’t fuck, eat, or sleep without marijuana. A logic, - a medical condition of drug dependence, would be one of the points used in Fela’s defence. Nonetheless, Fela was sentenced to 10 years imprisonment and the Kalakuta shrine was closed. But the spirits wouldn’t just abandon Fela. After some time, Fela was released on bail. The Government had obviously shaken him and made their message clear: they were always watching. It was in this imprisonment that some of the Kalakuta brethren, especially some wives believe Fela was injected with what eventually killed him. A theory or reality? Life continued  Fela’s supposed last show was June 14, 1997 at a Port Harcourt Show with Geraldo Pino. It was clear that the magic and fire were gone. Fela himself ordered the band’s quick return to Lagos, despite some opposition. Upon return, Kalakuta went back to its own business: loud music, laughing, fighting. But Fela was always in his room. Despite attempts by Yeni and Femi to give Fela Western medicine, he wouldn’t take it. When they managed to put some in his water, Iyase, one of the Kalakuta women would go tell on them to Fela. With that, Fela concluded his own children couldn’t be trusted. And even his beloved Sola couldn’t touch him anymore. Fela could no longer play at the Afrika Shrine- Seun, Dede, Baba Ani and Femi (with his ‘Sunday Jump’) kept the place bubbling. On July 21, Fela finally accepted a last chance and was moved to Victoria Island Consultancy and Hospital services. It was during this time that news broke that Fela was dead. A rumour his family was quick to shut down. Fela resisted the treatment at first but accepted it later on. He also refused to watch TV while he was on the sick bed. On July 23, Fela who had been mostly unconscious, woke up and asked for a doughnut. Funke, Femi’s then wife, brought some from Mr Biggs. The tests confirmed that Fela had AIDS. At midnight, he asked for rice. Rasheed Gbadamosi, a pal of Fela, had his wife cook some and bring it. On Friday, August 1, 1997. There was persistent and powerful RAin, for those who knew, Fela, Ra, was showing his final prowess. Femi who was supposed to perform that day in Ikeja, couldn’t. August 2, Chima the room aide beside him, saw him breath his last, at 5:30 after a rapid and lengthy breathing. Before the hospital staff arrived, Fela died of heart failure, the third one within a month’s span and the final. For a split second, it was as if time froze. RA, had passed away. The staff confirmed he was dead and with that, members of his family began to rush in. Dotun arrived first on scene, followed by Femi, Yeni, Sola and Funke. His elder brother Koye followed next. Koye had earlier gone to Beko’s house, with Gani Fawehinmi and other activists to celebrate Beko’s birthday The Ransome-Kuti, Anikulapo-Kuti family released a press statement at 9, that Fela was dead. A press conference was to take place at the Afrika Shrine, on Sunday, August 3 at 4 pm. Armed with the press statement, news reports began to fly around world wide that Fela was dead. Radio stations began to play his music, breaking news reports on the International and National news. The shrine was in complete remorse: many couldn’t believe it. But they all shared the same certainty: Abami Eda wasn’t dead, he was still very much alive and now would always be with them in spirit. Special thanks to Mabinuori Idowu, Kevwe Kuti, Lanre Kuti, Majemite Jaboro, Damiregba Kuti, Ihase Kuti, John Collins and Carlos Moore whose detailed explanations of Fela’s last days enabled this piece....

http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2018/08/felas-last-days-details-of-how-he.html

#http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2018/08/felas-last-days-details-of-how-he.html Fela's last days: Detai

[kp-reading-blog]

A Sensitive Time: A Short Story by Lee Isserow

A Sensitive Time is a prequel short story set in the world of Touch Sensitive, which is a thrilling PI novel by Lee Isserow. If you want to learn more about John Ballard and find out what he's getting up to then check it out!

You can check out the feature of Touch Sensitive here if you want to learn more about his Kindle Press novel.

About A Sensitive Time

She lies with him in bed, holding him close.

But something is brewing inside her, a change in chemistry, and soon she'll find out more than she ever wanted to know about the man she loves...

A Message from Lee

Hi, I'm Lee Isserow.

You may remember me from the credits of shows and movies that you never watched - and more that never aired. . .

Now I write books. Too many books.

At least one book a month until I run out of steam or *pun alert* lose the plot. 

A Sensitive Time

His breathing was slow, soft, shallow, and she held him close as he slept. It had taken him three hours to stop crying. Three hours to stop blaming himself. Three hours to finally admit that there was nothing he could have done.

She was still wide awake. The day had exhausted her, but caring for him in this time of need had sent her adrenaline surging, and it was still rocketing through her system. Her thoughts were like the wind making its way around a tree. Flowing one way then being split off in another direction, two or three directions at times, reconvening on the other side as something the same, and yet different.

He needed her now more than ever, and she knew it. He was always the strong one, always the one who looked after her, helping her with the crisis of the day or week or month. Always level headed, always a rock.

Yet this, the death of his mother, the death of the one family member he had left, was the straw that broke the proverbial camel. And not just its back, the whole damn thing. Every limb fractured, its belly torn open, the organs flopping out, fluids of one kind or another oozing out in a puddle around the poor thing's dishevelled corpse.

He could get better. He would get better. She reminded herself that these things take time. Reminded herself that time heals all wounds, that time flies like an arrow, that time is the longest distance between two places, that time... is a created thing. That time is an illusion.

Her thoughts were doing it again, going on that journey and coming back changed. Those thoughts, those quotes, she wasn't even sure where they were coming from. They were the kind of thing he would say. He always had a good memory for sayings and so forth, always seemed to be able to pull exactly the right one out at the right time. It was like he had memorised those little books of wisdom they sell by checkouts, even though he swore he hadn't.

He would get better, she reminded herself, putting her thoughts back on track. That was all that mattered.

He moved in his sleep, let out a longer breath. There was something on the air as it escaped his lips. Something she had never felt before. A notion, a feeling, that didn't quite seem as though it were her own.

She ignored it. She needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day, the grief would be just that little bit smaller. The day after that smaller still, and on and on until rather than mourning his mother's passing, he would just miss her. One day, he might forget about her all together.

But it would be a long time until then, she reminded herself, closing her eyes, willing herself into unconsciousness.

Another long exhale from him.

Her eyes opened wide. This time it was unmistakable.

It could have been a fraction of a dream, she tried to pretend as such, but deep down knew that it was real. She waited again for him to breath. The inhale had nothing on it, and he held it for what felt like an eternity. And then out it came. A long, soft sigh. And she had no idea how she knew it, but she did.

He killed her.

***

It wasn't malicious. He loved his mother, that was clear. But he hated the pain she was in.

He doubled up her meds. His mother protested of course, knew her dose, it had been the same for the best part of the year. But he assured her that the doctors had told him that she was to take more, to alleviate the agony, to make her more comfortable.

She could see it in the old woman's eyes, watching through his eyes. There was disbelief, not about the doctor at least. But there was something in his face, something that told her that one way or another, the pain would be gone if she did as she was told. So she took the extra meds with no further argument or questions.

He waited outside her door. There was a steely calm that took him over. A calm that felt so familiar. He took deep breaths, checking in on her until she passed out. Then he took the pillow from under her head. The old woman already looked at peace. This was just a small act, to allow that peace to continue.

She didn't struggle. Her breath was already weak, it didn't take long until there was no breath at all. Then he placed the pillow back under her head. Held his mother's hand in his. Said goodbye.

***

His exhale ceased and she was back in the room, in the bed, holding him close.

It wasn't real, it couldn't be real.

A dream, it must have been a dream, even if it were only for a split second.

Yet she knew it wasn't.

And she knew what this meant she was.

It was all over the news. She wasn't the only one.

He exhaled again. And she took in more of his memories.

And she remembered that his mother wasn't the only one either.

***

He had done it before, and not just to family members, but to strangers too.

It wasn't a daily activity, he wasn't that prolific, it was only when he couldn't contain the urge any longer. He fought it, he fought it so very hard, tried to stave off the dark notions that crept through the dank, inky black swamps that fettered and rotted and bubbled away in the back of his mind. But it was always a battle he lost.

Old age homes were easy pickings, they were under-funded, under-staffed, he could slip in and out with barely anyone noticing him. He had done it ever since he was a child, and would do it until the day he died. He knew it. He had accepted that this vile part of himself had a hunger that needed to be sated, and as long as it didn't harm anyone young and vibrant, with a full life ahead of them, he was okay with the occasional slip, an indiscretion, a pillow over the face every now and then.

***

The breath ended. And she came out of the memories wondering who this person was, the man who slept beside her, who had slept beside her every night for the last six years. He wasn't that man, this awful person lying in their bed. That man was kind, he was gentle, he was a beautiful soul.

That man, she realised, never existed.

He was putting on a mask, a facade, he was the charismatic leading man in a play and she was right in the front row. That mask had never slipped. Not whilst he was awake.

But now, now that she had the first inklings of this gift, a gift that she knew would likely turn into a curse if the papers could be believed, she was seeing right through his theatrical make up, seeing the actor behind it. And she didn't like him one bit.

He exhaled.

***

She was a good mate, he thought, when he first met her. Nice to look at, a bit on the frail side emotionally, but he could deal with that. He did love her, in his own way, she could feel that coming through with the memory. But it wasn't anything close to the way she loved him. It wasn't real love. It was functional. And the sex was good, he liked the sex.

He watched her sleep sometimes, when the darkness reared its head. He would watch her, listen to her breath, and clutch the pillow beneath his head. It would be so easy, so very easy. She wasn't a fighter, she'd barely fight at all. But he hadn't let himself give in. She was too precious, part of his well-crafted facade. He couldn't risk that. Not yet.

***

The sound of his exhale disappeared into the night, and once more she was pulled out and back into the real world. Her body was two steps ahead of her mind, had already rolled on top of him, her knees pinning his hands to the bed, the pillow in her hands, held with all her strength over his face.

He struggled longer than his mother. Certainly fought more than she did, more than any of them did. He was always the strong one, she reminded herself, always level headed, always a rock.

With time, and not that much time, he was no longer fighting. She could no longer hear his breath, no longer remember his memories.

She pulled the pillow away and looked at his face, so still, so panicked. She had never seen that look on his face before. But she had seen it on the face of so many others he had euthanised over the years

And then, it came to her.

That the action was not hers. His death was not at her hands.

It was at the hands of his memories, his personality traits borrowed, personality traits that were dissipating as the realisation came up on her with a chill that he was dead. That it was all his fault that it was all her fault. His dark notions swimming through her head, in and out and gone with the wind.

But, of course, the police would never believe that.

Touch Sensitive

Check out Touch Sensitive, which is where this short story is based!

Vernal Equinox

A Sensitive Time was originally featured in the Kindle Press Anthology Vernal Equinox. You can get it from Instafreebie for free!

#MT&S