#twas rough

[copper-skulls]

'lotl dragon creechur

#Rough #twas just a school doodle but I like it <3 i need to draw bulky dragons more #dragons #traditional art

[sleepyjas]

o hey besties i’m back 🥰

#needed a mental health break o boy #twas a rough few months

[awkwardrocker]

Spent the weekend in Miami and this was one of the only individual photos I took while dressed up

#bathroom selfies ftw always #it was a not great weekend #the events were nice #but i have had a migraine for a week that I had been fighting #so twas a rough one all around #but it's been almost 20 hours since my last headache so i think we're on the mend #selfie #might post some f1 content in a bit #was not up to it during the race itself #sad I wasn't in miami for the f1 race but weddings are a decent second option #and significantly cheaper than the f1 race #at least as a guest lol

[randomfoggytiger]

"I Wonder If You Think It's Safe Enough to Indulge Yourself"

(Fictober, Day 7)

*****

Phoebe Green. Fire.

The irony of two such oppositional elements combined in one destructive person-- nurture feeding nature, green-eyed monsters indulged with red hot passions-- had not been lost on Mulder. Perhaps he wasn't red-green colorblind in the strictest sense-- nojo on the rojo, that was a good one-- but his senses had failed him just enough to miss the glaring red flags, the forest for the Green. All that blazed was not a glow. All that grew did not produce.

But in the right hands, all that burned could be rebuilt. All that poisoned could be cured.

It required a discerning eye to find the right partner; and, though decades late with burn scars and thorn marks, Mulder knew now how to differentiate his colors.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Fictober #2023 #Day 7 #mine #Wetwired #S3 #but only vaguely #is Mulder red-green colorblind? Nope-- wouldn't be FBI if so #was it interesting to write him as slightly red-green colorblind for the themes? Yes #really proud I wrote today! #'twas... a rough computer day-- many woes and sorrows and stymied/unwanted updates etc. #and a few doors closed firmly in my face #HOPEFULLY tomorrow will be better~ #I intend it to be so anyway~ #Mulder #Scully #Phoebe Green #tried not to overdo the metaphors

[witchcraftingboop]

Ad Infinitum

In the East, the hero was born. It was said that he burns like the sun, blessed by the Gods, and apart from mortality and the ways of man. I was never really one for worship or idolatry, so I admit the words meant little to me then and even less now.

The boy breaking into my domain is said to be that hero, the golden child of the eastern territories, a herald of good triumphing over evil. Kneeling beside the corpse of my knight, it is difficult for me to see him as anything but that which he currently is: an intruder. The order comes easily to my lips, as cold on my tongue as my pledged one’s eyelids beneath my fingertips.

“Kill the hero."

My lips twist sardonically on the last word.

The whelp before me is no hero, and if I must end him to demonstrate as much, then so be it. He will learn his place by my hands, and then we will see whether his Gods’ blessings extend to death’s door.

Their hero is yet underdeveloped from what I can tell, his limbs gangly and ill-fitted to the title thrust upon him. His armor fits well enough, the polished gold burning bright under the sun’s relentless rays. The shine on a more impressive figure would likely inspire admiration, fear, but on this thin child, it makes him look small, insignificant. He is like a babe trying on an adult’s suit, unwilling or unable to admit that the fit isn’t quite right, that it will take yet more time before they are evenly matched.

My gaze falls to the comrade he stole from me.

The woman beside me looks to be around my age, well passed her second naming, and without so much as a braid upon her helmet. She was untried in battle, her sword not yet bled. A low hum crawls up my throat, my mind drifting to others like her, like myself. I had lain on this desert floor before, felt the sand grit against the back of my skull, my ears ringing with the reverberations of the sword hilt that’d hit my temple and my brothers’ noxious laughter.

They had thought themselves heroes too, and back then, I was fool enough to believe them. My elder brothers were invincible in my eyes, true shards of divinity given flesh. Even with a mouth full of blood and a headache ripe to split my skull, I was so fond of them, so full of yearning to be older, closer to them and their level of command over the world.

The hero, sword glaring in the sun’s rays, draws my attention once more.

It is said that this boy killed them.

A cold, wisp of fury rises in my chest. At one point, it had been hot like the flames of Oblivion, raging and untamable, and I had raised my armies and scorched the soil with it, turned villages to scarred lands and rivers to blood banks. Now it is cold, hollow, a figment of a memory that I cannot fully manifest.

My shoulders sag imperceptibly beneath my caped armored shoulders.

People say a lot of things. They say he killed my father, my brothers, and that the grief of their loss drove my mother and I to madness. They say my seer is a crazed man given to promiscuity and blasphemy. They say I am a devil chained within a temptress’ form festering with a heart of Vengence’s own ice.

I look upon their hero, and I feel nothing. It is the same lukewarm nothingness that I have felt for countless turnings. Only now I am older, wiser, and so I know that killing him will not throw my body back into feeling. I will not relish killing their sun, but I doubt the ones who sent him here will see it that way.

The boy is unfaltering in the face of my knights. He meets their swords, and he loses none of his shine. His sweat slicked black hair would look bleak on anyone else, but his bronzed skin warms yet further, his body seeming to illuminate itself with a blinding inner light that would give other men pause. Here, in my private residence, such untested persons cannot exist. He is not the first hero to come to my doorstep, and he will not be the last to be cut down where he stands, his holy blood rendered mere fertilizer for my private garden.

If I were capable of it, I'm sure my heart would bleed with pity for the youth. Perhaps if I were more like my father I would be capable of such emotion, such soul rendering burdensome feelings. As it is, I can only stand and avenge my fallen.

My mind alights upon ghosts.

Beside where this hero stands, my younger brother had choked around a mouthful of arrows, his tongue flayed around the feathered ends. He had not yet been named. He was the last of my father's sons, born after my eldest brothers' final breaths, and the final loss that tore my father from his throne. There, by this intruder's feet, I had felt his heart like a hummingbird flutter, flutter, stutter, and give out. Under my fingertips, clutched in my arms, I felt him return to the meadows and had stared at this hero's exact likeness, born again and again, his eyes like honeyed sunshine, jubilant at killing a toddler.

My vision wavers and clears, reality replacing my memories once more.

This time, the hero is not so joyful. He has tinted, drooping skin under his golden eyes, his hands are easily jolted against the hilt of his sword, his stance not quite as unshakable as it once was. And yet they call him their hero.

Seeing my approach, the knights that had circled around him, toying with his defenses retreat three paces, their swords brandished, patience carved into their half-covered faces like the tracks of water through stone. My hand drifts to my blades' hilt, the enchanted metal pulsing with cool joy at my touch.

"Are you not tired?"

The words leave me before I know I mean to speak them.

I have not talked to a hero in several reincarnations. I have watched him patiently approach time and time again, have looked on as he shattered his bones breaking against the walls of my keep over and over. What rage I once had has been extinguished, what love or laughter or peace wilted and decayed leaving nothing within me. If he does not feel as I do, then it must be because he is made anew each and every time while I am left on this mortal plane, neck deep in sand and death and plagues that his kings hurl at my people without ceasing.

He is not of the Gods. He is simply allowed rest where others are not-- where I am not. Once, that was enough to make me despise him.

"How many more times will you let them resurrect you, Atreus? Must I put you down like a kept dog every lifetime? Are you not tired of being sent to your death time and time again?"

When I speak his name, those eyes, which had been narrowed and guarded, zero in on my face, the pupils contracting until twin pools of molten gold blaze within his haggard face.

"Atreus?" There is a cruelty lingering in the feral edges of the smile he gives me.

I know that his next words will be another attempt to hurt me, to rip a reaction from my hollow chest, but he does not know yet how deeply our lives are entrenched in one another. I let my hand fall away from my weapon, something inside me holding its breath in anticipation, as if his next words hold my very fate, as if they alone will release me from this place.

Come, I want to say, I wait with open arms for Oblivion's embrace. Come and give it to me.

"Do you think you can call me so familiarly? You are a devil, and the luminance of God's will won't touch you even if you were to pray in my name before your idols. You-"

I grant him death with a single pull of my sword.

His eyes and armor and sword blaze in the dust. I lower myself beside his gaping throat, my knees planted in sand that will soon be stained with his loss. I lift him into my hands. His spine is rent apart with a single tug, and I rock back on my heels, my thumbs stroking down his dirt-stained cheeks.

I know what this must be doing to him, can see his wide, wild gaze mutely glaring back at me. I do not care. I wait until that gaze softens, until tears fall like the moon's pearls from his long lashes.

"Atreus," I catch his tears on armored fingers and leave streaks across his skin when I try to wipe them away, "stop coming back. It will not matter how much you struggle or try to break free. They will resurrect you, and they will pollute your mind from birth unto death. Be at peace; I will always be here to put you back to sleep."

My lost, mad love gazes up at me with the world alight in his pupils. I do not recognize the face that stares back at me from within it. She is youthful and radiant, her silver hair like a quicksilver flame, her violet eyes glinting gems upon her face. She does not look like how I know myself to be.

I remember how he used to shake from nightmares when we were children together, and I know that if he could, Atreus would be but a leaf before wind in my arms. His mute lips part and tremble, his wet lashes sticking together in clumps. Below him, his body twitches as if he can compel it to move. I hum a melody now forgotten by time, one I know he's the only one at my side who can recognize now. I shut my eyes against the fear and pain bleeding through his.

"Sh," I place a kiss between his scrunched brows, my stomach twisting around a feeling my senses can no longer recognize. "It is okay. Get some rest now. I will be here."

"Lania."

A hoarse, haunted voice travels up my palms and stabs viciously into my chest. My breath falters, my eyes heating at the sound of my past before me. I have not been called by another in lifetimes. I have been King, Undying Lady, villain, temptress, guest, but never Lania. I had realized a long time ago that no one around me remembered my name and that I had forgotten it some time ago. Here, on his lips and in that unchanging voice, I can only recognize it as another mocking twist of fate that he carries its burden still.

"I am... tired, my love."

It is like my eyes have been sealed shut. As much as I know I must look at him, must see this moment for myself, it is as if my body recognizes instinctively that it is too much. I have seen too much. I have seen too many replicas of him tortured and burned and flayed alive. I cannot gaze upon him with the softness he expects. I cannot weep with compassion for the man who has pushed my territories to ruin time and time again.

"Rest," I tell him instead, my tone chilled, indifferent. "Do not come back. It is unnecessary."

The love of my life, my harbinger of doom. How long has it been since I could think of him with anything but vague familiarity, muted hatred, forgotten yearning. The ties between us have been manipulated and burned and remade over and over and over again, but in his eyes, they have not changed. He is the same on the other side of the meadow, his soul pure and without burden every time it is released.

I do not know how to convey to him that I do not want him any more.

"Rest," I repeat, because there is nothing else I can say.

#boop writes #twas bored on my morning break and made a lil heroxvillain fic #I think it's cute 🥰 #look at them struggle #rough draft #writeblr

[lanternlightss]

once again i am. thinking. about percy jackson and how rough it was for him. not only does he go his whole life struggling with school and everything in general because of his adhd + dyslexia, he also presumably deals with the otherness of not being “normal” because of it.

and then to have it confirmed (it wasn’t the intent, but, still) by a teacher he kind of likes. by a teacher who has taken a liken to percy and wants the best from him. you’re not normal, percy. you don’t belong.

and when he finds somewhere he might, somewhere with people like him? a big family, we take care of each other, yeah? child of the big three. separated into one. avoided for a little while.

to end it all? to have his own father look him in the eyes and say, “i’m sorry you were born.” how absolutely stinging that would’ve been? percy has gone his whole life thus far as a cast out, and is told this.

#like okay. indirectly you just confirmed that percy never should’ve existed. #and to add insult to fucking injury he’s not even treated as a person with gabe #what’s supposed to be /his/ room. percys. is mostly filled with gabe’s stuff !!!! #he’s treated like shit just because he dared to exist! #it’s not his fault either and that just. OUGH #chb does come back around and that’s THEIR guy now no take backsies #sorry if this doesn’t make much sense a little bit tired rn #poseidon does also come back around and you’re my favorite son and. old man you get the one(1) exception #twas rough at first #lantern says stuff

[ladyfenring]

i think it's very confusing that a "32 inch tv" or "40 inch tv" refers to the diagonal length of the tv, not the actual length

i think this is even more confusing when you are stoned and have misplaced both your tape measures and are frantically trying to measure your tv with the only means of measurement available to you: a 13 inch macbook air that you have forgotten is also measured by its diagonal length

#'twas a rough evening

[rusted-sun]

I keep mumbling about you while I'm alone in my room to practice using it/it's pronouns for people. Just cuz I'm not used to it..

Im pretty much just rephrasing "chess is so cool, I'm glad it's my mutual"

And I thought you'd find this funny

omg rAINE IM GONNA CRY???????? /POS OH MY GOD YOU ARE THE 1ST ONE WHO'S EVER LIKE. ACTUALLY NOT DISMISSED MY PRONOUNS. OH MY GOD. NEVERMIND I AM CRYING YOU HAVE NO CLUE HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME

#twas a rough day of transphobic comments but thins makes it worth it #raine......... #response #villainsally #most people default to he/they for me and im so so so sick of it raine youre an angel yknow that???????

[jencsi]

Finlay Friday -Finn and Shaw pt10/? *Dialogue was tough to edit for gif format so the convo here goes as follow- Jailbird lover request a 48 get out of jail pass to locate a preacher/pimp who may know information on a serial killer to which Finn calls bullshit but they somehow allow it because *television* and *plotline*

#finlay friday #julie finlay #daniel shaw #the end game #finn and shaw #csi crime scene investigation #csi cbs #csi vegas #twas a rough rest of the episode as we all know #the leather jacket is a whole mood

[piratedashmod]

There are days where...instead of coming home to cats screaming for dinner...you have someone to talk to that you can also hold close and stay like that until you feel better.

I miss that feeling...

#twas a rough day at work

[vox-off]

brandon has gotten me into magic: the gathering, specifically commander, and i've been working on a white/green deck for about a month now? little bit longer? i call it my wedding deck because arwen and aragorn, wed are in it and its whole purpose is +1/+1 counters (plus one? like for weddings? get it?). i've been openly coveting doubling season but it was. $60. which. i'm not above spending $8, maybe $10 for a yummy card but $60? i am not that unhinged about magic (yet)

anyway guess what brandon got me for my birthday lol. i worked it into my deck and did a play test and i think the trading card gaming gods knew it was my birthday and uh

this is my boy mikaeus. he's a 44/44. we're besties

#voxbox #magic the gathering #mtg commander #i had doubling season and primal vigor out at the same time #i cast him for 10 mana and doubling season turned it into 20 power and then primal vigor which made it 40 #he has another bestie names kami who adds an additional counter - made into 4 additional counters #his third and final bestie is tuskguard captain. who gives him trample. all mikaeus's besties were already out when he dropped #'twas stupendously gratifying #most of the 'expensive' cards in this deck were diamonds in the rough - the rough being the bulk 4k cards brandon got off ebay for #like $13. someone didn't go through them diligently enough or maybe my estimation of a good card is different to standard #i've purchased 2 cards for this deck: the ozolith and branching evolution (the poor man's doubling season) #the rest were in the bulk. including ramos. my bestest boy and the current commander even though he only barely fits the motif

[mochiwrites]

In case I don’t get around to commenting on fics tonight, here’s a reminder that you are kind, you write well, and you are wonderful. *hands you mug of hot chocolate or whatever warm beverage you want* Your Spring Break is coming. You will be okay.

ue ue ue, ty 🥺🥺

#mochi speaks #twas a rough day #but it’s ending on a very good note <3

[venusandsaturnsrings]

hai today was a hard one ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ i eep naow but u all better tell me u luv me pls!! T^T will make me feel better okie koonite!!

#do not ask how many times i cried okie #jus kno ‘twas ROUGH #ueueue splat #me me me!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Just got done seeing Macbeth in NYC today, and I have to say: Ruth Negga makes an impeccable Lady Macbeth. My heart. She was so good.

Oh. And Daniel Craig was there too.

#thou hast displaced the mirth! #personal #broadway #macbeth #i have some thoughts about the discussion around the play and plot itself #but the acting was awesome #also... the actor playing malcolm looked exactly like chyler leigh as alex danvers #could literally not take my eyes off them #is now my favorite shakespeare quote #the power of an amazing delivery #also i now have a sweatshirt with 'twas a rough night across the back

[ihatebnha]

it's tiring to want to read something about comfort/doméstica shit about any character and realize that the character in question is so sexualized that the only content with him is smut... And this isn't just about toji, in general

*yells into a microphone* THIS RIGHT HERE!!! THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and it's not even like... i really care all that much that the smut exists, it's just... so weird that like... literally almost nothing else does.

i'm not sure if it's because... 1. people just write smut for the notes, 2. people write smut bc they want to, 3. the tumblr tags are so difficult to sift through now, or 4. it's actually like that forreal... but it's still STRANGE nonetheless.

and i don't wanna comment on it too harshly because (interesting + comforting smut DOES exist, but also) if this is what seriously interests people, then good, right? but at the same time... more often than not i find myself tired of how much everything sounds so much alike... because it often doesn't even feel like i'm reading for a specific character in general anymore... NOR does it satisfy any cravings for comfort and sweetness, which is mostly just what i want (and i feel like is... the whole point)?

(it also doesn't even factor in all the instances where i (meaning people) don't want to read about sex at all... but still...)

AGAIN, this isn't to hate... it's just odd because i often wonder if... smut really is the only thing people truly want to see? with such little regard for comfort and/or characterization. idk... though i yam glad to hear that u feel the same as me, anon!!! i know i took it a lil out of hand but well put <333

#sorry if i did a bad job expressing this but i 100% agree #i dont read inserts specifically for the rough aggressive s*x #and im sure other ppl dont either.... #so why is it the only thing we see? #im sure it is an accident that the tags are only filled with really weird sh*t (bc i know purely sm*tty accounts that do a good job) #but still its really like... u got nothing but d*cks on the mind? literally??????????????? SO STRANGE #esp since a lot of it is really badly written i hate to say #like im not here to read 1 paragraph at a time of how toji choked me out #im here to think about interacting with him #idk #but absolutely not just toji. its all of jjk and surely other fandoms as well #gojo and getou and maybe yuji are the only ones who really get fully fleshed out fics #and only by specific people #i know i dont write long things but still #thats why i try so hard to make things interesting in other ways #idk ive just been so bored by sm*t lately #probably why i stopped writing it asdkfhaslkdjf #ANYWAY THATS JUST TO SAY I AGREE WITH U ANON SORRY FOR LOSING CONTROL #twas just on the mind when i couldnt find anything interesting for toji at all #ily #ask #anon #caitie chats #drama tw

[boygirloser]

i was bamboozled so hard when i started college & sucked at talking to ppl bc i thought i did fine in highschool and then it hit me over the head that my two bestest friends were autistic.

#bestie had the childhood dx AND DIDNT TELL ME. i could have figured this out so much faster god #what do you mean a conversation isnt stream of consiousness style monologuing vague animal noises and slapping each other. #what do u mean what did i do this weekend. are u a cop #its funny in hindsight but man. 'twas rough #🕸️