#i still dont know if i should tag all of them but no ones given out yet so-

[flemlem]

ive been thinking (again, I know 🙄), specifically about Fed!Tubbo. I think if the fed bring him back its gonna be one of a couple things.

The first possibility my favourite (im hella biased) is that he comes back working for the Feds but not like, hes been brainwashed. No. No hes fucking Terrified. I want them to threaten him, i was them to hold his life in the balance. I want them to give him free access to create but Only when he's making a machine for Them. Otherwise he has to get it the hard way. I want them to send him out, to let him live with Sunny again but I want him to be checking over his shoulder every second. I want him to go pale and tense whenever he sees a fed worker, scared as hell that this time he might not do a good enough job. That they may take him out of the equation silently, not giving him a chance to warn sunny, to say goodbye. He doesnt want to leave her without saying goodbye Again.

I do also love it if they didnt ask for anything in return. They dont make him work for them or anything like that. The only catch is that hes not quite The Same as before. Its not that hes like, different. Hes still the same person hes just off. Most people are suddenly more ... skittish ... around him. The first couple days a couple people try to bring it up. But he just... Looks At Them. Just kinda, observes for a few seconds and moves on as if they hadn't said anything. Its weird cause theres nothing outwardly wrong with him and he still seems to act the same(most of the time) but theres just Something Wrong. Though, if none of the kids care they Guess it cant be That serious? Right?

And Yet Another good one (im once again biased) is that hes just, normal. Nothing is wrong. Genuinely nothing. But the Paranoia has set into the island and none of the islanders can trust the feds, except for maybe foolish and jaiden, but foolish is still Slight Concerned. They keep trying to test Tubbo, trying to find out if hes Still Him or not. He never gets anything wrong and while that comforts Some of the islanders, calming the all consuming paranoia, others still arent convinced. They fall entirely into the clutches of paranoia. They do Rash Things. They try to take sunny away, they try to kidnap tubbo, fully believing that That Isnt Tubbo. Maybe they torcher him, desperate to know where their friend is, how this Doppelganger has All Of His Memories. They want this Shallow Mimic of their friend to suffer just as much as Tubbo surely had to for the copy to be This Good. They're never Really convinced that it really Is Tubbo, but they back off eventually. waiting for something to happen to prove them right after those that had been Fooled had blown up at then for what they did. They would wait.

#qsmp headcanons #qtubbo #q!tubbo #tubbo #qsmp tubbo #i still dont know if i should tag all of them but no ones given out yet so- #qsmp thoughts #I had Thoughts Again #Sorry bout that #not gonna tag sunny #dont think i mention them Enough to warrent a tag #but hey #maybe i will #Later #feel free to add on anythin #(i love your thoughts) #(please)

[dragon-tamer-1]

To that anon that asked me about why I still follow a certain person, I hope you can understand that I do not want hate for this. I am very much unaffected by the choice of belief someone else has. And while I know that others don't like or care for that person, I still do enjoy the art and writing by that person. Their choice of belief doesn't really matter to me, especially since that person hasn't ever done anything to anyone that was harmful, that I know of. Everyone is free to dislike someone, but I don't feel it necessary to hate anyone, especially over beliefs.

Please understand that I am not attacking anyone, nor do I advocate for hate of anyone really.

#discourse tw #felt that if i didn't say anything i would be given assumptions that wouldn't make sense #as far as i know that person has not been part of any kind of harassment against anyone #and that's why I don't think that person is as bad as people are making them out to be #freedom of religion and all that #free to believe what you want #so long as you aren't doing stuff that actively harms someone else #which. again. is something that they haven't done #that person has not hurt someone that i know of #even so #i think it should be alright if someone still enjoys some things #it takes way more energy to keep hating someone/something than to be either neutral or passively enjoying things #wanna say it again #anyone can dislike someone. you're free to do so #i don't believe someone should be harassed or hated just because they believe in something you don't or likes someone's stuff that you no - #longer like #it just comes across as a bit controlling #i don't think it should matter too much tho #especially since everyone has the ability to block the tags i said you can block so you dont see it #and again #you're allowed to not like someone based on their beliefs or whatever else that makes you dislike them #i don't think people should be telling others who/what they can/can't like if that person/thing isn't hurting anyone #yes i know there were people with those beliefs that did things in possibly the wrong way #but i don't think everyone who has that belief should be grouped with the ones who did it wrong #*by possibly i mean might have done it the wrong way by attacking others for not believing what they do* #and that is absolutely the wrong way #but they haven't done that(again. to my knowledge) #so i don't think that's worth hating #for me anyway #i did delete the reblog from that person tho

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 5

summary ;; What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? PART 4 | PART 6 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; jake is so depressing here. i also took liberty with his character and the reasonings for his decisions in atwow, sorry in case if thats not how you see him LMAO happy reading 💞 please excuse my mistakes if you see any! ‼ I DONT TAKE TAG REQUESTS ANYMORE ‼

“One chance, Jakesuli. You will only have one chance. Use it well. Our Great Mother favors you, that we know. But this favor hasn’t been granted to you. It has been granted to my granddaughter.”

“I won’t fail.” Not again. 

“What does failing mean, I wonder. Would you fail if you take her soul back from her happiest? Or would you fail if you let her have the peace our Great Mother has laid her into?” 

“I will get my daughter back. This isn’t her time. If Eywa has given me this chance, then she thinks the same as me.”

“You will take that honor from her, then?” Mo’at was being cryptic, but Jake saw through the exterior of the neutral Tsahik into an exhausted, mourning grandmother. “She was the daughter of Toruk Makto, and he was her last shadow.”

It came back to Jake in a gut-churning realization, it was his shadow that had fallen over you from the light of the torches on the walls as you’d given your last breath. It was his shadow. “No,” he refused, adamantly. “She will get to achieve greater honors of her own than that. I won’t be the one defining her ending.” The last bead of your songcord having his name, Toruk Makto’s name, was supremely wrong to him. He would not accept this fate for you. 

“Very well, then.” Secretly, she was pleased with him. With his answer. “Get going. As I said. One chance.”  

Jake would never be able to get used to the magnificence that was Vitraya Ramunong, or, the Tree of Souls. To him, Pandora itself was a marvel already too good to be true that he’d fallen in love with, and abandoned his own race for, there was no getting used to the beauty for a human like him who’d only found it once in neon lights, ever. He could reach the end of his natural lifespan in this body and still there would be much left to discover. That’s why Jake was more vulnerable to one of the beating hearts of Eywa in the shape of a giant, glowing willow tree. 

No Na’vi was immune to the soul-purifying, all-consuming, yet being-dwarfing peace enveloping one’s very spirit, in a cradling hug as if they were nothing but a newborn in their mother’s arms. In here, only one fact mattered: they were childrens of Eywa, all of them dear, all of them seen, all of them safe and sound, including him, once alien to Eywa the way Earth was related to Pandora. Everything spoke to him here in a language he didn’t understand, but could respond to, again, in a language he didn’t understand, his soul doing the communicating. 

Jake was also a child here, Eywa’s chosen child. 

And he had come to her door for the most difficult request of his life, feeling like he was asking his mother for money right after he had crashed their car, unable to look her in the eye and expecting the biggest of scoldings for his shamelessness. 

This was nothing like asking for her assistance against the sky people, back then, he had agency, power, the clans backing him up, Toruk. If Eywa didn’t hear him, he would fight until the last drop of blood in his body was spent anyway, he was ready.

Now, he had nothing. 

Nothing to offer in return, not one concrete reason as to why he should have his daughter back other than being a desperate father with nowhere to return to other than the mercy of the Great Mother. He just wanted his child. Nothing mattered. 

Not how and why Quaritch had spawned right under his nose with an avatar body, not how they could even slither in without detection, not the threat of what the sky people could bring upon their heads with that — nothing, not now. Nothing mattered until he saw this through. 

Jake had found the will to quite literally tear himself from your side like nail from flesh only when you’d stabilized enough. Stabilized, as in, the faintest rise and fall of your ribcage Neteyam had to stare from where he was sitting like a sentinel for a full minute to spot, a tideless, still ocean only moving with whiffs of wind, his own breathing unnoticeable — to match yours, or to silence the sounds in his own body to hear better, Jake didn’t know. 

No sky person was allowed to take over from Mo’at and Kiri. Norm had told Jake none of this made sense, if the bullet had nicked the bowels enough and the dirt leaked into the bloodstream, the possibility of sepsis was eventual, and if it didn’t, you had bled too much anyway, a blood transfusion was necessary, and the internal organs... — Christ, the amount of bad end scenarios Jake had been subjected to was as if they were telling him to open a grave for you anyway. Tsahik had scoffed into their faces. The way of healing was something none of them would see, she had scoffed. Now ally, or not. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. Jake was in a hopeless need for water into wine kind of miracle, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining. 

Leaving High Camp behind to set off on a journey calling for only him was one of the hardest things he’d done yet, the silhouette of you lying motionless, his family scattered around the tent, shadowed in their own mourning, folded into themselves was burned into his mind, glimpses of their pain visible from eclipses of light occasionally falling on their faces. A sight he never wanted to see again in his life if he could help it. It was a frosted, iron-thorned hand squishing his heart into ground meat. 

Tuk, ever the stingy monopolizer, had brought her favorite toys to scatter around you because she thought they’d comfort you the way they comforted her, had tried snuggling with your unconscious body and was warned by Kiri only to hold your hand instead. She had taken to playing with your fingers, the depressive gloom of years beyond her age crooked on her. Jake couldn’t stand the sight of the little girl telling you bedtime stories he and Neytiri used to, for a moment only, he could pretend you were just going along with your sister’s whims and smiling with your eyes closed as you listened. 

Kiri, buzzing around to change the bandage-leaves that soaked up some sort of sickly black colored puss every couple hours, had explained to him the salve they used on you was getting the infection and the splinters of the bullet they couldn’t get out of your body, which had turned the color of your blood into that — but the thing was, given the dwelling of the woodsprite in your mouth, they couldn’t feed you the porridge-like mix to speed up the process of blood production in the bone marrow, and she was exerting herself looking for some other way. 

Before he’d left the tent for good, she had handed him the bullet— or, the biggest piece of it they’d taken out of your body, it was a mere pursed and shriveled, tiny metal. The exhausted girl had stammered when explaining that whatever they’d hit you with, had broken into shards inside you upon impact, creating severe lacerations and lethal hemorrhage that they’d worked tirelessly to pick out.

Jake had stared hollowly at it for the longest time. This small thing. It was such a small thing that took you from him. 

The sentence that sent you away was also as small, and damning as this bullet. ‘Go.’   

Kiri had seen it sink in his face, closing her five-fingered hand on his palm, on the bullet. “You should get going, dad,” she’d said. “We’re okay here.”

Jake had taken one last look. At Neytiri wiping your body to clean all the congealed blood. At Tuk holding your hand. At Kiri trying to fill in shoes bigger than her feet. At you lying down with trinkets surrounding you like funeral flowers. And forced his body to keep moving when all he wanted to do was stay. 

He’d then heard Lo’ak complaining to his older brother outside the tent, “How can he be so cold?” The heaviness was getting to the boy, agitated and misapprehending. But he was always this way, if something was out of his control, the inability to act to change it manifested as frustration, blind anger. “Why is he so… unresponsive? Emotionless?”

Jake would have let it slide had it been about something else, but his children running their mouths not knowing he was a hair's breadth away from going clinically insane had gotten to him. He was burning alive. 

“You think I don’t care, boy?” He emerged from the tent like some last boss, initially not caring he’d scared the brothers. “You think I don’t feel at all? My own child dying in the same arms I used to hold her as a baby — you think that doesn’t faze me?”

Neteyam, the mediator, or rather, the blame-taker, ran to his little brother’s rescue, the latter too flabbergasted to form any words yet. “Dad, he doesn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what he means.” When the anger subsided, Jake sighed with the weariness of an ancient man. The flames had died before they could climb, he was too exhausted for it. Honesty and trust, as Neytiri had said. 

Having lost everything, having nothing to lose, and having a lot to lose were somehow simultaneously the same thing to Jake in the predicament he’d found himself in. “I know how you see me. You only know me as the person I want to show you.” 

Lo’ak’s go-to answer was presented to Jake on a silver platter. “Sorry, sir.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. Jake wasn’t trying to get Lo’ak to bow his head. “Don’t apologize—” He cut himself short, licking his chapped lips, and after rubbing his face, he’d put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Lo’ak. Son. I feel this, alright? Of course I do. I’m your father.” He shook him gently, feeling the words weren’t reaching him, who was just staring at something on the ground off to the side. “There’s no greater pain a parent can go through in life than losing his child. You can’t understand what this means right now—what it’s doing to me. You will only know when you become a father yourself.” He gently tapped Lo’ak on the chin so he would raise his head and look at him in the eye already. And when he did, Jake said what he said slowly, hoarsely. “But know this. Know I will lose myself if I lose you, or any of your siblings.” He turned to Neteyam as well, who was watching in full alert mode. “I’m fighting not to lose my sanity as we speak.”

Lo’ak swallowed, unsure and weirded out to hear something like this for the first time in his life. Jake didn’t blame him. He was never emotionally upfront or honest before, not even used to it, more awkward with it than his boys were. But none of that mattered. Not anymore, after what happened to you because of his shortcomings. “You just look so composed—“

“I have to be.” Jake shook his head, eyelids hanging heavy, his whole head was heavy. “I just can’t crumble under it, do you understand? I have to be strong. I can’t lose myself in it. Your sister needs me. You need me. To be strong.” He took his hands off the boy’s shoulders, putting a palm on his cheek and patting a few, fatherly times before backing off altogether. “Never say that I don’t care. Never. I might not show it—and it’s a father’s duty not to show it, so my family will have a stable anchor. Get what I’m saying?” 

Lo’ak looked reassured, lighter. So that’s what Neytiri had meant. “How… how can I help?”

His youngest son’s inclination to get to the root of the problem and pump out solutions was in consanguineous with his inability to stop and wait, uncomfortable in his skin when he couldn’t do anything to improve the situation and was confronted with the intimacy of having to feel, always wanting to act. Lo’ak was like Jake in that way. Awkward when it came to communication. Dishonest with themselves.  

“Stay here.” Jake said, right from his heart. “Stay safe. I don’t wish for anything else in this world.”

Lo’ak’s eyes softened, and as the father, Jake felt the renewal of the bond between them, saw the understanding in his youngest son, saw something else than the guilt and regret over being caught after mischief, for once. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey, again, his apology wasn’t what he wanted. Yet, his sons were defaulted to saying sorry half the time they spoke to him nowadays. Jake was understanding the severity of it, too much too late. Lo’ak nodded, ears tipped down slightly.

Then he turned to the eldest. “Neteyam—”

But he opened his mouth before Jake could say anything else. Ready. Always on his feet. “Yes, I will—”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Rest.”

Neteyam was about to say yes to whatever he was told to do, as always, but stopped right in the middle of it, voice catching in his throat, eyes blinking in confusion. “What?”

“Rest.” 

“But—”

“Rest, Neteyam, I won’t tell you again.”

God knows he needed it. Neteyam looked like he’d been having night terrors for days, accumulated anxiety making him jumpy. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop—“ Jake caught himself before he could raise his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

Neteyam didn’t talk for a while. But when he did, he was looking up at him underneath his lashes, unable to keep eye contact for more than two seconds. “It’s my fault.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak said, a pitiful objection.

Jake knew where this was going. “What is?” 

“I should have been there.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line before furrowing his brow, closing his eyes. Jake knew what he was seeing, repeated over and over again in his mind. “I should have known right away when I couldn’t catch up to her. I could have prevented it. It’s my responsibility.” One tear slipped by as he hung his head. “My fault.”

There it is.

Jake had told him before. “You’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” — even though you and him were more like affable twins than older brother and younger sister that he never had to explicitly be a guardian to you like he was to Lo’ak, he had to be thinking this was his biggest failure. Neteyam was just reflecting what he’d been taught, the standards his father was holding him up to. Of course the boy had been overthinking it to the point where he was the catalyst to the event by not predicting your fakeout. 

“No,” Jake rasped, after a beat. “This is on me first, and the sky people who got to her second. And that’s the end of the story.”

Neteyam, up until this point, had to bear half the blame, if not the rest of it, for the consequences of his siblings’ actions. Upon receiving this kind of answer, he startled with an incredulous gasp and full stare at Jake. “But I—”

“It’s not about you, Neteyam,” Jake explained, although the words were harsh, he had done his best to soften the impact. “I did this. Blame me, okay?”

‘How could I?’ was written in neon letters over the boy’s head even if he didn’t say anything. Too good-natured. He idolized Jake a lot more than the man deserved. “Mother was… she was… She is grieving, she doesn’t mean it.”

“You gotta stop making excuses for people, boy. Especially when they’re in the right.” A smile pulled on his lips, but died as it was born. “I pushed and pushed until we reached the edge, thinking there was never an edge at all. I should have known better. I should have been better. This is between me and your sister, and that’s why it is me who has to go to the Tree of Souls.” 

And he’d left, but not before pulling his boys into his chest, cradling the back of their heads against himself, the smell of home repulsing instead of comforting. Prickles on his skin was the comfort he got from being able to hug his children when you were absent. It didn’t feel right. 

He missed you dearly, an aching, gaping hole in his very being that only grew larger as he saw what you left behind half-completed or messy like you’d stood up and gone off for a minute to come back to it later — 

The unmade pallet from the night of your Iknimaya argument that Jake had shed tears on when he’d seen the state of it, having the signs of someone getting up from it like you would be returning to go back to sleep any second.

The unfinished bark plate you had set aside to eat later and fought Lo’ak not to touch it. a squabble Jake had to break before you started wasting food by throwing it at each other. 

The stack of fruits you’d gathered that you never shared except for Neytiri sometimes. 

The half-carved cup you were working on because the regular cups weren’t big enough for your water needs and you didn’t like to refill it about three times until you were satisfied. 

The incomplete anklet you were making out of rainbow beads for Tuk that was confidential to everyone but Jake, who knew from observing you, of course — you were missing a couple colors that you just couldn’t seem to find, nagging his head off to just let you roam around farther and there was no danger as the sky people couldn’t get in the vortex.  

The little animal doodles you scratched at your side of the tent when you couldn’t sleep at nights, waking Jake up in the process every single time to listen until your breathing evened out as sleep retook you in its arms again, because he was bodily programmed to startle awake at one single rustle in his living quarters from his Marine days and fell into old habits after the return of the sky people, he knew you had developed insomnia from being uncomfortable at High Camp, longing for your hammock cocooned in the safety and comfort of the forest.

And the dumb romance novels you had taken from the humans that you, Kiri and Tuk giggled about at girl’s nights reading out loud, Spider invited as an honorary guest at times, just so you could tease Kiri about him and annoy your brothers that they weren’t allowed in, but the human boy was. 

All of them had no owner now. Neither of your family members could look at them, your ghost would appear in precious memories beside your belongings if they looked too much. He didn't need to concentrate for a phantom of you to appear, you were everywhere he looked, and even now, as the gently pulsating lavender humming, a song from Eywa herself, right underneath the veinlike, labyrinthine roots was the cool summer rain on Jake’s sizzling skin, all he could see was your first communion with Eywa in his arms while Neytiri formed the tsaheylu, the clan spread all around them in celebration. 

“You’ve called, and I’ve answered,” he greeted in positivity. “I think this is the most direct you’ve been with me in a long while.”

He didn’t know if it was Eywa or you he was saying this to. He genuinely didn’t know. 

Kneeling, and putting his arms on the mossy, thick root, he looked up to see the woodsprites swaying and floating in the air. He reached for his braid, letting the squirming nerve-endings coil around the white-cored lavender thread closest to him, taking in the presence of Eywa, all around yet nowhere at all, but listening. No sign of you. Was he supposed to talk like this? Just like this? Was he not allowed to see you? 

Jake had to admit he had been harboring the tiniest expectation of meeting you somehow, or hearing your voice through the connection like he did with a Tree of Voices when Mo’at had cryptically informed him of his chance. But this was it? 

If he failed, this would be it. 

“I guess this isn’t all that different,” he said out loud, instead of thinking inwards where the confusion flew. “It’s been like this for a while now, you and I. You talk, I don’t hear you. I talk, you don’t hear me. We throw the same ball at each other only for it to bounce back. Monologuing to a tree is the same thing, except it doesn’t talk back like you do.” 

He looked up and around, there was nothing else to do. The air was the same as it always was in here. Always accommodating to what each Na’vi found comforting. “The last time I came here like this was to ask for Eywa’s help in the last stand against sky people. I told her I would fight either way, I knew that’s why she’d chosen me. All my life, all I’ve done was fight. Even when I wasn’t able to, I was fighting lesser battles with the excuse of not having anything to fight for. It’s all I’ve known. All I’ve ever done. It’s what I was best at.” His brow twitched, and Jake tried to keep his composure, not because he didn’t want anybody to see, no, it was to keep his shit together so he didn’t fuck this up. He had to be honest. His pride was the last thing he needed in his way at the moment. 

“You were born to a different man. To a changed man. To a father who could let go because he thought his family was safe. You got to meet the man I used to be when my reason for fighting came back from my star. I know you don’t like that person — you can’t — couldn’t get used to him. I know.” 

From the discomfort, his fingers dug into the moss first, and found the bark of the root, his fist curling on it next. “But I had to keep fighting.” He softly brought his fist back on the root. “The strong prey on the weak, that’s just how things are. That’s how I had it on my star. And my kids — you, you are weak, and it’s not an insult — it’s not me criticizing, Jesus, you are just children, and there’s a war on your damn heads. That’s what I mean. That’s what I’ve always meant. It’s natural that you are weak, Eywa was kind enough to let you be soft. Not Earth, though, never Earth.” 

Jake had to clench his teeth and bite the anger into the inside of his mouth to not be boiled alive — not to let it reach to your side. He let out a soundless snarl. “You would never be ready for the cruelty of Earth, I would never wish that upon any of you. But it was brought to you. Right at your doorstep. I couldn’t protect you from it by hugs and kisses. You wouldn’t be safe from a gun extended to you by extending a branch in return. No.” 

He reached and caressed the glowing thread, brows furrowed. “I did what I thought was right to prepare you. Every single one of you. I was making you tough. I had to. To protect you. And of course there would be clashing along the way, it’s what happens between parent and child. We fight. We fight like cats and dogs for dominance. You try me to show strength. I stand my ground to let you know you gotta do better.” 

He had fired those sentences with incoherent speed, and when he got to the end of it, Jake got choked up. Stopped for a moment, took a breath. Blinking several times, his tone became vulnerable, he didn’t have anyone in front of him, but he tore away his gaze anyway. “Somewhere along the way, things just… Without me noticing, everything…” He sighed through his nose, his voice nothing but a whisper. “I fought more battles than I fought for my family. I thought I was doing my job as a father when I didn’t even know shit about being a father.” 

A couple seconds floated by, and his gaze was stolen by a lone woodsprite descending down until it staggered on the fist he had against the root. The shine of it reflected from the mistiness of his eyes. His lower lip slightly trembled at the thought of it being you. This little woodsprite. You? 

“The thing is, I’m lost, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly, small, shaky, not taking his eyes off the woodsprite. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I sit here, I look back, and think why I keep fighting. We could have migrated. Looked for a new Hometree. Another forest. Left the humans alone. Or made peace. A treaty. Something. None of your lives had to be sullied by war. Yet I chose this. I chose to fight, as I ‘ve always done, because now I had something to fight for. And the fighting wasn’t limited to them, I fought Neteyam, I fought Lo’ak, I fought you, my own kids, and I didn’t even know.” 

He reached for it with his other hand, tentatively, scared that it would fly away with the slightest contact. But he was able to touch the top of the woodsprite ever so slightly, the little zap making all the hair on his body stand up. Jake swallowed thickly, his whole head on fire. “I don’t know what to do. I just miss you. I miss you so much, sweet girl. I wish you would scream at me. Say you hate me for all I care. Anything. Hate me until the day you die, but do it with all of your family surrounding you in old age, in peace. I would be content knowing you are under the same sky as me. But I’m forgetting your voice already, and I—” He held back a violent sob, hissed to not let it out, and groaned, getting angry at himself for the emotions. He shut his eyes tightly, willing away the tears. “I wish I could say these to your face. I wish I could see you one last time, smiling at me.”

Having everything to lose. Having lost everything. Having nothing to lose. Three different meanings had coiled around each other like snakes to become one singular outcome in linear relation of cause-and-effect through you. It wasn’t a cycle.

Having something to fight for. Having nothing left to fight for. Having nothing to fight for. You were everything. Everything. What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? 

“I see you.”

The voice — your voice, albeit much, much younger, almost made him jump. When his eyes shot open, Jake was in a different location. He knew this place. The creek away from the village he and his family often frequented. 

The twilight penumbra of the eclipse dimmed the shadows embracing the forest, but the ethereally glowing lights of all colors illuminated and got reflected from the water as if it was a mirror. Above and all around him were lazily dancing fireflies — or, rather, bioluminescent bugs he didn’t know the names of, tiny stars floating in the air like glitter. It was magical.

Jake realized with aching melancholy that this was the first time he’d taken you out on an eclipse to show you the beauty of the forest on a special father-daughter date. The exact memory.  

The breath that left him was shaky as he felt the presence sitting right beside him, in the corner of his vision, he saw the ripples on the shining water made by swinging legs. 

Jake froze for a second. Unmoving. Not looking at all — because if this was a dream, or a hallucination, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His breathing got louder, more labored, the log underneath his hands was so realistically textured and damp. If he looked. If he looked, you would disappear. That’s how he felt. 

He was supposed to talk. But now, his ribcage was holding the words hostage, burning with the strain of the pile-up. 

“But I’m sad you don’t see me,” you said, and he was shaken by hearing your voice yet again, remembering the moment he found himself here, how he’d heard — ‘I see you’. “You don’t even want to look at me.”

So much hurt and vulnerability in that sentence that it left him breathless. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Him launched into his own turmoil racking his brain about how Quaritch was back as an avatar, ignoring to look at you to protect his composure and just trying to think, think — think, of a plan, of a how, of what to do. You calling after him once Neytiri, you and he arrived at High Camp after dodging Quaritch’s men. Him purposefully walking away because he needed to cool off and not to explode on you right there and there.  

That whole time, Jake hadn’t looked at you. If he did, he would have seen you needed help.

He shattered, all of his walls crumbling down, stripped down to bare despair. 

“Oh sweetheart.” Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, basically snatching you off from where you were sitting and on his lap, and your warmth, your pulse, your tangible existence wrenched a shiver out of him — and he buried his face to the little crook of your neck, taking your scent in, hiding his trembling face and the quiver of his arms by holding you tight. You were here. As your younger self, no older than eight, but he had you. Not bloody and battered in his arms, but alive, so alive. “Oh sweet girl, my sweet girl… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed the side of your head, felt the real tickle of your hair against his face, blessed with the soothe of his child’s smell. “I see you. Of course I see you. I’ve always seen you.” 

The snowflake-frail snivel followed by your sobbing sniffle broke his heart into pieces. “You’re a liar.” He shook his head, hugging you tighter. “You’re mean to me. You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say. All he could do with his thrashing soul smoldering at the wetness of your tears on his shoulder. “I am mean. I’m sorry… You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“It hurt so much.” You wailed. “It hurt a lot.” 

Jake began to caress your head with an awkward, clumsy, panicked hand, disturbed as to if you meant the moment of your death — at him pressing on the wound with all he had to stop the bleeding, or he and your strained relationship in general. “I know, sweetheart,” he said anyway, a stone clogging his throat. He didn’t try to explain, or tell you why, didn’t argue that it wasn’t what he meant to do. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had you in his arms. “I know. I know.” 

You wouldn’t get to be younger than this. And maybe, he would never get to see you be older, either. The thought crumpled his face like some piece of paper. Jake just wanted to hold you. And when you wrapped your little arms around him too, freely crying in his arms, a couple tears escaped his eyes as well, he didn’t know what kind of face he was making, perhaps it was better that you didn’t see him crumble. 

In the middle of it somewhere, he realized that you were younger because it was your inner child that needed this, she was more honest — more open with Jake. It caused him to sway with you back and forth, ribcage hurting with each breath. And you let it all out, clinging to him. 

“I love you, always,” he whispered, watching the bioluminescent bugs, when you were calmer and had fallen silent on his chest, not wanting to let him go and just listening to his heartbeat. “Even if I don’t show it — especially when I don’t show it. You are loved, my sweet girl, more than you know. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can show.” He looked down at the top of your head, agonized. “But I want to try. I want to show you more, moving forward.”

Knowing what he was insinuating, “But it’s nice here,” you said, voice thick and coarse from crying. You still didn’t pull back to look at him. Both of you, from the start of this, never looked at one another. Not once. Embarrassed and shameful to be honest, Jake thought. That pride you two shared. “You’re not mean to me here.”

But he needed to see you. You needed to be seen. So, as gently as he could, he unwrapped your arms around him, and took your baby cheeks in his hands, and looked you in the eyes. Another tear slipped from him. “You been listenin’ to me, right sweetheart? From the start?” You nodded adorably. You wouldn’t have said oel ngati kameie and accepted to let him see you if you hadn’t felt his true intentions and heart through him pouring it all out at the Tree of Souls. “I’m hiding a lot of things. But I want to be open with you. You wanna know the secret why I’m… mean?” You nodded again, more reluctant this time. “It’s because I’m scared.”

You gasped, genuinely lost and shocked, and he tried not to smile at the purity, the innocence. “You? You’re scared?”

“All the damn time,” he whispered, landing a kiss on your temple, his opposite thumb tracing a loving line on your other temple. “Every day. Every night.”

“But you’re Toruk Makto. You’re never scared.”

“I’m also a dad,” he said sorrowfully, as if he was giving out a secret. “And it’s precisely why I’m scared. I’m scared for you. For your siblings. Of losing you. It turns into anger. Anger turns into irreparable damage. Things I can’t take back.”

In the blink of an eye, you were back to your real age. For some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, you had shed the exterior of your childhood. But he didn’t mind, didn’t let you off his lap. 

“Don’t be scared, I’m here,” you said, putting your own small palm on his cheek, upset by the fact that he was feeling like that in the first place rather than whatever explanation he had. Your response was also childish, but he leaned into your touch anyway, comforted regardless, even if you were already gone — for this moment, he could ignore that no, you weren’t here at all. “If you told us, we would have been more careful not to make you sad.” 

Ah, he was being lectured on communication by his kid. It had a certain flavor of humbleness to it. Jake adored it nonetheless. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t be mean anymore.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jake couldn’t stop the laugh, though it was tottering. “Yeah, it is. But I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“That’s a lie too. Wasn’t it you who said not to make promises you can’t keep?”

“Alright, smartypants, let me rephrase it then,” the little glimpses of your brash self made him happy. “I will never intentionally hurt you, and if I end up doing so, unknowingly, I will always make it up to you. No exceptions.” 

You were acting uninterested, but stole intrigued glances at him. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

“I’ll let you choose, how does that sound?” Jake tapped your nose. “In return, if I don’t know and haven’t taken the first step, you’ll have to tell me outright what I did.”

You deadpanned. “But I always do.”

“No, you don’t.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “You become passive-aggressive when you’re annoyed and pick fights with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Sweetheart.” 

“Okay, fine.” You huffed. The normalcy had made him forget just what he was doing here. “But you get angry.”

“What I get angry at is—” He cut himself off with a tongue click. “Not important. I do get angry. But at sincere honesty, us just talking it out, I could never get angry at that. Is the difference clear?”

“I think it is.” You were apprehensive about something, your fingers on his neck flexing as if you wanted to pull them back and break the hug. “But you have to promise.”

“I promise.” And then, Jake remembered, a new fire hardening his face, not in anger, but determination. “And speaking of which. I would never. Ever. Not in a million years would get angry or blame you for getting hurt to that degree — for others, humans, avatars, whoever and whatever the hell they are, hurting you, I could never get mad at you for it. Do you understand me? Your safety is the most important to me. I could never hate you for it.” His voice dropped down to a softer, gentler tone just above a whisper. “There is nothing in this world that’ll make me hate you. Nothing. I will love you through the most heinous crimes and in inexcusable deeds, you will find forgiveness in me even if there’s nobody left, that’s a father’s heart. Forever and always, I am with you.” He touched his forehead, and then yours. “I see you.”

You avoided eye contact. 

Ah, yes, the famous emotional awkwardness. He was sort of aware his feelings had reached you, you just didn’t know what to say. Jake hadn’t been like this with you for the longest time. So, he decided to make you more comfortable. “Yes I will get mad at you for breaking curfew, and yes, we might stop talking for a while and beef about the dumbest things if the fight is too intense — but always, always come to me when something is wrong. I will drop everything without hesitation.” He leaned in a bit to catch your wayward stare. “Got it?”

You murmured. “Okay.”

“Are we clear?”

You murmured once more. “Yeah.”

“Repeat it, then.”

There was something between cringing and unwillingness on your face, but at his pointed look, you sighed, giving in. “Always come to you if something’s wrong even if we’re fighting.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, encouraging to let you know this wasn’t embarrassing. “What else?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dad will always love you.” He nudged you, noting the flick of your ears in happiness when he’d said it. “Come on, say it.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but your voice was light. “Dad will always love me…”

“Dad will never hate you.”

Sheepishness took over, making Jake smile. “Dad will never hate me.”

“And. Come talk to me about it if I’ve ever hurt you without noticing so I can make it up to you.”

“Always go to you if I’m hurt and you’re unaware of it.”

“That’s right,” in this form as well, he gave your temple another kiss, heart soaring at your beautiful smile he had been dying to see. “Good girl.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power.” 

“Nothing my mighty hunter can’t handle.” 

The smile on your face died down. It came to Jake right away what had gone wrong. “Sweetheart—” “I didn’t mean that. You know—” But you didn’t know. Jake had to stop trying to make it easier on himself. “I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. About everything. About the ikran, I’m so goddamn proud. I said it, and I can’t take that back, I was angry and I was trying reverse psychology — you know what, it doesn’t matter. But you are my mighty hunter. Will always be.”

You got confident a bit, but were still testing the waters. “Well I proved I am.”

“Yes, you did,” he rejoiced, no rejection or doubt whatsoever. “Message received, Lima Charlie.”

You giggled freely, joyfully at the recognition, and Jake ached again remembering how much he’d missed that carefree, precious thing, he swore pixie dust was in it. You slipped from his lap to sit crossed-legged beside him, and he instantly missed being able to hold you close. “Wish you were there to see me.”

“Me too, sweet girl.” Your Iknimaya was a disaster. A long-passed, sacred tradition broken wasn’t as important to him as it was to Neytiri — but he knew she longed to see you complete it, by your side, as eagerly as he did. And you had been alone in your pride, when he knew from a very young age, you had been the most excited for it. Everything had been ruined and there was nothing he could do to undo it. “Will you tell me about it?”

The phantom of pensiveness on his face hadn’t quite registered with you yet, getting excited to tell him all about it like nothing had happened the moment you knew Jake wanted to know. As if you weren’t dead. As if nothing was wrong. “Well first of all, I broke Neteyam’s record.”

A mournful smile tugged on his lips. “Did you now?”

“Hell yeah!” You started gesturing with your arms. “It took, like, two minutes? One minute? Too easy.”

“You know easy means the ikran didn’t give you much of a fight, right?”

“Or, or.” One finger was raised up at him to raise another option. “I was too skilled.” 

“The ikran might have been meh about you.” Jake teased. “You sure it chose you? Or did you just chase it down and it was stuck with you?”

“That’s so wrong!” He threw his head back to laugh at your outburst. “He was watching me get there the whole time! Like, from the start. His eye was on me, I just know it. You’re just jealous you didn’t get Bob like I got Jack. I was badass.”

That made him pause. “Jack?”

“Yeah, his name’s Jack.”

He couldn’t imagine Neytiri’s reaction to the blandest name imaginable, oh god. “Why?”

“Named him after you.” You tipped your head at him, raising your brows. “It’s healing, you know. He listens to me without questioning. He’s also very sweet. Unlike a certain someone.” 

“Oh you little shit—” 

“I didn’t say anything.” Raising your hands in defense first, you crossed your arms on your chest next. “Certain someone can mean anyone. It can mean Lo’jack—”

“Lo’jack, really? Really?” Jake half-snorted, half-scoffed. “This a new one after Lovak?”

“Jackiri—”

“Jackiri is pretty sweet, c’mon now,” he gave a blank stare. “Hope you’re not gonna say Jackeyam.”

“Jacktirey?” You asked, undecided. “She’s an anklebiter.”

“Oh, for sure.” 

“Could be Jack the Ripper, Bojack Horseman, Jack-in-a-box. Jack-o-lantern.”

“All people, of course.”

“Yeah, all people.” You snapped your fingers in mock-remembrance. “Hit the road Jack.” 

“Oh wow, even him?” Jake lowered his voice, leaning towards you, mocking astonishment. “Legendary figure, that guy.”

“Jack of All Trades.”

“Well, that ikran really seems to be one to me.”

“I know, right?” You stopped, and he saw that thought process, and before he could open his mouth, you blurted it out. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

“You punk.” Jake pushed you lightly by your shoulder. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You smiled with all your teeth at him, with hands on your calves, leaning down to act cute, and Jake could pretend this was normal. That he’d fixed everything. And all was right in the world now that you were laughing with him — he’d made you smile. . 

But suddenly you looked scared, looking at something over his shoulder, shrunken pupils focusing on him and whatever it was rapidly. It kicked him awake from his delusion. He tensed, tail jumping upwards, straight as a rod. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched, and the next thing he knew, you had pushed him away, and he was falling towards the water. The last thing he saw was only a blur of you — the bioluminescent bugs became shooting stars with a thread of glow left behind them, the whole world tilted, but he didn’t hit the water, instead, he rolled down the small slope he had to climb to reach the tree. 

Disoriented, he saw the root was almost split in half — bullet marks, a cloud of splinters and debris was flying around where he used to be sitting. 

A lone avatar just ahead. Having made it all the way to the Tree of Souls. He didn’t know where this man had come from. 

Heart picking up and roaring in his ears, all Jake could think about was, One chance. 

He hadn’t even spoken to you properly yet, hadn’t said all the things he wanted to, hadn't even gotten your word, and this man — this son of a bitch — humans had taken you once again. 

Once again. 

You will only have one chance. 

“Lucky asshole,” the man looked at him behind the barrel of the long assault rifle. “Gonna make you pay for what you pulled yesterday.”

Your ethereal smile going up in smokes at the back of his head, Jake saw red.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

[fcknstar]

hey! i read ur marcus lopez fic and absolutely loved it ur so talented omg

i’m as wondering if i could request a fic with prompt 12 with marcus lopez x reader?

🫶

and if so could you also add me to your tag list?

,, after dark "

pairings : marcuslopez x gn!reader

summary : sometimes your past do catches up to you.

content warnings : disagreements

** lowercase intended**

if saying that you had your life together was an understatement. you were working for the biggest and most respected mafias in the country. it was normal to see at least one dead body in the alleyway. a lifeless body, dumped as if it had no worth that got pushed away as a broken furniture no one saw worthy to save. 

you were just an assistant who also worked as a hitman, being payed high for even injuring a targeted person. it gave you joy, you wanted to feed on souls that deserved nothing but death to come. you sucked in life of your victims, craving more and more as if it was like food and you were always hungry. 

your boss set you out to raid an abandoned apartment to where homed a filthy rich man who unfortunately died due to a heart attack. he kept many important documents that your boss wanted and tonight, thats where you were headed. 

you were clothed in a black skin-tight long sleeved top and short skirt which allowed you to hide your dagger, with a pistol on your waistline. when the time calls for it, you were going to be the one to kill whoever saw you and got in your way. 

you had not noticed the figure which hid in the shadows watching your every move. as you rummaged through the drawers, you heard something drop. you spun around, gripping onto your gun as you pointed to the person standing in front of you. 

" marcus? " 

" hey, i was just dropping by- "

" you arent supposed to be here, you know. " you advanced towards him, watching him stumble backwards. 

" well, neither should you. why dont you put the gun down, honey? " earning a glare from you, you made a move, linking your leg under his making him fall on his back. 

" oh, i remember this. " as you stood above him, he mumbled.

" ignoring your favorite person i see.. its okay.. i bet the memories follow you around dont they. " you dont hesitate but kick his side making him groan. 

" leave this place, act like we never even crossed paths. " you sigh, walking away from him. 

" dont you miss me? " 

" no i dont. and i will not. "

" but seeing you stalk me says otherwise.. how you constantly follow me wherever i go.. i suppose i am grateful that you are looking out for me. " marcus pouted. 

you could not accept how right he had been. you were so in love with marcus that you knew itd be difficult to start a life without him. but you could. for all these years before meeting him shows how you could live without him. but why cant you do the same knowing what you two have been through. how could you when the only thing that occupied your mind was him. how he often thought of your life first and put his own life on the line to save you. how could you ever want to leave someone like him. it was now your turn to look after him when he did everything to protect you. even if as strangers, you knew that you still wanted to be on his wavelength. 

" look, i know we left on terms we didn't agree on due to our statuses, but you can't blame me to not.. look for you. " it felt like you pulled a nerve when you confessed the last part. 

" but you did. "

" i had to okay! what would you do if you are being given a choice, to get your lover killed.. or have your own blood throw you away like youre some meat, even having them turn their back against you? i knew i was being selfish okay? i.. i just cant imagine having you die.. not when i know i could have done something. or me dying. so im sorry if i was being selfish, it was either you dying, or me. and you know what i would have picked. " you were now going on a tangent, gun placed away in its holder, with you rummaging through the drawers. you grabbed every document you could find. marcus just looked at you. 

" im sorry, okay?  i just wanted you, you to be safe and well. " you could have just chosen to have your family killing you, but in the moment, you just had to. it was either him being dead because you wanted to survive. or him being alive at the cost of your freedom. 

marcus never saw the side of your story, too busy grieving with his own. he watched you walk away as if he werent there. as if, he didnt mean anything to you anymore. but he knew, he knew that you loved him enough to save him without even thinking. 

a.n : m not very proud with this, dont know why. and to the person who requested this, thank you but sorry because i couldn't tag you, its not letting me. and so sorry for the long wait!

#imagines #oneshots #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez arguello #mattheo riddle #benjamin wadsworth #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #answered

[sophieinwonderland]

From some random post we saw while doomscrolling through syscourse(which, are you alright? You're the top poster, which isn't really something to strive for in one of the most hate and rage driven tags systems can find themselves in on tumblr... should take a mental health break every once in a while):

Because, frankly, the anti-tulpa narrative was manufactured to shutdown created systems, and present bigotry in a way that appeared progressive. People aren't actually against words from other languages and religions being used in new ways. They're against these words being used by endogenic systems.

As a pro-endo mixed/POC system who has spent hours upon hours trying to understand the tulpa language discourse argument- I'm honestly really fucking hurt by this hugely inaccurate assumption. I don't see how we're trying to shut down created systems, what i see is trying to educate and steer people away from a term that was created through ignorance, racism [albeit not forwardly malicious], and cultural appropriation.

Tulpa creation bears no connection to Tibetan Buddhism anymore —not that it ever really did, given this exact phenomenon is not actually mentioned to exist, ever, by, i forgot the name of the person who invented the term but i know she was a) white and b) racist in ways outside of this — but is still touted around as being connected and part of that spiritual practice.

It's not about "we dont want endos using this term." It's that we want the term to stop being used ALTOGETHER. We personally have witnessed traumagenic systems exploring creating headmates, and we have steered them away from using tulpa language in favor of "parogenic" as a term.

It saddens us that you can just so brazenly dismiss it as a whole as shutting down created systems while so much else is going on that you're choosing to ignore.

You have a good heart - do more research into why people are saying what they are and don't just dismiss them like that. Please don't speak over those people who are a part of the culture being appropriated, simply because of refusal to change.

And yes, we asked this on anon not out of cowardice, but because we'd really rather not start getting a bunch of death threats on our main blog.

-Enzo

Okay, let's try a thought experiment. Imagine for a moment that there are two universes. In one universe, the anti-tulpa narrative begins and is popularized because it's harmful to Tibetan Buddhists as an ethnoreligious group.

In the other, the anti-tulpa narrative is concocted and pushed heavily by anti-endos as a way of delegitimizing one of the strongest and most well-researched endogenic communities.

What would you say the differences would be between these two universes?

Personally, I think if one were to enter the first universe, you would find several things.

Anti-tulpa sentiment probably would have begun in the early 2000s as the internet was coming into more sidespread use and shows like Supernatural and X-Files would use tulpas as horror monsters.

Similar to above, once backlash started, it would be hitting all presentations of tulpas, including in creepypastas and its use by the SCP Foundation.

Much of the backlash would be coming from members of the Tibetan Buddhist community, including at least some spiritual leaders because yes, religions have hierarchies of leadership.

Well, what about the second universe? What would we expect that universe to look like? Personally, I would expect the following:

There would be zero trace of anyone ever taking issue with the tulpas in shows like Supernatural or X-Files prior to tulpamancy being formed.

All backlash would be focused solely on tulpamancers. Nobody ever would mention the SCP Foundation, Mandella Catalogue or creepypastas about tulpas.

Most of the anti-tulpa backlash would be coming from system circles, and would be heavily pushed by anti-endos. While you might be able to fund a small handful of Tibetan Buddhists who have been convinced by anti-endo rhetoric that it's bad, there would be no spiritual leaders getting involved and most Tibetan Buddhists you ask outside of system spaces wouldn't care.

Which of these two universes do you feel most resembles our own?

Before you answer, here's a fun thread comparing the differences in people's opinions on r/systemscringe vs those on r/Buddhism

When r/systemscringe is pushing a narrative that the word is appropriation while actual Buddhist communities on the same site shrug their shoulders and don't care, this should send up immediate red flags as to the legitimacy of this whole controversy, and which groups are actually interest in pushing it.

Now, I am not suggesting that none of the very small handful of actual Tibetan Buddhists who have taken issues with the practice don't legitimately feel as they claim to.

The problem with propaganda is that it's often very good at manipulating people's emotions. If it couldn't do that, it wouldn't be effective.

We've seen this with similar anti-endo smears, like the ones claiming "system hopping" was appropriated from RAMCOA systems. And sure enough, despite its use in the plural community predating any RAMCOA connection by a full 16 years, this claim still persisted. And some RAMCOA systems were even manipulated by these lies and convinced endogenic systems were stealing terms from their community.

We actually see this same tactic over and over again.

We see it with "system hopping" which they claim was stolen from RAMCOA systems. We see it with "sysmed," which they claim is stolen from the LGBT community. We see this with the very concept of plurality itself.

The fact of the matter is that this has become a core manipulation tactic in the anti-endo playbook, designed to sew division.

#syscourse #tulpacourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #tulpamancy #tulpa #pro tulpa #sysblr #multiplicity #actually plural #actually a system

[clatoera]

Always Remember We're Burned For Better Chapter 20: We Will Never Go Back to That Bloodshed

Well everyone...we made it. It has taken nearly nine months but here we are. We are at the end of ARWBFB (save for the Epilogue). This has been one of my biggest undertakings and I am so so so proud of it. You guys have followed me through two board exams, applications, and so so so many different speciality rotations during this journey. You have been incredibly patient but also incredibly supportive. I NEVER could have finished it without you guys. I wanted to get this up sooner or at least on the 13th. I failed at both of those, but I hope you will understand when you see that this chapter is the longest by a significant amount. I am so proud of this fic, and I hope you all decide that it was worth giving your time to sharing with me.

The chapter title comes from The Great War. A fun fact would be that this line actually loops back to "we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover" with Crimson Clover being the title of chapter one. It's come full circle (save for the epilogue).

This chapter is designed like Chapter 4 was. Each segment is divided by a lyric that encapsulates the vibes. It is not as happy, but it is the start of happily ever after.

AO3

Masterpost

As always..this is for everyone who has helped me and loved me and supported this story. I cannot even tag everyone but I will try. A LARGE portion of this goes to @ohhowwehavefallen who has talked about MOST things that happen in this chapter with me in depth and has enabled me (VSC immortalized forever with this one, so is Cato buying the academy). @kentwells who actually helped me make major decisions regarding the sequel, which affected the way Marvel and Glimmer ended here. Thank you for putting up with me. @dukeysquid and @mackcoleslaw for the constant constant support. @clarascrabarmy who talks me off the ledge and is my go to night reader (and night validator that im crazy). @mollywog who has tolerated this fic for 9 months. @crookedlyniceperson who comes in with the memes EVERY single time. @cyansadnessI dont even get to talk to you much any more but you were an OG reader and I am giving you kisses for your love. There are so many more who I am afraid I may have missed (and I know I have missed) but i'm emotional and hormonal and crying as I type this.

This is, and always has been, for you guys who have given me your support and love. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I never would have finished without the love and support of every single person who has read this.

Thank you.

How evergreen, our group of friends

The kitchen, despite the literal war that had raged on outside in District One, was quite literally untouched. Untouched, as in, no one had ever used it even prior to the games or the war that should have resolved the house itself to rubble. 

They had quickly discovered that despite varying levels of damage to the districts, the Victors Villages were left nearly untouched. Call it symbolism, call it fate, call it making a point, but this was not a fact any of the surviving victors were going to debate or question. 

For now they were all just going to be thankful to even have a place to live, especially one that wasn’t an underground bunker in a district that resented them. 

It’s Clove, who is opening and shutting every single cabinet in the bright white kitchen. The golden handles and marble countertops are pristine– perfect and completely new. Every drawer is completely stocked with spices and the same sorts of things her own home had come with, but it is evident that these cabinets had remained untouched from their initial stocking. There was no dusting of cinnamon around the pores of the bottle, no slight film of salt from pouring over a steaming pot. They were still perfectly alphabetized, perfectly aligned in the spice drawer, as if the kitchen itself was taken right out of a capitol home decor magazine. 

Funnily enough, though the kitchen was clearly new, it was so…Glimmer. Or at least the Glimmer she had been forced to become.  

Gorgeous white marble countertops, shimmering golden metal for every door handle and knob on every drawer. The utensils were a beautiful gold, and even the appliances were designed to blend right in with the shining and glamorous surroundings. 

In one drawer, she found incredibly sharp knives with mother of pearl handles, in another were soft baby pink pans. It was very much designed for the fifteen year old teenage girl who had won the house as part of her victor’s spoils.

Somehow, even without the Capitol’s influence, Clove still believes Glimmer would have turned out a golden, pink-loving girl. Or at least, it’s comforting to imagine it that way. 

Clove curls her fingers around the shimmering handle of one of the paring knives, bringing it to eye level to inspect it. The blade is alarmingly sharp for one designed to dice vegetables or carve into fruits, further supporting Clove’s suspicion that it had never been used prior to well, right now. She weighs it in her hand, feeling the way it settles in her palm. Her other hand comes to run over the couple of inches of metal, evaluating the quality. It was top of the line in terms of cooking, of course, nothing but the best for any victor, but it may even serve well in terms of slicing through-

She drops the knife, flinching only a little at the realization of how the metal colliding with the marble will dull the beautiful little blade. It startles her, not the sound of the metal on rock, no that any District Two girl could sleep through like a lullaby, but by the harsh realization of her own thoughts. She would likely never slice through anything but food again, there would be no more blood spitting on her from pulsing arteries, no more tendons severed. 

Clove would probably never kill anyone else ever again. The thought is both disconcerting and comforting, leaving Clove alarmed and settled.

“Are you okay?” A soft, sleepy voice asks from around the entrance to the kitchen. When Clove looks up she sees Glimmer, rubbing at her eyes with her long cream colored sleeves. She shuffles into the kitchen in fluffy white slippers, a sweater that reaches halfway down her legs, and exceptionally messy loose braids that tell Clove that yeah she probably did just wake up.

“Good morning, Princess.” Clove scoffs, gently grabbing the dropped knife and twisting it nimbly between her fingers. “It’s four in the afternoon, Glimmer. Did you have a busy night?” 

“I was with Cash and Gloss all night, we’re trying to figure out what to do about our parents.” Glimmer sits herself at the island continuing to rub at her eye with the heel of her hand, exhaustion written all across her pretty face. “I didn’t come back until this morning.” 

Clove flinches at her own insensitivity– while she was well used to being, well, alone. An orphan. On her own. Whatever, it was..new for the others. Cato’s family was still in the wind, but Glimmer and her siblings, as well as Marvel, were new to the world of being parentless. “God, Glimmer, I’m sorry–”

At least Glimmer had Cashmere and Gloss, the same could not be said for Marvel, who was the only surviving member of his entire family. Clove could easily relate to that, because even if anyone survived, they were dead to her long ago. 

Glimmer just nods her head, acknowledging but not verbally accepting the apology her friend offers. 

Nothing had been necessarily right between the four of them since the vote. Cato and Clove, they were perfectly fine, of course. Marvel however had lost any progress he had made with Glimmer, and Cato nor Clove had yet to fully return to her good graces. It wasn’t even like any of them could blame her for being mad. She had been right. 

“Thanks for letting us stay with you.” She decides, instead filling the space between them with gentle words of appreciation. “Like..literally in your house with you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that.. It’s nice not to be alone.” Glimmer sighs, resting her chin on her hand and looking across the island to Clove, who is still twisting a knife in her hand. “I don’t know if i’m quite ready to be alone yet.”

They weren’t necessarily far from anyone. Marvel spent the days over here with them, Brutus was in one of the empty houses, Cash and Gloss each in their own and then Enobaria was– “Is Enobaria staying across the street in the empty one or down the road–”

Glimmer cocks an eyebrow, the littlest smirk making an appearance on her face. “She’s staying with my sister.”

“Oh!” Clove looks nearly taken aback as she opens another drawer, absently sorting through the perfect, unused cutting boards and kitchen aids to distract herself from the awkward tension between her and her host. “I didn’t know they were even friends.”

“Girl..” Glimmer giggles, leaning in closer on the island, nearly pressing her upper body into the marble. “You know Enobaria and Cashmere are..” She makes a gesture with her middle and pointer finger that Clove can’t interpret, and the confused look on her freckled face must convey that to the blonde girl.  “Right?”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Clove? They’re fucking. They’re a thing.”

“What! No, I mean just because they’re staying together doesn’t mean–” The heat in Clove’s cheeks at the realization leaves her flustered, and flustered is not a look Clove wears well. 

“Well that's what everyone thinks about the four of us.” Glimmer teases, before bringing her hand out infront of her to inspect the remnants of her nails. “Seriously. They’ve been a thing for like…god Cash won sixty-four? So… ten…ish years? Probably? I dunno. But it’s not a secret. I’m shocked you couldn’t tell.”

“Well I didn’t see them together much, okay? And noone thinks that the four of us are all fucking, Glimmer. That’s crazy Capitol type shit.” Clove defends, desperately looking through the drawers for a change of topic. Maybe she could understand why Enobaria got so irritated when ever she and Cato got caught–

Yep. Okay. Makes sense!

“Sure they don’t Clove, you don’t see the looks people give us?”

Clove digs through the drawers, finding the still boxed mixer and the perfect white plates, nothing seeming even a little out of place. She is flustered and the heat in her neck and face won’t even allow her to respond to such comments. 

“For fucks sake, Glimmer, have you used anything in this kitchen.”

“Drawer closest to the refrigerator has two little plates and two forks. We used to …uh…we would eat a lot of cake.” Glimmer finds herself grabbing at the skin around her nail with her teeth, tugging at the cuticles until they ripped off. She couldn’t resist the urge to constantly be picking at and degrading something about her body, and right now her nails were all she had access to.  “Other than that, not really.”

“How did you survive, Glimmer? Seriously?” Clove rests a hand on the back of her hip, strumming along the top of her hip while also trying to massage out some of the pain of her lower back that never seemed to go away. 

“Well, everything I ate was precooked and preweighed, I had to keep a certain look you know?” Glimmer shrugs, kicking her feet just a little at the height of the chair, twisting just ever so slightly to keep herself comfortable. “I wasn’t really allowed to go beyond that. Cooking was never important.”

“You’re gonna have to learn to make something Glimmer, especially if you ever have kids–” Clove teases, but the biting response of Glimmer wipes the smile right off of her face. 

“I told you in the Capitol I'm not doing that. I’m never doing that. I don’t want to.” Glimmer snaps before she pushes herself out of the chair so she can make a quick escape if the conversation goes any further south. 

“You used to, I’m sorry, Glimmer. That's who I knew you as. The girl who wanted to settle into her life and be someone’s mother. And for what it’s worth, Glim Glam, I think you’d have been good at it.” Clove puts a hand up in defense, before she awkwardly goes back to going through the remaining cabinets, stopping prior to the refrigerator and pantry.

 She pauses, and turns to face her friend. She gives a heavy sigh, bracing herself on the counter behind her, when she begins.

 “I’m sorry. I am. About the vote. You were right, and as soon as you pulled me into that room– I knew you were right. About his sister and about our friends’ kids and everything. I just wanted to feel like some wrong was made right, Glimmer. It wasn’t going to be me back in the games, and I wanted them to feel what it was like. But then you mentioned Cora, and god knows if she’s alive, but if she is she couldn’t ever go to the games. Or Finnick’s kids, or yours or– I don’t know. All of a sudden it wasn’t just like..nameless kid tributes. It was people we knew. It was kids we knew. It was little girls who looked like you and little red heads in four and! It was kids we love or will love and– you were right. And I’m sorry.”

There is a stunned silence for a few seconds that feels like years to Clove, as Glimmer looks at her with the look of a doe caught in the lights of a car. 

“....thank you.” Glimmer whispers in response, but something palpable has finally shifted between them. Whatever permafrost had threatened to take hold on the boundaries of their friendship started to melt away in that moment. Maybe not a heat wave, but a start. “I…thank you, Clove.”

Clove gives Glimmer another once over as they stand staring at each other. The months of this war had taken a toll on Clove of course, evidenced by the aches in her body and the scars along her skin. Her scars would fade, as her bruises had, and even the pain isn’t visible. On the outside Clove still looked almost exactly like she always had. 

On Glimmer though, the changes were blatant. The golden glow of her skin was long gone, replaced by pale, nearly gray undertones. That long platinum hair was longer than ever, but now revealed multiple inches of a honey blonde natural color that had been hidden since before she even won the games. Even the actual structure of her face and body had changed. Any capitol enhancement had long since grown out or metabolized away, leaving Glimmer with deep collar bones and sinking skin on her cheeks. 

She looked exhausted but she also looked starved. She looked sick. 

“Glimmer…you look hungry.” Clove gives her a look that must be riddled with pity, for the blonde looks away and at her hands instead. “Will you please let me make you something? I know there probably isn’t much in here but I can send the boys out…” B

Before Glimmer can argue or decline, Clove swings the door open to what she expected to be a barren refrigerator and is taken back by the fully stocked fridge that awaits her. 

Well. Full. And Stocked. Maybe not with actual kitchen staples or ingredients for meals, but definitely full. 

“What in the fuck–”

“Marvel does that sometimes. And Cato’s been talking nonstop about your cooking for literal months. They went yesterday, I think. I..don’t think either of them knew what they were doing but they’ve got the spirit. They mean well.,” Glimmer explains, not bothering to put up a fight with Clove and deny her this opportunity. Even if she didn’t eat it– Cato and Marvel sure fucking would.  This was their new Hunger Games.

“Good intentions…that's why there’s seventeen tomatoes?” Clove raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile gracing her face as she surveys the fridge. Sure it was a little..odd.. Seventeen tomatoes, three bags of flour, at least fifty eggs, a dozen heads of garlic… odd but good intentioned nonetheless. “I’m going to guess they wanted pasta?”

“That sounds right. I think I heard Cato saying something about that, but they lost me when I heard them trying to remember if onions and garlic are the same thing.” Glimmer shrugs, but finds herself going back to sit at the island, no longer on the verge of running out of the kitchen at any moment. 

Clove starts grabbing armfuls of the tomatoes to transfer them to the countertop, feeling the soft flesh of one under her fingertips. She probably wouldn’t even need the chef’s knife, but damn if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to use it. “Do you have a big- you know what, nevermind.”  

She decides against asking for a stock pot, knowing fully well Glimmer would have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, she rummages through the cabinets until she does in fact find a blush pink soup pot practically bigger than Clove herself.  She immediately sets herself to gently slicing the skin off of the tomatoes, delighting in the way the acidic juice dripped down over her fingers.

“You should give him a chance, Glimmer, he’s a good guy.” Clove suggests, tossing each individual skinned tomato into the giant pink pot one at a time. 

“I’m not the one not interested, Clove, you know that.” Glimmer reminds her bitterly, reaching forward to attempt to grab a tomato, dropping it when the acid in the juice burns the raw skin around her nails. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Now that isn’t true and you know it. You two seemed fine and then the vote happened and you shut him down again.” Clove points out, turning to the cabinet behind her to grab her selection of the endless array of unused spices. “Which, I get it, you were hurt–”

“He can’t just make my trauma a personal vendetta, Clove. He can’t advocate for slaughtering babies in an arena under the name of defending me and the things that happened to me.” Glimmer hops off the chair once again, this time letting herself scope out the refrigerator and whatever the hell the boys had come up with to fill it with. 

“It happened to him, too, Glimmer. Maybe not as much as it did to you. But it happened to him, too.” Clove collects salt and sugar and various other jars of spices she currently can’t name but knows for some reason she needs to add them. “Glim. Sometimes we care more about avenging the people we love, rather than actually doing what's right. The things that are done to people you love..sometimes that's just worse.” 

“You don’t know what it’s like, Clove. To be seen as the girl who fucks everyone. Whether I wanted to or not. And trust me, I didn’t want to. And no matter how hard I try, for the rest of my life, that is how everyone is going to see me. Do you know what the best part of all this is, Clove? That I never have to be seen in public ever again.” She filters through the fruit– half a dozen containers of strawberries, a single mango, an entire box of blueberries– before letting herself grab a single blueberry for a snack. 

“We don’t see you that way, you know? Not me, not Cato, and god Glimmer you know Marvel doesn’t either.”  Clove assures, using the palm of her hand to measure out the various herbs and spices she’s tossing in. There’s no recipe– she’s just doing what feels right. Such is the theme for all aspects of their lives right now.  “And you never have to do that again. Hell, never have sex again at all for all I care, obviously I do but–”

“Yeah, Clove, I know. We share a wall. The wall your bed is on.” 

“Oh! Right! Well.. anyway!” Clove fakes a grimace and mouths ‘sorry’ before she places a lid on her creation. “Come on. Let's go find the boys, then I'll show you how to make the pasta.”

“I think they’re laying in the yard.” Glimmer waves off, before grabbing another handful of berries to pop into her mouth.

“They’re…laying in the yard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, confusion mapped across her face. “Are they dogs?”

“Something about missing grass and fresh air in Thirteen, I don’t know, I could hear them through the window.” Glimmer shakes her head, but stands in the doorway of the refrigerator. “Do you need anything out of here?”

“They’re fucking weird.” Clove clears off a workspace to knead and roll out the pasta, recognizing that this is probably the first time these counters have been used for anything ever. “uh yeah I need eggs and flour… Honestly, I usually make Cato come do this part because I like to watch his hands knead the dough but…let them…become one with nature or whatever they’re out there doing.”

“Why do you need flowers in noodles? I didn’t think you could eat those?” Glimmer cocks her head, holding out the cardboard carton of a dozen eggs to her, but pausing with a perplexed look on her face as she searches the refrigerator for a bouquet of some sort. “I can go check the garden–”

“What? No Glimmer, Flour not flowers.” Clove wipes her hands on the side of her shirt– Cato’s shirt, actually–, and comes next to her friend to point at the various bags on the bottom shelf. “It’s like..it’s white powder, I can’t explain it. It makes bread. Noodles. Cookies… pizza. It makes all the good stuff you probably don’t eat. But we are going to change that.” 

There are a few moments of  silence, as Clove measures things. It’s nearly peaceful, with the only sounds coming from the dough being flopping and kneaded into the marble. 

Silent, that is, until Glimmer finally breaks. 

“Thank you for staying with me.” Glimmer manages to get out, when tears Clove didn’t even know were coming just start pouring out of her friend. “I-i’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I don’t want to be alone yet.”

Clove pauses her hand folding, brushing her flour covered hands on her shirt before she rests her elbows on the counter, leaning in to truly hear her friend. “Glimmer, you aren’t going to be alone forever.”

“But I am! Yeah, Cash and Gloss are here but..they aren’t here. My parents are gone. You and Cato are going to go home, I don’t want to be alone yet.” Glimmer sobs, furiously wiping at her eyes with her sleeves, Mascara from god knows when smearing along them. “Noone wants a girl that everyone has had, at least not for more than a night, Clove! I’m alone and when i’m alone I just..I swear it’s like someone’s going to come in and they’re going to touch me and they’re going to hurt me and–”

“You’re scared.” Clove realizes, and her heart completely and utterly shatters for the girl. She sees her not as the twenty something girl in front of her, but instead a scared fifteen year old victor she never got to grow out of being. “It’s okay to be scared, but no one's going to hurt you anymore.” She nearly reaches for her hand, she nearly reaches to do anything to comfort her, but something tells her that sudden touch is the furthest thing from what Glimmer needs right now. 

“Someone is always ready to hurt me, Clove. It’s all anyone wants out of me. Noone wants me but they all want me. I just think about all the things they’ve done to me, Clove. How many times they’ve shot me up with something or gave me a handful of pills and just told me to swallow them. Who knows what they’ve done to me…” Glimmer cries, hot tears tracking down her face and onto the fabric of her sleeves. They speckle her sweater, soaking into the cream colored fabric and turning it dark. The levee has broken within Glimmer, and the rushing waves of grief cannot be stopped. “When I won..my sister and brother used to sleep down here. So when I wake up screaming they could come up to me. And then in the Capitol I was NEVER alone and as soon as I was…Cash would come in. She’d hold me, tell me how sorry she was that she let me become a victor, that she didn’t stop me from trying to go to the games. And then, god, once I had Marvel, he practically moved in and he slept me and I actually felt safe. I could sleep. Even back when we were just friends…he’d let me sleep in his room in the Capitol, he was never touchy or pushy or anything. He just let me sleep and sometimes he’d hold me and it was the best sleep I had since I won.”  Glimmer wipes at the tears  again, ignoring how messy she had to look right now. It was her own kitchen and really what did she have left to lose? Glimmer rambles on,  “And you two are here and so I try to sleep and it isnt working as well as it used to and in thirteen I was so afraid every time I heard someone was in the hall that they were going to come in and —“

“When was the last time you slept, Glimmer? Actually slept?” Clove eases, sliding her a dish towel to use to clear the tears from her eyes. “You have to be exhausted.”

“Probably the games, funny enough. Weird that I felt safe enough there but- it is what it is. I tried in Thirteen! And here! it’s just…I can still feel their hands on my skin a-and feel them breathing on my neck and hear their voices and the sound of their feet coming to get me. If I fall asleep they’re there taunting me and grabbing me and-and-and!“ Glimmer  continues to recount her nightmares and real life horrors, her breath catching in her throat and coming out in heaving, panicked, desperate gasps. “I just don’t see what the point of all this was. I don’t have anyone and I’m terrified in my own house and my parents are gone and what did I survive it all for if I’m going to be alone?” 

“You aren’t going to be alone. You aren’t, and you can stay with someone or something but, God Glimmer. Out of all of us, all of the things we have gone through, you Glimmer deserve a happy ending. You deserve to feel safe and loved and god, Glimmer, you deserve to be happy.” Clove finally grabs at her arm, gently squeezing her forearm. “You are safe, Glimmer. And no one gets to hurt you ever again. I promise, Glimmer. You are going to be happy.”

Glimmer…does not learn how to make pasta that day. 

Ten minutes of egg and flour stuck to her fingers is enough to send her back to the verge of tears and back to a safe distance away where she instead watches only. 

Once the dough is chilling and the sauce is stewing, they retreat to the living area, sprawled out on the baby pink couches. 

They sit in comfortable silence while the sauce cooks, Glimmer curled up on the foot of the couch, Clove outstretched on the other end with a book of District One history spread out in her lap. 

It’s peaceful. Comfortable. Safe. 

When Clove notices the Glimmer has fallen asleep, she grabs the fur  throw blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over her friend. Never in her life had she planned to care for some random victor girl from District One, with enough trauma and abuse in her short life for all of them combined, but here she was. War, she supposed, changed the way you see the world. 

She doesn’t even need to call the boys in for dinner like a mother calling for her kids to come in at sundown, because like the bloodhounds men tend to be, they all but run through the glass back door like the children they never got to be once the smell of dinner reaches the outdoors. 

“Clove? Clove, are you cooking? Do I smell food?” Marvel slips in the door first, literally just edging Cato out to get in before him. “Holy mother of god, that's food. I can SMELL the spice, there's salt in it isn’t there. You’re a fucking saint.”

“You’re a moron.” Cato rolls his eyes, but pushes Marvel out of the way just so he can beat him to the island. “…there is salt and stuff right?”

“You’re also a moron.” It’s Clove’s turn to roll her eyes instead, as she fishes a single pasta noodle out of the water to try it. “If i remember correctly you did talk about my cooking every day for weeks…”

“Months.” Glimmer chimes in as she makes her appearance. It’s only been a couple of hours since she fell asleep on the couch but even the brief nap has her looking noticeably better and more rested. “Every day for months.”

Clove catches Glimmer (but not Cato) off guard with how fast she moves when she reaches out to grab Marvel’s wrist as he goes to dip a spoon into the sauce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Clove, I'm serious,this is the best moment I've had in months, let me have this. I need something good in my life.” Marvel half pleads, and the tired tone in his voice paired with the exhaustion behind his eyes is all that it takes before Clove is releasing his wrist and turning away. 

“Do NOT go in twice, I will cut off your fingers.” She threatens and has to nearly slap Cato’s fingers away from the pasta noodles where they are cooling. “You two are like fucking children.”

“Oh my god.” Comes from Marvel, but it sounds somewhere between a cry and a gasp. “Clove this is the best thing i’ve had-maybe ever. Maybe that's the war trauma but-” Ignoring her threats he risks it for another dip, and then steps immediately a few steps out of her reach. “Can you stay here? Seriously, can we keep you? Cato you can stay too, if that helps.” 

Marvel slides to the other side of the island, safely out of reach of all three of them as he debates just dipping a coffee cup and drinking the sauce. “For fucks sake, Cato, kiss her. Or Glimmer, you do it. I don’t care. One of you..just..appreciate her.”

“I’ll still kill you.” Cato warns, but he is slightly distracted by the handfuls of fresh pasta he is dropping into his mouth. “Clove is very appreciated, thank you very themuch.”

“.....are you crying?” Glimmer leans onto the counter, propping her chin in her hand as she outright smirks at her once boyfriend. There's the spark of light behind her eyes that Snow had snuffed out long ago starting to glow just a little again. 

“No!” Marvel defends himself indignantly, but they all hear the sniffle and the stifled“......maybe a little.”

I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home

Two months after their initial arrival in One, at the end of the second great war, after months of Clove feeding them, many tears from Glimmer at their goodbye, and promises of continued communication under the new mechanisms and options– phones communications, along with travel between districts, were allowed once again– Clove, Cato, Brutus, and Enobaria were on their train home. 

Maybe it was irony, or maybe it was fate, but they take the incredibly short trip home on the same train they had come to the Capitol on in their prior games. Neither had ever noticed how the high speed trains went from One to Two in under half an hour, but then again, why would they have paid attention when they were young invincible victors with the entire world at their fingertips?

Still, even a twenty seven minute train ride feels like absolute eternity when you do not know what waits for you on the other end. 

She is sitting as she always has on these trips– curled up with her back against his chest, settled between his legs, head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers snake up to where his arm is resting on the back of the couch, and she laces her fingers in with his. 

Clove sighs as her eyes flutter shut, choosing not to watch the passage of destroyed buildings, burned farms, and mass civilian graves.  There was a time in her life where no amount of bloodshed or the loss of life made her bat an eye— it was what they were trained for— but now…something about it made her stomach turn. 

“It doesn’t feel like we’re going home.” Cato mumbles into the crown of her head, sliding his other hand firmly around her waist and holding her tighter to him. “It doesn’t feel like we even have one.”

“I don’t think we do.” Clove twists in his arms just a little so that she can see his face and languidly brings her free hand up to graze along his jawline. “I mean, we have a house, but I don’t think anyone will want to see us. Exiled to Victor’s Village ..” Her nails scratch along the planes of his skin gently, as she cranes her neck back to really look at him. 

She has spent over half of her life looking at him, learning with him, and ultimately the last six loving him. Looking at him now, though, it’s almost like seeing him through new eyes. 

Scars that the capitol would never take from him along his arms from retraining, golden blonde hair that had grown out enough it reached nearly to his eyelashes, the brightest sky blue eyes that harbored exhaustion far beyond that of a twenty one year old man. 

And yet. It almost felt new to look at this man right now, in the same position on the same train they had been in time and time again. 

It was new to see him in a world without The Hunger Games. 

In a world where they would not wake up day to day to train the next class of tribute children, a world where they would not mentor victor and victor to parade home with pride to their district. A world where they would not raise their own children to volunteer for the games, where they would sacrifice them with a smile on their faces for the glory of being the parents of their own victor child, or pretend it did not shatter them to lose that same glorified baby to the games because they wouldn’t want to raise anything less than ideal little victors. 

There was a version of them, somewhere, that dedicates the rest of their lives to the Hunger Games. 

This is not that version of them. Not anymore. 

Maybe it is because she knows what the life of a victor truly holds now. She learned in the confessions of Finnick, in the strangled screams of Glimmer in the middle of the night. She learned in the stories of Johanna, in the depravity of Haymitch. She learned in the desperation of Katniss, the destruction of Peeta. She learned of it in the loss of her mother. 

She learns of a different life of a Victor, now. In the disapproving, but secretly adoring, looks from Enobaria when Cato carries her across a room. In the appreciative murmurs of Brutus, when he has pancakes with chocolate chips before him. In the updates on Annie’s growing family, in Marvel’s silly, stupid, but nonetheless endearing jokes. 

Above all else she learns of it in the love of Cato, who saw her at the lowest shell of herself, and loved her even still. 

Cato raises an eyebrow at her, shaking her just a little. “You’re thinking of something.” It’s his turn to bring a hand to her face, unwinding from her waist so he can tilt her chin up to meet his eyes more properly. “The corners of your lips twitch when you’re thinking too hard.”

Clove smiles gently, allowing the corners of her mouth to come to a soft grin. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this particular train. On our way to the Quell. I didn’t think we’d be on our way back like this.”

“I also thought we were only leaving that arena in pine boxes. I didn’t think I’d be coming home. I never thought we’d come home together alive. ”  He nods, looking past her rather than at her as he recollects the feelings and emotions of that day, leaving their district for what they expected to be the last time. Their days were numbered, or so they had every reason to believe. 

For the first time, maybe in the entirety of their short lives, that was no longer the case. 

Clove stretches both her arms out to wrap them behind his neck, relaxing fully and truly into his arms. “Is it crazy to say it feels like we won?”

The station is barren and silent when the train stops. There is no great crowd to welcome home the newest victor this time, no officials to celebrate them. 

And yet, when the four of them are back on the train platform,  surrounded by the rubble of what was once the greatest district in the country, there has never been a sweeter homecoming. 

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you

The walk home is harrowing. Two months of cleanup had barely touched the majority of the evidence of the violence, especially along the bases of the mountain, where the various villages had to stack their dead. Slowly but surely they had been transported back to their towns to properly be buried under the traditions of each of the different villages.

That, of course, was just for the bodies that had even been recovered. 

Nearly half of District Two’s population was unaccounted for, and reconstruction efforts had only barely begun to move the piles of rocks that represent the rubble of what was once towering buildings and neighborhoods full of homes. 

The true carnage of the war, the gravity of the loss in this district alone was yet to be understood and tallied. Cato cannot say a word on the walk home, as every time he thinks about the bodies of his parents and sister rotting away under the ash of two, his throat feels like it is going to close on him. Clove by extension says nothing either, only threading her arm around his, holding that same arm with her other hand. There are no words to negate the pain of loss, to ease the ache of the unknown. 

The gate to Victor’s Village is somehow perfectly intact, and from what they can see beyond, so are the pristine lines of ornate houses. A layer of ash covers the ground like fallen snow, and the air feels unseasonably cold up here. It is as if the ghosts of the victors, the families, all of the dead haunt these gates, encasing them in a blanket of melancholy as a reminder that they are the survivors yet again. 

The chill especially wraps around Clove, sending an ache deep to her joints, a reminder that while she is a survivor, she was a victim, too. They have survived but they do not come home unscathed, they do not come home the victors they left as. 

There are lights on in the two houses across the street from their own, and the reminder of life of their mentors is one of the only calming thoughts they can cling to.The rest of the houses sit empty, stale air circulating through them with no victors left to call them home. There is no evidence that there was once life in these houses, no shoes on the porch, no watering cans in the yards. Just like that what was once the fullest victors village has become a ghost town. 

The decision to come back had not been an easy one. District One was in a far better condition, and frankly, none of them were quite ready for life on their own after so much time relying on each other for company and sanity during the war. They didn’t even really have motivation to come back– what did they have waiting behind for them. Eventually the announcement came – much to the dismay of many many many citizens– that the surviving Victors would continue to receive monthly stipends (albeit not near as much as pre-war days) as reparation for the torture and violence inflicted on them at the hands of the prior government  ever since their victory. It made it easier to know that upon their return they weren’t going to have to assimilate into societal roles (and for Glimmer, the real relief came that she would never have to work in retail in one). 

Ultimately, the decision to come back was their own. This place, despite the horrors, the violence, the brutality…it was their home. Maybe it was those things that made it home. 

They stand in the charred grass at the very edge of their yard, Clove with her head resting against his body, Cato running his hand over her arm in an attempt to warm her body to ward off the ghosts of pain that the cold brings on. He rests his head on top of hers as they look at the grandiosity of the home they left behind, still frozen in time, as a relic of the time they were eighteen and in love, feeling invincible. 

“Hey…babe?” Cato wrinkles his brows together, lifting his head from atop hers. “Do you have a key?”

Well of course they didn’t have a key– it wasn’t like they had considered leaving one under the doormat on their way to their certain deaths. 

“Fuck.” Clove laughs against his arm, burying her face in the dark wool of his coat. Her laugh is contagious to him, and he’s shaking his head with a laugh not too long after her. Out of all the obstacles that should have kept them from ever crossing the threshold of their home again, they had not thought to anticipate a key being one. 

She flashes him a playful smirk, raising her eyebrows teasingly. “Are we going to break into our own house?”

Sure, Cato could probably just go through the front door. Of course with the current state of Two, that door would not be replaced because a couple of kids broke into their own house. 

“We left the bedroom window unlocked.” Cato reminds her, catching her off guard as he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder. “I mean.. I hope we left the window unlocked.”

Clove nearly shrieks as she ends up in the air, his hands giving taunting pinches on the very top of her thighs as he fully carries her to the back yard. The grass is overgrown in some places, burnt in others, Clove notices as she stares at the ground from her place on his shoulder.

Cato surprises Clove again when he flips her from his shoulder to his arms, one hand under her knees and the other under her shoulders as he cradles her against him. “Okay. You’re going in.”  

It’s not even surprising how easily he lifts her to a standing position on his hands, how he can push her towards the bedroom window with such ease. All that to say, Clove's short arms and legs do not make it any easier, with her fingertips barely able to reach the window screen to pry it off. When she does she sends it flying down behind her, and only from the groan she hears from Cato can she tell it hit him. It is using all the dexterity of her little fingers that she is able to slide the window up and open.

“Got it!” Clove calls down to him, and lightly twists her ankle in his palm. “You gotta throw me a little.”

“I can’t throw you through the window–” Cato scoffs, shaking his head adamantly. “No way in hell.”

“Cato I can’t reach, You need to just give me a little boost-”

“A little boost i’m already holding you above my head–” 

“Cato! A little toss!” Clove insists, jolting her foot with a little annoyance. “I’m serious, we need to get in–”

“Fine! But if you bust your face open don’t blame me.” Cato grumbles, and grabs her by the bottom of her shoes. “Okay, ready?”

Clove nods, already bracing her hands on either side of the window. When he gives her the little bit of a toss (more than a little, considering the strength he doesn’t even realize he exerts sometimes), Clove is able to flip in through the window. 

All Cato can hear is a slight scream from his wife as she tumbles into the house.

“Clove…babe…you alright?” Cato calls up, an edge of panic infiltrating his cool tone.  “Baby…”

Clove appears in the window, resting her elbows on the window ledge as she smiles down at him with a coy smirk. “You look like you’re here to beg me to sneak out.”

“If I remember correctly it was me who had the house first..” Cato responds to her smirk with his own, running a hand over the side of his hair. “Will you let me in? I didn’t throw you through the window just so I could still break down the door.”

“Patience, patience, Cato.” Clove teases, but the smile on her face could keep Cato going for the rest of his life. “I’m coming, meet you out front.”

Cato beats her to the front door. Patience has never been his strength, and frankly, it’s fucking cold and she is taking a weirdly long amount of time before she comes down. “Clove open the door, I'm not playing around.” 

When the door does swing open to Clove, somehow already changed into one of his shirts and one of his shirts only, she greets him with a dark smirk, looking up at him from thick lashes. “Welcome home.”

The thin layer of dust that covers every surface in their house is a problem for another time.

Later…after.. Clove sits between his legs in the bath, the water as hot as they can possibly get it, soothing every ache in the crooks of her spine. His fingers trace imaginary shapes over the back of her hand, her head against his chest and shoulder. Hot water had been one of the biggest losses in Thirteen. Clove had imagined this particular moment for months. So much so that it was the first- well…second– thing they did once they were back in their home. 

Their names were still carved into the bedpost, their laundry still in pre-sorted piles on the bathroom floor.  Clove’s skin yearns for the softness of the clean sheets they had left behind (though maybe they were not so clean with the dust and ash layer on every surface). In the morning, Clove will treat herself to tea with the rest of the honey in the cabinet above the sink and to the left. 

“You know, I think Enobaria had the spare key.” Cato realizes with his lips on Clove’s neck, and he deserves the light smack to the side of his head once he says it.

“I do not want to think about Enobaria right now, thank you very much.” Clove mumbles, tilting her neck so he can have more more more as she feels his other hand wrapping around her waist and sliding lower. 

“We made it home, sweetheart.” Cato kisses into the skin of her neck, pulling her somehow even closer. “We’re home.”

“We are home.” Clove repeats, but the emphasis she places changes the meaning of the statement. Yes, they are home. But they are home. 

He is hers and she is his. 

They are home. 

And If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still around. 

Home is not as idyllic as they may have remembered, but it was home. 

The thunderstorms that once lulled her to sleep, jolted her awake with a racing heart. The sound of rain no longer rain, but too identical to the distant sound of bombs in their homeland.  When she ends up sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, forcing herself to face it, she is always joined by a heavy blanket being draped around her shoulders, and Cato sitting wordlessly beside her. What they don’t know is that in a district not too far away, another girl screams herself awake from nightmares of the past, and is joined by the innocent affection of a man who slides into bed next to her only to sleep, who holds her only with the intention to comfort her while expecting nothing in return. 

The cold hurts more than she imagined it would. It is not just the recollection of nearly freezing to death that frightens her anymore, it is the pain in her body. Their home is somehow always chilly, her wrists and shoulders and back always aching fiercely. Cato knows her, he has her entire life, and is always adamant to add another blanket to the bed or turn up the heat even when it leaves him himself sweating. 

Brutus and Enobaria still let themselves in multiple days a week for breakfast.

A few weeks into their return, a knock on their front door long before breakfast startles them both. He’s sitting at the kitchen island admiring the concentration on her face as she carves into something she will undoubtedly transform into something fantastic in an hour or so. 

“Who comes to see us?” Clove raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from her task before her. “Enobaria and Brutus have never knocked, and you know Glimmer and Marvel couldn’t be awake this early..”

“They’ll leave.” Cato shrugs, reaching out a hand to nab some of the intricately carved strawberries Clove had already finished with. “Ignore it.”

The knocking only increases in frequency and volume, and Cato rolls his eyes as he pushes himself away. “I’ll get rid of them.”

Clove can’t wipe away the smirk that rises as she watches him walk away, all shirtless with sweatpants slung so low on his hips that it wouldn’t take much effort from her when he comes back to–

She hears the door swing open but does not hear him scare anyone off with a threat, nor does she hear anything at all. “Babe?” Clove calls out behind him, wiping off the blade of her knife with a towel before she lays it down on her cutting board. “Cato?” She calls again, quickly covering the distance from the kitchen to the front door. Cato isn’t even in the doorway, and Clove doesn’t know why that makes her heart race.

Once she makes it to the door, to see what is waiting on the porch, her heart fully stops. 

Wrapped around Cato’s torso are the long baby limbs of his baby sister, little arms clinging around his neck, long blonde curls covering where her face is absolutely buried in his neck. He’s got both arms around the girl, one hand holding her head to his shoulder.  Immediately to his left, with her hand on his arm, is his mother. War was unkind to her, as the woman Clove once looked up to and yearned to emulate in some ways looked more fragile than ever. 

“Hi Clove, Honey.”  Cato’s mother greets her with an exhausted, bone tired smile. There is a lack of light in those blue eyes, a sorrow Clove hopes never to imagine. 

Clove furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head just a little and it is enough of a question for the older woman to perceive it.  

His mother takes in a sharp breath and shakes her head very quickly in the negative and it is all Clove needs to see to know that this is it, this is all that remains of Cato’s family. A mother and a sister.  

“I missed you, so so much kiddo.” Cato whispers to the girl, gently running his hand over the back of her head over and over again. 

Clove steps forward and gently places a hand on the taller woman’s arm, ever so slightly squeezing. “I’m so sorry.” 

The blonde woman presses her lip together and nods, taking her arm off of her son and instead wrapping them around Clove in a hug. “I’m glad to see you again. I don’t think he would have survived it without you.” 

“I wouldn’t have either.” Clove admits, allowing herself to squeeze a little tighter to the woman, analyzing her change in body structure. 

“He’s been gone a long time.” His mother informs them both, patting Clove’s cheek gently before she goes back to wrap her son and little daughter in her arms. 

“Where have you been?” Cato gets out, his voice nearly cracking as he looks down on his mother. “Where did you go?”

“We’ve just been on the move, huh baby?” His mom brushes Cora’s little arm, pulling her attention from where she is hiding in her brother’s arms. “We have just moved constantly, no one could catch us if they didn’t know where we were.”

“Is home…” Cato starts, unable to force the rest of the words out into the world. 

“Gone. long gone.” His mother explains, as Cora raises her head and latches eyes with Clove. 

“You can stay in my house.” Clove immediately offers out, waving slightly at Cora. “Hi, sunshine.”

Immediately Cora lifts her little blonde head and practically wriggles out of Cato’s arms, nearly running into her once she has her little feet on the ground. With his arms free Cato wraps his arms fully around his mother in a hug, and Clove can see the way he melts into his mother;s arms like a little boy

Clove initially wants to kneel to Cora’s level, to become eye to eye with her. However, this six year old child is nearly to her shoulder’s already, and Clove is taken back by how tall this little girl has become. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“I’m as tall as you!” She cheers, and this bright angel of a child wraps her arms around her sister in law. “I missed you, Clove.”

“We missed you too, Cora Jade.” Clove promises, leaning down just a little to kiss the top of her head. “I think you’re going to stay in the house next to us for a little while!” She can no longer scoop her up, with how tall and gangly she has become in the last year. Clove tries anyway, scooping Cato’s sister to sit on her hip despite the fact they are nearly the same size. Cora immediately relaxes against her, and somehow, some way, Clove feels like something deep inside her relaxes with relief, too. 

And though I can’t recall your face, I’ve still got love for you 

For kids who had been trained to kill, who have taken lives, they were more surrounded by death than ever before. They hadn’t expected the influx of funeral services and war memorials they would be expected to attend. 

His father had of course been the most painful, with the heart broken sobs of his baby sister, asking when she’d see her daddy again. It was devastating for Cato, too, who had to learn how to be an adult man in a world without games without his father to guide him. The loss had hit him harder than he dared to admit. 

At the end of what felt like the tenth funeral service they felt obligated to attend, this one of an old classmate and her younger sister, while Cato played nice with another ex-classmate Clove found herself wandering to a part of the cemetery that she had never allowed herself to cross into. 

It was sacred ground, really, treated with utmost respect. Perfect lines of simple limestone grave markers stretched in perfect lines of 25, save for the last row. No tribute came home to be buried from seventy five. The victors, they were in a separate area even still, with lavish, over the top headstones. But here, in a well maintained corner of the District Two cemetery, rest every single tribute who did not make it to victor status. 

The boy from her games did not even have solid grass on top of his grave plot yet, and the ceaseless bombing did nothing to aid in that process. The girl from Cato’s games is a little further grown over, with a thin but respectable layer of fresh grass that grows in all directions. She can remember some of the others, mildly. The boy who lost against Glimmer, the girl who Johanna took out. 

It is not her own peers, though, that interests Clove. 

She weaves through years and years of games, of either single or double headstones from every single Hunger Games, from 75 to 62, and finally to the one she had avoided the entirety of her life. 

Six feet below her feet was the remaining body of Sevina Kentwell, being the closest Clove has been to her mother in nearly eighteen years. 

It is a simple marker, like all of the others. With the name of the tribute, the date of their birth, and what place they came in their games.  Somehow, seeing first runner up, though she had known it the entirety of her life, manages to rip her heart from her chest, coating the white limestone with the spray of hot, wet blood. 

Or at least it’s how it feels. 

There is no mention of the life Sevina had prior to the games. No mention of the daughter she left behind, how she was a mother who loved deeply and to the last day of her life, how she was the daughter of a cruel woman who only became that way after the loss of her child. 

Clove does not know when exactly she ends up on her knees, kneeling before the stone that is no taller than her in this position. 

It is when she notices the little symbol on every stone– some knives, some stars, some hearts– that she realizes there is some small personalization that makes these tributes people. Children. 

Clove’s right hand reaches out, shaking just enough that she notices, as she traces her pointer finger over the etching of her mother’s name. It is then, as she reaches the I, that she realizes the dot over the initial is a clover. 

The weight of a war, of physical torture, of two Hunger Games, the destruction of her home, and a loveless, empty childhood hits her. If she were not already on her knees she would have fallen to them, as it feels like she is the one who just had the breath slammed out of her against that cornucopia. 

The death of her grandmother meant next to nothing. She had openly spoken out against Clove after her appearance in Two, proudly sharing the narrative that she was a traitor and that her daughter died because of this mistake of a child. Yes, she raised Clove and turned her into a victor with her cold demeanor and cruelty, and for that Clove had no choice but to be thankful, but still, she did not feel a great loss at the news of her death by rebels in Two. 

She thought nothing of the news that her father and his entire new family also died in the roles of loyalists. He had been dead to her long before the war. 

The entirety of her family would die with Clove. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in sixty years, but there would be no one left to remember any of them after her inevitable death. 

Maybe that was the gift she could give to the ghost of her mother– the erasure of the people who treated them so cruelly. 

That of course meant the erasure of Sevina Kentwell and Clove herself, as well. 

While Clove had spent the entirety of her life to become a victor, to carve her place in history, right now the idea of slipping into anonymity and living a mundane enough life to not be remembered didn’t sound like the worst ending in the world. 

Sevina Kentwell died nearly eighteen years ago, but somehow it hits Clove like it is the first time all over again. This feeling– the elephant on her chest, the choking, gagging sobs that she could not control, the tears that felt like burning salt on her cheeks– may as well have been from the little girl whose mother never came back for her. 

She felt an overwhelming need to speak out loud– to the air, to the universe, to whatever could hear her– that she couldn’t really explain. It felt silly, to just speak into thin air, and yet she doesn’t have it in there to stop herself. 

Clove wipes her tears on the back of her sleeves, rocking back to sit on her heels. She pushes her hair behind her ears, before she crosses her arm over her chest, tucking her hands along her hips on opposite sides of her body. 

“I’ve always kind of wondered what was so wrong with me as a baby, if I was so unlovable of a little girl that it was just..so easy to leave me. Grandma always told me thats the case…that I’ve been fucked up since I was born and that it was easy to leave a crazy little girl. That the risk of dying was better than having to spend eighteen years with me. I believed it, too.” Clove leans her head back, squeezing evergreen eyes closed and taking a deep, shaky breath to the sky, desperate for cool morning air to fill her lungs and quench the burning that ravages the back of her throat.  “I can’t remember what you look like. I’ve seen pictures but I can’t remember. I don’t remember the sound of your voice, or what it was like to be held by my mother.”

“I want to be angry and I want to blame you for everything that is just so fucked up about me, but I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have been sent to training if you were a victor, huh?” Clove sniffles heavily, the skin of her face burning from the continued assault of tears that just cannot cease to flow. “And then I wouldn’t be a Victor..And then I never would have met Cato.” 

She isn’t quite sure she can believe it, though it is rational. If she had not needed to win the games herself, she never would have been sent to training to become a victor, and by extension would have never crossed paths with Cato. 

There is another part of herself though, the far less rational part, the part that let her fall for her training partner, that believes in any universe, in any version of reality, some way somehow, they would always find each other (though that she would never say out loud). 

“I married him, you know. I’ve never said it out loud.. I’ve never told anyone about it.” Clove whispers to the universe, words barely falling past her lips. “But I did. I guess I wasn’t so terrible and unlovable after all, or maybe I was, and he’s a little terrible and fucked up too. We’re made for each other in that way. He’s…the love of my life.”  She finds that her right hand is twisting at her left ring finger, the empty digit lacking any physical or public reminder of such love. It didn’t matter. They knew. “Enobaria took really really good care of me, too.  Like she had promised you. I don’t know if I would have survived without her. Both literally as a baby, but also in the games.” 

She exhales shakily. Her breathing is weighty and consuming, as she feels her throat tightening with the burning feeling of exhaustion. “I wish I had a mom these days, not that you’d know what a world without the games is like anyway…but it would be nice. To have a mom for the rest of my life….Whatever it looks like.”

Clove rests her body weight on her hands in front of her, steadying herself as she catches her breath and regains her composure. She raises her left hand again, branching herself on her mother’s headstone so she can push herself to a standing position. She brushes off the grass on her knees, smoothing down the skirt of her formal black dress. Digging the heels of her hand to stop the tears, she is unconcerned with the fact her makeup is certainly smeared around her eyes. Clove takes a shaking, stabilizing breath, gently reaching down to pat the top of the rock. 

“I miss my mom. I miss you, and I don’t even know you but I know that I love you.” Clove brushes her deep hair behind her shoulders, standing up straight like the victor she will forever be. She is all that is left of, and all that there will ever be, of the woman who eternally rests deep under her feet. “I owe you, quite literally, for my life. In all senses of it. So uh..thank you. For ruining your life to give me mine.” 

Clove takes one final shaky breath, craning her neck to the sky to stop the flow of tears. She wipes at her cheeks quickly, before shoving her hands in the pocket of her coat. Clove weaves back through the tribute corner, and before she even reaches the little gate she sees Cato leaning against one of the metal posts, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in the pockets of his own coat.

As soon as she’s within reach his arm is around her shoulders, using his hand to smooth down the hair at the top of her head before he kisses the crown of her hair gently and swiftly. Of course he can see the tracks of tears, the pink tint under the field of freckles, but he doesn’t comment on it. This was a private moment for her. 

“Ready to go home?” He pulls her in closer to his side, body heat warming her against the cool, rainy air. 

“I think we have one more stop to make.”

Everything you lose is a step you take

The only thing left of the academy which they met, trained, and ultimately, became themselves is a set of chipped marble stairs. The grand archway is reduced to piles of rubble, the long stretch of the building that was once home rests in various piles of rocks and decay. 

Their classmates were mostly dead, either after being forced into roles as peacekeeper soldiers or victims of various bombings. There were no more dorms that they had once snuck around, no more rooms full of knives or spears or dummies to use as target practice. There were no more closets to sneak off too or bad showers with cold water and low water pressure. 

All that was left of their childhood were the very steps they sat on now. 

Cato sits beside Clove, hand in hand. 

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives in this building.” Clove admits, brushing the hand that is not interlaced with his over the remnants of the grand staircase. “I imagined we’d be the most successful mentors, well, ever.” 

“Spend our lives in the building? I thought we’d own it. Rename it to the Kentwell-Hadley Training Academy, then we could claim every District Two victor forever. It would be like our legacy.” Cato teases, but the longing edge in his voice tells Clove that no, that is not entirely a joke.  He clears his throat, shifting so his chin was sitting on top of the crown of her head instead. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

“Yeah, you broke my collarbone.” Clove smirks, craning her neck so she can look him in the eyes. They would never be back in the place they met, in the place she realized she loved this arrogant, temperamental boy. This, right here, was as close as it would get. “I thought we were going to hate each other forever…that we’d go out killing each other in the most violent, showy way we could. 

“And you stabbed me!” Cato indignantly nudges her with his shoulder, but brings his other hand up to cradle her face in his. I never thought, in a million years, we’d be lucky enough to be right here, Clove.”

“Alive?” Clove teases, but takes the opportunity to lean in and press her forehead to his. “On the rubble of the academy?” As much as she teases, she knows what he means. He means hand in hand, far from the enemies they were the day they met. He means the love they share.

“Together. I never thought we’d get to be together.” Cato admits, leaning in somehow closer still, so that their noses also could touch. “All this shit Clove, and the only constant in my entire life, from the time we were actual children, has been you. It has always been you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.” She promises, wrapping her arm around his neck so that she can pull her upper body flush to his as she finally finally finally connects her lips with his. Clove melts in his arms as he fully wraps his arms around her and holds her as close as he humanly can to him. When she pulls back, resting her nose against his once again, she laughs. “What do we do now with the rest of our lives?”

“I could say each other–” Cato taunts, but laughs as he gives the slightest shrug before she can refute him. “I don’t really know. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“Together?” Clove teases, leaning back so she can fully lock eyes, green with blue, as a coy little smile creeps onto her face. “I love you. More than I loved the games.”

“Aren’t I special.” Cato soaks her in. Wet dark curls framing her face, freckles like constellations across her nose.  If he got to see this for the rest of his life.. He’d die happy. Hopefully not for many many many years, but happy nonetheless.“I love you too. More than anything.”

“You just have to one up me..” Clove rolls her eyes playfully, but she does not actually move from her place in his arms. “You know, if you want to actually get married again, you do have to ask again.”

“Are you going to say yes?” He pinches her hip playfully, causing her to squirm in his arms which he uses as the opportunity to grab her even tighter. 

“Depends on the day.” She warns, but grabs his face in both her hands immediately after. She can see it all in his eyes. The nine year olds they once were, the twenty one year olds they are now. Their entire past lies crumbled beneath them, but with her arms around his shoulders and his around her hips the entirety of their future rests in their arms. 

All the uncertainty of this new world, it didn’t matter. The future, whatever it would be, would be okay.  Whatever their future held, would be just fine, so long as it held them. 

Cato and Clove.

“Always and forever, Cato. It’s you and me, always and forever.”

I had the time of my life with you. 

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #clato fanfic #clove #clove kentwell #thg #the hunger games fanfiction #cato and clove fanfic #marvel and glimmer #marvel thg #glimmer thg #cato hadley #clove thg #cato thg #clato thg #clato tag #clato fanfiction #hunger games fic

[borzoilover69]

(tampers with the gas) dirkjake for the shipping bingo

as you can see my thoughts on them are varied and i can write entire essays. a gas leak made my obsession with them hit an entire level i didnt know was possible. They're everything and nothing to me and i dislike most of fanon abt it and i hate this ship but also i have never cared this much about a ship in general for the doors it could open into messy straight relationship type bullshit with they give me the mic. I find myself often looking thru the tag just to see what people say on it because either theyre completely annoying and wrong or relatively right it really depends.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SECTION CONTAINS EXTENSIVE RAMBLING ON A TOPIC NOT MANY PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED IN:

i will both simultaneously defend this ship with my fucking life but also i will take any chance to shoot those two fuckers dead i genuinely wish jake english and dirk strider ill they are teens with attachment issues and i think the demonisation of it w/o looking at it as just a relationship that sort of is messy sucks and i think fanon should leave them the fuck alone. if given the chance i would kill both of them simply so i wouldnt have to see them at all but also i wish there were more meta writers for dirkjake bcus i find it so hard to find people that extrapolate at length abt it because its so wild to me the guilt and the feelings and the way they tear and grate at each other is so interesting to me.

every relationship is worse with them anyone that gets caught in the crossfires and tries to sort it out is basically doomed because whats probably going to happen is that dirk and jake are going to gang up to either a.) try to use the person as a weapon against the other or gang up to hurt this mfer theyre essentially doomed but in like a way that everyone is partying and those two are stuck together with awkward air.

im. not going to check over this ramble im just going to keep going. i have so much shit to say.

i hate the villainisation of dirk i hate the villainisation of jake they both suck in the way that teens and most young adults will theyre both at fault i hate the "jake never felt anything towards dirk because hes aro" yes he fucking did aro people can still feel levels of attraction and its very fucking obvious how tied up in each other they are and there are like a million and one reasons i could name it if you gave me a day and 15 pages of text.

i hope they both kill each other the idea of them being happy together is endearing but i dont want that for them most times unless im feeling especially sappy the fandom sort of ruined dirkjake for me heres my big old fuckyou to OD anyways heres a few song lyrics that make me think of them

They would literally be the subject of so much fucking talk in publications because theyre never over not even close theyre stuck together theyre going to be doing this dance for fucking years and either end up as the strangest but happiest freaks in some janked up mansion with a million different things that the normal person would think is fucking weird and strange and unnerving but which they think is completely normal or theyre just going to end up killing each other and nobody is going to be safe in the crossfire theyre going to key each others cars and send pipe bombs and poke at every single hole and flaw in the others facade blah blah blah.

people who just focus on the good parts of dirk and jake dont get it people who focus on the flaws only dont get it i think there should be more discussion but also the idea of being exposed to someone who doesnt get it is hell for me ive read their pesterlogs like so many fucking times and ive written extensively abt their selves and what flaws they have and i could prolly kick the shit out of them anyways mic drop im done.

#dirkjake #borzoi meta #borzoi talks #homestuck meta #dirk strider #jake english #homestuck #hom3stuck #i literally fucking hate this ship but its also one of the ones i take so serioussly thats why i hate it ive loved it so much i can hate it

[sunflowersteves]

I did a lot of reflecting with myself and my very wonderful and lovely mutuals on an anon I received about confusion on my fic.

And I just wanna say, first, that my response was a very nice one, and also me defending some of the choices that I made (again, v nicely). But I realized after thinking about it that the reason I responded in the first place was that I felt as though it was my fault. The entire tone of the ask felt extremely accusatory, and not once asked kindly for any help.

No author should be torn down and ridiculed from your own confusion. Even if we look past the blatantly rude and entitled tone, the anon didn’t say hi, didn’t ask for any clarification, didn’t point to any specific passages or quotes, and didn’t ask if they could send me a dm. They didn’t give me anything to work with.

They just ridiculed me. They asked if I was serious—if I could “get things straight.” They told me every single issue they had rather than actually engaging with me on any confusion.

I have no problems if someone is confused about dialogue or plot or character decisions and asks, kindly, for clarification. Please, understand that. I encourage you, very much so, that if you are confused, please let me know. I will gladly help, and I have in the past.

And! I have no problems if you don’t like the choices I make regarding the plot points of my fic. that’s okay! You don’t have to. You’re not obligated to enjoy every single fic you read.

But when you tear my fic, limb from limb, and make me feel extremely discouraged, to the point where I thought any and all problems were my fault when it was yours? Especially as the pieces they complained about are in the warnings. All of them. Yeah, that’s not okay.

Here’s a bullet point list of some of the “confusion” they had and how I know their ask in my ask box was bullshit:

Joel was mean (in the warnings)

Joel is jealous (in the warnings and the literal plot of the series)

reader gets mad at Joel, Joel gets mad at reader (in the warnings)

smut after a six-week coma/hygiene (we’re literally talking about a post-apocalyptic reality, and others have confirmed with me that the reader is heavily implied to be bathed)

Joel is jealous (referenced again; THE PLOT & IN WARNINGS)

Ellie is two doors down from the smut happening (she is not, use context clues)

My point in responding and breaking down their “confusion” is to point out two things.

One? Read the warning tags. For the love of god, read the warnings all the way through. I promise you, you will not only understand more about the fic but you also won’t be surprised by anything.

Two? Please don’t do this to writers on this app OR anywhere at all. This is not how you ask for help when you need it. This is an extremely rude, arrogant, and entitled way of telling a writer you’re “confused.” I seriously doubt you would tell a writer this irl, in my opinion.

If you actually want authors, especially on this app, to engage with you, write the fics you want them to write, etc., DONT ACT LIKE THIS.

But also, it’s my fanfiction. It’s my writing. Every ridicule they placed on my fic was given to me as if my particular plot points were awful, and it felt as though they were insinuating that I should change them.

And you know what? I’m 21. I’m a college student. I’m still learning to write because it’s a skill. And that’s okay! It’s okay when fanfics lack clarity or have rough grammar. It’s okay if the plot doesn’t make entirely a lot of sense. It’s okay!

Now, I’m so happy to have grown from that experience, as well as have an amazing support group of people on this app. So, I will continue to be writing the series. I will continue to be writing for that character. I’m not changing a damn thing in my fic for clarification.

Again, I want to thank my mutuals for yanking me back up and helping me understand the depths of the ask they sent me. And big, big thanks to @honeystevie for helping me see that because without her initial reply, I’m sure I would’ve been in a very large discouraged writing hole. love you, rika <3

tagging some wonderful mutuals as a thanks and I’m giving a big hug: @moonlight-prose @cocoamoonmalfoy @tarrenterror25 @themarcusmoreno @fleurfairie @indouloureux @ghostofskywalker @iraot @dearest-readers @fxllfaiiry @fluffyprettykitty @targaryenvampireslayer @galatially @navybrat817 @rae-gar-targaryen @saradika

#vic's coffee talks♡༉ #fanfiction writers #writers on tumblr #joel miller

[sad-leon]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day!

So many people in my life seem to be going through something right now, and I just wanted to give you an opportunity to share anything you might be going through. Good or bad, as specific or as vague as you're comfortable with. Or feel free to ignore if you'd rather not. No pressure at all!

I hope things are going well for you! But if not, I'll be sending prayers your way if you're comfortable with that!

I am... not.

and i haven't for a long time

I'll preface this entire post with a warning: THIS IS A VENT POST the only tags will be trigger warnings

I thinks i've said it once or twice, but I started school this year. This is my first year in college after taking a gap year and also telling everyon i wasnt gonna go. I know jack shit about what im doing and its fucking exhausting. Theres so many things that i feel like I should know but dont because all the college information given out in my highschool was geared toward the college in that town specifically, which is not the college im going to.

I've also moved. im entirely on my own, physically and financially. I just met with my job and am starting very soon which is not good because my sleep schedule is all wrong. I may be switching jobs soon, but i can't just quit becuase, like i said, im on my own.

and those are only the big two. lets speedrun this. my anxiety, my autism, i need new glasses, my feet hurt more than i think they should, im a system, my eating disorder, my aversions that make it hard to drink the water up here, the burnout, the exhaustion, executive dysfunction, i also likely have adhd which mean rsd. im touch starved and touch adverse

those are just what i can think of off the top of my head

but all of this had been leading to what might be a pretty nasty breakdown and soon.

im so fucking tired all the time and that makes it hard to draw, but thats one of my only ways to relax. i like playing mc, but i get bored easily and also i cant sit at my desk for long becuase it feels like my head is too heavy for my neck. it hurts. everything hurts and my job doesnt help me at fucking all.

i was able to draw tsob while dealing with most of my issues becuase all i had to worry about was work. looking at my current schedule, i can find the free time. the issue is using that freetime to draw and not just sleep or dissociate. finding home is very dear to me, but drawing it the way i am can be exhausting and i dont want to start hating it, so i just.. dont draw it most days

i stress constantly about how i appear on my blog becuase i want so badly to do this right. i want to be good at something, like, as a person, not just as an artist. but i hate myself too much to believe in any progress i make.

i know its the rsd mostly but i see groups and i feel gross. its not as bed now (any of you beans that have made it this far, ily /p) becuase i found a community i can actually interact with, but it still comes up, especially because i've moved away from all my irl friends and its so fucking hard for me to make them in the first place. like.. actual friends, not just people i can work with at school

if i keep going i'll probably talk myself in circles, so ill stop it here. theres a lot more but im not going to ramble about my suicidal, intrusive, or sh thoughts on this blog. this is a post to inform you guys of the state of mind im in. im lonely and sad and its all building up to a massive breakdown.

im not going to be leaving tumblr or giving up on my comic, but i probalby wont update as often as i did tsob. i just dont have the energy.

i also will probably post some of my traditional art cuz i gotta fill up a sketchbook for my animation class, so that also takes away from the time i use to draw digitally.

im so tired

#vent post #tw vent #long post #tw exhaustion #tw burnout

[browzerhistory]

this started out as tags on a post but i realized i should probably just. make my own post at this point.

anyways ohhhg my god dont even TALK to me about a post-prime trio situation. ill start crying. GOOD GOD the betrayal and even if its post 6-2 that they meet again what would there even be to SAYYYY!!!

chewing on the minosgabe especially because like okay. minos was getting through to him before he was assassinated. gabriel knew that the council (and by extension The Father Himself, though he'd never admit it) were being needlessly cruel to the sinners. not just in lust but through all of hell (he was the closest to the ferrymen but knew of the futility of their devotion for example). but i think it scared him to think about everything he's ever known being a lie, not to mention the threat of getting his light and title stripped if he stepped out of line. so to reconcile it, he followed orders and killed minos. maybe he convinced himself (or was convinced) minos was trying to lead him astray or smthn.

gabriel would not only understand minos wanting to shred him, he'd Want him to. the only way gabriel knows how to make things right is someone getting hurt. so it's natural for him to offer an eye for an eye so to speak. and of course minos would want to kick his ass at first (his whole boss fight speech is pretty indicative of this i think). but given time to think with his Judge Brain, he'd realize death is not fitting for what he did. gabriel wants it to be, but that's because the only kind of justice he knows is the kind the church teaches. minos knows it would be infinitely better (and infinitely crueler, in a way) to let him live with himself.

ohhgggg and sisyphus and minos post prime... this really depends on how one sees their relationship while they were alive. BUT. the dynamic of like. these two who have faced actual hell together and were murdered by the same guy only to come back irreversibly altered in every sense of the world. and despite everything it's still the man they fell in love with but theres so much each went through that the other wont know. BUT THE LOVE IS STILL THERE. (havr you noticed a pattern with me about this theme) godddd and then to have them be faced with gabriel.. also changed deeply from who he used to be but who is still the angel who killed them. (IN A SENSE. because he hasnt had as much Time as the other two. and we all know how the church has to be taken out of someone. piece by bloody piece.) to have gabriel There before them understanding what he did was infinitely fucked and understanding if they want to kill him.

and don't even get me STARTED on gabriel and sisyphus post prime. here is this angel who minos tried to change while he was alive. tried to make him see the injustices of heaven. and sisyphus Saw the progression in his thinking on the rare occasions where they did meet. and maybe he started to hope that things could be different because if even the Righteous Hand Of The Father can have doubts in the system then maybe change is possible. but then gabriel kills both of them on the council's orders. and he knows that dogma is buried deeper in his being than either of them can know, let alone change, like that deer that got shot through the rib but lived and ossified the arrow - but they're on the killing end of it, so what does it matter in the end?

i don't know how they'd cross the bridge of trust at first tbh. i don't think minos would even want to look at gabriel. (he trusted him.) and yeah gabriel changed especially post 6-2/council murder but there's only so far that can take him. like i said above i think minos would let/make him live with what he did. i don't think sisyphus would want to take gabriel out as much, esp. if it's post 6-2 since at that point gabriel is just as holy as they are and killing him wouldn't really change anything. he's changed but he's still got a very long way to go yk?

ugh idk i feel like i could draw this better than i can write it. these are just random characters they don't mean anythingg

#ultrakill tag #nobody talk to me or look at me or percieve my existence at all. #this isnt even my toys at this point this is my visions #if it hadnt been so shocking if it hadnt hurt so bad perhaps i couldve moved my shaking hands to hit you back. thats minosgabe betrayalto me

[exiledelle]

its vengeance au PAPYRUS time (LINKED POST HAS UTY MERCILESS SPOILERS)

i was originally planning on having more sprite edits n stuff for this but unfortunately i think too many of my thoughts would be too hard for me to sprite, at least not currently, but. since i dont want to be spending months on this:

like i mentioned in the original post, after clovers slaughter of a decent part of the underground, and progress toward breaking the barrier being shot back to square one as a result, the royal guard essentially goes into a panic, putting out a mass recruitment.

much to the relatively-newly-crowned empress, undynes, dismay, this includes papyrus. wouldnt be a good look for her to turn down such an enthusiastic volunteer, especially not when the guard is in desparation.

but shes still biased, and doesnt want to see him hurt, so she manages to position him as a royal watchman instead of a guard. instead of capturing a human, his job is just to keep watch, help anyone who needs help in the forest, and if he manages to spot a human, all he needs to do is report the sighting to the rest of the guard. pretty simple and fitting job for him, and hes still very enthusiastic about it!! plus he gets a neat ranger uniform, so win-win (the design stuck)

once frisk escapes the ruins though, and clover chases after, papyrus notices somethings not right before hes able to send his report. theres TWO whole humans, which would surely make undyne and the guard happy, maybe send him up a couple ranks too, but...

his job is also to HELP people. and clearly, frisk needs help. so in a conflict of interest, papyrus opts to help frisk find safety deeper into the woods, and only reports clover, to try and keep them at bay

realizing way too late the kind of threat they are, and that theyre too far gone for his usual approach of trying to talk them down like he does in undertale. he'll attack clover, but only when they have him and/or his friends cornered and its absolutely necessary. papyrus IS tough, so he can at least stall them, but he also knows his best chance is to find an opening to flee (he still has to protect frisk, after all), and that a prolonged encounter isnt really in his favor

unfortunately, being a watchman, as well as undyne being busy with empress duties, means he doesnt have as much time for his usual Spaghetti Training, so he falls back to rations of dinosaur egg oatmeal (calling them rations makes it sound cooler to him), which he gladly shares with anyone

...he gets a little overexcited though. its fine, this is normal for him, dont worry. also, the oatmeal survives this.

also in case youre wondering about sans: hes....actually pretty much the same, all things considered. hes happy papyrus got into the guard, tags along to his outposts, pulls his usual pranks, that kind of stuff. this isnt a sans au (and i dont really want it to be), so theres like. not a lot of emphasis on him, and theres not really going to be. he'll still like. timestop to drag papyrus and frisk out of danger given that hes there, cuz he does want to help protect them both, but hes not going to go all out on clover, at least not right away, and not without backup or a plan.

(also i say timestop and not teleport just because thats my own interpretation of the grillbys scene, and him having attacks start and end in seemingly random spots during his fight, i dont think its definitively canon or anything, but i still lean more toward timestop than simple teleportation)

WITH undyne busy though, papyrus is assigned a different captain to answer and report to.

someone... ...nyafarious... within the guard.

she will come later though. once i can make a sprite or two, and have more details ironed out. (should probably also start making a masterpost for this au at some point)

#undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilers #undertale #undertale au #papyrus #vengeance au #ellesprites

[neptunite-stars]

OH I HAD A FUCKING CRESCENDO IDEA (FOR THISE WHO SIMPLY DO NOT KNOW :tm: ITS OUR ENSTARS RP GROUP EHEH)

MAGICAL GIRL AU

imagine

CRESCENDO but something like Yuki Yuna is a Hero which i TOTALLY forced you to watch

the heros are the members of the “hero club” or some sort of idolistic club and they go around and sing and dance for everyone else but the main premise of the club is to find sacrifices worthy for “god”—whoever that may be. So when Crescendo’s first mission begins, they freak out.

Kiyama, although excited, has never been beyond this side of the world. Where the gods lay. His flower may be something like… a sunflower, and his weapon being a polaram or breakers or something like that. something with high mobility.

Miharu is given something like. a daisy maybe? (wasnt able to find anything on masking) and their weapon is maybe something defense-related.

Kirina’s flower is a white lily. Since Kirina expresses herself through dance her weapon might be something like a fan or some sort of leg brace based on kicking

Sato’s flower is a lilac, since Sato (i think) values family and close bonds. maybe their weapon is something based on chanting and bringing things together— like the vines itsuki has

Katsu’s flower is a Strelitzia since they symbolize a free spirit. Maybe Katsu’s weapon is a straight up electric guitar or a gun of some sorr

Shion’s flower is a white rose, my gay ass loves to focus on shion’s split between her unit and crescendo, since she can only focus on one after the events of ykyk.

Anyways with these, this idol group is tasked with the duty of protecting the world against the “Vertexes” or the wrath of the gods against humanity.

Hehe what do you think so far?

HI. I GO INSANE OVER CRESCENDO. HIIIIIIII I LOVE THEM SO MUCH DID U GUYS KNOW THAT. ANYWAY I WROTE A LOT IT GOT A BIT LONG SO. MORE RAMBLING UNDER THE CUT ^_^

@twowink @lycanthian @shards-of-brilliance @crooked-corvid hope u dont mind me tagging yall but its ur lil guys (gender neutral)

also im sorry i never got around to watching it o7 i think i accidentally closed the tab for it while doing a tab cleanup KLJHFKJSHDKFJ

also FUCK YEAH . MIHARU WITH DEFENSE. GOD. IM INSANE ABOUT THAT. IVE ALWAYS IMAGINED THEM TO BE LIKE . A PROTECTOR OF SORTS. YKNO . LIKE THEYRE CHILL BUT THEYLL ALWAYS HAVE UR BACK AND AOUR(ITDIFYGSDLIFUGSDFLKJG they have a shield and they most definitely have a helmet that they sometimes wear because im all for the "masking" and "putting on a different face" thing they have going on (if this is how you learn about this then. there u go! altho it seems i alr told you about it mostly . yeah i think i did say somehting about that) anyway. miharu sooo has paladin vibes. hgrhgh

i think kiyama (or katsu) should have gauntlets. they deserve to punch people. altho an entire electric guitar is SICKKK anyway kiyama probably would have Some armor (probably leather) on his upper body bc . hes gonna be in the middle of all these weapons ykno. he needs to be at least somewhat flexible and light on his feet right? hm. i dunno . kiyama and katsu are difficult to think about for this. katsu definitely has some lightning effects going on. That will stay.

SHION. I DIE IMMEDIATELY. OAURGHHRGHGRHGJHRGJRHG ourhg. she'd be probably one of the ones dealing dmg too. give em a sword ^_^ classic fighter. also im putting them in a skirt u cant STOP ME. oh if u havent caught on EVERYONE IS GETTING SOME ARMOR. YOU CANT STOP ME. magical girls outfits with just frills and fabric be damned. I NEED TO PUT SOME METAL ON THEM I NEED TO MAKE THEM KNIGHTS (no not en.stars knights sorryy still love them tho ^_^) GOD. IM INSANE. MAGICAL KNIGHTS WITH FLOWERS??!?!?? OUHGHHHH

heheh ok time for kiri~~ she definitely has high mobility!! aaa implementing her dancing ability into her fighting style!!!!! i think shed try to learn how to fight using a halberd at first but she finds it awkward to move around with and then she (or sm1 else helps) comes up with the idea to do what shes used to: dancing. if shes so used to moving gracefully without holding heavy things then why doesnt she just. do that ? !!!! anyway im putting her hair into a high ponytail as we speak. although im having difficulty in imagining her in armor. ill work on that.

satoo waaaa so theirs would kinda be like. immobilizing enemies? kinda?? ough interestingggggg i think their armor would be relatively light (like kiyamas) but im thinking maybeee . ok i lost the thoughts dammit its hard to think about things for sato too :((

tldr i need to draw them all. specifically i need miharu in flowy fabric and armor. with flowers. and a shield. FUCK now im thinking about hades im sorry (i am crazy ok)

#WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CRESCENDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #rambles #ask #pitxroxas

[opal-owl-flight]

alright i know it a bit off topic to what you are doing right now. but is angst really necessary for a character. all it does it make me feel so horrible for them. just saying

This is tumblr, the rule for this is to block me/the angst arc tags and move on. If you are who I think you are, Im going to take the step myself for both our sakes.

This is my story. Youre not obligated to read it, youre not obligated to keep up. If the content upsets you, you dont force the writer to change the story they want to write. You leave for the sake of your emotional state. I wont take offense to that as we all have our tolerance for upsetting topics/stories. (God knows I have my own.)

As for angst being necessary?

Have you seen the shit these characters go through in canon?

You can make the argument for everything being cartoon violence but DO REMEMBER that Hal Labs themself has made final bosses scream in pain while youre in the process of giving them a soul-smashing beatdown. And in the case of True Arena for Mags -- you can hear him begging for help in the bg as you fight. (Epilogue also has a lot of angst. Fucks sake one of Mags' "taunt" animations has him crying.)

Im not exactly adding angst where there isnt. It is simply an extension of canon.

Or do you speak of my more painful arcs, like False Paradise or Back to Zero?

Again, they are simply extensions (in my interp) of whats given in canon. I take the canon stuff seriously in my writing, thats just how I do. Those events have lasting effects on the characters. You cant say someone gets possessed and theyre all hunky dory the next time you see em. Wasnt Dedede implied -- no. Straight up SAID by Hal --- to have had trauma from Fecto Forgo? So for my way of writing things, Whos to say the others didnt as well?

In terms of the relationships for those two arcs. (+Nova Incident too what the hell.) Magolor wasnt the best person. He still isnt, sometimes. Healing from what hes done while he was lashing out, for all parties involved, is not going to be smooth sailing. Sometimes things start to look up but and then go nasty in the middle. Thats just the way things are.

BtZ's basis is touching on how puppy love/crushes tend to die the longer you know a person. You find things you dont like about the fellow you admired. And that breaks them apart. Its very fortunate in rhe end of this arc though that both parties see their mistakes/flaws and learn to accept and grow with them, and thats why they got back together.

Angst makes good payoff.

And about excessive angst? Thats subjective. And I always resolve them in the end. (Hell, even Legacy has a good ending now...mostly bc I nuked it after the rewrites). Im not really good with ending things badly, so my stuff always wraps up on a happy note. (I should probably post more of the fluff stuff tbh, but its impact is heavily reduced without the angstier context.)

Tldr, in my interp/writing style, angst is indeed necessary for the character. One, a lot of it is already canon anyway. Two, this is my way of exploring/extending the character and their themes (Mags leans heavy on trust and forgiveness). Three, all of this makes for more satisfying closure/payoff.

#jfc get off my case and let me write what I want. #opal owl hoots #also I cant help but say that this entire thing feels so manipulative #it really feels like you want me to change the way I write bc it makes you upset. Im sorry that it does but #Im not obligated to do that. YOU however have the choice to just turn away. So. do. that.

[stinkrascal]

I think no one likes my tav :( I love that simblrs began to share other games like bg3! And the small amount that does it sticks together! They reblog each other's bg3 posts, do art for them, put cute tags to support each other, so nice to see!! I really want to be part of that, but no one seems to actually like the bg3 stuff I post🥹 do you have any advice for me?

hi anon, i'm sorry you're feeling this way :( to be honest i don't really know what could be causing ppl to overlook your posts. idk what advice i could give you bc some of my bg3 posts do really really well, and some of them get like maybe 5 notes depending on what time and what day i post 🙈 but please dm me if you like i'd love to follow u if i don't already!! i love rbing bg3 posts on my blog i'd love to rb your posts too! i want everyone to feel included in this community you know ;-; even if you don't feel like your posts get enough attention i promise that isn't an indication of you not being wanted in this community!! it just means you haven't found your audience yet, and that's totally ok. it took me many years of posting consistently on simblr before i found ppl who were interested in my silly video game screenshots and tbh i feel major imposter syndrome for even saying that like jade stfu what do u mean ppl care about your screenshots no they dont😭 so like idk. for me when i get really worked up about feeling like nobody cares about what i post i just try to like......... make a circle of a few mutuals whose opinions i really cherish and every time they interact with my posts in any capacity, liking, commenting, reblogging, etc, i consider that post a win lol. be like "oh well my circle of elite mutuals all liked this post that means this post is pretty cool isnt it!!" lol that sounds silly but it helped a lot for me, bc i was really prone to getting myself in these cycles where i felt like if my posts didnt hit a certain note count that means i suck and nobody likes my stuff and thats a sucky way to feel you know!! and like i don't really know how i can optimze your note count for you, idek how i optimize my own, at this point ive given up on that endeavor bc it just puts too much weird pressure on myself to live up to an arbitrary and unreachable standard. but i think trying 2 reframe the way you think about this situation is just as helpful, it was really helpful for me at least. obv i think tumblr is a place where our posts SHOULD be shared ie reblogging stuff!! and i always always always encourage people to reblog posts bc thats how our community grows and flourishes, thats literally how tumblr has to function to survive so DO IT!! but also with all that being said, it will be better for u in the long run if you don't put a lot of pressure on yourself to hit a certain note count to be a valid participant in this community, instead make it about the love of sharing your creations online, and being content w the fact that your creations are still cool even if it didn't hit a certain level of engagement u desired!! and you know what, when you start loving and passionately posting about your creations, ppl pick up on that excitement. they get excited too!! and then before you know it you do have a community of support! so please dont unduly stress yourself my friend. does this make any sense. idk. YOU GOT THIS ANON I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!!

#jade answers #Anonymous #sorry my brain is a fried egg rn. advice escapes me but ily u got this anon!!

[thedragonagelesbian]

For the OTP asks: 5, 13, 22, and 26 for Cyrus and Wyll

yaaaaaaaaaaay

5. What activities do they enjoy together?

Cyrus socializes like a cat, so he's happiest just being nearby for whatever activity Wyll wants to do-- snuggling while Wyll reads or listening him play his flute (or his cello once they're moved in to their estate post-game). Wyll similarly insists that his greatest creative inspiration comes when he's with Cyrus and loves to compose in Cyrus' garden, drafting sonnets and serenades while Cyrus is tending to his plants.

As for things they really do together, they love planning outings into the woods around Baldur's Gate. Romantic picnics, hunting, foraging, birding, just getting away from the bustle of the city

13. Name something they would never do for the other person. 

Cyrus for Wyll: I think Cyrus outright refuses to do the Champion/Ansur/whoops bitter gay exes quest. Not even in a reluctant 'I'll tag along to make sure you stay safe' thing, drags his heels to the very edge of the chambers of trials and is straight up like 'we shouldn't do this. I don't care how helpful the dragon will be we should Not Fucking Do This please don't do this i don't want to lose you to some impossible bullshit test you're already enough please don't make me watch you do this'

Of course there's no vindication in being right.

Wyll for Cyrus: Hmmmm Wyll is so accommodating it's hard to think of what he'd refuse… Of course there is the classic "you don't have to be the Blade of Frontiers" for me early on. No matter how many times Cyrus tells him that he doesn't have to perform for him, it's so hard to let go of a technique that has allowed you to cope with & make the best of such horrendous circumstances

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

Oh boy the 'at birth' specification is interesting, I've never really thought about what this version of Malcolm and Leandra had planned for him… He grew up on the road because Malcom was being hunted by his archfey patron who ends up killing him when Cyrus is very young (tho I have some. Extremely vague ideas about a post-game adventure involving Malcolm actually still being alive & Cyrus & his LI needing to save him). Presuming Malcolm doesn't die and is thus still around when Leandra passes from her illness, I could see him raising Cyrus as a much more well-adjusted rangers, mayhaps even of the fey wanderer variety as they work to free Malcolm from his patron

(…..i dont know how i've gotten this far without realizing before that the first loss in cyrus' life was to a vengeful warlock patron but it sure. Uh. Adds some Something to this dynamic…)

Wyll more obviously grows into a young lordling, but even without Mizora, I think he goes through life about 5 terribly repressed seconds from a nervous breakdown having grown up knowing absolutely nothing but his father's rigid expectations

And while I can't think of any self-evident way for their paths to cross, the notion of Wyll meeting a more fey version of Cyrus who whisks him away from the pressures of noble life for a whirlwind adventure straight out of the fantasies and fairytales Wyll grew up reading and dreaming about but had given up experiencing himself… well i think it FUCKS immensely

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

For both of them, the best part about physical affection is feeling safe. It's so new for them, but being able to melt into each other's arms and let all of their past disappear into the sound of the other's breathing and pulse is just one of their favorite things about being together, period.

For Cyrus, his relationship to sex is different than other iterations of the character because of his history with Meredith. Generally, Cyrus has two somewhat contradictory things he wants out of sex: to please his partner as much as possible, and to know himself and his body in relation to them. Contradictory because that first desire always trumps the second one and can even foreclose it entirely, depending on the partner, or make him vulnerable to someone who wants to control his sense of self.

Whereas ranger!Cyrus is pretty adamant about not relying on anyone else for that external validation/appraisal/identification. That just leaves "trying to give Wyll a religious experience every time," and that is something Cyrus adores immensely. (And his favorite part of /that/ is any indication of incoherency-- babbling and whining and stammering. Any sign that Wyll is trying sooo hard to be the calm & collected Blade and failing miserably turns Cyrus on a Lot; he refers to it playfully as 'making Wyll sing')

And as hard as it is, Wyll enjoys being made to let go and get out of his head and into his body and being taken care of and treated with a level of slow, gentle tenderness that is almost too much to bear (but he does and Cyrus praises him throughout to tell him he's doing a very good job bearing it)

#cyrus bg3 #cyrusXwyll #these were a ton of fun to answer & think about thank you sm!! #esp making the connection between malcolm being a warlock & wyll being a warlock... i will have to think about this more for sure........ #aaaaaaaaand that is the last of my asks from november #i get to go into 2024 with a clean slate ready to yell more about my boy always and forever

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

proper post on the Thing™. tws for grooming mention and nsfw mentions im sure everyone gets the drill. im kinda obligated here to make a full reply since i was involved with the issue but Hopefully there wont be another post on this matter. if anyone has issues about what i say/think i didnt address something, talk to me in private yea im more than willing to listen and exchange views. i consulted with several people to make this post in the first place

i havent been keeping up with every response under the sun but i did see opal and blue-jester and some other people in positions of responsibility apologize, so im not gonna rag on them or go on and on about "they should know better!!" because they already know that now. instead ill talk about why i did what i did and why i thought what i did

yep i called opal a groomer at one point. oops thats on me and i shouldnt have thrown around a serious term and accusation like that without getting a better grasp on the situation. lets get that out of the way

to start, how the situation played out was i got an anon saying that i was mentioned in a callout post mtthrw made.

i dont know who sent this ask and it doesnt particularly matter. i just went to go check out the post, which was public and tagged with the main tags. this was not something given to me in private which i decided to spread publicly. first of all it was still in its 242 page glory and had minors discord ids and a lot of peoples discord developer ids (the string of numbers connected to your account that you cant change) on it. i wanted to boost the post eventually, but i was aware that i shouldnt boost something with that kind of information on it, so i dm'd the person who created the doc and gave them my suggestions first (i was the reason why the doc was shortened down to 54 pages later, for example).

they said theyd keep the former doc on the post as well, but i thought they wouldve taken out the developer ids and discord ids of minors in that one too. to be honest i dont know the extent they censored on either document, i was busy talking to other people (like quakey and another adult involved in the callout doc) at this time and then the docs got taken down before i could see them again. also note that i definitely shouldve asked them to censor the names of minors In General and not just the ids, so again, sorry, thats on me. anyways continuing with the actual events that happened, i made a vaguepost warning people to block the "negative" tag if they didnt want to see drama. (unrelated but yeah, also my bad for calling it tea/drama instead of taking it more seriously. i apologized for it after getting an anon about it later.) when i made the vaguepost i got a ton of people asking what was up, so i dm'd them.

i dm'd five people in total for this, all of which except for one or two i considered friends. that said, i have no clue how many people got access to this doc directly because of the people i shared it with. i made a lot of careless and irresponsible mistakes in my handling this, and im sorry for that. but for reasons ill cover in more detail as this post goes on, i dont think the person who made the doc had malicious intent or meant to cause harm to the minors involved.

yall see all the apologizing i just did right, now its time for me to state my case on why i seriously thought opal was a groomer at the time i called her one. btw im not gonna work to cover mtthrws ass on this, thats something they can and should make a comment on on their own.

for some reason some people think that i called opal a groomer because i personally dont like them or have personal beef with them which. Dude?? no?? i dont go around calling people groomers because of petty bullshit. as i said before, i dont know how many people saw this doc itself. i dont know how many people are commenting on this based on context other people are posting only. the doc was not up for that long, so i want to make it clear the ways opal was shown acting in the screenshots provided. this is not to send harassment or to rag on her, shes since stated she will change how she deals with these matters in the future and i am aware of that.

excuse me for not having the screenshots to back my words up (or if i do the screenshots are mad compressed), or not having complete recollection of the exact parties involved. as said ofc the doc was taken down, im reciting this to the best of my recollection, but i think people who saw the doc themselves will be able to back me up on a good portion of this at least. during the magowhore saga, there were a lot of people who came up to opal with their concerns regarding her interaction with minors and the suggestive content she was posting, as shown by her posting the anon asks she got in the planet-popstar discord. both these screenshots and her (as well as some other adults in the server) reactions to them were recorded in the doc.

types of reactions she had were; saying they're just jokes; (joking about it in itself); it was magolors fault for being horny, not her*; thats just how magolors character is; there's a difference between a character and the person writing it so she doesn't need to take responsibility (second screenshot below); (when initially getting vagueposted about her irresponsibility regarding the magowhore saga) lamenting about how people who she liked or looked up to had liked the vaguepost/agreed that she was being irresponsible (first screenshot below); directing blame onto kirbypurrs; assuming people sending her asks with concerns were part of kirbypurrs' clique** and thus disregarded them; called asks with concerns hatemail; deflecting responsibility onto minors if they saw or were interacting with her content; said that people who had concerns about her interactions with minors should just block if they dont like it; being extremely aggressive about people coming up to her with concerns in general; saying that people getting on her ass for the whole magowhore saga was breaking her stride/lamenting about how all this had to happen right as she thought she was finally getting somewhere

and, while not opal saying these next things specifically, i thought these were notable enough to mention about that servers culture: there were people around her advising her to not say anything publicly and to just lie low and wait until this whole thing blew over because people would accuse her of deflecting responsibility if she just said it was magolors fault again, and people called anyone who came up to her with concerns "purity culture nuts" and that they needed to stop infantizing minors

and of course, we cant forget about the stuff in the document not concerning the magowhore saga, like talking about kinks in front of minors or knowing minors were reading/seeing suggestive stuff and letting it happen, as well occasionally talking to minors about suggestive things directly. and her knowing that there were minors in the server, some people who she was speaking to were minors, and people in the community were uncomfortable with her behavior around minors

*yeah i know magolor is her headspace buddy or something of the sort. still not remotely okay to effectively put your legs up about the whole affair because its not Really you doing it

**i got shittalked in this server too btw (by blue-jester and one other person) because ppl assumed i was part of purrs' clique. which, rude i havent spoken to or interacted with them in like 6 months. no clue why people are so rabid about purrs all the time.

with all that said, my point here is that i do not believe it was out of line in the slightest to believe that opal would not have listened to or taken peoples concerns seriously if asked directly, considering her stubbornness and aggressiveness about the situation for so long. i considered this behavior and her unwillingness to change or do whats appropriate as guilt and maliciousness by aggressive inaction, and her aggressiveness on the topic in general led me to believe she was going to continue this behavior for as long as she could get away with it. i understand why mtthrw thought this warranted a callout and needed more eyes on it for things to change. thats not to say i dont think they shouldnt have at least tried to settle this with the involved people in private beforehand, but i think people have downplayed what opal did (or at the very least, i havent seen anyone comment on the sheer extent of her stubbornness regarding this like above) in favor of getting up in arms against mtthrw for calling opal a groomer when they arent. which again, yeah yeah i know its totally fair to get upset at them for that + the leaking minors names thing, but the thing thats baffling me here is that i keep hearing people say mtthrw wanted minors to be hurt by making that doc. i think this was a callout post made with good intentions--mtthrws openness with hearing out and taking suggestions and concerns with the doc when i initially came up to them about it said a lot--but handled rather badly and needing a lot more peer review before being posted publicly.

thats really my view on this.

also for the record, since some people think this conflict is a "we need to protect the pure teenages who cant handle hearing the word 'penis' uwu" issue, its not. im not an idiot, i know people get into all that stuff before theyre properly of age all the time. its practically a teenager rite of passage, frankly id be more surprised if they didnt get into that somehow. my issue has always, always been concerns with minors and adults engaging in suggestive talk in the same space. i literally could not give less of a shit if it were two 15 or 16 year olds talking about sex together in a server of only minors. opal is a college graduate, 21+. the minors interacting with her were 15-17. the adults in that server didnt groom them, but acceptance of that behavior leaves those minors wide-open to being okay with similar scenarios with people who don't have good intentions in the future.

i myself used to consume nsfw content as young as 15. coincidently, i was also a hardcore proshipper and impressionable kid at this time, who thought they knew what they were doing and always had all the answers. i wasnt groomed or anything, but those experiences affected me. i interacted with adults in suggestive and inappropriate ways looking back at it, just like this situation. my former experiences (and the fact that some stuff the adults in that server said, such deflecting responsibility onto minors even if theyre in the same convo as adults, and calling anyone who disagreed with them purity culture nuts, closely reflects some proshipper arguments) led me to jump the gun on believing there was malicious intent from the adults in that server. so again, im sorry and take full responsibility for being so rash in my actions. i sincerely hope all involved parties learn from this and be better in the future, including myself. i've never wanted minors to be hurt from this. to people in my own discord server, i hope that my own rules regarding suggestive talk/content, even despite my server already being 17+ on its own, show that this is a topic ive always cared about and taken seriously. i do not want people to make the same mistakes i did

as ive said before, theres a line in which minors take responsibility for consuming this content. if a kid purposely lies about their age to get access to 18+ material, that's on them. if a kid is openly engaging in suggestive and innappropiate talks with adults, even as a joke, thats on the adults.

by the way, on the point of accidently hurting minors, would anyone mind filling me in on why i keep hearing people say minors will get harassed from this? i talked to like 5 people about it and literally no one had a clue. as far as i know, the two sides on this issue are "the minors were victims and the adults were at fault" and "the minors did nothing wrong because they chose to interact with the material", neither of which warrant any grievances against the minors involved. like /gen /srs if anyone knows fill me in because i am lost on why in the world people would attack the affected party

#negative #*gardening noises* #tw grooming #and before anyone says it yes i know that doc was flawed in many ways #but i thought what was there was more than damning enough #considering she also acted like stated on main #ALSO if it needed to be said. i am not mtthrws buddy or know them in any way #someone accused me of being mtthrw in private and like. no #im not even in that server and i dont have the time to make a 242 page doc #and also also if it needed to be said yeah a fucking lot of the adults in the server are at fault #im just not focusing on that because thats not mostly who the callout post was about #and jester is a whole other thing now since they confirmed theyre a minor #okay do we have our bases covered? yeah?