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#told her I wasn't sure

archivistprotocol · 3 months

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*slams into the room with all the grace of a baby and knocks shit off the tables, sending the red string board flying*

forget that relationship tension for a second (dw, i'm Thinking About It). SAM. PUT THE FORMS DOWN. and for the love of everything holy and good, DO NOT GO TO THE MAGNUS INSTITUTE RUINS. you wanna be the next redcanary??? that's where you're fucking headed, buddy. i know the saying is "curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back," but in this case, there ain't nothin' to be satisfied about when it comes to exploring some ol' spooky ruins that are gonna grab you by the feet and drag you further in until you don't know if you're you anymore, or some unwilling servant to a gluttonous, knowledge-seeking eldritch horror. or, you know, you end up dead. there's that. sam. my man. put the forms down, stay the FUCK away from the magnus institute, and figure your shit out with celia and alice because i swear to the unholy eldritch horrors that if you hurt alice in your ill-advised crusade to unravel your past and the secrets of the magnus institute, something worse than a tunnel goblin gouging your eyes out is coming your way.

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmagp 9 #the magnus protocol #listen i know it wasn't tunnel goblins #i'm three cups of coffee in and i can feel my bones vibrating #does any of this make sense?#probably not #do we care?#also probably not #can we all agree that we want to protect alice from whatever crackpot bullshit sam is gonna drag her into?#i sure the fuck hope so #that woman has told him time and time AGAIN to leave the cases alone #to stop digging #she clearly wants to keep her hands clean of it all!#but alas love does make us do stupid shit #like following our ex into a spooky ruin #that totally won't have dangerous consequences at all no ma'am

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yashley · 6 months

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the way matt creates these emotionally** flat??? characters who have family attachments to the main pcs and yet there's just something.... off about the way they display intimacy that it equally angers me, makes my skin crawl, and makes me just want to write extensively on what a master storyteller matt is. the way he presents just in this campaign alone, parental figures that on paper can easily be defended and rallied behind somehow especially if their choices played out more negatively than they intended*, and yet actually experiencing people who you, individually, care so much about in your life and who, you would just naturally believe, would also care so much about you, but there's a blip on the monitor and a disconnect that at first is so infinitesimal. until it's not. until you get bruised deeper and they look at you the same. and it's like there's no true empathetic connection. from your "loved one". it's not malice, it's not heartless or calloused, it's just.... it's surface-level and it's crossed t's and dotted i's and you know that they do not mean it to hurt you. but they also don't really mean it when they tell you they love you. and it aches so incredibly well done that matt will have these figures look into the eyes of their own and say the words and have a softness in their face, and yet have no genuine fierceness to the love they claim for someone who has so much love for them. and it's not a criticism, it's just so well done because it's such a nuanced relationship in the world and it sucks but matt always delivers it so perfectly

#cr lb #matt saying well this npc wasn't GREAT like it's Not about tearing into a person it's about Seeing that people are just different #the way birdie hears all of these dangers coming for fearne and all she says is I'm sure it'll be fine anyway and there's no Fire?#if my little sister told me any of it I would be rallying torches and sharpening knives and yet #if you told my older sister about either of us she would nod she would respond and that would be it #and it's not criticism it's just. the reality that some people will burn for you and most won't and I feel it so much in matt's depictions #and the fact that it'd be so much easier to have every associated npc fill a normal slot it's just #when you expect your mom to be worried about you and she’s just not and you want her to be and she's just not #you want your sister to care about you and she just doesn't #and it's like these fractal disappointments that of course don't matter #reaching for the hand of someone who once cradled you in their arms and they're not even reaching back

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millerflintstone · 6 months

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Logged into my original facebook account that I rarely look at anymore and realized my childhood best friend liked a post from 2017. I last updated that account in 2018 so that's not too crazy. No friend request. I'm guessing she didn't realize she liked it and that I've realized she looked me up. I was only facebook friends with the brother out of that sibling group and wondered if she found me through him. Nope. He's deactivated. My last name isn't on the account so I'm not even sure how she found me. She doesn't have the email tied to it. I'm guessing they all probably looked me up before he deactivated and she remembered the name.

We lived across the street from each other in Miami. I met her when I was 10. She is 3 years younger than me and has 4 siblings. The youngest (the boy) was born in 1985 or 86. I was there when the second youngest walked her first steps. We ended up being roommates for a year at UNC. Her family had moved to NC in 1990, which is what had me looking at schools in that area in general.

In 1985 ish, a male cousin from Pakistan came to live with them. He was in his 20s, weird/ awkward and would try to flirt with me. I was 11/ 12. ELEVEN OR TWELVE. This continued on until he left. He even tried to get me to come into his room so he could "show me something". He said this with the other 2 older girls around. We all pretty much jeered at him and he went away. Sometime in 1986 or 87, he moved out. I learned that he had been trying to get into the two youngest gal's rooms at night. The ex best friend told me that they would sleep with shoes to throw at him. The mom found out what was going on and he had to leave.

Fast forward to when we were all adults. I learned that it was not only the cousin, but that he and their father had been actually assaulting the two youngest girls during that time period. It wasn't just attempted abuse. They were maybe 8 (3rd oldest) and 5 (4th oldest) at the time. After that was discovered, the mom still stayed with him.

3rd oldest got heavy into drugs and alcohol because of it, but we didn't know that at the time. We all just thought she liked being an edgy emo girl or whatever we as teens called it back then. I remember we really were annoyed by her being a drunk fuck up, but didn't realize she was coping from that trauma.

I went to my ex friend's wedding in 2004. I remember being pissed that 3rd oldest drank most of the bottle of Kahlua I had gotten them, so I don't think we knew yet about the abuse now that I'm typing and trying to remember. We learned after the wedding.

When I learned ex best friend and her husband were trying for kids, I was surprised that they were going to keep her father in their lives knowing what happened. Granted, it didn't happen to her so I'm not sure if that was the reasoning. I just couldn't keep interacting with that level of toxicity after a while. There were also other things that happened that added to the distancing, but I don't think I could've continued to pretend everything was ok after learning those awful facts. I last saw them in 2004. Our last email was in 2007. I never met any of her kids or any of the other siblings' kids.

I found the 3rd oldest girl's facebook a while back and she was not friends on facebook with her dad but other siblings were. It looked she got cleaned up. The last time she visited us in GA, the girls had taken the car to get serviced at Sears and they were all freaking out because 3rd oldest left cocaine somewhere in the car.

The mom had gone back to her maiden name on facebook but she still interacts with her (ex?) husband. And they all still all get together for holidays. I saw a couple of public pictures today of everybody and was just sickened by younger daughters near their pedo / abusive grandfather. I don't get it and it's not really for me to get, I guess. Everyone has their own fucked up family drama at varying levels.

I don't really feel any kind of way about this. I've wondered about how they all are in the past but have no need to reach out to rekindle anything.

#other things were that 2nd oldest told me she got married via email #I was really hurt and told her about that. It was an impromptu wedding #I think I just realized that the friendships were unbalanced and maybe I was inviting myself where I wasn't wanted idk #the gross cousin married another cousin that grew up in England #weird but no weird for them. I'm not sure if it's a Pakistan thing or what #They have 3 girls and ex best friend told me they tried to tell her what happened when they were younger but they were not believed #which I mean do you want to believe your husband is an abusive pedo? prob not #ugh

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shivunin · 1 year

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Lock and Key

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran | 2,298 Words | Hurt/Comfort | CW: Blood, brief references to torture and broken bones)

The torture, Zevran thought cynically, truly left something to be desired.

Rather, he seemed to recall—when he’d been a young Crow, there’d been racks, burning oil, things hammered between one’s toes…But this? Breaking his fingers? Slapping him around?

It lacked forethought.

It lacked…panache.

“I do not mean to complain,” Zevran told his torturer, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “But have you done this before?”

“What?” the hooded figure snarled, only their mouth and jaw visible beyond the hood and fabric they were swathed in.

“Mmm,” Zevran said, peering up at them through one swollen eye, “It is only that you are…how shall I say it? Trying too hard, you understand? Most torturers—they adopt a certain style, a way of getting things done, and you seem—”

The figure reared back and kicked him in the chest. His lungs struggled to inflate for a moment, and when they did Zevran coughed convulsively.

“Like that,” he wheezed, while the torturer stomped over to a small table of metal implements, “There is no sense of precision. You might have just stopped my heart, friend, and then where would you be? Luckily for you, I am made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

The voice came not from the figure to his left, but from above. It echoed against the far ceiling and the stone walls, spreading until it was almost impossible to tell where it had come from.

Zevran, beaten and breathless, stretched his bloodied mouth into a crooked smile.

“Ah,” he told the hooded figure, “I am terribly sorry for what is about to happen to you.”

The torturer, alarmed, snatched a blade from the table and hurled it into the darkness above the rafters. There was no sound; not the thud of the blade in flesh or wood, nor the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Half a second later, the blade whistled back down, thudding into the flesh of the cloaked figure’s arm.

“Your aim is lacking,” the voice from above said.

“I said precisely the same thing, mi vida,” Zevran said, at long last allowing his head to fall back against the wooden back of the chair he was tied to, “I am sorry to say it, but there is a certain lack of professionalism at play here.”

“You shut up,” she said, and Zevran smiled, “I mean it. The smile, too. Flames, I could kill you.”

“It would not take much doing at the moment,” he told her.

As they spoke, the torturer ripped the blade from their shoulder with a grunt of pain (a bad idea, that; anyone could have told them that it was wiser to leave the thing in place until a healer could take a look at it).

“Show yourself, coward,” the torturer snarled, taking several more blades from the table and staring up at the ceiling. They turned slowly, as if trying to spot the shape of their assailant against the darkness of the ceiling.

If he’d been in a more charitable mood, Zevran might have told them it was pointless.

Indeed, as he thought so, a low laugh came from above, and there was a clatter in the far corner, almost directly behind the torturer. The torturer spun, already throwing a blade toward the source of the noise. As soon as they turned, a cloaked figure dropped from the rafters soundlessly, thrust a dagger into the place where the torturer’s kidney ought to be, and vaulted back up into the ceiling again.

“You know,” she said above him, “I think it’s more cowardly to beat a bound man. But that’s just me.”

A ring of keys fell from the ceiling and into Zevran’s lap. Of course; that was why she hadn’t killed his tormentor outright. She meant for him to do it instead. Balance, retribution; in her way, his Arianwen was all about balance. If he’d had the energy, Zevran would have thanked her for the effort and explained why he wouldn’t be doing that. It was hard to turn a key, after all, when most of one’s fingers were broken.

He didn’t hear her move; he supposed the torturer didn’t, either, because Wen swung down, kicked the large human into the table, and vanished again before the fallen figure could get their bearings again.

Something soft touched his wrist, bound behind him, and Zevran felt a quiet, shuddering breath at his back. She was going to be very cross with him as soon as she took care of their present company; Zevran winced at the thought, then hissed between his teeth when the motion reopened the slice over his eyebrow.

This time, when Arianwen moved away from him, Zevran could hear her; that could only be on purpose. The torturer heard it too, and turned to face her as she cast off the deep blue cloak, variegated with grey and black around the hem. Arianwen stood before him revealed at last, her long braid hanging down her back, her armor blue and silver and gleaming in the light of the brazier. Zevran smiled; it was a fool’s smile, punch-drunk and high from his own relief, but…well. It was just so good to see her. It’d been too long. Too many days without feeling her at in his arms, too many days fighting himself to keep from returning to her side.

“I was going to let him have you,” she said, “Or, if he allowed it, I was going to take my time. Fortunately for you, you’ve made me very, very angry. This’ll be quick.”

The torturer didn’t answer; they bent their head and ran, aiming right for her. Wen didn’t move for a long time—almost too long—and stepped aside at the last moment, exerting precisely as much effort as she needed to get out of the way. It looked, Zevran thought, turning his head as best he could to watch, like she simply floated away from him, like a feather in the breeze. The torturer rammed their injured shoulder into a column and let out a strangled shout.

“Don’t worry,” Wen said to Zevran as she passed, “The building’s empty.”

“There were at least thirty—” he began, and interrupted himself with a cough.

“As I said,” the Warden answered, casually lifting an iron from the fire and striding past, “The building is empty. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

There were sounds that followed her statement, but he could not see their source. He didn’t need to know what she was doing, and he had the sense that not every time he closed his eyes lasted as long as a blink. Likely, that was not a good sign

“Zevran. Look at me, you fool.”

His eye fluttered open—the other seemed stuck shut—and Wen bent before him, her face beatific in its joy. Blood dripped from her ears and clumped in her hair, but she’d wiped her face clean, if the smears along her jaw were any clue. Zevran tried to smile up at her and was mostly successful.

“I knew you would come.”

“You’re an idiot. I don’t know why I put up with you. That letter was—” she wound up the sentence with a sharp click of the teeth instead of any descriptors, but after a moment the blissful look crept back into her eyes.

“Take your health potion like a good boy, hm? And I’ll haul you back to the safe house.”

Zevran might have made a crack about her wording, but as soon as he opened his mouth she pressed the cold glass rim of a vial in between his teeth and tipped it upside-down. The liquid was bitter and cold. Though there was a faint aftertaste of elfroot it was most certainly not a health potion.

“Wen—?” he gasped, and the room faded to black.

Arianwen had been angry very often in her life. She enjoyed it, actually. There was a clarity of purpose to rage that most of the rest of life really seemed to lack. It was like…like crossing rooftops on a wire. Rage gave one a single clear path, and if one had the means to follow it things usually turned out alright in the end.

But now—now her old friend turned on her, hounded her steps.

Killing so many had been good enough in the moment, of course, but Zevran had needed to be unconscious for what came next, and she hadn’t wanted to give him the chance to talk her out of it. Now, all she could do was wait; there was nobody left to kill, and Zevran was not awake to argue with. As she paced the room, rage paced with her, shadowing her steps and clouding her concentration.

She crossed the room to open the window now, for the room was more or less empty of personality and furniture save an end table, a bed, and a chair. Zevran slept in the bed, his chest rising and falling easily. Few of his wounds would scar, not that he’d care about such things. He’d gained tattoos since she’d last seen him some…oh, had it been five months already? It felt like years.

This waiting.

Wen braced her hands on the windowsill, her fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm, and then she turned back to the bed.

Maker damn him, she loved the man. She’d kill a dozen times as many for him with pleasure, but seeing him hurt like this was—it was—

“Mi vida,” he murmured to her left, and Wen spun on her heel to look at him, “And here I had thought you were some sort of dream.”

She crossed to the side of the bed, her heart in her throat. She ought to say…she ought to tell him what an idiot he was. She ought to tell him off; she’d certainly thought of doing so enough times. But words escaped her now, and when he lifted his hand from the bed it was to wipe the moisture from her cheek.

“Ah,” he said, wincing when he lifted himself onto one elbow, “No, my Arianwen, no; do not cry for me. I cannot—”

“Why are you trying to get yourself killed?” she asked, and rage took her hand again, gave her the focus to keep talking.

“I am not—” he began, frowning, but she interrupted him.

“When will it be enough, Zev? Do you want to lead the Crows? Kill everyone who hurt you, who bought other kids like you? Do you want to be the King of Antiva? What? Because I can’t keep—can’t keep seeing you like this. If you need help, I will help; if you want me out of your life, then tell me to leave. But I can’t—”

She was crying again—so stupid. She hadn’t cried in years, and certainly never over him. He was staring at her with a sort of stunned horror that she might, if she’d had any sort of composure, have recognized better. It was the same face she was making, after all.

Don’t leave me, she wanted to tell him; as she wanted to tell him every time he disappeared onto a boat. But she’d been too proud to force him into a cage when he wanted the sky, so she’d always turned away instead.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked.

The hand wet with her tears fell away to the sheets of the bed.

For one dizzy, breathless moment, she wished he’d stayed asleep a little longer, given her more time to find the right words. But she…she….

“I want you to marry me,” she said, and it was already too late to take back. His mouth fell open, lips moving as if to speak, but nothing came out.

“Marry me,” she said again, grasping his hand in both of hers, “Tell me you want to live, and you want to live with me. Travel if you have to, but come home again. Live with me; be mine and let me be yours. I want a life, Zevran. I want a life for both of us.”

She searched his face, her heart racing harder than it had killing an entire house full of Crows on her way to her captured lover. Zevran stared at her, and slowly, slowly, a smile wrinkled the space on either side of his eyes.

“Yes.”

Wen blinked and squeezed his hand.

“Yes? You mean that? You’re not just—you aren’t going to take it back?”

“Maker’s pierced navel,” he said, struggling into a sitting position, “You do not believe me? And you were so persuasive, too.”

“No, I—” She clamped her mouth shut again and shook her head, “Yes, Zev?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, of course, you beautiful murderess.”

She didn’t mean to lunge for him; would’ve thought better of it if she’d had the wherewithal. But all at once she was in his arms, her own wrapped tight around his neck, and both of them rocked back with the force of it.

“I love you,” she said into the salty skin of his neck, and kissed him there for good measure, “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” he murmured back, and inhaled sharply, “Ah—I should have known you would say something first.”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to force me,” she told him, but without any heat behind it. Her anger had faded away between one step and the next, gone in a breath and only a memory now.

“If you’d died,” she told him, eyes squeezed shut, breathing him in, “I would’ve killed you.”

His laugh was uneven, a little breathless, and likely that meant she’d need to let go of him soon. But when his words came, they were certain.

“Yes, I know,” Zevran said, “I love you for that, too.”

(For @14daysdalovers day 10: Captured)

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tj-crochets · 1 year

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Hey y’all! Does anyone else have issues with beetles flying into their hair? I have short hair, and went on a walk with four relatives who all have longer hair today. None of them had any beetles even attempt to fly into their hair. I had three beetles hit my head at high speed (for a beetle). The last beetle I brushed out of my hair with my hand and let it crawl on my hand so I could show my niece a cool beetle, and the darn thing bit me! It didn’t do any damage or even hurt very much but still! The audacity! lol Idk if it’s the hair length or the fact that my shampoo has lemon juice in it* but uh. I am very confused. These are like 1/2 to 3/4″ long beetles. I would like them to stop attempting to merge with my scalp. *citrus is one of the few smells I can usually tolerate with my asthma and it smells nice

#the person behind the yarn #bug mention #beetle mention #I told my niece that I guessed it was because the beetles thought my hair looked like grass #but I'm pretty sure that's not true? idk though #idk that much about beetles #a wasp flew around my niece and scared her and I told her it was okay #the wasp wouldn't hurt her it was just checking to see if she was a flower that it could eat #and once it figured out she isn't a flower it'd leave #and then she calmed down and was like 'the wasp is silly I'm not a flower!'#I told her it was little and its brain was even littler so it didn't know she wasn't a flower just on looking #(I'm aware that's like...not quite true but also she's five)

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hooved · 1 year

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i dunno if this is like weird advice to give, but for anyone who is or has a partner/friend/etc. who's interested in a threesome (or more), you gotta make sure that everyone involved is emotionally ready for that. if you or someone else might get jealous, then just don't do it. don't lie and say you're ready just because you wanna make your partner happy, or because of peer pressure, or even just because you're attracted to someone involved, etc., if you're having any doubts at all then just say so. this is something you need to discuss thoroughly beforehand. jealousy or any other sort of emotional discomfort during group sex WILL negatively affect your relationship(s) with whoever's involved. if sex is an experience that's very important and personal to you and you're not ready to share that with someone other than your partner(s) then there's no shame in turning it down. a good partner wouldn't be upset by you setting boundaries. your comfort is more important than the opportunity to have a threesome

#sorry if this is too personal/tmi or whatever but i was just thinking about one of my exes and like #i asked her many times beforehand if she was okay with it. i really really wanted to make sure she was comfortable. she told me she was #but it still made her jealous and that did irreparable damage to our relationship. i could tell pretty quickly that it was a mistake #and yeah we don't talk anymore for mostly unrelated reasons (i unfortunately learned she wasn't a great person) but i still regret that #i could see after we broke up (which was mutual because we were....not as compatible as we thought. as mentioned above)#that she was always going out of her comfort zone to try to make me happy. and i genuinely feel bad about that. i would never ask for that #i wouldn't have been upset if she told me she wasn't sure about it because i don't wanna put anyone in an uncomfortable situation like that #anyway this was like. 9 or so years ago at this point. i still wanna apologize to her but i feel like it'd be weird to bring up y'know #but yeah i just want ppl to know this kinda stuff is avoidable if you have a truly honest discussion beforehand #and if there's any doubt at all then it's best to just not go through with it because your feelings could change at any moment tbh #but if you're all emotionally prepared then threesomes can be great ! exhausting but that's a given lmao

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