pinkafropuff - Tumblr blog

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You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

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My boyfriend sent me this meme he just made and I'm laughing so hard

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I think my biggest pet peeve with myself is that I'll write something right? and it's like. perfectly fine. and then, while doing something else. I'll think of a way to tweak the dialogue. in a way that sounds way better.

and i make myself crazy about it because if I change that one thing I'll try to change EVERYTHING ELSE

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Hurricane Crossing- D'Marre

When Kann-e-senna showed her face again- when D’Marre saw Y’shtola again- there was a moment between heaven and earth where all the particles in the atmosphere were visible to the naked eye. When the rain suddenly stopped, and he could see her peaceful face through the water.

There was shouting; not his own, or he would’ve felt it leave him. Instead he watched her come ever closer, instinct pulling his coat from his shoulders t wrap around her as he knelt to scoop her up.

Words were said. Against his impressive hearing even murmurs sounded like thunder.  

“Do not- 

“Chirurgeons will-”

 “Wait a mome-”

He did not pay any mind. No. He could not. Skin to his own he held the fleeting nature of her “life” firm and close, walking where directed but saying only one word, exactly one time, to a person he did not remember for a reason he did not know.

“No.”

It was all he could say, for the anger within him had kindled into a fire so hot it could have consumed the entire forest and they all in it.

-----

The sound of a quill across paper.Incredible how focus on not leaving unintended smudges made the act more intense, more unbearable for the man forcing his mind on “something else'' as he waited. Patiently. Or something like patience. “Calm”. The facsimile of it.

“I did not know that you and Y’shtola were so close,” said his student, albeit from a safe distance away. Smart.

To this, he did not respond. Instead he continued writing, focus never waning.

“It must be of great relief to you,” Alphinaud continued, “I know it is to me. Indeed, there is renewed hope that our other friends may have survived as well!”

A rip. Then a tear. The line of sound traveled up and around before abruptly cutting off, the paper stripped from itself, an inevitable parting until the two were separate halt-sheets of parchment sitting in front of D’Marre, fists clenched and still.

“...are you…alright, D’Marre?” Hesitance. He did not want to chance a lecture, goading rant, or sarcastic remark and it showed on his brow. It made some hot air leave the Viera. Though only some.

His index finger tapped the desk before him rhythmically, eyes closing in thought as his other hand cradled his head by the temple. “I am angry,” he said suddenly, softly, clearly, “but not with you. Excuse me,” he stood, and without another glance to his young ward, he left the room.

She was sitting on the bed, legs slung over the side, feet to the floor as though well enough to walk right out. Tataru was explaining something to her as she did, the never-worn black boots shifting slightly as Y’shtola sat still to do her due diligence to the Scions’ secretary.

“I hope the outfit is to your liking- I stayed up all night fussing over the measurements. You’re a bit thinner than before, you know, so-”

“Thank you, Tataru,” was her response. An assurance. “You do not know how much this means to me.”

From where he stood, he could see Tataru’s eyes filling with tears. “Oh, it’s just…! I’m so glad you and Thancred are alive!”

The darkness he stood within hopefully concealed his face.

As if sensing the change in tension, Y’shtola turned her head- albeit slightly. “T’would seem we have a visitor.”

His eyes trained on hers for more than a moment, drinking in their milky grey before Tataru turned to notice him. 

“Oh! D’Marre- Oof, I had had better leave you two alone then!” Her flirtatious tone denoted a certain level of knowledge that he paid little mind to, despite hinting to a certain level of trouble for them both. No matter. That could wait for a later date.

“Mm,” was his response, though she blessedly rushed past him quickly enough to need no further prompting or pleasantries.

For a while they sat mostly in silence. From his place on the bed, one leg hanging over the side and the other folded at the knee, he crossed his arms for a moment before placing both hands on his lap.

“Well?” She asked. Her face was turned towards him in some semblance of acknowledgement. He didn’t like it.

“‘Well’ what?” Was his response, the coolness of his tone less unbothered and more icy.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” it sounded like a joke that she’d changed her mind about halfway, making it more or less sincere. “From what I’ve seen, the Scions are plenty warm about their welcoming you,” a thinly veiled barb and twice as childish than called for but needed. He crossed his arms again suddenly, as though holding something within himself back.

“What do you wish of me?” Exasperated, annoyed, upset, but not unkind. Not unwilling to talk.

It was a hard thing to look at her, to form words where there were only curses. Agony. Singular sounds that meant nothing. That meant everything.

“Clearly you are angry with me about something” she continued, “and I would rather you spit it out than keep it concealed from me.”

“How long did you know?”

It was quiet. An accusation set as a plea for a lie. A reason.

“How long did I know…?” She mused, her tone suddenly thoughtful. “About the spell? Or-”

“Your plan.” His voice was hoarse. “How long did you know what you’d do then. That you planned this.”

Her lips parted. A kind of frustration wrinkled her brow. “You seem to misunderstand something. I did not perform that spell to conspire against you. It was an act of desperation that I fear worked out as well as it should.”

Something about the phrasing made him angrier. He held his tongue though, thinking, rolling it around in his mouth as he considered what to say to her, what to argue, what to try to make her understand.

“When the banquet went sour, I did not intend to simply-” She broke off. This time, she crossed her own arms. “‘Twas a gamble that I did not think would pay off. Thancred seems thankful, at least.”

The words rung hollow. Even he knew it, watching her movements, a carefulness within them that she had not known before. The burning in his breast fanned smoke into his throat. He breathed it out very carefully, hoping that the heat of his temper didn’t scorch them both. Instead he found himself saying, “Are you stupid?”

A dangerousness crept onto her face. “Excuse you.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, “after I’ve said my peace- do you know what it was like without you? No, of course you don’t. Of course that wouldn’t be where I should-” Hands flying to his face to cover his eyes, his nose, the throbbing at his temples and forehead. “I can’t do this. I need air.”

“Wait.” 

He didn’t moved, though he had gone completely still. 

An aggrieved sigh left her. “What exactly are you so angry about? What is done is done and cannot be undone.”

They lingered in the air for a bit, those words, enough to make him take in their smell, their sight, their sound. And so he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. And then he said, “...you’re brilliant. I know that. And there are so many things you want to know, or do know, that I can’t even fathom right now and I may never understand them. That’s fine. I’m impressed and immensely pissed that you found a loophole in the aetherstream and threw yourself into it to place yourself just close enough to the edge of life and death that we could find you again, whether you expected us to or not.”

Her eyes danced slightly and she crossed her arms. “But?”

“But I know you.” He could barely breathe. “I know what you’re like and I know that because you can,” tight, it felt so tight around his chest all of a sudden, “you’ll likely do it again.”

It hurt to say. More to know. Y’shtola even seemed somewhat affected by it, although frustration colored her face, turning down her mouth just enough for him to know that she did not like what he was implying.

“It is my life. Though an incomplete solution, it is not worse than never returning at all.” Matter of fact. As always, a smooth argument with no complications. 

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ve never said it’s not. But what will it take from you next time?”

The frown deepened. In the milky white, he caught a flash of apprehension. Vulnerability. Regret. She let them wash from her face before she said, “I will deal with the consequences if ever that time should come.” She exhaled. “As I have this time.”

“How much can you see?” It was sharp and precise, the aim of an expert archer. 

“Enough.”

Irritation brewed within him again. “With your actual eyes, Y’shtola. Not whatever spell you’re using to see me now.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “How long did you know?”

He sighed heavily, rising from the bed and turning towards the door. “Long enough. Do the others know?”

Her head cast to one side, slightly grieved. “Tataru is informing them now.” 

D’Marre shook his head to himself, a laugh bubbling from the depths of his anger, his hurt, his disappointment. “That’s good. Real good.” He considered the many other words he had for her but stuffed them down. Instead he said, “I think we should take a break from each other.”

Silence. He hadn’t expected that, somehow. 

“You know, I agree with you now. I’m childish.” With his back to her, it didn’t matter what she could and could not see, “I can’t stay here like this.” His boots made a final sound as he walked towards the door, careful of his steps not to alert anyone outside. 

“Marr.” 

The stalwart ears turned to give her more attention than they ought. When a moment passed in silence, he said, “If you tell me to stay, then I will.”

One heartbeat and then two. A finger gracing the knob to the unknown, a fickle place with no guarantees. A place without the Scions for the first time in more than two years. 

“...have a safe trip.” Was her answer, and he bit hard into his lip to hide that hurt as he allowed the door to close the chapter behind him.

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So kh fans what’s the lore behind utada hikaru being able to dual wield two keyblades? Who had to seek refuge inside utada’s heart?

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kinda sick of all those posts that are like "my ancestors were surviving starvation and the plague meanwhile i get nervous ordering food at restaurants". as if jauffrey the woodworker didn't fumble his conversation with the fine maiden running the fruit stand and then tripped on a pebble as he left in a hurry

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real

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X-Men '97 #1 (2024)

written by Steve Foxe art by Salva Espin & Matt Milla

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oh boy new x-men 97 I wonder if rogue's gonna choose between gambit or mag-

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It's me, i'm girls

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Gambit — X-Men '97, S01E01&E02.

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Ugh, this is taking forever. X-MEN ‘97 — Remember It (S01E05)

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Half-elves are still elven. They have just as much elven heritage as their non-elf parent, and there is no reason they can't be involved with elven culture if they wish it. This is the case whether or not you follow BioWare's racist bullshit about them exclusively looking like their non-elf parent or whatever. Looks do not determine someone's racial / ethnic background.

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i don't know man, i just wish that we could [suddenly realising i'm coming dangerously close to expressing a real and earnest thought instead of filtering everything through several layers of intangible running bits] blow up the entire world. or something.