#its the i hate you i love you i can only kill you if i hug you

[b14augrana]

‘The Death Of You’

The pursuit to being the greatest of all time comes above everything, including your health.

Barça Femení x reader

masterlist

Warnings: slight overshadowing of injury

A/N: edited this author’s note way too many times buttttttt im not making a pt 2 of this because its just a silly little blurb that’s been rotting in my drafts and thats i wanna say okay thanks enjooooyyyyy

“When you think of passion, you think of someone that does anything for their club, and that’s (Y/N). The blaugrana is everything to her, and it is a part of her. She puts the badge before herself, and all she emits, all they admire of her, everything she represents, is Barça.

(Y/N) is Barça, Barça is (Y/N)” — Mapi León.

For Barça, you would give your life. You have put your body on the line and taken the hits until your skin turns the colours of the jersey you truly believe you’ll die in.

It’s what your mother says will eventually kill you. Going down with the jersey, for the jersey, your love for the greatest club in the world coming before all. It’s proof, almost, that Barcelona is so great, it’s worth dying for.

But, the funny thing is, you hadn’t loved living in Barcelona growing up. In fact, you hated everything about it. It felt like an asylum or some sort of confinement where the only things left to stare at are the four walls you’re enclosed by, except, those four walls were littered with posters of men you constantly watched play at the stadium of your dreams, and the only thing that made staring at those four walls so much of a punishment is the fact you were a girl and there was no such thing as a woman footballer.

You had shitty friends to remind you of that every single time they caught you stopping in the street (though you don’t even stop, your foot just drags along the ground a bit slower than usual) just to take a closer look at a mural of some Barça legend.

You hated living in Barcelona because you had nobody on your side that believed there was a place for you or any other woman behind the huge, towering walls of Camp Nou.

Barcelona went from being an asylum to a garden that was nurtured with every match played and goal scored, a title or medal sprouting from the buds of every stem and bush.

You would die for Barcelona. Hell was worth living through, for Barcelona, just to feel whatever emotion devoured you when you step out to a full stadium in the famous blue and garnet.

You want to be the best. That comes above everything — there is no point in devoting your life to something if you’re not going to be the best at it, and you had given more than what was required for Barça.

What you also want is to create a legacy not only for yourself, but the club as well, one title at a time. A legacy associated with winning, and being the greatest of all time. The last thing you need to implement this reputation? The Champions League.

You take in the stadium, the raindrop-covered grass, the noise. That headache inducing noise, caused by the record attendance in the stadium. The headache inducing noise that, when you focus on it, begins to become coherent and recognisable as the Barcelona anthem. With every step closer to the pitch, you find it harder to pay attention to anything around you, and the anxiety in your stomach is more apparent than ever before.

You kill the period of time between exiting the tunnel and finding your place on the field by warming up (or in other words, doing whatever you can to shake the nerves). You step out onto the pitch and feel the pinch of the cold wind which, for some reason, elicits an epiphany; the only thing separating you and that trophy is these 90 minutes.

Those 90 minutes drag on. Pass after pass, unsuccessful dribble after unsuccessful dribble, you’re not getting any closer to the goal but you can’t feel disheartened or unmotivated because all you have is 90 minutes. Everything can change in 90 minutes.

Everything does change. You don’t know how it happened, or who passed you the ball, or whether you even called for it, but you had it and you were moving quickly with it. Managing to glide past Renard, leaving her behind you to grapple at your jersey hopelessly, you find yourself up against Endler on your own.

Although there are 20 other players on the pitch, discarded behind you, it feels like it’s just you and Endler in an empty stadium. The goal looks bigger than it should be as your foot swings down onto the ball, and the raucous noise of the stadium can only intensify when the ball just misses the tip of Endler’s glove and meets the back of the net.

It is hard to ignore the unfamiliar discomfort in your knee, but you do it anyways. You run off to celebrate and don’t pay it another thought. You don’t mention it to anyone amidst the celebrations because how could you possibly ruin this moment, and it’s basically gone by the time you return to the midfield.

For a moment, there's hope. Your goal sparks new light into the eyes of your teammates. One golden boot shines brighter than a golden glove and there's a connection between your foot and the ball that just makes sense, and it's put away in the back of the net.

But when the ball starts rolling again and it meets the feet of Van de Donk, you realise 1 goal isn't enough.

No, it's like hanging off the edge of a cliff, fingers clawing for whatever jagged edge of a rock they can reach, clinging onto the little thing you have keeping you up. But with every minute, every intercepted pass, missed or deflected shots, the cliffside is crumbling.

Lyon is an exceptional team. That's why they manage to put one past Sandra, and you're back to square one. Your mind, drunk on pride, pushes you to do more, to give more. Your body feels like it can't possibly give anything more, yet you still run up and down the pitch without slowing down once and you throw yourself at the ball every time you find the opportunity.

It’s what your mother says will eventually kill you.

So it does, internally. When the final whistle pierces your ears and the minority of Lyon fans in the crowd burst into cheers, it kills you, because you would die for this club and it hurts to come so close but fall short.

The winning legacy you were so close to completing, was now tainted by your failure to actually win.

Your knee also hurts. A lot.

You lie down on the pitch, its soggy and uneven surface being the only comfort you have in this place where everywhere you look, there are reminders that you’re not good enough. The more you think about all the sacrifices and things you put on the line for this title, you wonder, ‘When’s it gonna be my turn?’

Disappointed fans filing out of the exits, your teammates surrounding you trying to hold in their tears, the dancing and celebrating from Lyon.

The sound of sniffles can be heard from beside you, and you roll over to see Mapi, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks dusted with patches of red.

As you line up to receive your medal, you don’t even want to wear it. Silver will never be better than gold, there’s nothing good about being second to best, being outperformed is nothing to be proud of. But you still keep the medal on.

You hang your head and look away from the winner’s stage, because your heart is too sore to take in the fact that would’ve, could’ve, should’ve been you.

‘When’s it gonna be my turn?’

[bonesxbows]

Surgery of a Hope (Astarion x Reader)

My Masterlist

Someone dared to try to lay a hand on you and Astarion finds out. He leaves Gale to comfort you while he goes and "takes care" of it. Or alternatively, Astarion is trying to show you he loves you in one of the only ways he knows how; by killing.

-WARNINGS- - mentions of sexual assault/assault (depending on how you look at it), but does not go into a lot of detail - crying/breakdown - trauma responses

If you have any triggers relating to assault or past assault please be careful reading this. I have not personally experienced what is written here but it is loosely based on trauma of my own and the goal was to write something to act as a comfort for myself and whoever else needs to read something like this. But please tread carefully, I didn't write this with the intent of triggering anyone.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and I hope reading this can help someone else like writing it helped me :) Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

-

You sat on the ground inside your tent, nestled in the corner of the fabric, your knees pulled up to your chest. You were slowly rocking back and forth, replaying the traumatic events of the day in your head. Your body was present, but your mind was lost in its own little world, your eyes glassed over. You didn't notice Astarion barge into your tent, a bubble of excitement coming with him.

“Darling! I've been waiting all day to have a moment with you all to myself. I-” His sentence and his body stopped dead in their tracks when his eyes finally found you, a sad little ball of limbs shoved into the corner. His voice startled you out of your daze. He walked closer towards you and reached out a hand, but you jumped in response to him approaching and shuffled yourself deeper into the corner, as far away from him as you possibly could get. He frowned. He recognized your fear, he remembered acting like you were doing now once before and that worried him.

“Astarion, wait. I…wait. Please, don't come any closer.” You spilled out your words quickly. Your eyes were glued to his outstretched hand, wide like a gnoll staring down a wall of fire, and tears started to pool underneath them.

“What’s wrong my love?” He hated when you cried. He was getting better at learning how to comfort you but he still got nervous about making it worse. His frown deepened but he respected your request and instead knelt down where he was, keeping his distance from you.

“I…um…” you stumbled over your words, your mouth becoming dry and thick, like someone had shoved cotton down your throat. You tried to blink away the tears but they were now two hot waterfalls running down your face.

“It’s alright, you can tell me. What happened?” You looked like a scared animal and it reminded him too much of how he used to feel. He was concerned, but he was also angry. He had a feeling he already knew what had happened to you and the thought of him being right made him burn with rage inside. You took a shaky breath and did your best to speak coherently.

“Someone…um, someone tried to touch me earlier when we were in town. I…I tried to stop them, tried to fight them off. Some things were said and…and…” Your story ended there as the sobs racked your body aggressively. You buried your head in your arms, wrapping your hands around your shoulder to try to comfort yourself as you rocked back and forth, crying and screaming and sobbing loudly. Astarion swore he could feel his undead heart shatter. He could do nothing but sit there and watch as you poured out your emotions. He knew from experience that if he tried to comfort you it would only make the situation worse, but he felt helpless just sitting there and doing nothing. So he reached over and yanked your blanket off of your cot, folding it up haphazardly and placing it between the two of you, nudging your foot with the fabric, doing his best not to touch you.

You poked your head up slightly, eyeing him. You saw the blanket, your blanket, and how Astarion sat back on his heels, a comforting smile on his face. You unfurled a hand from your cocoon of limbs and reached forward slowly, grabbing the blanket tentatively, as if even the soft material would snap back at you as well. But it didn't, so you pulled it into your lap on top of your knees and buried your head into the comfort of it, sniffing the familiar scent of Astarion’s cologne that had rubbed off on it from his constant nights spent in your tent with you. You used a corner of it to wipe away your tears and tried to focus on steadying your breathing. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Astarion and he nodded his head.

“Do you think you can manage to remember who it was, my love? Can you tell me what they looked like?” he asked you softly. He wanted to reach out and grab your hand in his, but he stayed still for now. He would not touch you until you were ready and asked him to, no matter how much he wanted to. You began to shake your head furiously.

“No. Astarion, no. It was nothing, really. You don't need to do anything. It was my fault anywa-” He cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

“Do not even finish that statement darling. None of this is your fault. None of it. Do you understand? Now, what did they look like?” his face was like stone, serious and deadly. It didn't scare you, not anymore at least, but you knew trying to argue with him at this point was futile. You were so confused and upset you did not know what the right thing to do was so you trusted Astarion and told him everything you could remember. You watched as he took off his jacket and moved closer to you. But he stopped just before he got too close.

“Is it alright if I touch you my sweet?” He asked before he did anything and you nodded, although slowly. He leaned forward to drape his jacket over your shoulders and pull it up over your neck. Your fingers fumbled at first but you grabbed it and pulled it as close to your skin as you could, relishing in the warmth and comfort radiating off of the velvet fabric.

“Stay here, alright? I’ll tell Gale to accompany you here inside of your tent so you don't have to be alone. I promise I’ll be back before morning.” He leaned forward again to kiss you gently on your forehead and you didn't jerk away this time. He smiled warmly at you but his ruby eyes shone with anger and malice. He began to stand up and head for the entry flap of your tent.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You jumped from surprise and began to reach for him but stopped abruptly when his jacket began to fall off of your shoulders and instead quickly grabbed it again and pulled it back up around you. You were afraid to be alone, even with Gale. You only felt safe around Astarion. Your sense of security was so shattered you were hesitant to trust anyone except him. He turned back around before he left.

“Promise me you'll stay here with Gale.” no, you wanted to go with him, wherever he was going. You wanted his warmth and to be in his arms with him by your side protecting you, no one else.

“But I-” he cut you off again. He was not looking for any arguments tonight.

“Promise me, my love.” there was no arguing with the look in his eyes and there was no changing his mind about whatever he had set his mind on doing. “I promise.” you choked out, trying not to cry again at the thought of him leaving you right now.

“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can alright? Then I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.” You watched him leave, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to flow. You gripped his jacket even tighter and breathed in the smell of his cologne again, it was an even stronger scent on his jacket than on your blanket. A few moments after Astarion left Gale walked in, smiling sympathetically. He somehow juggled a bowl, two mugs, and a stack of books in his hands without dropping anything.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. You didn't give an answer and watched as he sat where Astarion once was just a minute ago and placed all of the things in his hands in front of him, between the two of you.

“We don't have to talk if you'd rather not. But I thought you might like a distraction while Astarion is away. My time is yours.” You looked at him and he looked sincere, but you were still a little wary. But this was Gale, someone who had stuck by your side from the very beginning and had been nothing but respectful and helpful ever since. You gazed over what he had brought with him, there was what appeared to be stew in the bowl and the two mugs were filled with tea and still steaming. The books were ones you recognized, titles you had once borrowed from him and had told him you had enjoyed immensely. Books that you knew, that were familiar, and there was comfort in familiarity. He knew this. Gale was your best friend, he was the second person to know just about everything about you. You were grateful that his memory was impeccable and that he had remembered all of your favorite things, especially at a time like now.

“What kind of soup is that?” you asked. The tears had subsided, for now. He was glad you were up to talking, it was going to be a long night for him if he had to sit here in silence the whole time.

“Vegetable and sausage. And that’s peppermint tea, with sugar, just how you like it. I've also brought your favorite books, but I can fetch something else if reading isn't up to your liking currently.” He stole a pillow from the pile off of your bed and propped himself up against the side of your tent, still an agreeable distance away from you. Astarion must have given him the details of your jumpiness and sensitivity to touch right now. You couldn't help but smile just a little.

“The books are alright for now, Gale. Thank you.” You reached forward for one of the mugs and chose one of the books from the stack as you did so.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else, alright? Im not going anywhere until Astarion gets back.” you nodded and took a sip from the mug, the tea warming your scratchy throat on the way down. You opened the book to the first page and Gale did the same with his own book.

Eventually the warm tea, familiar story, and comfort of Astarion’s scent lulled you into a sleep. Your body was exhausted from the day’s events and the extensive crying you had done earlier. Gale had stayed with you the entire night, within arms reach just in case you needed him, even when the rough ground began to irritate his old human body. He had even lit the candles in your tent after the sun had set just so you would not be in complete darkness if you woke up in the middle of the night.

-

You were never a heavy sleeper, but now you were even more anxious in your sleep after what had happened. A dull thud had woken you up and you heard the sound of water splashing. Your eyes fluttered open quickly but your heart calmed down when you saw the back of a familiar white shirt and white curls in the candlelight. Astarion had returned at some point, before morning just like he had promised, but his back was turned to you and he was knelt in front of your washing bucket.

“Astarion? Is that you?” you asked groggily. Your voice was thick with sleep but you were wide awake, grateful that he was back already.

“Go back to sleep darling, it’s alright.” he spoke sweetly to you like always, but he stayed with his back to you, working something onto the wash board inside the tub.

“Where have you been?” you sat up, blinking away the remaining sleep in your eyes and trying to focus on what he was doing. A part of you already had a guess of where he had been for the last few hours but you asked anyway, not wanting to believe what you knew was already true.

“No where you need to worry your pretty little head about, everything’s alright.” he told you, but you were too curious now to go back to sleep. Astarion hated chores, yet here he was scrubbing laundry in the middle of the night. You stood up quietly and padded over to him, still holding onto his jacket around your shoulders. You leaned over his shoulder and observed. He was holding on to a different white shirt than the one on his back currently, scrubbing furiously as the soapy water turned pink. Now that you were closer you also noticed the way the candlelight shined against black spots in his hair, a stark difference against his bleach white curls. You frowned slightly, accepting your previous conclusion as the truth now.

“Is that blood?” you asked. You already knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him.

“No.” he tried to deny the obvious, though he already knew you wouldn't believe the white lie.

“Astarion.” you said sternly, gently warning him to tell you the truth this time.

“Alright maybe it is. But the bastard deserved it.” he stopped scrubbing and so you sat down on the ground behind him. He turned to look at you, abandoning the shirt in the dirty water.

“What did you do?” your voice was calm. You didn't mind he had taken matters into his own hands, in fact you were secretly grateful.

“I taught him a much needed lesson my love. He won’t be hurting anyone ever again.” his lips turned up into his signature killer smile. He was proud of himself for the kill, as per usual. You wanted to thank him, say something, anything, to convey how relieved you felt, but the words got caught in your throat. His smile faltered a little when he noticed the pool of tears forming in your eyes, but he knew you were okay from the small smile that was stuck on your face.

He dunked his hands back into the water to wash the rest of the blood off and then dried them on his pants before outstretching a hand to you, silently asking for yours. You obliged, placing your hand in his. He brought it up to his face and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckle. You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up from his gesture, the smile on your face growing despite the tears that started to flood your face. You were safe. Even after all that had happened, you were safe with Astarion.

[max1461]

I think I just love people and I love the things that people do.

I've said this before, but I don't really like the notion of culture-the-count-noun, "cultures" as discrete entities. Rather, I think of culture broadly as the whole body of human practices, institutions, and ideas. Naturally, many of these institutions and practices are geographically or socially localized, but always in ways that have fuzzy and ever-shifting boundaries. Culture is just "the things that people do".

But, you see, what I want to stress here is I am fundamentally, at my core, filled with love for the things that people do, and filled with love for and excitement over the world we make together. I am obviously well aware that human society is imperfect, that there is injustice, and so on, but... I'm not quite sure how to articulate this, surely that fact is "secondary"? Surely what is wrong with injustice is that it is a stain on an otherwise wonderful world? If the world was nasty to its core, I don't really think I could get so worked up over injustice. Injustice is bad because life is full joy if we're allowed to access it, the things that humans do and make ("culture") are in general wonderful and joyous things, often marred as they are by the imperfection of the world.

Food is a good example. There is, at the end of the day, no way that I can justify the mass consumption of meat in the present world. I value the lives of animals and so, in some sense, meat consumption is an abomination to me. But when I look at cuisine, broadly, which in most regions of the world does feature meat... I mean, I love cuisine! I love how it tastes, I love the passion people show for cooking it, I love the way it brings people together. These are clichés but they are true, this is in fact the nature of things. Food is endlessly fascinating, endlessly exciting and subtle to the senses; food is an example of human culture, that is to say human activity, at its absolute finest. And yet it is, in the present world, inextricably linked to the slaughter of animals, something I regard as deeply and utterly heinous.

You can have two responses to this. On the one hand, you can disavow all the joys of food, at least food connected to this slaughter, you can become hardened to its joys and hateful of it. I regard this as unambiguously the wrong choice. On the other hand you can... hope for something better? For instance, I hope that one day in the not too distant future, artificially grown meat will allow meat-based cuisine to exist without the killing of animals. And... well, if I was faced today with a button that said "turn everyone on earth into a vegan, thereby bringing about an end to animal slaughter but also to humanity's collective knowledge and practice of meat-based cookery, to all local specialties and family recipes and subtle techniques featuring meat that have not been thoroughly documented", I think I would probably feel I had to press the button. But I would be devastated by doing so. I would regard it as a tragedy of extreme proportions, necessary only to prevent a much greater evil.

I sometimes encounter people, not just with respect to meat but with respect to a variety of topics, who would gladly, enthusiastically, without hesitation push that button. Who would relish the opportunity to cleanse the world once and for all of its imperfections. I regard this attitude as antithetical to almost everything I stand for.

This post was a bit rambling but I think I've made my point.

[askew-d]

Hello again....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from MDZS? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

sure! its no trouble at all. sorry i am embarassingly late and thank you for the question, i loved making this list :)

1. wei wuxian, our selfless yiling laozu

alright, you can call me cliché, everyone loves him, right? but kendrick lamar said it’s all about love and hate in the game so let me tell you, i love this man. i love the way that he walks, the way that he kills, the way that he dresses, the way that he mocks others, the way that he protect those he loves, the way he’s unbearably and so utterly good to the core (no irony or pun intended), regardless of everything he’s been through. because let’s come clean: other characters, such as xue yang and meng yao, did have their reasons to be evil, i comprehend them! i validate their motives to be who they are, but it does not, for the love of god, excuses their actions.

and that’s the thing! because wei wuxian has been though hell and back, way worse than them, yet he chose to continue doing good things. it’s just who he is (unbelievable, right?). he is, essentialy, someone who pursues justice. he sought revenge for what he suffered, that he rightly did, but he didn’t lash out on innocent cultivators who had nothing to do with his injuries. and the amount of strength, resilience, kindness and sheer wisdom that resides in this makes my admiration for him grow as deep as the ocean. he’s the ultimate main character of every fictional world. no one’s doing tragedy, revenge, inteligence, selflessness, love and being a troublemaker like him, ok. he’s one for the history books. and with that we go to:

2. lan wangji, our beloved hanguang-jun

i said this before, but i will say it again: i feel like wei wuxian might kill me every time i go around saying ‘lan zhan’ or even start worshipping him too much. however, who wouldn’t worship him? he’s a god among humans; a superhero in a novel about cultivators. if wei wuxian’s considered by some an antihero, he’s the true, righteous captain america right here. and it’s not just the looks, he’s a whole package: a terrific father, a dedicated brother and nephew, an esteemed cultivator, a marvellous husband and a fair human being.

most of all, i dearly love him for the fact that he’s been loving wei wuxian since the beginning and never let that go. this man fought for his love like no one else did. he remembered wei wuxian when no one else did. he tried and tried, for him. he waited thirteen years, for him. in fact, if wei wuxian had never returned, he’d just have been waiting and waiting, living his life in grief, watching the moonlight alone…… but that’s a thought for another moment.

the amount of love this man carries is unbearable, really. it’s who he is too. and i also adore the fact that he has a lot of personas: he’s a serious senior for the disciples, a feral animal in bed, silly in some moments and painfully romantic in others. he’s just unreal!

3. lan jingyi, the most atypical lan that has ever lanned

if this boy was in the modern times, im sure i would make friends with him. hes everyones spirit inside this story. he is one of hell of a representation: he can judge, yell, put some sense into other peoples minds, act even more senseless and tell truths without caring for the consequences (and then crying when faced with the punishment of headstands). and the best part of all: he is, oddly, a lan! i love him! best boy ever (alright, perhaps after lan sizhui, but i relate to jingyi harder).

put him in a modern school. can you disagree with me that he would be the one student lurking in the far away desks acting all angelic when the teacher comes close only to act like a little devil, screaming, laughing loudly and hiding food in his backpack during activities? can you disagree with me that he would be the one to run and jump like a maniac when its time for p.e class and sleep out of boredom when the teacher starts explaining serious stuff? can you disagree with me he would pretend to enact the rules only to receive bad grades and pull the most stupid facades to hide it from his parents?

in some ways, he does have similarities with wei wuxian. but wei wuxian is a genius who wouldnt even go to class when he didnt want to, sleep instead of play-pretend and even so receive the best grades ever, annoying everyone. theres this difference. but lan jingyi isnt a genius, he is just one of us. and i love him for it.

4. wen qing, my beautiful doctor

wen qing, my beloved, you didnt deserve that backlash.... this woman deserved to have a happy family, alright. she deserved a little bit of happiness! she deserved to have her brother with her! she deserved to be well and to not have suffered so badly just because of her surname. if there is one thing i agree with (and i dont remember exactly who said it, but it was from twitter), is that the girls from mdzs are underrated, underappreciated and deserved tons more love. but anyway, let us mention wen qing!

this woman protected wei wuxian and jiang cheng, did a procedure to give jiang cheng a golden core, never killed anyone, ran from fighting in the war against innocent people because she does not share these wicked principles, and still ended up watching her family get tortured, his brother dead and was burned alive. the sheer cruelty of what they put her (and them) through is unbelievable. i wanted her to have a lovely family and to continue being a great friend to wei wuxian, seriously, they were such a great duo. i cannot get tired of aus in which they are rommates or something! she is usually sarcastic, fierce, bossy and so responsible. how could someone not like her?

5. a-qing, the girl who went to her limits and beyond

this girl went over the limits of heaven and hell, in fact. i love her determination and how clever she is! look at how long she managed to trick xue yang! who else who could that? i believe not even wei wuxian could have topped it. she deserved to continue living within that world with xiao xingchen. i also cannot avoid to point out that she was not a cultivator. she was a simple girl, left to struggle in the streets, who still achieved what she achieved. she lived with an esteemed rogue cultivator, manipulated one of the most essential antagonists, returned as a ghost to protect people from this specific antagonist, used a lot of her spiritual strenght to show wei wuxian the truth, continued to give wei wuxian and hanguang-jun directions to find xue yang, and received many support, compliments and faith from the main group of our story.

personally, i cannot think of another female character in the story who did more than her. wen qing did a lot, sure, but she came from a big sect. jiang yanli too. mianmian was a cultivator too. a-qing was not, and nonetheless, this girl rocks! unbelievable. if i went through what she did, i would have lost all will to persist long ago. that is another thing mdzs brought me: the perspective that, even when you are kind and did nothing wrong, you might still have tragedies happen to you. people will die anyway. including you. kindness is important, and sometimes it may save you, but sometimes it may also cause you harm. are you strong enough to have all the kindness and all that tragedy and still endure?

because a-qing, wei wuxian and so many of them did.

well, now onto my favorite parts from the novel! i will try and make this quicker. haha, lets go.

when wei wuxian and lan wangji were stuck (stuck? not actually, i believe, wei wuxian caused it) in that farm and our main character just simply laid on top of lan wangji. and he still dared... to call himself.... not a cut-sleeve. yeah, sure, bro, no homo and all that. and thats definitely not a boner beneath your clothes, huh.

when wei wuxian starts falling real hard and he wonders if he will ever be able to sleep in a bed without lan wangji again, and later on after they have sex, he f i n a l l y realizes that there is no wei wuxian without lan wangji. in a dramatic mood, even. like, seriously, dude?? what a way to pine, but ok. go get your man or something, we all waiting for it.

every extra. i just... love every bit from the extra.

in the scene where lan wangji is drunk and they start playing hide-and-seek. and lan wangji just hides himself behind smth. and shows only a bit of his face. he nods, pouts, begs with his face to continue. i died right there.

the confession. the confession. the tear. the confession. the shock from everyone else. the 'hug me tighter!' after. the confession. the hug. THE CONFESSION.

hahaha i admit it, for me everything is about them. is it not about them? you cannot tell me otherwise. i love wangxian with all my heart. also, your asks are all lovely, i love them, feel free to always send whatever you want :) hope you have a great day and week ahead of you.

[jay-anxiety]

James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

“Soft”

Summary: Being Bucky’s best friend was your greatest pride, even if you’re pretty sure it wouldn’t turn into anything. Maybe you were wrong.

Warnings and Notes: no warnings, very very fluffy, friends to lovers trope at its finest, he’s a big ole softie, gender not specified, but it’s a bit implied, not heavily though, can be read as gender neutral

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Being Bucky’s best friend was always something you took pride in. Even if it meant that you weren’t anything more.

Although you weren’t officially dating, anyone would think so from the outside. And you may correct people for your own sake every now and then to save face, but Bucky has never once denied the jeering comments from Sam or Steve about how painfully in love with you he is, just simply rolls his eyes and changes the subject.

And his two best friends had plenty of reasons to mess with him, considering what he lets you get away with. The fact that you got him to do skincare and movie nights and were able to get him in a fuzzy pink headband and a clay mask with minimal griping and complaining was proof enough.

Just like tonight. With his head in your lap and some cheesy 2000s movie that he doesn’t care about on the screen and your fingers working the last bit of serum into his cheeks. At first, he has grumbled and moaned and complained, but as soon as you gave him puppy eyes and a pout, he physically couldn’t say no and promptly melted into a puddle.

You’ve spared him the fuzzy headband and the embarrassing matching pajamas that you forced him to wear on your birthday, but the melted Bucky in your lap hasn’t changed for a second.

“This is the last time I’m letting you do this, doll,” he mumbles, no true conviction in his voice. He looks like a different person like this, the harsh lines in his brow are gone and the usual perpetual look of stress has melted off with the moisturizer and your soft fingers.

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that, and the time before that,” you say with a soft chuckle, knowing he’s just being grumpy for the sake of being grumpy.

He rolls his eyes with a barely concealed smile. “I mean it this time, doll,” he mumbles, jaw tilting up slightly as your fingers trail down to the bottoms of his cheeks, taking your time.

And in his mind, he knows that he’d never stop you. That if you were anyone else trying to touch him like this, they would have been dealt with promptly. The thought makes his cheeks dust a subtle pink as he lets out a soft groan and his eyes droop as you massage his tense jaw.

“Sure you do,” you say with a rolling of your eyes and a gentle cheeky smile. The same one that made his knees weak every time you showed him.

“Don’t believe me?” He lets out a small sigh at the way your fingers press against his cheeks. He tips his head up a bit more so you have all the space you want.

“I believe that you,” you tap his nose with your thumb as your fingers make their way under his jaw, nails gently scraping against his stubble, “enjoy this just as much as I do.”

His breath hitches, an action he barely keeps away from your careful gaze. He feels goosebumps rise on his skin as you brush your nails along the sensitive skin on his neck. He looks up at you from your lap with heavy lidded eyes, pupils blown wide as he gives you a small, easy smile.

“Am I that transparent, doll?” He murmurs, voice low and gravely, but filled with a softness and affection reserved for only you.

“You are just a big ole softy and you know it,” you smile down at him with a soft giggle. Your thumbs rest just above his pulse and his breath shudders a bit when he feels your hands on his neck.

He hates being called soft, but that word alone meant the world coming from you. The fact that he wasn’t scary to you, that you recognized his affection, made his heart soar. He swears that this will kill him one day, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much. He doesn’t care if his softness for you destroyed him, the smile you gave him and your hands treating him like something breakable instead of the hardened soldier he was formed to be was more than enough.

He looks up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and pupils the size of dinner plates and mindlessly reaches up to hold one of your hands, large, calloused hand practically consuming yours. He brings your hand the few inches up to his lips, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to your palm.

Your cheeks set ablaze, but the softness of the moment leaves you no room for being flustered as you smile so gently down at him. Your thumb gently caresses his chin, coming up to run over his bottom lip. His eyes clamp shut and he places a kiss on your thumb to ground himself. He lets out a soft groan, leaning his face against your hand.

“What the hell did I ever do to deserve you, doll?” He mumbles so softly against your hand, like he’s not aware he even uttered the words out loud.

“You’re you.” The words fall out of your mouth so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. To you, it is.

He can feel his heart beating loudly in his chest and he lets out another quiet groan into your hand, gently squeezing it in his as he looks up at you again.

“You know you are the only person I’d ever let touch me like this, the only person who ever has,” he whispers up at you, eyes filled with more adoration than he’s ever felt before. For anyone.

“Is it terribly selfish that it makes me glad that I’m the only person to have you like this,” you whisper, looking down at him with just as much affection. Dating or not, there’s a certain level of possessiveness you feel over him. It makes you feel a bit guilty that you want to be the only one who gets to touch him, to look down at him after all the stress leaves him.

What you don’t know, is that he loves it. That he craves it, that he desperately wants to be yours. That he’s wrapped completely around your finger and he couldn’t be happier.

“Never, doll. Never selfish. I wanna be yours, just yours,” he admits, drunk on your affection.

Your heart races and your smile widens. And you’ve held yourself back from kissing him so many times, terrified of losing what the two of you have. But this time, you don’t.

You lean your face down, pressing a kiss to his lips, immediately letting out a content sigh. You can’t bring yourself to care about the proper way to do things anymore, you have to let him know that you’re his just as much as he’s yours.

He responds immediately, leaning his head into yours to kiss you as his own eyes fall shut. His cool metal hand comes up to your face, touching you like glass, like if he approaches with too little caution, you’ll turn to dust.

Bucky pulls away just long enough to flip himself upright and on his knees, hands coming back up to tenderly cup your face and pull you into another kiss. This one is firm and assured, but the care and gentleness doesn’t leave for a moment. The kiss is just as intense as he is, smoldering with emotion that leaves you breathless and without a coherent thought other than him.

When he pulls back, his hands don’t leave your face, his lips barely leave yours, and he presses his forehead to yours. His voice comes out in a gravely whisper, his eyes still closed.

“Why?” He asks, breathing heavily as he finally works up the nerve to open his ocean eyes to gaze into yours. “Why did you kiss me?”

The question almost startles you, like you have no idea how there’s any room for questions in the way your eyes meet.

“Because I love you, James,” you say, just above a whisper. The words roll so easily off your tongue that is surprises both of you. There’s not a hint of hesitation.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans farther into you, as if trying to fuse to you. He’s never liked the sound of his own name more than when he heard it flow from your lips.

“I love you too, doll. More than anything,” he breaths out, looking almost pained with yearning. Opening his eyes again, those steel blue eyes holding enough feeling to make up for his entire life he spent without you right besides him. Now that he thinks about it, he has no idea how he spent this long without you. Just the thought of not having you makes his chest feel tight enough to suffocate.

The smile that graces your face is like nothing he’s ever seen. More beautiful than any natural or artificial creation that’s ever been created, more precious than angels. He swears to himself then that he’d do anything to protect that smile. To see it every day until the day he dies. To destroy worlds if it meant he could keep that smile. Keep you.

The two of you spend the rest of the night completely abandoning the skincare and movie, focusing on showing how much you mean to one another.

And when all is said and done, you think about how proud you were to call yourself his best friend. And if you felt pride then, just imagine what it feels like now to be his lover.

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So that’s it! I hoped it was good, I’ve been in a bit of a rut and I’m sorry I haven’t been cranking them out like I want to :( . Despite my doubt that they’re good and people enjoy them, I really love doing it. And as always, constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you 💕

[fairy-verse]

The Horror in this universe makes me go mad man. Pretty big fairy... IUuhhUHuhuihIUYGUFdestDYfuygub <3 <3 <3 ... I'm personally really keen to know more about his background, such as: Members involved in the cave-in? Horror's opinion on Error? If the 2 met what was the initial impression / interaction like as I believed it was most likely Error who gave Horror the spot / semi job to patrol around the edge of his domain or was it Horror's own claustrophobia that made him leave? Did any other fairy try and help Horror with his trauma after he was saved? ... Sorry for the amount of questions being thrown at you but I am very very invested in his character (as well as his relationships) and would love to see his reference sheet one day! <3

Friends… The fairies that were unfortunately trapped together with Horror were his friends, good friends, fairies he’d shared meals with, fairies he’d taken steaming baths with in the deeper bowls of Error’s domain, fairies he’d shared nests with as they grew closer. Horror can recall memories of kissing one of them, a sweet one that had such a pretty laugh and always made such luxurious sets of armour… they’d been one of the wounded ones as the rocks and boulders came tumbling down, and they’d been the first to die. Horror wouldn’t know it just then, but it’d been a merciful fate compared to the horrors he faced. Fairies are good to each other, loving even in rivalry, but desperation and starvation can turn even the loveliest of fairies into something horrible, and so it came to be as Horror’s friends suddenly came down upon him, begging his forgiveness even as they caved parts of his skull in their attempt to eat him. He’d been the largest in the group, even back then, but nothing compared to what he was nowadays. He’d only been a little bigger… just a little… but that had been enough for him to be seen as a proper meal.

In the end, it was him who came to weep as he fed on them, keeping them alive but unconscious for as long as possible, but even after they’d turned to stardust, he tried to eat that, too… And then he was found. What a Horror he must have been to witness.

He can’t remember the name his mother gave him…

Horror never had much of an opinion regarding Error. He was their Winter Queen, King Winter, their leader, a pretty, prickly fairy with the brightest, bluest wings Horror had ever seen, and now he stood above Horror with a look of unconcealed distraught upon his face. Of course he’d be upset, Horror has not only confessed to eating his fellow fairies but was even caught in the act of feasting upon their stardust, too. A terrible act to commit, for now his fellow fairies will never be a part of the wind.

Horror expected no mercy, expected to be either cast out of killed for what he’d done, but Error did no such thing. His eye lights had lingered upon the jagged hole in his skull, upon his unnaturally bloated eye light, upon his chipped and broken bones, upon his malnourished body… He felt so ugly….

“Do you wish to stay in these halls?” Error had asked him.

“N…no,” he’d replied. “The rock… th… the… rocks…”

Horror hated being surrounded by cold, stony walls. These halls had been his home, had been his parent’s home, and he’d rarely left them throughout his life, yet now he hated them. He hated them. He hated them.

He hated them!

So, Error allowed him to leave. He allowed him to live outside but to stay within the domain itself and guard its southern borders, for that was to be his punishment. Mercy was the fact that he wouldn’t die, that he wouldn’t be forced to stay in the halls, but he’d still done the unspeakable. He’d still eaten the stardust of a fallen fairy, and thusly couldn’t be granted full mercy, yet Horror was glad despite his grief and anguish. He was permitted to stay outside, to go as he pleased by the southern borders of Error’s domain, and that is all he could ask for.

He was alone after that. None of his remaining friends came for him, none wished to approach, none wanted to take the risk of being eaten. It wounded him. Horror hadn’t wanted to eat any of his fellow fairies, he hadn’t wanted to do it. He wished he could tell them that, but his slurred and broken words made him sound dumb and primitive, made his desperate, engorged eye light seem far too eager when they came too close.

His pathetic whines as they fled from him made him angry… and terribly, terribly sad.

It was becoming difficult to remember things. It was becoming difficult to speak. His back began to hunch as he grew, the side effects of consuming other fairies kicking in. He couldn’t stand going hungry, he always needed to eat the second he felt his stomach twist.

Horror’s muddled memories of his first years in the forest by the southern border are… difficult to comprehend, but there is a light in the form of a golden begonia somewhere in them. He cannot remember her face, but he remembers the warmth she brought, and most importantly of all, the fresh fruits she gave him. A rare treat for a winter fairy to have in the middle of winter.

Few and far between did this flower come to him, but her very last meeting had been the most important one, for she’d brought with her a fairy. A weak, petite, beautiful summer fairy. Dust. She’d given him Dust to care for, and care for him Horror had done. He’d given Dust his bed, fed him with his food, kept him warm by always keeping the fireplace lit with the wood he’d chopped. It had felt so good to care for another fairy again, to have the company of one, even if Dust could hardly stay awake the first few days there.

Horror had prepared for him to leave once he recovered, had mentally prepared to be alone again, to be shunned by other fairies again… But Dust never left. Dust didn’t want to leave him, he’d said, and Horror hadn’t been able to keep himself strong just then, so he cried, and he cried and cried and he held Dust so close that he feared he might crush him, but the cold summer fairy in his arms only cradled his skull, and kissed his forehead so sweetly it did nothing to halt Horror’s tears.

The past is something Horror doesn’t wish to think of. He doesn’t want to ponder on how things would have turned out if past happenings had been different, because in the end, everything that has happened to him has led him to where he is now…

“Bunny?” Whispered Horror, afraid of disturbing his mate should he already have fallen asleep.

“Hm?” Replied Dust, sleepy, but still awake in Horror’s arms. He adjusted himself a little and nuzzled deeper into Horror’s chest, savouring the warmth he emitted.

“I love you,” said Horror, and held Dust ever closer to himself. “I love you,” he said again, the tremble in his voice poorly hidden. “I love you, Dust.”

“I love you, too,” said Dust only after a short pause. “I love you, too, Horror.”

[candyfloss5000]

How many ARCS does it take to crush a natborn?

Pairing: Fives x M!reader, Echo x M!reader

warnings: none. Its complete fluff.

Summary: you love cuddling your boys, you love waking up in their arms even more. The only problem is, you cant breathe.

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You've gotten used to naturally waking up to Naboo's only sun streaming through the blinds of your bedroom window. What you haven't gotten used to is waking up unable to breathe.

Well, you can breathe, but it's a slight struggle with two former ARC troopers sprawled out ontop of you. Echo is on your left (nearest to the window) with one leg thrown over your waist and an arm and his head resting on your bare chest. You always found it uncomfortable to sleep with a shirt on, especially when under the covers. Meanwhile, Fives practically has his entire body laying on you, limbs sprawled everywhere and his face is squeezed into the crook of your neck.

You turn your head and glare at all the space on their sides of the king sized bed you had brought to avoid situations like this. That being said, you don't hate cuddling. Quite the opposite, actually. After being forcibly seperated all the time during the war, none of you give up an opportunity for physical contact. You sigh and wrap your arms around them both, knowing better than to wake them up. Disturbing your Dominos when they're perfectly content snuggled up to you would be a death sentence.

A smile breaks out on your face when you think about how you had met. It had been a big victory for the 501st and they were granted shore leave for five days. 79s was ram packed with boys in blue so much so that there were hardly any natborns in there, but you'd managed to weasel your way in. You were sat at the bar, nursing a Corellian whiskey, when a certain ARC with a numbered tattoo started chatting you up and a sheepish man with a hand print on his chest plate stood next to him. It feels like yesterday that Fives had said those twelve corny words to you. "Hey, baby, you got a name, or can I call you mine?"  A month later, you were dating the most handsome men the galaxy had ever seen and you've been together ever since.

You're snapped back to reality, when Fives stirs in his sleep. You think he's gonna wake up and finally release you from his chokehold, but he stays sound asleep and somehow manages to put even more weight on your ribs. The Domino twins, along with many other clones, lost a bit of muscle after the end of the war, but, by the Maker, they were still heavy. It's been four years since the end of the Clone Wars. General Kenobi defeated General Grievous on Utapau, General Skywalker brought Count Dooku into custody, Commander Tano brought Maul into custody and Chancellor Palpatine was discovered to be the mastermind behind this war and was killed by the Jedi Council. It took half a year for the discussion of clone equal rights in the Senate, which they were granted at the end of that year. It took two years for the Republic to create a suppressant for the clones' rapid aging, which managed to slow it down to natural human aging.

The loyal soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic are free men.

You silently thank the Maker, when you notice the telltale signs of them starting to wake up - small twitches and grumbles. When Fives wakes slowly, he tends to stretch a bit like a loth cat. He yawns and does this little squeak that you don't dare mention, but it makes you smile anyway. After he stretches, he goes limp and boneless for a moment as his brain catches up to reality. Echo, however, tends to go from asleep to awake very smoothly. He doesn’t jerk awake as often anymore, but it’s a near thing. His body stays lax for the most part, but he blinks awake and takes just a second or two to get his bearings. Some mornings, he’ll lay with you for a little longer than usual, tucking his face up close to yours until you're both ready to get up.

They're absolutely adorable in their own ways.

You remain still when your partners awake. Fives sits up to stretch his whole body, before dumping his weight back ontop of you, making a grunt fall past your lips as he slightly knocks the air from your lungs. Echo blinks awake, tucks himself closer to you and breathes deeply. A luxury you can't perform yourself.

"Morning." Fives always has the deepest morning voice.

"Morning." You reply back. "Can you both breathe?"

A pair of concerned frowns meet your gaze, but you keep your expression innocent.

"Yeah?" Echo eventually answers.

"Well, I can't." You put it bluntly. "Shift."

You haven't seen them move so quick this early in the morning for years, as they scramble to their sides of the bed. You take a few deep breaths and, Maker, oxygen has never felt so good.

"You okay?" Fives looks down at you with furrowed brows. You nod tiredly and place a kiss to his forehead, causing his expression to calm.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You mumble, turning to kiss Echo's forehead aswell. "You have all that space and you still decide to crush me." You give them a pointed stare.

"Old habits die hard, cyar'ika." Fives smirks, wrapping his arms back around you, but making sure to give you more breathing room this time.

"We're sorry, cyare." A light blush coats Echo's face, as he sheepishly places a kiss to your cheek.

"It's not your fault." You reassure him, running a hand through his hair. "It's because of how many nights we all had to sleep in those regulation bunks that could hardly even fit one person in."

"Except this time, Echo isn't falling on his ass every five minutes." Fives sniggers.

You close your eyes with a smile, as you listen to them bicker about old times. Are you going to wake up with your airway being crushed again? Definitely. But you have your boys right where you want them, maybe breathing is acceptable to give up if it means you get to hold them as close as possible.

[justaz]

merlin (immortal) giving arthur (pendragon) the only blade that could kill him

[sasukeless]

just found your blog and having a blast scrolling through it thank you for sharing your very correct opinions with the world, very satisfying. now i'm curious (and sorry if you've talked about it before) what do you think of shisui?

basically

[aviolettrose]

I feel like, if Jason was ever de-aged, Bruce wouldn't leave his side and be the best dad ever for him (he sees it as a second chance)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 33

Geralt is a siren who lives with his pod in the deepest trenches of the ocean. Geralt and his pod frequently team up together to take down large seabeasts, protecting their oceans, other seafolk, and even the landfolk from certain monstrosities. Jaskier is a merman who lounges luxuriously in coral reefs and plays pretty relaxing music there all day every day. Both are crushed with a crippling loneliness.

Geralt's hunts that bring him closer to the surface of the water, (and by closer, I still mean deep as hell, he's just no longer surrounded by healthy non-blobby blobfish and photophores everywhere) He tends to hear the humming and chittering of a mer. The sound relaxes him so much, he begins swimming out of the deepest depths after certain battles to find the soothing noise. You can use just this if you prefer shorter prompts, OR, if you'll indulge my gay fantasies- One day, he swims over toward the reef only to hear panicked screeching, and scent blood in the water. He nYOOoms over and finds a mer being attacked by a monster. Geralt fights it off, either with swords or maybe perhaps just his claws and teeth if we're feeling ~✨feral✨~ Either way, he defeats the beast, and turns to the mer, only for the mer to pass out right then and there. Damn him. Geralt takes him to a nice cove nearby and begins patching him up. When the mer wakes up, he's all hissy and scared, but Geralt calms him quickly by humming one of his melodies. And apparently doing this flips a fuckin switch, because the Mer suddenly goes from being scared shitless of Geralt, to being scared shitless when not touching Geralt every second of every minute of every hour of every godsdamn day. It's already been a few days, he has to tell his pod why he's gone missing, but every time he goes to leave, the mer hisses at him. Eventually, Geralt grows tired of the worry he must be giving his family, and swims out of the cave, even as the Mer screeches at him. He informs his pod he's alive and well and just... b u s y... with.... t hi n g s... before he swims back to the cove only to find his mer BAWLING. The mer is ecstatic that he's returned and seems to forgive Geralt after a day of snuggling. Okay, new problem: The merman isn't healed enough to go back into the open ocean and yet keeps slipping out when Geralt is asleep only to return with shells, sea glass, moss, sometimes even anemones that are deemed prettier than others. It takes Geralt longer than he'd like to admit to figure out the merman is trying to court him.

[oatbugs]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

[biillys]

gyllenchains: the question was what would he want to see for billy. i didn’t record the other part but he said billy had to die. so i’m gonna walk into traffic

dacre @ stranger con, chicago (9th oct 22)

[angellurgy]

squeak

[themoonking]

finally finished the priory of the orange tree after putting it off for like a year, and putting aside the fact that it's insanely boring, way too long, and the romance is lackluster, it certainly was a choice to, in a book at least in part about finding common ground and coming together, basically go "religion a is correct and good and its believers can continue on their merry lives, but religion b is a 100% incorrect wrong bad lie founded by a wrong bad misogynistic lying liar, and everyone who believes in it should convert and in fact we're going to end the book by heavily implying that the recently-converted queen is going to slowly but surely pressure the entire country to convert because their faith is wrong and bad". like that was certainly a decision that samantha shannon made.

[cryptids]

ok sorry to rant out of nowhere but why is tender is the flesh on every book youtuber's top 10 (or whatever) best horror books ever list 😭 it was so bad, I couldn't even finish it bc it was so uninteresting... like I would get it if a few people loved it bc people's tastes are always gonna vary, but the fact that its SO popular just baffles me like am I missing something or am I crazy or what lmao??? and one of the best books EVER?????