#just very random thoughts

[lieutenantselnia]

2 things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but are kinda related to this blog, and that have been on my mind recently:

I'd love to make some kind of small custom merch some day, either of just my f/os or actually my self ships. Like stickers or a pin, maybe even a small keychain. Even if it was just for myself (bc idk if anyone else would even be interested in it, especially when it's including not just the canon character but my s/i as well), but I think it would be cute <3

What if I made a Davy x Selena x Maccus crack ship? For no particular reason other than silliness

[phantomrose96]

Im usually much too shy to send asks but you gotta be the change you want to see, and i agree that asks need to stay so: would you rather right 1 horse sized rat, or 100 rat sized horses?

ah yikes... so my knee jerk reaction is "the 100 rat-sized horses, certainly, as those can be picked off one at a time." however the risk of my conscience catching up to me by the 30th or 40th horse is too great. how much death could I inflict upon these rat-sized horses before I vow to see death no more? even if pure survival instinct drives me through all 100, what of the aftermath? surrounded by the carnage of 100 tiny horses with only my own wet breath among 100 still chests? inconceivable. war is hell.

[ralvezfanatic]

Y/N: I need someone to take me out already

Derek: Like on a date or with a sniper?

Y/N: Either works but at this point I rather a sniper

Hotch: Do I need to have you evaluated?

Elle, texting Penelope to ask how much a hitman costs:

Spencer, texting Penelope to ask her for tips on how to ask you out:

Penelope, very confused at the two types of text she got: ???

[gay-otlc]

A very strange feeling that comes from being a trans man is like. I am fundamentally the same person after coming out that I was before coming out. There are some differences (I'm happier and more comfortable in my own skin, for instance, and everyone changes a little bit over time) but overall I still have the same personality traits, same values and morals, etc etc. But after I came out, people who thought I was a perfectly okay and decent person switched to thinking I'm dangerous and untrustworthy, even when nothing about me had changed except the gender label they know me as.

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[umblrspectrum]

do you ever like wanna make something cool but you dont know how so you just sit around like a moron for 5 hours straight pretending you know how

me neither

on a more serious note i know ad astra as a whole isnt over but i still want to thank daybreaker for their fics. what friends are for was the very first md fic i ever stumbled upon when trying out ao3 for the first time, and prior to joining the server i was checking it near daily for uploads. god knows if i'd be as deep in ao3 as i am now if it werent for this story and convenient timing. Thanks for the story.

[ruporas]

hotter than hell

[ID: Digital art of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum in their alternative universe form based off an angel Vash and Devil Wolfwood illustration Nightow did. The both of them are sitting side by side, exhausted from the heat, Vash has his arms crossed, leaned against his knees and his head against his arms, eyes closed as sweat drips from his face. His wings spreads over the both of them to shield them from the sun. Wolfwood is sitting with his right leg extended and his left leg with the knee slightly up. His eyes are also closed with a clear grimacing expression. He uses one of his small devil wings to fan Vash, the text effect reads “flap flap”. Being in the shadows, the palette is cool, blues and purples. A sliver of light shines on the parts not covered by wings in a bright orange/yellow. END ID]

[lerrryyyyy]

fashion disasters icons #tddk 😌💚🤍❤️

°°°

Do not edit or repost my art.

[stellaranglerfish]

Y'know, I always think about how devastating it must've felt for Ethan to see his daughter in pieces.

Even thinking about it makes my own heartache.

To feel so hopeless and unable to do anything while they crystallize your baby. (Yikes)

And yet he still persisted and saved her.

[bolithesenate]

know what? boom. adult Nim design. because I can

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I feel so dumb for never having realized this before but I was thinking about the bookend in AGoT between the Others, the dragons, and two heroes: Waymar Royce and Daenerys Targaryen.

While squaring off against the Others, Waymar Royce asks for a dance.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

It’s notable that this scene is eerily silent save for the bits of dialogue. And when Waymar’s dance finally begins, there’s a notable lack of music.

The pale sword came shivering through the air. Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.

I’ve always asserted that Ser Waymar is a failed last hero if we judge his success based off Old Nan’s blueprint.

So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—”

Both Ser Waymar and the last hero lost their companions and both had their swords shatter to the cold. Yet Waymar failed to complete one important step: find the children of the forest. The children are also known as “the singers”. So it’s notable that Ser Waymar attempts to dance without any music(ians) to accompany him. And because he does so, his dance ends in failure.

But then we have Daenerys Targaryen in the Dothraki Sea.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Dany performs a miracle in bringing dragons to life, the first person to do so in centuries. And these dragons sing a song that proclaims her, an exiled young princess and a widow, Azor Ahai reborn - the champion of fire, and warrior of light.

This bookend between the first and last chapters is so poignant. It’s not just that fire has returned to combat Ice. It’s that Dany brought back the music necessary to complete this dance. We start the book with a failed hero and end it with the rise of a true one; also interesting that Waymar’s end comes while he’s down on his knees whereas Dany rises to her feet reborn.

This makes Dany’s identity as the promised prince(ss) all the more impressive.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door.

Waymar failed because he didn’t have a song to accompany him. Yet Dany has a song to dance to. A song of fire.

I think this raises some interesting questions regarding the nature of this great conflict. There not only has to be a song to dance to, but it seems that there is a key distinction between the singer and the dancer. Rhaegar Targaryen failed to fulfill the prophecy because he was the singer and not the dancer. His role was to provide the hero’s musical accompaniment. In a way, it’s almost like he as the bard is the herald. And the herald is rarely, if ever, the main character. So notice how Rhaegar heralds the hero, the king, while looking at Dany.

But! - there’s different kinds of songs. Dany has one, made by her dragons. But it’s not be the only one. The children of the forest are heavily associated with the last hero and while Waymar Royce is dead, there lives another: Bran Stark.

Bran found the children, the singers, and is a step closer to completing the last hero’s journey.

Now Bran is an interesting case.

“Go,” Bran whispered to his own horse. He touched her neck lightly, and the small chestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. She was two years old, and Joseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be.

He has a dancing horse but at some point has to leave her behind. So does that mean that he has to learn to do the dancing in his own way?

And I find it interesting that Bran has a female dancer horse because this creates a neat parallel with Dany, a dancer who may also be the stallion that mounts the world; if it’s not her, then it has to be her mount, Drogon. This is important if we consider that the last hero, Azor Ahai/the promised prince, the Stallion That Mounts the World, etc. are all different yet complimentary manifestations of one heroic legend.

But the issue of songs doesn’t end there because there still exists one Jon Snow, another version of the last hero and promised prince. Jon isn’t a bard but he has been positioned as being adjacent to dancers. I won’t harp on about Jon’s parallels with Waymar Royce because they’ve been done to death. But it seems that Jon, like Bran and Dany, will succeed where Ser Waymar failed.

Because not only does Jon have music to herald him:

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat.

But he is also positioned as a last man standing among many dead heroes:

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed. They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

And he has a sword that will not shatter against the cold:

“Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist.

It’s noteworthy that Jon is the son of a singer, Rhaegar Targaryen. The very singer who sang the song of ice and fire; and notice how Jon is clad in both. Plus he has been mentored by another, Mance Rayder, whom he eventually succeeds.

At a quick glance, it’s very interesting to me that Jon is constantly listening to songs beyond the Wall. There’s the song of the blue winter rose (which in a way heralds his own birth), the song of Joramun and the Horn of Winter, and many others.

It’s also noteworthy just how often giants are mentioned as the subject of songs in Jon’s POV chapters. I bring this up because of the Last of the Giants:

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth. The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth.

I think there is a parallel here between the dragons, the giants, and the children of the forest. These are all dying species, yet they linger on for the song of ice and fire still needs to be brought to completion.

And let’s consider where our heroes fit in all this. Dany commands the dragons, Bran learns from the children, while Jon begins to befriend the giants. All these creatures make musical accompaniments for our heroes to dance to.

Lastly, I’m inclined to think of the Stark girls though I’m not entirely sure where they would fit in all of this. Arya, at some point, trains to be a dancer:

On the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps of the Tower of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg. The rough stone had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?” “Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased. “Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance. “Must you do your standing here?” he asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.” “Syrio says a water dancer never falls.” She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. “Father, will Bran come and live with us now?”

Now Arya is no singer, but her wolf is.

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her.

On the other hand, Sansa is no dancer but she is known for her ability to sing. And boy does she sing beautifully.

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray,

In fact, a lot of Sansa’s songs are prayers for those who dance to the music of swords. Her songs are soothing, calming. And see this during Stannis’ assault on Kings Landing when she is able to calm Sandor and the noble women through the power of song. Hers is not a song to dance to, it’s a different kind though I’m not entirely sure what it entails. I do want to say, though, that Sansa is often paralleled with creates that take flight; various birds and bats. So she is a singer, much like the dragons.

I may have neglected other characters here, but I just thought it was intriguing that our main heroes (Jon, Bran, Dany, maybe Arya) are all positioned as dancers for the song of ice and fire.

[guardian-angle22]

Tarlos Wedding Celebration Event [Week 14] -> favorite kiss(es)-> Comfort Kisses

[meanqueens]

alicent’s probably gonna be on the edge of her seat at all times wondering who rhaenyra’s gonna appear dressed up as next

[sonknuxadow]

hey guys look what i found in my drafts. from a few days ago .

[brownblob]

It's Only You

Sebek Zigvolt x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You'd never thought how difficult it could be to love someone without receiving affection back. The daunting realization of your unrequited love led you to leaving him. You never meant much anyways- you were always just there and he was sure you'd return. Time flew by as he waited for your return.

TW: Angst, mentions of death, depression, mentions of unhealthy relationships.

The pitter and patter of rain filled the silence enveloping the room. It was unusual for Sebek to be so silent for he was usually so boisterous, if not impulsive. Whether he was enraged, content, or glum, he was always loud- reckless. It was odd- this thick, suffocating silence that pierced through your skin. A shiver traveled down your spine, your lips forming a thin, straight line.

"Sebek, I said something."

You spoke up, as if offended by his lack of reaction. Never once was he so apathetic. You expected more, much more by an individual who was usually so reckless, so volatile. If not verbally than through expressions, you wanted a reaction- it was a given, you confusion, considering this side was something you'd never seen, no one had ever seen. Yet, there was no response merely a wide-eyed gaze he sent your way.

"If you won't respond then I guess the feeling's mutual."

You spoke up once more, irritation present in your words. A sigh left your lips, his olive gaze still fixed on you. It wasn't as if he didn't speak to spite you- no, it was quite the opposite. He was speechless. Everything was fine, nothing was out of place- both of you were alright, perfectly content together. Then why had you just said you wanted to end it? Was your relationship that meaningless? Did he mean nothing? Was your bond that fickle?

The rain continued to pour down as you packed, taking your things one by one. You presence vanished little by little leaving him alone- in solitude. He stood in the same spot as you removed yourself from his life- his home. His eyes were glassy, not that you noticed.

"Goodbye Sebek."

That was the last thing you said before leaving, suitcase in hand.

He came back to his senses, his voice returning to him as the door shut with a loud 'thud'. He called out your name several times, shouting at the top of his lungs. As if to mock him, the rain pattered against the windows even harder, silencing him. Without a thought he ran outside, his usually neat hair now wet and tousled. His eyes searched for you, his heart drumming inside his chest- his throat was raw from screaming, his vision blurry. His body was soaked, his tears camouflaging- becoming one with the drops of rain. His body shook, a shiver running down his back; it was now he realized that you had left. It wasn't a nightmare, nor a delusion, and it definitely wasn't a joke. This was reality.

Even if he found you, begged you to stay- your answer would remain the same. You were tired. You were sick of being a second option- no, a last resort. Someone or something always came before you. Whether it was his loyalty for Malleus or his affection for knighthood. You were never number one. Frankly, you had been alright with that, knowing your relationship with Sebek was fairly one-sided; you'd begged for his love, had you not? In his eyes you had. Not that he didn't care at all, but just not to the level you did. You were useful to him, always there when he needed you to be. Never once did you think of your own needs- neither did he. That was until you did. There was only so much you could ignore before you felt lonely- alone.

No matter how selfish it sounded, you wanted to bask in his affection. He was your spouse, wasn't he? He made vows to you, didn't he? He was your soulmate, was he not?

Then why were you ditched for his loyalty to Malleus? Then why had he made it clear that you could be replaced, Malleus couldn't? Then why were you never never first- not once?

Why didn't you mean anything to him, who meant everything to you?

Your love was unrequited, to an extent at least. You knew you had agreed to something of this sort upon falling for him- yet this daunting realization hurt more than you wanted it to. You wished for everything to go back to how it was- you wanted to be blind once more. You wanted to unsee this new vision, to go back to your old perception of reality.

You wanted to mend this broken relationship. As if you were a child who had just noticed that life was not, in fact, perfect you tried convincing yourself that it was. You were better off believing in the false perfection of the world- of your relationship. You didn't want to believe that he didn't care. You were not being neglected. You couldn't be.

You just had to communicate, that would fix everything.

You spoke up, he didn't listen. You spoke up once more, he had better things to do. You spoke up again and as expected, he couldn't care less.

It poured down as you spoke up for the last time, this time adding that you were simply leaving. His opinion didn't matter anymore- too many chances had been missed. You weren't a doormat, not any more.

You waited far too long for someone who wouldn't come around. That realization daunted upon him- he was guilty of a crime he wished he hadn't committed.

His body coiled up, quivering as his garments clung to his skin. He sat on the wet road, the sky darkening as the rain roared down. His eyes were fixed on the ground, shameless tears trickling down his face. If Malleus saw him like this- no, if anyone saw him in such a state, he wouldn't mind. He was confused to have such thoughts- he should mind, should he not? You were gone. It shouldn't affect him so much, not at all. What were you? A spouse, but only in name. Then why did his heart pang so loudly? Why was your sweet voice playing in his mind? Why was it now that he saw your pain? Why now, when it was far too late?

His life was different from there on. You had an affect on his life and took on such an important role, yet never realized - if you had, maybe you wouldn't have left. He wished both of you had remained blind, playing house forever- no matter how suffocating it got. Maybe then he wouldn't be so melancholic.

Days passed by.

His halls were empty, signifying his solitude. The little knick knacks you used to keep were gone, those stupid little hand-drawn doodles he used to find on random pieces of paper were all in the past. The times you cooked for him, no matter whether he he liked it or not- he missed it. The scent of your shampoo never lingered around the house anymore, neither did the sound of your sweet voice.

He would stand at the door everyday yet no one came to greet him once he returned home, neither did he have anyone to greet. No one played music that hurt his ears anymore- he never thought he'd miss that. He still made portions for two everyday, leave it on a plate only for the food to go stale. He still clung onto the last bit of hope that you would return- that he wouldn't have to be alone. Yet, everyday you proved him wrong.

Weeks passed by.

Was this how you felt? Was this how your heart ached? He wished he had listened to your rambles, that he'd paid attention to whatever stupid show you used to watch. Maybe if he had then he could watch those shows to remind himself of you- yet he didn't remember. He never thought he could cry so freely, never once had he been someone so sensitive. What else could he even do? There was no one to scold, to scorn at to scream at- he was rendered silent within these walls, isolation along with silence were his only resorts. He had lost his old self, grief took over his previously exuberant self. "He deserved it", he thought.

Your separation from him was his separation from himself. His memory of your was the only thing keeping him going. Every little thing you used to do reminding him of his mistakes, of what could have been. He'd underestimated your worth- he'd underestimated how irreplaceable you were.

Months passed by.

His previous priorities became second while you became number one. The only difference was that you weren't there to witness that. Wherever you were, away from him- you were happier. At least he hoped you were. His door was always open for you though, his heart too. Maybe if he'd cherished you, he wouldn't have lost you.

Despite all his lingering thoughts, he'd realized it was just "if's" now. There was no mending what he'd broken and there was no apologizing for what he did, not when you had clearly severed ties with him.

Was it illicit to hope you'd crawl back to him? That you'd beg him to take you back? It was wrong and he knew it but he couldn't help but delude in such thoughts despite knowing the only one who who'd beg for the other would be him, as of now. Though, he didn't mind begging if it meant you'd return. He knew he was being delusional- you'd never return. He knew that was the best for you, for if you did return- he wouldn't be able to let go no matter how difficult it got for you. He might've gone mad.

A decade passed by.

Years later he saw you, clinging onto another man as you pranced around at a store- one you used to speak of quite often as if urging him to take you. He never did.

As you and the unknown man walked inside the store he couldn't help but follow, silent as ever as he simply observed. He broke the moment he saw you picking a suit for the man beside you. You weren't his and maybe you never were.

He walked out of the store, his eyes stinging as he returned home. You weren't there waiting for him and no one ever would- he wouldn't replace you, not that he could. That would be another insult to your name.

He stood near the same window, on the exact spot where he watched you leave. Just like that day, it was pouring and the room was silent. He called out your name a few times, hoping you'd appear. Was he mad? Surely. Maybe he should drink again- doing so could help him hallucinate of you and if not, at least it would numb the pain.

He sighed as he sat down.

You were incomplete when with him while he was incomplete when without. You meant more than he had previously thought, so much so that it was only you he wanted to live for and with. If that was impossible, why live at all?

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: I hope Sebek wasn't too fanon/off, I just really wanted to explore a different side.

Note 3: Any unhealthy behavior depicted in this fic is not condoned nor encouraged by me. If you are facing any mental/physical abuse, please seek help immediately!

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios