#meant for infinite sadness indeed

[hummingbird-of-light]

Prompt: Can’t Find The Words

(Fourth story for Angstember 2024 by @ivystoryweaver)

Her knees were trembling as Nomira stepped in front of the tree under which her parents' remains had been buried. It was a tradition on Tyriuk IV for the mourners to remain silent for exactly five minutes, remembering the deceased, before the next of kin spoke a few words.

The first minute flew by. Nomira looked at the few people who had gathered to pay their last respects to Mr. and Mrs. Farie. They were family friends, her father's colleagues, neighbors. Even Miss Harkem had shown up. An incredible honor. Nomira looked at each of them and silently thanked them for coming. She couldn't have borne to go through this ceremony alone.

Nomira spent the second and third minutes with her eyes closed. She thought of her parents, remembering the best days of their life together. It hadn't always been easy, but her parents had always done everything in their power to give Nomira a good life under the circumstances. She owed them so much. And life had denied her the chance to ever give it back to them. It just wasn't fair.

The fourth minute seemed infinitely long to Nomira. She had opened her eyes again and looked down at the final resting place of her loved ones. How could it be? How was it possible that so little remained at the end of life? Just ashes and dust and memories. Memories that you clung to like a lifebelt. Nomira knew that she would live much longer than her parents or many other Tyriuks. And that was precisely why she wasn’t allowed to ever forget. She had to try to preserve and honor the memory of her parents for as long as she lived. It was the last thing she could do for them.

The fifth minute was over in one fell swoop and Nomira knew it was time for her to speak. She had to say something. She had to say something about the Tyriuks who had been torn from life in such a terrible way. But when she opened her mouth, the words stuck in her throat. No sound came out.

She had been preparing for this moment for so long. After Miss Tola had informed her of the accident, Nomira had immediately returned home. It had meant the end of her journey, but she hadn't cared. Nothing was more important than her parents.

All the words she had thought about since her return. All the stories she had wanted to tell. The song she had written and wanted to sing. All these things were suddenly no longer in her head. There was a resounding emptiness.

And suddenly there was this voice. A voice she hadn't heard for years. A voice that she had thought would never reach her ears again.

"When ... when we lose someone we love very much, it feels like the end of the world. Never seeing someone again, never hearing a familiar voice again, never being able to wrap your arms around someone again. These are all things you can't even imagine."

Nomira's eyes widened as she turned and saw the Tyriuk she had thought she would never see again slowly walking towards the group. Malui. Her brother. He was clad in the traditional mourning garb of the Tyriuks and his gaze did indeed reflect a deep sadness.

"But we must try to overcome these feelings of fear and sadness and emptiness and remember the good moments we shared with these loved ones. Every beautiful conversation, every laugh, every hug. We must cherish the memories and carry on in honor of them. We must be strong. Just like they would have wanted."

For a moment, Nomira just stood there, staring at her brother in disbelief. It almost seemed like a fever dream. Was he actually real? Was Malui really here?

But finally she nodded slowly, looked down at her parents' resting place and then turned to the mourners. With a trembling voice, she sang the song. The song she had written only for her beloved mother and father.

And when her voice eventually fell silent and many pairs of eyes were on her, she realized that Malui had taken her trembling hand.

Together the two of them stood in front of the small crowd and slowly but surely everyone started to leave, only leaving behind the Farie siblings.

For quite a while, Nomira and Malui simply stood next to each other in silence. They turned around and both looked at the tree, lost in thought.

Nomira felt the last tears flowing down her cheeks. She had cried so much in the past few days that there was hardly any liquid left.

"Sweet pea."

When Malui uttered the nickname he had given Nomira when she was young, the Tyriuk woman could no longer contain herself. She pulled her hand out of her brother's and gave him what was probably the strongest slap she had ever given anyone. Her long fingernails scratched across the purple skin, leaving bloody marks.

"Don't call me that. Never call me that name again," Nomira snarled, burning anger in her eyes.

Slowly, Malui's hand slid up to his injured cheek and he rubbed it gently. A sad smile formed on his lips.

"I ... had really hoped that we would meet again under different circumstances, Nomira."

Nomira just snorted at those words.

"What other circumstances? Do you really think I would have wanted to see you under different circumstances? You left us back then to live a crazy, miserable life! You left us in the lurch! And you can't imagine how much I hate you for that, Malui."

A heavy sigh escaped the older Tyriuk and he shook his head sadly.

"I had thought that you would be more mature by now. And ... that you would understand me."

Anger seethed deep inside Nomira. Understand? She would never understand! She would never understand how her brother could have made such a decision.

"I have never understood you. And I never will. And I want you to know one thing for sure, Malui. I will allow you to say goodbye to our parents here and now, but after that I never want to see you again. You will disappear from my life and leave me alone! I don't need you anymore. I am a grown woman who knows exactly what she wants in her life and you have lost your place in it."

Malui said nothing. He simply looked at Nomira in silence. And Nomira knew that this silence was the greatest torture of all for her. If he would at least protest. If he said anything, she could object and a big fight would break out.

But Malui remained silent.

And Nomira couldn't bear it. She turned away and then walked further and further away from the grave. Slowly at first, then faster and faster.

She knew that Malui would be gone the next time she returned to this place. She knew that he would obey her order. And yet, as much as her heart ached, she dared not turn around again.

Yes, she really was alone. She had no one left but herself. And that was why she would only think of herself. Forever.

[singofsolace]

What were your thoughts on the last couple of TL episodes? It’s starting to look like Tedbecca was a collective delusion after all, lol. If that is indeed the case, what would you like to see as a conclusion to Rebecca’s arc? I can’t picture her ending up alone, romantically; normally I’d be all for it, subverting expectations and all, but so much of her story so far has hinged on her longing for a wholesome romantic love to settle down and start a family with, that I’m afraid her ending up alone wouldn’t be empowering but just straight up sad. And if it’s not Ted, who do you think it could be so that it’s still a somewhat satisfying endgame? I’d be ok with Sam, tbh. At least that’d be infinitely better than the Dutch man or some other random, last-minute addition.

If I'm being completely honest, the reason I haven't shared my thoughts on the last few episodes is because I have some pretty strong negative feelings about the writing, and I didn't want to put those feelings in the "Ted Lasso" tag and wind up getting hate, but tagging spoilers is necessary/required... so I was in a bit of a conundrum.

My biggest complaint is that I don't understand where this season is going. This season feels like it's incredibly scattered and all over the place--and if any new elements get added now in the last three episodes (even ones I've been longing to see since Episode 1), it's all going to feel incredibly rushed.

What it comes down to is that Ted and Rebecca are supposed to be the lead characters in this show, but lately (especially in these last two episodes about Keeley and Colin) it feels like they're barely even supporting characters. They don't have story arcs of their own within each episode, which is incredibly frustrating, because why would they sideline their main characters this late in the final season? No matter how much I love the large supporting cast, and think those actors deserve their time to shine, these supporting-character-centric episodes are making me feel like this can't possibly be the final season, because if this is "it" for Ted and Rebecca's stories, I feel incredibly cheated by the writers.

Rebecca hasn't had her own storyline, where she isn't just reacting to what other characters are doing, since "Sunflowers." How is that possible? In my MFA creative writing program, you would get your piece of writing torn to fucking shreds if your lead female character had no agency in the story and was simply reacting to other characters. Rebecca Welton is meant to be an active presence in this story, effecting change and driving the story forward; why on earth has she been relegated to someone who is only in the episode to give advice and pep talks to the other characters (sometimes shouted advice, but advice nonetheless)?

I'm also still trying to figure out why they introduced the idea that Rebecca is/was actively trying to have a baby, even going so far as to get tests done at a fertility clinic, only to immediately drop that thread after revealing her infertility...? As if finding out the news had no lasting impact on her whatsoever, and she immediately gave up trying to have a family, even though there are so many other avenues she could've explored...? I trust that they haven't forgotten about that storyline, and will most likely try to tie up that loose end by the final episode, but immediately abandoning that storyline after introducing it in order to focus the show on supporting characters makes me feel like Rebecca's storyline is no longer the one that is driving the narrative of the show, which is a huge change, and one I don't particularly like.

As for the question about who would make a satisfying endgame for Rebecca, I'm firmly a Rebecca x Happiness person, so whatever will make her happy, I could find a way to justify. I personally have reservations about Rebecca/Sam, but the show itself doesn't seem to share those reservations. But I think the fact that Sam's father doesn't like Rebecca speaks volumes, because I'm sure Sam was kind when describing what happened between them, so his dad taking that information badly is validating to me. And if Dutch Boatman comes back, I'd be pissed, because the "did we? oh yes we did," still bothers me, even though I'm well-aware that the writers didn't intend for that to imply an assault happened. There are so many other ways they could've written that line, and that storyline in general, and I'm just frustrated that it made it to the screen the way it did.

I think that what is actually going to happen is that we'll see a classic rom-com airport scene where Rebecca asks Ted to stay instead of going back to Kansas, and the show will end right there, a bit ambiguously, with Ted and Rebecca decidedly not together yet, but with the possibility of that "Ted, please, stay," meaning something more. I'm almost positive that's what's going to happen, because that sets up more seasons if they want to do them, but also lets them "off the hook" if more seasons don't happen, because the ending would be a classic one that audiences recognize as an "end" even in its ambiguity.

[fifteenleads]

A Life Well-Loved

Final Fantasy XVI | 1.6k words | Onehsot, complete. Dion Lesage & Harpocrates | Post-canon. Minor character death. Grief and mourning.

[AO3]

-

The service they held for Master Harpocrates was a celebration as much as it was a memorial. Many of the Hideaway’s former residents had returned to the town now called Windbloom to pay tribute to the great scholar and loresman who befriended all who came to visit the library and learn together with him. Various stories were shared, from the notable to the sentimental, even to the lighthearted and the hilarious, all underscored by great fondness, admiration, respect and love for one of their own.

Dion, too, shared his own tale to the large gathering, which was beset with various states of mourning. He sometimes envied them—ashamedly so—who had come to know his former tutor in the years following his untimely dismissal from the Imperial Court and subsequent banishment from Oriflamme. Dion remembered clearly the day his studies were unceremoniously ended by his father, followed by his immediate enlistment with the Holy Order of Dragoons that same week. It had been a jarring experience that left a hole in his young heart, one that grew with worry and festered with sadness, guilt and regret through the years.

It was with those same burdening feelings that Dion had ended up facing Harpocrates once more, at Ifrit’s insistence, before they departed for the final battle with Ultima. Back then, he could not—dared not—imagine what his tutor must have thought of him: a wayward student who threw away his lessons for the battlefield, becoming more and more steeped in the blood of his enemies until he became nothing but a mindless monster. The shame of it all had simply been too much for Dion’s broken heart to bear.

But then he had been given the most unexpected thing: with the single wild wyvern tail came an earnest desire to reconnect, to befriend and to support—all feelings Dion did not let himself accept. The memory brought a small pang of regret now; in hindsight, his main reason back then—to keep intact his own resolve to atone for his crimes and fulfill his duty—had been nothing but a cowardly excuse, one that both Harpocrates and Ifrit must have clearly seen through at once.

Then he had survived after it all. Lived to see the new Valisthea and helped rebuild his homeland. Learned to accept that death is no atonement and that here, at the helm of the new Sanbreque, was where he was meant to be, and how he ought to fulfill his duty. To this day, Dion still wondered whether he was indeed worthy of having this chance at a second life and realizing a new purpose in a new world; this was a concern he had shared with Harpocrates when they had met again, when he found himself unsure and close to a breaking point once more.

“You are not defined by your past alone, nor by your mistakes,” his tutor had gently advised once again. “Look into the eyes of your people and those whom you cherish, and within them you will find all the other good things, too—the things that matter most of all.” So Dion had dared to look into Harpocrates’ eyes, and saw himself, plain and clear and true.

He had finally accepted the wild wyvern tail this time, tears of relief streaming down his face as he held the bloom close to himself, along with everything it symbolized and everything that mattered most. It had been, in many ways, the salvation he needed all along.

“I am eternally grateful to Master Harpocrates, not only for his tutelage but also for his friendship, a sentiment I am certain everyone in this gathering shares. His life was well-lived and well-loved, and for this reason we celebrate him today and all the days to come,” Dion closed his speech then, finding a good number of wet eyes as he scanned the room. “May Greagor, in Her infinite mercy, grant his soul, and those of all the faithful departed, eternal rest and joy in Her loving embrace.”

“Amen,” the crowd murmured with bowed heads in response to the prayer. The moment of silence was followed by tearful applause as Dion stepped away from the front and rejoined Terence and Kihel in their seats. It was only after the next person had begun their speech that Dion finally let himself sob quietly, Kihel joining him while Terence gently rubbed both their shoulders in comfort and reassurance.

Later that night, Dion remained alone on the small hill overlooking the field of wild wyvern tails. Those same purple blooms also adorned the single headstone in front of him now, which bore the wise words of the great man buried underneath it. “I’m glad I was not too late,” Dion murmured both to himself and his tutor, his hand slowly tracing over the simple engraving with much fondness. Harpocrates had never cared for the lavish and luxurious, instead preferring the simple yet meaningful. “The finer things in life, Your Radiance,” he had joked over a half-filled goblet of red wine, the first from the fruits they had harvested from the new soil.

Heavy, quiet footsteps slowly approached, and Dion looked up to Ifrit— Clive, who shrugged at him with a smile before inviting himself to the space beside him. He brought with him a couple of filled wineskins from the town’s alehouse, one of which he wordlessly offered to Dion. He gratefully accepted it, meeting Clive’s eyes before they both nodded and drank together. “To Master Harpocrates,” Dion toasted.

“To Loresman Harpocrates,” Clive echoed. They both continued nursing their drinks at their own pace, taking advantage of the clear skies that night: it would not be long before the rainy season was upon them. For now, the moon and stars shone a faint light over the field of purple flowers, and the warm, gentle breeze carried its faint scent to where they sat.

“Your Radiance… Do you… still regret anything?” Clive broke the silence after a while, hesitant yet earnest with his question. Like everyone from the Hideaway, Clive also had the honor of having learned from Harpocrates, his extensive knowledge greatly contributing to his journey and eventual purpose to save Valisthea and usher in a new age where people lived on their own terms. In a way, maybe Clive also asked this of himself, especially after everything he had given and sacrificed, but Dion did not wish to learn his answer—not yet.

So he gave his own answer for now, rueful as it was: “Not directly, I would like to believe. I’ve set out to fulfill the great task before me—to atone for my sins, as it were, or die trying. But I lived, and I realized it wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. Every day became both a blessing and a curse. For a while, I felt lost through it all, but deep inside I did not want to give up—not after I have been given this second chance. Master Harpocrates had set me straight then.”

Clive hummed in agreement; he had an idea of Dion’s struggles from the letters penned to Joshua during those days. He and the Rosfield brothers somewhat shared the same sentiment as they worked to rebuild Rosaria from the ground up after formally regaining independence from Imperial occupation. Almost no one had held the sins of the past Sanbreque against Dion, instead openly coming together to work for the good of the new Valisthea and bring the realm towards its future. “So you finally accepted Loresman’s gift, then?”

“Yes. It blooms in a small field in the palace gardens, along with newer ones. Our daughter tends to them daily, along with the medicinal herbs she grows for her poultices.”

“That’s nice. She’s headed to Kanver for further studies soon, right? Tarja told me earlier.”

“In a few days, actually. It will be quieter back home.” Dion was wistful at the thought, already missing Kihel even though she was still back in their lodgings, probably catching up with Clive and Shiva’s—Jill’s—children. Terence would often tease him for his attachment, but they both knew who would be lonelier once Kihel actually left. At some point, Dion had begun to understand how a mother bird with an empty nest felt, and he realized that he mourned the passage of time as it slowly but surely crept on them, facial wrinkles and quieter homes alike.

Harpocrates’ passing was also the same: a stark reminder that they, too, were growing older, as various figures from their youth faded away one by one—even those whom they thought would live forever. “It felt as if a part of me also died with him,” Dion reflected, gazing at the headstone once more. “Master Harpocrates was more than a significant influence on me in my formative years, though I had sadly failed to realize it at that time. I only truly understood when he was already gone.

“I am glad he found himself in better company afterward, though I found myself a little jealous at times. I am certain he felt the same way towards everyone here, as I also have when I joined you after the end.” He finished the rest of his wine and stood up, Clive doing the same.

“Thank you, Clive,” Dion smiled, not missing the way Clive’s eyes slightly widened as he was finally called by his name. He extended his right hand for a handshake. “Master Harpocrates was truly blessed to have all of you by his side.”

“He’s proud of you, too,” Clive replied, returning the gesture. “Never forget that, Dion.”

And Dion let himself accept it, without regrets. “I know.”

[poligraf]

Zen and the Art of Mushroom Cultivation : An Inquiry into Morels

once, there was a guy named Gus. and although Gus was without a passion, Gus's head liked to think that Gus was a passionate guy. Gus's head also liked to think that it was bright. in fact, Gus's head just liked to think.

through apparently fortuitous circumstances, Gus was lonely most of the time. often, during that time, mostly because it just liked to think, Gus's head would think. and often, sadly, during that time, Gus's head would think that Gus was lonely most of the time. and often, sadly, mostly because it liked to think that Gus was a passionate guy, Gus's head would think that Gus was lonely most of the time, and do so with a passion. and, at those times, Gus's heart, which was infinitely wiser than Gus's head, and knew that Gus was never really alone, would thus prompt Gus to feel sad, and often, do so with a passion, so as to discourage Gus's head to keep on thinking those thoughts. but Gus's head, which all things considered was indeed bright, though not that bright, just kept on thinking those thoughts, mostly because it just liked to think. Gus's head also kept on thinking that it was bright.

Gus lived in a town where other people lived too. and the other people living in Gus's town liked to talk about Gus. in fact, the other people living in Gus's town just liked to talk. sometimes, some of them would even talk about the fact that, most of the time, most of them were passionate about talking.

through apparently fortuitous circumstances, when he was not around, which meant most of the time, sadly, and mostly because they just liked to talk, when the people would talk about Gus, they would refer to Gus as sad Gus. and often, during that time, sadly, the people would talk about how sad Gus was sad and lonely. sometimes, some of them would even talk about how, most of the time, sad Gus was sad and was without a passion. and as a consequence, sadly, most of the time, most of the other people living in Gus's town were not inclined to spend time with sad Gus.

once, through apparently fortuitous circumstances involving accidental food poisoning, Gus's head, mostly because it just liked to think, thought it would be a good idea to think more about mushrooms. and, mostly because it liked to think that Gus was a passionate guy, Gus's head thought it would be a good idea to think more about mushrooms, and do so with a passion. and, at that time, Gus's heart, which was infinitely wiser than Gus's head, and knew that what Gus really needed was to have some fun, some of the time, seized the moment and prompted Gus to feel passionate about the prospect of cultivating his own morels. Gus's head, which all things considered was indeed bright, though not that bright, just thought it just had had another good idea, mostly because it just liked to think. and, mostly because it liked to think that Gus was a passionate guy, Gus's head thought it would be a good idea for Gus to cultivate his own morels, and do so with a passion.

thus, Gus started cultivating his own morels. Gus's head quickly realized that Gus had great fun cultivating morels, and that Gus could do so with a passion. Gus's head also realized that by cultivating his own morels, Gus cultivated his own morale. and thus, often, happily, during that time, mostly because it just liked to think, Gus's head would think that it was a good idea for Gus to keep on cultivating his own morels. and thus, often, happily, mostly because it liked to think that Gus was a passionate guy, Gus's head thought it would be a good idea for Gus to keep on cultivating his own morels, and do so with a passion. and, at those times, Gus's heart, which was infinitely wiser than Gus's head, and knew that what Gus really needed was to have some fun, some of the time, would thus prompt Gus to feel happy, so as to encourage Gus's head to keep on thinking those thoughts. and thus Gus's head, which all things considered was indeed bright, though not that bright, just kept on thinking those thoughts, mostly because it just liked to think. Gus's head also kept on thinking that it was bright.

thus, through apparently fortuitous circumstances, happily, and mostly because they just liked to talk, when the other people living in Gus's town would talk about Gus, they would talk about his morels, and his morale, and refer to Gus as fun Gus. and often, during that time, happily, the people would talk about how fun Gus was fun and fun to be with. sometimes, some of them would even talk about how, most of the time, fun Gus was happy and was passionate about his morels. and as a consequence, happily, most of the time, most of the people living in Gus's town were inclined to spend time with fun Gus.

and thus, through apparently fortuitous circumstances, happily, most of the time, out of sad Gus's passionate feeling for growing fungus grows fun Gus with a passion.

and thus it is said that absence makes the heart grow fungus.

(well, it is mostly the other people living in Gus's town who like to say so. they also like to say that Gus's head thinks so too. sometimes, some of them even say that it possibly does so because it just likes to think, and do so with a passion. but you know them, they just like to talk. in fact, if that saying actually holds true, it must only do so in Gus's heart, as only hearts can hold truth.)

§

[picture credit : Morchella esculentoides by Christine Braaten (wintersbefore)]

§

[outsidism]

A travel to the core

It's been five days since I did the shrooms. I had heard many good things about it before, but honestly, I'm not so sure why I actually decided to do it. I've had an interest for drugs ever since I felt mental pain, I've always looked for an out, from the world, from reality, not just because I'm a loser, but also because I like weird, I like extraordinary, what's life without a journey? Just an obligation.

Indeed, it was an extraordinary journey of course, it didn't disappoint, and funny thing is, that's exactly how I went down the rabithole, wondering if it's gonna disappoint, wondering if anything is gonna change, I was secretly begging to lose my mind, to finally get rid of logic and reasoning, at least for a while, little did I know, that was the rabithole itself. Don't get me wrong though, it was beautiful, it was truely beautiful, and I hate it that I can't show people that. I didn't realize at the moment, but I was fighting the journey, I desperately wanted to get out and enter reality, I'm not sure but I guess it was because my settings weren't good, I was cold and that was very annoying. The most amazing thing though, was that I could take any part of my mind and bring it into the surface, mix it with reality itself, it came to me half way through, and it really felt like I have a superpower, but one that I couldn't possibly control, I went from one idea to another memory, from one memory to another feeling, it was a mess, but a beautiful one.

Amoung everything, there was one vision, one vision that I can't stop thinking about, it felt like the most fundamental thing about me, it was the last layer of the onion, it was the core of my existence, and it was sad, infinitely sad, it was the source of sadness itself, if I were to describe it in a few words, it was weakness and pain mixed together, and it was shaped like my mom's screams. I'm not sure how I'm exactly supposed to process or interpret that information, but one thing is for sure, it was pain, and pain is meant to be learned from and left behind.

There were also some funny experiences that don't seem important enough to spend much time talking about, but maybe worth mentioning. I had those experiences mostly at the end of the journey, before that, I was mostly laying down, it felt exactly like a seizure. My eyes were super sharp, I could see very small things very clearly, measurement of things were different, I saw bottles of drinks and cigarettes longer than they were, my hands were short, my feet looked like animal feet, I also felt like I'm controlling my body like a first person video game. It was an interesting experience.

It's been five days since the experience. I've heard that the brain will be altered, probably for good. I feel some changes in me that I'm honestly not sure if are effects of the experience, it's not life changing changes, but nevertheless good ones. I feel slightly less anxious and I seem to get out of depressing thoughts and feelings more easily, they say it resets your brain, I wonder if that's true. Whatever the case, I am willing to do it again, I most likely will. I do it because I want to change my brain and I know it's not possible without the use of such drugs. People tend to pretend it is, but they are mistaken. If you can change something merely by using it, are you sure it wasn't already there?

[bhagvadgita]

Verse 10.41 - Vibhuti Yoga

यद्यद्विभूतिमत्सत्त्वं श्रीमदूर्जितमेव वा ।

तत्तदेवावगच्छ त्वं मम तेजोऽशसम्भवम् ॥ ४१ ॥

yad yad vibhūtimat sattvaṁ śrīmad ūrjitam eva vā

tat tad evāvagaccha tvaṁ mama tejo ’nśa-sambhavam

Whatever being is glorious, prosperous or powerful, you should understand that to be born of a fraction of My splendor.

- In this verse, the Lord declares that He is the source of all opulence, beauty and glory in the world. He says that whatever we see as magnificent, attractive or influential, is nothing but a spark of His infinite splendor. He wants us to recognize His presence and supremacy in all His wonderful manifestations.

- This verse also implies that we should not be attached or deluded by the worldly splendor, which is temporary and illusory. We should not be proud or envious of our own or others' achievements, which are dependent on the grace of God. We should not forget our true identity as the eternal souls, who are parts and parcels of God, and who are meant to serve and love Him.

- This verse also inspires us to appreciate and worship God's splendor in all His creation. We should not be indifferent or hostile to anyone or anything, but see them as expressions of God's energy. We should cultivate a vision of unity and harmony, and offer our gratitude and devotion to God, who is the origin and sustainer of everything.

Some similar verses from other Vedic texts are:

- Īśopaniṣad Verse 6:

यस्मात् सर्वाणि भूतानि आत्मन्येवानुपश्यति ।

सर्वभूतेषु चात्मानं ततो न विजुघुप्सते ॥

yasmat sarvāṇi bhūtāni ātmanyevānupaśyati

sarvabhūteṣu cātmānaṁ tato na vijugupsate

He who sees all beings in the Self, and the Self in all beings, he never hates anyone.

- Ṛgveda 1.164.46:

एकं सद् विप्रा बहुधा वदन्ति ।

ekaṁ sad viprā bahudhā vadanti

The Truth is one, but the wise call it by many names.

- Chāndogya Upaniṣad 3.14.1:

सर्वं खल्विदं ब्रह्म ।

sarvaṁ khalvidam brahma

All this is indeed Brahman (the Supreme Spirit).

[cloudyskywars]

Old Ghosts

Written for @febuwhump Day 11: Hallucinations. Welcome to Day 11, where I do my best to make you cry with Obi-Wan feels! Featuring sadness with Anakin, Ahskoa, AND Satine! The whole gang is here for this one, folks! TW: There’s like once sentence where there’s a description of a dead body. It is brief, but it is there, so yeah. Enjoy!

Obi-Wan moved through the kitchen, placing a kettle on the stove. When the water began to boil, he poured it into his cup with well practiced movements. Anakin emerged a few moments later.

“Morning, Obi-Wan. What’s the plan for today?” he asked, sitting across from him at the table. Obi-Wan didn’t respond. 

Anakin waved his hand in front of his face. “Hello, anyone home?” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t move from their focus point across the room. “Are you mad at me or something? What did I do this time? I swear I didn’t mess with your tea stash.” Anakin leaned back and put on his best pouting face, that worked much better when he was 9 then when he was a grown man. “Fine. If you won’t talk to me, I guess I’ll just sit here until you do. You’re supposed to talk to your friends Obi-Wan. Aren’t we friends?” 

Obi wan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Go away,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. But it was loud enough, for when he glanced up, Anakin’s form blew away with the wind. 

_____________________________________________________________

Obi-Wan stood up from his hunched position over the vaporator, and wiped the sweat from his brow. This repair was taking much longer than he had anticipated, and the sweltering heat of Tatooine’s suns were only making things slower.

“Need some help there, Obi-Wan?” he closed his eyes and didn’t turn around, knowing what he’d see. He’d see a young Togruta, smiling her toothy grin at him, head tilted just like Anakin did. Wordlessly, he kept working. She was persistent though, and walked around to where he was forced to see her face.

“C’mon, Master. I’m better at this stuff than you are, let me help.” He finally looked up at her. She looked exactly as she did when he last saw her, which he knew was impossible. Her lekku had lengthened, and her montrals were beginning to reach towards the sky. The markings on her face had elongated, and she lacked the childlike air about her that she had when they first met. 

In his heart, he knew there was no chance that she still appeared this way. Her body was probably lying somewhere, filled with blaster holes and decaying without a proper burial. Not real, he told himself. She’s not here anymore. When he continued to ignore her, she sat down next to him and stared at the vaporator’s inner parts.

Ahsoka tilted her head in thought. “Really, Obi-Wan, you’re making this harder than it needs to be. Just move this wire here-” she motioned with her hand. “-and connect it to this plug here. You’re overthinking it.” Taking a closer look, he realized that she was right. He made the correction without acknowledging her, and she huffed.

“Well, maybe after you stop being such a nerfherder, we can spar a bit. It’s been too long since we’ve had the chance to.” This is too much. They hadn’t sparred for ages, not since before she left the Order. And they’d never get the chance to again. Obi-Wan stood up and fled towards his hut, leaving the still-broken vaporator and impossible dreams behind him. 

______________________________________________________________

His hood fell from his shoulders as he walked, but he didn’t bother replacing it. The night air was cool, a pleasant contrast to the burning heat throughout the day. He glanced at the stars.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a melodic voice said next to him. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let out a breath. Not her, too, he thought. But indeed, when he turned his head, he saw Satine walking next to him, head tilted up at the sky.

“Do you remember when we used to do this, Obi-Wan? It seems so long ago, now.” Yes, yes it does, he agreed silently. She looked at him, and gave him that smile that enamored him so long ago. “We used to dance, too,” she said. Obi-wan couldn’t bring himself to look away from her face. He missed her, so much. A traitorous tear slipped down his cheek. “Oh, Obi,” she said, moving closer. “What’s the matter?” 

Her hand came up to his cheek, but it wasn’t truly there. It was nothing more than a featherlight touch, a cruel whisper of what should have been. 

“Would you like to dance, Obi-Wan?” she asked. He simply stared in her eyes, enjoying the illusion while it lasted. Satine removed her hand from his cheek, instead holding it out in invitation for him to take. HE shouldn’t. He shouldn’t give into this fantasy, but oh how he wished to. Just once, Obi-Wan thought. I will allow myself to dream, just this once. He slowly extended his hand, reaching to take hers. 

But as soon as he touched her hand, Satine’s form vanished and his hand grasped at nothing. His hand fell to his side, and he felt his knees hit the ground. 

His cries were the only sound for miles across the desert wasteland. 

[ihathbenobiwankenobied]

Yes, Obi-Wan is meant for infinite sadness indeed. Confirmed by the most agonizing three minutes of television ever produced where Obi-Wan realizes his brother is truly, tragically, gone forever. 

[themetalvirus]

(I might have asked this before. If I have, I’m sorry) What would Amy be like if she was also one of the Egghogs? (ALSO I LOVE YOUR AU SO MUCH AAA)

i have another ask abt this from a different person as well!!!! its a cool idea and ive also considered why she ISNT one in egghog canon (ALSO THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I APPRECIATE IT SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

amy isn't part of the Dysfunctional Robotnik Family in egghogs because she doesn't have an inherent connection to chaos energy, so eggman couldn't find or take interest in her at a young enough age to be viable for lifelong brainwashing. even if he did, he wouldn't consider her "worth it" as a baby because she's just. some baby

PIKO PIKO HAMMER TANGENT ZONE

she DOES still have the power to summon infinite hammers, but that's a different thing that i am choosing to not look too deep into because it's funny that she can just kind of do that.

also, the piko piko hammers she creates from hammerspace are different from the one she primarily uses! she can indeed summon infinite hammers, but she can't recall them back into her hands after they've been thrown, and they poof away if they leave her touch for too long. the piko piko hammer that tails built for her has a recall mechanism and also is a permanent object in the world instead of a cartoon construct!

her infinite hammers are also more prone to breaking and are more delicate, considering their tendency to poof away. they're also MUCH weaker to silver's tactic of just. grabbing her hammer with his powers and throwing it into orbit.

PIKO PIKO HAMMER TANGENT ZONE

ANYWAY. when egghog sonic first meets amy, she's smashing badniks with her hammer; he takes her RIGHT to eggman to ask what he should do about this. eggman looks at her and seriously considers if it'd be worth it to take on another child (her strength could be an asset), but she proceeds to yell at him for destroying a village and calls him a meanie. so it wasn't meant to be

if she was taken in anyway, i think her sibling dynamic with the boys would be Extremely Funny. just because they'd constantly wrestle and smack the shit out of each other and she'd be like 10x more angry. she's already a powder keg of rage just waiting to go off so if she was as poorly adjusted as the rest of the egghogs she'd be a unique kind of fucking menace to society

she also would have been old enough when taken away to comprehend that she could have had a Non-Eggman Life and would be Extremely Bitter about this, especially because her brothers think she's crazy for being bitter about it. basically she would constantly have stress migraines and it wouldnt be a good time for anyone involved.

thats all ive got because making AUs of an AU makes me confused and kind of takes away my focus from the actual main story, but if anyone feels like taking egghog amy and running then feel free because i think itd be fucking awesome and also funny and sad. and funny

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

This is a Grissom-centric GSR song gifset. This needs a lot of explanation, and I have done that, but it's very long-winded, so it's all after Keep Reading

To start with, the song is No I Will Not by Blacklite District

Overall, the song is about how someone has to work very hard, and he's very good at what he does and doesn't want to stop; it's just that so much work means he can spend less time with his loved ones, who feel the drag. But the person promises that he will make time for them, and soon.

The words are not meant for one particular period on the GSR timeline (except that they are pre-CSI Vegas); rather, the scenes I chose are just examples of instances that suit the particular line, and indeed, instances that are repeated throughout the series, because the journey of GSR is rocky but in the same ways like that.

The context of the first gif is awry, since it has nothing to do with Sara. I intended for it to be paired with the second gif, because it is that rollercoaster ride that "got [him] thinking oh so clearly". As for the rest, we'll go through them by breaking the lines down:

"It was never enough, the view from above, got me thinking oh so clearly but I still put on the gloves" -> Sara has expressed clearly what she wants from Gil, and he has the space and opportunity to take her words into consideration, but he ultimately always chose to "put on the gloves" and stay ever committed to his work. (A fun bonus is that putting on gloves to work can be applied to CSIs in the most literal sense.)

"And that's a far cry, from what we thought being innocent when you consider all the blood we spent" -> Okay, this one is more difficult to explain. I guess I should begin from the common starting point we all have: the gif (the contrast of which would be my own thinking which no one but I am privy to, making it infinitely more unexplainable). Rain-soaked sad boi (to quote @addictedtostorytelling ) hanging his head and looking like he found out his father passed away all over again is one visual representation of all the regret a CSI* can feel picking through case after case, wading through the lives of the deceased and the people who knew them; that certainly takes a toll on them.

* In the context of the work affecting relationships, Gil is the CSI who is it the hardest. While it is true that the work impedes the other CSIs from having relationships, it is worse to have had one only for it to be taken away. And one particular point on "And that's a far cry, from what we thought being innocent" is that...'innocent' here can refer to something being harmless and non-consequential; Gil thought that it was okay for him to keep up whatever he was doing with Sara, but he turned out to be utmostly wrong.

"It was another time, it was another place, it was another mistake by the look on your face. I see the look on your face" -> This is basically a mash-up of what I say here [The words are not meant for one particular period on the GSR timeline (except that they are pre-CSI Vegas); rather, the scenes I chose are just examples of instances that suit the particular line, and indeed, instances that are repeated throughout the series, because the journey of GSR is rocky but in the same ways like that] and here [it's just that so much work means he can spend less time with his loved ones, who feel the drag.]

I don't think I need to explain the rest, only, "You'll see" -> I chose that scene because that is when Gil (silently) promises that she will have his unyielding care and support, no matter what. It fits with 'you'll see' because that's something he has always wanted to prove to Sara, and now he is going to.

So yeah, that's it for the gif explanations! I hope it makes sense, and if it doesn't, tell me, and um, I will try to make myself more articulate 😅

[ladydaemon]

LETTERS

kaz brekker x female! reader

A/N: Is this really short? Yes. Is it really cringey? Yes. Did I cry when writing it anyway? Absolutely.

Summary: Kaz rereads an old letter from an old friend

Warnings: mentions of former childhood abuse (and a butt-ton of ✨ sadness ✨) ? wow I don't think I swore in this.

Kaz,

This is my last letter to you.

I do not know if you and Jordie are even alive anymore. Maybe you are alive, but no one can find you, and the postman has simply been dumping my letters in the harbor. It's plausible, I suppose. Somehow I doubt it, which means I am writing to a memory. I find I don't care all that much, because writing to someone that will never read what you are writing seems infinitely easier than writing to someone who can. Because ghosts can't really judge you, can they? Otherwise they wouldn't be ghosts.

I'm getting off topic. Forgive me.

This is my last letter to you, because I'm tired of trying. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. If you are actually alive and you can read this, you probably don't care much, given that you haven't replied to five years' worth of ramblings.

Oh, this sounded much better in my head - I hadn't meant it to sound so accusing. Perhaps there's good reason for your… absence.

Back to my point (my, I love rambling, don't I? I remember you and Jordie teasing me about it).

This is my last letter to you, so I suppose it should be filled with heartfelt farewell.

Though I really don't know what I'm supposed to say. You're probably much different than how I remember you - why, tomorrow is your birthday, isn't it? You'll be turning fifteen (and to think I'd almost forgotten!). Six years since I've last seen you.

You know I've always been sentimental, so I'm going to list all things I remember of nine-year-old Kaz. I wonder how much you've changed.

I remember hair that never stayed in place. Eyes that twinkled mischievously whenever you plotted some elaborate prank. I think I remember you loving pumpkin pie. I definitely remember you standing up to my father defiantly when he had hit me. After that, your family had taken me in. I remember being scared, and confused when no one yelled at me or hit me when I did something wrong - I was so used to my father's cruelty, that I hadn't realized it wasn't normal.

He's dead now, though, so it doesn't do me any good to think about him anymore, does it?

I remember trying to learn Zemeni, giggling when we misgendered the nouns, taking sips of hot cocoa to reward ourselves when we got a sentence right (why were we trying to learn, again? I forgot, and for some reason, the realization saddens me). I remember eating cherries while we climbed on the roof of the barn and watched the sunset in the summer. When we were seven, you got to carve the turkey on Ghezen's Day - your smile that day I don't think I could forget if I tried.

I remember quite a bit, and yet so little, and I'm beginning to realize that I miss you dearly, and by saying goodbye to you in a letter I'll never get a response for seems like giving up on you and Jordie.

I've been writing these letters for so long now, yet I never tire of it, and I think I know why (though maybe not - my emotions are everywhere). At first, I think they were a coping mechanism, trying to deal with everyone around me dying, but I think now that they were a subconscious plea.

To come home.

I know that you've probably forgotten about me, and if you haven't, you're probably trying to, but there's no harm in asking, right? Kaz (Jordie, if you're reading this), I want you to come home - I don't care if you don't talk to me, or you hate me, or you destroy everything I own. I don't care if you come and then leave the next morning, because it's been so long that I've begun to think you were just a figment of my imagination. I don't care if you come back and you don't recognize me, or I don't recognize you.

I just want you to come home.

Oh, who am I kidding. You won't, if you haven't already. I suppose it's one last plea, a desperate last attempt.

Goodbye, Kaz Rietveld (and Jordie, if you're reading this!).

This is my last letter to you.

Oh, how dearly I miss you.

Your former friend,

Y/N L/N

~

Kaz ran his fingers over the worn edges of the letter, dated two years ago. It was beginning to fade, the cheap ink smudging where Y/N had crossed out lines that were barely legible. Coffee stains and frayed, torn edges showed how many times that letter was read, from the first time it had arrived to now.

He had that letter memorized - he could recite it forwards and backwards and in his sleep.

If you are actually alive and you can read this, you probably don't care much, given that you haven't replied to five years' worth of ramblings.

He had every letter she had written him, ever since he had heard the postman complaining about delivering letters from a poor girl to a nonexistent boy. Such things weren't entirely uncommon, but Kaz had been bored and he had inquired as to the name of the nonexistent boy. Afterwards, he had received all her letters, read them, but never replied to Y/N, could never bring himself to.

You're probably much different than how I remember you.

Maybe that was part of the reason he never wrote a letter of his own - because he wanted her to remember him as human, as something with a soul and a heart and a family. Not a monster, with a body count and a limp and a façade of stone and steel.

I think I remember you loving pumpkin pie.

He had loved pumpkin pie, once. His mother had made it for them. But that was when he still had a mother.

He's dead now, though.

Kaz couldn't say he was sorry to hear it - even now, he hated the man with a fierce passion, rivaling that of his hate for Pekka Rollins. He remembered finding out what he had been doing to Y/N, and his tiny chest had filled with white-hot, pulsing rage.

Why were we trying to learn, again? I forgot.

Kaz's father had been trying to haggle with a Zemeni trader one night, but couldn't speak the language. He and Y/N had vowed to learn the language, a promise that had lasted exactly three days before they had realized just how hard it was to learn a new language.

When we were seven, you got to carve the turkey on Ghezen's Day - your smile that day I don't think I could forget if I tried.

It was strange indeed, how similar yet different that same memory was for him - he remembered that night because of how happy she had looked. It had been her first Ghezen's Day without her father, and she had later described the day as magical.

I just want you to come home.

She didn't really, Kaz knew with certainty. She wanted Kaz Rietveld, not Kaz Brekker, and Kaz Rietveld was dead. Y/N wanted the boy who drowned in the harbor with his brother.

[that-house]

Viego Rant (villainy and character design and tragedy and all that jazz)

Introduction The more I think about Viego, League of Legends’ newest character, the more enamored I am with him as a villain (unrelated to his general sexiness, though that does tie in with what makes him such a good villain).

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about his design. The Ruined King, one of the greatest threats in Runeterra, the progenitor of the Shadow Isles, the lord of the undead, is finally released as a playable champion and he looks like this:

People were expecting another Mordekaiser (who is similarly an undead king with a ghost army), a lich-tyrant clad in iron, decayed flesh peeling from an aged face. What we got was an angsty anime prettyboy, and it was infinitely better than the alternatives. 

Lore Viego isn’t a conquering king. While his combat abilities are indeed badass, his personality is far from it. He’s a whiny brat and that’s incredible. He isn’t bent on world domination. His character arc revolves around just how human, how fallible he really is. For those unfamiliar with his lore, I’ll paraphrase it here:

Viego was the second son of a great king. Overshadowed by his brother and with no expectations upon him and near-limitless wealth, he wandered around being an idiot fuckboy for the vast majority of his formative years. Disaster struck when his brother died in an accident, and Viego took the throne with no training, no experience, and no desire to be king. He was a shitty king. The worst king. Just all-around apathetic. Gave zero shits. Can you blame him? It’s a lot of responsibility to be thrust upon someone who isn’t much more than a child, and with no preparation. He didn’t care about anything, that is, until he met Isolde. She was a poor seamstress, but he fell in love with her upon their first meeting. Together they ruled the country but it was really just them staring longingly into each others’ eyes. His allies were kinda fucking pissed about that, and one day an assassin came from Viego. The assassin fucked up and stabbed Isolde instead, and the poison on the blade made her fall gravely ill. As she lay in her bed, slowly dying, Viego went mad seeking a cure. He ravaged the land seeking any knowledge that might help, pouring all of his money into finding an antidote. He failed. As a last resort, he brought Isolde’s body to the Blessed Isles, a place rumored to be able to resurrect the dead. It worked, to an extent. Isolde’s wraith, confused, afraid, and angry at being ripped from the peace of death, unthinkingly stabbed Viego in the chest with his own magic sword, creating basically a magic nuke that turned the Blessed Isles into the domain of the undead. Viego resurrected as the king of the Shadow Isles some time later, having totally forgotten that Isolde killed him. He controls a big-ass ghost army, could probably beat up any living thing in a fight, and has evil ghost magic. Now this stupid simp wants his wife back and if he has to kill every living thing on Runeterra, well, anything for his queen. He’s even a tier 3 sub to her Twitch.

Music His musical theme isn’t some heavy metal anthem or intense cinematic piece (unlike the Pentakill song named after his sword, Blade of the Ruined King). It’s mostly sad and slow, almost sinister, with a piano and a music box. It has its loud moments featuring violins and choral bits like any villainous music, but the song is mostly subtle. It is a banger though.

In the comments section of this video, someone pointed out that the music reflects his story from beginning to end:

Everything about this champion is so well done. Riot Games really outdid themselves on this one. Bravo, encore please.

Motivation While the Mordekaiser circlejerkers on r/LeagueofLegends won’t shut the fuck up about how powerful Mordekaiser is, Viego is the better villain. Mordekaiser may be a bigger threat to all life on Runeterra, but Viego is a better character. (There’s a guy on my League discord server who won’t shut up about Mordekaiser so forgive me for being pissed at Morde stans).

Mordekaiser is motivated by a desire for control, to rule the world. Viego is motivated by obsession and misplaced love. There aren’t a lot of Mordekaisers on Earth. Supervillains are rare in real life. But Viego’s motivations are a lot closer to home. People in positions of power that they don’t deserve can do a lot of harm (for example: Trump).

He’s a grieving husband who was never prepared to deal with anything more difficult than choosing what wine to drink with dinner, who is trying to get his wife back because the world had always complied to his every whim. He’s a funky mix between a truly hopeless romantic and a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum.

Obsession is scary. It’s a real-world emotional state that’s been the cause of a lot of murders over mankind’s history. In contrast, Mordekaiser’s cartoonish Genghis Khan XXL schtick isn’t something that we encounter often. Of course a superpowered ultradictator would be worse for the world, but if you give ultimate power to a random person, you’re more likely to get someone like Tighten from Megamind. Or, more relevantly, Viego.

Design His design is sexy and stupid, just like him. He wears an open shirt into battle and wields his sword like an idiot (I’ve seen all the rants about how that’s not how that sword is meant to be used) because he was never really a warrior. Even at his most violent, right before the end of his mortal life, he didn’t do much combat himself, leaving his military endeavors to his underlings. Even now that he’s essentially a god, he still has a colossal wraith army that causes far more devastation than he ever could personally.

Despite his slim build (by League of Legends standards), he easily wields his colossal sword because of the strength of his state of undeath. Like his political power when he was alive, his posthumous magical and physical powers were never something he sought out, they were just given to him by circumstance.

The big cool-ass triangle hole in his chest where Isolde stabbed him is the source of the Black Mist, which is evil ghost mist that ebbs and flows from the Shadow Isles, bringing with it hordes of the undead. The sadder Viego is, the more Mist he creates. Poetically, his invasion of the world is inspired by his sorrow at his wife’s death and enabled by his wife’s reluctance to return to him. His story is perfectly reflected by his design.

Isolde Isolde’s spirit took up residence inside a young Senna (who’s another League champion, not particularly important here). This led to some Black Mist-related shenanigans and at least for the time being, Senna uses Isolde’s power to fight off the servants of Viego which threaten all life on Runeterra.

It seems pretty clear that whatever love Isolde felt for Viego is gone by now. Whether or not she ever loved him or was just unable to say no to the king is up for debate, but I’d like to believe there was something there. In my opinion, Viego’s story hits harder if they really were a great couple at first, torn apart by circumstance and obsession.

Much like the Maiden of the Woods in that one comic that circulates around here, to whom the knight gave his heart and she was like “yo what the fuck i literally never asked you to do this,” Viego went a little too far in trying to save her. They may have once been happy, but the Ruined King ruined his own life, too.

Unless Isolde is a lot less morally decent than we’ve been led to believe, I doubt she can forgive all the massacring that her husband’s been doing lately. In the recent cinematic, she was shown to be pretty anti-Viego. Maybe she’ll get a bastardization arc, but it certainly seems unlikely.

All of Season 2021 is based around Viego, Isolde, and the Shadow Isles, so we’ll just have to see what comes next. It’s possible that we’ll get Isolde as a playable champion, which should clear a lot of things up.

Final Thoughts Unlike so many villains, he’s not fueled by rage or hatred, but rather by sorrow. He’s stuck in his past, unable to move on. He regrets the actions of his life but is set on his course now. The sunk-cost fallacy comes into play here; he’s put so much time and effort and blood into bringing back Isolde, that turning away from it would feel to him like an insult, not only to her but to the innocent lives he’s taken in her name.

His tale is a tragedy, a love story gone horrifically wrong. Viego has suffered throughout his thousand-year life. Despite this, he’s undoubtedly the villain. His permanent death would be a net positive for the world. In has rage and grief he’s destroyed multiple civilizations, and will burn down the world to get Isolde back.

His heart may be in the wrong place, but it’s in a very human place. I don’t think he’ll get the ending he’s looking for, but I hope he finds some closure in the end.

[moodys-art]

Hi there! Could you write for the Crusaders where they're helping a very tired reader to bed, but then in their really tired state, reader kisses them goodnight and says I love you without even realizing it 🥺

Hellooo ! I’m so sorry for the delay, it’s been a long time since you requested it. But I hope you’re still here to read it, anon :)And I also hope you have a good day 💗💫

Summary : after you and the crusaders had defeated yet another stand user, Joseph had agreed with the whole team to rent hotel rooms for the night. You all had an incredibly difficult day. You, for example, had pursued Mariah through an infinite number of streets and finished to the ground, your energy completely sold out due to the nature of her stand. Trying to go against the magnetic current had been, indeed, very exhausting. You were now having dinner with the crusaders in the hotel’s restaurant, and you couldn’t help but bow your head to the side, nearly drowsing. Someone next to you noticed it.

Under the cut !

Jotaro

“Oi y/n, you’re falling asleep on me. Cut it.”

Seeing you still leaning to his side, he let out a sigh and tipped his hat, embarassed. You had just finished your plate, so he guessed now was really the perfect time to put you to bed.

“Come on now.” With an understanding nod to the other crusaders, he carried you towards the stairs, an arm wrapped around your shoulders. And...Oh, now, you wouldn’t lift your feet just a bit to go to the second floor ? What an annoyance.

As he took you in his arms, you fell asleep against his chest for a moment. You mumbled something and your lips seemed to touch his cheek, as if you were giving him a kiss.

“Oi, I’m talking to you ! What was that about ?”

“What?” you said, still confused. Jotaro just dropped you off on your bed. That’s when it slipped out of your mouth. It was nothing but a whisper, but the two of you heard it resonate in the air very clearly. “I love you, Jojo.”

Your brain couldn’t quite process it. In a fog, you saw Jotaro place a hand on your shoudler and mumble, his tipped hat failing to cover his dark red cheeks. “You’re tired, y/n. But...thank you.” He took off his coat and draped you in it. You were happily overwhelmed by the scent of his minty shampoo and a lingering smell of sweat and tobacco.

Before closing the door, he told you : “Don’t tire yourself like that, next time. I don’t want you to pass out again. Here, sleep, now. And I...we’ll have a talk tomorrow.”

Kakyoin

“Hm, y/n, is everything okay ?”

Oh, you were just, so, so tired. Kakyoin agreed to accompany you to your room. After you gave your agreement, the red-haired boy put a hand on your lower back to help stabilize you.

“Hep, don’t fall off the stairs. There you go. We’re almost here.”

“Kakyoin ? Can I tell you something ? It’s a secret of mine.”

“Of course, y/n. But if it’s a secret, are you really sure about that ?”

You just nodded and whispered : “I love you, Kak. I really do.” You were so tired that you didn’t quite notice the huge blush on Kakyoin’s face, nor the look of utter shock on his face, like he’d just saw an angel. Silence fell in between the two of you, and before you got into bed, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“For you.”

“Uh--th-thanks” he stuttered. Almost shaking in shock, he just leaned over you and gave you a really soft kiss on your forehead. “Sleep well.”

Kakyoin will actually wait until next morning to talk to you about what happened, and if you don’t remember, he’ll be a bit sad. But soon enough, he’ll confess to you.

Avdol

“Y/n ? You seem exhausted. There, let’s get you to sleep.”

Avdol slipped an arm around your shoulders and helped you get to your room, keeping you safe and warm.

Everything was hazy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from yawning. Far in the distance, you heard the Avdol’s warm laugh. Ah, you just felt really safe with him. When he helped you get on the bed, you stopped him.

“Avdol ? I love you.”

He was just confused. He smiled at your cuteness, thinking that what made you say that was probably nothing but sheer exhaustion.” But as he was kneeled beside your bed, you propped up on your elbows and kissed his temple.

“What-?” Avdol was so overwhelmed with happiness that he couldn't really answer.

When you asked him if he could stay with you in a pouty tone, he couldn't resist.

“Come, let’s make you some place. Pleeaaase ? Aren't you sleepy too? ”

He agreed and lied down beside you, embracing you in a strong, yet soft hold. “You're cold, aren't you ?” Like Jotaro, he draped you in his coat. You even got some good head pats while your eyes fluttered and you drifted off to sleep.

Polnareff

“Ah, sweetheart, you have to sleep! How can you sit still and not fall on your plate, so exhausted that you are?? Come with me!"

Tha way to your room was short but Polnareff couldn’t stop himself from talking to you. You were so tired that all you could hear was an uninterrupted buzzing of sounds. “Blah blah blah blah blah blah sweetheart blah blah love blah blah to sleep blah blah blah don’t worry blah blah blah dear princess blah blah...”. You smiled weakly. Yes, it was the very cheerful Polnareff.

He did all he could do to get you as cozy as possible, including stealing some pillows from the others rooms. As nights were usually cold around here, he placed the blankets up to your chin.

When you told him to come closer, he did so, and you gave him a warm kiss on the cheek, whispering how much he meant to you. Eventually, he leaned and kissed you back on your cheek.

Polnareff didn’t get much sleep that night, too occupied to dream about what you did a while ago. He was struck with happiness, his head was filled with thoughts of you and your cuteness, and all we wanted to do now, was to marry you.

Unfortunately for our emo lord Jotaro, Polnareff will be all loud, lovey-dovey and flirty with you the next day, and a kiss or something romantic may occur between you two.

[activelytaemin]

growing pains [lee taemin]

◇ lee taemin x fem! reader

angst-ish? | college!au | non-idol!au

warnings: mature language, unedited

2.0k April 8th, 2021

everything written in this story is completely FICTION. i personally do not believe that this story aligns with any of the idol’s real lives. ultimately, this story is not meant to intentionally defame any idol in any way.   

chapter one [congratulations, but not really]

Dear {Y/N},

Congratulations! I am pleased to offer you admission to the University of California, Riverside for fall 2021.

the golden word congratulations lit up y/n’s eyes as she screamed falling into her brother’s arms.  tears emerged from her eyes realizing that she would finally leave the colorful city of busan for the sunny shores of california; this was a cultural reset that guaranteed her an infinite amount of memories to come.  

“i did it! jimin, i studied so hard”, she sobbed, grasping onto his slim frame.  “it feels worth it like—“, she paused to wipe her tears with her sleeves, “all my late nights, immense sacrifices, and good grades have made this worth it.”  

jimin rolled his eyes playfully and lightly pushing her off of him. “yeah, of course you made it in”, he scoffed jokingly, “we’re a family geniuses. you weren’t raised to be a dumbass.” he ruffled her hair before y/n grabbed his wrist.  

“i guess that’s why both of my brothers are stuck here—“, y/n held his hand lovingly before sarcastically stabbing his back, “especially the one named park jimin, he didn’t get accepted into any ivy’s or safety’s. now he’s stuck going to an online university.” she released his hand before smiling to truly appreciate him, “but all jokes aside, i couldn’t have done this without you.”

her mind wandered to the thought of sunny california. the excitement built up in her like air filling a balloon. there were nerves trapped within because this sense of curiosity and control was foreign.

would there be snow? 

what types of people would there be? 

how perfect does my english have to sound?

there were several wonders because south korea was engrained to her memory.  for the past eighteen years, korea was her home. there would be no more hanboks on seoullal, honorifics for friends, and (most importantly) her beloved family.  without her family, she wanted to venture on the outside on her own. yet, there would always be a yearn for the feeling of home. the universe finally served her freedom on a platter. she could finally leave the nest to fly.

was she ready for it?

“y/n, don’t forget that you won’t be alone. taemin goes to riverside too”, jimin’s loud mouth interrupted y/n’s thoughts.  soon enough, all her freedom had crashed and burned. she was caged once again. 

her imagination was left to torment her. when she heard his name, a roaring fire lit up within her because of her discomfort; the fire will never go out.

scars can heal, but y/n’s are deep as ever.  like an evergreen, scars can everlasting.

“taemin—i thought he was in new york?”, she questioned with a sense of worry. “i haven’t seen him since he graduated, and i don’t really like him at all. are you guys still friends? ”, an awkward laugh slipped out. she was quite uncomfortable at the mention of taemin, and her confession proved it all.

there was something about taemin that irked her soul. whether it was the memory of his being or thought of him physically, taemin would forever be an uncomfortable and undesirable person to talk about.

she remembers the day taemin walked in and out of her life.  

it seemed so sudden.

he never wanted to cause pain, but he left her with the sharpness of his trauma.  whatever was rooted in his cruel being had isolated her from her well being.

it was one thing for taemin to make y/n happy in secrecy. however, y/n had to suffer in secrecy once taemin had walked out because nobody knew the depth of her adoration for him.

jimin groaned before taking a deep breath to keep his composure. “one, taemin has been my best friend since 2015. two, he had to transfer because he had a change of mind—”, he let out a brief laugh, “well, that’s what he says—and three, it’s him or mom watching you.” 

he was taken aback by her dislike for his friend.  in his mind, he believed that y/n would be quite fond of a familiar face.  however, he let it go believing it was just another “girl problem.”

little did he know, taemin was a disaster that filled y/n’’s life with hundreds problems. 

jay-z once said, “i got 99 problems, but a bitch ain’t one.” for y/n, taemin was the 99 problems and she was “the bitch.”

the seriousness in jimin’s tone was irritating to y/n, almost strangle-worthy. he doesn’t understand her dislike for him. in fact, he has a “bromance” with taemin.

to others, taemin is a cool and collected young man that seemed shy to the world while being confident to his friends.  jimin often saw his confident side, and that allowed jimin’s mind to feel as if taemin was heavenly.

to jimin, taemin had an aura about him that he couldn’t explain.  it drew him in. 

maybe it was because he was simply older than jimin.  or, he could’ve just been build with extra charm.

as much as y/n didn’t like jimin’s praise for taemin, she didn’t want her mom babysitting her because she is simply too grown to have her around. sometimes mother’s can be suffocating; they can control many aspects of your life.  it was a valid fear for y/n to have, and she was scared that jimin was going to follow in those footsteps.

jimin didn’t know any history between taemin and y/n.  he doesn't know she constructs taemin to be evil because he took advantage of her innocence. sadly in her heart, she believes the thought of him is bad for her health because he hurt her.

taemin is a monster. an emotionless, compassionless man who does not know how to love.

but, everyone is naive because they don’t understand his evil like y/n does.  

taemin does put up a front to the world, while y/n gets to see all of him at her own risk.

“i love mom, but you’re right”, she laughed in agreement. for jimin’s sake, y/n lied to him and herself, “i’ll take taemin any day.”

“yeah, but don’t forget to wear a mask. nobody wants covid in the states. you don’t have insurance”, jimin scoffed before y/n hit his back playfully.

jimin yelped in pain, “literally what the fuck? you’re a demon.”

 september 20th, 2021

the plane to california was unbearably long and did not comfort her senses.  although she did not mind wearing a mask, the uncertainty of her health on that flight kept her up the full thirteen hours. everyone was spaced out, but the enclosed space made her claustrophobic. normally, her senses are grounded. however, the pandemic blows everyone out of proportion and brings out a little bit of paranoia as well.

y/n was wearing a pink surgical mask to contrast with her plain wardrobe. before she left for california, she chose a long black coat, oversized uc riverside hoodie, and black jeans with her basic converse. she was trying to blend in with every other college freshman on move-in day.

a memory flew into her mind. while on the plane, the remembrance of what home felt like tugged at her.  the pain of missing someone never settled inside of her; the feeling was foreign because the past experiences weren’t genuine. or maybe, she is uncomfortable with missing someone or something because of insecurity within.

before y/n left, her mom hugged her tightly before sending her off with tears; love can be unconditional when it comes to your family.  on the other hand, y/n heard jimin laugh at his mom while giving a wave goodbye; hiding your worries with comedy makes you more worried at times. jimin was obviously good at hiding himself, but he made himself overly awkward this time.

when she knew she was saying goodbye, y/n didn’t feel anything because leaving was thought out to be normal. her mind didn't think her immigration would be sad. it was surprising to see her mother sad, but also the uncomfortable atmosphere jimin brought.

a ding from the intercom sounded off, “we will be beginning our decline to los angeles.  the fastened seat belt sign is now on for your personal safety. please remain seated during this time”, the voice was followed by another ding via the intercom.

as the plane began its descent, y/n gripped one of her armrests while closing her eyes. sadly, the feeling of traveling alone was brand new, not in a bad way. perhaps, the butterflies her stomach arose because she was going to be around a familiar face that makes her uncomfortable.

y/n wishes to hide away the memories of the two of them as if their world's never collided. in her mind, lee taemin was just another problematic teenage memory to get rid of

in summer 2018, the air was different. it was heavy, and the atmosphere was lethargic.  in the moment, y/n felt specifically upset as if the universe decided to rip out a significant amount of reality; the universe ripped something out, indeed.

lee taemin, long-term lover, graduated early behind her back.  suddenly, he is getting up to leave for new york. 

“i can’t believe you are leaving for college already”, her teeth bit her bottom lip before she felt his warmth encase her. tears were pouring down her face while creating a hurricane of bleeding makeup and anger.  “you can’t keep doing this to me. you told me no more fucking secrets!”, she gripped onto his waist before silently crying into him.

“i think you knew that this was bound to happen”, taemin brought a hand to her face, caressing her cheek to wipe away the tears. “the only difference between you and i is that we’ll be boarders apart.”

“i didn’t know this was your plan. you just dropped this huge ass bomb on me today!”, she aggressively pulled his hand down to suddenly push him away.  “taemin, this isn’t just about you. my love for you is real.”, she took a breath to let out a sarcastic laugh. 

“i love you”, her heart ached saying those words.  more tears came out of her eyes before she quietly croaked out with a general shakiness in her demeanor, “do you feel the same way at all?”

taemin shook his head, scoffing slightly. he grazed the back of her hand with his lips. no words were exchanged between them.

y/n was standing there confused, waiting for him to say something. even if the words were, "i don't love you."

however, his response never came, and his thoughts seemed distant. it was like taemin resisted y/n's desire and compassion for him.

the silence between the two filled the air. it finally hit her that his love was no longer apparent, and his place in their relationship became nonexistent.

just like that, taemin walked out the door breaking y/n’s heart as if it was glass. from her eyes, it truly didn’t feel as if he gave a damn to begin with. 

it was unreal, but most definitely her reality.

in her mind she is screaming because taemin makes her feel alive in the worst way possible. he is unbearable to think about because he is a reminder of everything that has gone wrong with love.

he is only a distant memory that she wishes to burn.

fuck love.

but most importantly— fuck you, lee taemin.

[celosiaa]

nothing left to want

Happy belated birthday, @alexandenigtscreations! I hope this is to your liking <3 thank you for all the gorgeous art that you put out into the world!

Prompt: safehouse period fic with a starving Jon trying to protect Martin.

CW: nausea, vomiting

It’s never been clearer to Jon than in these moments, these precious first few days in their refuge: Martin has been struggling for a long, long time.

The heaviness, the sinking weight of it all never truly leaves his face; a lifetime of grief now so clearly etched upon him, Jon wonders how he ever could have missed it before. Before Martin had come into sharp relief in his view—and Jon could see him, truly see him as if for the first time. The man who has always hidden his pain in smiles, kind words, cups of tea.

There are few smiles now. And hardly any words at all.

And still—still, of course Jon would find a way to make this about himself. Of course he would have to be selfish, can’t even look after Martin for a few days, weeks, months—whatever he needs. God knows Martin had been looking after him for far longer than Jon had ever realized; had ever appreciated. And now, in the thick of it all, Jon cannot even channel his focus into caring for him as well as he deserves. Instead—no—instead, he’s ended up outside again, shaking, shivering, sweating as the fog of the Lonely makes its way out of his lungs, leaving its Mark with every bitter breath.

The Marks—all of them—burn like hot coals against the walls of his body, ensuring that he remembers none of it is his own, not anymore. Had it ever really been his?  Perhaps, in days far too long gone to recount. Before his first Mark from the Web, pulling him closer, choking choking always choking—

He leans forward and heaves—gagging against the emptiness of his stomach, against ribs no longer there, against the white-hot scar across his throat. Nothing to bring up, of course not. He cannot eat anymore, not in the way it used to mean for him, in the way he had managed to emaciate himself already. No—the Eye will not let him have that. No solace. Nothing until the Beholding itself has been fed.

“Jon?”

A sound from the house—muffled against the blood pounding in his ears, but the Eye is quick to inform him of its irritation. Cannot blame him, not at all. Jon had been lying lying lying, spilling wretched falsehoods and half-truths to cover the shame of his hunger, of his lapse, of his weakness. And Martin had believed all of it—though he would never say, the disappointment in his eyes as he told him he’d taken up smoking again was palpable.

Disappointment? Was it?

Or sadness?

It hardly matters—even as Jon tries to get up, tries to reply to the repeated calling of his name from inside, he finds his vision shorting out at the edges. No choice, no choice now but to fall hard to his knees again, sending a shock of pain up through the ruin of his left hip that he cannot help but scream out against it.

“Jon!”

Running, panicked and slipping against the floorboards grows louder and louder before the door to the back garden swings open—and Jon knows then that he has been found out. Disgusting, disgusting, he must think I’m disgusting—

“Oh—oh Jon,” comes a shaking, worried voice instead.

Worried?

“Can you—can you hear me? Darling?”

Worried worried he’s worried for me

“Mmm—”

Not what he meant to say, but it’s all he can manage before his stomach turns over again—

“Christ—oh, Christ, Jon.”

Hurts hurts everything hurts, blinds him, cannot tell which way is up anymore and he’s falling, choking on ink, blood, don’t know I can’t see I can’t see—

—

“—whatever may be left of that curse, or if it somehow remains in me…I cannot tell.”

Warm—so warm—not burning. Not falling, not anymore. Alone?

“What I do know is that I shall never be returning to those woods—not while the treeline still beckons me, day after day after waking nightmare of a day.”

Martin. A statement.

A buzzing at the base of his skull tells him of the Eye’s pleasure, as he can see the fate of the statement giver—lost to the trees, to the woods, to the curse that had indeed followed him out—

Oh, Martin.

“Statement…statement ends.”

Final words given in nothing more but a tearful whisper, Jon can feel the bouncing of Martin’s leg where it touches near to his own, where he must be lying on the sofa. Safehouse. Safe. House.

Home, I’m home.

And Martin is hurting.

“Mm—Mar—”

“Oh—Jon, oh thank god,” comes the broken sigh of relief, and he feels his hand clasped between two larger ones, infinitely warmer than his own. “How do you feel? Is that—is that what you needed?”

Needed.

What I needed.

The stabbing pain of hunger in every scar has been muted down to a dull roar now—and he can see beyond the pain that has been closing over him like a curtain over the previous days. Barely, just barely—he’s broken the surface, come up for air.

His eyes allow him to see again.

Even if blurred without his glasses, Jon can make out the pale, shaking, still foggy form of Martin—dampness evident in his tone, as the Eye delightedly informs him that he read five statements in sequence just to make Jon breathe, breathe. To stop the writhing, pulsing, abomination of pain that he had so stubbornly hidden.

And why? To protect him?

Excellent job of that.

“M’so…so sorry, Martin,” he managed to croak, every word a razor against his throat.

He can’t help it as the coughing starts up again, as Martin leans him forward to stop him gasping for air, as the ink begins to pour from him and into the tissue Martin presses against his lips. Guilt—crushing, overwhelming—but he could not do this for himself, not even this one thing. Knowing that is perhaps the worst of it.

Perhaps the Eye would not let him die, not really—but it had no qualms over making him suffer.

Starve it, and it starves you.

“There you are, you’re alright,” Martin hums from somewhere far, far past the renewed ringing in Jon’s ears. “I’ve got you. I’ll…I’ll read another one.”

“N-No, don’t—”

Stop stop I know it hurts you please don’t hurt yourself more than you already have

“Jon,” he says, in just that perfect way.

The way that tells him that Martin is stronger, far stronger than he had ever given him credit for.

“Listen to me. Listen. I refuse to let this tear you apart.”

Choking—a different kind; something…almost lovely. Crying over the idea that he could be loved.

That he is loved.

He lets it carry him off to sleep.

[postlimitcansuckmyballs]

In The Beginning - A Guide To The Gods creation story

In the beginning, there was only I. An eternity before there was life or death, plant, animal or man, I stood alone, in no place in particular, with no ground underfoot and no sky overhead. I saw no stars, no planets, no universe about me, there was simply...nothing; an infinite emptiness with no start and no end, no action and no reaction. The void was neither dark nor light, neither miniscule nor gargantuan; it simply was, and so I was. I was not separate from the abyss nor was I a part of it, but I floated within the void and so the void flowed through me and we were as one, yet acutely different.

I haven't a clue what had brought me into being, still to this day I do not, but I knew then that there existed only I, and nothing else, and in those first moments of existence, I began to feel. I first felt a spark of joy; at being alive and sentient, though I knew not what it meant to live. I felt pride; that I should be the very first to think, to feel, to be. And, in the realisation that I was indeed, the first and only thing yet to exist; I felt sadness, I felt fear, and I began to feel lonely.

I so yearned for something else to occupy that solemn abyss that suddenly, something did. From my loneliness and my yearning, I had manifested a faintly glowing crystalline sphere, quite a small thing it was, and now may seem rather insignificant, but it delighted me to no end. It was brilliant, this thing that I had brought forth, and from it, I created more. Enjoying myself as I was, I soon got carried away; a surge of energy erupted from me and I watched on,  stunned as myonderful creations all shattered into trillions upon trillions of tiny shards, which flew off in every direction, seemingly tearing at the very fabric of the void. They scattered, colliding with one another and fusing together, creating new things to fill up the infinite, yet unbearably small space.

What used to be an empty void now was filled with dusts and gases, rocks and stars, galaxies containing planets and moons and asteroids within them, and I was overjoyed. Everything was new, and exciting and simply wonderful. No longer was I alone and in that moment I knew peace and utter contentment.

For a time, I remained content. I was no longer alone, as I had the beautiful, constantly changing cosmos surrounding me and all seemed perfect. But alas, all good things must come to an end. Soon, my loneliness returned, once more I yearned for something with which I could share this wondrous universe and so, I was once more struck with inspiration. I had found myself observing a star as it reached the end of its glorious existence and I thought, 'If all of this can be made from nothing, what could I make from all of this?' Stricken with such inspiration, I brought my yearning to the forefront and with an immense effort of will, I drew on the aching void of solitude inside of me to give me power, and from the remains of that star, I called forth the very first instance of life.

From the cloud of swirling, colourful gases left by the star's implosion emerged two silhouetted beings, one shining brightly like the celestial body she was borne from in radiant golden hues. She had striking violet eyes that looked like miniature galaxies and she radiated the same wonder of sentience as I had in my beginning. To her, I gave the name Solaria. Her twin emerged glowing softly in cool, calming blue tones reminiscent of the light reflected off of a moon, her eyes resembling the light-devouring voids of black holes. Gazing into them, I saw my own past yearning reflected, multiplied and doubled over. She truly was an awesome sight to behold. Once more, I found happiness in my creations and the lonesome yearning subsided. Her, I named Lunalie.

This pure joy was surely unrivaled. They were perfect. They were everything I had hoped for.

Peace had returned to me at last.

Once more, I was content in my creations and all seemed right and perfect in my cosmos.

Alas, it was not to last. Soon I felt a familiar yearning clawing at me from inside. This time I tried to ignore it for a while, but that only made it worse. Finally, when the loneliness grew once again unbearable, I made a decision.

I gave myself a small, gaseous form with a similar silhouette to that of my most recent creations and I travelled to the planet that Lunalie's moon orbited. As I drew near, something in me began to stir, the roiling chaos about me echoed deep within myself. I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and began to harness it. An incredible wave of swirling energies swarmed around, over and through me. Brilliant, flashing hues seared my mind, and I saw...everything. I saw life abundant; roots burrowing through unyielding stone, roaring waves crashing against jagged cliffs, dense forests bristling with activity, teeming with creatures massive and miniscule. And thus, I sowed the seeds.

The world began to change, surges of magical energy splitting the ground, bringing forth water, and throwing mountains into the sky. Twisting vines crawled across the soil, as towering trees reached for the stars far above. Overhead, the atmosphere grew denser, the air settling from the incessant maelström of before to a calm, whistling breeze.