#myrr post

[asktheghosthost]

I know I've been gone a long time, and I'm really sorry about that. I'm trying to get back into my hobbies. And I know I always say that, but I was finally able to get out of the situation that had me so mentally and emotionally bogged down. It was making my anxiety and depression worse than it's been in a year. I wasn't able to write or do anything creative. I wound up in the hospital again because I thought some intense pain I was feeling was an organ issue, and not my body responding to stress in such a sharp, physical way. I just haven't been in the best place mentally, but in the next couple of weeks, that should turn around.

I miss writing, and I miss my friends. I'm sorry for vanishing. That wasn't cool of me to just flake out like that with no explanation. I will do my best to be back soon. Things are just taking a while.

Lots of love, and please be good to yourselves and each other,

Myrr

[askeverygooseoc]

First time posting for @ocmonthly, hi! For the fish themed oc prompt I’m bringing my final fantasy crystal chronicles oc Mo ifa and her blue chocobo Myrr.

Bit of an old headcanon I had for the selkies, but Mo Ifa can turn into a sahagin in certain conditions, like being in the monster miasma without her compact crystal/if the crystals water runs out. Heres art of her fish mode too

Mostly rational as a monster, but easy to frighten or get an aggressive frenzy..

Myrr the blue chocobo can swim :] I love Myrr

[cheese-anon-real]

ok, we have the head stuff post ( https://www.tumblr.com/cheese-anon-real/735201584553902080/head-stuff-post-featured-the-halo-of-sorts )

and the cheese wisp trying to help people bust me out post ( https://www.tumblr.com/cheese-anon-real/733076882111774720/cheese-cheese-painted-with-white-dust-to-make-the )

i can do in-depth on either of those, or Myrr's history and wildlife, or even on my own me

what do the people demand?

[dumfanting]

Same Heart ch 21: Truth

AO3 Link

Rating: M, mature

Warnings: medical scenario, discussion of death, Umbara, grief

Word Count: 3741

Happy new year! Posting this in the very last minutes of 2022!

F! Reader/ Echo (F! Reader/ Crosshair?)

The days progress slowly, then you realize you’ll need to make a choice.

You don’t get a chance to talk to Hunter, as he’s asleep in his bunk when you find him. You doubt that he’d be able to hear you very well anyway, heightened senses or not, over the sound of Wreckers loud snores nearby. Tech isn’t in his bunk, but you saw him working on something, as always, when you reboarded the ship, and it looks like Crosshair hasn’t followed you this time. You kind of shrug to yourself and climb back into your bunk, pulling the privacy curtain closed.

After about twenty minutes of lying still and staring into space without even a hint of sleep coming for you, you sit back up and return to your data pad. The holo net is still open, and you take a moment to get a better look at the information on Shalka Myrr you pulled up earlier. She’s a pretty Zabrak woman, her black tattoos standing out starkly against her soft golden skin, her horns grown out, and a bored expression on her face. You scroll down, but before you can reread anything, you’re distracted by the sound of Crosshair's footsteps.

You can hear him shucking off his armor and crawling into his bunk, and a sudden impulsive thought says you should join him. You lightly slap yourself a few times, thankful that your curtain is still drawn so nobody could see this. Where the fuck did that come from? You’re here for Echo, you think to yourself, then lean back against the wall of your bunk and sigh softly, wondering how he’s doing. You still have the comm unit Kix lent to you, but it stays silent.

You close your eyes and try to clear your mind, hoping you’d be able to sense anything about him, but come up empty. You think again about the strong feeling that your Sensitivity should stay hidden. You didn’t like keeping secrets, and the idea of hiding something from Echo bothers you greatly. You’ve always been honest with him, even to a fault. You inhale deeply, deciding to try sensing something again, but this time from anyone.

It’s bizarre; it feels like there’s radio static inside your head, and there’s a faint sensation, a physical one, alongside it, almost like when your foot falls asleep. The feeling is unsettling, but when you shift your focus, you vaguely feel a conflict within someone close by. You realize that you’re in the middle of a war on a military base, so that could be coming from anyone. It’s probably just you anyway, you think; The General hadn’t said anything about being able to sense others, so you don’t even know if you can.

You open your eyes and softly shake your head, chasing off the weird buzzing inside it, then pick up your data pad again. There’s bound to be some information on Sensitivity somewhere on the holo net. You open a new window and start searching, but quickly give up when your eyes start to droop. You put the data pad away and lie back down, gradually falling into a dreamless sleep.

—

The next few days are uneventful, much to everyone’s relief. Kix had commed you a few times with updates on Echo’s progress, which had indeed been helped along by the batca, assuaging your anxiety over him. You wanted to go check on him yourself, but remembered how he had said he didn’t want you to see him without his limbs, so you instead restlessly waited for Kix to comm again.

Reading up on The Force made the time pass a little faster, but you weren’t really able to find anything similar to what you’d been experiencing, especially the shared dream. You wondered if you’d be able to find better information from the Jedi library. You probably would, if you were allowed inside, but you assume that since you aren’t part of the Order, it’s off-limits to you. You don’t get a chance to ask the General anything else, as he’s been busy with Rex and the 501st.

Everyone has been busy, except for you and the squad. Around the third day of doing nothing, you decide to talk to Hunter. You find him talking with Crosshair in the cockpit, and notice how their conversation seemed to stop abruptly when you walked in. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” You ask, feeling both of their eyes on you.

“Back for more already?” Crosshair says with a smirk.

“Yes, I’m insatiable,” you say sarcastically, playfully pushing his shoulder as he stands.

“Find me when he gets tired then,” he says as he walks into the main deck of the ship. He glances back and sees you looking at him, a slight flush on your cheeks, and laughs as he continues into the bunk area.

You try to slow your heart rate back down, keenly aware that Hunter can hear what the comment has done to you. He doesn’t say anything about it though, and you silently thank the Maker for that, taking a seat in the chair Crosshair had vacated. It’s still warm, you notice, and try desperately to focus on why you came into the cockpit in the first place.

“Something on your mind there, Meds?” Hunter asks.

“Always,” you say, rolling your eyes. “This time I’m wondering why we haven’t been on any other missions or even talked about any since we got back from Skako. I know how much you all hate staying still.”

“I thought it would be obvious,” Hunter says, raising an eyebrow at you. You just stare at him, confused, until he grips your shoulder. “I know that your mind would be back here if we went anywhere else,” he says plainly. “It’s obvious that you want to be close to Echo, and we don’t want to leave you behind for anything.”

You blink a few times. “We?” You ask.

“Well, Crosshairs the one who brought it up, and the rest of us agreed with him,” Hunter says.

“You sure it wasn’t Wrecker?” You say, barely able to stop your jaw from dropping.

Hunter laughs a little. “Nope, it was all Cross’ idea,” he says.

“I guess I really did knock something loose,” you say, incredulous. You clear your throat, making yourself get back on track. “But we don’t know how long it’ll be before Echo’s well enough to fight again, if he even wants to,” you say.

Hunter shrugs at you. “The man’s a soldier, Meds. If he’s anything like the stories you’ve told us, you know he’ll want to do whatever he can,” he says. He pauses for a few seconds, and you feel a slight change in the atmosphere of the space between you two. “With that in mind,” he eventually says, “Would you go with him?”

“Go?” You say.

“When Echo recovers,” Hunter says. “It‘ll be a bit cramped, but we could take him on. Although I’m assuming he’d want to return to the 501st. Would you go with him?” He asks.

You pause, caught off guard. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to you. “I… I don’t know,” you say slowly. “I’ve been so focused on getting him back that I haven’t thought about what’s next.”

“You know, I’m surprised,” Hunter says, getting to his feet.

“By what?” You ask, staying seated and looking up at him.

Hunter shrugs again. “Just figured you’d go without hesitating. Guess we’ve rubbed off on you,” he says. He turns and walks out of the cockpit, leaving you alone with your newly discovered problem and jumbled mess of thoughts.

—

Normally, you’d be able to hear Wrecker approaching, with his footsteps being as distinctly heavy as they are, but he manages to startle you by saying your name as he walks in. You blink a few times, then ask him how long you’ve been sitting here.

“‘Bout an hour,” he says, and you note the slight concern in his tone. “You doin’ okay?” He asks.

You stretch and get to your feet. “I haven’t zoned out that hard in a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve been cooped up in this one place for too long, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ bored too,” Wrecker says, relaxing once you’ve spoken. “Don’ want to go anywhere without ya though.”

You can’t help but smile at him. “Hunter told me as much. Not sure I believe it was Cross’ idea for you guys to wait for me though,” you say, chuckling a little.

“You callin’ Hunter a liar?” Wrecker says with a smirk.

You sigh and start walking out of the cockpit. “Nah, he’s never lied before,” you say. “That would be a weird way to start.”

Wrecker follows you. “What were ya thinkin’ about that long anyway?” He asks.

“What comes next, once Echo’s well enough again,” you say.

“You ain’t leaving us are you?” Wrecker says, worry crossing his features.

You both come to a stop near Tech’s workbench and he speaks up. “It would make sense if you did,” he says, matter of fact as always. Before you can say anything though, he actually looks away from what he’s working on and focuses on you, which is surprising enough. “Personally, however, I’d be disappointed to lose such a valuable teammate,” he says.

“Wait, really?” You say, caught off guard again.

“Yeah!” Wrecker says, speaking up from behind you. “We like havin’ ya around!”

Just then Crosshair enters the ship, wearing his signature smirk. “Aw,” he says, “someone’s in love.”

Wrecker laughs loudly. “Sure you ‘ain’t talking about yourself?” He says, making your heart race. You glance at the sniper and feel that odd buzzing sensation in your mind when you do.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crosshair responds, pointedly looking away from you.

Tech, who had returned his focus to his workbench, speaks up too and says “Can you three go deny reality somewhere else? I need to concentrate.”

“See, even Tech can tell!” Wrecker says, laughing as Crosshair elbows his way past him. You take this opportunity to slip unnoticed out of the ship.

—

You’re walking with no real destination in mind, wandering aimlessly throughout the maze of hallways and rooms in an attempt to clear your head. You step into a lift and punch a random floor button, trying and failing not to think about what you heard a few minutes ago. It occurs to you that, back when you tried to sense something from anybody, it may not have been your own conflict you had felt. You feel dizzy, and lean your head back against the cool durasteel wall of the lift. The lift stops and the doors open, and you step out, not noticing or caring what floor you were on.

Well, you think to yourself, now you know what Hunter wanted to speak to Crosshair about that day. It explains so much. Why he had checked in on you, why he seemed more relaxed around you, and especially why he was holding you so protectively when Kix was trying to tell you about Echo’s crash.

Oh Maker, you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. Echo.

You glance around and find a refresher nearby, then quickly duck inside. You make your way over to the sink and splash cold water onto your face a few times. The sudden shock of temperature change helped to clear your head, just as you hoped it would. You lean heavily onto the basin and stare at yourself in the mirror above it. You look just as confused as you feel. You splash yourself one last time, then pat your face dry with a flimsi towel. You turn out of the refresher and walk headlong into someone.

The two of you step apart, apologizing to the other, and you're just about to keep walking, but stop when you recognize the facial tattoo of the clone you had bumped into.

“Jesse?” You say.

He says your name in response. “How is he?” He asks.

“I take it Rex filled you in?” You say, walking a few steps down the hall to avoid blocking the refresher door.

Jesse nods. “He told me about the mission and that you guys were able to get him back. Last I heard he was going into surgery, I think,” he says.

“That was a few days ago, he’s been in a bacta tank since then,” you say. “Kix has been keeping me updated on him. Everything’s going as well as it can.”

“I’ve been wanting to go see him myself, but I haven’t had the time,” Jesse says, and he sounds guilty.

“He’s an ARC trooper just like you, we know how hectic it gets,” you say kindly. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

The two of you continue to walk around and catch up for a few minutes, then come to a stop outside a door.

“By the way” Jesse says, “what are you doing in the barracks?”

“Is that where I am?” You say, mildly amused. “I got a bit lost I guess. I needed a walk to clear my head, it looks like I just wandered too far.”

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“Aside from everything I just told you?” You ask, chuckling a little. “You remember Hunter, the Sergeant of 99, he raised a good question. Echo isn’t going to be content to just sit around, he never has been, and we think he’s probably going to wind up rejoining you and Rex. Which begs the question of what I’ll do,” you say.

“You wouldn’t come with him?” Jesse asks, surprised.

“I want to,” you say, hoping to dodge the question.

“That’s not what I asked,” he says.

You sigh. “I really don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it until today.”

Jesse looks like he’s about to say something else, but is interrupted by the trilling of the borrowed comlink in your pocket. You quickly answer it, and it’s Kix, saying that Echo is asking for you. You tell him you’ll be right there, then end the call.

“You sure you know how to get there from here?” Jesse asks.

You glance around. “Um, no, I don’t,” you say, awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers.

“You’re lucky I’ve got a few hours to myself,” Jesse says with a smirk. He walks down the hall and you gratefully follow him.

Jesse manages to lead you to the medical wing fairly quickly, taking only one lift and three different hallways to get there. The two of you come to a stop before the doors, and you thank him for getting you there in one piece.

“Eh, no big deal, it was good to see you again,” he says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

You grab his wrist as he turns to walk away, pulling him behind you through the doors. “You were just saying you wanted to see Echo,” you say, glancing back at him.

“Bossy as always,” he says, but follows you.

The two of you continue walking for about another minute before you suddenly stop. Jesse asks what’s wrong.

“Echo, he doesn’t know everything that’s happened. He knows that everyone is gone, but not how,” you say, voice low.

“Hey, I’m still here!” Jesse says.

“I know! Just… don’t say anything about what happened to Fives. Please. Or Tup, for that matter. I really don’t know how he’d handle it,” you say, uncharacteristically serious. Jesse notices this and swears that he won’t, then continues to follow you until you stop at a certain room number.

Just before you knock, Jesse says “I think I’ll wait out here, just for a minute, give you two a little time.” You thank him, then rap your knuckles on the door.

—

As soon as you do, Kix slides the door open. He notices Jesse standing nearby and moves to talk to him. You cautiously walk into the room, trying to be quiet, but once you see that Echo is awake, you rush over to his side. He chuckles as you thoroughly look him over, gently running your hands along his chest and back.

He says your name. “You do realize that Kix has already done that, right?”

“I know, I just needed to see for myself,” you say, sitting on the edge of his bed. “The past few days have been killing me,” you say.

“You didn’t come check on me?” He asks, surprised.

“You asked me not to, remember?” You say, softly touching his replaced arm. You notice the bitter expression on his face when you do so, and quickly move your hand. “You’re looking better,” you say, hoping to distract him.

“I’m feeling better,” he says, sitting up with no effort. “Being pickled for three days straight worked out for me.”

You laugh and he smiles at you. “Do you think you’re feeling well enough for another visitor?” You ask. Echo tilts his head at you. “Jesse’s in the hallway,” you explain.

“I thought everyone was gone?” Echo says as the door slides open.

“You should know I wouldn’t be gotten rid of so easily,” Jesse says as he walks inside, Kix following him.

You get to your feet and give the two of them some space, moving over to the other side of the room with Kix. “He looks much better,” you say.

“He is,” Kix says, nodding. “He’ll need some physical therapy to get his walking strength consistent.”

“Which is to be expected,” you say, and Kix nods again.

“He’s still got a long way to go, but the hardest part has passed,” Kix says.

“Which reminds me,” you say, lowering your voice. “You and I both know he’ll want to get back into the thick of it as soon as he can. Is that going to be possible?” You ask.

Kix thinks for a moment. “It’s hard to say. Let’s just focus on getting him as back to normal as we can for now,” he says, also keeping his voice low. “I need to fill out some reports,” he says, speaking normally now so everyone can hear him. He looks over at Jesse with a slight smirk. “Can I trust you not to break him in half for an hour?”

Echo and Jesse both laugh. You walk Kix to the door, and before he leaves he reminds you to comm him if anything happens. You agree to, then return to Echo’s side.

—

After a few minutes of pleasantries, you and Echo describe your escape from Skako Minor to Jesse.

“It’s a hell of a thing that you wound up on the mission to go get him,” he says, looking pointedly over at you.

“Rex and Kix said the same thing,” Echo says. “‘Must be the will of the Force,’ right?”

“Seems like it,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was only Rex and I.”

“Don’t be,” Echo says, gently holding your hand with his. “I highly doubt you’re the reason behind why anyway. Right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you.

You can’t help but laugh. “Nah,” you say, then narrow your eyes at Jesse “not yet anyway.” He and Echo both snicker.

“Nobody’s really told me anything,” Echo says, and the atmosphere of the room suddenly grows tense and serious. “What happened to everyone?” He asks quietly, looking over at Jesse.

“There’s a long story behind that,” he says, quickly glancing at you.

“You said Tech had shown you that recording of me talking about everything with Fives, right?” You say, and Echo nods at you. “Then you should remember me talking briefly about Umbara. I was only repeating what I could remember being told, I know there was a lot more to it than that,” you say, nodding at Jesse.

For the next hour or so, he talks softly about Umbara, Krell, and how Hardcase had sacrificed himself to give he and Fives a chance to escape. You feel Echos grip on your hand tighten. When Jesse describes how Krell had tricked them into killing each other, Echo swore loudly.

“To say that didn’t sit well with us would be an understatement,” Jesse says. “We managed to get the bastard into a holding cell, fully intending to return him to the Jedi Order so they could decide what to do with him. Then he told us he’d been in league with Dooku and other Sith.”

Echo curses again. “So what happened to him?” He asks.

Jesse takes a deep breath and tells Echo what Dogma had done. “None of us have seen him since we got back,” he says. “I don’t know what they did with him.”

“There was a massive inquiry about it, of course,” you say, speaking for the first time in a while, your voice trembling. “Fives couldn’t get back home for almost two whole days. When he finally did, he couldn’t even speak.”

There’s a long stretch of silence after that as Echo takes in everything he had just been told, a look of complete shock on his face. “And you knew this?” He asks quietly, looking into your eyes.

You sadly nod at him. “Fives told me everything. He never did keep anything from me if I asked about something. I’m sorry I haven’t brought it up. I honestly didn’t know how. You’ve had enough to contend with this past week anyway,” you say apologetically.

“Probably a good call,” he says, appearing deep in thought.

You can tell he wants to ask about Fives, and you glance over at Jesse again. Before he can speak, his comm trills at him; he’s needed back with Rex for something important. He apologizes before leaving in a hurry.

After that, you and Echo sit together in silence for a long time. You’ve positioned yourself so that he’s able to rest his head on your chest again, and he wordlessly slots himself into place. He idly traces his thumb along your knuckles before failing to hold back a yawn.

“You must be tired, I’ll let you sleep,” you say, moving to get back up.

Echo says your name, stopping you. “Can you stay with me?” He asks in a barely audible whisper.

You can hear the strain in his voice, and so you return to your place and hold him a little tighter.

“As long as you want me to,” you say in an equally quiet tone.

He pulls you even closer and your heart aches for him when you feel him shiver.

————

Taglist: @kaminocasey @grievouus @madameminor @wolveria @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @jennamelinda12 @whore-4-rex

[legendary-alliance-stance]

mmmm good morning, have some myrr sketches!

[legendary-assassin-stance]

lmao anyways *proceeds to make more ex-courtiers who are doing their best to not fall back to nightmare and be better than the dark part of them that still haunts their lives*

[shredsandpatches]

(1) You reblogged something the other day that my brain won't let go of. I fully admit to knowing next to nothing other than what you reblog and comment on about Richard and Anne (I follow you for content other than that) but this post struck a chord in me. It was discussing Anne's barrenness; the failure of her childlessness. And it's just ... how do we know she was the barren one in that relationship? Richard didn't have any children so why is the blame on her shoulders?

(2) Other than it's traditionally the woman's fault. Am I missing something?

No, you’re totally right--we don’t know exactly why Richard and Anne were infertile, or whose problem it was; there’s no way of knowing because it seems pretty likely that Anne was the only woman Richard ever had sex with. Usually you’ll even see historians point that out, just in passing, that there’s no evidence that Richard was fertile, and in fact, some more recent scholars argue that Richard was much more concerned with how their lack of children reflected on him as both a man and a king. 

Katherine Lewis has argued that Richard’s emphasis on his devotion to Edward the Confessor, who was believed to have had a chaste marriage (although historians of his reign don’t think he actually did), was meant to imply that he and Anne had done likewise. Kristen Geaman’s work has proved pretty conclusively that Richard and Anne didn’t have a chaste marriage, an idea that was always pretty improbable (they were both very conscious of their lineage and knew that they would need an heir to the throne), by bringing to light a letter Anne wrote to her brother, Wenceslaus IV of Bohemia, around 1384, which may suggest that she had a miscarriage around that time, and certainly demonstrates that she was optimistic that she would have a successful pregnancy in the future. So they were definitely trying -- Geaman also analyzes an apothecary bill from 1393–94, the last year of Anne’s life, and concludes that, based on the medicines she purchased, she was probably still trying to conceive at the time of her apparently sudden death. If she did have a miscarriage (or more than one, but that must remain speculative*) it’s possible that the problem was on her end physically, and that she could conceive but not carry to term -- this may be supported by the fact that most of her (full and half) siblings had only one child or none at all, while Richard’s Holland half-siblings had lots of kids -- but that still doesn’t make it her fault, and clearly Richard didn’t hold it against her.   

Geaman’s dissertation devotes a lot of time to arguing that Anne probably wasn’t seen as the one to blame for the lack of an heir, and that Richard’s contemporary critics, during the reign and certainly after his deposition, would probably have placed the blame squarely on him for his immaturity and unmanliness** -- although there are other scholars who see the generally lukewarm treatment of Anne in the chronicles as a sign of her “ambivalent legacy” (a term used by Michael Hanrahan in his reading of Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale as being focused on Richard and Anne’s lack of an heir; there’s also a good article by Anna Duch where she addresses why Thomas Walsingham, specifically, might have resented Anne, although it reflects much better on Anne than it does Walsingham). She follows Lewis in arguing that Richard was probably unnerved enough by this that after Anne’s death he wanted to imply that he and Anne had had a celibate marriage and thus prove his manly self-control, but concedes that any efforts made in this direction were not successful among his contemporaries (although they certainly worked on historians centuries later). I really love her work on Anne as queen and historical figure -- she is pretty much the go-to person for scholarship on Anne as a person rather than as a symbolic cultural figure -- but I’m not sure I’m convinced by the “Richard pretended to have a chaste marriage” argument for that basic reason; the primary audience for it would have been people who had been close to the couple, who had an unconventionally companionate marriage for the time period, built an island resort palace with unprecedented levels of privacy, and were actively trying to conceive to the degree that they sought medical intervention. (And it’s worth pointing out that @nuingiliath has suggested to me that perhaps Richard might also have wanted to protect Anne’s legacy by presenting her as a holy virgin rather than a barren queen, if Lewis’ and Geaman’s speculations are true.)

All that said: you do have a lot more attention paid to infertility by scholars/historians who are talking about Anne, and I think a lot of this is based on a) as you said, the unexamined assumption that infertility is the woman’s fault physically, and b) the assumption that infertility is the woman’s problem and that it’s the queen’s only job (except warrior queens like Isabella of France of Margaret of Anjou). Christopher Fletcher’s book on Richard and medieval masculinity goes so far to call Richard and Anne’s marriage a disaster, despite its incredible success on the personal level, because of their infertility. But queenship studies in the last couple of decades have made great strides in examining the role of queens beyond providing heirs -- which, of course, was part of the queen’s job, but not the entirety of it -- whereas fertility isn’t really represented as an issue for men most of the time, and I definitely hope that’s changing.  

*It’s what I do in my fictional writing, but I wouldn’t be able to support it in something scholarly. They’re different interpretive practices, obviously.

**You still sometimes get this today, like in Lisa Hilton’s book where she argues that Richard wasn’t mature enough to consummate his marriage to Anne, or John Bowers’ work where he argues -- based entirely on readings of Chaucer, like Chaucer would have known what was going on in the king’s marriage -- that Richard and Anne had a celibate marriage because Richard was using piety to hide his horrible deviant gayness. These people can fuck right off. You also sometimes get authors who argue that they had a celibate marriage on Anne’s initiative and in imitation of some important Bohemian royal saints, although nearly all of the saints in question had celibate marriages after having children, which is why Anne was able to exist in the first place! She would certainly have known this, and would not have had a chance to give up marital relations because she died childless while still of reproductive age. Anyway scholars who suggest that a celibate marriage was Anne’s idea seem to think it gives her more agency, like a sexually active married woman who wanted children can’t have agency. 🙄

[datastate]

bro why do i keep thinking abt my sw ocs im...

[myrrtheapprentice]

Braids and Bread

(Just threw in a read more since the post is so long)

Myrr was going to knock, but the door was open. Inanna must have smell the ham bone in her bag. Smiling softly, she gave her a scratch behind the ear. Leaning down, she offered up the treat from the bag. “Morning Inanna. I was picking up a few things, and I couldn’t leave without something for my favorite girl.” Inanna huffed appreciatively, taking her treat as Sable wound around her feet, happy to keep her company. The little fennic fox was so attached to Inanna, and it always made Myrr happy to see them playing, or Inanna teaching him to hunt or look tough.

Myrr tried to straighten up, but the weight of the bag causing her to tip. Never being the most coordinated or shore footed, she just braced for impact when she was unexpectedly caught by a pair of strong hands. “Careful.” Muriel mumbled, putting her back on her feet. Myrr flushed, smiling up at him, her glasses a little more crooked than normal. “Good morning, Muriel. I thought I’d come by and make some bread… I mean if you’re still interested that is.”  She shifted a little from foot to foot as she stood at the threshold. “Well come in… You’re already here…” Quickly he let her go once he realized he was still holding her shoulders.

He flushed, picking up the bag from her shoulder.  Coming inside, she waved for him to put it down by the table. He watched curiously as she unpacked her things. There were a few jars of jam she’d made that she put to the side. A little frown creased her forehead as she dug through her bag. “…. Honey bear…” She mumbled to herself, causing Muriel turned a deep crimson not realizing she was talking to herself. “…Y-Yes?” He stammered, causing her to blush furiously as she put the rest of the things on the table before turning with the little glass bear full of honey  in her hands. “ I umm… just got this for you. I thought, you’d like it.”

Muriel looked at the wall a second, realizing the mistake. Though, he did like the nickname, even if he wouldn’t ever say it. His gazed turned back to the little glass bear, really touched she’d thought of him.  “ Th-Thanks…  Did you make all this too?”  Myrr nodded, rolling the jar between her palms before putting the it down. “I enjoy it, and I wanted to share with you. Did you want to watch, or help? I’d enjoy the help if you like.” She added, her voice more timid at the end. After a few moments, he nodded a small smile on his lips. “I’d like to help. What do I need to do?”

His smile grew as her face lit up at the prospect of baking with him. She bounced a little on her heels, before a little blush crossed her face. “ I’ll pull you hair back first if you don’t mind, and mine as well. Just to keep it out of everything. I mean if you don’t mind.” She fidgeting, letting out a small breath he nodded.  

She had him sit on the floor as she perched herself on the bed. She was so short it was the only way she could do this comfortably for both of them. Gently she began to brush out his hair in long strokes. Absentmindedly Myrr started to hum a simple little tune that seemed to fill the hut with warmth, or maybe it was just Muriel’s heart that was being warmed. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned back against her a little as she tenderly worked out the gnarls. He was completely at peace here with her.

Muriel was a little disappointed once she was finished braiding is hair back. Her hands were so gentle compared to Morga. Everything about her was so soft. He glanced up at her, a smile in his eyes as he watched her. She’d lain her glasses aside so she could brush her own hair back. Without them he could see her eyes clearly. He felt he could get lost in them, trying to follow the flecks of silver and blue in that soft green that eventually mingled with the brown surrounding her pupils.

The soft melody repeated as she started to braid her hair back.He did notice that her hands were not as nimble trying to get the front pieces of her hair back as they’d been with his own locks. He hesitated a moment, not really wanting to interrupt, before quietly asking, “Would you like some help? ” He wasn’t looking at directly at her, a light blush spreading across his face as he fiddled with his fingers. Myrr just smiled, leaning down to shyly kiss him on the temple. “I think this should work for now. It’s just a little messy.” Which was the true, little pieces sticking out of her braids where his were smooth and flat. She didn’t seem to mind.

Slipping off the bed, she offered him a hand up. That elicited a small chuckle from him as he got up on his own before taking her hand. She was so small compared to him, and he didn’t want to pull her over. They just stood there a moment like that in the comfortable silence. “Well need some firewood, and water. Let’s go.” They walked out into the woods in a companionable silence, Myrr with a bucket in one hand and Muriel collecting firewood in the other while they still held hands.  

It wasn’t long til they were back at the hut. While Muriel set a small fire for them as Myre lay out a few cups and bowls of different sizes. Muriel stood there awkwardly beside her, hand crossed in front of him. “You still want to help?” She asked, smiling up at him. “I need two cups of flour in big bowl please, just level it off with the back of the knife. I’m just going to get the yeast to bloom.”  Muriel already had on cup in the bowl after poking through to find the proper size. He curiously watched her, never having heard of it before. “Bloom?”  She’d put the water, a little sugar, and the yeast in a bowl and covered it as she smiled up at him. “Yup, got to get the yeast to start working so that the bread will be light and fluffy, well one thing. Kneading it is important too.”  

She continued to give instructions, kind and soft spoken as always. Muriel was finding he was enjoying himself, especial since she was so happy and at ease as she worked. He was careful and precise as ever, but he could help stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The flour on her cheeks and her crooked glasses just added to her charm. Without thinking, he pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose causing her to flush, which made him flush. “S-Sorry.” Myrr smiled broadly up at him, shaking her head. “ Don’t be sorry. I really appreciate it. Here.” She reached up and brushed some flour off his cheek.  “What would you like to do now? We need to wait a little while the dough rises.”

He shifted a little, not sure how to answer before quietly mumbling to her. “I could try and fix your hair. I mean if you like that.” He was staring at a point somewhere over her shoulder, his face beet red.  Though he looked back down at her as she took his hand. “I think that’d be nice. I can sit in your lap so you don’t have to stretch down so far.” If she thought his face was red before, it found a way to turn a darker shade of red, causing her to panic. She didn’t know what to do so she just tried reaching out and patting his arm. “You don’t have to! I’m sorry… It was just a suggestion.”

Muriel scrunched up his face as he looked away. He shifted a little uncomfortably almost causing her to step back, before he gently pulled her to sit in his lap  on the bed. Gingerly he pulled off her glasses, and started to undo her braids. A soft sigh came from her as he started to brush her chin length golden tresses. It was so soft, he couldn’t help running his fingers through it. It lightly smelled of lavender and chamomile. He was tempted to bury his face in it, and just let the calm wash over him. The thought made him blush as he paused a moment before continuing the long, gentle stroke that made her so content.  

He didn’t ask how to do the braids, not wanting to disturb her. Instead, just working off what he’d seen her do before. She barely felt a tug as he worked, almost completely dozing off in his lap. Even after he had finished pulling her hair back into picture perfect braids similar to his own, he didn’t want to move and disturb her. Instead he just wrapped an arm around her and held her close. A small smile graced his lips as he rested his chin on her head, giving her a soft squeeze around the middle that she almost didn’t feel. It was so cozy holding her in his arms, he started to doze of himself.

[linelpisffxiv]

FFXIV Write 2019 4: Shifting Blame

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

Time to do a story from where Lin is a best friend of a different Warrior of Light. She still has an echo in this universe, and is a frequent member of the “Adventurer friends” club mentioned in HW and StB, and probably is in every non-urgent dungeon and trial which could theoretically allow her there (Things like Stone Vigil, Castrum and Prae, Dusk Vigil, various hard mode side story dungeons, most of the ARR patch quest primals...)

“Fuck you.”

M’yrr can usually predict the way things went. A sudden curse and a large splash of ale across his hood and mask is not one of the things. He grits his teeth together  and wipes a cloth over the wood and steel owl-like mask he wears.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lin’s nostrils flare and she bares her fangs. “I said. Fuck. You.” Her red eyes glow with a fire he cannot place.

He tries to keep his voice even, find out what brought this on. “All I said was that it’s a shame your lover died. That I wished you had been there as well on the ramparts as he--”

The woman punches his cheek. “My lover? My lover? I haven’t fucked him since we took down Stone Vigil.”

So that is how it goes. “Is that why you always left when I was called to Dragonhead? That things ended poorly? I regret staying friendly then if he upset you. Though you still accompanied me to the camp, so I must say I’m confused.”

She takes a few breaths as  her eyes blink in shock. “Gods, you cannot be serious. That you didn’t see it. All this time, I thought perhaps it was possible. He had another whom he loved. I was but a passing cloud, lovely and nothing but mist, compared to his sun. Warm and giving. I kept following that sun, helping plan excuses to bring him closer to Haurchefant. Let him catch that sun. Had I known he couldn’t return the affections, let’s just say I still wouldn’t be a lover, but I would not have put in so much effort to make myself scarce when they were alone.”

“A lovely metaphor. It is a shame this man--”

Lin grabs the ale of the man behind her and splashes it on him. “And now it’s back to those two words. Fuck. You. I can’t make it much clearer. You’re too smart to be this stupid, M’yrr.”

It hits him with that. The man described was not some other person. She described her own behavior with him.

“I may have deserved the first splash,” M’yrr says. “But the punch, and stealing someone else’s mug for a second pint in my face was uncalled for.”

“It’s your fault!” she says. “He’s dead because of you! And all this time, I had hoped that I could be happy if the man I fancied had his lover, even if said lover wasn’t me. But it’s naught. You deserved it all you fucking bird!”

Lin tries to punch him again, but he stops her hand this time. Another blow from her other hand, and he grabs the other.

M’yrr for once is glad for his flat voice and unreadable mask. Underneath it, every feature on his friend is the same on his face. “It’s not my fault that two loves went unrequited. Had either of you spoken plain before his last breaths, at least one of you could have moved on. You chose to play a helpless maiden when you aren’t.”

She growls and tries again to start a fight. “I did everything right! You fucked up! Fuck you.”

With that, she tuns on her heel, tail bushed beyond its usual fluff, and leaves.

It could have gone better.

[goodbearblind]

Stupenda 🤩 Posted @withregram • @kieranwalshphotography Tre Cime..Dolomites.. . . www.kieranwalsh.photography . . . . #landscapephotography #landscapelovers #ig_italia #italianlandscape #beautifuldestinations #agameoftones #earth_shotz #global_creatives #mountainview #italia #getoutdoors #hikingadventures #moodygrams #ig_landscape #hubsunited#myrrs #insta_dolomiti #dolomites #longexpolite #landscape_captures #lightlandmag #italy🇮🇹 #gitzoinspires https://www.instagram.com/p/CLj-mmQg0gb/?igshid=vyhp11usaa2j

[asktheghosthost]

At the veterinary clinic I work at, one of the doctors left this tiny, day-glo colored duck on my desk, and I was like, "This lil dude needs to go to a rave!" And the muse struck me, so I grabbed some scrap paper, a highlighter, and a pen.

So here's my lil duck, (heretofore unnamed), on his way to some undisclosed location at some warehouse where the sick beats are dropping. He's got his glow stick, his big ol' Cat in the Hat hat, and a pacifier... for reasons.

[senterya]

Reunion!

Bangar’s civil war may tear a nation apart, but at least it brought our heroes back together.

Quick overview about where they are now and how they are helping out in the war efforts:

#1 - Ciranan and Myrr - Advancing Firepower

These two have known each other for a while but neither of them expected to meet here, on this battlefield. Not knowing what else to do, Ciranan decides to stick with Myrr and the Flame Legion on the eastern front and he quickly earns respect with the very literal firepower he unleashes at the Dominion forces. While he is still very loud and bratty between two fights, Myrr can’t help noticing how more quiet and less of a bastard he is overall compared to how she knows him. The tired, empty eyes and the number of empty mugs quickly give away that the war takes its toll even on him.

#2 - Nhorah and Tyrus - Beach Patrol

These two are assigned to Port Cascadia and has to ensure that the coast is clear of enemy forces and that the supply line between them and Petraj Overlook is working and undisturbed. Nhorah is having way too much fun with the Iron Legion Charzookas and frequently challenges other charr into Dominion chopper shooting showdowns.

#3 - Zhenta - Skyscale Test Rides

It seems like the payoff for those long months spent in Elona has finally arrived. With the most promising, young skyscale arriving on the field, Zhenta is spending most of her time surveying enemy movements from above and scaring the shit out of Dominion soldiers with the skyscale’s roar. When her winged companion needs rest, she usually hops over to the forest and joins the Seraph mesmers to help cover the guerilla operations.

#4 - Senterya - Guerilla Commander

The dense forest is just the perfect terrain for her abilities. The quick and merciless raids on Dominion forces quickly deplate the morale of Bangar’s soldiers and makes them abandon their posts and territories. Whenever she is not directly needed for an operation, she usually escorts supply caravans or makes coordinated scouting flights with Zhenta on her gryphon.

[dumfanting]

Ok guys, it's been almost a full year since I broke out of my comfort zone and wrote/posted my first fanfic, so what better time to do it again?

I've never shared anything I’ve worked on this hard before, so I’m nervous about this.

If you've read chapter 25 of Same Heart, you've kinda met my OC, Shalka Myrr. Well, after more time than I'll admit, and a hell of a lot of work, mistakes, and trial and error, now you can meet her properly!

iPad, ibis paint pro. Background scene and midground crates referenced from Unsplash.com under unsplash license. Figure referenced with Just Sketch Me pose generator app. Text reads “grounding plates” and “copper wire”.

[legendary-alliance-stance]

me, a week ago: okay i need to draw some of my newer ocs or something

also me, a week ago: hahaha myrr/elli machine go brrrrrrrr

[legendary-assassin-stance]

With a bang, the door to Bryok’s office slammed open and Myrr strode into the room -- an irritated snarl was on his lips, but whatever he was going to shout died in his throat once his brain caught up with what he was seeing in front of him -- he stopped in his tracks, staring at the necromancer, who was lying forward on his desk, one arm pillowing his head while his other hand swirled a crystalline glass lazily.

The vividly green contents of the glass, along with the half-empty bottle resting next to Bryok, immediately clicked in Myrr’s mind. ‘Absinthe?’ he mused, followed up by, ‘Has he really drank the whole half of that bottle already?’ It had only been two hours or so since Myrr had last seen Bryok around the camp, and that did not bode well for the necromancer’s state of sobriety.

The sniper hesitantly moved forward, his actions slow and telegraphed; the fact that Bryok hadn’t even lifted his head to see who was breaking his door down (despite the fact that, honestly, only Myrr ever did) was concerning in itself, though Myrr was quick to smother that emotion. “Bryok?” Myrr questioned, keeping his volume neutrally low.

“Mmm…”

Myrr scowled slightly at the noncommittal noise he received, moving to splay his hands out on the desk. Leaning forward slightly, the sniper growled, “Bryok.”

“Mmmmh, yea?” The other still hadn’t raised his head up to meet Myrr’s gaze, but at this point the sniper would take slightly-slurred, but coherent, words over eye contact. The tip of Bryok’s ear twitched when Myrr’s nails curled against the desk, the sharpened tips carving small rivulets into the wood, and the necromancer finally raised his head up, dilated golden eyes barely able to focus on the sniper’s face.

“How much have you drank so far?”

“Jussst this, ‘n uhh… maybe a bit ‘f Orrian wine Cerise had.”

“You mean the ancient wine I brought back from my Orr mission?”

“Eh--” Bryok’s gaze slipped from Myrr’s face, and instead rested somewhere to the sniper’s right. “S’not like she was drinkin’ it.”

“That’s--” Myrr blustered out an irate noise; if his nails weren’t already digging into the desk, they would’ve been by that point. His lips pulled back to show his fangs, and that seemed to snap Bryok’s attention back onto his face, at least for the time being. “Do you know how strong that wine was?”

“M’still conscious, ain’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

The necromancer flinched slightly at the snarled words, and Myrr’s volume settled back into a low growl. “Cerise had wanted to meet with you, but that’s obviously not going to happen right now,” he snapped, pushing himself back into a proper standing posture so he could stride around the desk. Bryok’s gaze followed him as he moved, expression slightly wary because of how angry the sniper seemed to be, but he didn’t attempt to move away either.

“Up you get,” Myrr huffed, coming to a stop a foot away from Bryok’s chair; he gave the necromancer a minute to process that command, and when it seemed apparent that Bryok was not going to respond -- probably not for lack-of-trying, considering just how much alcohol he’d consumed in such a small amount of time -- Myrr exhaled slowly and leaned forward to wrap his fingers around the upper part of Bryok’s arm, hauling the other out of his seat while ignoring the indignant squawk he got in response. “I said, up you fuckin’ get.”

“‘ey, ‘ey! I can walk on m’own, y’know!” Bryok yelped, his tone of voice a whine that definitely wouldn’t have made itself apparent if he’d been in any state to stay upright and not topple over immediately, talons scrabbling slightly on the wooden floor as he regained his footing.

“I’m not about to let you bash your head in on your desk and die, so Cerise can blame me for it.” Myrr gave Bryok no chance to respond to that, nor any to prepare as the sniper dipped down slightly to scoop the necromancer into his arms in a bridal-style carry. Ignoring the continued squawks and halfhearted arguments that Bryok gave him, Myrr slipped around the desk and made his way towards the other’s connecting bedroom door.

Nudging that door open with his foot once he reached it, the sniper barely glanced around the room before making a beeline towards the bed that occupied the far corner. With very little fanfare, Myrr dropped the necromancer onto the bed with a growl. “Sleep it off, you stupid asshole. I’ll let Cerise know that she’ll have to reschedule whatever the fuck she wanted to talk to you about.”

Not waiting for a response, Myrr turned away from the bed, but paused at a particularly pathetic whine from the other behind him. “Myrr--”

“What?” Myrr growled, his irritation having already peaked at both being reduced to a messenger for Cerise, and having to babysit her drunken second-in-command. The sniper’s posture tensed when he felt a taloned hand brush against his wrist. He turned just enough to look over his shoulder at Bryok, freezing at the wide-eyed, inquisitive look that he was given.

“Stay?”

Bryok’s tone was a hair shy of pleading, and that was more than enough to cause the sniper’s breath to hitch slightly -- though he quickly hid that with a sharp, grumpy-sounding exhale of breath. “Fine, I guess. Cerise isn’t going to be happy.”

“Cerise can wait.” Bryok reached out to fully grasp the sniper’s wrist this time, giving him an impatient, but weak, tug back towards the bed. Myrr allowed himself to be manhandled just enough to walk back the two paces he needed to sit down on the edge of the mattress, scowling when Bryok instantly repositioned himself to curl around his waist not unlike a cat would.

The necromancer huffed, burying his face against Myrr’s thigh, and it slowly creeped into Myrr’s conscious just how inebriated Bryok was at that moment in time, despite his speech being relatively normal. “You do realize how easily I could… literally kill you while you’re like this, right? You definitely aren’t in any state to fight back.”

A slow, rumbling hum vibrated in Bryok’s chest as he nuzzled against the sniper’s leg, a lazy sleepiness to his motions now that he was laid out in an actual bed. “You won’t though.” His voice was muffled against Myrr’s skin, and Myrr shuddered slightly at the feeling of the necromancer’s breath ghosting across his leg. “You aren’t that kind of person.”

A lump settled itself in Myrr’s throat at those words, and he didn’t respond as Bryok’s breathing slowly evened itself out into a sleeping rhythm. Myrr sat there quietly, staring at the mess of feathers Bryok’s hair had descended into as the muted sounds of the necromancer’s exhaling filled the otherwise-silent room.

‘You aren’t that kind of person.’

Bryok believed that so completely that he felt comfortable allowing Myrr to be around when he was fully vulnerable... but could Myrr really believe that of himself?