#puppeteer of dysfunction

[rubyharleylalonde]

some combos for headcanons <3 gold star to anyone who can guess who these are for

herbalist of truth (seer+sylph of life+rage)

puppeteer of dysfunction (witch+maid of void+mind)

mother of loyalty (knight+maid of heart+hope)

cleric of pride (knight+sylph of heart+breath)

overlord of dedication (prince+page of time+blood)

gatekeeper of apathy (prince+seer of heart+void)

beacon of prosperity (rogue+heir of light+hope)

supernova of grudges (prince+heir of time+rage)

repenter of liberty (mage+maid of breath+light)

warlock of stagnancy (prince+witch of light+void)

all designed by @/superxstarzz!

[trynadraw]

ANGST TIME!!

I feel like schnozmo and mama cosma would argue a lot growing up, and little cosmo is sort of caught in the crossfire :(

that feeling when the closest thing to a therapist you have is a ten year old who has no idea what is going on

[nexus-nebulae]

suddenly realising that a decent amount of our system's dysfunctions might be due to OCD 😭😭😭

[ardenwritesegos]

Calm

Having a boyfriend with hypnotism powers comes with some fears. There’s always the worry of getting put under against your will. The worry that, in an instant, you will have control over yourself taken away. But when you trust someone enough, maybe that worry can go away.

It was your average 1am in the Iplier residence. This meant that Murdock was awake, sipping on a mug of tea, taking in the silence of nearly everyone else being asleep. At least he was, until Eric came knocking. He knew it was Eric from the five, soft, quick taps on the door. He was typically asleep at this hour. If Eric was awake and coming to Murdock, something had to be wrong.

Murdock softly opened the door, finding a sobbing, heaving mess behind it.

It was bad, really bad this time.

“What’s the matter?” The murderer was just going to cut to the chase. Asking if he was okay was pointless in this situation. He already knew the answer.

“I…” Eric blubbered, barely able to get words out. He took a small breath before continuing.

“I had another nightmare,” this was a common occurrence when it came to Eric. With a dad as overall horrible as Derek, you couldn’t really leave that without some trauma. For Eric, that trauma came with intense, realistic nightmares; ones that left him turning to the others for help. It wasn’t usually Murdock, though. Eric didn’t want to accidentally bump into the man without his sunglasses on. Murdock was already self-conscious about accidentally hypnotizing innocents as it was. Eric didn’t want to add to that stress.

Still, at the moment, Murdock was the only one awake. Eric had a feeling he would be awake since he had an idea about his sleep patterns and knew that they weren’t so good. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much of a bother.

“Come in,” Murdock waved his hand, letting Eric in silently. Inside were dark purple walls, with dark wood furniture. In one of those pieces of furniture—the shelves—leaned glass boxes of collectible knives. Next to his bed sat a wheeled tray of tea, including a kettle plugged into an outlet.

“Would you like some Sleepytime tea?” Murdock offered, gesturing to the makeshift tea set.

“It may help calm you down,” the murderer didn’t know much else to do. He wasn’t the comforting sort, at least not usually. He spent his time singing abusers and traffickers to their deaths. That didn’t make for a warm heart, but for Eric, he would try.

Eric nodded his head timidly. Murdock grabbed a mug and poured hot water in. The kettle was already heated up, after all. The killer grabbed his box of nighttime herbal tea and placed a bag of it into the cup.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” Murdock pointed to his bed with a thick, royal purple comforter. Eric gently sat down on the fluffy bed as the murderer handed him his tea and sat next to him on the bed.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Eric shook his head quickly, sniffling his nose. He was shaking, like a child who wondered why his parents hit him. That was close enough to the truth. How could Murdock possibly comfort him like this?

Murdock got a spur of the moment idea, one that Eric probably wouldn’t like.

“I can…” Murdock hesitated, this seeming very manipulative as he was going over it in his head.

“Make you feel better, if you’d like,” Eric blushed, getting the complete wrong idea.

“No, no not like that,” Murdock reassured.

“My powers can calm anyone from anything,” he explained.

“But I’ll only do it if you want me to,” Eric seemed to be thinking it over for a moment.

After what felt like forever, Eric nodded. This was his partner. Why would he hurt him? After all, Murdock did avoid using his powers on everyone else, so using them like this was a big deal; something not to take lightly. He was willing to take a chance.

Murdock took off his sunglasses, eyes closed once they were off.

“On the count of three, I will open my eyes,” the murderer prepared Eric. He knew how much his partner needed preparation. Hell, anyone would need to be prepared for this.

“One…” the killer’s voice went low and deep.

“Two…three,” Murdock’s eyelids slowly went up. In an instant, Eric was captivated by the swirling purple and black in his eyes. It went in the same direction over and over and over again; perfect clockwise motion. He couldn’t think of much else, his nightmare fading into the background.

“Your body is still,” his voice was soft, warm…Eric wanted to wrap it around him like a blanket. Eric’s body all at once stopped shaking.

“Your mind is quiet,” all remaining worries faded away like they never existed. Eric was being made numb, but it wasn’t a cold, empty numbness. It was one full of care and love. He wasn’t a toy, he wasn’t a puppet. The spiral held his soul gently in its hands. Nothing could hurt him, he was safe and sound.

Safe and sound…

Safe…

Sound…

No other sounds, but him and—

His still body contradicted with his pulsing heart.

“Your breaths are even, your heart is steady,” All at once, the oversight was corrected. Eric found himself taking deep, comforting breaths. With each one, his pulse became steadier, less consuming. He was completely sheltered, wrapped in an embrace he never wanted to leave.

“You are tired,” Murdock’s words became gradually slower.

“It’s late…you need rest,” the murderer’s voice went as low as it could go.

He was right. Eric was having trouble keeping his eyes open, eyelids drifting down…down…down…

“When you hear a snap, you will fall asleep,” the guiding voice was nearly a whisper.

“It will be deep and dreamless,” what a relief.

Deep…

Dreamless…

He could finally be at peace.

He waited patiently for the echoing crack that would announce his rest. It felt like an eternity; a blissful, serene eternity, until—

The snapping of fingers next to his right ear. He could almost hear it echo before he fell on his back and his vision went black.

There he was.

Eric Derekson, laying on the end of Murdock’s bed like a puppy, calmer than he’d ever been in his existence. The killer’s mouth curved upwards. They wouldn’t make a habit of it. Murdock knew, after all, how it could become an addiction. He would reserve it for emergencies such as these.

For now, Murdock had two cups of tea to finish.

[greenqueenhightower]

The primary reason I love the Greens is that they are so messed up. They are not perfect, they are not disinfected and favored by the narrative, and they are raw to the bone; they are real.

Aegon is as real as a devastated and soul-crushed father gets whose grief translates to anger and violence. Helaena’s silent inner turmoil and anguish haunt the Red Keep. Alicent has become a wreck as she weighs this tragedy the only way she knows how: against her own failed moral compass, holding herself responsible.

Otto sees his strings of power stretch and snap as he pursues the unattainable dream once more. Criston feels unworthy and consoles himself with the deception that he remains unsullied by still bearing a white cloak to his name, having been absolved of his original oath-breaking years before. And Aemond refuses to acknowledge any weakness or softness in front of his family so he seeks consolation elsewhere.

This green family doesn’t know how to process emotions, doesn’t know how to grieve together, and can’t find solace in each other’s suffering despite yearning for comfort. Otto doesn’t know how to comfort Alicent, Alicent doesn’t know how to comfort Aegon, and Aegon doesn’t know how to comfort Helaena.

Larys exerts his influence and puppeteers Alicent to his own liking by giving her a much-desired grasp of agency over political affairs. Alicent finds escape in undiscovered indulgences that give her the intoxicating illusion of control over a lifetime of servitude. Criston succumbs to the addictive drug of being desired and wanted on equal terms. The Greens live in a vicious circle of unhealed trauma, a bottomless pit of fears and insecurities, and a tangled web of deception and control.

They are wounded, dysfunctional, and forsaken, and that makes them so intriguing.

[leroibobo]

#one nitpick/doubt i’d have here is that talking about concepts of “citizenship” and “nationality” in the middle ages#seems like it’s probably a case of projecting the present backwards into the past

good catch. different governments had (and still have) different conceptions of what we'd think of as "citizenship" today, but what i was speaking of here were the rights granted jews in comparison to those granted christians. (or later, on the basis of ethnicity.) some examples:

the roman empire did actually have a concept of citizenship, which jews weren't granted until 212 ce. they still faced marginalization after that though, and especially when christianity became the empire's official religion.

most of the medieval german states (including the holy roman empire later on) were willing to grant "protection" of jews in exchange for specific obligations. (for example, if a kingdom was going through economic hardships, they may open their doors to jews with the thought that jewish people may somehow single-handedly reinvigorate their economy.) though this at times granted jews a good deal of rights, it also meant that they were subject to a lot of strict legal limitations that other citizens weren't. this allowed the kingdoms to "punish" jews - who were viewed as inherently treacherous - more easily.

in the russian empire, jews were included in a specific legal category of non-slavic ethnicity that were allotted separate legal treatment. since the category extended to all non-slavs, it wasn't unique to jews, but the rights allowed or not allowed were determined on a group-by-group basis. what jews were or weren't allowed was all-in-all historically consistent with the rest of non-byzantine or ottoman europe. the most infamous limitation was that jews in the european sections of the empire were required with few exceptions to live in (and were not allowed to travel beyond) an area called the "pale of settlement", which consisted of parts of modern-day belarus, lithuania, moldova, ukraine, poland, latvia, and russia. the russian empire possessed the largest population of jews in europe at the time.

i use the word "citizen" so people who've never heard any of this before can understand what i'm talking about without me having to go into excruciating detail. social media is for sharing information on a face value level, and i'd consider my paraphrasing oversimplification rather than disinformation. there's a lot more comprehensive accounts of this history out there if you're interested.

some notes on specifically "middle eastern" (mashriqi + iran, caucuses, and turkey) jewish communities/history:

something to keep in mind: judaism isn't "universalist" like christianity or islam - it's easier to marry into it than to convert on your own. conversions historically happened, but not in the same way they did for european and caucasian christians/non-arab muslims.

that being said, a majority of middle eastern jews descend from jewish population who remained in palestine or immigrated/were forced (as is the case with "kurdish" jews) from palestine to other areas and mixed with locals/others who came later (which at some point stopped). pretty much everywhere in the middle east and north africa (me/na) has/had a jewish population like this.

with european jews (as in all of them), the "mixing" was almost entirely during roman times with romans/greeks, and much less later if they left modern-day greece/italy.

(none of this means jewish people are or aren't "indigenous" to palestine, because that's not what that word means.)

like with every other jewish diaspora, middle eastern jewish cultures were heavily influenced by wherever they ended up. on a surface level you can see this in things like food and music.

after the expulsion of jews from spain and portugal, sephardim moved to several places around the world; many across me/na, mostly to the latter. most of the ones who ended up in the former went to present-day egypt, palestine, lebanon, syria, and turkey. a minority ended up in iraq (such as the sassoons' ancestors). like with all formerly-ottoman territories, there was some degree of back and forth between countries and continents.

some sephardim intermarried with local communities, some didn't. some still spoke ladino, some didn't. there was sometimes a wealth gap between musta'arabim and sephardim, and/or they mostly didn't even live in the same places, like in palestine and tunisia. it really depends on the area you're looking at.

regardless, almost all the jewish populations in the area went through "sephardic blending" - a blending of local and sephardic customs - to varying degrees. it's sort of like the cultural blending that came with spanish/portugese colonization in central and south america (except without the colonization).

how they were treated also really depends where/when you're looking. some were consistently dealt a raw hand (like "kurdish" and yemenite jews) while some managed to do fairly well, all things considered (like baghdadi and georgian jews). most where somewhere in between. the big difference between me/na + some balkan and non-byzantine european treatment of jews is due to geography - attitudes in law regarding jews in those areas tended to fall into different patterns.

long story short: most european governments didn't consider anyone who wasn't "christian" a citizen (sometimes even if they'd converted, like roma; it was a cultural/ethnic thing as well), and persecuted them accordingly; justifying this using "race science" when religion became less important there after the enlightenment.

most me/na and the byzantine governments considered jews (and later, christians) citizens, but allowed them certain legal/social opportunities while limiting/banning/imposing others. the extent of both depend on where/when you're looking but it was never universally "equal".

in specifically turkey, egypt, palestine, and the caucuses, there were also ashkenazi communities, who came mainly because living as a jew in non-ottoman europe at the time sucked more than in those places. ottoman territories in the balkans were also a common destination for this sort of migration.

in the case of palestine, there were often religious motivations to go as well, as there were for some other jews who immigrated. several hasidic dynasites more or less came in their entirety, such as the lithuanian/polish/hungarian ones which precede today's neutrei karta.

ashkenazi migration didn't really happen until jewish emancipation in europe for obvious reasons. it also predates zionism - an initially secular movement based on contemporaneous european nationalist ideologies - by some centuries.

most ashkenazi jews today reside in the us, while most sephardic or "mizrahi" jews are in occupied palestine. there, the latter outnumber the former. you're more likely to find certain groups (like "kurds" and yemenites) in occupied palestine than others (like persians and algerians) - usually ones without a western power that backed them from reactionary antisemitic persecution and/or who came from poorer communities. (and no, this doesn't "justify" the occupation).

(not to say there were none who immigrated willingly/"wanted" to go, or that none/all are zionist/anti-zionist. (ben-gvir is of "kuridsh" descent, for example.) i'm not here to parse motivations.)

this, along with a history of racism/chauvinism from the largely-ashkenazi "left", are why many mizrahim vote farther "right".

(in some places, significant numbers of the jewish community stayed, like turkey, tunisia, and iran. in some others, there's evidence of double/single-digit and sometimes crypto-jewish communities.)

worldwide, the former outnumber the latter. this is thought to be because of either a medieval ashkenazi population boom due to decreased population density (not talking about the "khazar theory", which has been proven to be bullshit, btw) or a later, general european one in the 18th/19th centuries due to increased quality of life.

the term "mizrahi" ("oriental", though it doesn't have the same connotation as in english) in its current form comes from the zionist movement in the 1940s/50s to describe me/na jewish settlers/refugees.

(i personally don't find it useful outside of israeli jewish socio-politics and use it on my blog only because it's a term everyone's familiar with.)

about specifically palestinian jews:

the israeli term for palestinian jews is "old yishuv". yishuv means settlement. this is in contrast to the "new yishuv", or settlers from the initial zionist settlement period in 1881-1948. these terms are usually used in the sense of describing historical groups of people (similar to how you would describe "south yemenis" or "czechoslovaks").

palestinian jews were absorbed into the israeli jewish population and have "settler privilege" on account of their being jewish.

they usually got to keep their property unless it was in an "arab area". there's none living in gaza/the west bank right now unless they're settlers.

their individual views on zionism vary as much as any general population's views vary on anything.

(my "palestinian jews" series isn't intended to posit that they all think the same way i do, but to show a side of history not many people know about. any "bias" only comes from the fact that i have a "bias" too. this is a tumblr blog, not an encyclopedia.)

during the initial zionist settlement period, there were palestinian/"old yishuv" jews who were both for zionism and against it. the former have been a part of the occupation and its government for pretty much its entire history.

some immigrated abroad before 1948 and may refer to themselves as "syrian jews". ("syria" was the name given to syria/lebanon/palestine/some parts of iraq during ottoman times.)

ones who stayed or immigrated after for whatever reason mostly refer to themselves as "israeli".

in israeli jewish society, "palestinian" usually implies muslims and christians who are considered "arab" under israeli law. you may get differing degrees of revulsion/understanding of what exactly "palestine"/"palestinians" means but the apartheid means that palestinian =/= jewish.

because of this, usage of "palestinian" as a self-descriptor varies. your likelihood of finding someone descendent from/with ancestry from the "old yishuv" calling themselves a "palestinian jew" in the same way an israeli jew with ancestry in morocco would call themselves a "moroccan jew" is low.

(i use it on here because i'm assuming everyone knows what i mean.)

samaritans aren't 'jewish', they're their own thing, though they count as jewish under israeli law.

[thebibliosphere]

Hello (good morning?)

I have a question about your chronic illness. We are suspecting that my kid have a form of eds, and we're dealing with recurring presence of mold in our bathroom. Since you live in an Old House™️, I was wondering if you can tell something about wether mold can cause sudden (inexplicable) flare up's? My teen's doctor shrugged it off.

We're calling professionals about the mold regularly, it's not going to completely go away and moving is not an option, so i would need to know if i need to fight this fight more consistently.

Thank you and i hope your migraine is ending soon!

It's 12:30 am and I have post-migraine insomnia, so yea, good morning!

So, here’s where mold could be triggering an EDS flare up. Mast cell instability (there are several types, the type I have is Mast Cell Activation Syndrome or MCAS) has a high rate of comorbidity in EDS due to weird connective tissue issues and mast cells being present in every part of the body.

Mold is a huge mast cell destabalizer and can lead to degranulation, and when mast cells degranulate they dump an inflammatory cocktail into the surrounding tissue.

Closer to the skin this looks like hives or other typical allergic responses, but as previously stated, mast cells are in every part of the body including deep connective tissue and that's when mast cells flaring up can exacerbate the symptoms of EDS.

I know for me when I’m around mold, my joints become excruciating. Like it just feels like I’m grinding glass into the sockets and I’m either stiff as a board or like a puppet with my strings cut. I also become listless and more disposed to idiopathic anaphylaxis, but that's due to my mast cell dysfunction which, when we unknowingly had mold in our house, went from moderate to severe.

So your kid might not have a full-blown mast cell disorder, but if they’re having EDS flare-ups around mold that’s a red flag you need to be watchful for and fighting pretty regularly.

We ended up having to rip out our entire basement after we found black mold in the walls. (I could smell it. The mold remedial company said we had “a bit of damp, nothing to worry about” but my partner believed me and started cutting into the walls and what we found was a nightmare that spanned the entire finished basement 😱. There’s pics somewhere in my blog.) and a few weeks after we did my health began to stabilize.

So yeah, get on top of that as best you can. Mold is a bitch at the best of times, but it’s even worse when there’s weird health stuff already going on. Good luck, you’ve got my sympathy.

[pastelchaos12]

BLOCK TALES AU!!!

Okay well its more of a continuation/re-do of my call-for-hatred inspired au since I didn't have too much going on for it :P

(mild demo 4 spoilers but it's nothing big but still better safe than sorry :P)

First up here's the main line-up, I call them the dysfunction squad. Friends and former enemies agree to help Player out on their quest for the seven swords. How will it go? Keep reading and you'll find out, dingus.

Kyoko and Calypso get to reunite!

Anyway, before that, here's what the squad has going on rn:

Player and Greifer are dating (TOXICHERO FOR THE WIN)

As stated in the old au post, Cruel King lives! He left Blackrock to the rule of his nephew (An oc I haven't designed yet) Prince Lance.

Hatred call card

Calypso, Kyoko and Greifer are childhood friends! So they'd have funny banter (Greifer was like the brother C&K never had)

Oh yeah, Hatred still gets their human disguise:

They go by Crimson when disguised and sometimes uses that name in their true form, it grew on them. Crimson is generally unnerving in every aspect: Their smile is a bit too wide, the way they speak always seems off and their body language makes them look like a puppet on strings.

Anyway, onto the main meat of the au!

It's a 1xplayer au!!! I love these au's and I don't see many of them so I said, "Fine, I'll do it myself"/ref

Here's the main design! I took some inspiration from @condensedbeansrblx 1x design: and the next rounds killer is... an eleven year old in a princess dress Siblings – @condensedbeansrblx on Tumblr mainly with the domino crown being a halo.

Now you're probably asking, "How did Player turn into 1x1x1x1??" well once Player got all seven swords, shit hit the fan so to speak.

Player thought that the voices that came from the swords were from Hatred and the other embodiments so they expected the voices to stop or at least for them to quite down.

And they did for a while, but the more swords they got the louder the voices got. Once Player got the Illumina the voices had gotten so much worse that they could barley hear the others. Crimson was very confused since, as far as they were aware, sure that they and the other embodiments were the only ones.

So who or what were the other voices? None other than 1x1x1x1, they had pieces of their soul latched onto the SFOTH swords which is why they were so dangerous in the first place. Player had all seven which meant that all the pieces of 1x's soul were brought back together and with a vessel right there for the taking.

PLAYER GET'S POSSESSED! OH SHIT!

Someone help them-

There's more for this au but I'll save that for future posts :P

[theovermanln]

The Man in the Purple Suit and the Dummy

A friend of mine told me yall here eat up tson content so i hope my designs for these two satiates your hunger 🙏 While im here i wanna share some headcannons and design coices about these two before every idea i had about them is proven false when ln3 comes out lmao.

I always inagined the purple man to be dead almost. His skin is melinanated but also like colorless and ashy around the parts of the skin that usually have a lot of blood. I figure he is moreso like a limp puppet, able to teleport around but ultimatley unable to actually move his own body. Like golden freddy from fnaf. His eyes are all swirly because i thought itd be cooler then having smooth flesh or just empty eyesockets lol. Also the swirly patterns i think conpliment the carnival/circus aesthetic quite well. Thats also why his hair is pink and curly, it follows the theme of swirls or spirals and its colorful to make him seem more of an eccentruc ringmaster even though his personality doesnt fit with that eccentricity. The dummy i heavily referenced chimpanzees and monkeys. Hes a super wild card it seems, and hes super violent and quick to kill Rusty. I imagine he goes feral like monkeys are known to do. Hes super pale with a bunch of blood and blush in his face to further exhasperate that he is organic and not wood or plastic like noone describes. You can literally see his blood flowing in his face. Hes ginger just cause i thought it fit lol. His suit is supposed to be the opposite of the purple mans. Yellow being the opposite if purple but still with purple patterns to show that the two are connected. While the purple man accessorizes with the shoulder pads and tie and vest and stuff, the dummy has patterns to accessorize. Theyre supposed to be opposites but also partners. The purple man is almost silent, hes still, he doesnt like the spotlight, while the dummy is loud and angry and energetic and jealous of the performers. Both are supposed to be opposites that conpliment the other well. Also theyre gay and in love but are also in a super dysfunctional relationship. The dummy has an anxious attatchment style and the purple man has an avoidant attatchment style and theyre going to Otto for relationship counseling

[roseadleyn]

something that really bothers me is how much jude is done dirty by the fandom.

like let me lay out jude for yall. jude is a ruthless warrior, a girl who saw her parents murdered in front of her when she was only seven years old. she's not angry and bitter, she's very calculating and doesn't just want to survive, she wants a place for herself. in some kind of way, jude can be called a courtier — she's not as subtle as one and not like cardan or lady asha, but she's cunning and will do anything for power. she is morally grey, and she's actually very intelligent too. ten out of ten, this is how fmcs are written.

but the fandom has never done jude any justice. like they say she just kills her way through every problem — she doesn't. she's extremely intelligent and was raised on strategy. jude ran cardan's court for a full year while juggling spycraft duties and missed on no marks. she does kill out of panic ( valerian, balekin ), but a) she was being attacked and b) even with valerian, she made a plan to hide it and get away with it and she did. jude is smart, not all willy-nilly murdering people.

and secondly,, jude is really remarkable? like this 19 year old human girl, takes the crown, makes a puppet king, rules his court from the shadows and runs her own network of spies, maintains every foreign relation and juggles her own dysfunctional political family, deals with the weird loverboy king crushing on her, fights in a war, saves her lover, and she pulls it all off? and this is just off of the top of my head,. but for some reason this fandom has delegated her to love interest. every jude post is about her and cardan. the jude duarte tag is just cardan and jude, jude and cardan, jurdan, heres how jude dealt with her feelings for cardan!! and then why i think jude should have exiled taryn from elfhame!!

its honestly.. this issue is with the whole tfota fandom, turning a brilliant political fantasy with romance subplot into a mainly romance genre,,, but jude is my main one. female leads in ya are never valued properly or done any due credit - either by the author or the fandom or both. the fact that such a strong, well written character is always being portrayed as lover and sister, queen only in the context of loving king... it's very tiring. i want to see more of jude. how her trauma affects her, habits she might have picked up in elfhame, her hobbies, etc. its just, okay im gonna stop rambling now

BUT WAIT. ANOTHER THING,, i will now need every artist to draw jude the way shes written,. by which i mean give her muscles. she foughtl off a group of men with an axe and uses swords, daggers, crossbows and has been training since she was seven. draw her with muscles, her scars, her missing finger

[bamsywrites]

"What if....?" Halbrand AU

Pairing: Modern AU! Sauron/Halbrand x bookshop owner!Reader

Summary: What if Sauron was angry sludge for a couple 100,000 more years? What if all that time mellowed him out just a little? What if he meets Sweet One and is still completely unhealthily obsessed with her? And what if she asked him to put up Christmas lights?

Tags: Christmas AU, friends to lovers, romantic tension, two losers in love, short lil drabble

Notes: Yes, this is an AU of my own Fic, but it's happier, and I like happy. I knew this was a bad idea because I wanna keep writing this. There is one of the funniest lines I think I've ever written and was honestly the inspiration for this whole mini drabble.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” he mumbled to himself, the air was so cold his breath came out in puffs. His fingers were red and raw, having insisted that he had no need for your gloves despite your protests. He'd be fine in his jeans and thick flannel, he had argued, but he'd regretted it mere seconds after getting atop the ladder to place these damned lights.

He was The Dark Lord. The Deceiver. He had ripped elves apart with his bare hands. He had leveled cities. He had waited and bid his time for ages untold to bring his rule to bring the races of Middle Earth to their knees.

Now he was putting up Christmas lights outside a bookshop.

Why? He could wave his hand and make everyone think there were lights, decorations, a goddamn 12 foot Santa.

“Who the fuck even is Santa?” He mumbled to himself.

But he couldn't do any of that because you had asked him to hang lights.

His jaw set as he continued to work.

You. You were the reason for this. The moment he laid eyes on you, he gave it all up. All ambition. All desire for power or control. All sense of immortality. All for you. He had yet to know if you felt the same, but he did know that you were his salvation. You were good, and you were pure and looking into your heart and soul. He realized that his search for perfection ended with you.

And, if that meant hanging these stupid fucking lights, then so be it.

It took him 20 more minutes and approximately 135 more ‘fucks’ before he he was done and walking back into your shop.

“Told ya you'd need gloves,” you spoke with a smirk as you organized a few books.

“I needed no such thing, sweet one,” he spoke, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“Well, either way, thank you. You're very appreciated.”

“Couldn't imagine making you get atop that ladder and do it yourself.” He responded, wetting his lips. He watched as you lit a candle, and the smell of vanilla and peppermint filled his nose.

“You really like this Christmas shit, don't you?”

“You don't?”

He shook his head, pressing his tongue against his teeth. “Nope. My family had too much…drama. Angst. Fighting.”

“Trust me, I know about dysfunctional families. I drowned it all out with old Christmas movies. Frosty the Snowman, the slow-motion puppet movies, there's so many. I love all of em.”

“And see, I've not seen a single one.”

“That's a shame,” You were back to stocking books onto shelves. You looked at one, pursing your lips, and he saw a twinkle in your eye. “What're you doing this weekend?”

He shrugged, eyebrows furrowed, “Nothing planned.” He watched you, fighting a smile and trying to act oblivious. He was nervous, truth be told, but a good nervous. A nervous that bubbled up in his stomach. It felt almost like…

Butterflies.

When was the last time he'd felt this kind of nervous excitement ? Had he ever felt like this?

You were full of surprises. You were an enigma. He didn't understand you, and though he desperately wanted to, he liked that you were different.

He watched the nervous twitch of your fingers, the way your teeth dug into your lip, he could see the thoughts racing behind your eyes as you approached him. You held a stack of thick chapter books to your chest as if to guard your heart. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, and your eyes focused on the floor.

“Would you, maybe, like…” You inhaled and looked up at him, the butterflies in his stomach exploding into fireworks, “Would you like to come over on Friday? We could order something to eat, I could make cookies, and I could show you my favorites.”

The way your teeth bit down on your tongue, the blush to your cheeks, how your features scrunched in preparation for his response, all this was kindling to a fire.

“ Yeah… but are you sure that a weekend is enough time?” He asked with a tilt of his head. “It sounds like you have a lot of favorites, and I would really hate to make you choose between them.”

He watched as your breath caught in your chest. He had to fight the smirk that threatened to spread across his lips. He was a master manipulator, and it was taking all of his prowess to hide his true emotions at this moment.

“ Well, I mean, I'm not doing anything Saturday either if you wanted to stay the night and watch more in the morning.” Your fingers nervously stroked the top of the pages while your grip on the books got tighter.

“ Well then, I'm all yours,” He smirked down at you. “ I've never really seen a Christmas movie, I'll be glad to finally get some under my belt.” He watched you gently and hoped that you would fall for the bait that he had planted.

And by the way you shifted your weight between your feet and your eyes quickly looked down before making contact with his again, he knew he had won.

“ I am free all weekend,” you told him, your voice stuttering as the words left your lips. “ I wouldn't mind showing you more of the classics.”

He smirked and nodded, feeling victorious at the thought of spending almost three days with you. "Then that sounds like a plan.”

“ Yeah, a weekend long sleepover. But... you know... just as friends.”

“ Yeah, I know, just as friends.”

Despite his words, he couldn't help how his eyes traveled down to quickly glance at your soft, lush lips. Nor could he control how his mind wandered to how they might feel.

[hatsukeii]

I think I'll be singing Velvet Ring on a microphone beaded with 'ex lovers' stickers and 'longing looks' beads. I've heard that Ushijima likes my music quite a bit~

too easy. the band you’ve joined is…

exes in my phone book / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): ex lovers to something?? something i guess?? pining, reminiscing, nostalgia fic tbh but ANGST ANGSTY ANGST WOO interpret the ending as you like because i kept it open for a reason

warning(s): slightly dysfunctional relationship dynamics kinda, lowkey suggestive at points, ushiwaka and reader were just young and stupid and in love but they couldn't seem to navigate it yknow, everything is also like somewhat/pretty ambiguous until the end but that's just how i like it

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is… at a concert with your ex?!?!

setlist:

🎵velvet rings, big thief

🎵mayonaise, the smashing pumpkins

🎵black star, radiohead

There is a girl on a stage, who strums a pick through the strings of her acoustic guitar. A girl, whose lips hover just above the microphone that sits in a bracket, sighing into the cool metal for a final song. The people beside you have settled down, cheers and jumps reduced to swaying and mumbling.

You've been waiting for this song, haven't you?

The song strikes the ears first. The girl on stage, illuminated by a cone of light from above, sings of a night, thicker than a smoky fume. You mouth along to the lyrics, and your mind wanders to a place where your lungs are bloated, too full to carry anything more. A night beneath a buzzing streetlight, gravel that rolls and scrapes under the sweeping wind, ants that crawl onto the toecaps, under the soles, along the platforms of your unmoving shoes. A night of final breaths, and final words, and final sorrows. You're looking at the ground, your shadow muddied with the figure of another. You don't think he stares back at you. The ants keep crawling. They don't stop, even as you pivot away and leave your heart buried in the ground. The streetlight doesn't reach it again, but maybe it reaches his, still.

The faces around you hum along to a sequence, sway with the velvety strums of the girl's guitar, hold others tight against themselves. You stand alone amongst the crowd. You move when the rest of them will you to, only ever mouth to the lyrics, hold your hands close to your chest. You fear that your voice will give out if you try anything more.

"She's a beautiful performer, isn't she?"

The crowd does not shift their attention from the girl on the stage, so neither do you. She sings in gentle syllables of love, her heart pours out of her mouth. She longs for some fictitious persona, Ben, as her fingers play at the guitar like tugging the strings of a puppet. When you open your mouth, your heart is not there.

"She is. She really is." You respond to nothing but a sultry voice that finds its way into your ear canals.

The girl sings of a smoking gun, smoke that fizzles out from the barrel into night air, a bullet that falters at the end of its path to nothing in particular, a love that, for many nights before this, has begun to run dry. It's agonising, taunting, hopeful. It dies out in unanswered phone calls, drafted emails, text messages left unsent, collecting dust in a note-taking application. Words that ask a million questions.

Could we keep this going?

Is this really for the better?

Can't we try?

Why won't you just let me try?

"Why aren't you singing? It's the last song." The voice is anomalous amongst the crowd's united silence, his question stands out from those unsaid. He is too curious, yet for some selfish, twisted reason, you wish to indulge yourself. Wallow in sorrow. Take somebody else's beating heart to replace your own, that you buried beneath asphalt on a winter night of unasked questions turned two years of unspoken longing.

"For the same reason that you aren't, I'd assume." You silently hope he asks you for more.

The person huffs out a sigh, a short sigh that one lets out when they smile in defeat and surrender. He's close, his arm touching your own when he moves side to side with the crowd. His movement wills you to sway along. The girl on the stage sings of a gentle love, thick like a velvet ring. All encompassing, all powerful.

“Well, I once knew a person who loved this song.” He goes on. You stay silent, ears trained onto the words that paint golden silk and shimmering mist into the concert hall. A portrait of love that you have prayed to see once again, just out of grasp, but real enough to graze your fingers over. It sinks into your fingertips, takes you to a place where your hands could draw lines into tanned skin, hold onto a pair of strong arms, clasp together behind his broad shoulders. Beneath your feet, it travels to your ankles, wraps around your thighs, envelops you in a shroud of warmth. It comes in the form of his head laid in your lap after a long day, I love you mumbled into the flesh of your stomach in shaky sighs, calluses that roam every spot of skin on your body.

"Love really is a gentle thing, isn't it?" The lyrics are spoken out of your mouth naturally, like water running downstream in a creek. The person stays silent, you do the same. The girl's singing pierces through your ears to your throat, clawing at it as if to break it open and rescue something. He speaks before something can escape you.

"I haven't spoken to them since I left. Love is anything but gentle."

You wince, the girl's singing finally ripping through your windpipe. It doesn't stop there, to your surprise. It drills through to its final destination, and you grab the fabric of your shirt around your heart. You don't fully know the answer to your own question, but you believe in his despair. If love truly is gentle, it would have exited your chest when you screamed your throat hoarse for him to stay. It would have eased the pain, somehow. It would have sent your heart out to him even as he stood amongst giants, leagues greater than you. It would have sewn together your words, strung them into poems beautiful enough for him to say yes, I'll stay. I'll stay if you want, and I'll go if you want. Instead, you watch him on television every night, highlight reels, live volleyball matches. He left. You did not want him to.

"I haven't spoken to him since either. But I still think love is gentle. The painful kind."

The final chords of the song round off the set. The girl bows, and exits stage left. The crowd begins to loosen, yet the person's arm remains beside yours.

"Do you ever miss it?"

His number is still in your contacts. You struggle every night to hold off on pressing it. Your heart aches, and lights come on. You stare at an empty stage, and you envision yourself on it. Thousands of eyes watch you sing the song, yet you search the crowd for one pair only. You sing the words that you had once shown your love, a love that found you despite his duties, regardless of his glory, amidst his passion. You sing like you are begging for him to see you through the television, and turn around so the name Ushijima bares his face to you instead of his back. You cry out a story of a dying love, hanging onto frayed strings of memories and fear. The singing contorts into screaming at an empty crowd, as if your resolve could make Ushijima Wakatoshi find you again. You pretend to be his hands, hold yourself in your sleep. You hear his voice in your bed, on the streets, in front of you, behind you, beside you, even right here. You will never learn the lips of anyone else, not after his have taken you for himself. They feel like poison now, sinking into your veins from every part of your body that you inhibit. A poison that forces him into every corner of your life, and you are a fool enough to almost see him there.

"I want it gone, and I miss it all the same." You're crying now, and even your tears remind you of the love that taught you of its cruelty. You imagine a day when you wear another's ring on your finger, only to look up and see a blank face. There is no other.

"I think you should give him a call."

"I can't. I'd just hold him back."

"That's not true." His voice cracks, and his rebuttal is desperate, almost apologetic.

You turn to bid him farewell.

Ushijima is almost no different from how he was two years ago. But he's a little older now, a little taller too. His hair is the same olive green that used to run smooth between the webs of your hands. His voice is deep, rounder than it once was when he used to nip your earlobe and mutter professions of his love into your ear. You stare, but you don't know that he has been staring since halfway through the concert. You aren't seeing him through a television, he is no longer clad in a Schweiden Adlers jersey, his last name bears no weight here, in the space between the two of you. The days, and months, and years spent together come rushing into your head. A kiss on the forehead before separation, two pairs of feet running in wet sand that crumbles beneath their weight, sharing lunches in the silence of school rooftops, lips roaming every inch of each other on nights of longing. You, and Ushijima, and the pleads that lose their bodies when they fall back from your mouths and into your chests.

"Please, give me a call. Or a text. Or an email, I don't care. Just anything. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Ushijima."

You turn to leave, but you pull your phone out of your pocket to stare at his name in your contacts.

Ushijima watches your shrinking figure, all of his love trailing behind you, fading into smoke.

Your finger hovers above the red button that could end it all.

He can't seem to move, rooted into the ground of the now mostly empty concert hall. You are slipping away again, and he has learned from his mistake. He questions whether he's learned it a bit too late.

You turn off your phone, and shove it back into your pocket. He receives a text.

"I just want to take you home again."

author's note:

my sister gave me this idea a while ago and i just knew i had to make it so angsty sorry LOL she wanted a fluff ending but im the one with the document open so i can do what i WANT!! no i am actually very proud of this piece though and idk if this will get ANY exposure or interactions but just know that i really really loved writing this one

i also fear i lowkey forgot about longing looks and just went straight for longing…

also! song lyric references! if you catch them i'll give you a big fat kiss i love my music so much

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @catsoupki @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @fiannee @bailey-reeds @4ngelfries @akaakeis @wyrcan @kuroppiii @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[bleu-wu]

Going insane thinking back to the resurrection ritual and how hardly any of their voices were able to get back to Laudna vs. now. Her dysfunctional little family being there for her and not taking no for an answer when she needs it the most! Sobbing about it actually 😭

(Also that void puppet thing and Laudna/ all of Delilah’s victims from Whitestone being able to tether her personally? Chef’s kiss)

[dysfunctionaldungeons]

So for the first episode of Dysfunctional Dungeons we're gonna need goblins. A lot of them. We don't have the time or budget to make multiple goblin puppets and we don't want to just cut and paste the same goblin everywhere.

So here's the plan. Modular puppets. I will make one goblin and have the ears, hair, and nose be snap on. That way I can exchange out features to make how ever many goblins as I need.

If it works out I'll be using the same system to create background characters. A few puppets with interchangeable features to make the world look alive and active.

[merwgue]

The Inner Circle of A Court of Thorns and Roses is hailed as the epitome of loyalty, friendship, and found family. They’re supposed to be this tight-knit group, bonded through centuries of love, battles, and shared trauma. But when you look a little closer, the cracks start to show. What you really see is a collection of people who are absolutely terrible at communicating, drowning in their own insecurities, and sticking together not because they’re close, but because they’re too scared to admit they’ve outgrown each other.

Let’s break it down member by member, shall we? Because when you’re supposedly best friends for 500 years but can’t have a single meaningful conversation, something’s definitely off.

Introduction: The Dysfunctional "Family" Facade

From the outside, the Inner Circle looks like they have it all figured out. They’ve survived wars, tyranny, and centuries of scheming. We’re supposed to believe they’re this unstoppable force of loyalty and support. But really? They’re more like coworkers who’ve been trapped in the same office for too long—resentful, stuck, but too afraid of what happens when someone leaves. The so-called "family" dynamic? It’s just a mask for the toxic undercurrents simmering beneath the surface, built on insecurities they never talk about.

And what do they do instead of facing their problems? Avoidance. These people can strategize wars, but can’t manage a single honest conversation about their feelings. Let’s dig in.

Mor: The Perpetual Closet Case

Let’s start with Mor. Sweet, beautiful, 500-years-in-the-closet Mor. She’s been hiding her true sexuality from her "family" for centuries. Five. Whole. Centuries. That’s half a millennium of friendship, and she still doesn’t trust them enough to tell them something so fundamental about who she is. You’d think in all that time, one of them would notice. But nope. They’re either willfully ignorant or too self-absorbed to care.

How, exactly, is this supposed to be a sign of a healthy, supportive friendship? Mor is terrified of how her family might react. Her fear of rejection is so intense, she’d rather live a lie than face it. Imagine the level of insecurity that takes. And what does that say about the Inner Circle? That they’re so wrapped up in their own issues they haven’t created a safe enough space for her to be herself. Not exactly the beacon of love and acceptance we’ve been sold, is it?

Azriel: The Silent Brooder

Next up, Azriel. Oh, Azriel. The brooding spymaster with the scarred hands and a heart that’s constantly in the shadows. He’s spent centuries feeling dirty, unworthy, and just generally terrible about himself because of his profession and his past. His insecurities? They run deep. He feels tainted because of what he does for a living. As if centuries of assassination and spy work might leave someone feeling a little… well, haunted.

But here’s the thing—Azriel never talks about it. And no one in his precious Inner Circle bothers to ask. He’s been best friends with Rhysand and Cassian for, what, 500 years? Yet, they don’t once sit him down and ask, “Hey, how are you feeling about all the blood on your hands, buddy?” It’s like they don’t even see him beyond his usefulness. Azriel’s their little shadow puppet, and no one cares that the strings are cutting into him.

It’s honestly impressive how completely detached they are from each other’s emotional lives. But sure, they’re family.

Cassian: The "I’m Fine, Really!" General

Now let’s talk about Cassian, the big tough general with the soft, gooey center of crippling insecurity. Cassian grew up in a war camp, surrounded by people who told him he was worthless. So naturally, he spends his entire life trying to prove that he’s good enough, strong enough, worthy enough. And yet, no matter how many battles he wins or how many times he saves the day, he still feels like the poor kid in the back of the room.

But what’s really sad is that he’s never once confided this to anyone in the Inner Circle. He’s too busy playing the role of the cocky warrior, cracking jokes, and throwing punches. Does anyone ask him if maybe he’s feeling a little insecure about, you know, everything? Nope. Because the Inner Circle only cares about the surface. As long as Cassian keeps being the muscle, no one cares what’s going on inside his head. They don’t want to deal with feelings, after all. That’s too messy.

So, Cassian carries on, pretending he’s totally fine while never addressing the mountain of insecurity that’s been weighing on him for centuries. Classic.

Rhysand: The Martyr Complex

Finally, we have Rhysand. The High Lord with the savior complex. The man who’s been through the wringer—Under the Mountain, the whole "I’ll sacrifice myself for my people" shtick. But here’s the thing: Rhysand is a mess of insecurities too. For all his swagger and power, he’s constantly second-guessing himself. Is he a good leader? Is he doing enough? Does anyone even like him beyond his titles and power? Who knows, because Rhysand never lets anyone in long enough to find out.

Rhysand’s solution to everything is control. Control over Velaris, control over his friends, control over his own emotions. He doesn’t let anyone see the cracks because that would make him look weak. And in his head, being weak means losing everything. So, he bottles it all up and keeps going, never asking for help, never showing vulnerability. The Inner Circle never presses him on it either, because that might disrupt the perfect image they’ve all constructed of their fearless leader.

Rhysand, like the rest, is drowning in his own issues, and no one throws him a lifeline. Not that he’d take it if they did.

The Unspoken Truth: They're Not Friends, They’re Trapped

What’s the saddest part of all this? They never talk to each other. Mor doesn’t tell them about her sexuality. Azriel doesn’t tell them about his self-loathing. Cassian doesn’t tell them how he feels like the poor kid playing soldier. Rhysand doesn’t tell them about his fears of failure. They all just pretend.

Friends are supposed to be there for each other, right? They’re supposed to talk, to confide in one another. But the Inner Circle? They’re just stuck together. At this point, they’ve been friends for so long, they don’t even know how to live without each other. The Inner Circle isn’t a family; it’s a crutch. They lean on it because it’s safe, not because they actually support each other.

They’ve created this perfect little façade where they’re loyal and loving, but underneath it, they’re crumbling. They’re all insecure, all hurting, and none of them trust each other enough to talk about it. They’re more comfortable hiding their true selves than they are being vulnerable with their so-called family.

Conclusion: A Dysfunctional Dependency

In the end, the Inner Circle is toxic—to each other. They’re not this close-knit group of friends who support each other through thick and thin. They’re a dysfunctional mess of insecurities and emotional avoidance, all too afraid to confront their own issues or each other’s. They stick together because they’re too dependent on this illusion of family to let go. It’s not about love, it’s about fear—fear of being alone, fear of facing their own demons, and fear of what happens when they stop playing the roles they’ve been stuck in for centuries.

At this point, the Inner Circle isn’t really a family. It’s just a habit they can’t break. And honestly, it’s not doing any of them any favors.

[marokra]

they should add Sage to the IDW comics, actually. there is SO MUCH they can do with her, and with her relation with Belle especially.

would Belle watch with thinly veiled jealousy and sorrow as Eggman treats Sage with the love and care Mr Tinker once gave her? would she see herself in Sage, in the way she walks, acts, and holds her father with such reverence? would she hate Sage? would she see her as a replacement? would she never even pay mind to Sage’s existence, as she isn’t her family, never has been?

Would Sage discover Belle through the Eggnet’s databases? a rouge badnik that her father used to treat with such care as he treats her now? would she want to meet her? would Sage even view Belle as a sister after she disowned Eggman as her father? would she see bits of herself in the puppet’s personality, and question why her father valued Sage over his ex-daughter from his amnesiac days? Would she get insecure at all, worried that Eggman would ditch her just like he did with Belle?

would they even care?

anyways Sage and Belle would be the most dysfunctional technically-sisters and i will die on this hill