#the unholy system

[pluralcultureis]

Plural culture is feeling an emotion you're not used to feeling and just assuming you switched

I'm not annoyed?? I feel happy?? Obviously I must be someone else, right? Nope just me, feeling emotions

-Imp

[75screamingtoads]

Screaming and throwing things because I have to come to terms with being aroace again, because I'm a different flavor of aroace than I thought I was

ᵒʳ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ ᶠᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ˢʰⁱᵗ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡᵒᵗʸ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ ʷᵃʸ ⁱ ᵃᵐ ᵈⁱˢᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ

[asexual-angsty-writer]

AU where LQG, for the sake of his shixiong, tries to spend a bit more time in the demon realm/interact because he believes his shixiong wants him to be more accustomed to them — thus be more accustomed to his annoying husband.

But it ends up being LQG accidentally integrates with the demons, forming the most unholy trio with MBJ and SHL (in-law, much to his distress), who get into all types of chaos.

Also; New annonymously posted Bingqiu centered series that adds the war-god as the third — which has LQG breaking down (Le Gamegrumps "I'm done, I'm fucking done") over it. SHL and MBJ are half between comforting him (in other words, fighting to forget) or basically making fun of him and the book-him.

[skrunksthatwunk]

aurghhh ok still rewatching '97 and the way guts and casca only have the room to breathe and really come to understand and care for each other in griffith's absence because he has such a strong hold over them both.... and the way their mutual dedication to him is what causes them to bicker for years (casca thinks he's not serving him well enough, guts thinks she doesn't get that he cares/how much he cares, casca's jealousy over griffith's feelings for guts, how he won his heart without even trying or being aware of it or doing anything with it) and is also a big part of what brings them together (earlier when guts deviates from the plan to save griffith and she commends him, in the cave casca opening up about griffith and her's past, showing that vulnerability, while it's mostly confrontational, leads to guts kinda getting her better, and his efforts to save and protect her (falling off the cliff with her, taking on the 100 men so she can escape, encouraging her to return to griffith so she can help him because it's what she feels she's meant to do (her dream, the direction in life guts shares and yet is questioning because of griffith's speech at the fountain, whether or not it's enough to serve him if it means he'll never be a true friend in griffith's eyes because he's not an equal), supporting the idea of her being with griffith/being his most important person like he won't because he doesn't view it as a competition like she has been since day one) leading to her realizing that he's kind of not that bad a guy and they have a lot more in common that she thought. and how the bonfire of dreams conversation is guts opening up to her in kind, the answer to her talking about how griffith saved her, how she feels. how neither of them ever call it love but it's something they know they both have for griffith. how it's something they're beginning to have for each other, different in ways they couldn't put a word to. because they're equals this time. the way griffith kind of becomes less and less important as they find other reasons to live and fight, as they become less singularly obsessed with him. how griffith is unable to stand it, guts' personhood, that agency and peer-to-peer equality he claimed to want (and perhaps truly did) that disappeared guts from his life, his plans, his side. how it barely even matters to griffith how casca changes because he never wanted her like she wanted him. god i can't fucking stand their shakespearean nonsense drama (<- hopelessly in love with their interpersonal dynamics)

[cirque-du-lune]

⁺✲₊Looking for Friends₊✲⁺

════ ⋆✦⋆ ════ {⛧} Basic Info- ♱┇Collective Name : Cirque ♱┇Gender : Systemfluid ♱┇Default Pronouns : They/It ♱┇Body Age : 22 ♱┇Relationship Status : Taken ♱┇Carrd Link : Here (constant WIP) ════ ⋆✦⋆ ════ {⛧} Interests - ♱┇Hobbies : Drawing, writing, listening to music, watching things (videos, TV, etc.), playing video games, spending time with friends n partners, roleplaying, character making, going for walks, spending time with my pets ♱┇Music : Gorillaz, Jack Stauber, Lemon Demon, Nero's Day at Disneyland, Will Wood, Slipknot, Sewerslvt, Seether, Creep-P, Ghost and Pals, SoaD, R.I.P, Maretu, Kikuo, Mother Mother + more ♱┇Shows : Trinity Blood, Berserk, MHA, FMA, Clone High, Invader Zim, Bigtop Burger, Helluva Boss, DHMIS, HTF, Slenderverse Series, The Mandela Catalogue, The Walten Files, Camp Camp, JJBA, Dungeon Meshi + more ♱┇Games : FFVI, FFVII, Dissidia, Splatoon, OFF, Postal, Sims, Boyfriend to Death, Skyrim, Frost Bite, Digimon, Dragon Age, FAITH, INMIMB, ST:NaF?, Lurking for Love, OMORI, Oxenfree, NItW + more ════ ⋆✦⋆ ════ {⛧} Other Things To Know -

Not cool w/ DMing any minors, pls don't try

I'm mainly active on Discord but trying to be on here more again

Discord's listed in our pinned post

Essentially nocturnal, up pretty much all night

Way more interests and DNI listed in our carrd

I usually respond pretty fast if I'm not AFK or sleeping

Usually on DNI on Discord to avoid pings, usually happy to talk

Super anxious so i'd prefer to be approached first tagging with some interests n stuff lol-

[thesistersarcheron]

Relationships: Nesta & Nyx, Nesta & Rhysand, Nesta & Feyre, Nessian, Feysand, minor Elriel Ratings: T Words: ~2.2k Summary: During an afternoon in the garden with her sisters and her nephew, Nesta learns more about the consequences of her sacrifice at the end of Silver Flames. Somehow, the thought of co-parenting with her brother-in-law is not entirely unwelcome. (The Nesta & Nyx Accidental Baby Acquisition fic.)

----- Find more on my masterlist or read here on AO3!

Nesta lifts Nyx into the air, scooping him through the breeze rolling in off the Sidra. His wings flutter, and his sweet baby’s laugh fills her ears when they fill with air. She checks to make sure Elain isn’t kneeling in any of the patches of flowers behind her and then runs backwards a few yards, letting her nephew get a small, safe taste of flight.

“There he is!” Nesta hears herself say. “So strong!”

It’s mortifying, the way her mouth takes over and coos every sickeningly sweet thought she has whenever she’s around Nyx. Rhys and Cassian had thought it hilarious until she proved just how sharp her tongue could still be.

“An! An!”

“That’s me, sweetheart,” she agrees. She looks at the house, where she can see her sister’s mate watching through the open window. “Aunt Nesta. Can you say Aunt Nesta?”

Nyx claps his tiny hands and reaches down to tangle little fingers in her braid. “An Essa!”

If Nesta had a little less self-control, she would crow with delight. Instead, she swoops Nyx in a little circle, bringing him in to kiss his cheek.

“Yes!”

A dark, star-flecked breeze slides the window shut.

Big Illyrian baby. Nesta cuddles the little Illyrian baby in her arms close, grinning.

“He’ll say it soon,” Elain prophecies beside a rosebush, her gaze distant. She glances toward the window when her eyes clear, and Nesta sees a smug smile tilt up the corners of her lips. “Just not today.”

Secretly, Nesta hopes Nyx waits a little while. The smug satisfaction she had felt when his second word had been Aunt—uttered just minutes after his first, Mama—had been unmatched.

In the weeks since, he’s started to learn how to tack Elain and Nesta’s names to it also, and all before learning to say Papa.

“Lay!” Nyx’s wings flap harder. “An!”

“Hello, Nyxie,” Elain sings, wiggling her fingers at him. “That’s right. Can you say Aunt Elain?”

“An! Lay!”

“Exactly, precious boy.”

Little wings flap as Nesta settles the baby on her hip, and together she and Elain make for a picturesque gazebo on the edge of the gardens, just beside the Sidra. Beneath its shade, Feyre sits behind an easel, a spread of tea, lemonade, and pastries on a low iron table beside her.

She beams when her son catches her eye as he grasps Elain’s sleeve, pointing at a smudge of dirt on her cheek for his mother to see, and shouts, “An!”

Feyre smiles indulgently. “I see her, baby.”

Nyx folds himself forward in Nesta’s arms, reaching for her. “Mama!”

Feyre holds up fingers covered in splotches of wet paint, crooning apologies at her son, and Nesta rolls her eyes. She sits beside her sister, perching Nyx carefully in her lap while Elain hovers over them and gently adjusts his wings, and picks up the first soft toy she can find to recapture his attention.

A bit of insistent darkness curls around the toy, drawing it closer to Nyx’s open mouth. Nesta glances back up at the window, where her brother-in-law still watches. His chin is lifted, equally as smug as she was moments ago.

She rolls her eyes at him, too.

“You know, I’ll never feel sorry for Rhys…” she starts, and now Feyre is the sister rolling her eyes. “But I do feel… very slightly bad.”

“Only very slightly?” A little grin is playing about her sister’s lips.

Nesta bounces Nyx’s toy in the air in front of his eyes and takes a sip of her lemonade. “Indeed.”

Feyre hums thoughtfully. She daubs a few more strokes of paint onto her canvas and then considers her son for a moment while he finally gums the little plush animal Nesta has handed him. 

And then she shrugs.

“I suppose it serves him right.”

To Nesta’s left, Elain concurs with a nod, her mouth pressed into a tight line to hide her own smile. A tendril of shadow caresses her temple, attracted by the mirth shining in her eyes. “It’s about time he learned the price of keeping secrets.”

“Oh, I’ve already made sure that lesson stuck,” Feyre says. A pang seizes Nesta’s heart—they joke about it so easily now that Feyre and her babe are healthy, happy—but she remembers the mind-numbing terror of they day they both died. Her nightmares sometimes recall it with such clarity that she makes Cassian fly her down to the River House in the middle of the night just to check on them.

Elain inspects the table, humming thoughtfully, and then lifts an entire plate of delicately decorated tarts for the shadow’s inspection. When it curls around her wrist and pulls, Elain flits away on nimble feet, following the trail it cuts toward the greenhouse.

“Mother above,” Feyre groans, watching Elain go. “Do you think they’ll remember the walls are transparent this time?”

“They’ll get over it eventually.” At least, Nesta hopes so. She’s not too certain. Regardless of any sort of Mother-blessed bond between them, Azriel and Elain have certainly had the worst frenzy of them all. 

Nevertheless, Feyre shouts after their sister, pointing at Nyx, “Little eyes!”

The shadow unlatches the door and holds it open for her as Elain waves her warning off.

Nesta snorts. 

Her little sister’s attention whips to her, wide-eyed, still unused to seeing her so at ease. She blinks for a moment at Nyx and Nesta, as if just now seeing them clearly. Nesta stares back, amused and lightly insulted, until Feyre turns her attention back to her paints, firmly intent on mixing a hideous vomit-green color.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, you know,” Feyre says when Nesta doesn’t fill the silence for her. Nesta doubts Feyre is interested in more tales of the Valkyries, anyway, who fill her days more often than note. Her little sister makes a vague gesture at Nyx without looking up. “Why?”

Nesta’s hands go still on Nyx’s tiny shoulders.

“What do you mean, ‘why?’” She tries to dilute the venom in her voice, tickling Nyx’s shoulders before he can feel the tension drawing up her spine.

“Why did you…” Feyre gestures again to Nyx. 

Nesta stares.

And stares.

“Why did I save a helpless infant?” Each word is bitten out, sharp and clear. Surely Feyre can’t think… Not after all this time—

“No!” Feyre’s eyes are wide, horrified, a bit of paint dripping onto her leggings. “I mean… You gave up so much…”

“I thought I told you,” Nesta finally says when Feyre silences herself, her throat suddenly tight. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she said those three impossible words the moment Feyre opened her eyes?

“Well, yes, but…” Feyre rolls her eyes again. Rolls her eyes. The petty, vicious big sister in Nesta briefly wants to kick sand in them or gouge them out. She waits until Feyre has fixed her keen, maternal attention on Nyx as he gnaws on the cookie he stole from Nesta’s plate. She points to him again, as if to say, See, he’s cute now, but he was just a squishy, red-faced stranger when you saved him. “I understand me, but… Why?”

Nesta can’t even begin to tell Feyre that she’s looking at the wrong baby. She can’t open her mouth to say she gave up the lion’s share of her power for him, because she didn’t. She had, at the moment when Feyre laid bloody and frozen in death and the entire world began to crack apart beneath Nesta’s feet, absolutely fucking loathed the precious little boy in her arms. 

And when she lifted her finger to pluck the string on the Harp, she fully considered removing him from the equation entirely. She considered reversing all the damage he did to her sister by ensuring Feyre had never even been pregnant at all.

She didn’t, because Feyre loved her baby enough to die for him, and Rhys probably would have obliterated her on the spot for taking away something Feyre loves.

But she doesn’t feel guilty about considering it. She never has. No matter how much she loves him now, how willing she would be to die for him herself, she knows she would consider it again.

“You’re my sister, Feyre.” 

Feyre waves a painted, tattooed hand. “I know that, but—”

“No. You are my fucking sister, Feyre,” Nesta repeats. Her eyes are stinging, the damned traitors. “You are my little fucking sister.”

Oh, if only their mother could hear her now. Which would horrify her more, Nesta’s foul language or her devotion to the beautiful, feral little beast that was once growing up to become her strongest competition on the marriage market?

Why risk herself? Why sell her power? For skinny, wild Feyre?

But Nesta remembers the first baby she held with eyes that matched her own. She remembers holding sticky, paint-splattered hands and helping little feet learn to walk before Mother and Grandmama chose which daughter to cultivate into a horrible miniature of them both.

“But all that time…” 

In the cottage, Nesta knows Feyre wants to say. It’s an old conversation now. She knows how unseen, how unappreciated Feyre was, and Feyre knows how furious and paralyzed Nesta felt. Feyre knows Nesta bartered and fought with every merchant in their village until they spit at the sight of her, and Nesta knows how Feyre froze and ached in the forest every winter. 

And, like any good sister, Feyre likes to drag up their hateful, contentious past every so often. Nesta and Elain also do it, sometimes.

(But Gwyn was right about sisters, too. The second Feyre died, every argument, every shred of resentment and jealousy died with her, the same as it had with Elain when she was thrown into the Cauldron first. And all Nesta had left in each moment was a gaping wound in her soul where one third of her most fundamental self had vanished.)

“You’re my little sister, Feyre,” Nesta is helpless to say anything else. 

Frustration etches itself into the furrow between Feyre’s brows. “I know—”

"You went into that camp to save Elain. Why can't I save you?" Nesta cuts in, fierce and pissed. “I don’t know why Mother told you to take care of us instead of Father. Instead of me. The old bitch was hateful and feverish and dying. But you’re my little sister. Mine.”

She doesn’t look, but Nesta can tell Feyre is staring with wide eyes. So is Nyx. She hugs the baby as tightly as she can without upsetting him and drops a kiss into his night-dark hair.

It’s not even some bizarre, animalistic Fae possessiveness. It’s just Nesta.

She thinks about beasts and splintered doors and walking for days in the snow to an invisible wall she can’t climb. 

“You’re mine, Feyre. Just like Elain is. That makes Nyx mine too. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clearer for you.”

“I didn’t make it easy.” Feyre’s voice is soft, gentle. When Nesta opens her mouth to argue, not bothering to lift her nose away from Nyx’s baby-sweet scent, she cuts her off, “He is yours, you know.”

“Oh?” Nesta keeps her face buried in Nyx’s waves, the pattern a perfect match to hers and Feyre’s.

“Rhys says he can feel it on him,” Feyre says. “Some sort of imprint a parent’s magic leaves on their young. Subtle enough that I can’t even tell yet.”

“An imprint?” That is Fae, and the choking, painful feeling in her throat abates at Nesta’s nose-wrinkling bemusement.

“Mhmm. Apparently Nyxie has three magical signatures instead of two, thanks to whatever you did that day.” 

That day. 

Nesta tries not to snap, Oh, you mean the day your fool mate killed you?

“And what does Rhys have to say about me—” She coughs instead. “—co-mothering his child?”

Feyre laughs. “Oh, he’s delighted. I think he dreaded having to be the strict parent, or having to find a reliable sitter now that Elain is moving out, but with Aunt Essa involved…” 

“Please.” Nesta scoffs, discomfort forgotten. “Get Nesta Out of My Sight Before I Fucking Kill Her isn’t going to be the strict parent?”

“Well,” Feyre says. She looks like she regrets helping Cassian share that memory with her.

“And let’s not talk about you, Feyre Archeron,” she says. “I remember all the dried deer tripe we could have sold for chickens.”

She hears Feyre swallow back a gag. Victory.

“Chickens might not lay in the winter,” Feyre tells her weakly. She probably has a point, and fuzzy-headed starvation certainly didn’t help any of them make the most logical decisions, but Nesta knows they all would have preferred meal after meal of pickled eggs rather than jaw-destroying jerky. Hindsight, and all that.

(The one good thing that damned Cauldron had done for her, Nesta can admit now, was fixing her ruined molars.)

Little hands reach up for her, and Nesta bounces Nyx on her lap. “You see, Uncle Cassian and Aunt Essa are a package deal, Nyx. And what does Uncle Cassian do?” 

“Nesta, please…” Feyre says, but it’s too late.

Nesta claps Nyx’s little hands together, as if he really has answered her question. “Yes! Uncle Cassian gives babies little baby swords for Solstice!”

She leans down, forsaking all of her primness to blow a messy raspberry on Nyx’s crumb-covered cheek. She blows all of her anger out with it, until all that's left is the chest-cracking feeling of the love she can barely contain for her family.

When she lifts the cookie away to wipe Nyx's mouth with a corner of the tablecloth, a bit of icy, silver power tickles her finger.

[mid-nightowl]

love that my google doc autocorrected 'bruce' to 'bruise' like yes that is exactly who he is

[bookwyrminspiration]

ok what is UP with tumblr suddenly not remembering tags i’ve used hundreds of times. like why is tumblr acting like this is the first time they’ve heard of my talking tag and my organizing tags. i’ve been using those forever!!!

Tumblr once again takes a massive L. Tumblr once again. nukes a very widely used feature that's been functioning semi-fine for years.

Tumblr, when we said it would be nice if tumblr didn't forget some of the tags we used all the time, that didn't mean we wanted it to forget ALL of them instead

There's a lot of jokes being made recently, but like genuinely what the fuck are they doing and why. Like seriously. Who does this help. Who wanted this.

[sysboxes]

[Text: This alter is a fictive of Gary Miller from FAITH: The Unholy Trinity.]

Like/Reblog if you save or use!

[emblazons]

blog of a woman who cut the space between her pinky and ring finger deep enough on her dominant hand to warrant stitches—the same one whose urgent care said "we can't do that" (because the girl was afraid of stitching hands) & sent her to the ER to get a $500 bill?

whats up

[ohmi-neotheater]

so we're an osdd system and we recently split a john ward fictive and I have this thing where every time a new alter comes around, I make a little portrait of them.

so, faith fans, here is fictive john. fun fact, he has a key shaped scar over his right eye because of, well....you know. in the headspace, whenever he speaks it just comes out in the SAM voice so he ends up using that to speak w the body whenever he's fronting. it's kinda neat.

[lorillee]

i mean to be fair your entire case is purely circumstantial. like its pretty clear at this point your kid didnt do it but you dont really have a lot of a case against the other guy. i dont think a legal system that says "ok if youre gonna accuse somebody of murder you better have some actual solid hard evidence they did it" is ...... necessarily a bad thing

[75screamingtoads]

I reached the transition goals I had as a younger teen (skinny transmasc with androgynous haircut who looks like he's dying)

Only to realize I would rather be a toned dude with long hair who looks like he knows how to cook

(also I only got to my "ideal" transition by being extremely unhealthy and hitting some of the worst points of my adult life so)

But for real I look in the mirror and think "wow. I'm exactly what I wanted when I was younger and now I don't recognize myself"

Like it is so painfully clear to me that I am unwell, and I don't like it

I'm doing better, I am getting better, but the circles under my eyes have formed little wrinkles I am fully aware will not go away when I'm better

I'm not upset about that, it's just kinda sad to me that it took getting this far to realize what I thought I wanted to look like wasn't what I wanted

I think I thought "I want to be a twink who looks like he's dying" because that's all I could ever see me becoming, not because I actually wanted it

That and there's a weird push for transmasc to fit certain molds and I didn't see myself in any of the other molds other than this one so I settled

[blazeball]

i literally think ghost quartet is the greatest piece of art ever made

[abluehappyface]

MEILING DAY LET'S GO!

[cirque-du-lune]

John Ward Faith Playlist Real????

this was made by our alter, but I figured we'd share it in case ppl were interested. credit for the art used is given in the description but it's from @/crypticwhore. - voca