#*meme response

they’re going to sedate me again if i don’t stop. i know this, i know it, but the next heaving sob that leaves my lips cannot be stopped. HOW CAN I BE SURE OF THAT? the world is half-haze these days, sedation and hospitalization between propos and the mockingjay. i shake my head and i don’t even know what i’m saying NO to.

 IT’S MY FAULT, FINNICK, i want to scream, WE BOTH KNOW IT. peeta’s only - - - like this because of me. gone, maybe forever. here but not, not him, not himself at all and i claw my hands through my hair and shake my head and my eyes are burning and my throat is burning and when can i stop burning? WHEN? i can’t make the words come so i look at finnick through stinging eyes and struggle to make a sound that isn’t another bawl. instead i let myself pitch forward so my forehead finds finnick’s shoulder and i try not to feel pathetic and useless as i gasp for air.

just  the  way  she  likes  it,  then.  there  are  times  making  LITTLE  sense  to  those  around  you  is  a  boon  rather  than  a  problem,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  does  she  feel  bad,  just  a  little,  for  keeping  elliot  so  WHOLLY  in  the  dark?  YES.  it’s  for  everyone’s  sake,  though.  those  of  them  who  aren’t  part  of  this  cycle  can  rarely  seem  to  comprehend  it,  or  think  it  some  feverish  imagining,  or  some  worries  of  the  future  she  cannot  contain  the  way  those  around  her  do.  out  of  everyone  she  has  met,  pearl  thinks  elliot  stands  the  most  CHANCE  of  not  discounting  her  wholly,  but  he  doesn’t  NEED  to  know.  not  yet.

the  smile  she  offers  is  near  vacant  and  she  leans  back  in  her  chair,  “sorry,”  fingers  are  steepled  before  her  lips,  “would  a  different  story  be  better?”

fingers  tighten  around  the  edge  of  the  parapet,  head  tilting  to  look  at  vic  with  furrowed  brow.  “i  thought  everyone  would  be  asleep,”  there  are  guards  patrolling  the  top  of  skyholds  walls,  of  COURSE,  casting  long  shadows  from  their  lanterns;  no  doubt  there  are  also  some  cloaked  in  shadow  that  esyllt  had  not  noticed  -  but  seeing  vic  cast  in  moonlight  had  not  been  anticipated.  “it’s,”  lips  twist  to  a  frown.  what  use  is  COMPLAINING  about  the  expectations  cast  upon  her?  a  woman  in  the  emprise  du  lion  had  asked  for  esyllt  to  BLESS  HER,  as  though  she  has  that  ability.  “i’m  just  worrying  over  the  winter  ball.  they’ll  all  want  to  speak  about  adamant,  but  none  of  them  will  be  bold  enough  to  ask.”

@exitiumparit | the shining meme (accepting)

Oh, god.

Kieran knows that this isn’t his Andir. He knows that this world is wrong. It’s not his home, it’s not his husband, but god help him, he would love Andir in every iteration. So when Andir was in danger, was close to death, Kieran couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t leave him to die alone, even if it put Kieran in danger.

Even if it meant that Kieran may die before he ever sees his Andir again.

“No. I’m not going anywhere.”

@withoutpeer​ | send ‘hold’ to hug my muse during a tough time | (not accepting)

"You are not here to be punished, least of all by yourself”, Obi-Wan told him, and Ferus wished he was wrong. It would have been easier if there was a punishment to bear. He’d done wrong, Darra was dead, and he wished there was something, anything, that could put it right, but there wasn’t. 

“I must go on living”, he said slowly, feeling how heavy his heart was, as he met Obi-Wan’s eyes. “That is my punishment.”

It felt that way. Every living moment he had was another that Darra wouldn’t have. He knew that he would remember for all his life that he was alive while she wasn’t. 

It wasn’t punishment that could right his wrongs. But it was punishment that would maybe keep him from hurting someone else in the future.

Not that Darra’s death was worth that lesson. 

It wasn’t proper decorum, but something in his words must have concerned Obi-Wan to the point of movement, and as his eyes softened and he came forward to pull Ferus into a hug, something inside Ferus splintered. He swallowed hard to keep his composure. He couldn’t lose it now - he had to face the Council. And he had to make a choice. 

Obi-Wan pulled back but kept his hands on Ferus’ shoulders, and Ferus looked at him for a long moment, unsure of what to say, feeling both gratitude for the gesture and confusion over it, waiting for Obi-Wan to say something, but he didn’t. He looked like he wanted to but had no words.

𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲: ⚜  (𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙿 𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙳)  ：// ＮＯＴ ＡＣＣＥＰＴＩＮＧ．

“Bᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ sʜᴏᴛ. I ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴ ғᴜʟʟ﹣ᴀᴜᴛᴏ. Aɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇss﹐ I ɢᴏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ sϙᴜᴇᴇᴢɪɴ· ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ.”

the  missive  in  her  hands  is  set  down,  palms  pressed  to  the  top  of  the  war  table  and  eyes  lingering  on  the  sloping  hand  of  her  uncle.  “they  haven’t  had  word  from  my  cousins,”  the  ones  in  the  templar  order.  the  ones  esyllt  cannot  stop  picturing  with  red - spiked  eyes  and  swords  in  hand,  “  -  my  uncle  fears  the  worst.”  perhaps  they  had  been  at  the  siege  of  haven.  perhaps  one  of  her  arrows  had  brought  about  a  swift  end.  they  may  still  be  out  there,  or  they  may  already  be  in  the  grave,  and  how  it  STINGS  to  know  esyllt  may  never  know  the  truth.  “he  asks  if  we  have  any  names  of  the  dead  templars  at  haven.”

none  of  it  is  an  ANSWER  to  cassandra’s  question  and  esyllt  shakes  her  head,  folding  the  parchment  in  half,  “it’s  fine.  just  another  thing  to  see  to.”

Nick Necro is an archangel, purest of heart and soul, reigning in heaven.