#'however; I love him regardless and he's fictional so people who really love me will not be upset if I rant occasionally'

[teaandinanity]

... what kind of ignoramus designed the EA app. Was this designed by a committee of corporate twits with too many business degrees and a complete dearth of common sense? Having to GO ONLINE to enable OFFLINE MODE is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard of in my life. Do you know when I need offline mode? Do you, incomprehensible moron from planet idiot who designed this feature? WHEN I DO NOT HAVE GODDAMN INTERNET ACCESS.

In conclusion I hope the fuckwit(s) responsible for this step on a lego and fall down a (short) flight of stairs in front of three people they respect and acquire a RAFT of bruises to both their bodies and egos both, amen.

[xoxochb]

— glue song ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: swearing, kinda rushed ending pairing: luke castellan x daughter of hades a/n: first chapter… drop your opinions!

series m. list

the multiverse theory is the ideology that there are separate universes beyond this. many scientists have researched studies to retrieve a clear answer, yet nothing has been found. many people additionally like to make a belief that them and their most beloved would be different in this alternate universes. many think they might hate each other, love each other, or simply not know of each others existence.

you— the only daughter of hades at camp half-blood believe strongly in the fact that you and your best friend, head counselor of hermes cabin, would be best friends regardless of the opposite universe. luke castellan doesn’t think much into your science-y stuff, but if he ever finds you rambling he can’t help but listen because you’re you! disregarding his opinion on science theories if you love them that means he loves them, it’s a mutual thing, truly.

anyways, on days such as these, the slow ones where there aren’t much exciting events or camp duties, you find yourself cooped up in the coldness of cabin thirteen, a silent cabin all to yourself. this was only until your brother decided to move back in from cabin seven— then you would have to share it, unfortunately. you keep a book open in your lap, reading over the lines of endless words, entrancing yourself into the fictional world that is your book.

it was silent, and it was perfect and the fireplace crackling only added onto your cozy aura. you can’t help but let out a tiny squeal at this, then returning back to your seriousness of reading. but you were naive to think that you would get alone time for at least something as simple as an hour, soon enough the door to your cabin opens and you frown, refraining from looking up from your book and ignoring the person walking towards your bed. but by the prominent mop of dark curls you know who it is.

“not even gonna spare me a glance? you wound me, nerd, truly.”

“go away, luke, this is my silent reading time.”

he doesn’t listen. instead, luke ushers you to slide over as he takes a seat beside you on your bed.

“what’s the book of choice for today?”

“the shining.”

luke nods slowly. “I like the movie better.”

you remain silent and try to get yourself back into the book world as luke returns to silence. you’re disrupted again when his finger twirls around a strand of your hair delicately. you sigh and attempt to ignore it. until he tugs at it

“what the fuck are you doing! stop it!” you take your hair from his hold as he laughs at your dismay. “I’m not laughing, I don’t find you funny.”

“really? because I think I’m hilarious.”

your mouth remains shut.

“c’mon, nerd, talk to me. I’m dying here.”

“great. I’ll see you at the gates.”

luke opens his mouth to speak but ultimately decides not to say anything. you’d known luke since your first arrival at camp back when you were ten, you’d came straight from the underworld where you lived with your father. as a demigod, typically you’d stay with your mortal parent, however, your mother had apparent ‘complications’ said by your father and you were forced to live in his palace for the first years of your life until he deemed it unhealthy for you to be cooped up down there for so long. when you’d arrived at camp, luke had been one of the only campers that had spoken to you— most to all of the others wouldn’t dare look in your direction due to your godly heritage.

but luke didn’t care about that. he welcomed you happily and allowed you to befriend him, since this, you had been inseparable. when you were fifteen he discovered your passion for all things astronomy while catching you reading a planets book by the lake one afternoon. he had sat beside you and listened as you rambled until the moon rose and the sun set, nonsense he declared it, just a bunch of your nerdy stars and planets bullshit he’d never cared for before. but since meeting you he’d grown to become fond of them— they were always a quiet reminder of you. and welcome the nickname. ‘nerd’ he calls you. at first you hated it, after a year or two you got used to it and stopped complaining.

“I’ll get to see you?”

“that’s not—” you search for the right words. “stop.“

“you’ve gotta make a more convincing argument, nerd.”

“well I want you to stop, isn’t that enough?”

“alright, my mouth is zipped.” luke makes a zipper motion over his mouth. you turn back to your book and try to re-read the lines again. luke places his head atop yours, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. he frowns. “you smell different. like vanilla. you usually smell like berries.”

“you got an emotional attachment to the berry conditioner?”

he shrugs. “I did.”

“I’ll make sure to buy that one next time then since your feelings are so hurt.”

“really? you’re great, nerd, thanks.”

you shake your head slowly. the cabin returns back to silence, a comfortable silence. yet you secretly wish he would say something again, even if it’s utterly stupid. and unbeknownst to you, luke wishes only the same of you.

[yandere-sins]

Hi! I just currently discovered your works and I love it! Can you do a story where a serial killer (any fictional character you want, as long as it's not real people) who has gotten married to the y/n's mom but he's so obsessed with his new step-daughter the first time they met. The ending's up to you.

Hey! Thank you so much for reading my stories and requesting ♥ Took me some time to think of something, and I won't do a specific character, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A long time ago, he chose to go down this path.

The decision had to be made; any waver in his resolve would have resulted in him getting caught and locked up for life. Sometimes, it was nice to be with the humans that would end up dead; sometimes, it was merely business. There were some pleasures to take from these gullible idiots. Money, sex, opportunities.

Businesswomen, housewives, lonely singles, and, if he had to, men just as much. They only sought the warmth of a lover, someone who truly understood them. And why would he not accept their gratitude and gifts for so little work as rubbing their back and telling them how special they were? It made them feel better most of the time and him richer, as their gratitude almost always ended in gifts.

And in their contentment, they didn't see the knife that was about to sink into their back as soon as they weren't useful to him anymore.

As soon as their money ran out, the gifts died down, and they started to become suspicious of him; he'd make sure to skip town after burying his latest lover in a ditch. He never met their friends, never saw what the life of his victims was, and especially: he didn't love them.

Oftentimes, he wondered, late at night, after yet another kill, what it was like to be loved and to love. His victims always looked so happy and content, hanging off his arm and whispering the magic words to him at night. What he did wasn't right, but why did it matter when he never got caught? As long as he could live in the lap of luxury that he could never achieve through honest work, he didn't really need much else.

But he was getting old.

Too old to sugar-baby his way through life, at least, too much on par in terms of age now with his victims. It physically hurt him to have to be extra careful in the future when killing random strangers. It would never give him the satisfaction or the looks of betrayal that left him all hot and bothered. But now was the last time he could find someone willing to finance his life, and giving up his prolific murder spree was better than spending the rest of his damnation in a dirty, old motel room with nothing to do.

Thus, his way of life ended. A serial killer turned houseman and loverboy to a very successful CEO and mother. Thanks to his charms, the wedding went through much faster than expected, and soon enough, with a credit card linked to her bank account and well-situated in the luxury home of his now-wife, everything could have stayed like this for a long, long time.

Until you showed up.

You were a blessing and a curse in the form of an adult stepchild. It was weird meeting the family of his victim for the first time. But the moment he laid eyes on you, his mouth began to water, pupils blown wide to spy every inch of deliciousness that you swept through the front door to his home. And despite spikes of murderous desires making his body shake uncontrollably, even more prevalent was the twisting and churning of his heart as it beat viciously against his ribs, blood rushing through his whole body and especially between his legs.

All evening long, he couldn't stop smiling at you. He sat across from you like a silly little teenage boy, nodding and listening to everything you told your mom, words dripping off your lips like honey that he wished to lick up. However, he merely did the next best thing, offering to take care of the dishes so he could lick your plate clean and steal your cutlery to enjoy later. He sat with you long into the night on the couch as you told him about yourself; you two had never met before since the wedding was such a rushed affair, and you were the trust fund child sent to an international college for your studies. There was so much to catch up on and get acquainted with.

If only he had met you sooner.

The time together was short, so he suggested all kinds of family vacations, telling his wife it was totally okay if she couldn't make it, and he'd spend time with you and bond. All was in his favor, and every second spent with you was the happiest of his life. For years, he thought that only riches and luxuries could satisfy him—but not anymore.

He had to have you.

No matter what he had to do, fate had already been decided. There was simply no way to not be with you. Slipping into your bed at night and touching you as much as possible just wasn't enough. Stealing your underwear and imagining you on your knees while he used the fabric on himself didn't quell his urges completely. Not even when he imagined you while pleasing his wife was enough, and neither was smelling you every day and pressing up to you innocently in the kitchen or hanging out with you. You going back to another country to continue your studies? Impossible. It would have killed him.

And then, the painfully put aside urges arose. The ones that screamed for blood and gore, torture, and the satisfaction of witnessing someone's last breath. He had already established himself in your life, and you liked him enough that were you to lose someone dear to you... would you run to him?

The question was just a hypothesis, but one that had him rock hard and twitching as he stared at the ceiling at night, feeling his wife—your mother—in his arm, sighing contently. What was her testament like? Would there be enough to live happily ever after with you? Would you accept your stepdad as more than just a superficial family member? Would you let him hold you? Kiss you? Lick you? Make you scream and sob?

Would you allow him to drag you into hell with him, even though he'd make it seem like heaven?

It had always been his way of doing things. Pretend to be someone perfect, pleasant, and loveable, when really, he was this cruel, pathetic monster. But a long time, he chose to go down this path of embracing the beast, and sitting up in his bed, he remembered still holding onto the table knife you used on the first day you returned home. It would be awful, downright gruesome, to be killed by her own daughter's knife, wouldn't it? Your mom would feel so betrayed by being stabbed in the middle of the night; it would be heart-wrenching and devastating.

Absolutely exhilarating.

Why change something that had always worked for him?

By tomorrow morning, you would be his.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Retrogression by Dazai Osamu

Translated by A. L. Raye

"He was not an old man. He was only around 25 years old, but at the same time he was, undoubtedly, an old man. For every year that a normal person lived, this old man lived it three times over." - Dazai Osamu, "Retrogression"

"And so, through Dazai’s own efforts, I hope that a day will come to pass where Dazai’s work will be instinctively understood by a great many people." - Satō Haruo, "A Respectable Yet Tormented Soul: Regarding Dazai Osamu"

"Having been metaphorically torn apart by his critics, every time he finished writing anything - anything at all - regardless of public opinion, the wounds of his humiliation would ache more and more, so keenly and so painfully, that the unfulfilled hollow in his heart spread further and deeper until finally, he died. He was deceived by the illusion of a masterpiece, enchanted by an eternal beauty, carried away by a fever cream and ultimately couldn't even save himself..." - Dazai Osamu, "Retrogression"

"I’ll stab him! I thought. What an absolute scoundrel! It didn’t take long however before I suddenly felt the hot and twisted love you bore towards me, an intense love which reminded me of Nellie from Dostoyevsky’s Humiliated and Insulted, a love that I felt deep within my heart. No. No, how could this be? I couldn’t believe it, I shook my head but that love of yours, concealed behind that cold exterior, felt Dostoyevskian in its deranged passion and made my body burn feverishly at the thought. And of course, you were completely unaware of any of this." - Dazai Osamu, "Letter to Kawabata Yasunari"

"Don’t say behind someone’s back what you can’t say to their face. I followed this principle and for that I was thrown into the looney bin." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"Somebody put a live snake in my letterbox. I’m furious! This must be the work of someone who enjoys making fun of unpopular writers who feel the need to check their letterboxes twenty times a day. I was in a strange mood after that, and spent the rest of the day in bed." - Dazai Osamu, "Diary of My Distress"

"I’m jumping at shadows. I feel like my body has been ground up and picked clean, right down to the bone." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It really wasn’t supposed to be this way. You of all people should be clearly aware that being a writer exists within a perpetual state of ‘foolishness’." - Dazai Osamu, "Letter to Kawabata Yasunari"

"The cicada realised in the afternoon that it was going to die soon. Ah, it would have been better if I had been happier! I should have fooled around more, with nary a care in the world. Oh, do forgive me, I just wish to fall asleep among the flowers." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"He has the kind of romantic spirit of a selfish, good-for-nothing wastrel, but more than that, he has let this seep deep down into the very marrow of his being. The uninhibited yet fragile self flows out of control, and it is the lot in life of this particular variety of man to continually contemplate himself until his self-awareness becomes intertwined with his bones." - Satō Haruo, "A Respectable Yet Tormented Soul: Regarding Dazai Osamu"

"Now, within the limits I have allowed myself, I believe I have accomplished everything I set out to do. As for the rest, I calmly entrust myself to fate." - Dazai Osamu, "January Letter to Satō Haruo from Dazai Osamu"

From the Introduction by translator A. L. Raye:

"This book aims to piece together the fractured and disorderly lifestyle of one of history's greatest romantics and pairs it with a particular moment in his life; losing the Akutagawa Prize. The ensuing drama that unfolded through private letters, newspaper articles, diaries, obituaries, and fiction created a scandal that disturbed the early Showa literati with its coarse and indecent honesty. Dazai's fiction, fiction about Dazai, speculation and reality intertwined to create an explosive event that not only changed the desired trajectory of his life but also raised issues of discrimination within prominent literary circles and the treatment of mental illness in 1930s Japan."

"If we encounter Dazai without taking into account modern ideas of disability, there is a danger we might subject him to the same myth-making mindset that surrounds Van Gough; that of a tortured genius who needed to suffer for his art - or, perhaps more accurately, for our entertainment."

"Dazai was a complicated man, a man who couldn't even decide for himself who he was."

Retrogression also includes annotations and background information on every story, letter, diary, and eulogy, adding history and insights that are difficult to find available in other English translations so far.

You can find more information and free translations on Yobanashi Café. Retrogression is available for purchase in either paperback or eBook format on Amazon.

[facelesssbirds]

Cuddles || Genshin

A.N. Summary: How you (and them) cuddle. Characters: F!Reader, Neuvillette, Furina, Beidou (I promise Childe will be in the next one...) Rating: E - Everyone <33 P.S. If you have requests, I'd really appreciate it! I'm trying to grow my writing skills through fan fiction, because it brings a lot of joy to people, so... I'll do my best tysm!

Neuvillette is all seriousness and perfection in public, but when you get him alone, he devolves into a cuddly teddybear that just adores curling up on the couch with you, just lazing around.

That isn't to say he's opposed to days like this, where you've crashed his lunch break, he had planned to skip it completely, the overflow of documents from the court clerk's office standing tall and unrelenting at his desk.

"Neuvi!" You grinned, opening the door, "I brought lunch."

He looked up, only briefly, giving you a hint of a smile, "Oh? What'd you get today?"

He had long since learned that even kicking you out wouldn't deter you, and your insistence on making sure he got proper time to rest.

"Steak-Frites," You said, tossing a few bags onto his coffee table, "Nothing special."

He raised a brow, almost imperceptibly, "Oh? Then, ma trésor, why are you here so unannounced?"

You laughed nervously, wringing your hands behind your back, almost like a child who's been caught stealing from a cookie jar, your eyes darting to his, then away, a faint flush painting your cheeks.

"Well..." You trailed off, busying yourself with the cuff of your sleeve, "cuddles?"

He chuckled, a low rumbled, barely there as he stood from his desk glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I have time."

Furina is a clingy lover, you come to understand very early into the relationship, but despite her grandiose and facades, she's a private person. She didn't want her lover to be the subject of whispers and rumors, or scandals, no she wants you all to herself, safe and sound, thank you very much.

Still, when you're home alone, and she's just gotten back from a particularly interesting day at court, she'll hop down next to you on the couch, regardless of what you had been doing earlier, and snuggling into your arms. Then she'll talk.

You always enjoyed hearing Furina talk, it was where her passion shined out into the world, even when she was being particularly needy.

"And so I said, 'well you can't--'," Furina cut herself off, looking at something on the coffee table, she was snuggled right under your head, the book you had previously been reading discarded.

"Furina?" You probed quietly, your arms tightening around her waist.

She turns to look at you, scooting sideways, and pouts, "You had hot-chocolate without me!"

You chuckle, realizing what this is about, "Ma cherie, do you want some?"

She burrowed under the blankets, "Yes, please!"

"Well then, you know you're going to have to move... right?" You warned her, a amused smile creeping onto your face.

She pouts, again, this time more jokingly, "I will not! I am Lady Furina, the Hydro Archon and I will not move for you!"

You laugh along, gently moving her out of the way, so you can go to the kitchen and make your darling a nice cozy drink.

Beidou normally didn't do cuddling. Not that she was against it or anything, but the whole 'physical affection' thing came easy for her towards friends, it was entirely different with lovers. Not to say she was nervous, more-so she was just... unfamiliar with the concept.

As a girl who grew up on the sea, and with a love for the sea, work and friendliness ran in her veins, romance however was something of a mystery. She could flirt seven way to heaven and charm a man of his beard, sure, but that didn't make up for her absolute unawareness of the... fluff that came with love.

"Beidou--" You wined, coming out of the captains cabin just after the sun had risen. Today was supposed to be your and Beidou's day off, and you had planned to sleep in, and laze the day away. Naturally, you dearest, ever hardworking had derailed those plans.

Still, she looked up, smiling at you, and yelling your name. You waved back from above, yawning. Nonetheless she was beside you in a flash, "Good morning, sleepyhead-- you're up late."

You gave her a deadpan stare that conveyed, 'it's too early for this.' before nestling into her side, and arm wrapped around her waist.

"I wanted cuddles," You whined, it seemed that your day off had made you a bit bratty, "Its out day off, we should spend it... like, taking time off."

She laughed, hearty, "This is me taking the day off," She grinned, and you returned it with a smile, "But- I suppose, I can make an exception, just this once."

Your initial smile lit up, suddenly energized you tugged Beidou away from the crew. Perhaps a new experience wouldn't hurt?

[askew-d]

Hello again....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from MDZS? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

sure! its no trouble at all. sorry i am embarassingly late and thank you for the question, i loved making this list :)

1. wei wuxian, our selfless yiling laozu

alright, you can call me cliché, everyone loves him, right? but kendrick lamar said it’s all about love and hate in the game so let me tell you, i love this man. i love the way that he walks, the way that he kills, the way that he dresses, the way that he mocks others, the way that he protect those he loves, the way he’s unbearably and so utterly good to the core (no irony or pun intended), regardless of everything he’s been through. because let’s come clean: other characters, such as xue yang and meng yao, did have their reasons to be evil, i comprehend them! i validate their motives to be who they are, but it does not, for the love of god, excuses their actions.

and that’s the thing! because wei wuxian has been though hell and back, way worse than them, yet he chose to continue doing good things. it’s just who he is (unbelievable, right?). he is, essentialy, someone who pursues justice. he sought revenge for what he suffered, that he rightly did, but he didn’t lash out on innocent cultivators who had nothing to do with his injuries. and the amount of strength, resilience, kindness and sheer wisdom that resides in this makes my admiration for him grow as deep as the ocean. he’s the ultimate main character of every fictional world. no one’s doing tragedy, revenge, inteligence, selflessness, love and being a troublemaker like him, ok. he’s one for the history books. and with that we go to:

2. lan wangji, our beloved hanguang-jun

i said this before, but i will say it again: i feel like wei wuxian might kill me every time i go around saying ‘lan zhan’ or even start worshipping him too much. however, who wouldn’t worship him? he’s a god among humans; a superhero in a novel about cultivators. if wei wuxian’s considered by some an antihero, he’s the true, righteous captain america right here. and it’s not just the looks, he’s a whole package: a terrific father, a dedicated brother and nephew, an esteemed cultivator, a marvellous husband and a fair human being.

most of all, i dearly love him for the fact that he’s been loving wei wuxian since the beginning and never let that go. this man fought for his love like no one else did. he remembered wei wuxian when no one else did. he tried and tried, for him. he waited thirteen years, for him. in fact, if wei wuxian had never returned, he’d just have been waiting and waiting, living his life in grief, watching the moonlight alone…… but that’s a thought for another moment.

the amount of love this man carries is unbearable, really. it’s who he is too. and i also adore the fact that he has a lot of personas: he’s a serious senior for the disciples, a feral animal in bed, silly in some moments and painfully romantic in others. he’s just unreal!

3. lan jingyi, the most atypical lan that has ever lanned

if this boy was in the modern times, im sure i would make friends with him. hes everyones spirit inside this story. he is one of hell of a representation: he can judge, yell, put some sense into other peoples minds, act even more senseless and tell truths without caring for the consequences (and then crying when faced with the punishment of headstands). and the best part of all: he is, oddly, a lan! i love him! best boy ever (alright, perhaps after lan sizhui, but i relate to jingyi harder).

put him in a modern school. can you disagree with me that he would be the one student lurking in the far away desks acting all angelic when the teacher comes close only to act like a little devil, screaming, laughing loudly and hiding food in his backpack during activities? can you disagree with me that he would be the one to run and jump like a maniac when its time for p.e class and sleep out of boredom when the teacher starts explaining serious stuff? can you disagree with me he would pretend to enact the rules only to receive bad grades and pull the most stupid facades to hide it from his parents?

in some ways, he does have similarities with wei wuxian. but wei wuxian is a genius who wouldnt even go to class when he didnt want to, sleep instead of play-pretend and even so receive the best grades ever, annoying everyone. theres this difference. but lan jingyi isnt a genius, he is just one of us. and i love him for it.

4. wen qing, my beautiful doctor

wen qing, my beloved, you didnt deserve that backlash.... this woman deserved to have a happy family, alright. she deserved a little bit of happiness! she deserved to have her brother with her! she deserved to be well and to not have suffered so badly just because of her surname. if there is one thing i agree with (and i dont remember exactly who said it, but it was from twitter), is that the girls from mdzs are underrated, underappreciated and deserved tons more love. but anyway, let us mention wen qing!

this woman protected wei wuxian and jiang cheng, did a procedure to give jiang cheng a golden core, never killed anyone, ran from fighting in the war against innocent people because she does not share these wicked principles, and still ended up watching her family get tortured, his brother dead and was burned alive. the sheer cruelty of what they put her (and them) through is unbelievable. i wanted her to have a lovely family and to continue being a great friend to wei wuxian, seriously, they were such a great duo. i cannot get tired of aus in which they are rommates or something! she is usually sarcastic, fierce, bossy and so responsible. how could someone not like her?

5. a-qing, the girl who went to her limits and beyond

this girl went over the limits of heaven and hell, in fact. i love her determination and how clever she is! look at how long she managed to trick xue yang! who else who could that? i believe not even wei wuxian could have topped it. she deserved to continue living within that world with xiao xingchen. i also cannot avoid to point out that she was not a cultivator. she was a simple girl, left to struggle in the streets, who still achieved what she achieved. she lived with an esteemed rogue cultivator, manipulated one of the most essential antagonists, returned as a ghost to protect people from this specific antagonist, used a lot of her spiritual strenght to show wei wuxian the truth, continued to give wei wuxian and hanguang-jun directions to find xue yang, and received many support, compliments and faith from the main group of our story.

personally, i cannot think of another female character in the story who did more than her. wen qing did a lot, sure, but she came from a big sect. jiang yanli too. mianmian was a cultivator too. a-qing was not, and nonetheless, this girl rocks! unbelievable. if i went through what she did, i would have lost all will to persist long ago. that is another thing mdzs brought me: the perspective that, even when you are kind and did nothing wrong, you might still have tragedies happen to you. people will die anyway. including you. kindness is important, and sometimes it may save you, but sometimes it may also cause you harm. are you strong enough to have all the kindness and all that tragedy and still endure?

because a-qing, wei wuxian and so many of them did.

well, now onto my favorite parts from the novel! i will try and make this quicker. haha, lets go.

when wei wuxian and lan wangji were stuck (stuck? not actually, i believe, wei wuxian caused it) in that farm and our main character just simply laid on top of lan wangji. and he still dared... to call himself.... not a cut-sleeve. yeah, sure, bro, no homo and all that. and thats definitely not a boner beneath your clothes, huh.

when wei wuxian starts falling real hard and he wonders if he will ever be able to sleep in a bed without lan wangji again, and later on after they have sex, he f i n a l l y realizes that there is no wei wuxian without lan wangji. in a dramatic mood, even. like, seriously, dude?? what a way to pine, but ok. go get your man or something, we all waiting for it.

every extra. i just... love every bit from the extra.

in the scene where lan wangji is drunk and they start playing hide-and-seek. and lan wangji just hides himself behind smth. and shows only a bit of his face. he nods, pouts, begs with his face to continue. i died right there.

the confession. the confession. the tear. the confession. the shock from everyone else. the 'hug me tighter!' after. the confession. the hug. THE CONFESSION.

hahaha i admit it, for me everything is about them. is it not about them? you cannot tell me otherwise. i love wangxian with all my heart. also, your asks are all lovely, i love them, feel free to always send whatever you want :) hope you have a great day and week ahead of you.

[vadersaber]

there's been a little bit of talk again surrounding dark fics, particularly for joel miller, and i think we should discuss some things.

these are just a few people who have addressed their concerns this past year regarding dark fics. others i have spoken with privately & they'd like to remain anonymous.

and why is that?

they're afraid of publicly saying how they feel about these fics. they are afraid of possibly being bullied by writers of such fics, which is INSANE. the fact that the go-to response when someone is critical of someone else's work is to bully or be mean or laugh in their face and say "it's just fiction lol just don't read it" is INSANE. being critical of someone's work DOES NOT MEAN they bully the writer or the fic itself and IT DOES NOT MEAN that they are being "the fandom police".

there does seem to be a huge influx of mostly dark fics in the tlou fandom. not sure why that is, but regardless, people may write from a place of trauma that they experienced themselves or from a place of simply wanting to explore the dark genre, and that is okay. it's very valid.

me personally, i don't really get how writing about your favorite character and non-con is any way helpful or good, but that is the way that I feel. it has nothing to do with the people writing it. i find it very, very odd, but again, that is how I see it. they see it differently, and that's okay.

maybe it would be more productive if writers who do post dark joel content would give an insight into their thoughts & ideas for those fics if they are asked about it or if the topic comes up. it would be interesting to understand their pov and such, instead of being met with bullying, mockery or being called names & harassed because they disprove of incest/SA, like it recently happened to one of my mutuals.

i think there are way more fitting characters to explore for dark fics but i understand why it is explored for joel; he suffered the biggest possible loss & has a rough past, so it does make sense from this pov to explore what would happen if he'd go down a darker path. but once again, before anyone gets mad, this is MY opinion. i don't think portraying joel, a caring, protective man, as a stalker who assaults you & makes you afraid of him is any way hot.

however, that is not to say hey, stop writing this. write whatever you want, tag it & warn it accordingly! but also try to understand & remember that when people say they are triggered by these fics, that they find them bizarre or gross etc. they are not attacking you. it's how they feel, and retaliating with bullying over their personal feelings is not helping the matter. it makes them more afraid to speak up or even be a part of the community they once loved.

[yourantag]

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others. 

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

-

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him. 

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least. 

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading. 

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him. 

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one. 

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

-

There’s a letter in your mailbox. 

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty. 

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

-

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting. 

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

-

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating. 

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

-

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating. 

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead. 

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.” 

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

-

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no. 

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head. 

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing. 

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

-

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.” 

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush. 

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!” 

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

-

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

-

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong. 

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair. 

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

[stylerm2world]

I am really sad and heartbroken over the Chenford breakup. It’s not rational, I get that. But, it was my escape from the painful shit and now it’s part of the painful shit.

What is the most disturbing thing to me is the reaction of the fandom. I posed a question in in a group about how I completely understand from Tim’s perspective, why he broke up with her. I totally get his behavior is a trauma response. However, I have consistently brought up with other members of the fandom my struggle with the breakup. My issue is how Lucy could ever trust Tim again. I keep getting answers referring back to Tim’s decision making and people continuing to justify it.

That is not my question!! My question is about the woman he destroyed emotionally, while claiming to love her. It feels like the woman in the group have been so conditioned to accept men’s shitty behavior that, of course, their response is, they will get back together. I’m like “who cares, why would you even want her to take him back?” My argument is if Lucy has self-respect, why the fuck would she ever get back into a relationship with someone who treated her so poorly, who knowingly and willfully broke her heart, regardless of the reason, even if he does love her. I am absolutely disgusted with men’s lack of self-awareness, lack of emotional maturity and being afraid to step up to the plate for your partner. As women, why would you accept that, why would you think it’s okay, why would you make the question itself about the male partner. Accepting shitty behavior because “he didn’t mean it, he really loves me and I love him, so it’s okay.” That is the response of a person who was abused and continues to make excuses for the abuser to continue. Yes, it’s fiction, but I can’t help but wonder, what kind of fucking advice you give to women friends who bring problems in their relationship to you. Do you respond with, “that’s sad, but you know you’ll get back together. You’re endgame.” What.the.absolute.fuck?

So fucking disturbing…

[shanastoryteller]

I think one thing about siat I personally relate to is how Draco loves his parents despite their racism. All too often I hear people say cut the racists out of your life, but that's really hard when its your parents and your entire extended family who you love dearly. Do I call them out on their prejudices? Yes, of course, but cutting them out is not going to change their minds but maybe me sticking around to show them a different perspective will.

ah. well. i'm glad you liked it and you found things that resonated with you!

i am obviously saying absolutely nothing about your parents, because fictional situations do not at all map against real situations, and i know absolutely nothing about your family and your experiences. and "stay with you family and help change their minds" is actually the advice of several activists!

however

draco did cut his family out of his life

he and lucius get in a big screaming fight after the world cup about their family and draco becoming a death eater and lucius being one and he stops talking to his parents for a whole year. he refuses to go home for the holidays and would rather NOT being published in the charms review than break his silence with his parents to get their permission. he does send them christmas gifts, because he does still love them, but that's it

until he runs back to the manor to save lucius's life, because obviously he doesn't want his father to die, but that's not the thing that bridges the gap between them

it's lucius refusing to kill harry and nearly getting himself killed because of it

and lucius does have a little bit of conscious here, because harry's his son's age and all he's done the past year is think about his son, but that's not why he doesn't kill him. lucius malfoy is not a good person. in the second year he doesn't lose any sleep over all the muggleborn children he's almost killed but is devastated at the idea that he could have harmed his son. he doesn't kill harry because he wants draco to be proud of him, to love him, and he worries that if he does this thing then maybe he won't and the idea of losing his son's affection is worse to him than gaining voldemort's ire

narcissa is sort of go with the flow, in a way that makes her a bit of a psychopath. she'll play the game on either side, will kill whoever she needs to kill, and not care much either way. she cares about her family. she doesn't care about who dies at the end of her wand

draco tells lucius not to get caught again, even if it means doing terrible things, because now that voldemort's back they don't have much of a choice if they want to live - which is a very different situation than they were in after the world cup. and lucius knows that draco feels differently and supports him and does everything he can to protect him

and then, when it comes to a head, he betrays voldemort outright and fights voldemort wandless because draco is in danger

none of this makes him less of a bigot

lucius doesn't really change his mind about anything. he still doesn't care for muggles or monsters or freaks, but he's a slytherin to his core, and he certainly doesn't mind winning, regardless of who he's doing it with

draco does the equivalent of holding his breath to get his parents to change sides. and it works

narcissa and lucius are not good people. they are flighty and ambitious and fought on the wrong side of the war and switched only because their son gained a moral compass and their stance is family first. if draco can't be swayed, then they must be the ones to change

and it's fiction! so that means we love them. in real life we'd be dragging them to guillotine, but it's not real life, it's a fun little fanfic, so real life rules don't apply, and being good parents who love their son more than anything makes up for being sort of insane serial killers

[starhaloeklypse]

Ladies, Gentleman, Those who identify as neither or both, It is FINALLY here. I am so excited to bring this comic to you all and I hope it resonates with many of you out there. Here is my cover of the Undertale Fan Comic I’m working on; “JigsawTale : The Ascension of the PuzzleMaster”. A Post-Pacifist ending long-running Undertale fanwork that centers the perspective of Papyrus. He’s our main character, and we’ll get to see how well he integrates into life on the surface in the human world , along with all of his friends and found family. How difficult is life for monsters who are perceived as even stranger than the average monster is ? He’ll have many obstacles to overcome because Papyrus just isn’t like most monsters. I’m very excited to share my work with you all, this story means so much to me and so much of it is inspired by and informed by my own lived experience. Papyrus is the character I relate to the most in pretty much all of fiction and I feel like I’m telling my story through him, sort of, but also his own at the same time. He’s my favorite for a reason and I think it’s time we give him a moment to shine. The story may contain some potentially triggering topics and events , but when the time comes I’ll be sure to give multiple detailed warnings for anything that needs it. It’s also meant to be viewed by older audiences as such, I’m not really intending for this story to be viewed by kids, it is a story that centers the perspective of an adult who doesn’t always get to feel like one and not only do I think it’ll resonate with that audience more, but it may not be suitable for those who are younger at all times, so I’d proceed with caution. Also I feel I should clarify, I don’t personally see this as much of an “AU”, To me it’s not an alternate universe, so much as it is an extended timeline that asks “What happens to everyone after the end of the ‘pacifist’ run, and what if we looked at all of that from Papyrus’ perspective ?” It’s closer to an epilogue story. Outside of Asgore and Toriel not being immortal in my version of the story and closer to middle age, there are no major differences to the original game, not enough to be considered an AU anyway, but if you see me tag it as one, that’s just to make it easier to find. Regardless , I hope everyone who’s interested gets a chance to read my story when it’s out, it’ll still probably be a while before that happens as I have a lot of things to work on and art skills to improve , but when the day comes , you will know. I plan to continue trying to update when I can. This is just to promote the comic and I hope it reaches as many people as possible. Thank you all for your time and patience, I’m beyond excited.

If you’re interested in the comic and would like to support its development financially , considering I’m a one-man band working on all of this by myself, I’d really appreciate it. If you’d like to request art from me I’d be happy to do so in exchange for donations as well. Any amount helps, and I’d be eternally grateful. Of course however, do not feel pressured to donate. I appreciate you tuning in either way and I hope you all enjoy the story.

[diamondkat]

A conversation with @lyrarizi (thank you for that conversation) made me think about why certain topics relating to Alastor upset me. In particular when it comes to the idea of Alastor being redeemed through suffering.

Putting aside the fact as I have stated before that suffering doesn't create better people. The concept of breaking Alastor down so that he accepts help is something that works when talking about a character who has never needed to accept help before. For example, a person who was raised powerful and spoilt who views everyone as beneath them and doesn't believe that they should need help from them. That isn't Alastor's character based on what we've seen. Alastor was a mixed-race man who rose to become a successful radio host and serial killer in the 1920s. His ego is something he built by fighting his trauma and trying to take control of his destiny. He has worked hard to build himself so he doesn't have to ask for help. People who do that don't believe they can ask for help or trust people to not take advantage of any weakness shown. Further, a breakdown won't make him more likely to seek help because his real issue is that the only person he truly trusts is himself. Think of it this way, on some level if you thought the people around you would hurt you given the opportunity, would anything make you put yourself at their mercy? What kind of breakdown would make you think that it is okay to take the risk that they might do worse to you than whatever was currently hurting you?

My understanding of this was coloured by the fact that I once had a year or two when I had zero friends and didn't really speak to anyone due to a few betrayals. There were plenty of people who thought it was just me being arrogant. However, when you trust no one but yourself, more trauma doesn't fix it. It gets fixed by people who make you feel safe enough with them to slowly let down your guard.

I realised that part of my hatred of that concept came from personal past trauma. Before that conversation, I always thought that I disliked it purely because Alastor is my favourite I hate to see him suffer and some of the "fans" who talked about making him suffer sounded exactly like the people who hated him. However, I realized that it's way more personal.

During the period that I kept to myself to protect myself from any betrayal, there were plenty of people who thought that I was simply being arrogant and thought that something would happen that would force me to see I couldn't stand on my own. I did take pride in not needing them. No matter what happened my pride demanded that I solve it myself and I did. Even the fact that I have anxiety had no impact on this. I did what I needed to feel safe and that meant controlling everything that I could. I didn't end up making friends again because I needed them. It happened because someone needed me. In helping them, I was slowly able to realise that maybe it was okay for me to make friends again even though it did involve a lot of me watching them for how they would react to opportunities to betray me. I realised that I was putting that experience on Alastor. So when people said that he needed to be humbled through trauma so that he would be forced to redeem himself, I heard the people who used to say something similar about me during that period. Realising this has made me far less irritated when I see such posts cause I finally realised why I was getting so upset over people's opinions on, regardless of how much I love and adore him, a fictional character. I had thought I was immune to such behaviour but I wasn't. The point I am trying to make is that it is important to step back and take a look at why we feel a certain way. A little self-reflection goes a long way.

[xxvi0lent-vahlkampfiidaexx]

ik i should never ever get stressed about warrior cats fandom drama but the way you guys talk about Nightheart sometimes makes me not feel super safe in this community

Sparkpelt is not a bad cat or a bad mother for her post-partum depression. However, Nightheart still has the right to be upset about her absence in his kithood. Regardless of intention and fault that doesn't make what he went through not traumatic. Sparkpelt named him after her ancestor, and the name was decided before his birth. The name has value to her and that's okay. Nightheart being upset that his name did not reflect who he was as a person is okay, too.

Nightheart is a character who is in an identity crisis. He tries too hard and ends up messing up his warrior assessments. He wants to be seen so he can have a sense of self. To prove himself worth something to himself and to his family. What he's going through is heavy and painful and reminds me so much of myself. I've been ornery when I shouldn't have been. There have been times when every bit of encouragement felt like a personal attack, and the lack of it felt devastating. He responds well to his ego being inflated because it gives him a sense of self. He can only grow out of this with love and support.

OBVIOUSLY, this is just my interpretation and analysis of his character. I am someone who has had a rocky relationship with well-meaning parents who were good people who also left me severely traumatized, at really no one's fault. Anyway my point is it really bothers me when you guys see a traumatized character acting like a traumatized character and call them "an ungrateful brat" and Yeah this is just literal Kids Fiction so i don't really care (or I guess I shouldn't) but Yeah

[yuikomorii]

Heya! In which of the boys route do you think Yui was broken/hurt the most?

I always wanted to know which would be the worst scenario (route) for like.. an avarage girl irl . I know most girls would not survive there😅 but just wanted to know your opinion which of those 6 doors you would never open. Or 13 if we count all the characters.

// Since it's an otome game, it goes without saying that there will be a lot of plot armor and that the love interests can't really harm the heroine seriously throughout the route, regardless of what she does, because the plot would go nowhere like that. Most characters are jerks but not really that hard to handle, since they were known for scaring Yui rather than letting her get genuinely hurt. However there were certain Diaboys who were very scary, as it felt like they had no feelings of remorse or empathy.

Laito:

Can’t say that his HDB route is the worst thing Rejet has ever written (because it’s definitely not) but it baffled me how he was so okay with Yui breaking like that to the point where she lost all her will to live and only wanted to be set free from him. I mean, she literally tried to commit and he was just there not even intending to stop her bleeding veins despite being the one who cut them?? It’s true that in the Vampire Ending she doesn’t turn out that bad but after all, this is just because it’s fiction.

Kanato:

He was easier to understand than Laito because at least you were able to know that he had a soft spot for sweets and Teddy. Nevertheless, it was a bit too much how he kept stabbing Yui with the fork and a few chapters later, I’m pretty sure he stabbed Yui with a knife in more places as well. Still, it’s surprising how she turned out worse in his route, considering the fact that in the afterstory she kills innocent people—

Kou:

I love Kou but he was a literal demon in MB. I really hated how he made his fans bully Yui JUST FOR FUN. It wasn’t even any sort of punishment, he merely wanted to make her suffer. Another thing I couldn’t stand was how he kept putting Yui’s life in danger, only to make her prove her love. I understand wanting to test someone but it would have been way better if he actually saved Yui after seeing her do something dangerous. That way it would have proved that he cared for her yet he continued to watch her get hurt for him over and over again, without feeling any empathy. He was sorta redeemed at the end but yeah, most of his route was big yikes, especially since you wouldn’t have expected a cheerful and friendly idol like him to be such a wicked person.

Carla:

I like the Tsukinami family's desire to preserve their lineage but sorry, I must say that I find it repulsive that a 17-year-old would be forced to become pregnant out of the blue with strangers. I understand that Yui was partially to blame for Carla's anger and subsequent dungeon scene but that moment grossed me out sooo bad. She lost her will to live but Carla literally jumped on a depressed girl and was on the verge of rap€ing her, if his Endzeit didn’t kick in. He gets gradually better throughout his route but this scene left a sore taste in my mouth.

Kino:

Look, Kino is a great villain and a lot of fun, but his LE route was trash. Kino killed a child, mistreated Yui, abducted both Yui and Ayato, planned to sell Ayato to the church for execution, manipulated Yui and tortured Ayato. The pain he caused them both was immense and although I appreciated Yui calling him out, it's so sad that she was brainwashed. While it's true that Kino can be quite cute when he wants to, their romance was so rushed and forced because they didn't give us any reason why Yui would fall for him other than manipulation when Ayato, who was seen to care more about her than for himself, was right there. I wish they developed Kino’s feelings better, given that he straight up blackmailed Yui to become his, otherwise Ayato would had been killed, therefore Yui had no other choice but accept the situation. That’s why his CL route is way better.

I only mentioned 5 instead of 6 but that’s mostly because no other character came closer to them in terms of bad scenario. The rest of them felt decent in their routes for a game called Diabolik Lovers, lol.

[dirtpaper]

Lucian

He/him • 18 years old

Introduction post

I am a creator who has a strong belief about fiction and the inclusion of darker topics. As a survivor of CSA, r4pe, grooming, abuse (sexual, mental, physical), and many other things, I believe that portrayal of these topics is necessary for awareness and for survivors to be able to vent.

If people with depression can consume content around depression, including things that may make others uncomfortable, then I think survivors should be allowed the same opportunities. Sometimes venting is not pretty for others, that's okay.

This is a safe space for proshippers and those with paraphilias, however this is not a safe space for those who want to enact their thoughts on non-comsenting parties in real life (including minors and animals, they CANNOT consent, keep your fantasies to fiction only)

I was conditioned into believing many paraphilias are okay, that is not something I can change now but I will never condone or ever be okay with those thoughts becoming real actions. I am, however, pro kink and support anything two consenting adults desire to do with each other in their own space. Kink is important for my healing and I will never kinkshame, even if it is something I am personally disgusted by the idea of.

In terms of other things, I am interested in religious imagery and gore! I am not a Christian but I do like to post about the aesthetics of the religion and my personal trauma with it, so if this bothers you, you can choose not to interact.

I don't tend to harass or police other people, friendly antis are welcome. As aforementioned, I will not tolerate 'pro-contact' MAPs or zoos on my profile but will not directly harass or bully anyone, regardless of my personal thoughts.

I'm massively into any specific fandoms or have any specific ships myself, but I will post some OC content from time to time and would love to support mutuals in whatever fandoms they're in. OC proship/antianti creators please interact! Am really interested in finding muts and potentially friends like me! 🖤🐑

Some fandoms / media I do like are:

👼 Warrior Cats 👼 How to Train Your Dragon 👼Pokemon 👼 The Loud House 👼 Rick and Morty 👼 Disney 👼 Gravity Falls 👼 Minecraft

If I follow you and your DNI includes me in any way, please block me and move on! I don't have time to read through thousands of pages of random text.

[ijustcrypretty]

Football vs. Futbol

Summary: Your parents are a former 49er and a retired ballerina. They gave birth to you, a soccer star who played at Stanford from 2018-2022 (and three-peated), and your twin brother, a UC Berkeley basketball player. You are currently playing for Bay FC after leaving Chelsea and moving back to the states, as well as the USWNT. Your brother is a rookie for the Sacramento Kings, and well… bitches are thirsty for him. Your family ties and the increasing fame that comes with being your generation's greatest female soccer player lead to you being in room with many interesting and exciting people, including the mysterious and elusive Joseph Lee Burrow. 

Reminder: THIS IS FICTION. Y/N is not a real soccer player that exists, the character of her dad and brother aren’t based on actual athletes, etc. The only part of this story that is based off real people is the Joe Burrow aspect of it all. His character will for the most part remain true to who he is, or who people perceive him to be, in the real world. Everything else I am literally pulling from my ass. 

Also MDNI. This will be a story about ADULTS doing ADULT THINGS so go to your 3-hour shift at Jamba Juice and mind your business if you're not an adult. Please and thank you :) 

ALSO. I will hopefully maintain writing this specific storyline and sequence of events but I am very open and would love to write random offshoots and blurbs with the same characters involved. So PLEASE feel free to send me any requests/asks for little plotlines you'd like to see and I may include them in this storyline or write a separate story/blurb when I have time. I may keep up with that more than I keep up with writing the full on story because I get bored and sidetracked easily :(

. . .

You tried. You really did try to pay attention as your manager Becky droned on and on about all the opportunities you were getting and should be taking. “Its important for the world to see a successful female athlete dominate the world and not give a shit what people think. Its what the boys do,” she says. 

“I mean signing a contract for 15 million a year is unprecedented Y/N. Completely unheard of. You should not be sitting here doubting yourself, bringing yourself down. You’re the shit, and you should be allowed to know that about yourself”. 

“Becky. I know I’m the shit. I just don’t necessarily need to be going on fucking Pardon my Take. What's next, you want me to get in with the guys at Barstool? I feel like all this press shit is a lateral move at best” you argue. The last thing you want to do is not be true to yourself. You are not doing any of this for men. Being sexualized by men in sports media has been bad enough, but if you began to lean into that? God, you’d hate yourself.  

“Y/N, the entire world is looking at you. This is an opportunity for you to break down doors and let other women in with you. I know you don’t necessarily WANT men to like you, but what's wrong with having male fans? You have an opportunity to expand your fan base? Take it.”

You left the meeting in a huff, knowing that Becky was right, but your pride was not allowing you to accept the facts. Yes, you have a lot of fans because of my talent. But plenty of your fame has come from the completely and utterly thirsty people of the internet. It just feels so much worse when the sexualization comes from straight men. Even though that is ironically exactly the group of people that you want to be attracted to you. 

But Becky was right. You needed to stop avoiding spaces dominated by men simply because you were afraid of being sexualized and not taken seriously. It was going to happen regardless, might as well take all the opportunities you could get. So you dialed the number. 

“Heyyy Y/L/N”

“What’s up Big Cat. I’ll do it.”

. . .

“Listen imma be honest, I didn’t know how this was gonna go but you’re actually so dope” said Big Cat. “However, I am unfortunately going to have to appease the fans and at least try to get some of these answers okay?” 

“Oh God. Hit me with it I guess” you responded. 

“Lets say that hypothetically” PFT began, “you were single.”

“Oh Godddd” you groaned. 

PFT laughed. “I’m sorry. We have to. It's our job.”

“Listen Y/N, we have all the connections,” Big Cat said. “Just give me 3  Inames of any athletes, and I can try to set you up. I know you must have some dusty motherfuckers in those DM’s, let me figure out what you like and maybe get you someone quality okay?”

“Listen, I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t have a type. And I sure as hell will not be saying any names,” you say. “But if you know anything Big Cat, let me know. Because some of these guys are all talk but don’t make a move when they get the chance.”

“Ohhh I know things Y/L/N,” Big Cat replied. “I ask this question to everyone, and they all have a little crush on you, and they all ask me to cut it out. I’ll tell you after.”

“Oh jeez I appreaciate it i guess?” you said. 

“Wait you’re going to Paris for the athlete fashion things right Y/N?” PFT interrupted. “Because boy do we have some info for you.”

“Haha yeah I’m going. I’m super excited to get more involved and it’ll definitely be fun to meet new people. I’m really passionate about fashion so I’m really excited to do more of that this year” you said. “But I am NOT going for any other reason okay? Just for the fashion.”

“Righttttt” Big Cat replied. “But it won’t hurt that a bunch of 6’4 athletes will be there will it?”

“I guess not Big Cat, I guess not”