#I should stop venting in tags uh

[bluepallilworld]

Hello! Hi! Heya! Hope the day's amazing on you all!

I'm entering exam period and to make up for all the procrastinating I did during the semester, I'm not gonna be here for... a while. Probably all may and perhaps all june too :/

During this hiatus period:

-I won't post or reblog (if you see a post here, it would be on queue),

-I won't answer to comments or asks at all

-but I will still answer dms if needed or if you wanna say hi (maybe a bit late depending on what I'm doing but I'll answer) / possibility I stop answering dms at one point because I really have to study ;w;

-I will let my notifications on at first but there's a high probability I'll turn it off later

-for those who have my discord, I will still be more or less available

So see you soon everybody, this dum-dum with very bad time-management skills needs to study

Love you, miss you

[zeeposting]

ive had four dreams about school while sick so far, what

[curiosityjams]

*

[nereidprinc3ss]

please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them. 

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now. 

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate. 

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut. 

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination. 

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you. 

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.” 

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze. 

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists. 

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room. 

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer. 

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other. 

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat. 

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot. 

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi. 

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now? 

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks. 

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down. 

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances. 

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level. 

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago. 

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time. 

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction. 

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out. 

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion. 

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you. 

“Which part?”

All of it. 

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to. 

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts. 

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth. 

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment. 

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose. 

You never meant to like him so much. 

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore. 

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer. 

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave. 

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away. 

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse. 

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it. 

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear.  He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man. 

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly. 

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it. 

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it. 

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on. 

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper. 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse. 

A long moment goes by. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now. 

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears. 

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you. 

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door. 

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse. 

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder. 

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app. 

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features. 

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his. 

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe. 

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed. 

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks. 

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear. 

Just as he’d said. 

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid. 

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right. 

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant. 

You want to be fine. Constantly. 

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care. 

But you always have. And so fucking deeply. 

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed. 

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time. 

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat. 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore. 

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again. 

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to. 

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now. 

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand. 

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be. 

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite. 

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both. 

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall. 

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

[buntsukim]

having more than one social / account in general always freaked me out everywhere.

i remember on insta if i had 2 accounts id explode. i always refused to make a priv alt on twitter.

i also left insta for twitter bc i liked using twitter and couldnt handle having both.

rn i like both tumblr and twitter so my mind is going aaaaa aaaa a aaaaaaaaaaa bc i cant have both or something.

im just tyring to ignore it :3. and hope. i forget. and never remember aobakanan

[kiyomitakada]

i know its a classic. possibly cliche already. but i do wonder about Tumblr In The Death Note Universe probably more than i should

2 notes

💅 toxicbff Follow

if i see one more post attributing kira's powers to ~supernatural powers~ instead of the obvious fact that the cia is doing a coup I'm going to start giving You the heart attacks

💅 toxicbff

of course i saw the news how does that not prove my point further

the idea that all the police around the world could be mobilized by one single person is ridiculous (just look at this list of how many civilian militia there are globally)

heart attack victims don't seize the way "lind l tailor" did

i don't know how to tell you that You Can't Kill People Just By Knowing Their Name And Face because this is Real Life and not the newest grimdark marvel villain

people need to stop being scared of the ~bogeyman in the closet~ and wake up to the fact that usamerica is trying to take over the goddamned world

💅 toxicbff

im going to kill you all and nuke this website

#sayonara you weeaboo shits

2,925 notes

👾 lets-go-geeks Follow

DO TRUMP NEXT

🕵🏾‍♀️ penny-penelope Follow

LIKES TO CHARGE REBLOGS TO CAST

16,375 notes

❤️‍🔥 lovesickened Follow

i know its stupid but im so fucking scared for my brother i heard that seven people died this week at the prison he's in and iinjust dont kenow what to do ihate him for ehat he did to mom but i never wanted him to die

#vent tw #delete later

0 notes

🏎 fastandyurious Follow

if i get a single more comment about why i don't tag "genderbend" on my kiratective fics i'm going to blow up the entire building. we don't know EITHER of their genders. why don't YOU tag your mediocre yaoi genderbend instead

🔆 sparkling-world Follow

…OP, you realize the news reports all consistently use "he," right?

🏎 fastandyurious

of course i do???? just because you see something on the news doesn't mean you have to believe it?????? they don't have any information on kira yet but i'm supposed to believe the fbi knows their gender already??????? also kira is literally a fucking girl's name my classmate in elementary school was called kira

🔆 sparkling-world

Kira comes from the Japanese romanization for "killer," it isn't gendered whatsoever.

Also, evidence shows the majority of serial killers are male, so I'd argue that the statistics favor the fujoshis here.

🏎 fastandyurious

well evidence shows that female serial killers are just more fun to write about and I'd argue that you're ignoring my fucking POINT which is that we DON'T KNOW KIRA'S GENDER and if people don't want to read lesbian kiratective they can FUCK OFF MY BLOG

🥚 i-offer-eggman Follow

I offer you an Eggman in these trying times.

🔮 I-stands-for-le-gay Follow

@lashitpostcalligrapher yo can i get "the statistics favor the fujoshis" on my tombstone

#fandom: kira rpf #ship: kiral #never heard it called kiratective before… #also uh. prayer circle for op's classmate lmaoooo

2,107 notes

💃🏻 modelingmadness Follow

BOYCOTT EIGHTEEN MAGAZINE

THEY ALLOW KIRA-SUPPORTING MODELS AND ARE COMPLICIT IN THIS MASSACRE

SOURCES HERE AND HERE (TRIGGER WARNING: KIRA DISCUSSION)

PUSH BACK AGAINST HEART ATTACKS

🧚🏽‍♂️ harubaru Follow

golly gee ^_^ suddenly i feel like taking to the high seas in a way that the eighteen company cant get profit from. oh no ! who left this link here

🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

thanks for the link but jesus fucking christ man what happened to free speech. misa-misa's parents were killed by a burglar who kira punished. did you all expect her to just sit there, look pretty, and say nothing about it?

you people only like models when they're nice pictures for you to consume. you only like them two-dimensional and smiling and hot. the second a woman actually speaks her mind she's thrown to the wolves

💃🏻 modelingmadness

DID YOU NOT SEE MY BANNER YOU PIECE OF SHIT

#BLOCKED

140 notes

🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

lol. lmao even

#they blocked me but whatever #official eighteen site just said misamisa wont be in the next issue #(eighteen sucks but i kind of want to use it more out of spite now) #so much for apologism huh? #god. i feel sick. #hasn't she been through enough.

1 note

🥷🏻 kira-imagines Follow

Imagine you're going home after a long day. Suddenly there's a sound. "Huh? Whose there" you ask, dropping your keys on the floor. Then you feel it. A knife pressing in your neck.

"Don't move kitten" Kira purrs behind you. "You're all mine now…"

#kiraxreader #kiraxoc #kira #kira rpf #kira investigation #kira fucker #kira fudger #kira lover #kira haters dont touch #kira haters please touch #kira supporters please touch #l

5,733 notes

asahi-the-student-deactivated201

Hello, everyone! My little sister told me about this microblogging platform (I admit, I'm a Twitter refugee) and that many of you are discussing the Kira investigation on here. I'm really interested in hearing what your thoughts are!

💋 sunny-sayu Follow

let the record show he lasted like. a day

#i think it was the imagines that did him in #bro is so sensitive :p

15 notes

kiyomitakada

the world could be beautiful

[ @deathnotetober day 14: trigger ]

[stonesilhouette]

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down. 

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment. 

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of  two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur. 

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror. 

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did. 

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup. 

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.” 

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

[herlondonboy]

7:3

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x platonic!reader / Enid Sinclair x platonic reader / Larissa Weems x platonic!reader

Summary: 7 reasons to go, 3 reasons to stay

Warnings: suicide, suicidal thoughts, vent fic I guess, so uh, like bcos I need validation 🫶 pure, unfiltered, angst. (Part two here) (Tagging: @lxtins @allisonsblog @wednesday-l0ver @capryuk @smolgayhooman @elduster because they said they’d read it x)

Word Count: 1.1k

Seven reasons to go, three reasons to stay. It honestly seems like such an easy answer, but if you add a zero onto the end of both numbers it becomes harder. Seventy reasons to go, thirty reasons to stay. You sat atop of this hill, resting your back against the oak tree. Weighing the reasons in your head made the pit in your stomach grow, but it needs to be soon.

1. You have no family.

In a fit of blind rage at eight, you set your house ablaze. The fire started in your parents bedroom where you, your mother and father and your little brother were. Larissa Weems, a family friend, was quick to aid you. She brought you to Nevermore and raised you like her own. It was abnormal for normie families to have Outcast children, but that just meant the Outcast gene laid dormant for a few generations. You didn’t speak to anyone for seven years after the incident.

Though Larissa was the closest thing you had to a family, she wasn’t your family and the kids at school liked to remind you of that.

2. The overwhelming anger.

Your nostrils flared as you watched the boy, whose name you never bothered to learn, called you an orphan for the umpteenth time that day. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palm until you felt blood rolling down. Pain makes you human, Larissa had said to you. Why wasn’t it working? A wolf pushed you and you struck him with flame covered fist. Your hand was burned onto his face and he hand to live in humiliation with that scar for the rest of his life.

The kids around you immediately dissipated and ran away from you. Then your roommate asked to switch dorms

3. People would finally care.

They don’t care until it’s too late. You knew this now, throwing the noose end of the rope over the highest branch that you could reach. You couldn’t even cry. Why would cry? Crying for the people that never even batted an eyelash at you. For he people that saw your pain and laughed in your face, dancing on what was left of your happiness, hoping to ruin it all for you. You can imagine the people that pushed you to this crying in each other’s arms as your body was lowered into the ground. Who do they think they are?

4. You hurt everyone you touched.

Larissa had pulled you into a hug when you came to her office sobbing. You were hesitant to accept it, but you did in the end. You remember her scream and push you away. It haunted your nightmares every. Single. Night. You looked down at your hands and your eyes widened at the melted fabric on your palms. She told you that it was all right and that she was just shocked, but you didn’t believe her.

You began using weird techniques you’d read about in books from the library; sitting in the kitchen’s walk in freezer for as long as you could, taking ice baths, letting your anger out in a controlled environment.

5. The dreams.

Waking up drenched in sweat and covered in a crisp duvet was not your forte. In fact, waking up wasn’t your forte. Your family coming back from the dead to berate you, blame you. They wanted to kill you back. Your brother showing you what could’ve been, what would’ve been, what should’ve been him. A dashing you man, your mother had said before casting her eyes over you in disgust. You wanted to apologise, but that didn’t deserve it. They should have to beg you for forgiveness. The world should have to beg you for your forgiveness. And it would have if you really wanted it to. You had the power to burn the world to ash.

6. You’d stop being a burden.

Larissa Weems already had a whole school of children to deal with. And, though she didn’t say it, you knew having you in her office for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was bothering her. You didn’t want to admit it, but you grew to like her presence, so instead of staying cooped up in your room, you stayed cooped up in her office. You’d get short, curt answers when asking something and you took that as a hint.

7. Eternal peace.

You’d be free from all your suffering. You’d be dead, you’d be gone. There’s no analogy for this reason. It’s just a fact. You wanted to be gone, that’s all.

But now the reasons to stay.

1. Your Larissa.

She really was your family. The reason you were still alive right now, but it was proving not to be enough. You just hoped that she didn’t blame herself for this. She had saved you and protected you for as long as she could, but now it was down to you. You had to make a decision and it led to you tightening the rope around the trunk of the tree.

2. The people that liked your company.

You had met Enid Sinclair in your fourth year of solitude since you’d come to Nevermore. She walk talkative and it was nice for the both of you. She liked having someone that listened to her ranting and you liked listening to someone talk to you without belittling your feelings. Then you met Wednesday on your 16th birthday, three years later. She was Enid’s roommate and you were scared that Wednesday was going to take her away from you. But that’s not what happened. Soon in days where you waited for Enid in her dormitory, you found yourself enjoying the silence between you. It wasn’t that Enid’s rambling was annoying, but silence was nice every once in a while. Lastly, you met Eugene. He reminded you of your little brother, predominantly the good parts of him. He was a perfect mix of Wednesday and Enid. You loved hearing about his bees and how his mom’s were doing. You adored reading books with him in the library. He helped you get over your fear of yourself.

3. Life.

Sure, you hated life. But there were fun times like when you were five, on your father’s shoulders as he ran through the forest by Nevermore. Or on your fifteen birthday when Enid and Larissa threw you a surprise party in your dorm where’re the three of you danced the night away. Not to mention when you made Eugene laugh. A smile graced your face the whole day after hearing him cackle at a note you gifted to him. Even if it go you kicked out from the library.

It was moments like that that you craved.

But you didn’t get much more because here you were, standing on a stool as you put your head through the noose. Just as you strained to kick the stool away, you heard a scream.

“No!” They said, but it was too late.

Wednesday was too late.

[three-drink-amy]

Thank you @alrightbuckaroo and @paperstorm for the tags! Here’s more of my teacher AU. It’s a long snippet because I really loved this part.

“But we need to hurry up and get him back in the tank before Carlos —”

He’s cut off by the door opening and Carlos walking through it. “Hey!” Glancing over at Jonah, TK grins at the almost panicked look on his face. He turns to look back at TK, clearly unsure if they should tell Carlos that Lou is free.

“Uh, hey, baby.”

“Hi, Carlos,” Jonah says carefully.

Carlos looks confused. “Everything okay?”

Jonah stares at TK again, willing him to give an answer. TK slowly shakes his head. Nervously, Jonah turns to Carlos and nods. “Yep. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay,” Carlos says suspiciously. He shrugs, walking toward the kitchen to grab a water. “Jonah, that’s a cool balloon you’ve got over there.”

All eyes turn to look at the T-Rex balloon that Jonah did pick out at the store earlier. But it’s not exactly his. “I love dinosaurs!” Jonah blurts. He looks at TK with wide, panicked eyes.

“I… I know you do.” Carlos stands in front of the couch, his eyes darting back and forth between them like he’s watching tennis, waiting for one of them to break and tell him what the hell is going on. Neither of them do. “Seriously, what is going on?”

“You’re early,” Jonah says.

Carlos frowns. “What, you don’t want me here?”

“No, nothing like that, baby,” TK assures him. “We just usually get our weirdness out before you get here.”

“Sure you do,” Carlos says, laughing. He glances over, zeroing in on the movement across the room. “Why is the balloon moving?”

Jonah looks, somehow, even more panicked. “Um,” TK tries, “it’s by a vent.”

Then, quicker than he can explain, the balloon takes off across the room, directly toward Carlos. TK can see the moment he realizes what the balloon is tied to. The loud, high pitched yelp that follows is almost comical, though it pales in comparison to the way Carlos jumps fully onto the couch.

“Holy shit,” TK breathes, doubled over as he laughs. “Jonah wasn’t kidding. You are terrified of lizards.”

“Why is he out?” Carlos cries. “And why is he wearing a balloon?”

TK tries to stop laughing; it’s only earning him a glare from Carlos. Though Jonah’s giggles from the couch probably aren’t helping either. “He’s wearing a balloon so that we know where he goes while I clean the tank. We usually do this while you’re not here so that you don’t have to be exposed to your fears.”

“Mr. Reyes — I mean, Carlos — says it’s good to face your fears. He says it makes you stronger.”

Carlos closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean things like this.”

“Oh, so what did you mean?” TK asks, grinning.

Carlos looks ready to murder him. It only makes TK laugh harder. “Can you just come get him, TK?”

“It’s nice to say please,” Jonah chimes in.

Fighting an eye roll, Carlos adds, “Please.”

No pressure tagging: @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @rosedavid @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @walkinginland @everwitch-magiks

[haunted-house-sys]

It's one of those BPD sensitive days...

So please do forgive me on this little vent.

CW: this is a BPD VENT, all words are aggressively charged but we, as a collective, don't like to be aggressive.

Im sorry but telling us that "we should stop posting about endos in system tags" shit wont sit with me...

That's like telling us all to stay quiet about those who are actively making our disorder look like a fucking joke...

Also its the same blog post that i went off on endos by making a little joke us and our partner system joke about all the time because our coping mechanisms for things that frustrate us is to joke about it. Telling me that makes me instantly believe you're a supporter.

Block.

That being said...

Our blogs should be a safe space for people to come and vent and talk about things without people undermining our experiences. I'm sorry you are being a little salty bitch and just HAD to reply to a post to "uh actually" and talk to us like a child.

Body wise... we are 25. So please. See you're way out. Just go away... please.

I'm tired of people... they're the reason we have agoraphobia, they're part of the reason we have AVPD (Avoidant Personality Disorder), they're part of the reason we have extreme social anxiety...

Just come on guys... if you dont like something block and ignore us. Its that simple.

I'm literally BEGGING yall at this point

If you don't like something we post or reblog, scroll past it... or block us idk. Just Don't INTERACT?

[systorytimes]

If okay, 🪻🪡 can be our anon tag.

We're a system who has experiences that may be out of the 'norm due to many things'. Even our discovery of our system (or at least accepting it) was different compared to others.

Our system discovery started due to blackouts happening and occurring more instead of the grayouts we experienced, the blackouts as you can can guess occurring due to a traumatic and stressful situation.

During the blackouts I the host at the time would vent and talk to my closest friend as Sonic the Hedgehog. As you can guess, that wasn't actually me. It was an Introject of the hedgehog. Though I would to my friend go, "Aha, it's my Sonic kin, memory problems exist as a kin. :D" multiple times.

This would lead to that Introject being like, "Hey, stop that" and even talked to my friend about us being multiple.

Which lead to an awkward conversation between my friend and I whenever i fronted again.

And an even more awkward situation whenever I was claiming it was just fictionkin stuff WHILE he was in front with my friend going, "Yeeeah." as the samw time I was in a way panicking when HE STRIAGHT UP SEND MEMES ABOUT CDD HOSTS BEING IN DENIAL.

So as you can guess, the start was rather messy, though we thankfully had me basically chill out. Though that isn't to say that I didn't had more panicking moments due to realizing and learning more things.

So uh. Thank you Sonic the Hedgehog.

- 🪻🪡

That's a very interesting discovery experience

I don't think there's a "norm" for how accepting and discovery of your system should be as everybody experience different, and also because I've never heard of "a norm" for certain kind of experiences within your CDD

Fictionkin and in general otherkinity being confused with the CDD experience is something that I have seen very frequently, including with me, that's why better information of both sides can be very helpful for systems who claim they're otherkin but really are systems

But I'm happy you managed to accept it and come to terms, tho it was from a very particular way, thx Sonic :D

[hellenic-whore]

Hey,uh

Can we stop making eating disorder posts and tagging them as body positive or fat positive?

I understand if you're hurting and need a place to vent but I should be able to look up stuff to feel ok about myself without

This like 6 times in a row

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Word Find Tag

Catch up p5! Moving into June (thanks for everyone's patience :')) And thanks for the tag, @thegreatobsesso!

My words: fire, water, air, and user’s choice of any word that’s got to do with nature, earth, trees, dirt, or whatever’s in your WIP for the last element

Your words: flame, flight, flow, and fracture

Gently tagging: @sam-glade, @dogmomwrites, @verkja, and You, if you would like :D (Open Tag)

Ooo, an elemental tag :D How fun! I have a fifth element in my world, so I'm gonna slip aether in here as well.

From Shattered Soul, bc I've got the doc open and uh. I like that wip lol.

Fire Serin

Serin bit the inside of his cheek, praying to the Mother she would get away. Marcus' back pressed against the crystal, but he wouldn't be able to step through without Malachiah's guidance. Alaia's compulsion forced him to keep trying, though, which would have been amusing if Serin wasn't so terrified. Blue light flared around Alaia's body, protecting her from the next lash of fire Malachiah sent her way. "Leave me alone!" she shouted. The outline of her body behind the blue light shimmered, and then she was gone. What the fuck had that been? Serin watched with increasing trepidation when fire flared around Malachiah as she vented her rage. The drugged mist was beginning to wear off; the ache in his shoulders from the tightness of the chains holding him in place was becoming noticeable. Marcus and Malachiah burst through the crystal. Serin thought it was the first time he had ever seen fear cross Marcus' face as the goddess turned to him with fury blazing in her pure black eyes.

Water Alaia

As soon as she recognized it, she halted, her body going hot and then cold and then hot again. Beads of sweat broke out along her forehead, and her vision began to flicker before she realized she probably needed to breathe. The memories she had worked so hard to bury since the night Malachiah had come for her threatened to break free again, so she wrapped her arms around her waist and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. "Human, what are you doing?" Their voice mimicked the rhythms of the ocean this time, but when Alaia turned towards the water, she recognized that green kelpy hair. The aicaya's pearl-white eyes and faintly green scaled skin featured in her dreams at night, before they turned into nightmares. "Ah yes, since you went through the Veil, I suppose it's no longer appropriate to call you human, is it?" The aicaya was reclining in the shallow water, tendrils from their green tail fin moving up and down with the waves. "What should I call you, then?"

Air (suppose i could've used this for all of them, huh lol) Kadin

Kadin walked through the wide, glass-paned double doors into what had been stylized the Chamber of Elements, and stopped directly inside the entrance. His wings mantled as he glanced around. Had things gotten worse, or was he just imagining things? The elements were supposed to be balanced throughout the fortress, but the effect was most visible in this room. Soft, loamy earth made up the floor, a nod to the humans, while multi-colored sparks of aether, the fae's element, infused the silver-veined black stones of the walls. Air swirled lightly throughout the space from dozens of small openings in the wall behind him, and the blue, seemingly cloud-covered ceiling rose high above, providing plenty of space for a seraph to spread their wings and fly. Landings along the dome's curved walls provided convenient perches for those who wished to remain in the 'sky'. To his left ran a wide, blue-green stream, mirrored by a channel of molten lava to his right. Both water and fire cut a thin path horizontally across the earthen floor, culminating in a large circular pool in the middle of the chamber, with each half separated by a wide strip of earth. The gentle gusts of air filling the chamber swirled around the pool, carrying motes of shining aether on its winds. But—

Earth (direct continuation from air) Kadin

The earth Kadin stepped on felt brittle, dry. The air felt warmer than usual, not as refreshing. He couldn't tell if anything was off with the water, but the aether… He was the Draikon, lord of dragons, and as such, carried a well of Reyanel's essence inside him to replenish the dragon's lifeforce. The time he'd spent in Siiluriah had shown him how sensitive he'd become to the fae's element, and it was telling him now how dull the aether in this room felt.

Aether Darian

A heaviness descended in the room, and he sobered immediately. It's my brother, isn't it? Has he woken? As far as he knew, Kiral had been brought back from Iahel and chained to his bed in his suite of rooms at their home in the grove. He had been unconscious from whatever Alaia had done to him, and he knew his parents hoped the aether from the grove seeping into his body while he rested would break the coercion. Darian knew better. It had all been tried before. He's beginning to stir. No one can reach his mind. He growls and thrashes in his restraints every time someone tries. Darian held Alaia closer as he closed his eyes, the pain of knowing he was losing his brother knifing through him. The title of crown prince would fall to him, leaving him with even more responsibility weighing him down. He didn't know if he could do it, if he could kill his own brother, even to bring Kiral peace. But he would have to find the strength.

[featureenvyproductions]

dont think eyan eternal chapter 7 took me long enough

Seriously this one was the most complicated to color out of everything bc of all the little tiny plants and shit AND GET THIS I COULDNT FIND MY FUCKING THUMBNAILS AND WINDOWS ATE MY LATEST WORD DOC FOR THIS CHAPTER so I had to like revise everything in an older version from scratch which might as well be the same as rewriting the chapter uthghghghhghfhrhfskjrrjejbf *flips an ikea full of tables*

yeah OK so I'm sorry in advance I feel like I have two modes which are

"ej stop trying to be metal gear solid please stop monologuing vicariously through anguished men of questionable physiological origins I am here for biceps" and

*throws something resembling sexual tension at a wall* ARE YOU FEELIN IT NOW MR KRABS

and in this chapter you get Both :)

Let's learn about the painting on Zero's wall and uh, Amp Things Up A Bit....We get to see more of Eyan's vampireness as we go on...

(I would also like to apologize for my Interpretive Astrobiology I did about as well in biology as I did in Straight and it was 6000 year earth creationism to begin with and any real knowledge of alive things I learned from YouTube standing in line at the grocery store so uh. trust my planets but don't trust my plants)

As always, thanks if you do read this. You can catch up on the other chapters at my Eyan Eternal Chapter tag #Eyan Eternal Chapter, or head over to the site to read the slightly easier to see version

>:)

Oh yeah disclaimer I never really did ever figure out if a planet like this could have regular satellites like moons. The orbits would be weird and they wouldn't be around forever or be in stable orbits. The bodies here are much more likely to be other planets in the system that happen to be Conveniently Conducive To Reflecting Light. Because planets in red dwarf systems are a lot closer to the star, they'd be much more likely to be visible with the naked eye and be pretty big. Either way look, consider it an artistic liberty. I need them here for the Aesthetic. You should be much more critical of the fact that I honestly completely failed to visually depict any significant effects due to tides (i mean aside from some of the mountain geography some of the mountains are due to tides). I had a whole thing about hydrothermal vents at the bottom of this body of water where there are anaerobic bacteria that are essential to the ecosystem and that's only possible because of the tectonic activity that occurs due to the tidal forces from the other planets but like it didn't do anything for the plot so I left it out but JUST SO YOU KNOW I KNOW IN MY MIND THAT THERE ARE GIANT THINGS THAT CLOSE AND THEY HAVE EFFECTS.

>:)))))))

[standfortheangels]

So on Monday evening, I got an ask from a blog I hadn't seen before (not naming them) asking me to share their post asking for help with vet bills.

I was able to check out that they were a real person and not a bot, but I was confused about why they would ask Me, because again, never seen them before, and they also followed me right after sending the message, which seemed odd? So I left it alone and went to bed.

The next day I was waaay too tired to handle my own life, so that was a write-off. I'm in not so much a 'dip' in my health, it's more like.. a sinkhole, that hasn't stopped moving yet, so uh, yeah. That's limiting me a hell of a lot. Deciding what to do and writing a message back to them was just outside of my capabilities that day.

But yesterday, at one point early afternoon, I thought I had enough energy to throw some kind of reply together. I actually was going to reblog their post too. I just wanted to be able to tell this person- in case they picked me because they thought I'd have a lot of reach or something- that I actually don't tend to get seen by a lot of people, so it probably wouldn't help them much, but that I'd share it anyway and I hoped they could get their pet treated soon.

Except, there was no message there, and the follow notification vanished too.

Which means unless Tumblr fucked up in a very odd, very specific way.. they blocked me.

I hadn't responded in the maybe... 40 hours I'd had the message for, and I'd already been blocked.

Everything posted on my blog in that time, by the way, was through the queue and was tagged as such. I also have it in my blog description that I have health issues. Being unavailable for 40 hours doesn't mean someone is ignoring you regardless, but it's already public information that I have health shit to deal with and it slows me down. I would hope that would lead to a little patience as it is, but I mean, I could even have been in hospital for all they know!

Besides which, like, what good does blocking me do? If I'm not responding or posting, sure, maybe I'm ignoring you and don't want to share your post. But if I'm blocked, I definitely won't be sharing it! Because now I can't fucking see it can I?

Honestly, I'm almost glad now that my Monday sucked so much. Because that kind of anger in such a short amount of time (when, again, I didn't even post, stuff was queued and tagged) is a pretty big red flag tbh. I can understand being stressed if you're in that situation, but like.. I was basically off tumblr For A Day, a day and a half. To deal with health shit. And I got blocked for that.

Maybe it was a bizarre and highly coincidental glitch. Maybe they saw something on my blog they didn't like (though they should be vetting blogs better Before they send messages and follow if that's the case.). Or maybe they genuinely were impatient and defensive, and decided to block me out of anger when I had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what was actually a pretty short delay, certainly for me at least.

So yeah. Guess I kinda just wanted to vent that out, because, honestly I hate when people get mad at me for being sick, or for things in general I can't control. It isn't fair. And it's like, don't you think I would change it if I could? If I had any control whatsoever, do you genuinely believe I'd choose to be too exhausted to write a fucking message? I wouldn't. And I guarantee it sucks a hell of a lot more for me than it does for you, and I don't get to walk away when it's too much. So you can suck it the fuck up and Wait.

I know it doesn't Quite work like that in this case. They don't know the extent of my health issues, but that's the thing. If someone doesn't reply to you for a couple days, there are all sorts of things that could be happening. Maybe, like me, they're ill and don't have the energy to reply. Maybe they're stressed up to the eyeballs and they just can't handle a social interaction politely right now. Maybe they have severe social anxiety and they're trying to build up the courage or get their message perfect before they send it. Maybe their internet went down! They may not even know they have a message sat there yet! Maybe someone they love like, Just Died that same day.

Maybe it isn't their fucking fault, you know?

Anyway. Ultimately they've shot themselves in the foot. Because for whatever reason, they acted on the assumption that I was being mean and chose to ignore them, and in doing so, they've made it impossible for me to do what they were asking for, when I was actually willing to. And they'll never know that part either, because I can't tell them, because I'm blocked. So, y'know. They'll never get that help from me, and that's more their fault than mine.

[emile-hides]

Need me a partner who looks at me and sees this